NEWSPAPERS— with romantic!percy (aka emercy tyy)
omg my first newpapers ask <33 anyways, here's your newspaper with romantic!percy!!!! enjoy your emercy content and i hope you like it <3
･ ⟢ ⋮ newspapers ゛༝.
The first time Percy realized he was in love with Emma Rebekah, it wasn’t during some life-or-death battle. It wasn’t under the stars or in the middle of a prophecy.
It was on a Tuesday.
She’d been laughing at something stupid he’d said, her nose scrunched up, her eyes bright as sunlight on the waves—and suddenly, Percy couldn’t remember how to breathe.
Now, standing at the edge of the camp’s lake, he twisted the seashell in his hands, nerves churning in his stomach like a storm. He’d planned this for weeks.
"Percy?" Emma’s voice cut through his thoughts. He turned to see her walking toward him, her brow furrowed. "You okay? You’ve been weirdly quiet all day."
Percy took a deep breath. Here goes nothing.
"Emma," he said, his voice steadier than he felt, "close your eyes."
She blinked. "Uh. Why?"
"Just trust me."
She gave him a suspicious look but obeyed, her long lashes brushing her cheeks. Percy exhaled, then raised his hands.
The lake responded instantly.
Water surged upward in twin spirals, twisting into delicate, shimmering arches above them. Droplets hung suspended like diamonds in the air, catching the golden light of sunset. And then—slowly, perfectly—they began to shift.
Emma’s eyes flew open as the water morphed into shapes: a tiny version of her grinning, Percy handing her a soda at the campfire, the two of them back-to-back in battle. Every memory played out in liquid light, swirling around them like a living story.
Percy stepped closer, his heart hammering. "I, uh… figured words wouldn’t be enough."
Emma’s lips parted, her gaze darting between the water and his face. "You—how long did you practice this?"
"Long enough to flood the Poseidon cabin six times," he admitted, rubbing his neck. "But… I wanted you to see what I see. How every moment with you feels like this—like something out of a legend."
Emma’s breath hitched. Percy took her hand, pressing the seashell into her palm—a flawless pink conch, humming softly with the ocean’s song.
"And this," he murmured, "is so you never have to wonder if I’m thinking about you. Hold it to your ear. It’ll always be my voice."
Emma clutched the shell, her eyes suspiciously bright. "You’re such a dork," she whispered, but her voice wobbled.
Percy grinned. "Your dork."
Then she kissed him—hard enough to knock him back a step, her hands fisting in his shirt. The water sculptures collapsed around them in a rain of glittering mist, but Percy barely noticed.
Because Emma was laughing against his lips, and the world could’ve ended right then, and he’d have died happy.
