#Percy Jackson OC

[fight-like-a-man]

open starter

reluctant recovery

so, turns out coughing up blood is not normal.

Brutus had stressed himself into having a stomach ulcer- or something to that extent, medics weren't really sure because he ignored it for so long that he started internally bleeding.

After many verbal, and physical, altercations.. he finally agreed to surgery. And it went well! He's on track to heal properly, and go back to normal.. he just has to stay on bedrest, get lots of food and water.. and, yeah. None of that is happening.

Brutus looks absolutely miserable in his cot. The worst thing about it? He was at a mortal hospital. None of his friends could visit him without possibly being attacked by monsters..

but, naturally, you came to check on him anyways- either for yourself, or because someone sent you.

Brutus stares at you blankly, almost trying to register that you're here.

What do you do?

Open to all interaction!

[yviikit]

I fit all my goobers on one canvas (calm tf down abt the Eros one, it gets complicated)

[tredlightly-throughthebroken]

OPEN STARTER

Nothing good ever lasts

Tw: blood, violence, child violence, close death experience, mentions of death

The woods had gone still again.

Not the peaceful kind of still that came with sleep, but the sharp, tense kind that came after something violent had passed through—when the birds no longer sang, and the wind no longer dared to move the trees. It was the kind of silence that made the hairs on the back of your neck rise, the kind that told you something was wrong.

The monster was long gone now. A dracaenae, maybe. Or something worse. Whatever it was, it had left a trail of claw marks and blood-smeared bark in its wake.

And at the edge of that chaos—barely holding on—was a child.

And that’s when you got a better look at the young girl..it was Estella.

She couldn’t have been more than nine years old. Curled up at the base of an old, moss-covered tree just a stone’s throw from the cottage. Her breathing was shallow, her chest rising and falling in tight, panicked gasps. Her tiny frame was trembling, soaked in rain, blood, and shadow. Her black dress was torn down one side, a long gash cut across her ribs, and one of her arms bent wrong—like she’d tried to shield herself and failed.

But even now, even half-broken and fading, she looked like she belonged to the night itself.

The shadows clung to her like silk. Her brown hair tangled around her face, and her skin—pale as starlight—seemed to glow faintly beneath the full moon. You could just barely make out the way the darkness curled protectively around her fingers, weak tendrils of Nyx’s power trying to hold her together.

She didn’t move when you came close at first.

Maybe she didn’t hear you.

Or maybe she was too far gone to care.

But then her eyes—cloudy, fever-bright, and too old for her face—fluttered open, just a sliver. She flinched when she saw movement, her body instinctively trying to sink further into the tree trunk, though she was too weak to actually go anywhere.

Her brown and grey eyes stared up at you, the Nyx child looked so much..smaller then she usually would

Her lips were cracked. Her voice came out as a whisper.

“…Please,” she rasped, “please help me..”

Tears slipped down her dirt-streaked cheeks, and for the first time, she didn’t try to hide them.

“I tried to fight,” she whispered. “I did. I used everything I had… the shadows, the dark…I even tried to shadow Travel... But it—it wasn’t enough.”

She coughed, hard, blood flecking her lips, her small frame trembling again. “I thought I was strong. I thought I could make it.”

Then, softer. More childlike.

“…Am I going to die?”

Her voice cracked on the last word. She didn’t sound brave anymore. She sounded nine. Just a scared little girl lying alone in the woods, waiting for something—someone—to save her.

The daughter of Nyx was at your feet.

And as helpless as ever.

[vixnarts]

I saw this meme going around so I gave it a go. It reminded me of my PJO as Gods!AU where Percy and his friends are gods. And of course this meme made me think of Tyler.

[demigoddaughterofhermes]

i actually really like that hades immediately believes percy about kronos- in the books it was treated as this impossible thing and i think hades being so ready to believe that is actually believable considering where he lives. and also considering the personality we see from hades in the books

[another-argo]

>>Open Starter<<

Ghosting

(c'mon, you didn't think I'd stay gone, did you?)

Argo's room had stayed empty for weeks after his death. Only a few people knew where his grave was; so some people took it upon themselves to put offerings in his room instead of on his grave.

It's been a few weeks- to a month or two. The wound still hurts.. but life progresses.

The strangest thing about that is.. any offerings that Argo would've VERY MUCH enjoyed.. disappeared. Any daggers? Gone. Sour candy? Gone aswell.

You think that it's just a coincidence. Maybe- maybe people are actually just bad at this whole offering thing! If Argo was still alive he wouldn't have accepted the gifts anyways.

Because of Argo's room becoming a public tribute, even some kids from camp have managed to slip in- maybe to pay respects, maybe to swear out the bastard one more time, maybe just to pretend they knew him better than they really did.

You thought the noise coming from Argo's room was another camper- or one of his adopted siblings- in there again.

But then there was a crash.

Then another crash.

And something deep- something dark inside you lights. Your immeadiate thought is Eris. Only Theo actually saw the dead body- maybe she didn't die.

You brace yourself for a fight before you open the door and see.. Argo.

Emotions flood you in a giant wave- looking at your dead friend- or enemy- or.. whatever Argo was to you. For a moment, you think it was all a bad dream.

But Argo.. doesn't notice you. He's enamored with this stuffed rabbit.. playing with it like a little kid. He's holding a piece of a wooden block in their other hand, unwilling to let it go.

Argo hums a small tune under their breath. Their hair has gotten longer- and the blonde has grown to be majority of his hair. His eyes are a watercolor of brown and blue now- and he just looks.. transparent?

Argo moves over to some more of the offerings. There are a million different bouquets- but he picks up one that Commodus left for him- tucking a flower into his feather crown.

They put everything down- except they put the wood block in their pocket.

They look at the many daggers that were left to them. Picking some up and inspecting them.

Argo still seems completely oblivious to your presence..

What do you do?

ANYONE CAN INTERACT !

(Seriously, anyone.)

taglist (ask to be added or deleted): @orion-the-hunterpt2 @lilacnightshade @pain-is-forever @reyno-solis-real @faceless-bugger @unlicensed-field-medic @the-great-emperor-commodus @the-eclipsed-sun

[that-pjo-obsessed-b1tch]

Baby Artemis: Hey dad?

Zeus: Yes, child?

Artemis: How long can can someone breathe in a washing machine while it's running?

Zeus, chuckling: Now, why would you want to know that, Artemis?

Artemis:

Zeus:

Zeus: WHERES APOLLO-

(credits go to the real owner)

[unlucky-fuck]

open starter

buddy system

You weren't told much about Archie- just that upon coming to camp they IMMEADIATELY attempted to escape. They're a constant flight risk and prone to trouble.

So, they assigned someone to make sure they stay out of trouble.

That just so happened to be you, unfortunately.

You walk into the Big House, and see a short-ish, brown haired, heavy eyebagged kid- covered in scars and bruises.

They sit across the table from Mr. D- who is restraining him with grape vines. They see you and grumble a complaint... but they do leave with you, crossing their arms and glaring the whole time.

They're completely silent- following you to the required camp activities.

Do you start the conversation?

all interaction appreciated!

[fightingthetoxicallegations]

OPEN STARTER:

"I bet you don't feel lighter." No, I don't feel lighter.

TW: Derealization, minor(?) injury

Theo's been dealing with some things lately, but he just can't think of any solution to any of his problems. He feels bad for it, for not being able to help, no matter how much he tries. Now that he's seen the state Argo was in when he left him in that cell, he feels... horrible as ever.

He had to shadow travel away, he couldn't stay with his brother any further. It was clear Argo didn't want him there, and he would respect his brother's wishes... most of the time. Once he made sure Argo was back in control and relatively safe — or at least knew he'd claim to be safe — he left.

Though, something happened when he was in that cell. The Death Mist surrounded him at one point, and refused to leave him since. He did manage to briefly rid his hands from it, but it was only temporary and he's not sure he can bounce back from this as easily as he though he could back when it all started. It's cold. Really, really cold.

You find him in the forest again, standing in the shadow of a tree. Though, it's... not really him. It's more so a cloud of mist, or at least it looks to be that. A cloud of mist in a vaguely humanoid shape, with... some unnatural coloration to it. Almost like human skin. What could convince some that it really is Theo are the greenish-red blobs visible on the cloud's form. Around where a human chest would be, and the most of them are around where the heart would be.

Taglist (ask to be added or deleted!!!): @the-great-emperor-commodus @another-argo @literally-tinker-bell @roryandthethorns @dad-left-for-the-milk @reyno-solis-real @reluctant-son-of-time @judas-of-eris @notaeoluschild @tearslikeacid

[shark-gutzz]

Hermes: oh my god he’s on his way home! I should tell my uncle he’s going to love this

Hermes on the phone: oh hey Poseidon, first of all when I was at your place the other day I forgot to tell you how much I liked the rearrangement you and Amphitrite did with the living room furniture.

Hermes: second of all, COME OUT OF YOUR HOUSE THERES A HOMELESS MAN RUNNING ON WATER

Poseidon: well Hermes first off thank you, I have to admit I was a little disappointed you didn’t say anything about the living room rearrangement the other day.

Poseidon: second off, OHMYGODIMONMYWAY

[cece693]

Hey!! I wanted to make a request for Percy x (male reader) son of Apollo

The reader is mainly good at writing and drawing, and enjoys using Percy as his muse for his works.

Thank you, take all the time you need 🙇

Shades of Green and Gold

pairing: percy jackson x maler reader tags: you are kinda a stalker, returned feelings, first kiss, percy is too handsome for the reader, you can legit write sonnets about percy, cute but kinda creepy

You’re reasonably sure that no one else in Camp Half-Blood spends as much time admiring Percy Jackson’s hair as you do. You won’t deny it, because who could blame you? There’s something about the way he grins, the way his sea-green eyes light up when he’s on the verge of a clever remark, or the way he ruffles his hair after a long day of training. It’s enthralling. You’re an artist—writing, sketching, painting—son of Apollo, heir to creativity and light. And Percy Jackson is your favorite muse.

Every morning, you wake early to catch the exact moment the sun spills over the lake, painting the surface with soft pinks and gold. You slip out of the Apollo Cabin carefully, trying not to wake your rowdy half-siblings. You carry a small sketchbook and pencil in your hand, charcoal in the other. The crisp morning air still bites, but there’s something comforting about that quiet, in-between time.

You settle on a flat rock near the canoe lake. From here, you can watch the water, the line of cabins, and if you’re lucky—Percy Jackson heading off to breakfast or morning training. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve drawn him: in graphite, in watercolor, with ink. Half-finished poems about his eyes litter your journal.

Today is no different. As soon as you spot Percy, you can’t help but smile. He’s dragging a sword behind him, hair sticking out in all directions, still yawning. He’s adorable. You press your pencil to the page and start outlining his silhouette. The curve of his shoulders, the lines of his arms…You’re so focused that you barely notice when he turns and catches your gaze.

Percy raises his eyebrows in obvious curiosity. You flush, snapping your sketchbook shut, but it’s too late—he’s already jogging over. “Morning,” he says, grin slowly turning more playful. “Am I interrupting?”

You swallow and manage a small laugh, hugging the sketchbook to your chest. “Not at all. Just…practicing.”

He nods towards your pencil. “I see. Gonna show me sometime?”

Your heart beats louder than a battle drum. “Maybe…eventually.”

Percy’s grin grows. “I’ll hold you to that. See you at breakfast?”

You nod, and he jogs off, leaving you with that dopey, starstruck feeling you’ve never quite gotten used to. By the time you arrive at the Arena for combat practice, the midday sun is high and fierce—Apollo’s domain. You tie your golden camp shirt around your waist (much to your instructor’s dismay), opting for a lighter white tank top. Sweating profusely while you train with a bow is not your ideal way to spend an afternoon, but your father’s gift—unerring aim—doesn’t sharpen itself.

Chiron pairs you with Percy for a quick sparring session. It’s supposedly to “expand your skill set,” but you wonder if it’s the universe giving you more material for your sketches. You try to steady your heart as he flashes you another signature grin.

He wields his trusty sword, Riptide. You draw your bow, focusing on the center of the target behind him, but your eyes can’t help drifting to the lean lines of his arms. You almost feel guilty. Almost.

“All set?” Percy calls, pushing his dark hair out of his face.

“I’m ready,” you answer, stepping into position.

The session starts strong. You manage to keep your arrows close to the mark, even as Percy deflects them with impressive skill and a flurry of water from a nearby barrel. You can sense he’s showing off a bit—it’s Percy, after all. You grin. His confidence is infectious, and soon the two of you are exchanging friendly banter.

When you pause to catch your breath, Percy flicks water droplets from his blade in your direction. You splutter, trying not to laugh. He shrugs with an impish twinkle in his eye.

“Heard you’re a good artist,” he says casually, striding forward until you can see the slightest hint of sweat at his temples. “Piper told me your last painting of the Apollo Cabin was amazing.”

Your cheeks heat. “It’s nothing big.”

“From what I hear, it’s a big deal,” Percy insists, stepping closer. The space between you is suddenly charged. “Will you show me your work someday? I mean it this time.”

“Sure.” You feel the sun warm you from above, the presence of your divine father giving you a little nudge of courage. “I’d like that.”

That evening, the sky burns a vivid orange as the sun descends behind the strawberry fields. You find yourself on the porch of the Big House, perched on a bench, scribbling in your notebook. You wanted to capture the memory of Percy deflecting your arrows, to freeze the moment onto the page with just the right words.

“Still practicing?” Percy’s voice comes from behind you, startling you so badly you almost drop your pencil.

“Percy! I—”

He doesn’t wait for you to form a coherent sentence; he slides onto the bench next to you. The fading sunlight catches the green in his eyes, setting them aglow. His presence is warm and all-consuming, even though the day is cooling down.

“Sorry to sneak up on you,” he says. “Thought you might be here.”

You let out a small laugh. “It’s fine. You just startled me.”

He nods toward your notebook. “May I?”

You hesitate. The words in that notebook are deeply personal. Poems about his eyes, the curve of his smile, your fleeting impressions of each encounter. But there’s something in Percy’s earnest expression that calls you to trust him. With trembling fingers, you pass the notebook over.

He flips through carefully, eyes scanning the lines of your writing. He stops occasionally, lips moving with the words, eyebrows quirking up at certain phrases. You sense your entire being is in that notebook, and he’s reading you like a story. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

When Percy finally looks up, his eyes are strangely bright. “You wrote these…about me?”

You pull your gaze away. “I guess you could say you inspire me.”

He’s silent for a moment. You dare to look up and see a smile, soft and genuine, tugging at his lips. “It’s good. Like…really good. I had no idea I could be someone’s muse.”

You exhale a nervous laugh. “I, uh…I can show you the drawings, too, if you want.”

Percy nods, looking more interested than ever. “Definitely.”

You lead Percy to the Apollo Cabin and slip inside. Your siblings are out—probably at the campfire or racing chariots—leaving the bunks and scattered musical instruments in a hush. You rummage beneath your bunk, pulling out a battered portfolio.

It’s stuffed with sketches—some finished, some half-done. A watercolor of Percy standing by the lake. A charcoal piece of him gripping Riptide. A gentle pencil sketch focusing on just his face…his eyes, to be precise. You lay them out across your bunk. Percy stands behind you, so close you can practically feel the warmth radiating off him. You swallow, heart pounding, as he takes in each piece.

“They’re amazing,” he breathes, leaning down to pick one up. “I never realized—this is how you see me?”

You can’t quite meet his eyes. “There’s something about you, Percy,” you admit. “Your energy, your aura. You’re like the sea itself—constantly shifting, alive with motion. It inspires me. Helps me write, helps me draw. I never wanted to freak you out, so I kept it mostly to myself.”

Percy gently returns the piece of artwork to your bunk, then turns you around by the shoulder so you’re facing him. His hand lingers, thumb brushing over the fabric of your shirt.

“I’m not freaked out,” he says. “I’m flattered, honestly.” He chuckles, eyes scanning your face as though he’s searching for any hint of uncertainty. “No one’s ever done anything like this for me.”

You feel a burst of warmth in your chest. “Really?”

“Really.” Percy exhales a soft laugh, letting his hand drop to your wrist. “I like it. And I’d like to see more—whatever you make. If that’s okay.”

You search his expression, uncertain if you’re reading the situation correctly. The glimmer in his sea-green eyes suggests you might be. Mustering your courage, you nod slowly. “You can see everything,” you say, voice hushed in the quiet cabin. “I—I’d really like that.”

His smile widens. “Thank you.”

You swallow, that same unstoppable grin blossoming across your own face. The tension thickens, but it’s a gentle tension, a comforting one. He leans forward, and you feel his forehead against yours, that sweet, electric moment of closeness you’ve been imagining for weeks.

Finally, your lips brush softly, uncertain at first. Then Percy returns the kiss, delicate yet full of promise. It’s the kind of quiet moment that you know you’ll replay over and over in your sketches, in your poems, in your daydreams. When you finally pull away, you can’t help but laugh in disbelief. Percy gives a contented sigh, resting his forehead against yours again.

“Would it kill the mood if I told you I knew about this?"

[fight-like-a-man]

open starter

im fine.

Brutus is bad at taking care of himself.. but he's usually better at hiding his distress.

In the last few days he'd been in and out of the infirmary over 10 times. He'd passed out during training 5 times in 3 days... but nobody can keep him on bedrest. Even in his sickly state, he's able to physically overpower basically anyone at camp.

Brutus was patrolling the borders of camp when you saw him collapse to the ground- coughing up blood.

He wipes his mouth, attempting to stand.. but unable to find the strength. He sits there and starts to shake, freezing in place.

What do you do?

[demigoddenier]

So you're zenos brother! :D

-🎠

The little guy took a step back, immediately on the defense. "What??"

[vixnarts]

Since it’s been snowing a lot where I’m at, I decided to do an art piece of Percy and Anyssa.

Percy wanted to take his lil girl to the park to build snowmen. Since Tyler is sick with the flu 🤧. Anyssa, being lil miss creative thanks to her mom Annabeth. She made a snowman of her dad.

[demigoddaughterofhermes]

percy jackson, who after having his memories stolen, lives in fear of forgetting things.

he never has- he always remembers birthdays and anniversaries. he knows the activity schedule at camp like the back of his hand. he always sees annabeth's favorite color and thinks of her.

but he's always afraid that it could happen. or that someone will take them away again. so he has sticky notes everywhere. he always has little scribbles on his arms and hands. he keeps a little notebook handy.

annabeth never teases him when he asks her to confirm that he remembers.

[another-argo]

Open Starter

*●let me be normal●*

Things with Argo had been quiet, which.. isn't usually a sign that things will continue to be good.

Argo felt bad for causing trouble- he really did. Andrew didn't deserve this bullshit.

But- Argo didn't deserve the constant memories; the constant reminders that he's no longer himself. The monstrous claws- scars that he's left on himself on every inch of his remaining skin..

Argo was sitting on the roof of the palace; which.. probably wasn't smart- but it's fine.

He has a handkerchief next to him, coughing up black goo and blood- and occasionally bone/porcelain.

He also has candles lit all around him.

"Please- anyone who's listening... just.. I want to be normal. I will do anything to be normal-" Argo begs, clasping their claws together in prayer.

Suddenly, all the candles extinguish- Argo squeaks in fear.

What do you do?

ANYONE CAN INTERACT

(I love new interaction!)

taglist (ask to be added or deleted): @orion-the-hunterpt2 @lilacnightshade @pain-is-forever @reyno-solis-real @faceless-bugger @unlicensed-field-medic @the-great-emperor-commodus @the-eclipsed-sun @sophia-hunter-of-artemis @daughter-of-thanatoss