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thewidowsghost · 3 years

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Daughter of the Sea - Chapter 1

So, I started this on my Wattpad, and if figured I'd just put it on here! Just tell me if you want me to add you to the taglist!

Percy's POV

My name is Percy Jackson.

I am twelve years old. I'm a boarding student at Yancy Academy, a private school for troubled kids in upstate New York, and my sister, (Y/n), taking online schooling at home.

Am I a troubled kid?

Yeah. You could say that.

I could start at any point in my short miserable life to prove it, but things really started going bad last May, when our sixth-grade class took a field trip to Manhattan—twenty-eight mental-case kids and two teachers on a yellow school bus, heading to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to look at ancient Greek and Roman stuff.

I know—it sounds like torture. Most Yancy field trips were.

But Mr. Brunner, our Latin teacher, was leading this trip, so I had hopes.

Mr. Brunner was this middle-aged guy in a motorized wheelchair. He had thinning hair and a scruffy beard and a frayed tweed jacket, which always smelled like coffee. You wouldn't think he'd be cool, but he told stories and jokes and let us play games in class. He also had this awesome collection of Roman armor and weapons, so he was the only teacher whose class didn't put me to sleep.

I hoped the trip would be okay. At least, I hoped that for once I wouldn't get in trouble.

See, bad things happen to me on field trips. Like at my fifth-grade school, when we went to the Saratoga battlefield, I had this accident with a Revolutionary War cannon. I wasn't aiming for the school bus, but of course, I got expelled anyway. And before that, at my fourth-grade school, when we took a behind-the-scenes tour of the Marine World shark pool, I sort of hit the wrong lever on the catwalk and our class took an unplanned swim. And the time before that...Well, you get the idea.

On this trip, I was determined to be good.

All the way into the city, I put up with Nancy Bobofit, the freckly, redheaded kleptomaniac girl, hitting my best friend Grover in the back of the head with chunks of peanut butter-and-ketchup sandwich.

Grover was an easy target. He was scrawny. He cried when he got frustrated. He must've been held back several grades because he was the only sixth grader with acne and the start of a wispy beard on his chin. On top of all that, he was crippled. He had a note excusing him from PE for the rest of his life because he had some kind of muscular disease in his legs. He walked funny, like every step hurt him, but don't let that fool you. You should've seen him run when it was enchilada day in the cafeteria.

Anyway, Nancy Bobofit was throwing wads of sandwiches that stuck in his curly brown hair, and she knew I couldn't do anything back to her because I was already on probation. The headmaster had threatened me with death by in-school suspension if anything bad, embarrassing, or even mildly entertaining happened on this trip.

"I'm going to kill her," I mumble.

Grover tries to calm me down. "I'm okay. I like peanut butter -" He dodges another piece of Nancy's lunch.

"That's it." I start to get up, but Grover pulls me back to my seat.

"You're already on probation," he reminds me. "You know who'll get blamed if anything happens."

Mr. Brunner leads the museum tour.

He rides up front in his wheelchair, guiding us through the big echoey galleries, past marble statues and glass cases full of really old black-and-orange pottery.

It blows my mind that this stuff had survived for two thousand, three thousand years.

He gathers us around a thirteen-foot-tall stone column with a big sphinx on the top, and starts telling us how it was a grave marker, a stele, for a girl about our age. He told us about the carvings on the sides. I was trying to listen to what he had to say, because it was kind of interesting, but everybody around me was talking, and every time I told them to shut up, the other teacher chaperone, Mrs. Dodds, would give me the evil eye.

Mrs. Dodds was this little math teacher from Georgia who always wore a black leather jacket, even though she was fifty years old. She looked mean enough to ride a Harley right into your locker. She had come to Yancy halfway through the year when our last math teacher had a nervous breakdown.

From her first day, Mrs. Dodds loved Nancy Bobofit and figured I was devil spawn. She would point her crooked finger at me and say, "Now, honey," real sweet, and I knew I was going to get after-school detention for a month.

One time, after she'd made me erase answers out of old math workbooks until midnight, I told Grover I didn't think Mrs. Dodds was human. He looked at me, real serious, and said, "You're absolutely right."

Mr. Brunner keeps talking about Greek funeral art.

Finally, Nancy Bobofit snickers something about the naked guy on the stele, and I turn around and say, "Will you shut up?"

It comes out louder than I meant it to.

The whole group laughs. Mr. Brunner stops his story. "Mr. Jackson," he says, "did you have a comment?"

My face is totally red, I think. I answer, "No, sir."

Mr. Brunner points to one of the pictures on the stele. "Perhaps you'll tell us what this picture represents?"

I look at the carving, and feel a flush of relief, because I actually recognize it. "That's Kronos eating his kids, right?"

"Yes," Mr. Brunner says, obviously not satisfied. "And he did this because..."

"Well..." I rack my brain to remember. (Y/n) would have known the answer. She was nuts for this kind of stuff. "Kronos was the king god, and —"

"God?" Mr. Brunner asks.

"Titan," I correct myself. "And...he didn't trust his kids, who were the gods. So, um, Kronos ate them, right? But his wife hid baby Zeus, and gave Kronos a rock to eat instead. And later, when Zeus grew up, he tricked his dad, Kronos, into barfing up his brothers and sisters—"

"Eeew!" says one of the girls behind me.

"—and so there was this big fight between the gods and the Titans," I continue, "and the gods won."

Some snickers from the group.

Behind me, Nancy Bobofit mumbles to a friend, "Like we're going to use this in real life. Like it's going to say on our job applications, 'Please explain why Kronos ate his kids.'"

"And why, Mr. Jackson," Brunner says, "to paraphrase Miss Bobofit's excellent question, does this matter in real life?"

"Busted," Grover mutters.

"Shut up," Nancy hisses, her face even brighter red than her hair.

At least Nancy got packed, too. Mr. Brunner was the only one who ever caught her saying anything wrong. He had radar ears.

I think about his question, and shrug. "I don't know, sir."

"I see." Mr. Brunner looks disappointed. "Well, half credit, Mr. Jackson. Zeus did indeed feed Kronos a mixture of mustard and wine, which made him disgorge his other five children, who, of course, being immortal gods, had been living and growing up completely undigested in the Titan's stomach. The gods defeated their father, sliced him to pieces with his own scythe, and scattered his remains in Tartarus, the darkest part of the Underworld. On that happy note, it's time for lunch. Mrs. Dodds, would you lead us back outside?"

The class drifts off, the girls holding their stomachs, the guys pushing each other around and acting like doofuses.

Grover and I were about to follow when Mr. Brunner said, "Mr. Jackson."

I knew that was coming.

I tell Grover to keep going; then I turn toward Mr. Brunner. "Sir?" Mr. Brunner had this look that wouldn't let you go—intense brown eyes that could've been a thousand years old and had seen everything. "You must learn the answer to my question," Mr. Brunner tells me.

"About the Titans?"

'"About real life. And how your studies apply to it."

"Oh."

"What you learn from me," he says, "is vitally important. I expect you to treat it as such. I will accept only the best from you, Percy Jackson."

I mean, sure, it was kind of cool on tournament days, when he dressed up in a suit of Roman armor and shouted: "What ho!" and challenged us, swordpoint against chalk, to run to the board and name every Greek and Roman person who had ever lived, and their mother, and what god they worshipped. But Mr. Brunner expected me to be as good as everybody else, despite the fact that I have dyslexia and attention deficit disorder and I had never made above a C– in my life. No—he didn't expect me to be as good; he expected me to be better. And I just couldn't learn all those names and facts, much less spell them correctly.

I mumble something about trying harder, while Mr. Brunner takes one long sad look at the stele, like he'd been at this girl's funeral.

He tells me to go outside and eat my lunch.

The class gathers on the front steps of the museum, where we can watch the foot traffic along Fifth Avenue.

Overhead, a huge storm is brewing, with clouds blacker than I'd ever seen over the city. I figure maybe it was global warming or something, because the weather all across New York state had been weird since Christmas. We'd had massive snow storms, flooding, wildfires from lightning strikes. I wouldn't have been surprised if this was a hurricane blowing in.

Nobody else seems to notice, though. Some of the guys are pelting pigeons with Lunchables crackers. Nancy Bobofit is trying to pickpocket something from a lady's purse, and, of course, Mrs. Dodds isn't seeing a thing.

Grover and I sit on the edge of the fountain, away from the others. We thought that maybe if we did that, everybody wouldn't know we were from that school—the school for loser freaks who couldn't make it elsewhere.

"Detention?" Grover asked.

"Nah," I said. "Not from Brunner. I just wish he'd lay off me sometimes. I mean—I'm not a genius, not like (Y/n). She seems to know everything."

Grover doesn't say anything for a while. Then, when I think he is going to give me some deep philosophical comment to make me feel better, he asks, "Can I have your apple?"

I don't have much of an appetite, so I let him take it.

I watch the stream of cabs going down Fifth Avenue, and think about my mom's apartment, only a little ways uptown from where we sit. I hadn't seen her or my sister since Christmas. I want so bad to jump in a taxi and head home. Mom and (Y/n) would hug me and be glad to see me, but Mom would be disappointed, too. She'd send me right back to Yancy, remind me that I had to try harder, even if this was my sixth school in six years and I was probably going to be kicked out again. I couldn't be able to stand that sad look she'd give me.

Mr. Brunner parked his wheelchair at the base of the handicapped ramp. He ate celery while he read a paperback novel. A red umbrella stuck up from the back of his chair, making it look like a motorized café table.

I am about to unwrap my sandwich when Nancy Bobofit appears in front of me with her ugly friends—I guess she'd gotten tired of stealing from the tourists—and dumps her half-eaten lunch in Grover's lap.

"Oops." She grins at me with her crooked teeth. Her freckles are orange, as if somebody had spray-painted her face with liquid Cheetos.

I try to stay cool. The school counselor had told me a million times, "Count to ten, get control of your temper." But I am so mad my mind went blank. A wave roars in my ears.

I don't remember touching her, but the next thing I knew, Nancy is sitting on her butt in the fountain, screaming, "Percy pushed me!"

Mrs. Dodds materialized next to us.

Some of the kids were whispering: "Did you see—"

"—the water—"

"—like it grabbed her—"

I don't know what they were talking about. All I know is that I was in trouble again.

As soon as Mrs. Dodds is sure poor little Nancy was okay, promising to get her a new shirt at the museum gift shop, etc., etc., Mrs. Dodds turns on me. There was a triumphant fire in her eyes as if I'd done something she'd been waiting for all semester. "Now, honey—"

"I know," I grumble. "A month erasing workbooks." That wasn't the right thing to say.

"Come with me," Mrs. Dodds says.

"Wait!" Grover yelps. "It was me. I pushed her."

I stare at him, stunned. I can't believe he was trying to cover for me. Mrs. Dodds scared Grover to death.

She glares at him so hard his whiskery chin trembled.

"I don't think so, Mr. Underwood," she says.

"But—"

"You—will—stay—here."

Grover looks at me desperately.

"It's okay, man," I tell him. "Thanks for trying."

"Honey," Mrs. Dodds barks at me. "Now."

Nancy Bobofit smirks. I give her my deluxe I'll-kill-you-later stare. Then I turn to face Mrs. Dodds, but she isn't there. She is standing at the museum entrance, way at the top of the steps, gesturing impatiently at me to come on.

How'd she get there so fast?

I have moments like that a lot, when my brain falls asleep or something, and the next thing I know I've missed something, as if a puzzle piece fell out of the universe and left me staring at the blank place behind it. The school counselor told me this was part of the ADHD, my brain misinterpreting things.

I wasn't so sure. I go after Mrs. Dodds.

Halfway up the steps, I glance back at Grover. He is looking pale, cutting his eyes between me and Mr. Brunner, like he wanted Mr. Brunner to notice what was going on, but Mr. Brunner is absorbed in his novel.

I look back up. Mrs. Dodds had disappeared again. She is now inside the building, at the end of the entrance hall.

Okay, I think. She's going to make me buy a new shirt for Nancy at the gift shop.

But apparently, that wasn't the plan.

I follow her deeper into the museum. When I finally catch up to her, we are back in the Greek and Roman section.

Except for us, the gallery is empty.

Mrs. Dodds stands with her arms crossed in front of a big marble frieze of the Greek gods. She is making this weird noise in her throat, like growling.

Even without the noise, I would've been nervous. It's weird being alone with a teacher, especially Mrs. Dodds. Something about the way she looked at the frieze as if she wanted to pulverize it...

"You've been giving us problems, honey," she says.

I do the safe thing. I reply, "Yes, ma'am."

She tugs on the cuffs of her leather jacket. "Did you really think you would get away with it?"

The look in her eyes is beyond mad. It was evil.

She's a teacher, I thought nervously. It's not like she's going to hurt me. I say, "I'll—I'll try harder, ma'am."

Thunder shakes the building.

"We are not fools, Percy Jackson," Mrs. Dodds said. "It was only a matter of time before we found you out. Confess, and you will suffer less pain."

I didn't know what she's talking about.

All I can think of was that the teachers must've found the illegal stash of candy I'd been selling out of my dorm room. Or maybe they'd realized I got my essay on Tom Sawyer from the Internet without ever reading the book and now they were going to take away my grade. Or worse, they were going to make me read the book.

"Well?" she demands.

"Ma'am, I don't..."

"Your time is up," she hisses.

Then the weirdest thing happens. Her eyes begin to glow like barbecue coals. Her fingers stretch, turning into talons. Her jacket melts into large, leathery wings. She isn't human. She is a shriveled hag with bat wings and claws and a mouth full of yellow fangs, and she was about to slice me to ribbons.

Then things got even stranger.

Mr. Brunner, who'd been out in front of the museum a minute before, wheels his chair into the doorway of the gallery, holding a pen in his hand.

"What ho, Percy!" he shouts and tosses the pen through the air.

Mrs. Dodds lunges at me.

With a yelp, I dodge and feel talons slash the air next to my ear. I snatch the ballpoint pen out of the air, but when it hits my hand, it isn;t a pen anymore. It is a sword—Mr. Brunner's bronze sword, which he always uses on tournament day.

Mrs. Dodds spins towards me with a murderous look in her eyes.

My knees are jelly. My hands are shaking so bad I almost drop the sword.

She snarl, "Die, honey!" And she flies straight at me.

Absolute terror runs through my body. I did the only thing that came naturally: I swing the sword.

The metal blade hits her shoulder and passes clean through her body as if she was made of water. Hisss!

Mrs. Dodds was a sandcastle in a power fan. She explodes into yellow powder, vaporizing on the spot, leaving nothing but the smell of sulfur and a dying screech and a chill of evil in the air, as if those two glowing red eyes are still watching me.

I'm alone.

There is a ballpoint pen in my hand.

Mr. Brunner isn't there. Nobody is there but me.

My hands are still trembling. My lunch must've been contaminated with magic mushrooms or something.

Had I imagined the whole thing?

I walk back outside.

It had started to rain.

Grover is sitting by the fountain, a museum map tented over his head. Nancy Bobofit is still standing there, soaked from her swim in the fountain, grumbling to her ugly friends. When she sees me, she says, "I hope Mrs. Kerr whipped your butt."

I answer, "Who?"

"Our teacher. Duh!"

I blink. We don't have a teacher named Mrs. Kerr. I ask Nancy what she is talking about.

She just rolls her eyes and turns away.

I ask Grover where Mrs. Dodds was.

"Who?" he asks, but he pauses first and he wouldn't look at me, so I figure he was messing with me.

"Not funny, man," I tell him. "This is serious."

Thunder booms overhead.

I see Mr. Brunner sitting under his red umbrella, reading his book as if he'd never moved.

I go over to him.

He looks up, a little distracted. "Ah, that would be my pen. Please bring your own writing utensil in the future, Mr. Jackson."

I had Mr. Brunner his pen. I hadn't even realized I was still holding it.

"Sir," I ask, "where's Mrs. Dodds?"

He stares blankly at me, "Who?"

"The other chaperone. Mrs. Dodds. The pre-algebra teacher."

He frowns and sits forward, looking mildly concerned. "Percy, there is no Mrs. Dodds on this trip. As far as I know, there has never been a Mrs. Dodds at Yancy Academy. Are you feeling all right?"

Word Count: 3159 words

So yeah, this is the first chapter of this book.

Not much (Y/n) yet, but we'll get there.

Love y'all! Kaitlynn ❤️😍

#percy jackson x sister reader #sally jackson x daugther reader #demigod reader #fem reader #reader insert #percy jackson and the heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the lightning thief reader insert #percy jackson and the battle of the labyrinth #percy jackson and the titans curse #percy jackson and the lightning thief #percy jackson and the greek gods #percy jackson and the sea of monsters #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson and the olympians reader insert

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friendlyneighborhoodcapricorn · 2 years

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Here it is luv!

I'm an Asian who uses she/they pronouns and an Aquarius and INTJ. My sexuality is bi demiromantic. I'm 5'0 with tan skin, black hair, brown eyes and glasses.I'm bilingual. People say I look intimidating and unapproachable since I don't smile or talk much around strangers but I try my best to be polite and nice.I'm very introverted and shy. I'll need to warm up to people but when I do, I will surprisingly be energetic.

I consider myself a fair, open minded and laid back person. I like to seek out my friends' company when bored. I either ask them to do something wholesome or something they are afraid of with me. I'm down to do anything with my friends. I'm hardworking if its something that interests me. I'm very creative but can't seem to make my ideas into reality. If I'm not good at something, I tend to put it on hold until I get motivated again. I'm kind of a pacifist but I will fight if pushed too far or my loved ones are endangered.

My friends describe my sense of humor as dark and cursed. I can be mischievous and chaotic but still reliable and smart.My hobbies are baking,gaming,art, true crime and supernatural stuff. I express my love with gifts and quality time more than physical affection but I'm ok with PDA. I'm gonna be emotionally unavailable at 1st. My fav kind of date is a picnic.A negative trait of mine would be barely taking initiative at 1st due to fear of rejection. My ideal type is someone who I can trust with my life,someone I've known for a long time, very respectful of my boundaries and protective. Like I said in my previous ask- I'm a Hades kid

Okay, this is going to be a long one, so get comfortable lol

You’ve been at Camp Half-Blood since you were six, and mostly stayed in a room in the Big House: the Hermes kids were too afraid of you to have you in their Cabin.

For a long time, it was expected that you’d be the one to fulfil the prophecy, but turns out you were just a few months younger than Percy.

You and Annabeth are pretty close, because the two of you were kind of the only ones around the same age for a long time.

In fact, you were probably the one to tell her and Luke that Thalia's spirit was still in the tree, being able to sense her with your powers.

As a child of Hades, you totally wield one of those Stygian iron swords.

So now that we have established a bit of background, let’s get to how the series progresses with you there.

When Percy is claimed, you kinda take him under your wing. The two of you bond over being kids of one of the Big Three, and it doesn’t take long to become friends.

You were very much against letting Percy, an inexperienced son of Poseidon, go on a quest already. He attracts every monster in a five mile radius and there’s no way he’s already had enough practice to be able to take them all. Also, he’s literally 12.

But there isn’t much that can be done about that, so you sit back and anxiously wait for him, Grover, and Annabeth to return.

The fact that Annabeth is there with him, is at least some consolation. She’s smart enough to keep the three of them alive.

While you stay at camp, you start getting a weird sense every night, like a constant chill running down your spine. You can tell there's some dark entity in the camp, but also... It's not really there?

You’ve felt it before, but never as strong as this. Naturally, your curiosity urges you to find out what it is. It could be a threat, after all.

But as you sneak through the shadows of the camp, dodging harpies along the way, you can feel the darkness start to fade. The night seems a little brighter now, and you are none the wiser as to what that presence was.

You feel it almost every night, but it fades away whenever you go looking for it.

Maybe you’re looking in the wrong place.

You figure it out by accident, when you suddenly sense it while you’re dreaming.

It is so much stronger now.

That’s when it all clicks together: someone in this camp is being haunted by some dark entity in their dreams.

We know children of Hades can walk in others’ dreams, but it takes time to figure this out.

You don’t even know whose dream you need to invade.

So during the day, you start paying close attention to see if anyone looks more tired than usual.

Clarissa looks tired, but she was up teaching a spear-fighting class all day yesterday, so that’s not surprising.

Luke doesn’t look much better, but he’s the head of Cabin 11 and he’s probably stressed about Annabeth being on her first quest, so no surprises there either.

There’s Chiron, but he’s running a camp full of teenage kids with strange powers. If anyone’s allowed to be tired, it would be him.

So your search mainly remains fruitless.

You do get better at dreamwalking: it’s surprisingly easy once you get the hang of it.

When you feel the presence again while you’re asleep, you let yourself be pulled towards its energy. The closer you get, the more you get the feeling you’re about to fall.

Whatever entity this is, it’s ancient.

In the end, you don’t get to see it, but you hear a familiar voice whisper a name.

Kronos.

You try to warn Chiron and Mr. D, but they both pretty much dismiss your concerns. They say they’ll look into it, but you have a feeling it’s only to get you to go back to bed.

Everyone is surprised about Luke’s betrayal, but you least of all. You already knew someone was having very, very dark dreams. You just didn’t know they were having them voluntarily.

Chiron apologises to you for not listening, but ultimately, you both know it wouldn’t have mattered.

And that’s it for Lightning Thief! Let’s move on now.

Because children of Hades kan pick up on spirits, you’re the first person to know that Thalia’s tree is poisoned, because you can feel her spirit fading.

You once again stay back from the quest because, you know, child of Hades on the big open sea just isn’t a stellar idea. You doubt Poseidon is going to do anything that might risk Percy’s life, but there’s no need to take risks.

But it’s not like you’re not doing anything. The barrier is gone, and monsters can freely come and go as they please. All those demigods in one place… Camp Half-Blood had practically become a beacon.

You take a lot of night shifts on guard duty, as monsters -at least the more intelligent ones- turn around the second they see your sword.

At the same time, Chiron teaches you how you can use your powers to keep Thalia’s spirit from fading as long as possible.

And, whenever you manage to get some sleep, you use your dreams to try and locate your friends and see if they’re doing alright.

All in all, it’s a very tiring time.

Somehow, despite having taken an airplane home, everyone comes home safely.

And then the Golden Fleece resurrects Thalia.

You’re there when it happens, having resigned yourself to watching over her tree to see if it’s working (and to catch up with Annabeth, who tells you and Thalia all about her quest).

Obviously, you mercilessly tease her about Percy. That’s what friends do lol.

But then you suddenly feel a spike in Thalia’s life force.

And before you know it, she’s actually there. In the flesh.

And then there’s three kids of the Big Three.

But little do you know, things are about to get a hell of a lot more chaotic.

That one was a little shorter, but now comes the Titan’s Curse, and with that… well, you know who makes his entrance now ;)

You join Percy, Thalia, and Annabeth when they go to Westover Hall. You can’t explain it, but you have a feeling you need to be there.

Which means you get to meet Sally Jackson, who practically adopts you the way she’s already adopted Annabeth and Thalia.

Speaking of Thalia, you and her have become pretty close since she came back to life. Thalia seems like she’d enjoy true crime and she’s probably interested in the supernatural as well, so you bond over that.

You, Thalia, and Annabeth have basically become a chaotic trio. Sparring matches with the three of you are a frequent occurrence.

But anyway. At Westover Hall, you’re the one who uses the Mist to manipulate the teacher. You’ve been training to use it ever since you first came to camp, and even though Thalia is skilled with it already, all of you agree that it’s better to be safe than sorry.

While you’re at the party, Grover pulls you aside and quietly tells you that the aura of the kids he saw, is scarily similar to yours.

He asks if there’s a chance Hades had any other kids after you, but you doubt it. Breaking the agreement once is tricky, doing it twice? Hades is smarter than that.

Of course that’s when shit hits the fan.

During the battle by the cliffs, you mostly focus on keeping the two kids you came here for safe. Maybe Grover was right about them being related to you.

And then shit somehow manages to hit the fan even harder, because the Hunters of Artemis just had to interfere and chase the Manticore off the cliff -and Annabeth with it.

None of you know what to do, then. You, Thalia, and Percy are all devastated and full of guilt. Kids of the Big Three, and none of you were able to save her -your best friend, the girl Thalia practically raised, the girl Percy loves.

You’re grateful for the Hunters giving you shelter for the time being. Artemis herself offers both you and Thalia a position in the hunt, but you both decline. You’re a child of the god of the Underworld: you understand better than anyone that death is a vital part of the natural order.

Bianca Di Angelo, however, immediately says yes. Both you and Nico are hurt by her decision; by now you’re fairly certain the Do Angelo’s are your siblings, and for Bianca to ditch both of you so quickly, without even getting to know you… well, it stings.

You, Thalia, Percy, and Nico return to Camp with the Hunters, while Artemis goes her own way. The atmosphere at camp is horribly depressing.

Everyone at least knew Annabeth, and most people cared about her, or even loved her.

When Grover, Zoe Nightshade, Bianca, and Thalia embark on their quest, you are up all night. That’s how you catch Percy sneaking off after him.

You tell him to take you along, and he agrees before you can even try and convince him.

It would be a good time, you know, if you weren’t trying to find a missing goddess and your presumed dead best friend.

Percy explains his dream to you, about Annabeth being forced to take the weight of the sky. You try your best to reassure him by saying that if anyone can take it, it’s Annabeth.

When the two of you are caught, you have a shouting match with Zoe. She claims you’re endangering the mission; you accuse her of not giving a shit about Annabeth, and saying that Artemis would be disappointed to be the focus of this quest when there was a young woman who needed help.

It’s a mess, but Percy and Thalia have your back. Bianca admits that she, too, believes that Artemis would want them to rescue Annabeth first. Even Grover, who honestly just wants to stay as far away from the argument as possible, quietly agrees.

Apollo helps you guys get to the Junkyard of the Gods…

But Bianca is not lost in a land without rain, like she would normally be.

Because you are still the most powerful child of Hades present.

So when Talos activates? You create a fissure in the ground with your sword, one so broad and deep that even Talos can’t cross it.

Not without falling in and breaking down for once and for all.

When you get to Mount Othrys, tensions are at an all time high. Thalia, Percy, and you are all anxious to find Annabeth, but also dreading the prospect of having to see Luke again.

Zoe gets poisoned, but rather than Percy, you’re the one who takes the weight of the sky from Artemis so she can fight Atlas and make him take your place again.

It’s just in time to see Luke go ever the edge of a cliff. You can feel the moment his body hits the ground, but you don’t feel him die.

When the Olympians suggest to kill Percy to keep him from becoming the next child of the prophecy, after Thalia accepts Artemis’ offer, you’re the first to rush to his defence.

“What are you going to do, kill all of us? First Perce, then me, and eventually Nico?”

Luckily, Artemis stands in your corner as well, and she takes no shit from her fellow Olympians.

Important to note: since Bianca is alive and with the Hunters, Nico never runs away from Camp…

I feel like these are only getting longer and longer lol. Onto the Battle of the Labyrinth.

So obviously things go very different: Nico is still at Camp Half-Blood, and is quickly progressing in skill under your training.

The two of you have become close, especially now that Bianca is away with the Hunters -though she frequently writes to you both.

Still, Nico desires answers for why he can’t remember anything from the past.

He strays into the Underworld with unnerving ease, and he even manages shadow travel, something even you aren’t capable of yet. You can’t help but be a little jealous.

So while Nico is off finding his answers, you perfect your sword-fighting skills. It doesn’t take long before you meet Quintus, but you don’t like him. Granted, you don’t instantly like people most of the time, but something about the guy feels off.

You already know about the entrance to the Labyrinth: you worked with Clarisse and Annabeth to try and figure out how Luke and the Titan Army might use this to their advantage.

Naturally, when Annabeth embarks on her quest, she asks you along: even your geokinetic abilities aren’t fully able to find a way through the Labyrinth, but you at least can sense where exits and entrances are.

The Labyrinth makes you feel like you’re walking on the edge of a knife: one wrong step and you’ll spiral into madness forever.

You can sense the madness around you: of the man who created it, of those who perished here.

Certain parts are so full of spirits that walking through them makes you feel like you’re suffocating.

You don’t make a pitstop at the Triple G Ranch because there is nothing there for you to find.

Instead, you go straight to Hephaestus’ workshop.

Which leads to the incident with the volcano.

After Percy’s apparent death, you’re the one who leads everyone back to Camp.

That’s when Nico contacts you through a dream, asking for help. The contact is cut off before you can ask what’s wrong, but you caught a glimpse of his environment.

You head straight back to the Labyrinth, and focus on your powers like you never have before. You can feel your half-brother’s spirit if you try hard enough, and it leads to Antaeus’ arena.

That’s where you run into Nico -and Luke and his forces. Nico, not hardened by the loss of Bianca, still had the innocence to trust Luke. Until, you know, he got captured.

You put up a fight, but you’ve been wandering the Labyrinth for days with little to no rest while drawing on a great deal of your powers.

You’re embarrassed by how quickly they capture you to.

But thankfully, most of the Titan Army is none too clever. They let you rest and keep you fed, in the hope that you might change your mind and join their side.

So when you’re called upon to fight and see Percy in the arena… we’ll, Antaeus never stood a chance. You make your escape with Percy, Nico, Annabeth, ands mortal girl named Rachel Elizabeth Dare.

You yell at Percy for, like, 20 minutes straight for making you think he was dead.

When you meet Daedalus, everything makes sense. Of course Daedalus and Quintus are the same person.

You all arrive just in time to see Kronos rise, and from there it’s just a mad dash back to Camp to warm them of what’s coming.

Well. With one small interruption when you discover Pan’s last resting place.

You can’t explain it, but you feel as if Pan has a connection to you. Maybe it has something to do with the wilderness dying. Maybe it’s just because death is a vital part of life.

Whatever the case, it feels as if he’s trying to tell you something.

You arrive back at Camp just before all hell breaks loose.

Things seem to go your way at first, the monsters slowed by the narrow entrance, and with Daedalus, Briares, and Mrs. O’Leary on your side.

But then there’s Kampê.

Grover manages to summon panic and send the monsters scrambling back to the Labyrinth, but they’ll come back soon enough.

That’s when Daedalus asks you to release his spirit, as it will destroy the Labyrinth and everything in it.

So you do.

You’ve never actually set a spirit free, but it’s not hard.

And when you do, you become the Ghost Ruler.

Nevertheless, despite winning the battle, the losses are devastating. You can feel dead all around you…

… but you also feel life.

This was what Pan was trying to tell you. Children of Hades do not just sense death, but also the absence of it.

You start to wonder if it might be possible for you to reverse the dying process, or at least slow it down. After all, you also kept Thalia’s spirit from fading when her tree was poisoned.

There is power over life in the power over death.

Alright, onto the grand finale!

You know the battle is approaching fast, so you spent almost the entire year in the Underworld, perfecting your powers.

Nico is with you, trying to force some answers out of your dad.

You try to convince Hades to fight in the upcoming war, but he’s stubborn over how the Olympians rejected him, despite him being one of the most powerful gods. He reminds you that you and Nico don’t even have a cabin at camp.

And for a moment, you understand his bitterness, and with it, you understand what drove Luke and so many others to this.

But just because you don’t have your own cabin, doesn’t mean you don’t have a place at camp.

You return to camp not long after Annabeth sends you an Iris message about the disaster on the Princess Andromeda.

You arrive just in time to learn that the gods are trying to slow down Typhon.

Unbeknownst to you, Nico low-key kidnaps Percy.

You’re just trying to keep roughly 100 stressed and scared teenagers with free access to weapons from killing each other.

When you finally all go to the Empire State Building to defend the city and Mount Olympus, you run into Percy.

“Your brother kidnapped me.”

“Why do you have an aura of invincibility?”

“Shit, is it that obvious?”

You also reunite with Bianca and Thalia when the Hunters arrive.

“Bianca, your brother kidnapped me.”

Bianca, who has taken over Thalia’s sense of humor: “Good for him.”

The battle is in full swing, and while you’re not outnumbered, you’d feel a hell of a lot better if there were some Underwordly reinforcements.

There’s the disaster on the bridge, and Annabeth getting stabbed, and then some Titan tries to convince Percy to open Pandora’s Box and release hope.

When Percy refuses, it becomes clear how this is going to end: in victory or in death.

The battles go and on, and you’re not sure how much longer you can keep doing this.

But just when all hope seems lost, Hades arrives with Demeter, Persephone, Nico, and an army of undead warriors.

You are so happy you weren’t there for that awkward family gathering.

You’re with Percy, Annabeth, Grover, and Thalia when they follow Kronos and Ethan Nakamura up to Olympus.

When the statue of Hera falls, you hold it back with your powers until everyone has safely passed underneath.

The battle in the throne room is a brutal one, but then Ethan suddenly switches sides after Percy talks to him.

Of course Kronos tries to kill him for it, but you manage to stop him from forming the fissure.

Still, all of you are incapacitated: Ethan is bleeding from a bad wound, Annabeth got flung against a throne with a sickening crack, and you and Thalia could only fight for so long after days of tiring battles.

In the end, it’s Annabeth who gets through to Luke.

In the end, Luke is the hero of the prophecy.

When Percy calls the gods out on their bullshit, you can barely refrain from laughing.

The Olympians put you in charge of working with the minor deities to give them the representation they want and deserve.

At the same time, you work closely with Annabeth and Ethan on new cabins for the camp.

Honestly, life is good.

And then Percy goes missing.

I feel like I should apologise for how long this got omg. I hope you enjoy it, though, and if you ever want a Heroes of Olympus continuation, let me know!

Anyway, thank you so much for the request, I had such fun writing this <3

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multifandombookstore · 3 years

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I WANNA START READING THE PERCY JACKSON SERIES AND THEN BECOME ADDICTED AND THEN START WRITING FANFICS 😈

#n e ways-#percy jackson #percy jackson series #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson the lightning thief #percy jackson reader insert

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silentwaters4 · 7 years

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For anon...enjoy!

Luke knit his brows in growing confusion. Luke was careful to cover his tracks. No one should’ve been able to find him, especially not Percy, Annabeth, and Percy’s half-brother. Regardless, he attempted to keep his voice steady.

“So, it seems you’ve caught up,” he told them with a smile, “But, I’m curious. How?”

Percy and Annabeth’s eyes shifted from Luke to you, who was standing right next to him. Slowly, the son of Hermes shifted his gaze from his prisoners to you. You swallowed the lump in your throat, eyes conveying sorrow. Luke could no longer contain his anger.

“Y/N?” he whispered, “You told them?” “I had to,” you squeaked. “We were in this together,” Luke yelled with growing hurt, “You said you’d never leave my side!” “Before you let Kronos in!” you retorted loudly, “How can you not see what he’s doing to you? Luke, I did this for you. I’m trying to help!” “You betrayed me!”

You closed your mouth. The Luke you once knew, the one you loved, was nowhere in the angry expression facing you. If anything, he was hiding under the rage, but you weren’t sure anymore. Gradually, you walked next to Annabeth, Percy, and Tyson. Willingly, you turned, hands behind your back, and faced Luke with a grim expression.

In the lowliest whisper, you muttered, “I can’t watch you destroy yourself.”

Perma-tags: @dontbeamenacetotheforce @ttelesilla @jumperswellies @caitsymichelle13 @myplaceofthingsilove

Request Here : Submit Here

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peachykindalovesyou · 3 years

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PEACHY! I saw That Your Requests were Open 👀 So I can't Help But Slither in the AskBox. Reader's Gender is Up To You!

Chile Anyways So- Can I Please request Headcanons for Vice Dorm Leaders with a Reader Who Has Been In a Percy Jackson: Lightning thief Type of Situation. Further Explanation: So Basically The Reader basically was a Fugitive and a Wanted Criminal when they Were a Kid but Got Freed Because They Had an Alibi of Some Dude Kidnapping them and Had to do It for Survival and To Escape Kidnapper DudeBro that Fled the scene and was never to be found, *Dramatical Sigh.

But Reader Trusts Them and Lets out the Truth One Day, Saying that They Actually Blew Up [ Insert Important Monument ] By Accident, Because Their Powers Got Out of Control and Made Up a Lie about Getting Kidnapped that was So Detailed and Realistically Convincing that People Believed them and Defended them in Court. aND THAT THEY WOULD DO IT AGAIN! BOP BO- ♥️♥️♥️ Have a Nice Day ♥️♥️♥️

I’m sorry anon, but I’m going to have to decline this request! I have never read Percy Jackson: The Lightning Thief, but I also have no idea where to start/how to write this request without any errors or major mistakes, I have no room to move around!

#❔ : answered

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writersrumpus · 6 years

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Ever since my eyes were opened to the importance of Point of View (POV), I’ve paid close attention to narrative voice whenever I write as well as read. I’m happy to share my observations, with a focus on books that dare to push POV boundaries. My hope is that after you read this, you’ll be inspired to explore daring new POVs for YOUR stories!

Here are the FOUR TYPES OF POV:

1st PERSON

In 1st Person, the narrator is usually the book’s protagonist. Narration is characterized by use of the words “I,” “me”, “we,” and “us.” Traditionally, this style has been most popular with middle grade and young adult books (The Lightning Thief by Rick Riordan and The Cay by Theodore Taylor are two great examples), but don’t rule out using first person with picture books. The prolific and timeless Dr. Seuss was one of the first (if not THE first) picture book author to use it – with Green Eggs and Ham, If I Ran the Zoo, The Cat in the Hat, and others. More recent examples include I Want My Hat Back by Jon Klassen and the Monster and Me series by our very own Paul Czajak.

3rd PERSON OMNISCIENT

In 3rd Person Omniscient, an outside narrator has an all-knowing ability to tap into each character’s feelings and thoughts. Typically, the narrator is invisible and narration is characterized by “he,” “she,” and “they” instead of “I.” This is the traditional choice for picture books, but shows up in books for older children, too. In fact, this is the narrative style of a series you’ve likely read, seen, and experienced. My advice: skip the butterbeer, but get yourself a wand! Yes, I’m talking about the Harry Potter juggernaut by J.K. Rowling.

3rd PERSON LIMITED

3rd Person Limited is similar to the Omniscient type, with narration characterized by “he” and “she” rather than “I.” With the Limited form, however, the narrator is a specific character in the book – typically the protagonist (just like with 1st Person). A book that illustrates this style of narration beautifully is The Witch of Blackbird Pond by Elizabeth George Speare. Narrator Kit, forced to flee from Barbados, describes Puritan Wethersfield, CT with a lens colored by her tropical, free-as-a-bird upbringing.

The Book Thief by Markus Zusak offers the most daring POV I’ve yet encountered. Death, the narrator, believes himself to be omniscient, but has a fascination with the main character’s penchant for “stealing” books. He alternates between dream-like fugues and a unique way of describing events. One could also argue that Death plays a huge role in this book – making him an actual character- but he lacks physical form. Is the narration style 3rd Person Limited Limited or Omniscient? Or is it both?

2nd PERSON

In 2nd Person, the narrator talks directly to YOU, the reader. While this style is most commonly used in How To books, it’s been cleverly applied to children’s literature as well. The Choose Your Own Adventure series is a classic example. Picture books have been blossoming with this perspective, and each of the above examples by Laura Joffe Numeroff, Jean Reagan, and Jodi Moore has one or more equally delightful spinoffs.

When 2nd Person is inserted into a book with a traditional POV, it’s known as “Breaking the Fourth Wall,” a term borrowed from the theater. Percy Jackson of The Lightning Thief fame talks directly to readers on occasion, and it’s very entertaining. Pseudonymous Boch, the blatantly anonymous author/narrator of The Name of This Book is Secret can’t help himself from blurting out warnings to readers.

CHANGING PERSPECTIVES

The Kane Chronicles, also by Rick Riordan, was the first book with dual POVs I ever read. The POV alternates between siblings Carter and Sadie Kane, with chapters clearly labeled CARTER or SADIE. Are the chapter titles an excuse for creating indistinguishable narrators? Absolutely not! Everything about these characters is different, including their narration styles. Wonder by R.J. Palacio alternates POV by chapter in a more random fashion (without consistent name labels), but also differentiates narrators with recognizable quirks, traits, and speech patterns.

Worthy of note: The Kane Chronicles changes narrators in a predictable pattern, while Wonder does not. Needless to say, both styles work. My advice is that if you start with a pattern, you should probably keep it. Otherwise, let the narrators switch whenever it advances or rounds out your plot.

Picture books have the added potential for juxtaposing the perspective between pictures and text. A Couple of Boys Have the Best Week Ever by Marla Frazee is a stellar example of this.

No matter how or if you switch POV, all your characters should be unique. Speech patterns, personal goals, quirks, traits, strengths, weaknesses, interests, concerns, and family dynamics are just some of ways characters can be differentiated. This is important, even if they’re twins.

In an outstanding interview on writershelpingwriters.net – March 12, 2015 – YA author Lisa Gail Green (her novel Soul Crossed alternates between angel and demon perspectives) shares tips on how to switch POVs successfully. To paraphrase one of her key ideas, she advises resisting the urge to repeat action through the POV of different characters unless it’s critical for your plot.

DARE TO CHANGE YOUR POV!!

My characters tell me how they want their stories told. Even so, I still challenge them by changing the POV for a single chapter – from 3rd to 1st, or to a different character’s perspective. If you dare to follow this approach, you may end up scrapping the exercise. But… you may uncover narrative gold.

Go ahead and push POV boundaries! And have fun doing it.

DARE TO CHANGE YOUR POINT OF VIEW Ever since my eyes were opened to the importance of Point of View (POV), I've paid close attention to narrative voice whenever I write as well as read.

#featured #how-to #Inspiration #novels #reading #teaching

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goodgreycious · 7 years

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How to Succeed in Fangirling Without Really Trying

[Insert nervous laughter here]

I guess we should start with the basics like introductions and the more important things you need to know about me. Hi, my name is Grey. I am a person of the adult-ish variety who is, more importantly, a fangirl. Very soon, I will be graduating from college with a degree in history. And yes, just history. And no, I do not want to be a teacher. (This is important to the overall narrative I’m trying to create here, but we’ll get to that later.) I am a Hufflepuff and I take almost as much pride in that fact as I do about my remarkable ability to eat and drive at the same time (my friends might say otherwise, but they’re lying to you). My idea of a “lit” night is when the light radiates from my Netflix account. I love a good book and a bottle of dry, red wine. Preferably together. If there is one other thing I know for sure about myself at the ripe age of “almost-22,” it’s that being a fangirl is all I really know how to do. Maybe through this blog, I can take people on a journey they can relate to. Maybe if I share my story, it can help someone else who is out there feeling the way I’m feeling. Maybe they’ll even start a blog. It’s what I did.

To kick off this shindig, there is a little bit more you need to know about me. Like where and how my story starts. From a young age I was encouraged to be the best I could be. Not the best out of everyone, but my parents knew what I was capable of and they wanted me to do well for me, not anyone else. However, I was an awkward kid. No matter what my parents say. Isn’t everyone? Throughout my K-12 education, I somehow managed to stick myself right in the middle of the herd. I guess the more appropriate description would be “average.” I played one sport in my four years of high school, so I was not jock material. I was in choir, but not a soloist. I was in the musical, but felt more comfortable being part of the stage crew. I spent most of my lunches in my school’s library. The average high school student will experience some form of bullying and I was no exception. Not to the extent that others were, but it was enough to scar me so that my goal for that part of my education was just to get through it with as few waves as possible. So, I adapted and figured out that being stuck in the middle of everything is what made me happy. I didn’t want to be the center of attention. That would’ve been my worst nightmare. I hated myself back then and I had already given people enough of a chance to hate me in my earlier years. It might not have been bad, but it was enough.

I, also, might not be able to remember all the details, but I can pinpoint the moment I knew I was a fangirl. I was in 6th grade and I held in my meaty little hands a copy of The Lightning Thief by Rick Riordan. I read the opening part of the first chapter entitled “I Accidentally Vaporize My Pre-Algebra Teacher” and it is, to this day, the closest thing I can equate to finding myself. Tiny little me, reading a book about a kid not much older than her who feels it in every fiber of his bones that he is different and can’t do a damn thing about it at that moment, it just felt like coming home. I inhaled the words on those pages. I injected them into my bloodstream once every month. No other book could ever compare as I reread it over and over and over again. It was Wonderland and I was Alice, falling, falling, falling down the rabbit hole and but with no intention of ever stopping the free fall. And as I grew older and wiser, and my tastes expanded, I started to realize that I had always been like that. Disney movies were (still are) the pinnacle of my movie tastes. I wouldn’t watch anything other than animated movies until I was well over the age of 12. My mom begged me to play outside as a kid when all I wanted to do was sit down and watch Nickelodeon, Cartoon Network, or the Disney Channel. Percy Jackson and his journey finally put it all into perspective for me. And I’m still spiraling. I started to consume knowledge about Greek Mythology more than my studies. I read anything fantasy based that I could get my hands on. Harry Potter, Fablehaven, Peter and the Star Catchers, Oh. My. Gods., House of Night, the list is as endless as it is ongoing. As I grew, my tastes expanded. I got into anime, sci-fi, comics, crime, true crime, literally anything that took me away from the normal life I was leading. What I wanted more than anything in the world was to be there.

All of these things carried me through my high school career, but not in the way I was expecting. I loved my stories, my otherworlds, more than I ever loved the real world, but it beckoned. Not so much like a siren’s song, more like the annoying alarm clock in the morning that you just perpetually want to turn off, but somehow end up hitting SNOOZE so it keeps waking you up every few minutes. High school was a time where the answer to the question “So, what do you want to be when you grow up?” was finally starting to be the most important question you could answer. I’ll give you three guesses as to what girl never, ever had the answer to that question and the first two don’t count… Yup, t’was me. I’m pretty sure every time someone asked me that, my answered changed. The only thing I really knew, at least at that point, was there were two things I loved. History and what I’ve come to now realize is my all-encompassing, heart-stopping, soul-crushing love for the creative process. Everything in this world that is created has a story that I need to know. I fawn over fan art just as much as Picasso or Van Gogh. I think fanfiction and their authors can sometimes be written better than the original. I have music on at all times during the day. If I am not reading, I am watching something. If I am not watching, then I am trying to hone my own creative processes. Everything about being a fangirl appeals me like a drug. Where bullying knocked me down, I bathed myself in fantasy and used it as my armor. When the only thing I wanted to do was just get through, my fandoms taught me how I should live. Whenever I felt like I wasn’t loved or good enough or whatever enough, somehow, some way, fiction would wrap its arms around me, remind me that I was, and lift me up to carry me home.

Sounds like a wonderful thing to make a career out of, right? But if bullying had taught me anything, it was that I wasn't good enough. I was never going to be a content creator. It was always going to be my destiny to be a content consumer. I could never be J.K. Rowling, Chris Hardwick, Wil Wheaton, Felicia Day, Lin Manuel Miranda. If I could go back and tell my younger self anything, it wouldn’t be any of the clichés like ‘it gets better’ or ‘just stay strong.’ I’d tell that little punk to stick it to whoever told her that what was making her feel whole wasn’t worth making a life out of. I would tell my younger self to be brave enough to prove them all wrong. I was constantly told that I could not make a sustainable career out what I loved. So, I did what I do best and adapted. History was the only other thing I really loved. It was the real stories, the non-fiction that inspires fiction. If I couldn’t create the stories, I would learn everyone else’s. That would surely solve that problem? It’d be a good enough substitute, right?

While I love history, it was like going from Ferrari to a Honda. The Honda will most definitely get you from Point A to Point B, but more so because you can’t afford a Ferrari in the first place. Which kind of brings me to where I am now and the whole reason I started this blog in the first place. Here’s me, about to graduate college with a degree in a field I love (even though it doesn’t sound like it) feeling like I’m doing nothing more than staring into a deep, vast, dark thing called The Void of Adulthood when the only thing I really want to do is take a nap. Or curl up with a good book or a new TV show. Forget the horror genre, adulthood, or the precipice of it, is the scariest shit I have ever encountered. And I am looking at this Void, wanting to take a ForeverNap™️, neck deep in a big-girl-full-time job search, wearing a Captain America shirt, Prisoner of Azkaban clutched in one hand, sonic screwdriver in the other, screaming my throat raw about how I am just not ready.

But getting back to the present. I mentioned that my degree in history would somehow be important to the overall narrative I’m trying to weave here. This is why. It goes back to being too scared to do what I really wanted to do. While I love history, it just doesn’t compare to the other thing. But, I was also too scared by real life to ever do anything to change it. I was too scared to tell everyone: “DAMN THE CONSEQUENCES AND SHOVE IT UP YOUR COLLECTIVE ASSES, I’M GOING TO DO THIS.” I never wanted to shake it up, challenge the status quo, and now I’m kicking myself for it. History was a safety net I didn’t realize was there until it was too late. All this suddenly came into perspective because I found my dream job. Given the chance, it would be one that I would be really, really good at… but I can’t get it. I don’t have a degree in a relevant field, I don’t have the job experience. I’m not prepared. And it sucks royal hippogriff.

And that, dear readers who have stuck with me all the way to this point, is why I am here. I started this blog to finally break out of my shell. I am no longer content with being a consumer. I want to be a creator. I want to contribute to the discussions. I want to write things that matter and that people can relate to. I want to be fully qualified. If writing this blog and finally, finally being able to contribute something to the worlds that have loved me when I thought no one else did is the only way I can give back and get experience, then so be it. If it is the only way I can be apart of the things I love right now, then I’m going to do it. This is how I stick it to those people who told me I couldn’t. This is how I throw it back in the faces of people who tore me down. I hope that I can take people along this journey with me. I have some fun things planned. And if there are people out there who are listening to the voices of negativity in whatever forms they take, I hope I can help you realize that you are strong enough to face those demons and win. I hope that together we can find a way to forge our own paths. I don’t want anyone to ever feel like I felt. No one deserves to feel like that.

Hi again, I’m Grey. Welcome home. Here, you will always be encouraged. Here, I promise to help you in whatever way I can. Here, you are safe. And here, above all, you are seen and you are loved.

#grey writes #my stuff #personal post

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writtenbyhappynerds · 4 years

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FF102: Unit 6, Formatting and Text [part 2]

Welcome back to another week of Fanfiction 102! In Fanfiction 101, we talked about formatting and text. We brought up grammar, how to format paragraphs, and how to tag and use verbs to describe speaking and movement. These are common mistakes that we felt were important to point out. Now in the second part of Formatting and Text, we’ll discuss POVs, ways of writing characters, scene structure, and as we teased last week [Y/N] [L/N].

POV tags to me are understandable. I used to do them too, and they’re something that people grow out of with time and experience. You will find that so long as you make your character’s voices distinct and recognizable, the reader will be able to pick up via context clues who is speaking. We know that Annabeth Chase has a very different inner monologue compared to Percy Jackson, and we the readers are able to pick up on those context clues of who is speaking without needing a tagged POV. A technical note: if you are going to change the POV of the story it’s best to save it for a new chapter entirely. You want your reader to stay immersed at the moment, and what is happening right there in that very instant. By changing the POV you’re asking them to pull out of that immersion and enter another. This isn’t always a seamless switch. Rick Riordan handled seven protagonists, and he did so by giving each chapter a header with whose POV we were viewing. There’s nothing wrong with that, but notice that he never switches it up on us mid-chapter. He lets that character finish their thought, and then moves on to the next. An additional note: Do not start your story with *POV (Insert OC’s name here)*. We can assume that the story is going to start with the main character’s perspective. We don’t need you to tell us that.

I personally used to shoehorn a POV change in the middle of the scene because I wasn’t sure how the scene would end and I thought using a different character’s perspective would carry me through the moment. It doesn’t, I just made myself believe that it did. There are many reasons that specific scenes can succeed or fail, and sometimes the worst writer’s block will come because you can’t figure out how a scene is supposed to go. Or, the scene finishes, and now the story is so open-ended you don’t know what to do next. We’ll talk about endings later, for now, let’s focus on why scenes fail.

If you are struggling with scenes, it may be because they are aimless or pointless. Your writing should be exciting to you; you are the first audience member. You’re the first critic. If you find your own scenes boring and pointless, the audience will find them boring and pointless too. A simple way to get around this problem is to sit back and ask yourself what the goal of the scene is. What is the endgame of this moment? If you can figure out what needs to happen by the end of a specific moment or interaction, you can work your way back and get there. Or, if all else fails, go back to your characters and use them to generate a purpose or tension. In any moment of any book, you can go to it and answer the question: What does this character want? Your own characters should be able to answer that question too, and you can generate tension or motivation with this question:

Maybe one character wants information another is refusing to give. This back-and-forth can generate tension.

Maybe two characters are fighting to a goal that they don’t know doesn’t exist. This goal creates motivation.

Maybe one character is looking for individuality, and they believe their current actions will help them achieve that.

If you can’t figure out what should happen next or why something doesn’t feel right, go back to your characters and look at what they want. Look at the endgame of that moment, and go from there. I mentioned in the last unit I need to stare at my work until I hate it. I mean that. I sit at my computer and re-read my work until I can find what doesn’t feel right. Then I make the necessary adjustments. If that still doesn’t work, it might just be that the scene is unnecessary filler. If there’s no point in the scene and no purpose to the scene, cut it out.

Before you start your story, you should pick the point of view you want to write from and stick with it. You can of course change your mind, but if you change your mind halfway through, you have the responsibility to go back and adjust what you’ve already written to match. Which gets annoying. I’ve been there. Try out different points of view. Find what feels comfortable, and once you do stick with it. It’s also your responsibility to establish that point of view quickly in your story, and we’re going to review the three types of POVs in writing:

First off, we have first-person. First-person is one of the more limited POVs. It uses “I, my, me,” language, and stays with one character for the duration of the work. The reader only ever sees or experiences the story from the point of view of this character. Rick Riordan’s The Lightning Thief was first-person, and we knew it from the first line: “Look, I didn’t want to be a half-blood.” First-person lets you hear the inner monologue of a character. You can know what the character is thinking, they can have an inner commentary that is very nice, and the reader can live vicariously through this one person.

Next, we have second-person. This is where I’m going to @ a community. If you write [Y/N] [L/N] content, one it is so exhausting to type that and I don’t know how you do it, and two, WRITE IN SECOND PERSON. Second person uses “You, your, yours, etc.” It was literally made for self-insert fic, yet self-insert fic writers don’t use it. On top of that the additional tags that have been created over time, including [e/c], [h/c], [h/l], and [f/c]. That is exhausting. I am exhausted just typing it out. You can word a narrative around using those words, and you rip the reader straight out of the immersion in a genre that is meant to be the most immersive! Self-inserts should be written in second person, but they are usually just first-person or third-person stories starring an OC that has no name. It would be better for you, and you would suck the reader in more if you just picked a name and an OC. On top of that, these self-insert fanfictions sometimes spend an inordinate amount of time describing the reader when that is not necessary in the slightest. In the Great Gatsby, Daisy’s appearance was never described. We never know exactly what she looks like, but Fitzgerald uses the joy on her face, the curl of her lip, things that every girl has, and makes them appear beautiful to those who want her and to the audience. You do not need to describe the reader for the audience to believe that they are beautiful. You need to describe the reactions of others. I will give you an example: the following is a scene with the same premise. Steve Rogers is about to pick you up to go dancing. The first paragraph is in second person, the second paragraph is in [Y/N] [L/N].

*******

It took a week before he said yes, and you weren’t going to waste it. You reached back, contorting your arms so you could wiggle the zipper of your dress up unaided. From behind you a gentle hand overtook yours and closed the gap.

“What do you think?” You said, turning and letting the skirt float. He smiled down at you, his hands coming up to brush back your hair.

“Beautiful,” Steve said, his lips curled and his teeth flashed and he pulled your face to his. You had to stand on tiptoes to kiss him and when you did his lips were stained red with your lipstick. “Are you sure about this?” You pulled away, grabbing the last part of your outfit.

“I’m a good dancer. I promise! You haven’t seen anything yet.” He took your necklace, and you turned to let him put it on you.

“I’ve seen you in our kitchen at 2 am.” With a roll of your eyes, you swatted him. “I’m just saying!”

“I’m just saying you haven’t seen anything yet. Prepare to have your mind blown. Your socks obliterated. They won’t even be knocked off; they're going to turn to ash. That's how good I am.” He laughed, looking at your reflection in the mirror. His hands found their home around your waist and he pulled you to him. You loved it when he did that. You felt safe. Protected.

“I… what if I can’t match you?” With a frown, you turned to face him. “I, I haven’t been dancing ever. And I just, I want to make sure it’s perfect and I don’t want to step on your toes and-” with a smile, you make your way over to the record player. Your fingers trail over the vinyl, picking one of your favorites. When you turn back to face him, there’s sweet music playing.

“Come here.” He joins you in the center of your bedroom. “It’s been a while since I’ve had to lead, but you put your hands here, and here, and then you always start with your left…” The world was golden. Bright and syrupy and blissful. You never made it out of the house, but you and Steve did go dancing that night. Just the two of you.

****

*****

“What do you think?” You said, turning and letting the [f/c] skirt float. He smiled down at you, his hands coming up to brush back your [h/c] hair.

“Beautiful,” Steve said, his lips curled and his teeth flashed and he pulled your face to his. You had to stand on tiptoes to kiss him and when you did his lips were stained red with your lipstick. “[Y/N], are you sure about this?” You pulled away, grabbing the last part of your outfit.

“I’m a good dancer. I promise! You haven’t seen anything yet.” He took your necklace, and you turned to let him put it on you.

“I’ve seen you in our kitchen at 2 am.” With a roll of your [e/c] eyes, you swatted him. “I’m just saying!”

“I… what if I can’t match you?” With a frown, you turned to face him. “[Y/N]. I haven’t been dancing ever. And I just, I want to make sure it’s perfect and I don’t want to step on your toes and-” with a smile, you make your way over to the record player. Your fingers trail over the vinyl, picking one of your favorites. When you turn back to face him, there’s sweet music playing.

****

One is more immersive than the other. One has a more professional approach than the other. Writing in second person is uncommon but not invaluable, and if you can wean yourself off of [Y/N] [L/N] you will master an invaluable skill that will make you stand out as a writer versus relying on what has succeeded for others in the past. If all else fails and you can’t figure it out, just pick a name. Any name. Readers often project themselves onto the main character- that’s how you get characters with basic or generic descriptions: brown hair, brown eyes, etc. they’re trying to fill a demographic. Twilight did this, as did the Hunger Games, Divergent, and Beautiful Creatures. There’s nothing wrong with this. It’s totally okay to just pick a name.

The final POV in writing is third person. This is where you have a narrator talking over the story and describing events. A third-person limited narrator only sticks to one character’s thoughts, emotions, and feelings. Harry Potter is written in a third-person limited POV. We only see what Harry is thinking at any given point, and we follow him through the story in third person. Third-person omniscient is a narrator that can describe the thoughts, feelings, and emotions of every character in the story. That isn’t just being able to tell the reader exactly what a person is thinking, it’s describing their feelings and reactions. It is making a statement or inference about a character in a way the main character typically wouldn’t. They are subjective narrators that let the readers draw conclusions based on their descriptions. In my opinion, a third-person omniscient story is the most difficult POV to write because it becomes more difficult to let your readers figure out things for themselves. Part of writing is letting your audience draw conclusions and make inferences on their own, and what other characters are thinking or the methods behind their actions are a big part of that. It can work, and Beartown employs an omniscient narrator, but I have found that most fanfiction follows a third-person limited or first-person POV.

In Fanfiction 101 we talked about the tropes that bore us. The ones that need to get left behind. The Editor got to talk about how much she hates twins. I recently found out that she hates clones too. However, not all tropes are terrible. Next week we’ll be talking about, “that gud emotional shit.” as it is written in my notes, and why some tropes work well and why they get used again and again.

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