hyompara
(n) the sense of serene connectedness experienced while listening to the flowing water
In which the Daughter of Poseidon drowns in a sea of divinity.
OR
Percilla Jackson finds herself surrounded by Gods alien to her.
ror x pjo
fem!percy
Perhaps Percy was a drooler, the Goddess of Drool if she ever ascended. It would certainly stick with the family theme.
With the start of a saliva trail peeking from the corner of her mouth, it was hard to deny it wasn't there. Though she would vehemently argue against that false statement while she turns and hurriedly wipes the stray saliva dropping from the corner of her mouth. One couldn't really judge the young demigod for drooling when being in the presence of the sea god, Poseidon. Or maybe you could, he is her father after all.
Poseidon ever the passive god, was either really good at a consistent blank face or had just not cared for Percy's drooling problem. Or he was probably used to people drooling in his presence (maybe it was a secret domain of his). Either way he sat incredibly still with a posture that made Percy's own back ache just by looking at it. Percy privately thought her father-not-father's rigid posture was most likely an accurate representation of his personality. Rigid and painfully straight to the point. The aura of superiority he exuded was pretty telling too.
While the not-father-not-daughter duo stared and analyzed each other, Brunhilde sat on an armchair in between the two couches the blond and brunette separately occupied and compared the two. From an outsider's point of view, the two certainly shared little similarities, in fact everything about the two was glaringly different. Lord Poseidon sat stiff and menacingly while Percy fidgeted awkwardly in her seat. Lord Poseidon was blonde and blue eyed while Percy was brunette and sea-green eyed. He was pale, she was tan, etc. Brunhilde hid a sigh, thinking it'd be difficult to convince the terrifying god that Percy was in fact his daughter, just one he didn't conceive. Could she really gaslight The God of Gods?
Poseidon was not a patient god, nor was he a merciful one. He'd made sure that all of the divinities knew this. So when Poseidon's face had minutely shifted, Brunhilde began to explain an altered version of what had happened, fearing she'd incur the wrath of Poseidon if she'd wait any longer. During the explanation of her modified version, Percy sat impatiently on the couch. She could feel the slow forming sweat on her palms and nape. The white lie was a pretty believable one, but the unnerving stare of her not-father's eyes had her itching in her seat. More than ever really.
Gods please let her survive this meeting.
🫧🐟
At the end of Brunhilde's explanation, Percy had been reduced into a puddle. Figuratively. She's not ashamed to admit she nearly pissed herself—twice—hearing Brunhilde explain her existence and how it supposedly happened.
Poseidon sat still through it all, as he did before the meeting started. But as Brunhilde continued to talk, the temperature started to drop. And as the temperature dropped so did her stomach. The growing bundle of nerves inside her behaved like a storm, unrelenting and intense. Like the narrowed eyes of her father looking down at her in quiet and painfully clear judgment.
And as if it couldn't get worse, now she sits alone with Poseidon.
Was Brunhilde trying to get her killed?!
Neither girl or god moved from their seats. One looked as if ready to go into battle and the other looked passively at the other deep in thought.
As the quiet seeped, Percy could only wait with baited breath as she watched Poseidon shift in his seat, reaching for the cup of— no doubt cold, tea and leaning back languidly. By the gods, Percy was captivated. Captivated in the way others before her were most likely to have been when witnessing the blond.
This was embarrassing, Percy privately thought.
She could feel the flush of her cheeks at the sight of Poseidon. She shouldn't feel like this she'd berate herself. She'd tell herself that this man could kill her without hesitation. She'd remind herself he was her father. And then panic, horror and slight repulsion when the realization sets in that yes, this adonis of a man in front of her was in fact her father.
The conflicting and confusing emotional rollercoaster Percy had internally gone through in the span of mere minutes was not lost on Poseidon. It did little to endear her to him. But she was his daughter, unlikely and imperfect as she was, she was his. Her emotions were visible, a danger to her, he'd noted. From her eyes, to her lips, and the scrunch of her eyebrow and nose. She was readable. A thing Poseidon would fix. As if he'd let his dubiously proven daughter walk about with her every thought for all the peasants to see.
Poseidon sat still, a cup to his mouth. The girl was unworthy, a mere bug compared to him. But a bug was better than the dirt that littered the very universe. He'd change it, he decided.
Percilla would be worthy of the title, Daughter of Poseidon.
🫧🐟
Deep in her turmoil, Percy missed the look in her father's eyes. That look of possession. Brunhilde should've never brought Percy in front of Poseidon. The God of Gods. For she has sealed a fate for Percy that even those that have coveted, would cower from.
May the Fates bless Percilla Jackson, for she has received a god's attention. And everybody knows nothing good could come from it.
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Woooo okay I didn't really think this would gain attention but I'm grateful nonetheless‼️ Truly sorry for the delay, we've been having snow storms lately and I've been drowning in homework but I'll try to publish more 🤞
