#pjo snippet

[anonaskblogs]

Snippet... Snippet... Snippet!

Percy felt the first bits of pain start while at home, his mom and step-dad out on a date and he was watching his baby sister, Estelle. At first, it had been easy to ignore. A slight tingling sensation that felt like his body was either just falling asleep, or maybe just waking up.

About an hour later, the pins and needles started. All over his body, covering him in goosebumps as Estelle starts yawning and fighting against the sleep that was no doubt pulling at her mind.

"Come on, little Star," Percy smiled as Estelle pouted up at him. "It's time for bed, cause mom and dad should be home soon," Percy watched with a fond smile as her eyes darted towards the only clock in the living room. They widened slightly before she sighed, nodding and reaching up for Percy to pick her up.

"Uppies?" Percy felt like his body was turning inside out by now, but he nodded, bending down and scooping her up, bouncing her on his hip as she giggled tiredly. He'd let her stay up nearly a full hour after her bed time, but only because it was Friday night.

They were trying to get her used to a schedule for when she started preschool in the fall, and so far it had been going well. Little treats of getting to stay up later were saved for Percy to do with her on their parents date nights, and the adults knew it too.

[garden-galaxytree]

The flow of Ocean from Percy’s eyes stops, and dries up. It leaves behind glimmering Sea Salt on his face.  Percy stands up and walks back to the cabin, cupping the seashell to his heart. He swears he could make out his dads voice in the crescendo of the waves on the beach but he could just be hearing things again, like in the Labyrinth, but he finds he misses the sound of it dearly . His pajamas are still damp with Ocean despite Percy willing himself to dry. It’s partly his grasp still solidifying over the domain of the sea.  And partly his dad clinging to him, not wanting to part with his son. The ocean water drip-drops from his pj’s and into the sand dunes, plinking down like tears.

Gold Heart, Chapter 6, "Our Family end of the World Road Trip."

[freddie-77-ao3]

another travis stoll fic snippet

Lou Ellen wiggles her fingers and gives an elfish grin as she locks eyes with Will and Cecil from across the kitchen. Cecil is making pasta, Will is… well, Lou doesn't really know what Will is doing, but at this point she's a bit afraid to ask.

And then there was Travis. Travis is making sandwiches, probably for the van rides tomorrow, and humming while he spreads butter over each piece of bread, which wouldn’t have been odd, except for the fact that he hasn't hummed in four days- which normally would have been miracle, but--

Seems a little off, for Travis. It was the way Lou could tell them apart; Connor and Travis that is. Connor appreciates the silence-- Travis fills it.

He goes to cut the crust off of one of the slices, only to miss and get the end of his finger, and Lou waits for the curse word only to realize that Travis hasn't stopped cutting-- or humming. Will gives a horrified look and scrambles over, but Travis just turns away from him.

[aroaceleovaldez]

i have suddenly become obsessed with a theme that HoO established but never proceeded to extrapolate on, which is:

You are Percy Jackson, and you have been swapped with a boy who was allegedly everyone's favorite person, but they have decided to replace him with you. They just met you. You stand next to his best friend and the people he's known his entire life. In his home. In his cloak. In his place. They stopped looking for him.

You are Jason Grace, and you have just found out you have a long lost sister who completely replaced you in her life with this girl you just met. Your lives and personalities are mirrors. She is you, living the life you were robbed of.

You are Annabeth Chase, and you have just become starkly aware that you have been inhabiting the void left behind by your best friend's long lost brother. You and Luke were just replacements for him. Now you have to look him in the eyes when he has nothing and know you took that life from him.

You are Piper McLean, and you have just found out your relationship is fake and built entirely on the memories of Annabeth Chase. You have been given a boyfriend when hers has been taken away. You have no idea how much of it is real or not but regardless you feel like if your relationship isn't exactly in their image that you have failed.

You are Leo Valdez, and you have just learned that you are the echo of your great-grandfather. You are not your own person. You just exist to be a mirror of him. A doppelganger. An actor and stunt double facing all the danger he never had to but wearing his face. To be there for his best friend decades later simply because he couldn't. You are playing a role. A seventh wheel and a pawn for a goddess who carefully sculpted your entire life for her own purposes.

You are Hazel Levesque, and the only reason you are alive is because your brother couldn't save your his sister. You are a consolation prize. An apology. Your existence here is misplaced in every way but you inhabit it anyways.

You are Frank Zhang, and you are a shapeshifter. Inhabiting your own body feels strange and clumsy when you could be literally anything at any time. You are anything and everything and live your life with the simple certainty of knowing exactly how you will die.

[mediumgayitalian]

He doesn’t realise how odd it is for the infirmary door to be closed until it is shoved open, wooden frame crashing into the wall, making everyone inside jump to high heaven. Will stumbles in after it, and the sight of him makes startled shrieks and grumbles stop in all mouths; his eyes are red-rimmed and bruised with sleeplessness, staring cloudy and vacantly ahead. He walks like he’s unfamiliar with the shape of the ground, steps clumsy and hesitant, hands picking at bare legs. His faded, oversized camp shirt falls all the way down to his thighs.

He looks sick.

He makes his plucking way to the nurses station, oblivious to or uncaring of the eyes on him. When he finally makes it to the door his hands shake too badly to unlatch it, and he tries for minutes before giving up, hoisting himself up on the counter and stepping over piles of paperwork, half-balanced on the spinning chair. He is barefoot.

“What’re you looking for? Austin is the first brave enough to speak, taking a half-step closer. “...Will?”

“Where the hell are the scissors,” Will mutters. He rifles through folders, opens and slams drawers shut. “I need the — scissors.”

“Second drawer down from the right,” says Kayla quietly.

The second drawer creaks, badly, tiny wheels wailing on their tracks as Will yanks it open, shoves it shut. He half-jumps half-falls off the chair, blades clutched in his fist, and shifts over to the back wall, squaring in front of the mirror.

In quick, thoughtless action, he lobs off the tangled ponytail low at the base of his skull. At the back, near the window, Lacy from Cabin 12 inhales like she’s been stabbed.

In the stunned, heavy silence of patients and healers and people in the wrong place at the wrong time, Will methodically pulls straight coils of hair, snipping them an inch from the root. He takes no care to line up the strands, no care to feather the edges. The office scissors are so dull that in some sections he has to saw through, hairs snapping like guitar strings. In minutes both hands are clenched full of dull gold, wiry snippets dusting his neck and shoulders. He drops them in a wastebasket at they flutter like leaves around the rim.

“Thanks,” he says, belatedly, dropping the scissors back on the counter. He turns without looking to the doorway by the shelves of salves, slipping quickly down the Big House hallway.

Austin is the first of them to move, too, darting past cots heavy with gaping campers He turns to Chiron.

“Should I follow him?” he asks, hesitating by the shadows.

For a moment there is nothing. The Chiron sighs, heavy and long, and puts his head in his hands.

“You can most certainly try,” he says, tired and muffled. “But it is the great failure of my life that Will Solace has spent more time in this building than I have in centuries. You wouldn’t find him with Ariadne’s string.”

[siminiecricketart]

I don’t think I’ll ever fully finish this little drawing so I’m posting it as is - Annabeth and Percy chilling on the fire escape outside of his apartment

[clare-with-no-i]

rick doesn't get him like I get him I fear

[demigod-shenanigans]

Little Sofía fic sneak peek because I need someone to kick my ass about finishing this <3 Jason shifted in his blanket heap when the door opened. 

Leo wasn’t surprised. His husband had always been a light sleeper—all too ready to jump out of bed with his sword drawn at even the hint of a threat. Even though years had come and gone since he’d been an active member of the legion, he’d never quite managed to break that particular habit. 

Usually, Leo felt bad for waking him. Right now, that he woke so easily was a huge relief. Having to shake Jason awake with one arm while balancing a baby in the other wasn’t an experience Leo was particularly sad to miss out on. 

His husband made a displeased noise as the light was switched on, said something that sounded like half of an affectionate nickname in Spanish and grumbled about it being late and being abandoned to sleep on his own.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Sorry about that, Sparky. More importantly, though: look at this baby I found.”

“Can you please come to bed first and make your jokes after?” Jason complained, yawning. He patted the mattress next to him. “I promise I’ll laugh, even if I’m way too tired to understand the joke. I just want to cuddle for a bit.”

“I would, but I think we’ve got more immediate problems than me depriving you of cuddles. Namely: the fact that I’m holding a child right now.”

“Leo, I love you to death, but what in the world are you talking about?” Jason murmured, finally starting to untangle himself from the blankets.

As if on cue, the little girl in Leo’s arms started crying. Whether this was because she was hungry or cold or because the existential dread of being ditched on a stranger’s doorstep by the only person she’d ever known was starting to hit her, Leo couldn’t immediately tell.

Jason sat up with a start, wide awake the instant it dawned on him that this wasn’t one of Leo’s weird jokes.

He looked at the two of them, eyes wide as saucers. “What did you do?”

“I cloned myself,” Leo said, looking his husband dead in the eye. The joke didn’t entirely work. Their skin tones were similar but not identical, and the tufts of hair on the girl’s head were clearly brown instead of black.

He rocked the baby gently against his chest, humming the melody of an old lullaby his mom had sung to him when he’d been little, the words long since lost to time. 

“What?” Jason was out of bed at a speed that was honestly frightening, even for someone who had seen him go from zero to battle-ready in under thirty seconds before.

Jason looked frantic, apparently completely willing to believe Leo’s stupid joke, the obvious inconsistencies in it be damned. He moved to stand beside them.

“Kidding, mi cielo. I’m still working on cloning.” Leo grinned at him. He felt as terrified as Jason looked, and even now, despite the fact that he was supposed to be a semi-responsible adult and had been married for almost a decade, jokes were sometimes the only thing that helped. “I just ordered DoorDash. No idea why they sent a baby. I’m pretty sure I just asked for fries.”

[alltheglowingeyess]

“Mrs. Ferris—hi. Where’s Will?”

Mrs. Ferris doesn’t even blink. “You’re late. Third time this month.”

Naomi exhales, already fumbling for her wallet as she palms twenty-five dollars. “I got caught up at the end of my shift and then my car wouldn’t start. But I’m—just, sorry, I’m in a bit of a rush, so I’ll just give you the cost now and—”

“Ms. Solace,” Mrs. Ferris interrupts, folding her hands neatly over the papers she was massacring with red pen, “your son was already sent home. With his emergency contact. As part of his suspension.”

Crap. “Suspension?”

“Your son picked a fight in the hallway today. We had to forcibly remove him from another student after he lashed out.”

“I—he wouldn’t just do that,” Naomi says. “And why didn’t y’all call me?”

“We tried. It went to voicemail.”

Naomi frowns, digging her phone out of her purse. She flips it open, wincing when the screen stays dark. “Ah.” She snaps it shut, shoving it back in her purse. “Well, this other boy wouldn’t happen to be, uh… Noah Ricky or something, hm?”

“Noel Rickerby, yes. I don’t see—”

“Mrs. Ferris, Will has come home in tears multiple times the past few weeks over the things this boy’s been saying and doing. And you expect me to believe he was unprovoked?”

“William—”

“Will.”

Mrs. Ferris’s lips twitch. “Will has already demonstrated behavioral issues. Noel is a model student and—”

“And Will’s behavioral issues are only a problem because y’all refuse to give him any support.” Naomi feels her rage rising as she speaks, voice shaking. “I’ve been on my hands and knees begging this school to invest even an ounce of energy into understanding that he’s a brilliant kid, and you’ve done squat.”

She slams the money on the desk, shifting her bag on her shoulder. “Until y’all start treating my son with respect, I’m not sitting here listening to whatever half-assed story you’re cooking up to make him the problem.”

For reasons that evade her, Mrs. Ferris has the audacity to look offended. “Ms. Solace, you cannot speak to me this way in my classroom—”

“Great. If you want to continue this discussion in a productive manner, come by my apartment for a coffee and a chat, hm? You have a good day now.”

She doesn’t wait for a response. She nearly sprints out the room, sneakers squeaking against the linoleum. It feels good to finally say it—but as she reaches the car, it settles in her mind that this is definitely going to bite her in the ass. 

Still—there’s no time to worry about that now.

She fumbles with her keys, jams one into the ignition, and pulls out of the lot without hesitation. Her eyes flick between the road and the glowing red numbers on the dash. Ten minutes. Maybe less.

She makes half the trip in record time, barely slowing as she reaches the four-way near their complex. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a silver sedan inch forward opposite her.

She barrels through the intersection, laying on her horn as the other car jerks to a halt.

“Wait your turn, asshat!” she yells out the window. She’s already halfway down the street before she can even tell if the driver heard her.

————————————————————————

She pulls into the driveway, grabbing the key and rushing to the door. She hears the faint thrum of music from inside—so at least she knows Will is there. Unfortunately, the current track does not sound very joyous, so she takes it that she will have to do some emotional damage control before the worker gets here. It takes her a few precious seconds to find the right key, and another five to actually slip it in the knob. As it clicks, she hurriedly turns the knob and—

The door opens just a crack and then stops. She frowns, pushing harder, before realizing the latch has been turned from the inside. The music is much clearer now and, yup—Only You by Yazoo—Will is definitely moping. 

Peeking through the crack, she sees him sprawled on the floor, staring forlornly at the ceiling. His stuffed bunny sits squarely on his chest as he pets it absentmindedly.

Ordinarily, she’d find his drama at least endearing. Right now, though, she wonders if it would be an overreaction to grab a bat and smash open the door.

“Will, what—open the latch, for the love of God!”

For a moment, there is no response. Then, he slowly turns his head—with way more drama than a five-year-old should be able to muster—and stares at her from the floor.

“No, thank you.”

“I—William.”

“I’m busy. Go away.”

“Busy or not, I’m not standing out here all day. Let me in the damn house, William.”

Will sighs loudly, then sits up. For a moment, she is hopeful that he might actually listen.

Instead, he reaches for the coffee table, cranks the radio volume even higher, and flops back down into his recumbent position.

She groans, loud enough that he surely has to hear it over the blaring music. Plan B, then.

She slips her hand through the crack, managing to get a quarter of her forearm inside as she fumbles for the latch. Unfortunately, it’s just out of reach, and when she shifts her arm, a sharp pain shoots through her hand as she pulls back.

“Fuck me,” she mutters, shaking out her arm. She gives herself a few seconds to hype herself up, then tries again, this time managing to squish a third of her arm in. Half-squatting to get a better angle, she grins as her fingers just barely graze the latch.

She tries again, inching closer, when footsteps sound behind her. Someone clears their throat.

“Naomi Solace?”

She yanks her arm back, wincing as the harsh edge of the door scrapes her skin. She does her best to compose herself, pulling the door closed to mute the music (The Winner Takes It All—God, having a kid with good music taste is truly a curse and blessing). The man behind her is solidly built, wearing a neatly pressed shirt and slacks, sunglasses shading the upper half of his face.

“That’s my name. Don’t wear it out.” 

Wow. That has… never come out her mouth before. Might as well throw a pair of finger guns in.

“And you must be the social worker for today, Mr…?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Armstrong. Though you seemed perfectly fine calling me asshat earlier.”

“...Um.”

Sure enough, when she looks behind him, that same silver sedan is now parked in the driveway. Naomi is at a loss for words. She tries anyway.

“Well, I’m very sorry about, uh... you have a lovely car. The silver, uh, matches your glasses?”

He doesn’t answer, just stares at her.

Awkward. “Alright, yeah. Let’s get to checking in. What are we talking about today, hm?”

Mr. Armstrong frowns, gesturing toward the door. “Let’s step inside first.”

Naomi laughs nervously as she tries the door again, still facing him. You know, just in case Will has, in the last three minutes, worked through whatever crisis he’s currently spiraling over and decided to listen to her. No such luck—it still only opens partway, the only difference being that The Smiths are now providing the soundtrack to his moping.

She slams it shut again, offering Mr. Armstrong an apologetic smile. He does not smile back.

“Dang locks are a little finicky here. Just—wait right here. I’ll be right back.”

She doesn’t wait for his response, hurrying around the porch to the side of the house. She tries four different windows before one finally budges (thank God for faulty locks). After failing to haul herself up twice, she manages it on the third attempt, gracelessly launching herself through the window and crashing onto the living room floor—right where Will is still lying corpse-style, his bunny still perched on his chest.

First thing she does: grabs the radio, turns the volume down all the way, and shoves it on top of the bookshelf.

That, finally, gets a reaction. Will springs up, launching himself at her leg and clinging on. “Hey! I was listening to that!”

With much effort, she shakes him off before squatting down, placing both hands firmly on his shoulders. “Listen here, kiddo. You’re going to be on your best behavior, alright? Five minutes—all I’m asking, got it?”

He blows a raspberry in response—fantastic.

She releases him without another word and bolts to the door. A few frantic swipes at her shirt, a quick hair flip, and she plasters on a broad smile before yanking the door open.

 “C’mon in!”

He stares at her for a moment, and she wonders whether she banged herself up a bit too much when diving into the living room. Then, he shakes his head, sighing as he steps in.

She leads him straight to the kitchen, grimacing as the front door rattles shut behind them. At least Will had moved his moping out of the living room. Unfortunately, that just means there’s nothing to distract from the disaster zone that is both the kitchen and living room: unwashed dishes piled in the sink, a leaky tap that won’t stop dripping, their mismatched dining set, and a table buried in bills and suspicious food smatterings.

As Mr. Armstrong glances around, she zeroes in on the open cabinet exposing a crime scene of snacks: a cereal box tipped sideways with its contents scattered, a broken jar of jam dripping down the shelves in thick, red clots, and what might be half a granola bar mashed into the floor. She swears under her breath and nudges the cabinet door shut with her hip just as he turns to look at her.

“Sooo… can I get you something to drink? Water?”

Mr. Armstrong raises an eyebrow, clearly trying to peer behind her, before nodding. “Tea,” he says, then looks at her expectantly. “If you have any.”

She resists the urge to bang her head against the wall. No, sir, we fucking don’t. What do you think this is—The Ritz?

“Yes, we do! Just—uh, take a seat. I’ll get right on that.”

He looks at the table, turning up his nose slightly. “Hm… I think I’d rather stand.”

She huffs but doesn’t argue, setting the kettle on the stove before rifling through the cupboards. She can feel Mr. Armstrong’s gaze boring into her back as each cabinet turns up empty. The silence stretches, broken only by the rising whistle of the kettle.

Finally, she finds a lone tea bag shoved in the back of the shelf. She grabs it swiftly, grimacing as she realizes the label has long since faded.

…Hopefully, tea bags don’t expire.

As she drops the tea bag into the cleanest mug she can find and begins to pour the steaming water, Mr. Armstrong clears his throat.  

“Your lightbulb is flickering.”

Naomi glances back momentarily to see—yes, indeed, the lightbulb is cosplaying as a disco ball right now. “Ah. You know technology, right?”

He gives her an unimpressed look that says, no, he does not know technology or whatever. Before she can try to explain, she catches movement in the corner of her eye—Will, peeking around the doorway before sidling in. He’s ditched his bunny, but has his homemade stormtrooper helmet on (technically, a white cardboard box Naomi painted and cut eye holes into, but the thought it there).

His gaze flicks between them before settling on Mr. Armstrong, wide-eyed and curious.

“Hi. Who are you?”

“Mr. Armstrong.”

Will squints. “Your head is very shiny.”

Mr. Armstrong frowns and touches his scalp. Naomi hurries to set his tea down and shoots a dramatic thumbs-down at Will behind his back.

Will rolls his eyes. “Nice to meet you, Mister…”

He pauses, all attitude dissipating as he glances at Naomi with a flash of panic. Right. One of many things he inherited from her—an absolute inability to remember names.

She mimes something at him—flexing one arm, nodding enthusiastically.

Will blinks owlishly, then slowly turns back.

“Mister Smith?”

How even? Naomi cringes.

Mr. Armstrong, thankfully, seems less bothered by the misnaming than by being called out for his baldness. Instead, he just tilts his head and crouches down to Will’s level.

“What are you wearing there, kid?”

“It’s a stormtrooper helmet! Mama ran over my old one and we can’t get a new one yet, so she made me this one!”

Just call me Da Vinci. Her pride fades fast when she catches the side-eye Mr. Armstrong sends her behind his shades. Not impressed. If that look’s anything to go by.

He glances back to Will, leaning in a little closer. “Are you happy, Will?”

Will’s brow furrows, confused. Then, catching Naomi’s eye over his shoulder, he pulls a face as she starts miming reminders at him.

“I’m adjusted,” he says, in the least convincing voice possible.

Naomi shoots him a look. He sighs, then continues with marginally more enthusiasm.

“I eat all four food groups, look both ways before crossing the street… and take long naps and nice baths…”

It’s not the most passionate delivery, but Naomi can’t help the grin tugging at her lips as he dutifully recites the speech they’d practiced. She rolls her hands in a wrap-it-up motion.

Wrong move. Will’s expression twists in confusion.

“And I… I know how to roll over?”

Naomi grimaces, quickly drags a hand across her throat in a cut-it-out motion.

“I’m… dying? Am I dying?”

The second question is aimed squarely at her, Will staring her down. Mr. Armstrong turns slowly toward her.

Immediately, she drops her hands like they’re on fire and forces a laugh. “You know how kids are! Beautiful imaginations. The youth is our future.”

She hears Will giggle at that and shoots him a Look. He cuts it off, ducking his head just as Mr. Armstrong slowly turns around, arms folded.

“Can I go now?”

Mr. Armstrong pauses, then nods once.

Will adjusts his helmet with both hands and gives him a solemn little wave. “Bye, uh… sir.”

She stifles a groan as Will walks off.

[polyhexianbirb]

I like to call it "who will the gods pick to torture now that Percy is at college? Local nerd man ofc"

This is just page 1, page 2 will be linked here when completed (most likely tomorrow). Yes, I've worked our who pretty much everyone will be lol.

My man's have beef with some teenagers lolz

[sodamnbored]

Did they ever actually specify who named Jason in any of the books? I can’t remember, but I thought it was just a sort of vague mention of why he was named Jason, as opposed to a concrete “Dad named you because / Mom named you because” kind of explanation?

So now I’m thinking, wouldn’t it be super cute and bolster the only ever implied sibling bonding if it was Thalia that had chosen his name?

Like, loads of older siblings get the opportunity to weigh in on picking baby names for younger siblings anyway. And if we can presume that Thalia had a similar situation to Annabeth in that her mortal parent was fully aware of their godly hookup and was very open about that with their kid and Beryl told Thalia lots of stories about the mythology, or like Piper she got interested in the stories and dug around on her own.

Then Thalia is like, what, seven or so years older than Jason? Totally old enough to have ideas and comprehend at least simple story ideas, but still young enough to work off the easy little kid logic to solve problems.

So she’d have been old enough to notice Beryl beginning to get anxious, beginning to get a little paranoid. She’d hear her mom talking about them being in danger, especially her baby brother to be, and all because Juno was mad at her brother before he’d even arrived.

And she could be reading stories and suddenly the answer presents itself and it’s so simple. And she asks to call the baby Jason because Juno liked and protected the original Jason from the Argonauts story. Therefore little kid logic demands that Juno likes Jason, so if they make her brother Jason, Juno won’t be mad at him anymore when he arrives and will like him too. Problem solved.

It would’ve been the very first time she ever protected her baby brother and she probably didn’t even know how much it had protected him from an angry god. And he hadn’t even been born yet.

[garden-galaxytree]

He sees his mother from the corner of his eyes pause and watch him and Annabeth from the other edge of the field. She’s smiling and it’s a real one this time, and Percy makes a mental promise to spend more time with her too. It wasn’t just Tyson he had been neglecting with everything going on. Her smile becomes bittersweet, like she’s already grieving how well Percy fits in here with the other demi-gods. Away from her .  Percy wonders if this is part of the reason May Castellan tried to become the Oracle. To stay close with her son too.

Gold Heart, Chapter 7, "I say hello and goodbye"

[freddie-77-ao3]

In Sickness (More Than Health)

“You just sneezed, get back to bed.” 

“I didn’t sneeze, I was… making train sounds?….”

“…Train noises?” Connor says, with the tone of someone far too suspicious for a simple conversation.

“Yeah,” Malcolm says, looking very unsteady. “Train noises. You know, cho-cho?”

“Right…” Connor trails off. “Sure.”

“Oh, Connor.” Malcolm says, sounding really quite sickeningly sympathetic. “Have you never heard a train before?”

“I’ve heard trains, Malcolm. I’ve also heard bullshit, and I can tell you which one you sound like right now, and it isn’t a train.”

[charlottedabookworm]

snippet of a scene i cut from protectors of the youth cos it really didn't fit but i also found it funny as fuck:

Sighing, he tips his head back and stares up at the ceiling. It's made of marble, obviously, and stupidly high. "Mum, give me strength," he murmurs under his breath, his eyes slipping closed. "Are you-" Hermes bursts out and his phone clatters to the floor, George and Martha screaming protests as they fall. "Are you seriously praying to your mortal mother right now?" Percy opens his eyes and drops his head to stare at the gods. "Well," he says, raising his eyebrows. "I'm not gonna pray to you guys for parenting advice am I?"

[madin-writes]

“So, this is meant to be a representation of you?” Nico asks, holding up the figurine. When Leo nods, he quirks his lips in an amused smile. “You see yourself as a dragon?”

“I—” Pausing, Leo blinks and feels heat rushing to his face. “W-well, of course! What else would I be?”

Nico thinks about it for a moment, then shrugs. “If we're talking about animals, you seem more like a rat to me.”

“A rat?”

“Hear me out,” Nico says, trying to act serious despite failing to hold back giggles. “You’ve got the pointy ears and you’re clever, resourceful, in unexpected situations. That’s not a bad thing, right?”

“Shut the fuck up. Oh my god.” Leo hides his head in his hands, mind reeling as he reconciles with the knowledge that this apparently is how Nico perceives him. “I can't believe you broke through my window and came into my dorm room just to call me a fucking rat—”

Laughing openly now, Nico peels away Leo's hands, takes in the comically offended look on his face, and bumps their shoulders together lightly. “I’m kidding, Valdez. The dragon is really cool,” he says, voice soft as he glances down again, tracing the edges of the carved wood with his finger.

[valewritessss]

I felt so seen when I first read pjo and it mentioned Annabeth’s arachnophobia. I used to have so many nightmares when I was younger (probably started when I was around five or six), I would wake up in the middle of the night and be so terrified of moving because I thought there were spiders all over my bed. The shadows on my popcorn ceiling looked like spider figures and I remember just laying there sweating and not making a sound because I thought it would attract the spiders I guess? It was routine for me to shout for my mom—poor her, she would be woken at 2 in the morning like thrice a week— and she’d always shake my sheets and lay with me until I feel asleep. She would also take me to sleep with her and my dad in their massive bed (who was I to say no to the invitation?) and it got to the point where I was embarrassed that I couldn’t sleep a whole night without someone. Occasionally, I still have these nightmares about spiders and I just turn on a light, go to the bathroom, come back, and pretend it never happened.

Idk, just thinking about that. I kind of had forgotten about those nightmares but I don’t play when I see spiders because I know it means I’m going to dream about them.