perhaps a....91: drowning for my faves percabeth......(if u have time ofc 🥺)
To see Percy Jackson in the Montauk water is to see joy incarnate. Beauty too, if Annabeth is being honest. With the water clinging to his skin and the sun caressing his face, everything seems to reach for him. So Annabeth reaches for him too. How could she not?
All it takes is a twitch of her foot—not even a full kick—for the water to bring her to him. For a moment, she can pretend the ocean bends to her will as it does his. Perhaps it does. Their will is so often the same.
Annabeth wraps around Percy, weightless and waterlogged with joy. She tilts her head back to soak it in, to let him anchor her in the waves. Light glints in his eyes the same as it does on the sea, warm and inviting. He is her sun, all things golden and good, and Annabeth is his moon, determined to reflect it all back at him.
But he’s also the ocean. Because of the depth of him, the way his smooth surface holds deadly riptides and kind currents equally well. Because everything is so blissfully happy that metaphors can take a backseat. He can be the sun and the ocean. Because Annabeth says so.
Percy’s hand settles in the small of her back as he keeps her afloat. Backlit by the blinding sun and the blue sky, he looks like heaven. Annabeth could drown in him—in this happiness—if he’d let her, and part of the bittersweetness of loving him is knowing that he wouldn’t. He is her sun, her ocean, her anchor. He shines, he surrounds, he holds.
