mina writes fic

letsboldlygomotherfuckers  asked:

I'm actually living for your pjo roommates au oh my god, please write more of it <3

Another frat house party. The music is too loud, and the beer is too warm, but Annabeth is dominating the beer pong table, and she’s never felt better.

Her partner is a statuesque girl she thinks she’s seen sitting at the back of Dean Chiron’s campus Town Hall meetings. She introduces herself as Reyna. Her hair is pulled up in a high ponytail, and she’s wearing a ripped black shirt, and every time Annabeth sinks another ball, she almost smiles.

They blow through a few pairs of challengers, and decimate them like clockwork. Loud bass beats through the stuffy rooms of the house, and someone hooks up a strobe light on the fireplace mantle that adds an actual element of challenge to the game. It’s a dizzying few minutes, trying to focus on the targets and not the flashing stutter of the world around her, and by the time someone gets fed up and yanks the plug out of the wall, she’s blinking back stars.

That’s when Reyna nudges her shoulder and nods towards the open back doors. Piper is weaving her way through the crowd. There’s a huge red stain across her–well, her everything. It looks like someone dumped a cup of tub juice on her; it’s on her shirt, and her jeans, and still dripping wet down her arms. It’s almost as red as her face.

She looks furious.

“I need you,” she says without preamble, grabbing Annabeth’s arm and tugging her away from the pong table.

Annabeth goes freely. She has to shout as they pass by the ridiculous stereo setup. “What is it? Why are you covered in tub juice?”

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anonymous asked:

Do you think when bakugo and ochako get together they would keep it a secret or would tell people or let them find out on their own?

well i can’t see them actually getting together until they’re adults, so i don’t really see why they’d keep it a secret. maybe from the media or something, but i don’t really see why they’d hide it from their friends

in a completely self indulgent scenario where they date at UA, well…. i imagine that they wouldn’t like. hide it exactly? like i don’t think Bakugou would wanna make it public or obvious b/c he’s still kinda rocky with emotions and he doesn’t want people butting in on his personal business, so he kinda just yells at anyone who asks (”HAAAH? WHAT’S IT TO YA?”)

but i don’t think Ochako would mind all that much? maybe she’d be a little shy when it comes up, or try to steer the convo away b/c she gets all red and embarrassed. but she’d be happy about it and casually mention stuff here and there 

but like…. i don’t think they’d try to actively hide it? like they’d hold hands or share an umbrella or she’d hold his arm in pubic or they’d eat lunch together, etc. casual little things like that. they just wouldn’t want anyone bugging them about it 

(i imagine the boys constantly rag on Bakugou and joke about how on earth he managed to start dating such a sweet, nice girl like Uraraka when he’s such a dick, but it’s all in good fun. Bakugou screams death threats at them every other day. one day someone makes the mistake of suggesting that she’s weak, and he snaps back with a, “She’s fuckin’ stronger than you, asshole.”

Mina and Tooru often ask Ochako what she sees in Bakugou when he’s so……. himself, and Ohcako probably blushes and replies with stumbling words, “Ohh, well, you know, he’s actually kinda nice underneath it all, ya know? Like, okay maybe not nice nice, but he’s nice in his own way, it’s just hard to see sometimes!!” 

“………. Really?” Mina stares in utter disbelief.

“Ahahaha…” Ochako laughs, trying to brush off the awkwardness of the situation aside, “Ya gotta believe me on this! I swear it’s true!! He’s nice in his angry weird yell-y way!! A-and he’s really funny, and a good cook!! And he believes in me!! He helps push me to do my best!!” She said, raising up a fist up for emphasis, a fire burning in her eyes. 

She paused a moment before scratches the back of her neck, laughing weakly, “Ya just gotta trust me on this guys, haha…”

“We’re not doubting you, Ocha-chan,” Tsuyu pipes up, tongue sticking out slightly as she addresses Ochako, “It’s just hard to see Baku-chan be nice is all. Tho I’m sure our lil Baku has his good points too. He’s friends with Kirishima, and he’s dating you. That must mean something.” 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right…” Mina mutters. She quickly perked up however, and leaned over to ask Ochako with a grin, “So… is he a good kisser?”

“U-u-uuhhhhhh…” Uraraka stutters, eyes wide and cheeks burning. Tsuyu gives Mina a disapproving look. “Don’t pressure her into talking.” she croaked.

Mina glances at her disappointingly, but sighs. “Fine, fine. You don’t have to answer.”

silence reigns between them, until Ochako mutters something under her breath, curling over the drink in her hand to hide her red face. Both girls blink, and lean closer curiously. “What was that, Ocha-chan?” Tsuyu asks.

“I-I said… I h-have to… k-k-kiss him. He-he gets too embarrassed to kiss me…” Ochako’s says quietly, voice trembling and looking at them bashfully from under her eyelashes. she glances away and fidgets in her seat.

“O-hoho~” Mina grins widely, like the cat who ate the canary. “Bakugou gets too embarrassed to kiss you? And here I thought he’d be all fierce with romance like he is with fighting!” 

Tsuyu hums. “That is rather surprising. Who knew there was something Baku-chan was nervous about?”

“P-please don’t tell anyone I said that!” Ochako asks, eyes wide and flustered. “He’ll kill me if he knew I told anyone!” 

Well--” Mina protests, before Tsuyu’s tongue lightly smacks her cheek. “No problem, Ocha-chan. We’ll be sure to keep it a secret.”

Mina pouts at Tsuyu, rubbing her cheek slightly, before dramatically sighing, flopping back against the couch. “Fine, fine, I won’t tell anyone. Only for you, Ochako.” She sighed again, “Such good gossip, wasted…”)

Snippets - Yami_noTenshi - 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia [Archive of Our Own]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

Dedicated to @franeridart
The first scene is inspired from her comic over here so go check it out!

Bakugou Katsuki had spent a good part of his life pushing people away. Yet somehow, once he got into UA, an entire bunch of loud, bubbly teenagers managed to worm their way into his heart. And outside of their hero-ing activities, they have an entire life going on; with worries, problems, dates, nightmares, families, all the good and the bad is a part of their daily lives, and they go through it together, because despite everything, they’re still only teenagers.


Snippets of the Bakusquad’s daily life, bonding, learning and growing together, because through their UA experiences, they lean onto each other for support.

Chapter 1

“Ah, Katsuki!”

Mitsuki Bakugou had never wanted to be an overprotective parent. She had always believed that it was good to let your child learn through experience. Making mistakes was as important as learning to come back from them, that was what she believed, so she had always been more easy-going with her child than most parents she knew.

So she had thought, and for the most part, it had worked well enough. Her child had grown up to be strong and confident.

She had thought that would be good for him. Unfortunately, she had realized too late that those traits had come packaged with a type of single-handed independence and self-assuredness, which turned out to be flaws more than they were strengths.

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FIC: drabble, Olivia/Wen

An interviewer asks Wen what he thinks about his bandmates. He goes on about all of them–how fantastic they are, how crazy and fun and creative, how they really have become his best friends–and then the interviewer asks him, specifically, about Olivia.

Wen doesn’t think about his reply until after it’s come out of his mouth, after the lady smiles and wraps up the interview, after the show, after the night ends. The band is back in the hotel and milling about, getting ready for bed, when Olivia comes up and gives him a hug. It’s brief, but she wraps her arms around his waist and presses herself against him and, yeah, it’s a hug alright, and then she pulls away from him, smiles, says, “Good job tonight,” and goes into her room.

He watches her retreating form and thinks to himself the exact same thing he told the interviewer: “I’m pretty much in love with her.”

And he doesn’t regret it, because it’s true, but why did he have to tell the interview lady? Because now the recording is on the television and the radio and the internet. It’s everywhere. And Olivia, who checks for news about Lemonade Mouth every morning, who watches clips of their performances, who sees what people say about them–Olivia is going to watch that interview tomorrow morning, and she is going to hear what Wen said, and she is going to… what? 

Wen blushes, avoids Charlie’s knowing gaze, and goes after her.

insidiousmisandry  asked:

percabeth, roommates au

It’s dark when Annabeth finally drags herself home from a late-night study session. There’s a light on in the kitchen, and she kicks her shoes off at the door, drops her bookbag, follows the sounds of soft music to the small table stuffed in the corner of the small galley. Percy’s head is pillowed on his arms, crossed over a thick textbook, and a calm instrumental playlist sings from his laptop.

He’s dead asleep. The hood of his sweatshirt is tucked warm around his neck. A dark curl of hair rests against his forehead. Something almost fond uncurls in Annabeth’s chest as she looks at him, and she steps closer, reaches out–and touches his hair, brushes it carefully from his face. It’s thick, coarse, and feels heavy and damp with chlorine.

Percy sleeps on, none the wiser, but Annabeth pulls back as if scalded.



She hurriedly–and quietly–grabs a water bottle from the fridge and escapes toward her bedroom. She’s tired, that’s all. She’s certainly not feeling anything close to affection toward her terrible, annoying, impertinent roommate. He’s loud, and leaves his shoes everywhere, and plays his stupid music at all hours of the night. He’s always wet, somehow–after a shower, or swim practice, or a jog, and he’s nearly always in some state of undress, and she has to stare at his stupid abs, or his legs, or his hair–and really, does he have to lounge so ridiculously on the couch? It’s a shared living space. They’re living here together.

He doesn’t have to be so…

Annabeth doesn’t know what to think. Awful, she wants to say. Annoying. Tempting. Beautiful.

She closes her door quietly behind her, and takes a healthy swig of water.

Stupid Percy.

anonymous asked:


Annabeth wakes up and knows that Percy’s alarm is going to go off in a few minutes. The dark outside his window is just about to turn towards dawn, and she can smell his mother’s coffee in the air from just down the hall, and god, she does not want to get up. It’s Friday. She’s already gone through enough this week. Doesn’t she deserve some time alone to process? Shouldn’t she be able to take a mental health day to get through everything her father’s thrown at her recently? Like, I want you to meet my girlfriend and she has twin sons and maybe we should all go to dinner sometime soon.

Like, maybe they shouldn’t. Maybe she can just wrap herself close enough around Percy’s body and pretend that nothing else exists outside the warm space of his bed, like, as long as she presses close enough to him, everything else will fade away.

Maybe she can pretend she hasn’t come to rely upon him for so much.

It’s when she slips her cold feet against his calves that he murmurs against her forehead, “Morning.”

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Happy bday @lxuiio dedicating this shit to you but a real present will come eventually I promise <3
[AO3] [Charity Commissions] [Writing blog]

Tensions were high in the dorms. As usual the workload was heavy and students were pushed to the brink in preparation for their future as overworked heroes. Along with that, security was still at an all-time high at UA and the students weren’t allowed out of their dorms without weeks of forewarning, signed forms from their parents, and an escort. It was ridiculous, to say the least.

Some handled effectively being trapped inside better than others. Bakugou was not one of those people. Since his house arrest in the summer, and during it too Kirishima suspected, he had become like a wild animal; caged and scratching at the walls while becoming increasingly more aggressive to anyone who approached.

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am thinking of writing another rosvolio fic. anyone interested? it will be set during 1x07 and again will be totally sfw (tho if you have nsfw prompts for me hmu okay)

percyyoulittleshit  asked:

You think you are funny?

Something comes over her at breakfast that morning. She sits beside Malcolm and listens absently as he explains his latest ideas for updated Camp defenses–chews on a piece of toast, taps her fingers against the table, makes vague sounds of agreement–but she feels inexplicably giddy today, for perhaps no other reason than being alive under a beautiful, sunny sky. 

Plus, Percy’s got a terrible case of bedhead, and his shirt is on backwards and inside-out, and she can’t help but smiling as she watches him, three tables away, falling asleep in his cereal. 

“Sounds good,” Annabeth says, bumping her shoulder into Malcolm’s as she gets to her feet. She tugs her baseball cap from her belt loop. “Show me the plans later.” 

Malcolm sighs. “Because you only heard half of what I said. Don’t cause too much trouble?” 

“You know me.” 

“That’s the problem!” 

She pulls her hat on and slips from visibility, makes her way towards Poseidon’s table, where Tyson is humming along to a song one of the Demeter kids is singing. Percy is too easy a target–his chin rests in his palm, his elbow at the edge of the table, and he’s already nodding off. She sneaks up behind him, safe and grinning beneath her hat, and pushes the at back of his head. 

He face-plants in his cold bowl of cereal. 

Campers around him erupt into laughter as Percy comes up gasping, milk dripping down his face and cereal clinging to his cheeks. He looks accusingly at his half-brother, who raises his hands in innocence, before taking a handful of scrambled eggs and smashing them into Tyson’s hair. The Demeter kid stops singing. Someone gasps. Malcolm–wise, exasperated Malcolm–groans. 

A familiar voice at the Ares table yells, “Food fight!” 

Annabeth is safe from the initial volley. Invisible, she ducks behind Tyson’s broad shoulders, misses a glob of jelly that flies right by her head. She’s content to watch the chaos–Will Solace wields bottles of honey, and Hazel flings waffles like discuses, and Piper is cackling as she shoots sausages from her cornucopia. Goblets topple over and stain the white tablecloths. French toast and bacon sizzle as they land on the central brazier. Campers duck beneath tables and slip around the pavilion and toss muffins at one another like dodgeballs. 

She thinks Clarisse is the one that ends up landing the hit that gets her found. It’s a splatter of strawberry jam, and it lands right at her jaw. She reels back from the force of it, reaches back to catch herself, probably makes some sound of surprise. 

And Percy, ever in tune with her, whips his head to the side. 

She crab-walks backwards, hand after foot, as if that’s going to save her. A huff of breathless laughter escapes him. He stares at her, through her, the smear of jam across her jaw, the only thing of her that he can see. There’s a flash in his eyes before he’s throwing himself from the table. He lands on top of her in a mess of limbs, wrestles his way up her body, pins her to the ground. 

She can’t help but laugh. 

“You think you’re funny?” Percy asks, grinning. He reaches up and pulls her hat from her head, reveals her face in its strawberry-covered glory, kisses her forehead and nose and cheeks until she aches with happiness. “You did this!” 

Annabeth wraps her arms around his neck and rubs her face against his, smears jam across his cheeks, his chin, his mouth. She kisses it, sweet and tart, from his lips. She thinks her heart is going to burst from happiness, from love. “Good morning.”

anonymous asked:

*bangs fists on table* MORE PERCABETH ROYALTY AU

The lakeside pub is unsurprisingly crowded when Annabeth steps just past the doorway. She takes its measure when she walks in, a quick scope around the room—the glowing, bright torches on the walls, the bearded, war-scarred man behind the bar, the women carrying drinks and avoiding pinching hands with quick feet and flirty grins, the people at the bar and tables and benches, the richly-dressed bard and his partner in the corner strumming lutes and singing a lively tune. It’s a cold night, which makes it a good one to spend inside with warm broth and a mug of ale between the hands. Annabeth’s fingers are already thawing at the heat pouring from the hearth.

It’s safe. Safe as she can tell. And if it’s not—well, she has the daggers strapped to her hips.

“Okay,” she says, reaching behind her and grabbing the prince’s hand, tugging him along. “Come on.”

“You sure?”

“For now.”

“For now?” Percy hesitates for a few steps, then pushes back the hood of his cloak as he steps inside. They’re several towns away from the capital now. Word of his uncle’s treachery has already, hopefully spread, enough to grant them safety if Percy happens to be recognized, but they’re far enough away that Percy shouldn’t be noticed by his uncle’s subjects. Annabeth’s tried to disguise him as best she can. Dirt does a lot of work—if she rubs some into his cheeks and musses his hair, and dresses him in worn, ragged clothes, he looks enough like a peasant farmer just the same, and it’s not hard to convince him to slouch his shoulders and unclench his jaw.

“Are you sure,” he asks, gripping her hand tight when she pulls him farther into the pub.

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Snippets - I_Write_Midnight_Snacks - 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia [Archive of Our Own]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

Chapter 2 - Good Days Come Again

There was a certain unspoken agreement between the 2A kids that the common room was their safe-space.

Because I know that our kids are strong as fuck, but I also know that they’re 15 and there’s no way all the shit they go through isn’t going to eventually affect them mentally.

There was a certain unspoken agreement between the 2A kids that the common room was their safe-space.

Every month brought new new challenges for them, and the awareness of just how much danger they were exposing themselves to just by being who they were had only grown ever since the first villain attack they had faced over a year before at USJ. That said, it wasn’t uncommon for Kirishima to walk into the common room during the late hours of the night and find one or more of his classmates sleeping on one of the couches, especially immediately following a large event.

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anonymous asked:

Your new roommates au is so so good! Do you think there's any chance of continuing? Love all your writing by the way :)

I can’t believe this thing that I wrote on the fly has over 500 notes right now??

I mean, I made a tag for it, so I guess it’s official. And something I gotta work on some more. Percy and Annabeth are ridiculous and I love them, so here’s that. I also love @insidiousmisandry​, who is the best.

And you. Thank you so much! :)


“Hey, have you seen my–?”

Percy stops, hands up, in the doorway of Annabeth’s dimly lit room, as if the motion might pull his words back into his mouth. She’s lying on her stomach on the floor, surrounded by notebooks and pens and flashcards, nearly face-down in her textbook. Her hair is pulled into a half-hearted braid, and her nose is pink, and there’s a scattering of used, balled-up tissues tossed toward the trashcan next to her desk.

She’s wearing the hoodie he’d been searching the apartment for–his hoodie, soft and blue, the one he’d gotten his freshman year and has worn to every swim practice since. She’s got the sleeves pulled up over her fists, one of them tucked close to her face, and she looks–

He filters through his adjectives for a moment, knowing that she’d hate the word cute, and especially vulnerable, and decides upon the most objective of the bunch, which is, easily, sick.

Carefully, he steps around her messily-ordered chaos of graph paper and kneels next to her, rests a hand on her back. He rubs his thumb over the line of her shoulder blade. “Annabeth? Hey, wake up. Annabeth.”

She frowns in her sleep. Blinks awake. Focuses, first, on the twist of the cloth between her fingers, and then the blur of words beneath her head, and then Percy, looming above her. She blinks again, and he thinks she almost smiles before her eyes start watering.

A smile–that, he’d almost be prepared for. She’s smiled at him before, maybe a handful of times, each one more meaningful and memorable than the last. A smile at a stupid joke he’d made, or something he’d done around the apartment, or leaving her a container of fudge his mother had mailed them. But crying? That first tear has something awful clenching in his heart, and he gives in to the urge to touch her, to cup the back of her head, to reach for her wrist.

“Hey,” he says. “You okay?”

Her face crumples. “I don’t feel good.”

“Okay,” he says, and helps her sit up. “Here, c’mon.”

She nestles herself immediately into his chest, and it takes him a long minute to actively kick-start his brain and force himself to rearrange her into a position that makes it possible to lift her. (Has she ever leaned into him like this? Has she ever touched him in a way that wasn’t a punch, or a kick, or one terribly executed noogie?) He hefts her up and over to her bed, kind of shuffles her between her sheets, gets her blankets situated. He tugs his hood up and over her head. She hums, pleased, and gropes blindly for his hand.

“One sec,” he tells her. He fishes in his pocket for his phone, and leans a little easier against her headboard once he has it in hand. Annabeth pulls herself up and makes herself comfortable, her head against his chest, her arm slung over his waist, and he supposes that’s that. Especially when he calls his team captain and tells him that he won’t be making it to practice tonight, so sorry, he’s come down with something, and yes, absolutely he’ll be back in the pool in a day or two to make up the laps he’s missed. Yep. Sure. Okay, goodnight.

And then he’s looking down at his roommate, who is sleeping soundly against his chest, her nose a little crusty, her face a little damp. He’s not sure she’ll remember this in the morning, but even so–he presses a kiss to her forehead and holds her a little closer, just for good measure.

1iwoo-archive  asked:

Caleo!! We crash into each other and thats how we met

A college AU! With a little beginning.


Seventeen things to do and there’s not enough time, not nearly enough hours in a day, even though he’s been mainlining caffeine since he woke up, and even then from just a short accidental nap in the library, curled up underneath the table in the basement, and when he woke up he hit his head on the chair leg and Piper keeps poking at the bruise on his forehead and pulling at his “mad scientist hair, seriously, Leo, just go take a shower and sleep,” except there’s actually, literally no time because he’s got to meet Beck and Nyssa in the computer lab in like however long and he cannot get this stupid, tricky lever working right on his final project and yeah, it’d probably be easier if he wasn’t walking and fiddling with it and trying to listen to Piper talk as they walked back to the dorm because then

Well, because then, it seems, he starts to run into things, head on, hard enough to fumble with the useless lump of metal that is the only hope for his final, and when he looks up he’s not looking at a wall, because that happens a lot when Piper doesn’t hold onto him, but he looks up and–

Time slows.

Leo blinks.

Standing in front of him, scowling, is probably (absolutely) the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. Her hair is the color of coiled copper. There’s a butterfly bandage over a cut on her cheek. She’s tall, and wearing boots and shorts and some kind of flowy white top, and she looks like she’s about to kick Leo’s ass.

“I’m so sorry,” Piper says, taking Leo’s arm and pulling him out of the way. “He’s a little preoccupied. Sorry!”

The girl nods at Piper. She even smiles a little. Smiles! Leo is staring at her lips, is how he knows about her smile, and then he looks at her eyes and they are warm, and her skin is like smooth sand, and then she is gone down the walkway and Leo is staring after her and where is she going, who is she even, does Piper know her, are they friends, does she live in their dorm, is she single–

“Uh,” Piper says, laughing, which is how Leo knows he was saying most of that aloud, “Her name is Calypso, and she will step on you.”

“That’s fine,” Leo says. “I’m okay with that.”

Aww but you guys, I really want the old gang and the new gang to be family. Grover making some amazing vegetarian chili with Piper in the Mess Hall (”Is this… uh, G, is this half a soda can?” “That’s just what it comes in, you don’t have to eat it. Actually, I’ll take care of that, hand it over.” “Hey, no, get your own!”) Juniper sitting with Nico near that quiet grassy stretch near the trees, teaching him how to busy his shaking hands by twisting the delicate stems of flowers into crowns.

Reyna and Clarisse hanging out in the armory, dusting, reorganizing, sharing trade secrets and favorite ways to completely mess up a dude. Also? Clarisse has so many embarrassing stories about Percy. Reyna’s never laughed so hard in her life.

Dakota and Travis and Connor wreaking havoc–triple the trouble, triple the, uh. Trouble. They’re in trouble. Chiron’s coming and they should probably run. Frank lining up a shot at the archery range, holding the tension in his arms, breathing in, standing steady, and–”Hey, so, I heard you stole my little brother’s job over in New Rome?” His shot goes wide, and Thalia laughs. “Let me show you how it’s done, kid.”

Rachel and Hazel listening to old jazz albums, humming along together and sharing an easel, just covered in paint and giggling. Butch helps them make stained glass sculptures that dance and glitter in the wind. Tyson and Leo as partners whenever there’s a game of Chicken in the Sound; Leo’s got skinny little arms, but nobody can knock Tyson down. “We are the champions!”

Reyna and Annabeth sitting together on the beach, listening to the waves, soaking in the sun. There’s not much they need to say–and the press of their shoulders speaks loud enough, anyway. Percy and Jason facing off in the arena, a clash of titans that somehow ends up in a ridiculous dance-off. Piper and Thalia sharing earbuds and singing dramatically at one another. Will and Hazel tearing through the forest together, unlikely Capture the Flag partners, small and silent and deadly. Frank and Clarisse racing up the climbing wall. “No cheating, little brother!”

Just a big cross-country family. Late night Iris messages. Postcards sent from around the world: Love from yet another death-defying quest, wish you were here! Orange and purple tye-dyed shirts. E-mails and selfies and road trips and slumber parties, sharing drinks and eye-rolls as they hover near the buffet during Official Olympus Celebrations. Trading stories and keeping secrets and knowing one another’s scars, the violence that cut them deep, the exact touch to ease a nightmare. Stolen hoodies and kisses to cheeks and warm hands to hold, a solid weight to lean against, and too much laughter, always. 

percyyoulittleshit  asked:

“You have the cutest nose.”

It’s the only thing Percy can think to say. He never thought he’d be here. He never thought he’d feel so much. When he met Annabeth so long ago, when he spent those quick-long years of their adolescence falling in love with her, moment after moment, year after year, he thought–this is it. And then, when his mother handed his baby sister to him, when he fed her bottles and taught her to swim and held her through her bad dreams, when he listened to her read, when he heard her laugh, he thought–this is it. 

But this? 

His daughter is such a tiny thing in his arms. She’s barely the length of his forearm. He knows to keep her head steady, and he knows that the little sounds she’s making are of trust and warmth and contentment. He knows that she’s a little bit of him–the messy dark hair, the brown skin, the attitude–and a little bit of Annabeth–the stern frown, the bow lips, the deep, wise, intimidating stare. He knows she’s going to end up a terrifying mix of them both. 

He sits in bed, resting back against the headboard, and leans Daisy against his raised knees. Annabeth is dozing at his side. Dusk glows gentle and golden throughout the room, catches against the pale curtains, the white-slat walls, the puffy cloud of their comforter. It shines in Annabeth’s hair, the scars across her bare shoulders, the ring on her hand. It touches the curve of Daisy’s eyelashes. 

And it’s sudden, the terror and awe that rise up in him. The devotion. The love. 

This is it, he thinks, and cannot imagine feeling any more full than he does right now. Annabeth, curled up at his side, and his daughter, small and sleeping in his lap. He runs his thumb across the back of Daisy’s hand, her wrinkled fingers, her plump, rosy cheek, the furrow of her brow. He stares at her for what feels like hours. He knows she came from Annabeth–he watched it happen, watched their daughter come into the world bloody and screaming–but holding her here, now, in the peace of their home, in the sanctuary that has always been their bed– 

This is it, Percy thinks, touching the mess of her hair, the smooth expanse of her forehead. This is it. 

This: their home, their bedroom, the safety of these four walls, the comfort of their bed, the glow of their babbling, bioluminescent fountain in the corner, the weapons stashed between the mattresses, the drachmas hidden in sock drawers, the potted plants and the wall of pictures and the stacks and stacks of books, the muddy boots and the dirty laundry and the slobbery dog toys.

This: Annabeth, leaning toward him even in sleep, her thigh pulled into her chest, her shin pressed against his ankle, her open face, her loose muscles, the peeling sunburn against her chest, the freckles at her breast, the almost-smile at her lips. 

This: Daisy, their daughter, blinking awake, looking up at him. 

This: her smile. 

Percy’s heart feels over-full, and he smiles, tears up, touches the curve of Daisy’s nose. “You have the cutest nose,” he murmurs, and leans down to kiss her. Her smile, when he pulls back, could rival the sunset. He kisses that, too.

percyyoulittleshit  asked:

anything percabeth related, I just fought with my mom

Sally Jackson comes home to a quiet house, and for the short minute it takes her to kick off her heels and drop her purse on the side table by the door, to walk down the hall to the living room as Paul locks up, she’s almost afraid. It’s been years since her family has been in any immediate danger–years that are not yet far removed from her nightmares, years that haven’t quite dulled her immediate panic response to loud noises or her suspicion to complete silence.

It’s nothing, she tells herself, hurrying around the corner, pressing a hand to her chest as she steps into the doorway of the living room. Her heart skips a beat beneath her palm, flutters wildly–and she smiles. She can’t help it.

The living room is a littered mess of toys and books and socks and snacks, and in the middle of the room, a magnificent blanket fort stretches toward the ceiling. It is made up of old sheets from the linen closet, holiday tablecloths, a few of Sally’s favorite throws, and several of her daughter’s quilts. It’s beautifully constructed–she has no doubt her daughter-in-law has had a meticulous hand in its design–and beneath one of the raised flaps, in the dim light of a glowstone, she sees them all dressed in their pajamas and cuddled together in a pile of pillows collected from around the house.

Her daughter Sarah lies sandwiched and starfished in the middle, a hand tangled in Annabeth’s hair, a leg tucked over Percy’s waist. Annabeth lies on her side, curled around Sarah; she reaches toward Percy in her sleep, toward him and the tiny baby sleeping on his chest, dressed in a tiny onesie and drooling onto his shirt.

As quietly as possible, Sally takes her phone from her pocket and takes a picture.

And then Paul trips in the hall behind her.

Annabeth is a sudden blur of motion, pulling a glinting dagger from nowhere, rolling up onto her knees above Sarah. Percy is a little slower to move, cupping a hand to the back of his own daughter’s head, raising himself onto an elbow and murmuring, “Huh?”

“It’s just us,” Sally says quickly, somewhat grateful that she is not the only one that hasn’t let go of her fear, her nightmares. “We’re back.”

“Oh,” Percy says sleepily. He lies back down, smooths his hand across Daisy’s tiny little back. The baby has not made any move to wake. “How’d it go?”

Paul looks wearily at the glint of Annabeth’s dagger. She takes a steadying breath and tucks it back beneath her pillow, lowers herself to her heels beside Sarah, rubs at her eyes. “Good date?” she asks.

“It was great,” Sally says. “You guys go back to sleep.”

Annabeth sighs. “As if I could.”

Sally laughs quietly. She waves Paul off toward the stairs, and toes forward to press a kiss to Annabeth’s head. She tugs the blankets up over Sarah’s shoulders, and touches the gentle, soft curls of her granddaughter’s hair. All her girls, warm and sleepy and wonderful–

And her son, smiling up at her with that same boyish smile he’s had since he was her first baby.

He reaches up to catch her hand. “Night, Ma. Love you.”

Something in her heart seizes, dances, twists. Sally holds his hand, squeezes tight. “Love you,” she says, and means it more than anything. “Good night.”

anonymous asked:

For the writting prompts, maybe percabeth and number 12?

panicked/accidental confession


Friday family dinner turns quickly into chaos.

If it’s not one of the usual kinds of crazy–a baby-flung scrap of food turned into a full-fledged food fight, an offhand joke at the central brazier that turns into an impromptu camper roast, a loud and obnoxious and roaring sing-along–it’s most certainly the other. Screaming, and panicking, and a deafening boom that shakes the ground and rattles dust from the columns of the dining pavilion. The protective barrier around Camp Half-Blood flickers fire-red, then dissolves.

Clarisse is the first to stand, weapon in-hand; Piper is the second. “Everybody stay calm!” she shouts, climbing atop Aphrodite’s table. “Just–just stay calm!”

The screaming lessens, soothed by her charmspeak as much as her presence. Annabeth, for her part, mostly feels Piper’s anxiety atop her own. She gets to her feet and scans the visible borders of the camp, stares hard at the darkening shadows at the tree line, the stretching strawberry fields, the spaces between the cabins. The tall sanctuary of the climbing wall. The placid waters of the Sound. All the places something might easily hide. All the places an invading force might emerge from.


She stares, too, at her daughter’s face, her round cheeks and scared, trusting eyes. “We’re fine, baby.”

“Loud,” Daisy cries, grabbing at her ears and leaning into Annabeth’s thigh. “Daddy’s coming back?”

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percyyoulittleshit  asked:

Percabeth 27

She’s tried on so many sweaters and dresses and pairs of jeans, so many pairs of leggings and scarves and boots. Nothing feels right–not for the occasion. She wants everything to be perfect. The situation demands everything be absolutely perfect, and though she hasn’t gained much weight or really changed at all, not around her stomach, not where she’d start showing, she feels bloated and round, and her well-loved jeans aren’t fitting the way they always do.

She’s standing in front of their mirror in her bra and underwear, a bed’s worth of discarded clothes behind her, when Percy steps into their bedroom.


“Don’t,” Annabeth says. “Just. Don’t.”

“You look great?”

Annabeth huffs a breath of laughter. Yeah, she looks great–near-naked, and nauseous, and nervous, and she can’t pull her eyes away from her reflection. Percy shuffles closer, winds his arms around her waist from behind, presses his chest against her back.

“I’m pregnant,” she says, when he settles his palms low around her belly.

“I know,” he says.

“There’s a baby in there.”

“I know. I put it there.”

“Yeah, you did,” she says. She turns in his arms and tugs his chin down when he doesn’t look away from their reflection in the mirror. His eyes are warm and amused and so, so full, and his palms linger at the small of her back, slide up to her waist. “What are we going to tell your mom?”

“‘Merry Christmas,’” he says, “‘We’re growing you a grandbaby. Hope you like it when it’s done.’”

“I suppose that will have to do,” Annabeth says.

Percy drops a kiss to her lips, lingers, slowly, against her tongue, pulls her close. “She’ll cry,” he says against Annabeth’s lips, bringing a hand to brush her barely-rounded belly, the baby growing just beneath the skin.

“She’ll be happy?”

“Annabeth,” Percy says, pulling away to look at her. And she sees it–his own happiness, bright and unfettered and impossible, in the lines around his eyes and the smile pulling at his mouth. “Yes. Everybody is going to be so happy.”

anonymous asked:

"But," she turned around to face him, " I didn't know that babies could have powers."

“Obviously the baby has powers,” Piper whisper-shouted, trying not to startle the baby while also trying to get across to Jason that, hey, hello, their child was currently floating eight feet in the air and just about crawling across the ceiling.

Jason blinked and scratched at his bare chest. Any other time, she’d be hellishly distracted, what with him standing there in the doorway to the dark kitchen all sleep-disheveled, his pajama pants slung low about his hips, his hair mussed from his pillow, his glasses sitting low and crooked on his nose. The whole bed-sexy thing worked for him, but not when, late-night feedings aside, they were kind of having a kid emergency.

“Looks like he does take more after me,” Jason said, in that huh, look at that voice he used when he was trying to keep everybody calm.

Piper took a steadying breath.

He stepped easily past her, brushing his hand across her back, and jumped up, hovering, to pluck their child from the ceiling. He landed gracefully and stepped into her space, holding their son between them.

Piper sighed, brushing her thumb across the baby’s cheek. He giggled. “We’re gonna have to get one of those kid harnesses, aren’t we? It’s gonna be like a baby balloon. ‘Hi, Piper, how are you today? Oh, what’s that you have there?’ ‘Oh, hi, Mr. Jacobsen. Just taking my baby for a quick fly around the neighborhood.’”

With a quiet laugh, Jason leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Good Night, Starlight

A very, very belated HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!! to dearest @regolithheart​, who is just so sweet and talented and kind and amazing. The beginning to a silly, long adventure for Cress and Thorne ♥


Months after the events of Winter, Cinder has a new job for Cress and Thorne: deliver a few crates full of letumosis antidotes and bioelectricity chip prototypes to a research lab in Hawaii. Easy, right? They’ve already been doing it for months–travelling the world, seeing the sights, dropping off cures, helping people.

It should be a routine mission. They expect a routine mission. But when they arrive in Hawaii, everything immediately starts going wrong. A few of Thorne’s shadier acquaintances show up out of the blue, and immediately after, the research lab goes into full lockdown following a break in. Cress and Thorne are thrust into a pursuit across the sea to prove their own innocence, and end up discovering a plot that might shake up the precarious peace Cinder and Kai have managed to build between Earth and Luna.

They also manage to make new friends, connect with their family, and build their home on the Rampion. Let it not be said that the path to happily ever after was easy.


Stars drift like snowfall past the windows of her satellite.

Cress watches, and waits.

Behind her, the pale blue hologram of Little Cress dances in the starlight. Her dress twirls around her, and her bare feet trip and jump and skip easily around the only floor she has ever known. A soft melody drifts from the speakers, and her little voice hums along–old Italian opera, country-western, a fast, upbeat pop song all at once. Every few notes, static buzzes discordant through the blank netscreens, then fades quiet beneath the music.

She dances, and hums, and in the reflection, Cress watches.

“What are you waiting for, Big Sister?” Little Cress sings.

Waiting? Cress is… dreaming. She’s dreaming. And, she feels, pressing her hand against the worrying knot in her chest, waiting for something important.

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