#likegallows

DO NOT TEMPT ME BECAUSE I WILL DO IT AND I WILL WRITE IT LIKE RIGHT NOW OK. 

Oh, gosh. I'm pretty much an open book. I'm not sure there's anything they don't know yet. I guess...Just know that my askbox is always open, and I'm always open for meeting new people, so if you ever want to chat, feel free to say hi!

                    ❝ ------- we should probably go. ❞

Nico laughed a little, the sound made of breath and maybe a twinge of nervousness as well. That definitely wasn’t something that he had ever expected to hear directed at him, let alone from Percy Jackson. To be fair though, he hadn’t expected normal out of Percy in a long time. So he looked at him with a raised brow, indicating for him to continue. Definitely a thought that needed some elaboration.

"Hey," he mumbled, knowing Jason was close. The other had been heading towards him for a time. He'd felt his presence before the Ghost King had lost concentration. "The grass is soft. I recommend it." Nico teased. 

Cabin Three was covered in a fine layer if dust. As soon as the sea prince had opened the door to his cabin, he could see the disturbed particles dancing in the sunlight and settling wherever they landed. His backpack landed on the floor with an echoing thud disturbing even more motes and growing them up in a wave; he covered his mouth and coughed a few times using a hand to try and disburse them further and keep them out of his nose. "Welcome home," he mumbled to himself. It had been months and months since he'd s even the inside of his own cabin. Months where he didn't know who he was or where he was going, in New Rome, recovered his memories, travelled through Tartarus, fought a war and then somehow when it was all over wound up back where he'd began. Camp Half Blood. He limped into the cabin and dropped down into his bunk (another shower of dust-- really he needed to do a spring clean and get all the windows open) and settled in. They'd made it back but they hadn't stopped long enough to even think twice until they'd reached camp. The Athena Parthenos safe and prominently displayed upon their arrival. Tomorrow the funerals would start but Percy closed his eyes and sunk into his bed too tired to move.

A year isn't really a long time. It is when you're younger and counting birthdays until the big 1-0 because you're double digits. And the bog 1-3 because you're a teen. And the big 1-6 because you could drive if monsters would just stop trying to wreck your mom's vehicle and you weren't busy saving the world and then Having your brain wiped. And the. The big 1-8 which was forthcoming because apparently that meant adulthood, which didn't say much to Percy Jackson because saving the world two times before you could vote out a lot of things in perspective for you. And for him, a year wasn't a long time. Not all things considered. Because a year wasn't very king when you were mourning friends, restructuring camps and maybe, if you had enough time, trying to rebuild yourself. Mostly he spent his time avoiding that. It involved inner reflection and harmony and maybe yoga (for Annabeth it involved yoga and like crouching duck or sitting tiger or so teething that made his eyes glaze over). To Percy it meant remembering and then forgetting; he couldn't forget his friends that had died and he wouldn't forget Bob. Tree really was commotion in the outer edge if camp. The dryads were very vocal when their homes were in danger, or some recent landscaping was disturbed. Percy had been out in the woods when one started chucking acorns at him and squeaking in her high pitched voice, whistling like ex wind through trees. He had to get her to take it down a few gusts before he had any idea what she was whining about, mainly the eastern border and he fact that some bullish creature was throwing trees every which way and pawing up the windflowers and weeds. Something in Percy's gut twisted with anticipation-- a Minotaur. That jerk was just trying to rub Percy's face in it. He'd grabbed hold of riptide and took off at a run ignoring the next complaint from e dryad which included the cracks in the earth floor and a considerable number of dead things rising. He might have wanted to note that fact before rushing headon but he was rash as the sea and surged forward.

A few days passed. Time was different above ground than it was in the underworld and the fact nico could count the days made it both quicker and slower at the same time. The first few were spent hidden away in Jason's cabin, maybe because Nico had a bed and somewhere to stay and it was warm and dry and safe. Which was different. The nights were similar: Nico fell asleep and was woken by nightmares, Jason read sitting on too of the sheets, and Nico rolled over back facing Jason and fell asleep. Jason would fall asleep, back pressed to Nico's. In the fourth day, Nico fell asleep the same. The sunlight streaming through the window across the bed didn't wake the son of hades, though it warmed his normally chilly skin. Somewhere in the hours of the night, Nico rolled onto his other side. A lanky arm was thrown over Jason and his head was buried in between the other males strong shoulders. A quiet snore rumbled in the back of the boy's throat.