mypjo

Hearts don't break around here :)

for @son-of-rome 😘

Sometimes, most times, she isn’t sure she deserves this happiness.

Like right now, sitting in the speckled morning sunlight of their tiny kitchen, legs swinging from the countertop, hot mug of coffee warming her fingers, as she watches the love of her life make pancakes. He’s telling a story and poking fun at himself to make her laugh. She doesn’t miss the pleased smile he tucks away when it works.

Percy gets batter splattered on his cheek and she loops a foot around his leg to pull him closer. He moves into her space effortlessly, fitting there without taking up any extra room. A small smile pressing his lips together and crinkling the skin around his eyes and he looks at her with those eyes of his and it’s one of those times when she can’t believe.

She can’t believe she deserves this, him.

(But then again, she can. She can believe that they are two souls who have been aching and aching with hurt and right now they deserve to be healing together.)

Annabeth puts down her coffee and swipes the batter off his cheek, watching him follow her movements. She dusts a kiss over the freckles on his nose and smiles when he laughs. Her cheeks ache so much with smiling and she only smiles more when he presses them between her palms, scrunching his nose right up to hers.

And this happiness. This bubbling, settling, silly happiness just fills her up and up and up. She loves this boy. From the top of his sleep-mussed hair to his finger-toes. In the corner of their own kitchen, with a cheesy song serenading them from the radio, and her boyfriend kissing smiles to her mouth, Annabeth feels so happy she can feel it spilling over and over.

(When she sees his happiness shining back at her, she knows they deserve this.)

She leans back just enough to see his face and tilts her head.

“What should we do today?” he asks her.

“This,” she says, chasing his lips, “and this and this and this.”

anonymous asked:

If you have time (omg I'm sorry but this prompt in my head forever) It's 3am and they are in a community kitchen in college and one is making brownies.

Percy had just wanted to get a glass of water.

When he enters the communal kitchen, blearily rubbing sleep out of his eyes, he realises what had woken him up in the first place. One of his roommates is standing with her back to him at the countertop, cracking eggs into a large mixing bowl. The kitchen looks devastated. Shared by six people, it never looks pristine, but right now a bomb could have gone off for the state it’s in.

“Um,” he says, still disorientated from the light and noise and explosion aftermath.

She turns and swears quietly. “Sorry, I thought I was being quiet.”

She was not, but Percy won’t begrudge her that. Partially because he’s a little bit in love with her (alright, mostly, but that’s not important right now), partially because he knows he’s woken her up at least half a dozen times since they moved into the dorms three months ago.

“S’alright. Just gettin some water.”

Annabeth smiles. “Alright.”

Percy opens the mug cupboard and after several seconds of staring at its contents and coming to terms with the fact that they don’t own any glasses not made of plastic, he grabs a mug with Walt Whitman’s face on it and fills it with water from the faucet. Instead of taking it back to his room with him, he leans back against the sink and watches Annabeth squint at her phone as she holds it three inches from her face.

“You alright there?” he asks.

She doesn’t look away from her phone. “My glasses are somewhere deep within my bag and I have neither the energy or determination to find them.”

“Okay.”

She looks at him. “Do you want to read this recipe for me or keep delivering these brilliant insights?”

He shrugs. “I feel like I could manage both.”

Annabeth hands her phone over with a roll of her eyes. Percy puts down his glass of water and shoves some of the debris aside so that he can sit on the counter top. Then he takes Annabeth’s phone and reads the title of the page.

“You need to google a recipe for brownies?”

“Alright, Martha Stewart. Just tell me what to do to make this delicious.”

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feels like home

y’all can blame Sophii for this one

[listen]


Annabeth is pacing.

It’s never a good thing when Annabeth paces, not for Percy at least. It usually means he’s a in a great amount of trouble. It usually means he’s about to get an earful. He can see it brewing, below the surface of her tanned skin, below her furrowed eyebrows and her pursed lips, below the steely glances she keeps throwing at him like knives.

“Hold still,” the poor, innocent Apollo camper mumbles as he moves to stand in front of Percy, gingerly inspecting his wrist and blocking his angry girlfriend from view.

Annabeth makes herself heard then, if she cannot be seen.

“I just can’t believe it. How many monsters have we fought and you’ve walked away fine? We literally walked through hell and there wasn’t a single broken bone in your body. And a stupid skateboard gets you? How many times to I have to tell you to wear safety pads? And don’t tell me they’re not cool because that doesn’t stop you from wearing that stupid hat, Percy Jackson.”

“Hey, I like this hat.” Percy touches the rim of the blue snapback he’s wearing self-consciously. Annabeth peers around the Apollo kid to roll her eyes at him. “And I never said they were uncool- OW, motherfu-”

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anonymous asked:

can you write/ link some percabeth fluff from an outsiders point of view? i loooove those fanfictions:)

i kind of bent this one to fit because this drabble has been sitting in my wip folder for like half a year. anyway, i’ve always been interested in Malcolm’s character so this is his PoV in a few points over the series. hope it suffices

 … .

i.

Malcolm Warner has seen his sister through many things. As she has seen him.

He still remembers arriving at Camp Half-Blood, tired and bleeding and bruised, and being directed around the Camp by the blonde-haired young girl already with a few beads strung around her neck. She had been confident, almost arrogant, but clearly proud of her home as she’d told him all about Camp Half-Blood and the gods and their mother. Malcolm had respected her straight away, and despite her being a year his junior, he had looked up to her as a leader. Annabeth Chase had been brave, strong, smart; everything he had wanted to be.

ii.

He walks into their cabin at the beginning of his second Winter Break at Camp Half Blood to find Annabeth sitting on her bunk staring at the wall. He sits down next to her and asks her if she is okay and she shakes her head mutely. She scrubs at her cheeks where a few tears have fallen and he nudges her shoulder and tells her it’s okay, she can tell him, he can keep a secret.
And for some reason, she tells him.
“I thought I was okay,” she says, “with Luke betraying us. When I was in San Francisco these past few months I hadn’t thought about it so much, but now that I’m back here… He was the one who brought me here, him and Thalia. I thought we were a family but…”
Malcolm takes her hand and squeezes. “We’re your family, Annabeth.” And her smile is so so sad and so grateful that his heart feels like a fist has tightened around it. He feels like an older brother. Like family.

Just a few weeks later Annabeth makes it home after being captured by the titan, Atlas, with new grey streaks burned into her hair and a new weight added to her still young shoulders. He had walked onto the porch of the Big House and gone straight up to her. He puts his arms around her and feels her momentary surprise, feels her slowly relax into his embrace and wrap her arms around him as she tucks her chin over his shoulder. He had feels her cheek against his as she smiles, and he wants to protect her from the worst of things.

iii.

He walks into his cabin one day and finds Annabeth in the embrace of another boy, one who is not her brother, but a son of Poseidon. He feels a strange older-brotherly protective instinct to separate the pair, but more prominently, the satisfying little click in the back of his mind that says finally. The whole camp has been watching these two kids fumble around each other for the past two years, fighting for and against each other. Malcolm clears his throat - so awkward - and bites the inside of his cheek as the two teenagers spring apart like wild salmon, their cheeks blossoming like red petals in the sun. They both stammer something about maps and Malcolm tries not to laugh at their awkwardness. One day, he thinks, they’ll figure it out.

iv.

He stands next to Annabeth on the beach as she tells him how she had escaped the Labyrinth; how she had met Daedalus and been given the greatest possible gift; how Luke had been there and his eyes had burned gold and his mouth had uttered the words of another. How Percy Jackson had told her to run, how she had kissed him and left him. How she could kill that boy for being so damn heroic and so damn stupid; but she hated herself even more for leaving him. Malcolm holds her hand and pretends not to notice her wipe the tear from her cheek.
He comes back, that stupid heroic boy, and Malcolm certainly doesn’t miss the moment Annabeth launches herself at Percy and doesn’t let him go for a long time. He’s not sure whose cheeks are pinker when she finally does.

v.

Malcolm is there when his sister finally kisses that goofball. He’s one of the people who throws them into the lake and waits for them to resurface; he’s also one of the first to give up and realise that they probably have no intention to do so and Percy is more than well enough equipped to keep the two of the down there all night if he wants to. He doesn’t quite keep them there all night, but it’s well past midnight when Annabeth finally sneaks back into the Athena cabin, clothes dripping on the wooden floorboards as she tiptoes to her bed.
“Good night, Annabeth,” he whispers as she passes the end of his bed.
She gasps. “Shut up, Malcolm.”
“I’m happy for you.”
“Shut. Up. Malcolm.” He can’t see her face but he’s pretty sure she’s smiling anyway.

vi.

Percy goes missing three days after Malcolm’s eighteenth birthday. Annabeth tears the camp apart looking for him and all Malcolm can do is watch as she storms from cabin to cabin, trudges through every corner of the woods, kneels on the deck of the lake and begs the neriads to help her. It’s a full week later, after three mysterious new demigods have shown up at the camp with tattoos and blessings from Hera, that Malcolm sits down next to her in the busy Pavilion. She has a plate of food in front of her which she plays with idly, poking her potatoes with her fork and not even feigning an interest in eating them. Malcolm nudges her with his elbow and drops a bag of jelly beans on her plate.
“How nutritional,” she comments.
“Well, it’s better than poking your potatoes.”
She sighs and opens the packet, popping a blue one in her mouth and chewing morosely.
Malcolm looks at her. “We’ll find him, Annabeth.”
She stares at the candy in her hand and shakes her head. “What if he’s hurt?” she whispers, and it’s the first time he’s heard her talk about Percy without yelling since he disappeared. She looks at him and he can see the sadness in her eyes, the genuine fear. “What if he needs help?”
He puts his arm around her shoulders and tucks her to his side, like he might be able to shield her from some of this pain. “It’s gonna be okay, Annabeth,” he tells her, because he doesn’t really know what else to say. “We’ll find him.”

She does, find him, that is. And there’s still fear in her eyes, one he thinks she might need some time to recover from. But she holds onto Percy’s hand as they sit around the campfire and Malcolm also sees hope. He hears Percy telling her that of course she has to go with him to see him mom, and he realises she has more than one family now. And that’s okay, it’s amazing actually. He remembers the little girl he met, with a jutted chin and fierce eyes and no family, and looks at his sister now, laughing with her whole face and fire behind her eyes with her hand in the hand of the boy she loves, and he thinks he might just be proud of her. Proud to be her brother.

Happy birthday @blackjacktheboss, you loser <3

#14 of the Kiss Meme: Kiss Along the Hips.

also on AO3


Annabeth is on her fourth attempt of reading the same paragraph when she hears the front door of the apartment bang open and then closed again.

“Percy?” she calls out.

“Hi,” he calls back, sounding tired.

She’s in their bedroom, having collapsed there an hour ago and decided to tackle her reading for class tomorrow. Safe to say she has made little progress. This is, in part, due to her mind wandering back to the calc test she’d had this morning. The rest of her is just staring at the page wishing that the lines would stop moving around so she could read them. She’s grateful when Percy slumps into the room, giving her a real excuse to put the book down and stare at something else for a while.

Percy looks like a zombie, shuffling around, removing his shoes, rubbing at his face and his hair as if he can remove the tiredness that stains him that way.

“How was the presentation?” she asks him.

He mumbles, “Mmf. I don’t know. Horrible. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Alright.”

After he has slowly and angrily dumped his bag in the corner and thrown his jacket over the back of the desk chair, he finally looks at her. His gaze falls and stops on her bare legs, crossed together on top of the covers. Annabeth waits patiently, her eyebrows rising towards her hairline

Percy blinks. Jerks his gaze up towards her face.

“Is that my sweater?” he asks eventually.

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son-of-rome  asked:

Percabeth "you make the best hot chocolate. I should date you just so I can have you make this for me all the time" "okay"

Annabeth is wearing pyjamas. Her cold, bare foot is tucked up on the stool she sits on as the other dangles towards the floor. 

“There’s this thing called heating, you know,” she informs Percy as he shuffles around his small kitchen on the other side of the counter she’s leaning against.

“Yeah,” he scoffs, “there’s also this thing called ‘being poor’.”

Annabeth gives the back of his head a look. He must feel his eyes on him because he glances over his shoulder and sticks his tongue out at her.

“If you knock on my door at midnight you have to put up with being a little cold,” he says, turning his back on her again.

Annabeth sighs. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Your insomnia is beginning to interrupt my sleep schedule.”

He’s joking, she’s known him for enough months to recognise it in his tone, but she feels guilt creep into her stomach anyway. “I can go…”

Percy turns around properly now as he makes his way over to a cupboard to pull out two mugs. “Don’t be stupid. There are socks in my room, help yourself.”

Guilt is replaced by something else. Something warm and sugary that coats the inside of her ribs. She sends him a grateful smile as she slides off the stool and pads across the bare wooden floor to Percy’s bedroom.

The bedside lamp is on so she can make her way around without tripping over the random items of clothing scattering the floor. Annabeth has been in Percy’s apartment countless times before, his couch is a familiar resting place, she knows where to find a bowl in his kitchen, and she’s lost count of how many times she’s changed the toilet roll in his bathroom. But his bedroom? This is brand new territory.

Annabeth’s gaze lingers on the photographs tacked to the wallpaper above the chest of drawers shoved against the wall; of him and a curly haired boy as kids, gap-toothed smiles wide and carefree; of his mother looking beautiful and wind-swept on a beach; of a man with dark hair and a beard looking like Percy in twenty years; of Percy with his arm around Jason’s neck; of Annabeth’s face smushed next to his.

She’s known him for less than a year and yet these photos stir up a strange feeling of nostalgia within her. As if she has known him for much longer than that. It’s true that she’s never developed such a fast or easy friendship with someone before. When she’d moved in down the hall from Percy he’d been dating someone, and so the lines were quickly drawn. And they’d never been erased, despite the fact that Percy had stopped dating that girl only a month after she’d met him.

Annabeth pulls the top drawer open and fishes out a pair of thick black socks, checking for holes, before shoving the drawer closed again and fleeing the room. It’s far too dangerous for her to linger. To notice the unmade bed and the coffee cups stacked on the bedside table and the oceanography books stacked messily on the windowsill.

Percy is waiting on the couch for her when she gets back, feet propped on the coffee table next to two mugs of marshmallow-topped hot chocolate. Annabeth grins and throws herself down next to him, leaning back against the cushions as she pulls his too big socks over her feet. Percy turns the TV on and leaves it on an old nature documentary. David Attenborough’s low voice trembles through the speakers, making Annabeth feel drowsy and comfortable as she picks up her hot chocolate and burrows into the warmth of the couch.

Percy nestles in next to her and their shoulders, arms, hips, legs more than brush together and Annabeth feels his warmth seep into her. She takes a sip of the drink and almost moans with pleasure.

“You make the best hot chocolate. I should date you just so I can have you make this for me all the time.”

“Okay.”

It’s a joke but they are both startled into silence at his candid tone. they should be laughing, Percy should definitely be laughing right now because they made a joke, but he’s silent. Why is he silent? She casts a look at him and feels an almost savage pleasure when she sees that his cheeks are bright red.

She makes him nervous.

Apprehension and joy war in her chest. He likes her? He likes her. Percy Jackson likes her. This is also about as far as he’s ever going to get to making a move.

Annabeth smiles. She shifts her mug into one hand and uses the other to reach for his hand which is lying limply in his lap. She swears she hears his breath draw in sharply when she touches him, but he doesn’t draw away. Instead, he lets her press her fingers between his and curl them over his knuckles.

“Okay then,” she says.

From the corner of her eye, she sees a smile creep over his face. His fingers squeeze hers, like a promise.

Like Real People Do

For Jane. Happy Birthday, my buddy, my pal. You wonderful human bean, thank you for existing.

This is a continuation of the florist!Annabeth rockstar!percy verse which a few people had requested


Annabeth smoothed down the front of her striped dress, analysing herself in the dusty mirror in the back of the shop. It was too late to change now, as she’d agreed for Percy to pick her up from here and not her apartment, but she couldn’t help fretting over the details of her outfit.

She couldn’t help remembering that Percy was a famous rockstar and she was the owner of a small and insignificant flower shop. Couldn’t help remembering that he had toured the world and she had never gone outside of Long Island.

The bell out front chimed and Annabeth stole one last critical look in the warped mirror, sighing, before ducking out of the back room. Percy was gently closing the front door when she emerged. He looked far tidier than the last time she had seen him, three days ago in this very shop. He wore a white shirt (sleeves stuffed up over his elbows) with a stick slim cobalt tie (fastened in a way which looked both hasty and careless at once), skinny black jeans (holes leaving his scarred knees on show) and converses (blue laces on the left, pink on the right).

He looked hot.

Stupidly so.

“Hi,” she said, breathier than she would have liked.

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i often think about how it went with will when he failed to save someone’s life for the first time. i guess it was during the last olympian.

imagine this actual kid who tried everything, but the camper, maybe even his close friend, still died 

i believe chiron was the one who comforted him, because chiron was more than a teacher to him and chiron knew that will, like other demigods, was just a kid who grew up too fast

Agape

another one for the fic meme! [AO3]

#5. Firm Kiss


There’s very little that Annabeth hates more than feeling helpless. She’s never been happy to sit on the sidelines while her friends walk into battle. And here she is, rendered helpless as the person she cares most about fights all by himself.

Alright, he’s not completely by himself, there’s a satyr with him, but this does little to quell the worry in her heart.

“Why did he have to go?” she asks Chiron for the hundredth time.

She’s standing on the porch of the Big House, stance firm, arms crossed over her chest, scowl marking her face. Chiron sits next to her in his wheelchair and patiently explains to her, again, why it was Percy who left the camp to retrieve the lone demigod, unaware of his identity and hunted because of it, traipsing around Brooklyn.

“He’s perfectly capable of looking after himself.”

“I know that,” Annabeth snaps, unable to help herself.

Chiron’s voice remains level, reasonable despite her sharp tone. “He was here when we needed someone, Annabeth. There was no reason for it not to be him.”

You should have called me, she wants to say. I should have been here, she scolds herself.

“They should have been back by now,” she says instead.

Chiron murmurs vaguely in response.

Percy has fought without her many times before. He’s been fighting since he was twelve years old and at seventeen, he’s one of the best demigod fighters Camp Half Blood has seen. But that doesn’t mean Annabeth won’t worry about him. Because she’s seen his very best and worst. She’s seen his spiteful rage reduce him to a whirlwind of fury, only to be reclaimed to himself by her hands and her words. And she’s seen the aftermath of a battle, she’s seen him beaten to his knees, seen him drowning in a river with all hope torn away from him. She’s pulled him back to himself, both in the midst of battle, and out of it.

And now he’s out there without her.

Annabeth feels guilt creep into her chest, heavy and binding, with these thoughts. She hates that she doubts him, hates it with every part of her being. And she knows that she will not always be able to be there, but it’s been merely months since the war, since they dragged each other out of the swallowing darkness, and she doesn’t quite feel ready yet. Ready to trust that he will come back to her every time he leaves.

The other part of her simply misses him. She hadn’t woken up this morning expecting him to be gone and it opens up an old ache, a wound which never truly healed even after he returned to her. Those months had been spent with arms curled around her chest as if to hold it together, with bloodshot eyes from lack of sleep and relentless tears. She just wants him back, safe.

“Annabeth,” Chiron murmurs.

She looks up just in time to see three figures tripping over the boundary line next to Thalia’s tree. Peleus lifts his head and sniffs at them before tucking his head back under his wing and resuming his nap. Annabeth is frozen to the spot. They look fine. Percy’s figure, the tallest of the three, lopes easily down the hill. She watches as he touches the lid of his pen to his sword and it shrinks small enough to be tucked into his jeans pocket.

“Fetch some one from the Apollo cabin for me?” Chiron asks. Annabeth turns to him indignantly and he sighs. “Please, Annabeth. Nothing will happen in the sixty seconds it takes you to run over there and run back.”

She sends a glare his way before glancing again at Percy and his companions’ approaching figures, still too far away to make out any expressions or injuries, and turns her back on them to sprint down to the cabins. Chiron’s right, it takes her less than sixty seconds to run to the Apollo cabin, stick her head inside the door long enough to yell that someone needs to report to the medbay, and sprint back up to the big house.

She’s always been a fast runner.

The young demigod looks startled, his eyes are wide and staring as the satyr half-carries him past the porch of the big house towards the medbay. Annabeth spares them both a glance long enough to notice the bloody trickling down the young boy’s wrist from underneath his jacket sleeve and the bruising on the satyr’s face, and then her attention is drawn away, to Percy. He’s talking quietly to Chiron, rubbing a dark mark on his cheek and spreading it further across his skin. It looks like dirt, not blood, to Annabeth’s relief. He’s frowning until he looks up and meets her eyes, and then his expression morphs from surprise to relief, and then to guilt.

Annabeth surges forwards anyway, grabbing him by the shoulders, firm, wide shoulders, tense and there and alive. He’s alive. She wraps her arms around them and pulls him in close, feeling his breath rush out of him as their chests crash together. Percy’s arms come around her belatedly, and he rubs her back soothingly as if to say, it’s okay, I’m here. She loves him for that.

Annabeth withdraws from the circle of his arms and promptly whacks him on the shoulder.

OW.”

“That’s for playing hero.”

He scowls at her, rubbing his shoulder and opening his mouth to say something to her. Annabeth grabs his cheeks between her palms and kisses him firmly on the mouth, stopping his words of complaint in their tracks. It’s all tense lips and clacking teeth and quiet moans and it’s over in a moment as they both gasp for breath, foreheads pressed together.

“That’s for being a hero,” she mumbles.

Percy’s answering smile helps her heart settle in her chest. His hands stroke her cheeks, smearing dirt there, and he dips his head to kiss her again, more gently this time.

“I won’t go without you again. Promise.”

It’s a promise she knows he won’t keep, can’t keep; one she knows she can’t expect him to keep, but it makes her feel better anyway. It reminds her of his words as he clutched onto her wrist underneath Rome, the only thing preventing her falling alone into the seemingly endless pit, We’re staying together. You’re not getting away from me. Never again.

And her answering promise, As long as we’re together.