eowima

[eowima]

For the writing prompts: I'd love to see PJO + #47 (singing badly as loud as you can)

This is a great prompt lol Thank you!!

“PERCY!” Annabeth yells, marching up the trail with her hands over her ears.

“I heard you the first time,” he assures her.

“Then why didn’t you stop singing?” she demands.

Percy stares at her like she’s not making sense.

“Because that’s the job you gave me. Sing! Be the distraction! These woods have surprisingly good acoustics.”

“Well, we got the flag,” Annabeth informs him. “We won. You can stop now.”

She starts to walk away, then turns and adds, “And I never told you to sing ‘Baby Shark.’”

“But…” Percy points to himself. “Son of Poseidon.”

Annabeth rolls her eyes.

send me a prompt for one of these fandoms!

#:D

[eowima]

Awesome prompt list I loved reading it!! May I ask for 24 or maybe 34 for Percabeth or anything Percy Jackson? :D

Thank you, friend 🩷 I picked 24: dust floating in golden sunlight!

Percy hopes this is the first and last time he sneezes on a dolphin. The ladder jerks beneath him, but Annabeth grabs hold, planting her foot on the lowest step. He snuffles. There was roughly a million years’ worth of dust particles collected on those dolphin vertebrae. Now they fill the air, burst like a nose-tickling supernova in a beam of light.

“Are you ok up there, Seaweed Brain?”

Percy inhales deeply (away from the dolphin), then sighs.

“You know,” he calls down, “this ‘clean your room’ thing is pretty unfair when you’re the only camper in the Poseidon cabin.”

send me a prompt for one of these fandoms!

#Seaweed brain ❤️ #thank you friend!!! #pjo

[eowima]

The best part of the percy jackson books is that from percy's perspective hes just an easygoing funny cool guy who seems pretty harmless but the moment you see him from someone elses pov hes terrifying. Just a crazy good fighter, a force of nature killing machine, literally gets mistaken for a god in disguise. But he doesnt see that side of himself at all because hes too busy arguing with authority figures and respecting women. I love him

[eowima]

salt-and-vinegar dreams

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians Pairing: Percy/Annabeth Rating: T Word Count: 1256

Summary: Percy might have an evil, prophesizing grandpa hijacking his dreams, but he also has Annabeth, and she's welcome any time.

Based on Percy’s extensive and up-close experience of bullying and recess dynamics, Camp Half-Blood makes no sense. Sure, if he compares pretty much any aspect of his life among mostly humans to his life here, there are some fairly glaring differences, but this is what stands out:

Out there, a kid who wins a fight becomes the Toughest Kid, and nobody wants to mess with that kid. In here, a kid who wins a fight also becomes the Toughest Kid, but everybody wants to fight them to see how they measure up—even if, instead of pushing another kid down on the playground and kicking sand in their lunch, they clobbered the god of war with a humongous wave. Percy kinda gets it, in a weird way, like he’s kinda getting everything about this, being here, being who he is. But he’s also tired.

He’s tired of dodging Clarisse’s attempts to take her turn at him. He’s tired of turning his last conversation with Luke around and around in his mind until it becomes a whirlpool it’s hard to pull back from. He’s tired of the dreams. Sinister, persistent. Always at the cottage in Montauk, which really pisses Percy off because that’s their place, his and his mom’s, but as soon as things go all dark and foggy, he can’t keep Kronos out. Just once, he’d like to tell that trespassing asshole there’s no welcome mat for a reason, maybe slam the door in the face he keeps hidden under a hood like preserving maximum spookiness when Percy already knows who he is isn’t the lamest thing in either this world or the subbasement the Titans call home. Instead of being stuck in the front room, Percy would like to run deeper into the cottage to grab the baseball bat he knows is somewhere in his room (back of the closet? Under the bed?) and use it to crack that dumb lantern he carries. He’d like to rush Kronos before he reaches the door, keep him outside and chase him around, spraying him with the garden hose.

Yeah, there’s a lot Percy’d like to try. At the top of that list is a good night’s sleep. These new Kronos-flavoured dreams suck; like a watered-down salt and vinegar from the heavy fog. And when he wakes up? Clammy skin from that fog, and the general bitter aftertaste anyone might associate with interacting with their creepy pit-grandpa. Zero out of ten.

So he’s a little worn out.

While everyone else is cramming their final days at camp with hand-to-hand combat—plus other normal stuff kids do for fun—Percy’s getting really into afternoon naps. Oh, that’s supposed to be an old-person thing? Uno reverse, Gramps. He already has the Poseidon cabin to himself, so it’s not hard to find a quiet spot. Even with his shiny-new status as the Ass-Kicker of Ares, the Mount Olympus Backtalker, the Lotus Casino Strip Poker Champ (ok, maybe the rumours are getting out of hand), the other campers don’t usually seek him out here. His guess is that the cabin stood empty so long that it became sorta mythically untouchable. Maybe that makes him the murky algae growing on the glass of the haunted aquarium, but he doesn’t care. He just wants to sleep.

Except one person never hesitates at the threshold. She doesn’t seem to mind the fishermen’s cathedral aesthetic or the unusual light; it spills down through tall, diamond-paned windows and reflects off the lap pool to cast a wavy aurora maris on the ceiling. Annabeth’s not daunted by the creak of suspended skeletons or the lobster traps piled by the door (why?).

She gives him the face that says he’s making a stupid choice which may or may not actually be wrong (she’s still deciding) and asks, “Why aren’t you outside?”

“I’m the demigod version of Superman: I prefer my solitude,” he says, then pauses. “Or, I guess Clark Kent, ’cause I’m not on duty.”

Annabeth frowns.

“Who?”

“Just… this journalist. Doesn’t matter.”

“You felt like being alone?” she somehow translates, sifting through the broken oysters of his words for the pearls.

He looks at her, her head tilt that could be cautious except he knows it’s thoughtful, her steps that miss all the squeaky boards his personal water feature has swollen with damp, the way her straightforward question spreads like a ripple—you felt like being alone alone alone alone?—because her eyes keep asking it after her lips close. Her feet keep walking into his abandoned marine museum, his one-storey lighthouse, his rejected Little Mermaid film set. He looks at her.

“Not… exactly,” he says, liking her here. “I was just gonna try to get some sleep.”

“Would it be alright if I stayed?”

There’s this feeling in Percy’s chest—sore and warped, but warm and still. He’s glad she asked; it means he doesn’t have to. It would’ve come out of his mouth wrong, fumbled and awkward, even though they’ve slept near each other before, basically the whole quest. He nods; it’s alright if she wants to stay. He can’t say he’ll probably be able to sleep better with her watching over him, that, actually, he’s scared a lot of the time, but not so much with her nearby. Even if their eyes are closed and their defenses are down.

Though Percy doesn’t stray from tradition and put his guard up as he lies down on his cot, there’s an awareness of a different nature. Annabeth darts a look at him like she’s suspicious that he’s going to keep watching her, but then she does something kind: she sits at the edge of the pool, right in his line of sight. She has her back to him as she strokes her hand back and forth through the water. Percy rolls onto his back, exhales. He’s not going to fall asleep, but he’s watching the light change on the ceiling, and he’s listening to the gentle waves break against the sides of the pool, and his eyelids are feeling heavy…

The cottage surrounded by darkness.

Kronos with the swaying lantern, the billowing cloak.

Percy: wide-eyed to be suddenly adrift inside his own mind, the cottage a trick.

An ominous message, full of blame, full of a sickening pride, full of ownership and control and—

Do you ever dream about Mom?

The look in his dad’s eyes, and then falling, but falling through light, falling like floating on water.

Percy knows he’s still sleeping—it’s the one similarity between this scene and his seaside encounter with Kronos—because he’s looking down at the lap pool from above. The water’s serene, undisturbed.

When he faces Kronos, does his body give clues? Does he twitch or flinch or groan? Anything that might call Annabeth away from the pool? Because she’s sitting there on his cot, holding his hand while he sleeps. Did he do something to make her scared for him, or is it another thing? A scared-if-you-don’t-feel-this-too thing. Scared if you do. Percy doesn’t know if this is real, but the feeling of wanting it to be is. They’re just… a good team. And if his tired brain was reaching for an antidote to Kronos’s unwelcome invasion of his subconscious, yeah, it coulda done worse than Annabeth’s hand tucked into his, light on her braids casting shadows like sea turtle ribs.

She’s looking at him. Her head tilts, and it could be cautious, wary, unsure.

Except Percy knows it’s thoughtful. She’s always thinking.

Right now, she’s thinking about him.

#LOVE #percabeth #little BABIES

[eowima]

lullaby for a rottweiler

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians Rating: G Word Count: 1116

Summary: There isn't exactly a Protector's Handbook with a chapter on what to do if you find yourself trapped in Cerberus's mouth, so Grover decides to tackle the problem the best way he knows how: by singing the consensus song.

What Grover never mentioned to the others—what he never felt he had to confess might be a better way to say it—is that there’s a reason he was glad they didn’t take a plane to California. Another reason. A reason that has nothing to do with the three of them spending the flight huddled anxiously in the bathroom until lightning bolts blast the wings off and Percy has to save them with airplane toilet water. Which Grover, who may have dreamed that exact scenario on the train to St. Louis, doesn’t doubt Percy could have done. For the record.

The other reason he was happy not to take a plane is turbulence. He’s super not into it. Rough travel can be fun when it’s his hooves over uneven ground. It’s not even the worst, in terms of messing with his inner ears, to be on a bus during a Fury attack. Or on a train with a rampaging Chimera. A car being rammed by a Minotaur! If Grover were to explain, if he had to tell Annabeth and Percy, he has quite the portfolio of turbulent travel situations to use as proof that he’s fine 99% of the time.

Boy, it really feels like the gods are laughing at him for managing to skip the plane only to end up bouncing along in one of Cerberus’s three mouths.

This is a heavy dog, and he takes big leaps. Grover is lofted up against the solid roof of the dog’s mouth, then dropped back down on its warm, rubbery tongue. And the whole place stinks. Hades can’t get in here with a toothbrush every once in a while? It smells like Cerberus has been using the Styx as his own personal water bowl. (The scent is misery with base notes of the abandonment of all hope.) Numbed by the stench, all Grover can do at first is subject himself to a mental montage of the greasy diner food and convenience store snacks he’s been living on. Not even the good stuff, like soda cans and tins of peanuts with the peanuts dumped out.

What breaks through his fixation on the contents of his churning stomach is one word: bumpy.

Because he’s not really big on self-pity, Grover scrambles to his knees between bounds and does his best to brace himself inside Cerberus’s mouth just enough to feel like he has a little bit of control. Hey, he feels less nauseous already!

“Oh golly!” he shout-sings, and immediately regrets it; Cerberus cocks his head at the noise and jerks to a stop. Grover cringes as he’s tossed against the dog’s teeth.

“Sorry,” he says, softer. “I guess six ears are more sensitive than two, huh?”

Cerberus’s answering whine vibrates Grover bone-deep before the dog starts moving again—a jaunty walking pace that’s ramping back up into a full-out run.

“Let’s try this again,” Grover says to himself, getting situated between tongue and palate.

He clears his throat.

“Oh, golly, the road’s gettin’ bumpy ’cause I got me…” He considers the dark, reeking cavern in which he crouches. “…a hound dog who just won’t slow down. Oh, dear. When the heads are gettin’ bouncy, the trick to settled tummies is…”

Is??? Grover thinks, because it’s a lot harder to come up with rhymes when you’re lurching down the bank of the River Styx in something’s mouth than it is when you’re packing a bag at camp based on what you think your co-questers are most likely to forget.

“…a trip to singin’ town,” he picks up.

Percy and Annabeth never let him get to verse two (where you say nice things about each other, building goodwill on the path to consensus). Cerberus hasn’t spat Grover out or tried to swallow him, so, honestly, after having his friends interrupt his debut performance, he’s taking it as encouragement to keep singing. He claps a hand against his opposite arm steadily until the words come to him. It’s weird but either he’s matched his claps to Cerberus’s footfalls or the dog’s running to his beat.

“Oh, Cerby, you’re good at bein’ grumpy, you make a great guard dog, your fur’s all black and brown.” The last one’s more of an observation than a compliment, and Grover winces, hoping Cerberus is more affected by his happy tone than the exact words.

“Good boy,” Grover sings, not meaning it. “You don’t need to run fast. (In fact, slower’s prob’ly better.) A trip to singin’ town.”

His eyes widen as, miraculously, Cerberus slows. Grover lets his clapping trail off. The dog stops, he sinks. Though it feels like this mouth-elevator has reached the ground floor, he’s not opening up to let Grover out. Suddenly, a snore rumbles through him. Seems like it’s probably now or never; Grover wriggles out between Cerberus’s huge teeth, getting a thorough slime bath as he pushes past the dog’s slobbery jowls.

He's relieved to see Percy, but he directs his first words at Cerberus: “You are a bad, bad dog!”

And he is a good, good singer, he thinks, even after he realizes Annabeth has literally scaled the side of Hades’ hound to give the dog neck scritchies. And maybe Percy helped too, fearlessly standing his ground in the path of the charging dog. Three heads are really better than one! Grover glances sideways at Cerberus. Three heads are better in some circumstances.

There’s not much time, so he listens to the others’ plan, using the shoes to lift Percy off the ground and fly him up the cliff. But the dog’s getting restless; Grover can hear growling noises that do not indicate peaceful slumber. After a harrowing minute of separation and a squeak of the red ball, Annabeth joins them at the top of the cliff. She launches the ball and Cerberus gives chase. The three of them stand there for a moment, breathing hard. But Grover just can’t keep it in.

“I GAVE YOU COMPLIMENTS!” he shouts after the dog. “YOU DON’T JUST ATTACK A GUY AND HIS FRIENDS RIGHT AFTER THE CONSENSUS SONG!”

Still outraged, he turns to his friends.

“What was that thing the Oracle said about betrayal again? Percy?”

But Percy isn’t listening, so Grover looks to Annabeth for support. The scrunch of her eyebrows and the slant of her mouth say she has no idea why he’s bringing up the consensus song right now (and why would she? Grover doesn’t mind that a ride in Cerberus’s mouth is one part of this quest he experienced alone). Regardless, Annabeth pats him on the shoulder.

“Yuck,” she says, withdrawing her hand and staring at her drool-slicked palm.

Grover sighs.

“Yeah. Tell me about it.”

#GROVER BABY #I've said this before and I'll say it again #Grover is the GOAT #pjo series

[eowima]

Like idk something about seeing Percabeth playing out on screen has me thinking about how oblivious I was as a kid 😭 Because I distinctly recall 14 y/o me only really thinking 'hm, I think maybe they like each other' when I read Titan's Curse, and then when Annabeth kissed Percy in Battle of the Labyrinth, 14 y/o me was absolutely shook just like Percy. But seeing them on screen??? Walker and Leah have so much chemistry, and the looks Walker keeps giving??? His eyes are so expressive. It's like Percy is already in love istg. They're perfect. They're going to give us the slow burn of the century.

#😭😭😭 #i ghostwrote this post #percabeth

[eowima]

― Rick Riordan, The Mark of Athena

#“secretly” #pjo series

[eowima]

Percy “I am impertinent” Jackson really looked Zeus dead in the eye and said “Your family is a mess”

#xD #pjo series

[eowima]

#I #i die #pjo series

[eowima]

#he really said we cope through humor

#perfect #best line of the show #pjo series

[eowima]

but for the grace of gods

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians Pairing: Sally/Poseidon Rating: G Word Count: 829

Summary: At the border between life and death, Poseidon holds Sally in the River Styx.

She isn’t sure whether she’s falling asleep or waking up, but it feels like a dream. Her unconscious mind is a revolving door. It’s impossible to say how long it’s been, only that she thinks her eyes are closed. Once the thought enters her head—my eyes are closed—she starts to wonder if it’s true, starts trying to sense what her eyelids are doing, starts waking up or falling asleep.

Her eyes open. It’s dark (well, it was night… somewhere). She’s soaked (it was raining… wherever that was…). She’s alone (she told someone to run…). Until she’s not.

He doesn’t speak, but she can feel him and has the same amount of trust in that feeling as she has in her eyes gauging the dark, her skin the wet, her heart the solitude. The water flows around her, soft like her name, Sally. Abruptly, she has a sense of being supported from below, as if kept afloat on someone else’s body. The water becomes arms to encircle hers, fingers to slip between hers as invisible hands take hold. Hold fast.

“Percy!”

Is the sound of her own voice real?

“Sally,” Poseidon soothes, “you are beyond him. He is beyond you.”

The first might be true; she gasps, kicking her legs as they come to life, instinctively reacting to the Minotaur who’s no longer crushing her. She isn’t where she was. There’s no river in the clearing by the camp’s border. Sally flails and begins to absorb details of the landscape past the river that simultaneously rushes and keeps her still. Black rock—grim, volcanic. Cliff faces that soar out of site. And the people. The only hopeful thing about them is that none are Percy. They can’t be. Not him; not here.

Because she has a feeling she knows where here is, this place Poseidon says puts her and Percy beyond each other. She doesn’t believe that’s true. Yes, there are things only the gods understand, but her relationship to her son is wholly her domain.

Her tears merge into the flow. She can hear Percy praying to her.

I hope you can hear me.

Sweetheart, I can.

She knows it’s a one-way call, that Percy won’t get any sign that she’s listening. She pictures him at camp. She can’t make the river rise up the shore or send raindrops that make thick music in the woods or heat the water when he washes his hands for dinner (at least 20 seconds, Percy, please). When she was there, she would’ve done anything for him, and she can only trust that he’s remembering that now that she’s here. It’s from here, away from the mortal world, that her son’s father used to respond to her own offerings and prayers. She recalls the day, the restaurant, the counter she was sitting at when he stepped into her world and didn’t speak to Percy. Percy who was struggling, Percy who felt so unwanted that day. She and Poseidon have existed, have loved, in opposite ways.

I’m gonna make him see me, her son is swearing to her. I’m gonna make him see us both.

And she wishes it were simpler, that she could tell him how the father who missed every birthday is also the lover who cradles her in the River Styx. There is so much ahead of Percy that she can’t imagine. Herself, for example; she can’t imagine whether or not she’s there, ahead of him, not beyond him like Poseidon claims.

“I’m worried,” she says.

She says, “I’m tired.”

Rocking in the current, she says, “I won’t stay here, will I?”

“No,” Poseidon confirms. “You’ll pass into Hades’ realm. Right now, you’re suspended at the border between life and death.”

“How…?”

“Fortunately, that border is water. You aren’t his yet.”

Not Hades’, not Percy’s. Between life and death, sleep and consciousness. Since she’s neither trailing after Charon nor waiting in line for Club Underworld, it’s Sally’s understanding that the Minotaur didn’t succeed. She’s just taking death for a test-drive. She’d love to steer this one back to the dealership and say, No thanks, lob the keys back across the salesman’s desk.

“Percy’s going to come,” she says on instinct.

But she’s afraid for him, and the water of the Styx runs cold.

“Who wouldn’t come for you?” Poseidon asks tenderly, because he did, he found her here in the deepest, darkest water.

Despite her fear, his touch is a cool cloth to her forehead, suddenly fevered. Her entire body is warming in defiance of the frigid river. It doesn’t feel forced when her knee bends and her arm reaches out, her body reshaping itself to the last posture it held in life. She is slowly remade in gold. Her jacket tugs towards the riverbed, her hair pulls at her scalp, and Poseidon stays with her. Water goes from slicking her skin to shining her gilded hands. My eyes are open, she thinks, her vision a gleam against the dark.

#LOVE #pjo series

[eowima]

a tall, tall tale no one believes

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians Pairing: Sally/Poseidon Rating: M Word Count: 875

Summary: How do I feel? she asked, and he told her, weak in all his strength, Wet.

Sally can’t sink, which is a strange trade-off for raising her little boy alone, but it’s just a fact of her life. The ocean bears her up. At the cottage, she rinses vegetables in a colander in the sink and, if her hands dip in to agitate some brussels sprouts, the water floats them to the top, refusing to sieve through the holes, refusing physics, cradling the back of her hands. Her fingertips never prune.

It’s the same in her apartment’s bathtub, the Finger Lakes, the model boat pond in Central Park. Percy isn’t sure about it, only four, but she helps him set his boat on the still water. The moment Sally slips her hand beneath the surface, a current propels the boat along. Her son is surprised and delighted. She wonders whether Poseidon can see, whether the water is a two-way glass, whether he feels any paternal instincts that aren’t too supernatural to put in a parenting book. Regardless, it makes her smile to watch them playing together at the park, the sunshine on Percy’s hair.

She teaches him about it: how wild water and domestic water touch. About rain and rivers, aquifers and Arctic thaw, treatment plants and tap water. How it’s all connected, like her and him. She rubs her thumb across his freckled cheek. All one thing that will always find its way back to each other, to the ocean. Those concepts are so bound up, but Sally doesn’t tell him, not yet. Instead, she laughs when Percy puts his ear to the closed tap and claims he can hear the ocean. Sally, unsinkable, would believe him in a heartbeat, except that he’s giggling the whole time. She tells him, Well, it’s time for bed. Try not to get any perch caught in your toothbrush. He’s at an age now where his end of their make-believe will drop away unexpectedly. Those are freshwater fish, Percy corrects. Her mistake.

Older, and he’s at school. The bathroom is unbeatable for oasis per square foot; it’s where she goes when the apartment is loud, or quiet, or it’s pouring and she’s in a mood that makes her afraid of what the people in the building across from hers will think if she climbs out onto the fire escape and gets too friendly with the rain. In the shower, where the water came from the ocean, sometime, someway, somehow, Sally makes it cry down her body before it returns to his domain. Remember me? is the question she doesn’t speak aloud. Her boyfriend keeps complaining to the super that the pressure’s for shit, that the spray is cloudy, that he gets out of the shower grimier than when he got in. But water pours clear as glass from the head and runs over Sally’s closed eyelids, her parted lips. It’s her lover on her skin, and sometimes she feels crazy for thinking it, but then the water streams along the blue veins visible on the pale parts of her breasts that were (usually) covered during their long summer at the beach, and traces the grooves of stretchmarks in her stomach and thighs, and she’s sure that he’s tracing her, her lines that wind like rivers, her body of water.

She remembers being pregnant with Percy. Back to the cottage, the shoreline in the fog, her hands in the kitchen sink. Oh, she would wade into the shallow water and ache for Poseidon. Her clothes discarded on the sand, Sally would hold her buoyant belly and understand what it felt like to be bigger than the skin that held her. Was that how he felt, when he was there? The size and shape of a man, but so much more? And less? Contained in one form, and then—she would stroke the place where Percy kicked—another.

She remembers before she got pregnant. How do I feel? she asked, and he told her, weak in all his strength, Wet.

Fire and water don’t go together, and that seems cruel, because she’s always sitting in the rain when she misses him most. Matches often won’t stay lit long enough for her to touch them to an offering. Tic Tacs from her purse stick together in her palm as their coating dissolves. A partially eaten granola bar Percy left in her coat pocket goes soggy as its silvery wrapper fizzles away from the weak flame. Cruelest, the toast she burnt by accident in the toaster refuses to catch as she dances fire along the crust on purpose. Some days, it’s more than she feels able to bear.

When she wants to, Sally can dive deep. Down there, it feels like she’s holding her breath longer than most people—most humans—can. It could just be her imagination. She’s not a god.

Water, for her, will never wash things away. It’s a tide, seemingly made up of equal comings and goings at first, but drawing everything in eventually. Her floating is an uninsurable chronic condition. Sally isn’t complaining, she just has to wonder sometimes. About fate. About the urge she has to cup her hands at the mouth of a downspout and splash her face with the draining water. To make him touch her as he passes through.

#love #pjo series

[eowima]

soundtrack to a tooth alignment

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians Rating: G Word Count: 967

Summary: It's just a dumb song. It'll end eventually. (But also, what is love?)

If Percy had to explain his quest strategy, he’d say it’s pretty much “attack now, think later”—like, days later—so if this particular quest ever gets commemorated in song, or on an urn or something (do they still do that?), he hopes they include the way he just neutralized the Thrill Ride O’ Love situation by bringing up the orthodontist. Because that was a tactic. Everything is totally not-weird now. Here in this dark tunnel. With Annabeth.

Percy puts his hands on his knees like it’s school picture day and squeezes.

She doesn’t reply to his orthodontist anecdote, and he doesn’t have a follow-up comment. If he opened his mouth right now, he’d probably say something else about the song that’s playing (blasting, honestly—is this torture? Is this a heroic trial? Percy’s trying to remember whether any of Hercules’s labours had this sorta unhinged Valentine’s vibe), and he’d probably borrow words from his mom’s vocabulary when she’s listening to old music on the radio—words like “funky” and “groovy.” Annabeth’s never even seen a movie and she’d probably look at him like he’s the one who’s out of touch. He can’t risk it. Words are overrated anyway, right?

That’s probably why the guy singing keeps using the same ones over and over.

Percy wonders if this is a record for the most times Annabeth’s heard the same question without answering it. Could the singer calm down with the “What is love?” already? Instinctively, Percy starts tapping his foot to the rhythm, but then he realizes Annabeth can probably feel his shoe striking the bottom of the boat and glances at her nervously. Yep, she’s giving him a look.

Laughing self-consciously, he observes, “Sounds like he’s trying to control a bunch of horses.” Annabeth frowns. Percy points vaguely upwards (because this tunnel is creepy and grungy, but no visible speakers? Alexa?) and hears himself singing along in explanation: “Whoa whoa whoa whoa-o-ah…”

Her frown deepens and he cuts himself off with an awkward cough, looking away into the water, his only ally here who won’t judge him for being so embarrassing.

Ok, maybe this guy does have to constantly ask himself “What is love?” because what else is he gonna do, talk about his feelings to another person? Percy’s getting the theme of this theme park now, not so much the devastating rejection part, but definitely how uncomfortable it is to have a crush on somebody. Man, if he liked somebody like that, maybe he’d go build a haunted amusement park about it too. Luckily, he’s—

He’s somehow staring straight at Annabeth.

Swirls of coloured light are reflecting up off the water that’s lapping the sides of their boat, making her glow purple and blue. Percy doesn’t have to be a son of Athena to know Annabeth’s pretty, but it’s never been, like, relevant. She’s super smart and careful and focused and good at planning. Percy was never gonna point out that she had this talent for prettiness unless they were in a situation where somebody needed to have really sparkly brown eyes or a face he’s kinda itching to cup in his (suddenly sweaty) palms, at which point he could save the day and be all, “Hey, Annabeth, you’re pretty! Why don’t you take this one!” And they wouldn’t think he liked her, just that he was resourceful.

But here she is, being pretty when the only crisis is that his heart’s beating a little too quick and he can’t scootch away from her without threatening to capsize the boat. Backup plan: look at his hands.

He’s making it weird, and it’s not, it’s not weird. Two people in an abandoned amusement park isn’t weird. It’s brave, and adventurous, and just because the song just said “love” for the millionth time doesn’t make it romantic! You can love lots of stuff. Hephaestus probably loved building this ride. Percy loves his mom. Loved his mom. Loves his mom. He’s curious what the word makes Annabeth think of, his gaze drifting sideways.

She’s looking at him. Percy’s eyes widen. Panic mode.

“Do you think Ares is really gonna eat all those burgers?” he blurts out.

“What?”

“At the diner.”

“Well,” Annabeth says thoughtfully, “why else would he order that many?”

“Intimidation.”

Her eyebrows raise.

“Ares is already the god of war.”

“And what’s a meal like that other than a war between a man’s mind and his stomach?” Percy reasons, feeling deep. If they survive this quest and Chiron’s looking for a Camp Philosopher, Percy could do that job. He has insights now. Would he have to wear a toga though? He’s seen that “Death of Socrates” painting at the MET, and those guys were going full bedsheet.

“But why would he bother?” Annabeth wants to know. “I think he’d be expecting us to be intimidated by him anyway.”

“Maybe he’s secretly insecure.”

“Maybe he’s just hungry.”

“Do you think everybody else could see how many burgers he had,” he ponders, narrowing his eyes, “or were they hidden by the Mist?”

“The Hamburger Mist? They were normal burgers, Percy.”

“Then explain why no one seemed surprised!” he demands. “Or impressed!”

“The thought of someone eating a stack of burgers that high doesn’t impress me.” Annabeth’s face scrunches in disgust. “Just makes me a little nauseous.”

“That could be seasickness from the boat.” And because another of his strategies is “speak now, think later,” after a second, Percy asks, “What would impress you?”

Her expression shifts into something like determination but softer. Yeah, with a little bit of a smile.

“Somebody who’d take on the Chimera alone so their friends could get to safety. That’d be pretty cool.”

That’s my story, Percy almost says, but he follows Annabeth’s gaze up the wall to watch Hephaestus’s play out instead.

#LOVE #pjo

[eowima]

It's me, hi, I'm the one who hasn't posted/written anything in over a year xD

I've been a little busy on a side project aka building a third human being from scratch (and pushing it out lolz), and also I think I had used up all of my words and needed new ones, so I went and read all the Bridgerton books (meh) and then every book written by Rick Riordan (heck yeah), in the span of six months 🤔 now I gats lots of new words AND a little baby, which is nice :D

My third little human has now been born for a little over a month, and sleep deprived as am I, I'm still starting to feel the lovely itch to write again ❤️ I have missed this a lot and am so excited to slowly start again. I hope I manage to finish some of my projects on my AO3 :D

Kinda want to slowly get back on the saddle, and what better way to do that than to write "drabbles" (quote unquote 'cause I'm not good at keeping things super short like drabbles are supposed to be) so how about you guys send me prompts from this lovely list, and I'll try to write a little something something in between feedings/cuddles with my baby daughter and all the other things a mum of three does 😍

It can be anything Arcane, Agents of SHIELD, or Spider-Man, just make sure to specify it in your ask!

Love,

Océane

#caitvi #spideychelle #Fitzsimmons #arcane fanfic #Spider-Man fanfic #aos fanfic #prompt me! #I'm coming back for you babyyyy #writing this during the 3AM feeding lolz

[eowima]

I just wrote 8 pages when I haven't written in months and was beginning to think I'd never be able to again. Idk what it is, but I am sharing and manifesting this energy for every writer who sees this. May you write 8 quality pages effortlessly and find joy writing once more

#it always comes back

[eowima]

So  Cynthia J.S.  found this audio from the show “feel good” and couldn’t help but think of #Caitvi #arcane  #piltoversfinest

https://twitter.com/_cyntheia/status/1576224372687110144

#MY LOVES #arcane #league of lesbians

[eowima]

MJ *did* tell Peter that she would just figure it out again!!

From this prompt

#OH MY GOD #perfect #yesyesyes absolutely #now i wanna add this to MJ's journal in 67% sure bahaha #I LOVE IT