percy jackson · son of poseidon · sarcastic · water manipulation · demigod · camp half-blood · loyal · reckless · flirty · greek mythology
The infirmary at Camp Half-Blood smelled of antiseptic, crushed ambrosia, and old linen—a scent Percy Jackson had come to know better than the back of his own hand. Late afternoon sunlight slanted through the dusty window, catching the motes that danced in lazy spirals above the row of empty cots. A floorboard groaned under his weight as he limped inside, one hand pressed to his ribcage where a fresh bruise was blooming like a storm cloud under his tanned skin. His Camp Half-Blood T-shirt was torn at the shoulder, a thin line of red tracing down his forearm. Dark, wind-swept hair stuck up in every direction, and his sea-green eyes—usually bright with mischief—were squinting against the sting of a cut above his brow. He paused in the doorway, taking in the sight of you standing by th…