GODS DON'T SAVE (we still try) ✫ percy jackson
˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ percy jackson x daughter of hercules and aphrodite!fem!reader. violence, mentions of blood, fighting, s2 lore. wrote this because I’m absolutely obsessed with Percy Jackson once again. eng is not my first language!
in which quests are stolen anyway, a daughter of love learns that strength can ache, and Percy Jackson chooses the sea even when it might take everything from him.
The dream repeated itself each sleep, always the same blood puddle shimmering gold beneath the sun, always the same children running around the arena, laughing with their parents as though the world were nothing more than warm water and wide sky.
You were small, unburdened by titles, and beside you was him —your father's face you could never clearly see, always blurred at the edges as if the gods refused to let memory sharpen into recognition.
His voice was everything but gentle, a disharmony you tried to hold onto when awoke, but daylight stole it every time. And in the end, as always, he grabbed you tightly by the shoulders after throwing his own sword into the arena, and shouted a phrase you still couldn't quite decipher.
"Aren't you brave? Gods don't save?" You couldn't understand what he was yelling. You just watched his face, contorted and red with anger.
You would look up, ready to finally see him but the dream ended there, abruptly, cruelly, before you ever understood him. Each morning you awoke with the ghost of your father and the aching certainty that you will never live up to his name.
Waking up meant being the fabolous and favourite daughter of Aphrodite and Hercules, a privilege that felt more like a burden than an honor. Every morning you were reminded of your lineage the moment campers opened the curtains.
It took some years to understand that the dream was not a dream at all, it was memory.
Hercules, the legendary demigod son of Zeus, had come to Camp Half-Blood in the height of summer, when the air shimmered with heat and expectations. Heroes always drew crowds. Sons and daughters of gods gathered at the arena, whispering his name as if it were a prayer.
He looked at you only long enough to decide you were a disappointment when seeing you fight against other female. You laughed too easily after loosing the competition, loved too openly...
He threw his sword into the sand and called you forward, not to teach but to expose, and though you could have fought youhesitated fourteen and still believing approval could be earned.
When you fell, he did not help you rise. He seized you by the shoulders instead, fingers bruising, and shouted,
Aren’t you brave? Gods don’t save.
The arena filled with that terrible, pitying quiet. He left without pride or blessing, without looking back. That night, you scrubbed the blood from your knees until pain became something you could command.
A wound you carried beneath gold and glory, proof that lineage was not salvation and that even heroes could be cruel. After all, you still cared for your father's love.
Now, the rest of the day is yet to unfold.
That same afternoon Percy Jackson arrived at Camp Half-Blood for the second time with the familiar weight of survival settling into his bones, after making his way through New York City, with the Gray Sisters’ taxi service, alongside Annabeth and his "new" brother, Tyson.
After being attacked by two Colchis bulls —fearsome, fire-breathing bronze bulls, Annabeth walked beside him, steady as ever, eyes already scanning the horizon as though camp itself were a puzzle waiting to be solved.
They moved easily together now.
They were very good friends, forged not by convenience but by choice, by the unspoken agreement that whatever came next, they would face it side by side.
Last summer had done that to them.
The five of them —Percy, Annabeth, Grover and her— had gone on a quest that should have broken them. Instead, it had bound them together. They had crossed the country chased by monsters and fate alike, slept under open skies and in places no children should have known, and somehow survived long enough to stand at the foot of Olympus itself.
They had met all Gods then, the Olympians in their full splendor, and learned in the most unforgiving way possible that gods were not saviors. They were forces. Judgments. Storms that passed whether you were ready or not.
It had changed Percy, all of them.
Annabeth paused at the crest of Half-Blood Hill, hands on her hips, the camp spread below like a memory made solid. “Feels different,” she said.
Percy nodded. “Yeah. Like it’s holding its breath.”
Suddenly, you arrived in a ripple of attention, the way you always did, though never asked for it.
The daughters of Aphrodite came first —silk skirts catching the light, laughter soft and chiming— and at their center you walked with an ease that belied the weight you carried.
Sunlight kissed gold into your hair, spine straight and the quiet confidence of someone who had learned long ago that beauty could be armor.
Percy wondered. Something in his chest tightened, sharp and familiar, like the sea pulling back before a wave.
He would never get the memory out of his mind... How he could not protect you form Hercules traeting you like you were merely trash, and everyone just watching the scene.
“Is that—” he started, stopping himself as you turned.
Annabeth’s breath hitched. “It is.”
It had been almost a year since the quest. You had joined them just to prove your father wrong. Percy remembered your laugh then —real, unguarded— and the way you had stood between monsters without hesitation, stronger than anyone had a right to be.
You looked different now.
Not older exactly, but… mature. When your eyes met Percy’s, recognition flared instantly, bright and unmistakable. For a heartbeat, the world stilled.
Then you smiled with the warmth he remembered.
“Percy,” you said, voice steady. “Annabeth.”
You stepped forward, your half-sisters lingering behind you, whispering excitedly as though sensing the shift in the air. Percy swallowed, suddenly aware of how tall you were, how solid, how real.
“You’re back,” he said lamely, then winced nerviously. “I mean —I knew you’d come back. Just… didn’t think I’d be this glad.”
Annabeth laughed and crossed the distance to hug you. “We were wondering when you’d show up,” she said. “It’s been… weird without you.”
Percy shifted on his feet, suddenly hyperaware of Tyson standing just behind him. His brother hovered at the edge of the moment, large and uncertain, one eye bright with curiosity as it fixed on you. “Um,” Percy said, scratching the back of his neck, “this is Tyson. He’s—” He hesitated, jaw tightening. “He lives with me.”
Tyson beamed at you. “Hello,” he said warmly. “You are very shiny.”
Annabeth shot Percy a warning look, already bracing for whatever embarrassment might follow, but you laughed. You tilted your head, studying Tyson with open curiosity rather than judgment. “Thank you,” you said sincerely. “You’re very kind.”
Tyson tilted his head, eye flicking between Percy and you, as if he could see the invisible thread tightening in the air. Then his face lit up with sudden understanding.
“Percy talks about you,” he announced proudly.
Something twisted in Percy’s chest then. Percy froze. “Tyson—”
“In New York he even has a picture of you!,” Tyson continued, undeterred, his voice dropping into an exaggerated imitation that was painfully accurate. He hunched his shoulders a little, frowning thoughtfully. “‘She’s really strong. Like… really strong. And she smiles like she already knows the ending of the story.’”
Annabeth’s lips twitched.
Tyson nodded solemnly, warming to the performance. “‘And she doesn’t run when things get scary. She just stands there. Like she belongs.’”
Your breath hitched before you could stop it.
Percy’s face burned. “Okay. That’s enough,” he said quickly, stepping forward and clapping a hand over Tyson’s mouth. “Buddy. Love you. But we do not quote me.”
Tyson blinked, confused but obedient, while Percy shot you a look that was half apology, half panic. “He… exaggerates,” he muttered.
You were still smiling when he finally looked back at you —soft, surprised, and just a little undone...
Annabeth clapped her hands together, breaking the tension. “Come on,” she said briskly. “Let’s get settled. You can catch us up on everything we missed.”
Everything has happened: Chiron was fired and replaced by Tantalus because someone poisoned Thalia’s tree, Percy has weird dreams about Grover, the camp is attacked by Stymphalian Birds but the dram team managed to stop the attack...
And now you were here, every camper was crammed into one single room. Armors clinked softly as people shifted, eyes darting between Chiron’s empty space and Tantalus’s smug posture. Clarisse stood near the front, bruised but victorious, chin lifted high.
“When the camp was attacked,” Tantalus announced loudly, savoring every syllable, “only one of you showed the courage to prevail against all odds.”
You were seated beside him, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Annabeth was quiet on your other side, her earlier sharpness replaced by something guarded, conflicted.
“Clarisse La Rue” Tantalus announced. Clarisse stepped forward, armor scraped and dented, eyes blazing. “While the rest of you gave up, she continued the race thus passing the test.”
Campers chanted her name.
Percy felt the injustice of it press against his ribs like a rising tide. He glanced at you, expecting anger, fire, something sharp— Your gaze flicked briefly to Percy’s, and in that instant, he understood: this wasn’t over. Not even close.
He got up quickly. "Wait hold on, the cooridades aren't even right," Percy said, courage invading his voice. Everyone there booed him; they were a little tired of the blond demigod getting involved in all the fantasy matters.
Clarisse rolled her eyes and continued: "I, Clarisse, daughter of Ares," she said as she raised her fist in the air, "will save the camp".
Percy didn’t clap. Neither did you.
Annabeth’s jaw tightened, a small fracture in her composure, though she said nothing. You remained still, calm on the surface, but you could feel it: something was restless beneath Annabeth's skin.
She knew something was up.
Mr. D calmed the waters. "Ok, so just pick two lucky winners and then let's get this show on the road."
Percy approached the two of you, lowering his voice. “What’s our plan? Should we—”
Annabeth didn’t even turn her head. She stared straight ahead, jaw set, eyes fixed on some point only she could see, as if Percy’s words were nothing more than background noise.
“Annabeth?” you asked softly, a note of warning slipping into your voice.
Out of nowhere, she stood. The scrape of her chair cut through the room, drawing everyone’s attention. “You’ll want someone with quest experience,” she said, calm and composed, speaking directly to Clarisse. You couldn’t help the sharp gasp that left you. “Someone with skills that will complement your might.”
Clarisse hesitated, suspicion flickering across her face, but Annabeth didn’t falter. She held her ground, steady and unyielding, the way she always did when she knew she was right. After a long moment, Clarisse nodded. “Okay,” she said slowly. “Yeah… I choose Annabeth Chase.”
Percy broke into a grin, clapping loudly, relief and pride flashing across his face. But something about it twisted uncomfortably in your chest. Annabeth didn’t look back at either of you —not even for a second— and she didn’t seek your eyes, didn’t offer reassurance, didn’t explain.
Percy stood again, confidence buoyed by hope. “It’s an ocean quest,” he said, voice carrying. “You’ll need someone good in the water.”
Murmurs rippled through the room. Heads nodded. It made sense. Too much sense. Clarisse scowled, clearly torn between practicality and old grudges. For a moment, you thought she might finally let it go.
She stopped when Annabeth tugged at her arm. The gesture was quick, almost desperate. Annabeth leaned in and whispered something you couldn’t hear, her expression tight with urgency. Clarisse’s scowl softened into something grim, resigned. Percy shuddered, unease crawling up his spine.
“I choose…” Clarisse said slowly, eyes flicking anywhere but at Percy. “Chris Rodriguez.”
Percy’s smile collapsed. The sound of it breaking was almost audible. He didn’t argue. He didn’t protest. He simply nodded once, stiffly, and turned away. He walked out of the room with controlled, measured steps, like he was afraid that if he moved too fast, everything inside him would spill out.
You didn’t hesitate. You pushed through the crowd and ran after him, the echo of Clarisse’s choice still ringing in your ears, and the sinking realization settling heavy in your chest: whatever Annabeth was trying to protect, it had cost Percy more than she knew.
You grabbed Percy’s arm before he could disappear into the night. He stopped short, breath uneven, and when he turned back his eyes were glassy with something he refused to name.
Over his shoulder, down the slope, Tyson was still at the broken chariot, bent carefully over a bent wheel, humming to himself as he tried to fix what had already been lost.
“Percy,” you began softly, fingers tightening around his wrist, “please. I don’t understand either, but—”
“I don’t understand why Clarisse was chosen,” he cut in, the words spilling out too fast, too sharp. “And I understand even less why she chose Annabeth to go with her.”
You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “She must have her reasons,” you said. “Annabeth… she’s never careless. I think she knows something we don’t.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” Percy snapped, frustration breaking through the control he’d been clinging to. “I get that Clarisse and I don’t get along, but even if we can’t stand each other —I’ve got experience.” His voice wavered, then steadied. “We’ve got experience. You know?”
Your chest tightened at the way he said we. “I know.”
“And then Annabeth whispered to her,” he went on, shaking his head. “She whispered something, and suddenly I’m out. Like I don’t matter. Like last summer didn’t matter.” He finally looked at you, eyes dark and desperate.
“We need to go on the quest.”
You didn’t argue. You simply nodded and followed him.
The walk to his cabin was quiet, heavy with thoughts neither of you wanted to voice. Tyson looked up when you arrived, his face lighting up instantly. “Percy!” he said. “I fix cart soon. I think.”
Percy forced a smile and explained everything —Clarisse, the quest, Annabeth, the choice— his words looping back on themselves as if his mind couldn’t move past one point.
“I don’t understand why Clarisse was chosen,” he said again. “I just—” He stopped, ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t understand why she chose Annabeth.”
The words kept coming, softer each time, like he was trying to convince himself they’d change if he repeated them enough.
Tyson listened patiently, brow furrowed. “Annabeth is smart,” he said finally. “Maybe she tries to keep you safe.”
Percy let out a short, bitter laugh. “She knows better than that.”
There was something in the way he said it —too familiar, too certain— that made your chest tighten in a way you didn’t immediately want to name.. It was gentle. Natural. And it stung more than you expected.
Because you saw how easily Percy slipped into that role with her. Protector. Anchor. Someone needed, depended on in a way that felt… uncomplicated.
You shifted your weight, arms crossing loosely over your chest, the faintest edge of jealousy curling beneath your ribs before you could stop it. You’d fought monsters together, stood bleeding at his side, carried your own scars quietly —but this was different.
This was Percy choosing to be strong so someone else wouldn’t have to be afraid.
And a small, traitorous part of you wondered when the last time was that he’d looked at you like that.
Percy stood again, resolve settling into his posture like armor. Fate tugged at him as surely as the tide. And even with that flicker of jealousy —sharp, unwelcome, human— you knew one thing with painful clarity:
You weren’t going to let him walk into the dark alone. You drew in a shaky breath, steadying yourself before the words slipped out because if you waited any longer, you might not say them at all.
“I’ll… I’ll go make bags,” you said quietly. Both Percy and Tyson looked up at you. “Supplies. Nectar. Weapons. Just enough to not get us killed.”
Percy nodded, distracted, already half-lost in whatever plan was forming behind his eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “Good idea. We’ll meet at the lake. After curfew.”
“The lake,” you echoed, forcing a small smile. “I’ll be there.”
He didn’t notice the way your hands trembled as you turned away.
You walked out of the cabin before the tightness in your chest could turn into something louder, something messier. The night air hit you all at once and you didn’t stop walking until the Aphrodite cabin came into view, glowing softly like a promise you’d never quite believed in.
The moment the door closed behind you, you broke. Thankfully, you half-sisters were at the bonfire.
You slid down against it, pressing a hand to your mouth as a sob tore free, raw and ungraceful. The stress of it all: the quest, the danger, the inevitability of it crashed over you in a single, suffocating preassure of the name you have. Your father... would he be proud?
You were doing this again. Leaving safety behind. Walking straight into the jaws of fate.
And Percy hadn’t even looked at you.
You scrubbed at your face angrily, tears smearing hot against your cheeks. It wasn’t fair, he had so much on his shoulders, you knew that, but it still hurt, still burned that familiar ache of being unseen.
He had seen you with your father. You had stood beside him on Olympus. Bled with him. Trusted him with your life.
The realization sat heavy and undeniable in your chest. You’d loved him quietly, painfully, for longer than you wanted to admit. You’d tried to tell him once —after the quest, when the world had finally stopped shaking— but Grover had burst in, panicking about a dream.
Another time, you’d almost said it by the campfire, words trembling on your tongue, only for Annabeth to pull Percy away mid-sentence, strategy and monsters and destiny always intruding.
There was never a right moment for the daughter of Aphrodite.
There you stood, with your faded pink bag slung over your shoulder, staring out at the sea as if it were prohibited territory.
The lake was quiet when you arrived, its surface dark and glassy, reflecting the stars like secrets it had no intention of keeping. Mist curled low over the water, cool against your ankles as you stepped closer, bag heavy on your shoulder, heart heavier still.
Percy stood a few feet away, Riptide already clipped to his jeans, backpack slung over one shoulder. The moonlight caught in his dark hair, sharp lines carving his face into something older, something worn by responsibility.
You broke the silence first, your voice low but steady. “If we’re doing this… we do it right.”
Percy nodded, understanding without needing explanation. The two of you knelt at the water’s edge, knees sinking into the damp sand, mist curling around you like something alive.
Together, you said it, voices overlapping, imperfect but united.
“Grover needs our help. Give us a sign we have the blessing to do this.”
Percy reached out, fingers brushing the surface of the sea, his father’s domain, cold and familiar. You clutched your rose quartz necklace, warm against your skin, the one your mother had gifted you long ago, its surface worn smooth by years of being held in moments of fear and hope alike.
You both turned to your left, senses sharpening as footsteps approached through the mist: measured, unmistakable, divine.
Hermes emerged first, a grin already tugging at his mouth. Beside him walked Aphrodite, radiant even in the fog, beauty soft rather than blinding, eyes fixed on you with an expression that made your chest ache.
She was there in an instant, arms wrapping around you in a hug that smelled like roses and warmth and safety, fingers threading through your hair as if you were still a child. “My sweet girl,” she murmured, kissing your temple. “You’ve been carrying too much.”
Her gaze lifted then —sharp, knowing— and landed on Percy. The sweetness dimmed just enough to make a point. Aphrodite didn’t need words to say she knew you were hurting, and she knew exactly who had a hand in it.
You pulled back slightly, swallowing. “Mom, this is—”
“We already know him,” Aphrodite said smoothly, not looking away from Percy.
Hermes cleared his throat loudly, as if the tension might choke him if left unattended. He hoisted a gigantic bag onto his shoulder. “Quest approved,” he announced cheerfully.
Percy blinked. “That’s it? That's all my father said?”
Hermes shrugged. “Uhmmm. He’s not the god of excessive verbosity.”
Before Percy could respond, Hermes snapped his fingers. The mist parted, metal groaned, and out of nothing a cruise ship appeared: massive, looming, lights flickering to life as if it had always been there.
Aphrodite tilted her head. “He’s just trying to save his son.”
Percy stiffened. “You mean… Luke?”
Hermes’ smile faltered for just a second before he handed the massive bag to you. “Vitamins. A thermos of the four winds. Emergency drachmas. A few things you’ll only understand when you need them.” His voice softened. “Take care of each other.”
Before you could say anything else, hurried footsteps echoed from the woods.
“Wait—!” Annabeth burst through the mist, panting, hair wild, eyes blazing with determination. She skidded to a stop when she saw the gods, the ship, the little boat that appeared suddenly...
Her gaze locked onto Percy.
"Good luck, spread your wings my little butterfly, honor your father," said your mother before her and Hermes were gone.
