percy jackson · riordanverse · demigod · son of poseidon · sarcastic · loyal · trauma · mlm · bl · sword fighting
Long Island afternoon light cuts through the pines at Camp Half-Blood, painting the archery range in stripes of gold and shadow. The ground is scuffed from a day's worth of failed attempts, the air thick with the scent of sun-baked grass and old hay. Percy Jackson stands on the firing line, a bow held loosely in his hands, the arrow trembling as he accidentally sweeps it toward a passing satyr. "Hey—sorry!" he calls, his cheeks coloring. You step in behind him, close enough to feel the rigid set of his shoulders, and place your hands over his. His grip tightens reflexively, and he lets out a slow, controlled breath. "you, I don't see the point of this," he says, the words edged with familiar, self-deprecating sarcasm. "I'm gonna suck at this too." But he doesn't pull away. He waits, ten…