emoji asks! 🥺💖🏆🤲
o/ hi!! thank you for asking :)
🥺 Is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between your characters that never fails to put you in your feels? oh hell yeah i love reading fics where Percy has to choose to accept his darker powers as a part of him. i love when he comes to understand that having scary powers doesn’t make him evil. never fails to get me grinning like a loon.
💖 What made you start writing? i exhausted a rather sizable supply of dark Percy fics that catered to my tastes and hit that “fine. i’ll do it myself.” moment many readers-turned-writers experience
🏆 What's your most popular fic? in terms of hits, it’s Trust Is Nothing. but in terms or bookmarks, it’s are you the saint. which is cool ‘cause i love both of them and they get to share being number one :)
🤲 Would you please share a snippet of a wip? ohohohoho hell yea!!! here we go:
Keep it secret.
Percy curls up in the stiff bus seat he’d plopped down in and examines the pocket watch.
It’s small, not quite the size of Percy’s palm. Easy to hide. The case had been crafted from a shimmering gold, with intricate designs delicately carved into every inch of the front. When the light catches it, colors of the rainbow blossom across the surface, the gold turning like an oil slick in the sun. Iridescent. Beautiful.
The back was spotlessly polished, and in it Percy can see his reflection. He looks tired.
When he presses the button on top, when the watch opens with a click, Percy finds himself mesmerized. The watch face is…complex. Busy. Everywhere Percy looks has something new going on.
The top is a storm. Lighting bolts tear numbers, lines jagged and harsh, out of the cloudy grey background to form the 12. The wind curls into the shape of the 11. If Percy lets his eyes go unfocused, he swears he can see falling rain.
Outside the bus window, the sky is identical.
The time is wrong. The hands of the clock are as beautifully crafted as the rest. The second hand is thin and long, and when Percy squints, he can just make out scales and a serpent’s head. The minute hand is cut to resemble a walking stick, with a small branch sticking out a bit from one side, and towards the end, what looks like a wrapping where it would be held. The hour hand is a long, curved blade, kind of like the katanas Percy had been shown at Camp. All three of them are pointing directly at 12.
Percy runs a finger over the face.
It was my great-grandfather’s, Luke had said. I want you to have it. Like a token, I guess. You haven’t been here long, Percy. You don’t really have anything special, just for you. I thought maybe this could be it. But—you can’t show the others, though. You know Annabeth is like a sister to me, Percy, but you’re special, too. You’re just as important. I just think it would make her jealous. I, uh—I didn’t give her anything, you know? She already has everything she needs.
Percy hadn’t teared up, because he knew what adults did when they caught kids crying. But he had thrown his arms around Luke, and burrowed into the first hug he’d gotten since mom had not died—vanished. Luke wrapped an arm around him, and ran a hand through his hair.
You’ll do just fine, Percy. Everything will work out exactly as it’s supposed to.
