tidaltow

[tidaltow]

@yukikorogashi || cont.

Percy still struggled with this. In the way of frustration that was like, Man, could we just move on and get over it already?, because some part of him had (wrongly) assumed that as soon as all of the weirdness in his brain made sense, it’d be totally fine. As if finally connecting those dots and understanding that, hey, he was some demigod and son of Poseidon would make all of his problems go away: the aha! moment followed by Anything that happens now until I die will at least have more of an explanation than before, so I can definitely deal with it! 

Newsflash: incorrect. Things still happened and drove him crazy. Now those things just had . . . a source.

And that source wasn’t Itsuki, which was why he was making it entirely clear that his attitude wasn’t directed at her, but . . . Man. Percy wondered if Grover was feeling that Percy Rage through their empathy link, and if it was affecting him enough to make him want to seek out the nearest person throwing an empty can in the park and snap them in half. (Heck, even Percy would’ve joined him.) But he’d taken a deep breath (that’s what they did in movies, usually) and tried to face these complications . . . maturely. Or, as maturely as a kid and, more specifically, a kid named Percy Jackson could manage.

He caught that she was trying. Much like she must’ve caught that his temper was peaking. And it was those two realizations together that had some projected version of himself grabbing him by the shoulders and saying, Okay, chill. Life goes on. [Insert inspirational quote here.] 

Percy was a wordsmith at heart.

“An aquarium?” he repeated, like he hadn’t heard her the first time. (And maybe he hadn’t. The irritation felt like bugs buzzing in his ears.) “Super creative idea for the son of a sea god. Wow.” But despite the sarcasm that was peaking now—as if that’d ever reach a peak—he was smirking, and he shook his head while letting out that iconic breath he didn’t notice he was holding. “Sure, but if that’s how it’s gonna be, you need to pick the food. What does Hammer Girl eat to make herself feel better?”

[tidaltow]

i am God’s favourite little cosmic joke. his favourite suffering soldier. his sacrificial lamb. his poor little meow meow. his whore of babylon. i’m his fallen angel. i’m gonna bite his neck until it bleeds

[tidaltow]

The Titan’s Curse

[tidaltow]

Percy had the immediate thought of, Man, that’s not fair that came from a place of momentary stupidity (Just momentary . . . ? Sure) when he heard werewolves could apparently just heal whenever they wanted and didn’t need to slam dunk themselves into a body of water to accomplish it. Because it wasn’t fair, frankly. He wanted the receipt to his healing factor, maybe see if he could trade-in for the upgraded version . . . until he thought longer than a couple of seconds and realized most everything else that came with unwillingly being what everyone called a “monster” probably canceled that benefit out pretty hard.

Yeah, so you can legitimately heal a broken back on the spot, but you also have to deal with losing control of yourself every full moon and will constantly be dodging literal hunters for the rest of your life. (Maybe death was sometimes a mercy . . . ? [Whoa, slow down, Percy; you’re getting a bit too morbid over there. Don’t scare the kids.])

“Never would’ve guessed,” he interjected, pausing briefly before elaborating, “that you’d broken your back, I mean. That’s, uh . . . huge bummer.” Because that was the proper way of responding to someone’s horrible injury: Bummer, man. It was about as useless as one of those inspirational posters they have plastered on the walls of the health room in every school: Hang in there! (Sometimes, bad things happen! But with you? Most times! :)) Percy just left it there anyway, like that last problem on his math test he’d reached an impossible solution for but was too fed-up by then to try and fix it.

Watching Liam brandish his sandwich for a second—as if he was some starved dog or something—he nodded, the noise in his throat equivalent to the “oh, I get it now” people gave each other when they typically still didn’t get it. Thankfully, he got it. “So, what you’re telling me is that you can’t go around buying your werewolf girlfriends silver jewelry for Valentine’s Day.” Something to keep in mind, he supposed, if he ever found himself in that very specific situation. (Hah. “Girlfriend”? Good one.)

Even with how horrible "Mr. D" was at his job, Liam still couldn't help but think it'd be awesome to meet literal Dionysus, like hello? Buuut then again, he also knew how easy it was to be psyched about "impossible" things when you weren't on the receiving end of any of the bad aspects.

Because no matter how awesome something seemed on the surface, there were always plenty of those.

Still, Liam didn't mind when Percy turned the conversation towards the supernatural. It was only fair he let Percy ask his own questions when he constantly put up with Liam's borderline interrogations.

He made an affirmative sound around another bite of his lunch. "Yep, totally normal. Rapid healing's just part of it. It's not just us, either—'us' like me or Scott, I mean. Most of the others have it, too. Seems to be pretty universal." Honestly, Liam tried not to think about the specifics. Better to just be grateful for the fast relief and not dwell on the awfulness of the actual injuries being speed-healed.

"I think so? In theory, at least." All the injuries Liam had personally ever sustained had healed, thankfully. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment before admitting, "I broke my back once, I think; like, totally snapped in half, probably would've been dead instantly if I wasn't...you know. I had to lay there for a couple hours, but then I was back on my feet like nothing happened."

He shrugged and gave his own wave of his sandwich-wielding hand. "We're not, like, totally impervious or anything, though. We have weaknesses: like silver weapons and wolfsbane, that sort of cliche stuff you've probably heard about. Those are basically poisonous to us, so we can't really heal from them on our own."

[tidaltow]

MY KIDS 😭

[tidaltow]

Demigod 101 was basically, “If someone looks suspicious, they are.” Demigod 102 quickly followed that up with, “If they are suspicious, then 99% chance they probably want to kill you.” And, look, it wasn’t like Percy really had time to be giving this dude a onceover while he was busy with the formidable foe that was his shoelaces, so, yes, it took him until now to really notice something off about him. 

Most normal folks didn’t have red eyes, right? (“Normal” was a loose term in Manhattan, of course, but Percy had been exposed to the two different flavors of weird making up the two sides of his life long enough to know which one he was dealing with . . . most of the time.)

Since this guy went out of his way to check on him, continued to hover over him with the concern of a mother who had just watched her toddler fall down a flight of stairs, and had a whacky pair of eyes, Percy was assuming now what flavor this happened to be. Maybe a bit too late, like a fire alarm blaring after the entire building was already up in flames, but he took it in stride.

I thought you were about to die or something.

“Not currently,” he said as he got to his feet, brushing dirt off his pants. “But there’s still the rest of the day, so.” A shrug lifted his shoulders. “We’ve got time . . . to kill.” Percy tried to resist that last part. He failed. With a light sigh, he faced the stranger as directly as his next question. “So, like . . . did someone send you or are you just here for a little fun yourself?”

@tidaltow | cont. (w/Blaise)

Blaise was walking behind Percy, carrying two reusable bags; one filled with a few groceries Siobhan had asked for him to pick up, and the other was filled with a few flowers. Awkwardly, he carried the flower bag -- he thought Siobhan only wanted one, but no, she asked for ten. Why couldn't she get these herself? Blaise had difficulty on finding these flowers -- not a single florist in this city had them. The only place he managed to find them was at a park; he had to sneakily cut them off the bushes without being caught.

The brunette looked bored, eager to get home -- oh, shit, that guy just fell. Any other person would have just kept on walking, but Blaise was not an asshole. "H-Hey!" He called out, jogging over to him, red eyes scanned him over, generally looked concern. "You, uh, okay?" He would asked, immediately taking notice that his shoelaces were untied. Those bloody things; Blaise removed to wear anything that had shoelaces -- they're the devil's work.

"You sure you're alright, mate? I thought...you -- like, were about to die or something..." Blaise mumbled, his eyes shifted back between Percy's shoes and Percy, frowning.

[tidaltow]

Before you say anything— No, Percy had no idea what he was doing. Yes, this was normal.

Calm down. It’ll all work itself out in the end. Hopefully.

This wasn’t the first time he had faced Childe, and if he was lucky enough to survive, this wouldn’t be the last. Percy had come across about a dozen different flavors of weirdo in his travels, but this guy really just took the cake every damn time. See, there was the flavor of “weirdo” that was just the person who frequented that tavern in Mondstadt that was full of cats like somehow the threat of cat fur getting into your food or drink was, like, the highlight of your day; then, there was the flavor of “weirdo” that was Childe.

He was his own flavor. He was the “openly laughs when a kid trips and eats it” kind of dude (as opposed to the more civilized people who had to bite their lip to stop it from happening; Percy definitely didn’t speak from experience). He was the “you could amputate my arm and I’d tell you to try harder” freak. He was the perfect example of everything Percy never wanted to be.

So, explain this:

Why did Percy’s heart seem to deliberately match the rhythmic beat of that spear striking the ground? Why did the insane grin creating a fissure across Childe’s face steal Percy’s breath for a staggering second? And why—Archons, why—was it that Percy couldn’t stop a smirk of his own from tickling the corner of his lips?

You can’t explain it, can you? Good.

Neither could Percy. Screw it, right?

“See, man, I just never took you as the type to let yourself get bossed around,” he elaborated on his earlier point, thinking that was a stellar idea. “If you weren’t following her grand supreme ladyship’s orders, you could basically do whatever you want, whenever you want. Everyone would hate that. And you’d love that everyone hates it. Super win.” Percy continued a small shuffle back, ignoring the voice in his head asking him, What the ever-loving shit are you doing encouraging this dude to be worse?

Well, he’d call it stalling . . . if Childe didn’t then decide he’d had enough of it.

Let’s set the scene here. You’re up against an unhinged treat of a fella, the person who’s staring you down with something shockingly more frightening than murderous intent; behind you is a body of water (helpful tool for later); and before you have time to even think, the previously mentioned “treat” is flying at you faster than the speed of light and swinging his weapon right at your face. What do you do? Because there are options, right? Tuck and roll. Parry. (So basically dodge or block; valid choices.) Want to know what Percy did—?

He reached up and grabbed the thing.

Apparently the little taste of Electro he’d gotten earlier wasn’t enough. As the spear came slamming down, Percy widened his stance, readied Riptide in one hand, and shot his other palm upward to catch the attack on its downward arc. It wasn’t going to feel good. He knew it wasn’t going to (somewhere at the back of his mind, maybe). But he pushed himself through it. Pretty much just told his body, Hey, buckle up. This is happening. I know it’s stupid, just deal with it and braced himself as his hand locked around the spear’s shaft right above Childe’s grip.

Newsflash: It did, in fact, not feel good. Every single nerve in his body screamed in unison, some jarring and off-key operatic performance under his skin that shattered every glass within a mile radius—or maybe just his bones. . . . Heck if he could tell. Pain hummed as a background chorus, and one he shoved even farther back to keep himself in check, to even slightly remember what the point of this was—

And before he could lose full agency of his limbs, he acted.

That hand on Childe’s spear abruptly twisted, yanking the weapon sideways in an effort to throw the guy off-balance. He stepped forward this time, meeting his opponent’s eye as he cocked his head. “Hey, you’re welcome.” Though his fingers began to feel numb, Percy urged them to as much tighten on the shaft as they did on his sword as he swung with (surprisingly coincidental) intent to give Childe a matching wound beneath his ribs.

Were he facing a different opponent, Childe would have seized the opportunity of knocking Percy to the ground to finish this. The itch under his skin demanded blood, but the rush of a worthy battle was even stronger. With great effort, he resisted the feral urge to pounce on momentarily helpless prey. That wound-up tension jittered in poised muscles.

It had been a while since anyone he'd fought had been this fun. It'd be a waste to end it so soon.

Oh, no—they were just getting started. He wanted to see what Percy could really do.

Too eager to keep completely still, Childe took measured steps forward, idly twirling his spear in one hand. The blade struck the ground with each footfall: crashing like thunder, bursts of violet illuminating him from below as he stalked closer, tendrils of Electro charring the damp grass and leaving a trail of blackened patches behind.

"Is it really so difficult to figure out?" This pause in the action only heightened the howling in his veins. His grin was all teeth as he laughed, both from the thrill and the absurdity of Percy's would-be taunts. "As one of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers, everything I do is for one simple purpose: to see the Tsaritsa's will carried out, by any means necessary."

Not many people were brave—or foolish—enough to stand in a Harbinger's way, especially against the Tsaritsa's own weapon of war. Maybe this kid fancied himself a hero. Maybe he was trying to prove himself. Maybe he just had a death wish and wanted to go out in a blaze of glory.

Childe couldn't care less about why. All that mattered was that he planned to make him regret it.

"Of course, I also have a purpose of my own." His voice darkened, laced with an edge of cruelty that turned it into a growl, "All I want is to fight as many battles and claim as many lives as possible along the way to fulfilling her orders. So you see, the only 'option' for me is whatever course of action will allow me to get my fill." He shrugged a shoulder. "Really, I should be thanking you for being my entertainment for the day."

In another flash of purple light, Electro currents engulfed him and he shot towards Percy in a bolt of lightning. Thunder boomed across the field when he materialized again, swinging his spear down at Percy's head in a vicious strike. "We'll find out together whether you're ready for the consequences!"

[tidaltow]

he’s so silly

[tidaltow]

His hands lifted in easy surrender, the apparent insult rolling off his shoulders like leaves down a storm drain because she wasn’t wrong—and Percy didn’t have even a sliver of pride in that specific area to back him up. He knew better than to lay a finger on a bow or an arrow, because somehow direct contact would result in catastrophe, like the weapon was allergic to him . . . or vice versa. (And, you know, Percy wanted to think, Hey, maybe it’s a Poseidon thing . . . were it not for Kitty standing right here next to him punching a hole straight through that argument.)

She got a snort out of him; he could picture the scene clearly and was almost peeved he hadn’t been there to see it. “Tragic. Folks don’t know what they’re missing.” Or maybe they were more thrilled by what they weren’t missing: in this case, an eye. When she pressed him about his intentions at the moment, though, Percy was able to halt the tangent in his mind going down the “someone he knew would vouch for having one eye not being a bad thing” track and actually focus on the conversation.

“Hey, I was thinking about it,” he contested in the tone of a kid just ratted out for not cleaning his room. “Why? Are you volunteering yourself?”

The older girl just gave a laugh. Really the threat of any weapon coming at you was technically a character building experience. One that any demigod had to face when being attacked during training or by a monster if they got unlucky. "Yes, remind me not to be around you with a bow & arrow. I heard you're a lousy shot." That was followed by a short giggle.

"Well Fletcher snitched me out. I was just providing entertainment for the day! Nothing wrong with that." Plus she was getting some money & sodas out of it. Fellow campers where placing bets on her the whole time before it was abruptly stopped.

Kitty would just have to find some other way to show off her skills that didn't invoke her getting into trouble again for the umpteenth time. First it was letting the pegisi loose, by accident mind you, then it was over her beating up one of the Hermes kids cause they called her a nasty name. She had a small track record here in the camp.

"So you just gonna sit around watching people train or you going to do some yourself?"

[tidaltow]

“He was three metres away when I heard, “PERCY!” Rachel’s voice. Something flew past me, and a blue plastic haribrush hit Kronos in the eye.”

[tidaltow]

"You, uh, okay?" From Blaise. Unprompted

@sinndbleds || what a question 💦

Percy loved when people asked him that.

Percy, are you okay? You've barely touched your pizza. Percy, are you okay? You've been staring into space for the past five minutes. Percy—

Are you okay?

The thing is, he typically didn't even know himself; he didn't think about it.

Except right now, when he'd literally just tripped and ate it, so the answer to that question was probably pretty easily, No, but I'll live. What Percy said instead naturally ended up being a bit more convoluted: “Yeah.” See? Already keeping you on your toes. “All good. I like to keep my shoes untied just for the extra challenge. Make things interesting.” Like he needed things to be more interesting in his life.

As he sat upright and went to fix that pesky shoelace (because tripping over it again just kind of felt like overkill), he glanced around himself, then up at the kind stranger who'd decided to check in (which was, by the way, a crazy concept in the city). “Good thing that happened in public. I would've hated if no one saw that,” he remarked. “How'd it look?”

[tidaltow]

The day i’ll actually finish an artwork, its over for you guys

[tidaltow]

“Percy~!” Moments after the jubilant shout of his name echoed out, a wave of greenery practically swallowed him whole. Spring’s wings enveloped him in a hug, the embrace and her smile as warm as sunshine. “I saw that some of the others started arriving back a few days ago. I had hoped you would be back soon, too!” 

Belatedly realizing herself, she let go before she could accidentally smother him, floating a pace backwards with her hands clasped imploringly in front of her chest. “How have you been? I do hope you have been taking care of yourself.” He always seemed to be busy on some epic quest or other. She couldn’t deny that she worried about him a great deal; it was always a welcome relief to see him safely back at camp again. 

((a concept: Spring as a friendly nymph living in the forest at CHB? ;3;/ these two both deserve all the friends!)) 

@howthesleeplesswander || 🥺 precious friends!

To all the dog owners out there with one of those massive hounds who always seems to forget just how big he is when he throws his entire weight at you as you walk through the door . . . try to imagine how that'd be if the dog could also fly. And if he had a pair of wings that smothered you in the process. Like, it wasn't a bad thing, right? Your reaction to your dog jumping excitedly on you—no matter how much it winded you—was usually met with fond exasperation at worst . . . which was probably a little of what Percy felt when he scrambled to gather his balance just then—

—and promptly decided comparing Spring to a dog wasn't the most flattering thing he'd done. (Look, he loved dogs; it was a compliment in some way, but he'd keep the comparison to himself.)

“Hey—” That one word squeezed out of him as some coupling of greeting and plea for air. But Spring caught herself a second later, and when she backed up, Percy was grateful to breathe again, considering that was usually Step One before trying to speak. To be honest, he was still trying to get used to just how shamelessly excited she was each time he showed up at camp; she always lit up the same way Tyson did . . . like Percy was the best thing since sliced bread, and how backwards was that—?

Nevertheless, the smile on his face had to mean something. “Still in one piece! Bit of a close one after the frontal assault just now, but I'll recover,” he said with a shrug—and he hoped his tone made it obvious he was kidding. Percy had seen Spring look upset before, and he'd argue it was a worse sight than a scolded dog. “You seem, uh . . . full of energy. Guessing that's a good thing?”

[tidaltow]

For the record, Percy wasn’t entirely proud of what happened next.

Imagine the scene, okay? Think of being in school (yeah, sorry)—like, specifically middle or high school: the “preteen to teen” age group when the mean kids just got meaner and the judgment toward practically everything you did blasted off to the moon (how you spoke, how you dressed, the people you hung out with, etc.) Good. Keep that thought. Now, try to remember any time you saw one of your teen classmates break down into tears in front of the entire class. Probably didn’t happen very often, right? Exactly. So when it did, it was the only thing you, your teacher, and every other kid remembered about that particular classmate until the end of time.

. . . or just the end of your school career, which basically felt like an eternity.

Okay, so, there were some differences here. He wasn’t in school (thank Gods). There wasn’t an entire class sitting there watching him. And with the amount of Godly garbage they had to clean up (on top of the whole threat of Kronos, of course; can’t forget that), seeing Percy Jackson sitting alone with their sword instructor just bawling his eyes out would probably be forgotten a lot faster. Maybe in a week or two instead of a year or five. But he still couldn’t shake that universal feeling of self-consciousness when the tears just came while in a semi-public space; for some reason, it really did seem like letting out a single sob was like screaming as loud as you could in a library— People had to notice, right?

Not to toot his own horn, but he held it together pretty spectacularly for a while. Kazuma explicitly stated that he wasn’t responsible for Bianca’s life, and while something inside him squirmed and knotted all the way up to his throat with how wrong it sounded, he didn’t trust his own voice to actually argue. Kazuma told him he had a good heart. Again, doubt wanted to retort, Okay, but do I really? Again, he kept it to himself. Kazuma said he was allowed to grieve. And all at once, only at that exact moment, Percy realized his cheeks were a lot wetter than he remembered them being about ten seconds ago.

For a son of Poseidon who could basically choose when to be wet or dry, it was alarming, to say the least.

People weren’t lying when they talked about a dam breaking. That dam broke. It dam broke. And beneath it all, he almost laughed. Like, dam, what a performance by Yours Truly (and you think you couldn’t be a theatre kid if you really wanted to). (Also, that was the last “dam” joke, promise.) He ended up pitching forward at some point, heels of his palms flying up like they could catch the tears and stop them when they were already slip-n-slides down his face. And when his stomach began to ache as if it was trying to say, Dude, can we stop, now? Pull it together, Percy curled in on himself even more. He desperately wished he could compose himself enough to casually say something like, “Hold, please. I’ll be with you in a moment. Mental breakdown in progress.”

But after a whimper that sounded suspiciously like a dog scorned (Nice one, Jackson), all he could scrounge up was a simple, “Sorry.”

It was one of life's cruelest ironies that the things one usually needed to talk about most were always the most painful to share. That was why Kazuma didn't expect anything. He may have presented the opportunity if Percy wanted it, but if he didn't? A man's secrets were his own to carry. Kazuma wouldn't press.

But, again, he had faith. He believed that Percy could be better than Kazuma himself—that he could learn to share the demons eating at his heart before it was fully devoured.

He felt another surge of pride when Percy proved him right once again. Granted, it took a few tries to work up to it, but that could hardly be helped. Kazuma waited patiently, letting Percy flip-flop and wrestle with a question that was so simple yet so difficult. And when he finally did divulge the horrible burden plaguing him, Kazuma's heart ached with every foible in his voice.

Dealing with loss was always messy, painful, irrational. Despite Percy's immediate confession that was clearly gut-wrenching for the boy to voice, Kazuma knew that neither Percy nor Nico were to blame for this tragedy or its chaotic aftermath. A promise meant everything to a child; Nico was just too young to know how unfair it was to put the responsibility for someone's life on another's shoulders, or how cruel it was to blame that person if the impossible promise was broken.

It was true that Kazuma hadn't been there. He didn't know every step of how the tragedy unfolded, and he had no intention of asking for the full story. But he knew Percy. That was enough to know that he shouldn't blame himself.

"Was it your sword that killed her? Did you shove her into the mouth of a beast, or deal the final blow?" The questions were rhetorical, of course, but he still squared Percy with an expectant stare, held his gaze for a long moment. Then Kazuma shook his head.

"You did not kill Bianca." The words held no hesitation or doubt. "When you have power like ours, it can be...difficult, to not blame yourself whenever something goes wrong. To not think, 'surely there was something I could have done.' I felt that way when I lost my father." A stitch creased his brow when that final word passed his lips, but he banished those thoughts with a deep, steadying breath.

"You have a good heart, Percy." Here his voice softened, though notes of compassion and empathy didn't undermine its resolve. "It's why you want to protect people, and why you feel guilty when the worst happens. It's why you promised Nico something that nobody can ever truly promise. But you are not responsible for everyone else's lives. Unless you claim a life with your own hands, that weight doesn't fall on your shoulders."

Having said all that, he knew that Percy couldn't just turn off his guilt. So if he wouldn't come to his own defense and fight back against the blame? Well, Kazuma readily accepted that duty in his stead. "I don't mean to say that you shouldn't feel grief for what happened: for Bianca, for Nico, and for yourself. But grief and guilt are two very different things. I've seen how capable you are; I'm sure you fought for her with all your strength, until the very last moment. Nico just...he's too young to understand that the blame isn't yours."

[tidaltow]

THIS MADE ME GIGGLE SO HARD I HAD TO DRAW IT RAGGZGDGG

[tidaltow]

“Yeah, that’s it,” Percy agreed with the confidence of a guy who definitely knew exactly what she was talking about and would die on the “pythagorize” hill alongside her. But that also implied he cared enough to die on that hill (or even live on that hill in the first place), and honestly . . . ? Stretching it. It was nice he and Kitty shared a distaste; Percy always left that sort of stuff to Annabeth, should he need that sort of stuff at all.

Eventually, satisfied with his predictions of how this match would go now that he’d watched for a couple of minutes, he fully cocked his head to look at Kitty. “Lame,” he conceded. “People should know getting shot with a stray arrow is a character-building experience. Heck, even the threat of getting shot is something.”

Thinking for a moment, Percy felt the dying need to ask, “So, which Apollo kid chewed you out?”

Continue | @tidaltow

"Oh yes, I just love having to learn long division for no reason at all." She retorted back. "Along with the whole pythagorize theory or whatever its called." Math wasn't her strong suit, oddly she was better in English classes than most demigod kids should be with the whole dyslexia thing. Maybe that was due to the fact she just really loved reading.

Her eyes lazily followed the sword swings of one of the campers. "I only did that a few times before I got told to stop. Which sucked. I was getting pretty good at it."

There was a bow on her back since it was her own and not a borrowed one. "Have to stick to proper targets now. Which isn't as fun." Kitty crossed her arms.

[tidaltow]

Sometimes, it might be okay to just let the easy ones go. Can we agree to just try it, maybe?