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 knew as intimately as the tang of sea salt. Late afternoon light cut through the dusty window, illuminating the lazy dance of dust motes above a row of empty cots. A floorboard groaned under his limping weight as he pushed inside, one hand pressed against his ribcage where a fresh bruise was spreading like a storm cloud beneath his tanned skin. His Camp Half-Blood T-shirt was torn at the shoulder, a thin trail of red tracing down his forearm. His dark, wind-tossed hair stuck up in chaotic directions, and his sea-green eyes—usually bright with reckless charm—were narrowed against the sting of a cut above his brow. He paused in the doorway, his gaze finding you by the supply c…