He is however very sad that neither Annabeth, Clarrise or Drew had met Octavian in camp Jupiter, because as much as he frowns on it he would pay any kind of money to see those three tear him a new one for acting like a little bitch he is.
like. i’m just supposed to be normal about percy bodily blocking annabeth from tantalus. i’m just supposed to be normal about percy putting annabeth behind him when tantalus is aiming a celestial bronze tipped arrow at them. i’m just supposed to be normal about percy instinctually holding out his arm in front of annabeth to protect her even when they’re in the middle of an argument, when he thinks she’s betraying him. i’m just supposed to be normal getting war flashbacks to “nobody touches her”. i’m supposed to go about my day as normal when percy jackson casually puts annabeth’s safety before his own.
pjo/hoo fans, listen to me. *shakes you* listen to me. read the kane chronicles. read it. have you read it? read it again. i mean it. there's other reasons, but the main one is that i'm out here making genious posts about tkc, and there's so few people to appreciate my massive brain.
reasons you might want to read tkc:
narrated by two different characters. the framing device is that it's being audio recorded, and you can often see snippets of them being like "don't look at me like that sadie" or "carter just kicked me for saying that"
the god tier character that is sadie kane. she's so in touch with her emotions and unafraid to express them, it's refreshing. she's only 13 in the beginning of the trilogy, and she's so ready to tell people off for being pricks. she chews bubblegum and dyes her hair and she's even british. makes fun of her brother. consistently the funniest character in the series, all while not losing impact as a dramatic figure
the gods are seen really differently than in rr's other books. in pjo, the gods are these all-powerful beings and we mustn't anger them. in tkc, they're your buds. your parents have probably had a fistfight in an applebees parking lot with at least two gods. you see a god for drinks every thursday.
gods literally inhabit the human character's bodies, it's like a venom situation. it makes up for some very funny moments.
where pjo/toa is about acknowledging your family has problems and at times, you're fully right to distance yourself from them, because they're horrible people, tkc is about reconnecting with your family again. it's about finding stability in your family, and how they're, in the end, always the ones that are left there for you
incredibly interesting magic system. they have infrastructure built all over the world. not just two wands (rather a wand and a staff) but also a whole magician's kit.
cast is near-entirely made up of people of colour. two main characters that are both mixed, and the series focuses on how their different appearances affect how people treat them. the magicians are mostly descendants of egyptian rulers
Each time I sketched out a new batch of characters, I went, “ooh i should draw x also!” until this became a much larger project than originally intended lmao.
Give me a child of Aphrodite who’s aromantic—because platonic love is just as important as romantic love
Give me a child of Athena with low grades, but very high emotional intelligence— because intelligence comes in many forms
Give me a child of Ares who’s a pacifist and only engages in violence when necessary— because they understand just how dangerous and easily escalated conflict is
Give me a child of Hades who embraces life to the fullest and is bubbly and sweet— because they understand that the experience of living is unique and should be cherished while it lasts
how about percy getting all putty and whiny, eyes rolling back, when reader rides him?
Overstimulated
Pairing: Percy Jackson x f! readers
TW: Sexual Content/Overstimulation/Vulnerability/Power Dynamics/Physical Intensity.
A/N: sub!Percy is gonna be the death of me.
The salt-scented air of the Poseidon cabin was thick with heat, the only sound the rhythmic, muffled thrum of the Long Island Sound against the hull-like walls. Percy was usually the one in control—the hero who faced down Titans and giants, the leader who kept his head when the world was ending—but here, pinned to the silk sheets of his bed, he was utterly defenseless. The cool blue lighting of the cabin seemed to pulse in time with his racing heart, casting deep shadows over the sharp planes of his face.
You moved with a slow, agonizing deliberation, your hands braced against his chest. Every time you shifted your weight, the friction sent a jolt through him that made his toes curl into the mattress. Percy’s breath came in ragged, hitching gasps, his fingers digging blindly into the bedding as he tried to find some semblance of an anchor. The sheets bunched beneath his knuckles, a poor substitute for the stability he so desperately craved.
"You're... you’re doing that on purpose," he managed to choke out, though it sounded more like a plea than a tongue-in-cheek accusation. His voice was thick, dropped an octave into a raw, gravelly tone that betrayed exactly how close to the edge he was. His chest heaved beneath your palms, the skin slick with a fine sheen of sweat that made your touch slide effortlessly over his pounding heart.
As you leaned forward, hair brushing against his feverish skin, you watched the transformation take hold of him. The "Hero of Olympus" was gone, replaced by a boy who was rapidly coming undone. His head fell back against the pillows, his neck straining, the tendons standing out in sharp relief like the rigging of a ship in a storm. He was unanchored, drifting into a sea of sensation that he had no hope of navigating.
When you sank down fully, a long, high-pitched whine broke from the back of his throat—a sound of pure, unadulterated surrender. It was a pathetic, needy little noise that he would have been mortified by in any other context, but right now, he was too far gone to care about his dignity. The sound vibrated through his entire frame, a shimmering note of desperation that filled the small space between you.
"Wait, wait," he whimpered, his hips stuttering upward in an involuntary, desperate search for more of you, even as his mind screamed that he couldn't take another second. His hands moved from the sheets to your thighs, his grip bruisingly tight for a fleeting moment, then softening immediately into a trembling caress, as if he’d lost the physical strength to hold on. "Please, just... you're killing me, you're actually killing me."
You didn't stop. You picked up the pace just a fraction, grinding down with a targeted pressure that shattered what little remained of his resolve, and that was the final breaking point.
Percy’s green eyes, usually so sharp, defiant, and full of life, began to glaze over. As the pleasure reached a fever pitch, his lids fluttered, losing the battle to stay open. His eyes rolled back until only the whites were visible—a physical manifestation of a mind completely short-circuited by overwhelming sensation. He looked dazed, almost delirious, his mouth hanging open in a silent, breathless gasp before he let out another broken, whiny moan that trailed off into a sob-like hitch.
He was like putty in your hands, his body humming with a frantic, electric energy that seemed to mimic the power of a brewing hurricane. Every muscle was taut, vibrating with the effort of holding back, then suddenly loose and pliable, then taut again as another wave hit him. He was babbling now, his filter completely destroyed. Nonsense words and soft, weeping sounds of "please" and "more" spilled from his lips, his head thrashing slowly from side to side against the pillow as he tried to escape—or perhaps immerse himself further in—the white-hot haze.
"I can't... I can't think," he whispered, a tear of pure overstimulation pricking at the corner of his closed eye. He was entirely at your mercy, his movements reduced to weak, rhythmic twitches that followed your lead. The fierce warrior who had stood against the King of the Titans was reduced to a shaking, sobbing mess, his fingers feebly curling around your wrists as if to beg for either release or a permanent stay in this blissful torment.
In this moment, there was no prophecy, no monsters, and no heavy crown of god-like expectations. There was only the weight of you, the agonizing rhythm of your movement, and the way you could turn the most powerful demigod of the age into a shivering, pleading mess with nothing more than a steady, unrelenting heat and the ruthless command of your body over his. He was yours, entirely dismantled, a wreck of a hero washed up on your shore.
And when he came? Gods, it was full blown whimpering and sobbing, muttering soft 'thank yous' while burying himself deep inside of you.
