#perseus jackson

In the books, even if he was absolutely slaying, eating, serving BAMF in the middle of the fight, the book would be saying like "gosh I'm so awkward and clumsy haha who let me hold a sword lol I'm such a silly goose"

In the show we see him in pain and literally doing the most insane stuff with the most stoic facial expressions. Killing, stabbing, getting stabbed. He isn't some quirky funny kid on the outside, even if canonically on the inside he sees the world like a real kid. The show Percy seems different for these reasons but that's not OOC, that's just what Percy looks like to EVERYONE ELSE.

Quick reminder that THIS is the son of Poseidon, earthshaker, stormbringer, King of the Seas, the Demi-God who jumped into Tartarus after his girlfriend, who nearly cracked the Earth apart in Labyrinth and the kid who literally blood-bends a Goddess because someone dared to threaten his Annabeth.

but they've just been through too much together that they know it's not a threat to their relationship in the slightest and they're not jealous at all whatsoever so they're just like

annabeth: see you, pipes!

piper: i'll see you later *blows a kiss and leaves* MWAH BYEEE

annabeth, blushing: *squeaky voice* .....bye?

percy, from behind her: you're hyperventilating.

annabeth: NO I'M NOT. WHAT DO YOU MEAN? I DON'T HAVE A CRUSH ON PIPER

percy: who said anything about piper? AAAH--*gets hit by pillow*

**********************************************************************

jason: oh GODS, we can't escape from here. and that hydra is getting WAY too close. wait--

*swoops percy up bridal style and flies away*

*lands somewhere safe*

jason: are you okay, percy? you're not hurt right?

percy: *flustered* yes...no...*error 101* ....you're really strong...bro

jason: uhh thank you, i guess? i'll go check on the rest.

annabeth: *appears randomly* I know what you are, jackson...

percy: we're literally in a committed relationship.

Percy doesn't consider it much initially, but as days go by without a shave, he starts to build up stubble - something incredibly uncommon for him. People turn their heads and tease him a bit until the stubble grows into a shadow, grows into a beard.

Suddenly, nobody teases Percy. They give him a wide berth, and on more than one occasion, a younger New Roman called him "Sir" reverently. Now, when Percy delivers some Classic Snark during a lecture or between classes, it's not met with snickers and eye-rolls. It feels scathing in a way it never had before. Now things that Percy pokes fun at are corrected, and people nod along to his comments as though they were suggestions - no, expectations.

You don’t understand why Percy Jackson is suddenly so avoidant.

gender-neutral!reader ╱ friendzoned!percy ╱ part 2 of 2 ╱ i promised u guys this last year but i don’t like writing about percy bc i don’t like to share him

Percy Jackson has gone completely out of his way to avoid you at any costs. You notice that something’s up in the span of five minutes.

He didn’t start off blatantly ignoring you, though. He at least had the decency to pretend that he wasn’t angry with you.

Why was he angry with you? Who fucking knows. Not you, and he seems intent on keeping it that way.

It starts with inches of distance, first. He didn’t leave the Poseidon table at breakfast to greet you like he did every other morning. It was expected, by then, for him to break camp tradition in favor of being in your presence.

You knew your siblings were equally as confused as you were.

Percy’s shoulders slumped like you were a Mormon on a doorstep when you approached his side.

“Good morning,” You start, rolling the fabric at the hem of your worn orange t-shirt, “Is the weather only nice over here?”

“It’s fine,” Percy doesn’t bother rationalizing to you, just continues to stab into his pancakes.

“Okay, well—“

“I actually have, uh, sparring practice with Grover.”

That was the kind of excuse you used with people you couldn’t stand. A choked out, ‘Sorry, my parents said I couldn’t go,’ without even having asked.

You weren’t an idiot, that was basically your excuse. You invented that method to preserve your sanity when you realized that Percy had a habit of clinging to you.

“Are you serious?” You trail him, and he evades you by going around the table.

Does he think you’re playing tag?

“Dead.” Percy unceremoniously dumps his entire, untouched, plate of breakfast into the flames of the offering fire.

It makes your stomach hurt, a poisonous amalgamation of humiliation and distress.

He had just blatantly lied to your face. Percy doesn’t spar after breakfast, he practices before. Was he even trying?

You knew for a fact that Grover wasn’t even in Camp Half-Blood that morning, and he wouldn’t return until late afternoon.

A week passes like that, and even after you tell yourself it can’t possibly get worse: it does.

If there’s one thing Percy Jackson can do without breaking a sweat, it’s turning normal things into challenges.

He stops coming to the pavilion for all three of his meals. If he’s scavenging in the forest for his next dinner, you’ve got no way of knowing, because it’s like he can sense you. He leaves the second you get into his proximity.

Sometimes, you don’t even know he’s there, until he’s breaking into a sprint.

Today, you’ve had enough. Not exactly today, actually, more like this morning. It’s four, and the sky hasn’t even abandoned its grey hue yet.

You bang on Percy’s door, “Stop pretending to ignore me. I know you’re in there. Where else would you be?”

Percy folds his pillow like earmuffs over his head, “Not pretending. I am ignoring you.” He murmurs, trying his best not to fling the door open to apologize to you.

“Well, I’m not leaving. I’ll stay out in the freezing cold. You have to open the door eventually, even if it’s to pick up my frozen corpse.”

“I’ll do that first thing in the morning.”

You almost laugh, just because you can tell that past the cerulean wood walls of his shelter, he’s smiling at his own joke.

“I’m not talking to you through this door like—“ You snap out of it, “Like a fan!”

“Okay, so leave.” Percy offers, turning on his side, like that’ll stop the nuisance outside.

“Fine. I’m leaving—“

“Goodnight.”

But no footsteps descend from the porch of the cabin. All you can do is stare at your slippers, and the corny welcome mat you purchased for him.

Percy rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, “I know you’re still out there.”

“I’m protesting. You can’t make me leave.” You insist, biting your tongue.

“Unfortunately.”

“Why are you being such a dick?”

He isn’t being a dick.

At least, he’s not trying to be. He’s following the guaranteed to work, fool-proof, Stoll-approved guide to romance.

How to Get a Girl to Fall in Love with You!

(in 5 easy steps)

1. Don’t give her a reason to think you like her. Chicks dig when you ignore them. They like the chase.

2. Don’t suffocate her with your presence all the time. You wanna send that fifth text in a row? How about you check yourself into the psych ward instead?

3. Don’t make it known that you’re interested. Women are complex, emotional beings. They understand you more than you understand yourself. She’ll figure it out.

4. Don’t be overly available. It makes you look like a goofball. Keep her off of the pedestal, and you’ll have her wondering about you in no time.

5. Boom! Girl is in love with you. Thank me later.

Why on Earth would he listen to Connor Stoll?

He hears your footsteps stomp down the porch stairs, just as he decides he should get up and apologize.

He’s been nothing short of a complete idiot. What could he possibly do to make it up to you?

With a dramatic huff, he lets himself fall back onto the dark sheets beneath him. All he can do for now is sit, slumped, and wonder what an acceptable apology gift is.

Meanwhile, you position Connor and Travis Stoll closest to the porch.

They don’t actually know how to play any instruments, but they’re having the time of their lives banging the triangle into each-other’s heads.

Will grasps his guitar, strumming something he put together in two minutes. Even in the dead of night, half-asleep, he’s talented.

Figures.

You’ve got an assortment of Apollo campers with whatever instruments are in their possession. They’ve each been instructed to play a different song as obnoxiously as possible.

Together, they play off-key, loud, and out of tune. You don’t know the difference, but all of them are wincing.

They have some idea of why you’ve requested them to play the world’s worst band in front of the Poseidon cabin, but none of them are enjoying it.

Except, of course, the Stolls.

Percy’s finally had it when he starts to hear a chorus of pots and pans, “You’re going to wake up all of camp!”

“I don’t care—“ You start, but he pulls you in after him.

His cabin is exactly how you remember it. A spare shirt or two draped over a dresser, trinkets lining his headboard.

There’s a sea-themed edition Calico Critter on his nightstand that looks a lot like you, for some reason.

Percy flops face-first onto his bed, hands aiming for his blankets. You snatch the pastel blue fabric from him and hold it behind your head, the most level threat you’ve got.

“Are you done ignoring me?” You question, holding it up over your head.

Percy sits up and takes the blanket back from you easily, using like a lasso. He wraps it around your back and pulls you down beside him.

“Yep,” He murmured, sinking into his sheets.

“Do not go to sleep. I’m not sleeping with you,” You try to get some of your dignity back. “Open your eyes, you freak.”

He sighs, “They’re open. Hi.”

“Is this funny to you?”

“A little.”

You nudge his shoulder, and he doesn’t sit up. He just rolls onto his side, taking you with him.

One arm is slung over you, preventing you from escaping his hold. In his delusions, you’re some sort of teddy bear.

He’ll wake up tomorrow, completely embarrassed. He’ll deny this ever happened.

But for now, he has you.

“Why are you ignoring me?” You manage, as awkward as the inquiry is.

“Cause I thought it’d make you like me.” He mutters, but seems to be in a completely different headspace now.

All he can think about is that your body is buried beneath his sheets right next to his, and that you smell so good. It’s like a relapse.

He’s pretty sure sniffing you would be too much, so he holds off.

“That makes no sense at all,” You argue, “And I do like you.”

“You don’t like me how I like you,” Percy corrects, his heartbeat slowing in his chest, “I think I love you.”

“Do you hear yourself? Like, seriously?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know. I make it really obvious. It’s pathetic, actually.”

Nothing about him is pathetic. You can’t even start to begin portraying his friendship as desperation. A lot of people told you that the things he did for you weren’t normal friend things.

Your lips part, and then they close again. “I didn’t know.”

“Now you do.” He tries not to look at you, “I’m sorry if this makes things weird—“

Say something, you tell yourself.

His confession seemed to close something up in your face, and he processed that as a sign you didn’t feel the same.

Percy swallowed, bracing for rejection, “You don't have to say it back. I'll still feel the same way."

"I love you too.” You said, all too quickly, words overlapping his.

His eyes widen, “Prove it,” he insists, but instead of coming off macho and suave, it sounds a lot like he’s pleading.

You kiss him. You don’t know why you do it, but you do, and that’s all the matters.

Percy doesn’t waste a moment. He’s wanted you for years, he doesn’t need a minute to think it over. Not even a second.

His lips press bsck into yours, and he suddenly feels like spinning in a circle, shouting: “I win! I win!”

When you pull back, his mouth follows yours, even though neither of you can breathe. He’s kissing you through the dizziness, until he can taste your chapstick on his mouth.

“Okay,” You say, intelligently, “Uh, goodnight?”

He settles his leg over yours, metaphorical ball and chain, “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Perce.”

“Mm?” Percy presses his face into the safety of your neck, the chill biting into his skin.

“Percy,” you tug sleepily on his hair, and it seems to him that you’re doing it to rouse yourself as much as him.

“What?” He grumbles, but he presses sleepy kisses to your throat to reassure you all the same.

“Perce,” you mumble sleepily, and he curses himself for how soft he is with you.

“Mhm, darlin’? I’ve really gotta go soon, I-“

“No!” Your arms loop around his neck, clamouring to touch him.

His hands find your hips, holding you in place as you settle on his chest like dead weight. Percy sighs against your skin. You know he has practise. And that hockey is nothing if not unforgiving.

“You can’t go,” you tell him matter of factly, your hair half choking him as it falls into his face. He finds he doesn’t mind as much as anyone with the acute survival instinct he possesses should.

“Can’t I?” He asks, twisting an unruly lock of your hair around his finger, considering that’s the most motion he can get without jostling you.

“You can’t,” you repeat, and this time he catches the shakiness. He’s as perplexed as he is concerned.

“Hey. What’s wrong, baby?” His hands gently run up and down your back, pausing at your shoulders to work out the tension he can feel building there, knotting traitorously.

“I-I read.” He waits for you to say more, but the silence is choked as he is with your tremors.

“Mm, I know. You read a lot, darlin’. My clever girl.”

“No- i- I read a thing.”

“And I’m very proud of you. I’m sure that thing was very-“

“No! I read a thing,” you’re speaking quickly, and Percy slows his own hands, running them to the back of your neck to the small of your back, quietly compensating for your calm with his own, “about this hockey player that died. Fucking died. He wasn’t wearing a neck guard because you know, they’re super uncomfy, like you said and- and someone’s skate caught him- and- and-“

Percy can’t help it. He’s laughing. Not mockingly. Just- “My love, my darling, my angel- we’ve fought gods and monsters and been to hell and back and you’re worried that a- a skate- is going to finish me off?”

You’re silent for a moment, in which Percy kisses the top of your head, “Mind you, I wear all my gear. You know that. I stay safe as I can.”

“Well..” you start quietly, and Percy could kiss you until you’re breathless, “when you put it like that.” He’s laughing again, he simply can’t contain himself, and you’re laughing too, and he thinks it’s the most beautiful sound, truly. “You’re making me sound like a moron!”

a/n: I simply adore hockey percy and this fic is inspired by something my grandpa told me today that freaked me out!