imagine being someone at new rome university and not knowing percy is the same guy as “percy jackson, son of poseidon, two-time hero of olympus, former praetor” because the thought doesn’t even cross your mind. like… he’s percy. he’s a total frat boy. on a normal night, he walks into a party, refers to everyone as bro or dude, socializes with every living (and not-living) person in the room, makes at least 50 sarcastic comments, plays 12 rounds of beer pong, drinks way too much, and then skates around campus on his skateboard yelling “I LOVE NEW YORK” (which makes no sense, because they’re in california) until someone calls his girlfriend to come get him.

and then one day there’s an attack, and frat boy percy is all of a sudden a fighting machine. he’s yelling battle cries alongside the praetors frank zhang and hazel levesque as they lead everyone into battle. (why is he with the praetors? and why…. why in the world do the praetors seem to be following his lead?) his sword slashes through armies of monsters faster than you’ve ever seen. he’s controlling the entire river surrounding the camp, creating huge waves as tall as skyscrapers that crash down all around him, wiping out monsters and causing mass destruction to his enemies’ ranks. the sky is suddenly dark above you, ice-cold water droplets are slashing through the air, and the wind is blowing so aggressively that it’s making it hard to stand up steadily. because he’s somehow created a hurricane.

and he looks terrifying. you can feel the power radiating off of him. he’s like a god. or maybe a monster. it’s hard to tell. you’re a little scared of him, to be honest. but also in total awe, because it’s extraordinary. he’s extraordinary.

frat boy percy is not who you thought he was.

Gwaine 🥰

I can't actually see this emoji but have been told by a reliable source (@simoneleona herself) that it's the happy blushing face with all the hearts around it, since Gwaine needs more love. Hope this satisfies!

"Why are you like this?" Percival asked, but it was said fondly. He heaved Gwaine, who was very drunk, up and over his shoulder. By all measures, this was actually a very calm and pleasant night at the tavern for them, probably as a result of Percy being the designated non-drinker. People tended not to mess with the big knight when he was sober, regardless of how annoying his friends were being, and he was more than capable of getting them all safely home. For Gwaine, this meant he was being carried.

"Like what? Oh, you mean that I'm a fun person? Yeah, I am actually," Gwaine replied as his head bumped against Percival's back with each step. He tended to be a happy, and talkative, drunk, and continued blabbering and gesturing upside down while they made their way towards the castle. At one point he smacked Percival's ass (it was unclear whether this was intentional or not) and the big knight was tempted to drop him in the nearest haystack and leave him there. He resisted the urge though, and carried Gwaine up to his room.

Trying to put his friend down was a far larger challenge than picking him up had been. Gwaine had gone clingy and refused to let go of him.

"No, don't let go of me, you're so sexy," he laughed, holding tight to Percival's arm and trying to loop his legs around his waist. "So big and -hic!- strong."

"You're insufferable," Percy replied, as he always did, to the flirting. He hoped Gwaine knew that he didn't really mean in.

"I'm offern- offenened," the drunk knight muttered, instantly letting go and trying to get out of the bed. He was not successful, instantly stumbling when he tried to stand. Percival patiently picked him up and deposited him back onto the mattress.

"If I say I'm sorry will you forgive me?" He asked, this time being the one to not let go of the other man's arm to keep him from trying to wander again.

"Only if you -hic!- seal it with a kiss."

"How about a hug?" Percy countered gently. He was never sure how much of his flirting Gwaine actually meant, and he didn't want to take advantage of him when he was drunk.

"Yeah, alrigh." The hug wasn't so much a mutual affair as Gwaine just snuggling up into Percival's arms, but neither of them really minded. Percy rested his chin on the other man's head, reveling in the softness of the hair against his skin, and rocked him gently to sleep.

Mun Day

tagged by: @riiverbends  @lanterniisms  and @rogue-prince-consort

1. coke or pepsi: Not a huge fan of soda, generally, but Cherry Coke is my weakness, so I guess I have to say Coke 2. disney or dreamworks: I mean, DreamWorks is cool and all, but I eat, sleep, and breathe Disney 
3. coffee or tea: TEA. Tea. I am obsessed with tea. Who wants to guess how many different teas I have in my home? 
4. books or movies: I love both so much. I've been doing more reading lately and it's reminded me how much I enjoy it, but movies really transport me. I can't pick between them, I'm sorry. 5. windows or mac: Windows. I've never owned a Mac computer. 
6. dc or marvel: Bits and pieces of both? I love the MCU but I'm also pretty into Batman stuff. 
7. x-box or playstation: No contest; Playstation 
8. dragon age or mass effect: I haven't played either yet but my coworker wants to lend me Dragon Age because she thinks I'll love it 9. night owl or early riser: I prefer to wake up early, but it's hard for me so idk 
10. cards or chess: chess, though I'm super super rusty now 
11. chocolate or vanilla: Chocolate, except in soft serve  
12. vans or converse: I don't have a preference 13. Lavellan, Trevelyan, Cadash, or Adaar: I'll let you know when I play Dragon Age 
15. beach or forest: BEACH BEACH BEACH BEACH BEACH BEACH 
16. dogs or cats: -grabs your face and gets uncomfortably close- Do Not Make Me Choose 
17. clear skies or rain: I used to be all about the rain and I still love the aesthetic of cozy, rainy days, but it seems that I have recently developed Seasonal Affective Disorder and rainy days mess me up something fierce, so clear skies please 
18. cooking or eating out: Eating out, though I need to just not tbh 
19. spicy food or mild food: Both? Depends on the food? 
20. halloween/samhain or solstice/yule/christmas: Halloween is my favourite holiday (and I always mentally make a Big Deal out of Samhain and then forget to do anything for it oops) but the winter holiday season is one of my fave times of year. There's something special and magical in the air <3 
21. would you rather forever be a little too cold or a little too hot: Cold. It's easier for me to warm up than it is for me to cool down. 
22. if you could have a superpower, what would it be: Shape shifting. And if you think I wouldn't use that to be a real mermaid, you don't know me well enough 
23. animation or live action: Depends on the movie/show. They both have their merits, and some stories really only work in one medium 
24. paragon or renegade: hell if I know 
25. baths or showers: Baths! I know showers are faster and more efficient, but I love relaxing in the tub with music and a bathbomb and stuff <3 
26. team cap or team ironman: I mean, in Civil War even though I can see where they're both coming from I sided with Cap. But Tony is my son. 
27. fantasy or sci-fi: Fantasy 28. do you have three or four favourite quotes, if so what are they: - “If you're going to die, then die. If you're going to live, then fight." - Emilie Autumn -"You can't see magic. Magic is what happens on the stage, when the lights come up" - Lady Gaga -"She's mad but she's magic. There is no lie in her fire." - Bukowski -"At some point you have to stop mourning your expectations and get to work building new dreams with the still sparkling fragments of your old ones" - Traci Hines  29. youtube or netflix: Youtube 
30. harry potter or percy jackson: HARRY PO TTER 
31. when you feel accomplished: Is it sad that I'm drawing a blank on this? 33. paperback books or hardback books: Doesn't matter to me 
34. horror or rom-com: Rom com, though tbh I'm picky about both 
35. tv shows or movies: Movies, but only by a small margin 
36. Pink or yellow lemonade: I'm not a big lemonade drinker. I like homemade lemonade, though, so I guess yellow 
37: wolves or tigers: Tigers 
38. 2D or 3D animated films/shorts/shows: They're both so amazing, so this is hard. The quality of CGI continues to impress me, and as a seamstress, I just adore when you can see the stitching on a character's outfit or be able to tell what fabric it's made of. But CGI also has a tendency to age poorly, which just doesn't happen with hand-drawn animation. I mean, look at, say, Shrek or Toy Story. The animation in both is still impressive, but at the same time it's definitely dated. But Snow White is almost 80 years old and is still stunning. Sorry, I think about animation a lot 
39. cake, pie, or cookies: cookies, I guess? 
40. Star Trek or Star Wars: I'm a big fan of Star Trek TOS (and the new movies, tbh) whereas I didn't actually get into Star Wars until last year, but even so, I don't actually know which I would pick 
41. Bold, pastel, or neutral colors: For what? Décor? Clothes? Makeup? 
42. Dub or sub? Dub. I know that 9 times out of 10, dubbed voices aren't as good as the originals, but I like to multitask when I watch things, and I can't do that if I have to read subtitles 
43. Rock or punk rock? Both are gr8 but I am less familiar with punk rock bands so I guess rock by default? 
44. what would be the first thing you’d do if you won the lottery: Plan a trip around the world to visit all the Disney parks 45. glasses or contacts? (if you need them) : Contacts, though once I get glasses that actually have my updated prescription I might wear them more often

Tagging: @oflavenza  @demandpeace  @paranormallydetermined  @melodious-sitarist  @boorishbrute  @princessannaofarendelle ​ only if you guys want to of course! I'm sorry if I've tagged anyone that doesn't like these, feel free to ignore!

* Name: Dustin Baughman

* Age: 22

* Birthday: October 16, 1995

* Location: Perry, Ohio

Height (optional): 70 inches

* Employed/in school?: yeh

* Relationship status (seriously): Single (seriously)

* Snapchat username: Blckpowerranger

* Twitter handle (optional): www.twitter.com/six_paths_sages

* Instagram username (optional):

_hi.im.dustin_

—

Getting to know you (answer simply, or in detail):

* Early bird or night owl?

Both

* Favorite animal?

Homo Sapiens

* Favorite type(s) or music?

Every genre has good musicians and bad ones.

* Favorite artist(s) or band(s)?

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=LLGD1TjI7SK3PZdzjyudeqPA playlist

* Favorite restaurant?

Number 1 kitchen in Massillon it’s a chinese

* Favorite food?

Fair food and cup ramen

* Favorite alcoholic beverage?

I like 4% and 40% alcohol. No in betweens

* Cats or dogs, (favorite breed?)

Both but cats lack empathy soo. Anything that has wolf.

* Drinker/smoker?

It’s complicated.

* Involved in any illegal activities? (If yes, please explain):

Nah.

* Favorite TV show(s)/movie(s)?

Jurassic world/parks Edge of tomorrow District 9 In time Mad max Avengers Tomorrow land Chappie Gods of Egypt Independence day Maze runner World war z Doom Enders game Gamer Ironman Hardcore henry Hunger games I am legend Avatar Pirates of the Caribbean Deadpool Warcraft Hellboy Ex-machina Jumper Alice in wonderland The martian 28 weeks later Land of the lost Pandorum Journey to the center of the earth X men Percy Jackson It follows Transformers Ice age Big game Jamangi/Zathura Lil nicky Monsters dark continent Year one Now you see me Kangaroo jack The purge Harry Potter Nerve The ringer Death race Passengers Kong skull island Elysium

* Favorite “getaway”/vacation spot?

I wish dude. I have a big 10 person tent to go camping in but I only use it once a year… ☹

* Any hobbies or interests?

Teach gymnastics and make mildly successful youtube films

* Have any kids?

No but my broke self gets baby fever knowing I cant afford half a baby.

* Have any pets?

Yeah. Cat, German Shepard and tiny palmeranian

—

Please provide a short statement regarding your stance on the following topics:

* Same sex marriage:

My stance is on the side for it. Though I don’t find the same sex appealing.

* Racism:

My stance is on the side for it as long as it complies with our right to free speech. Im just saying legally punished. If someone in power is racist then the public should scrutinize him/her. Let’s not control how others should think

* Religion:

Believe what you want but theres been a lot of religious loonies who are like climate change deniers who hold the power of influence or money.

* Feminism:

My stance is on the side for it. Though I don’t deny sexual dimorphism. Which is biological defferences among the sexes like male hormones makes men stronger than women. Kinda don’t like how men at 18 are forced into the draft but I see why they make us.

* Abortion:

My stance is on the side for it.

* Plastic surgery:

My stance is on the side for it.

* Our current president:

I don’t like trump.

* Tattoos:

Tattoos are sexaay

* Piercings: Piercings can look dope

My stance is on the side for it.

* Is the Earth round or flat:

The earth is a spheroid

* Pineapple on pizza:

My stance is on the side for it. but I don’t like pineapples on pizza

—

Some extras:I like to know a lot of useless facts

* (If you’re lucky enough to make it past the application process) We go our first date, what do you have in mind?

The only “dates” Ive ever been on were like going to the movies when your like 13. Idk fun stuff you’d do with a friend.

* What do you look for in a potential girlfriend?

She has to have money be dumb. Big boobs and ass. (can I cuss on this app)

* Are you okay with me (potentially) bringing you around my family?

yeh

* Are you okay with (potentially) bringing me around your family?

Yeh

* If you were able to pack up and move anywhere tomorrow, where would it be and why?

Somewhere without winter

* Have you ever cheated on a significant other?

No

* Do you currently have a tinder?

No

* Why didn’t your last relationship work out?

Idk I was like 14

* Any “weird” fetishes? (Please explain):

OMG. This is a resume. Feet dont turn me on if thats what your asking. Idk. I like when my junk is grabed through my pants. Like baths and showers. Pumps look cool but ive never done it.

* Please write a short paragraph in regards to anything you want me to know about you during this application process:

Idk I like you.

—

*Application can be revoked at any time if applicant fails to impress me throughout dating process or has provided non satisfactory answers on application questionnaire*

Please type full name below:

Name: Dustin David Baughman

Date: 8/21/2018

Phone number: I don’t own one :/

~ To be seriously considered, please submit application along with 3-5 pictures of yourself. (Please send selfies only, pictures involving your genital area will result in being immediately blocked and you will not be considered as a potential candidate)

The Deathday Party

October arrived, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle. Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was kept busy by a sudden spate of colds among the staff and students. Her Pepperup potion worked instantly, though it left the drinker smoking at the ears for several hours afterward. Ginny Weasley, who had been looking pale, was bullied into taking some by Percy. The steam pouring from under her vivid hair gave the impression that her whole head was on fire. Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for days on end; the lake rose, the flower beds turned into muddy streams, and Hagrid's pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds. Oliver Wood's enthusiasm for regular training sessions, however, was not dampened, which was why Harry was to be found, late one stormy Saturday afternoon a few days before Halloween, returning to Gryffindor Tower, drenched to the skin and splattered with mud. Even aside from the rain and wind it hadn't been a happy practice session. Fred and George, who had been spying on the Slytherin team, had seen for themselves the speed of those new Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones. They reported that the Slytherin team was no more than seven greenish blurs, shooting through the air like missiles. As Harry squelched along the deserted corridor he came across somebody who looked just as preoccupied as he was. Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor Tower, was staring morosely out of a window, muttering under his breath, "...don't fulfill their requirements... half an inch, if that..." "Hello, Nick," said Harry. "Hello, hello," said Nearly Headless Nick, starting and looking round. He wore a dashing, plumed hat on his long curly hair, and a tunic with a ruff, which concealed the fact that his neck was almost completely severed. He was pale as smoke, and Harry could see right through him to the dark sky and torrential rain outside. "You look troubled, young Potter," said Nick, folding a transparent letter as he spoke and tucking it inside his doublet. "So do you," said Harry. "Ah," Nearly Headless Nick waved an elegant hand, "a matter of no importance... It's not as though I really wanted to join... Thought I'd apply, but apparently I don't fulfill requirements'-" In spite of his airy tone, there was a look of great bitterness on his face. "But you would think, wouldn't you," he erupted suddenly, pulling the letter back out of his pocket, "that getting hit forty-five times in the neck with a blunt axe would qualify you to join the Headless Hunt?" "Oh - yes," said Harry, who was obviously supposed to agree. "I mean, nobody wishes more than I do that it had all been quick and clean, and my head had come off properly, I mean, it would have saved me a great deal of pain and ridicule. However -" Nearly Headless Nick shook his letter open and read furiously: "We can only accept huntsmen whose heads have parted company with their bodies. You will appreciate that it would be impossible otherwise for members to participate in hunt activities such as Horseback Head-Juggling and Head Polo. It is with the greatest regret, therefore, that I must inform you that you do not fulfill our requirements. With very best wishes, Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore.'" Fuming, Nearly Headless Nick stuffed the letter away. "Half an inch of skin and sinew holding my neck on, Harry! Most people would think that's good and beheaded, but oh, no, it's not enough for Sir Properly Decapitated-Podmore." Nearly Headless Nick took several deep breaths and then said, in a far calmer tone, "So - what's bothering you? Anything I can do?" "No," said Harry. "Not unless you know where we can get seven free Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones for our match against Sly-" The rest of Harry's sentence was drowned out by a high-pitched mewling from somewhere near his ankles. He looked down and found himself gazing into a pair of lamp-like yellow eyes. It was Mrs. Norris, the skeletal gray cat who was used by the caretaker, Argus Filch, as a sort of deputy in his endless battle against students. "You'd better get out of here, Harry," said Nick quickly. "Filch isn't in a good mood - he's got the flu and some third years accidentally plastered frog brains all over the ceiling in dungeon five. He's been cleaning all morning, and if he sees you dripping mud all over the place--" "Right," said Harry, backing away from the accusing stare of Mrs. Norris, but not quickly enough. Drawn to the spot by the mysterious power that seemed to connect him with his foul cat, Argus Filch burst suddenly through a tapestry to Harry's right, wheezing and looking wildly about for the rule-breaker. There was a thick tartan scarf bound around his head, and his nose was unusually purple. "Filth!" he shouted, his jowls aquiver, his eyes popping alarmingly as he pointed at the muddy puddle that had dripped from Harry's Quidditch robes. "Mess and muck everywhere! I've had enough of it, I tell you! Follow me, Potter!" So Harry waved a gloomy good-bye to Nearly Headless Nick and followed Filch back downstairs, doubling the number of muddy footprints on the floor. Harry had never been inside Filch's office before; it was a place most students avoided. The room was dingy and windowless, lit by a single oil lamp dangling from the low ceiling. A faint smell of fried fish lingered about the place. Wooden filing cabinets stood around the walls; from their labels, Harry could see that they contained details of every pupil Filch had ever punished. Fred and George Weasley had an entire drawer to themselves. A highly polished collection of chains and manacles hung on the wall behind Filch's desk. It was common knowledge that he was always begging Dumbledore to let him suspend students by their ankles from the ceiling. Filch grabbed a quill from a pot on his desk and began shuffling around looking for parchment. "Dung," he muttered furiously, "great sizzling dragon bogies... frog brains... rat intestines... I've had enough of it... make an example... where's the form... yes..." He retrieved a large roll of parchment from his desk drawer and stretched it out in front of him, dipping his long black quill into the ink pot. "Name... Harry Potter. Crime..." "It was only a bit of mud!" said Harry. "It's only a bit of mud to you, boy, but to me it's an extra hour scrubbing!" shouted Filch, a drip shivering unpleasantly at the end of his bulbous nose. " Crime... befouling the castle... suggested sentence..." Dabbing at his streaming nose, Filch squinted unpleasantly at Harry who waited with bated breath for his sentence to fall. But as Filch lowered his quill, there was a great BANG! on the ceiling of the office, which made the oil lamp rattle. "PEEVES!" Filch roared, flinging down his quill in a transport of rage. "I'll have you this time, I'll have you!" And without a backward glance at Harry, Filch ran flat-footed from the office, Mrs. Norris streaking alongside him. Peeves was the school poltergeist, a grinning, airborne menace who lived to cause havoc and distress. Harry didn't much like Peeves, but couldn't help feeling grateful for his timing. Hopefully, whatever Peeves had done (and it sounded as though he'd wrecked something very big this time) would distract Filch from Harry. Thinking that he should probably wait for Filch to come back, Harry sank into a moth-eaten chair next to the desk. There was only one thing on it apart from his half-completed form: a large, glossy, purple envelope with silver lettering on the front. With a quick glance at the door to check that Filch wasn't on his way back, Harry picked up the envelope and read: Kwikspell A Correspondence Course in Beginners'Magic. Intrigued, Harry flicked the envelope open and pulled out the sheaf of parchment inside. More curly silver writing on the front page said: Feel out of step in the world of modern magic? Find yourself making excuses not to perform simple spells? Ever been taunted for your woeful wandwork? There is an answer! Kwikspell is an all-new, fail-safe, quick-result, easy-learn course. Hundreds of witches and wizards have benefited from the Kwikspell method! Madam Z. Nettles of Topsham writes: "I had no memory for incantations and my potions were a family joke! Now, after a Kwikspell course, I am the center of attention at parties and friends beg for the recipe of my Scintillation Solution!" Warlock D. J. Prod of Didsbury says: "My wife used to sneer at my feeble charms, but one month into your fabulous Kwikspell course and I succeeded in turning her into a yak! Thank you, Kwikspell!" Fascinated, Harry thumbed through the rest of the envelope's contents. Why on earth did Filch want a Kwikspell course? Did this mean he wasn't a proper wizard? Harry was just reading "Lesson One: Holding Your Wand (Some Useful Tips)" when shuffling footsteps outside told him Filch was coming back. Stuffing the parchment back into the envelope, Harry threw it back onto the desk just as the door opened. Filch was looking triumphant. "That vanishing cabinet was extremely valuable!" he was saying gleefully to Mrs. Norris. "We'll have Peeves out this time, my sweet--" His eyes fell on Harry and then darted to the Kwikspell envelope, which, Harry realized too late, was lying two feet away from where it had started. Filch's pasty face went brick red. Harry braced himself for a tidal wave of fury. Filch hobbled across to his desk, snatched up the envelope, and threw it into a drawer. "Have you - did you read -?" he sputtered. "No," Harry lied quickly. Filch's knobbly hands were twisting together. "If I thought you'd read my private -not that it's mine - for a friend - be that as it may - however--" Harry was staring at him, alarmed; Filch had never looked madder. His eyes were popping, a tic was going in one of his pouchy cheeks, and the tartan scarf didn't help. "Very well - go - and don't breathe a word - not that - however, if you didn't read - go now, I have to write up Peeves'report - go--" Amazed at his luck, Harry sped out of the office, up the corridor, and back upstairs. To escape from Filch's office without punishment was probably some kind of school record. "Harry! Harry! Did it work?" Nearly Headless Nick came gliding out of a classroom. Behind him, Harry could see the wreckage of a large black-and-gold cabinet that appeared to have been dropped from a great height. "I persuaded Peeves to crash it right over Filch's office," said Nick eagerly. "Thought it might distract him--" "Was that you?" said Harry gratefully. "Yeah, it worked, I didn't even get detention. Thanks, Nick!" They set off up the corridor together. Nearly Headless Nick, Harry noticed, was still holding Sir Patrick's rejection letter... "I wish there was something I could do for you about the Headless Hunt," Harry said. Nearly Headless Nick stopped in his tracks and Harry walked right through him. He wished he hadn't; it was like stepping through an icy shower. "But there is something you could do for me," said Nick excitedly. "Harry - would I be asking too much - but no, you wouldn't want--" "What is it?" said Harry. "Well, this Halloween will be my five hundredth deathday," said Nearly Headless Nick, drawing himself up and looking dignified. "Oh," said Harry, not sure whether he should look sorry or happy about this. "Right." "I'm holding a party down in one of the roomier dungeons. Friends will be coming from all over the country. It would be such an honor if you would attend. Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger would be most welcome, too, of course - but I daresay you'd rather go to the school feast?" He watched Harry on tenterhooks. "No," said Harry quickly, "I'll come--" "My dear boy! Harry Potter, at my deathday party! And -" he hesitated, looking excited "- do you think you could possibly mention to Sir Patrick how very frightening and impressive you find me?" "Of - of course," said Harry. Nearly Headless Nick beamed at him. "A deathday party?" said Hermione keenly when Harry had changed at last and joined her and Ron in the common room. "I bet there aren't many living people who can say they've been to one of those - it'll be fascinating!" "Why would anyone want to celebrate the day they died?" said Ron, who was halfway through his Potions homework and grumpy. "Sounds dead depressing to me..." Rain was still lashing the windows, which were now inky black, but inside all looked bright and cheerful. The firelight glowed over the countless squashy armchairs where people sat reading, talking, doing homework or, in the case of Fred and George Weasley, trying to find out what would happen if you fed a Filibuster firework to a salamander. Fred had "rescued" the brilliant orange, fire-dwelling lizard from a Care of Magical Creatures class and it was now smouldering gently on a table surrounded by a knot of curious people. Harry was at the point of telling Ron and Hermione about Filch and the Kwikspell course when the salamander suddenly whizzed into the air, emitting loud sparks and bangs as it whirled wildly round the room. The sight of Percy bellowing himself hoarse at Fred and George, the spectacular display of tangerine stars showering from the salamander's mouth, and its escape into the fire, with accompanying explosions, drove both Filch and the Kwikspell envelope from Harry's mind. By the time Halloween arrived, Harry was regretting his rash promise to go to the deathday party. The rest of the school was happily anticipating their Halloween feast; the Great Hall had been decorated with the usual live bats, Hagrid's vast pumpkins had been carved into lanterns large enough for three men to sit in, and there were rumors that Dumbledore had booked a troupe of dancing skeletons for the entertainment. "A promise is a promise," Hermione reminded Harry bossily. "You said you'd go to the deathday party." So at seven o'clock, Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked straight past the doorway to the packed Great Hall, which was glittering invitingly with gold plates and candles, and directed their steps instead toward the dungeons. The passageway leading to Nearly Headless Nick's party had been lined with candles, too, though the effect was far from cheerful: These were long, thin, jet-black tapers, all burning bright blue, casting a dim, ghostly light even over their own living faces. The temperature dropped with every step they took. As Harry shivered and drew his robes tightly around him, he heard what sounded like a thousand fingernails scraping an enormous blackboard. "Is that supposed to be music?" Ron whispered. They turned a corner and saw Nearly Headless Nick standing at a doorway hung with black velvet drapes. "My dear friends," he said mournfully. "Welcome, welcome... so pleased you could come..." He swept off his plumed hat and bowed them inside. It was an incredible sight. The dungeon was full of hundreds of pearly-white, translucent people, mostly drifting around a crowded dance floor, waltzing to the dreadful, quavering sound of thirty musical saws, played by an orchestra on a raised, black-draped platform. A chandelier overhead blazed midnight-blue with a thousand more black candles. Their breath rose in a mist before them; it was like stepping into a freezer. "Shall we have a look around?" Harry suggested, wanting to warm up his feet. "Careful not to walk through anyone," said Ron nervously, and they set off around the edge of the dance floor. They passed a group of gloomy nuns, a ragged man wearing chains, and the Fat Friar, a cheerful Hufflepuff ghost, who was talking to a knight with an arrow sticking out of his forehead. Harry wasn't surprised to see that the Bloody Baron, a gaunt, staring Slytherin ghost covered in silver bloodstains, was being given a wide berth by the other ghosts. "Oh, no," said Hermione, stopping abruptly. "Turn back, turn back, I don't want to talk to Moaning Myrtle--" "Who?" said Harry as they backtracked quickly. "She haunts one of the toilets in the girls'bathroom on the first floor," said Hermione. "She haunts a toilet?" "Yes. It's been out-of-order all year because she keeps having tantrums and flooding the place. I never went in there anyway if I could avoid it; it's awful trying to have a pee with her wailing at you--" "Look, food!" said Ron. On the other side of the dungeon was a long table, also covered in black velvet. They approached it eagerly but next moment had stopped in their tracks, horrified. The smell was quite disgusting. Large, rotten fish were laid on handsome silver platters; cakes, burned charcoal-black, were heaped on salvers; there was a great maggoty haggis, a slab of cheese covered in furry green mold and, in pride of place, an enormous gray cake in the shape of a tombstone, with tar-like icing forming the words, SIR NICHOLAS DE MIMSY-PORPINGTON DIED 31ST OCTOBER, 1492 Harry watched, amazed, as a portly ghost approached the table, crouched low, and walked through it, his mouth held wide so that it passed through one of the stinking salmon. "Can you taste it if you walk though it?" Harry asked him. "Almost," said the ghost sadly, and he drifted away. "I expect they've let it rot to give it a stronger flavor," said Hermione knowledgeably, pinching her nose and leaning closer to look at the putrid haggis. "Can we move? I feel sick," said Ron. They had barely turned around, however, when a little man swooped suddenly from under the table and came to a halt in midair before them. "Hello, Peeves," said Harry cautiously. Unlike the ghosts around them, Peeves the Poltergeist was the very reverse of pale and transparent. He was wearing a bright orange party hat, a revolving bow tie, and a broad grin on his wide, wicked face. "Nibbles?" he said sweetly, offering them a bowl of peanuts covered in fungus. "No thanks," said Hermione. "Heard you talking about poor Myrtle," said Peeves, his eyes dancing. " Rude you was about poor Myrtle." He took a deep breath and bellowed, "OY! MYRTLE!" "Oh, no, Peeves, don't tell her what I said, she'll be really upset," Hermione whispered frantically. "I didn't mean it, I don't mind her - er, hello, Myrtle." The squat ghost of a girl had glided over. She had the glummest face Harry had ever seen, half-hidden behind lank hair and thick, pearly spectacles. "What?" she said sulkily. "How are you, Myrtle?" said Hermione in a falsely bright voice. "It's nice to see you out of the toilet." Myrtle sniffed. "Miss Granger was just talking about you -" said Peeves slyly in Myrtle's ear. "Just saying--" "Just saying - saying - how nice you look tonight," said Hermione, glaring at Peeves. Myrtle eyed Hermione suspiciously. "You're making fun of me," she said, silver tears welling rapidly in her small, see-through eyes. "No - honestly - didn't I just say how nice Myrtle's looking?" said Hermione, nudging Harry and Ron painfully in the ribs. "Oh, yeah--" "She did--" "Don't lie to me," Myrtle gasped, tears now flooding down her face, while Peeves chuckled happily over her shoulder. "D'you think I don't know what people call me behind my back? Fat Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle! Miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle!" "You've forgotten pimply," Peeves hissed in her ear. Moaning Myrtle burst into anguished sobs and fled from the dungeon. Peeves shot after her, pelting her with moldy peanuts, yelling, " Pimply! Pimply! " "Oh, dear," said Hermione sadly. Nearly Headless Nick now drifted toward them through the crowd. "Enjoying yourselves?" "Oh, yes," they lied. "Not a bad turnout," said Nearly Headless Nick proudly. "The Wailing Widow came all the way up from Kent... It's nearly time for my speech, I'd better go and warn the orchestra..." The orchestra, however, stopped playing at that very moment. They, and everyone else in the dungeon, fell silent, looking around in excitement, as a hunting horn sounded. "Oh, here we go," said Nearly Headless Nick bitterly. Through the dungeon wall burst a dozen ghost horses, each ridden by a headless horseman. The assembly clapped wildly; Harry started to clap, too, but stopped quickly at the sight of Nick's face. The horses galloped into the middle of the dance floor and halted, rearing and plunging. At the front of the pack was a large ghost who held his bearded head under his arm, from which position he was blowing the horn. The ghost leapt down, lifted his head high in the air so he could see over the crowd (everyone laughed), and strode over to Nearly Headless Nick, squashing his head back onto his neck. "Nick!" he roared. "How are you? Head still hanging in there?" He gave a hearty guffaw and clapped Nearly Headless Nick on the shoulder. "Welcome, Patrick," said Nick stiffly. "Live uns!" said Sir Patrick, spotting Harry, Ron, and Hermione and giving a huge, fake jump of astonishment, so that his head fell off again (the crowd howled with laughter). "Very amusing," said Nearly Headless Nick darkly. "Don't mind Nick!" shouted Sir Patrick's head from the floor. "Still upset we won't let him join the Hunt! But I mean to say - look at the fellow--" "I think," said Harry hurriedly, at a meaningful look from Nick, "Nick's very - frightening and - er--" "Ha!" yelled Sir Patrick's head. "Bet he asked you to say that!" "If I could have everyone's attention, it's time for my speech!" said Nearly Headless Nick loudly, striding toward the podium and climbing into an icy blue spotlight. "My late lamented lords, ladies, and gentlemen, it is my great sorrow..." But nobody heard much more. Sir Patrick and the rest of the Headless Hunt had just started a game of Head Hockey and the crowd were turning to watch. Nearly Headless Nick tried vainly to recapture his audience, but gave up as Sir Patrick's head went sailing past him to loud cheers. Harry was very cold by now, not to mention hungry. "I can't stand much more of this," Ron muttered, his teeth chattering, as the orchestra ground back into action and the ghosts swept back onto the dance floor. "Let's go," Harry agreed. They backed toward the door, nodding and beaming at anyone who looked at them, and a minute later were hurrying back up the passageway full of black candles. "Pudding might not be finished yet," said Ron hopefully, leading the way toward the steps to the entrance hall. And then Harry heard it. "... rip... tear... kill..." It was the same voice, the same cold, murderous voice he had heard in Lockhart's office. He stumbled to a halt, clutching at the stone wall, listening with all his might, looking around, squinting up and down the dimly lit passageway. "Harry, what're you -?" "It's that voice again - shut up a minute--" "... soo hungry... for so long..." "Listen!" said Harry urgently, and Ron and Hermione froze, watching him. "... kill... time to kill..." The voice was growing fainter. Harry was sure it was moving away - moving upward. A mixture of fear and excitement gripped him as he stared at the dark ceiling; how could it be moving upward? Was it a phantom, to whom stone ceilings didn't matter? "This way," he shouted, and he began to run, up the stairs, into the entrance hall. It was no good hoping to hear anything here, the babble of talk from the Halloween feast was echoing out of the Great Hall. Harry sprinted up the marble staircase to the first floor, Ron and Hermione clattering behind him. "Harry, what're we--" "SHH!" Harry strained his ears. Distantly, from the floor above, and growing fainter still, he heard the voice: "... I smell blood... I SMELL BLOOD!" His stomach lurched-- "It's going to kill someone!" he shouted, and ignoring Ron's and Hermione's bewildered faces, he ran up the next flight of steps three at a time, trying to listen over his own pounding footsteps - Harry hurtled around the whole of the second floor, Ron and Hermione panting behind him, not stopping until they turned a corner into the last, deserted passage. "Harry, what was that all about?" said Ron, wiping sweat off his face. "I couldn't hear anything..." But Hermione gave a sudden gasp, pointing down the corridor. "Look! " Something was shining on the wall ahead. They approached slowly, squinting through the darkness. Foot-high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches. THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE "What's that thing - hanging underneath?" said Ron, a slight quiver in his voice. As they edged nearer, Harry almost slipped - there was a large puddle of water on the floor; Ron and Hermione grabbed him, and they inched toward the message, eyes fixed on a dark shadow beneath it. All three of them realized what it was at once, and leapt backward with a splash. Mrs. Norris, the caretaker's cat, was hanging by her tail from the torch bracket. She was stiff as a board, her eyes wide and staring. For a few seconds, they didn't move. Then Ron said, "Let's get out of here." "Shouldn't we try and help -" Harry began awkwardly. "Trust me," said Ron. "We don't want to be found here." But it was too late. A rumble, as though of distant thunder, told them that the feast had just ended. From either end of the corridor where they stood came the sound of hundreds of feet climbing the stairs, and the loud, happy talk of well-fed people; next moment, students were crashing into the passage from both ends. The chatter, the bustle, the noise died suddenly as the people in front spotted the hanging cat. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood alone, in the middle of the corridor, as silence fell among the mass of students pressing forward to see the grisly sight. Then someone shouted through the quiet. "Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!" It was Draco Malfoy. He had pushed to the front of the crowd, his cold eyes alive, his usually bloodless face flushed, as he grinned at the sight of the hanging, immobile cat.

Okay, I’ve been thinking about something lately

All the time I see people make statements about Percy that start with “Percy would never…”

Some examples I’ve seen: “percy would never kill someone/something in front of his mom” “percy would never yell at someone he loves” “percy would never get drunk” “percy would never let his child go to camp-half blood”

Now if you passionately believe one of those, hear me out. I’m not necessarily saying I disagree!

I’m saying… who would have ever thought Percy would torture a goddess and choke her on her own poison? And…. enjoy doing it? If someone had said that on tumblr pre-HoH, every single comment and reblog would have been “PERCY WOULD NEVER!!” I mean, who would have thought Percy would do a million things he’s done? He’s done some very not so ‘silly little guy’ stuff. He is an extremely complex character. In his own head and to some people, he’s sweet and fun and silly, but to many people he’s reckless and scary and dangerous. Some people see him as someone who’s very gentle and relaxed, but some people see him as someone who’s quick to get very angry and cause destruction. And the truth is, he’s all of it. It depends on his mood. Consistency does not apply to him in many aspects. He has consistent traits, like loyalty, humor, and bravery, but his actual actions and reactions are NOT consistent. I understand why we think Percy would never do certain things. We think we know based off of his past and his history with his mom, or with Gabe, or with Luke. And I’m not saying I think he would do those things, but unless he specifically states it, we can NOT, ever, infer what Percy Jackson might or might not do.

Like for instance, the drinking thing. I am not saying percy would be a big drinker, if one at all. And he probably does have an aversion to the smell of beer because of how the apartment used to smell when he was young. But we have no evidence that Percy associates all alcohol with Gabe. Alcoholic drinks aren’t just foul smelling hard liquors. There are a million different forms that you can consume alcohol in - some of which don’t even smell like alcohol, and barely taste like it. And in The Chalice of the Gods, it’s said that Sally drinks a glass of wine every night. And Percy thinks Sally hangs the freaking moon. So if his mom drinks, he definitely doesn’t believe that alcoholic beverages = the enemy. And here’s the thing, if Annabeth and Piper and Leo were all drinking and having a good time, like college students do, and they go “Hey Percy, come sit and have a drink with us!” there’s a very good chance that he’s so comfortable with his best friends, and just wants to let loose and be a college kid, that he wouldn’t even think about Gabe. He’d just be like “Sounds fun! Count me in!” But I don’t know. That’s the point. I don’t know. Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn’t. I truly think it could go either way. And even if he does drink, maybe he never - not even once - gets drunk. Maybe he’d drink in college and as a young adult, but when he becomes a father one day, he decides he doesn’t want his children to ever smell so much as a drop of alcohol on his breath, and therefore completely stops drinking. Or maybe he doesn’t ever like it, even in college. Or maybe he’s like his mom, and he and Annabeth just have a glass of wine with dinner. Who knows?

Not us. That’s what I’m saying. WE don’t know.

I’m not saying we can’t have headcanons based on what we know about him. I have a million. But the point is, I feel like we can’t try to pretend like we actually know what Percy wouldn’t do. As a fandom, we analyze him and his choices WAY more than he ever thinks about a single choice. He definitely does not think about his life and his actions as much as we do. (I’m not saying that he’s dumb or doesn’t contemplate his life and his actions, but he doesn’t nearly do it to the degree that we do.) Us, we pretend like it’s simple math. (Our first mistake, since math is consistent and full of rules, which is the exact opposite of Percy’s character.) We go “okay luke did this and gabe did this so therefore percy would never do this.” But Percy doesn’t think that way most of the time, especially not in heat of the moment matters. The only thing we 100% know about Percy is that he will always be loyal to his loved ones. But even then, we don’t know what that loyalty will look like. Is it sacrificing himself for someone? Is it murdering the enemy? Is it manipulating someone else? Percy lives in the moment. He doesn’t often think too much before he acts. He just acts. Whether it’s in a life of death situation, or his after school activity for the day. He is unpredictable, like the ocean. It’s one of his defining traits.

Honestly, I think that’s why annabeth is so drawn to him. With everyone else, she can read them super easily and know their next move. But with Percy, she has no idea. Which is frustrating to her, but also exciting. It’s a big part of her initial attraction to him. It’s also why many of us like him so much. We don’t know what’s coming next, and we never know what he will do in a situation. Like, how could we possibly know what he would or wouldn’t do when HE doesn’t even know? Half the time I don’t think Rick himself even knows.

We become so sure that Percy wouldn’t do something because we understand his character so well, right? But I think the truth is, the minute we become certain about what Percy would or wouldn’t do, is the minute we don’t understand his character at all.

Thank you for reading my analysis of Percy on why we can’t reliably analyze Percy