I barely see any cabin 7 girls anymore :( I love your blog though!! Do u guys play any instruments? And can I tell u a cray story?! So before I found the pjo series was crazy into archery and like music and then I found it and I was like: yes. Cabin 7 is my home.
that’s awesome!! i play piano, clarinet, and voice (first soprano!!) i’m also hella good at darts but i haven’t done archery since girl scout camp when i was little. i’m really sorry we haven’t been active, we should be up and running again by summer break!
Oh my gods can you please make a sequel to the chef AU! It's amazing!!!
Annabeth stares in horror at the stack of pans on her station. All three are covered in caked on grime and foodstuffs and from three feet away they make her hands feel sticky. There’s a distinct feeling of nausea wrapped in violation that’s simmering in her stomach as she looks at the atrocity that’s occurred. Someone has knowingly left uncleaned cookware on her station in an attempt to attack her and unknowingly started a war. The target of which is very obviously a messy-haired, green-eyed pastry chef that’s about to bake his last cake.
She’s still debating if it would be better to flambe him or grill him when the kitchen goes dead silent. Ever so slowly she raises her eyes to see a certain chef standing just inside the back door looking around at the kitchen staff who have come to a complete stop. She wraps her hand around the handle of the top pot and plans on making his mistake the instrument of his demise.
“I hope it was worth it,” she growls and walks around the counter towards him.
He at least has the good sense to back away from her and try and keep something between them to extend his life a few more precious seconds.
“Hey, you started this,” he says defensively and puts up his hands.
“I started this?” She roars and moves faster towards him.
“My station smelled like fish!” He shouts back at her.
“Maybe if you would clean it,” she takes a warning swing and enjoys the fear in his eyes.
“Maybe if you wouldn’t make such disgusting entrees,” he shoots back.
“Disgusting? Did you just call my lemon salmon disgusting? Come over here so I can knock some decent taste into you,” she says brandishing the pan.
“No one has ever made fish taste good, ever.”
“It’s an honor for the salmon I choose to serve in my restaurant. They should be so lucky to end up a part of one of my dishes,” she says dropping her tone.
“If they were lucky they’d be with their fish wives and tiny fish babies,” he says mockingly.
“Salmon die after they spawn you complete-” Annabeth finishes with a growl instead of the word she’d rather use.
She runs a hand through her disheveled curls and stares at him still filled with an intense urge to hurt him.
“You’re a fish murderer,” he says just loud enough for her to hear and Annabeth loses it.
She throws the pan at him and he steps to his right narrowly missing having three hundred dollar cookware hit him square in the chest.
“Ha!” He shouts, “missed me.”
“That’s because I want to kill you with my bare hands!” She charges for him and feels multiple sets of hands grab the back of her coat and haul her backwards.
Percy’s eyes go wide and he backs as far away from her as he can get.
It takes her a second to get a grip on her anger and shove it down. She brushes off the hands holding her back and straightens her coat before turning and storming back to her station to prep. She reaches the stack of pans and looks back to shoot Percy another death glare before shoving the dirty dishes back onto his station and pulling out the steaks for that night. She makes a show of using the tenderizing mallet and Percy has the sense to look worried before he disappears into the storeroom.
Annabeth pours her rage into her work and making every dish perfect. She preps most of the ingredients herself and lets the repetitive tasks sooth her. Her staff steers clear of her except to leave the raw ingredients she’ll need on her station or carry away stacks of diced vegetables. She stubbornly refuses to look to her left and acknowledge that he’s doing anything let alone that he exists. By the end of the night her arm is sore and her hands ache but everything has gone perfectly as usual and she grins with pride at that fact that nothing can take her down.
She’s watching the staff clean up their stations and head home for the night when a plate slides onto her counter and she stares blankly at it. A slice of strawberry sits atop a mound of pink mousse layered over yellow cake. All of it is decorated with a drizzle of bright red sauce that’s also used to to spell out ‘sorry’ in large letters around the edge of the plate. She’s snuck enough of his creations to know it will be delicious and not nearly large enough of a portion. The fact that it’s strawberry doesn’t escape her notice and she glances at him from the corner of her eye.
He shifts his weight from one foot to another while watching the plate in front of her. When she doesn’t reach for it after a minute he exhales slowly and walks off towards the freezer. As soon as he’s gone Annabeth uses a finger to scoop up some of the mousse and tastes it. It feels lighter than air and tastes of fresh picked strawberries and cream cheese. She has to stop her hand from reaching out for another taste and turns to follow after him.
She finds him steadily thumping his head against one of the shelves inside the walk in freezer muttering the word ‘idiot’ to himself repeatedly.
“Is this how it’s going to work? You screw up, I yell at you, you make me a dessert?”
His head snaps up in surprise and he stares at her wide eyed.
“I- I guess.” His voice is soft and his eyes are fixed on her like she’s the only thing in the world.
“Gods you infuriate me,” she steps up to him and pulls him into a kiss.
His lips taste of sugar and strawberries but he smells like the ocean and Annabeth runs her hands into his hair and tugs him further into the kiss. The tension in her shoulders boils away from the heat between them and the freezer suddenly becomes too warm for her. She breaks the kiss and gulps for air but keeps her fingers in his hair.
“What exactly does this mean?” He asks in a husky voice that sends a rush of heat up her spine.
“It means I accept your apology.”
“So is this going to happen every time I make you a dessert? Or just after I piss you off?”
“Would you just kiss me?” She snaps and he lets out a laugh.
“Guess I’ll just do both,” he says before leaning back in and pulling at her lips.
Annabeth loses herself in the feel of his lips and hands and the pressure of him against her.
“We should get out of here before people starting thinking we’re up to something,” he says after breaking a kiss.
“They already think we’re having sex in here,” she says and pulls him back to her.
“In that case-” he turns her and presses her against the shelves setting a trail of kisses down her neck and pulls at the buttons of her chef’s coat.
She quickly learns that desserts aren’t the only things that Percy is good at.
