“15 Men React To The Idea Of Taking Their Wife’s Last Name After Marriage”

47. “I’ve been in love with you for years.” 🥺

Percy Jackson is a coward. 

Freezeframe, record scratch, backtrack to the beginnings of the bad decisions. 

It all went south when Grover threw up. Drunk out of their minds and poor from a long night of bar hopping, the gang piles into an Uber that’s two spots too small to head back to Percy and Grover’s apartment. Grover takes the front seat while Percy and Annabeth are crammed in the backseat behind him—and yes, that’s the same one person seat, because Beckendorf, Silena, and Clarisse are stuffed next to them. Percy curses the Stolls and Katie for living within walking distance of downtown and wonders if anyone will Venmo him back for the Uber. 

If Grover doesn’t get them kicked to the curb, that is. Annabeth shifts in Percy’s lap to hold their friend’s head upright before he can pitch forward on a hard break. Percy tightens his arm around her waist in lieu of a seatbelt. Only a few more miles until they’re home free. 

Clarisse is giving Grover a passionate and profane pep talk from her middle seat when Percy looks her way, and Silena and Beckendorf look like they’re trying to swallow each other on her other side. He buries his face between Annabeth’s shoulder blades and groans. His five star passenger rating is going down in flames. 

“Hey,” Annabeth pinches his arm. “Don’t you go giving out on me too, Jackson. We still have to go up three flights of stairs and I carried Grover last time.” 

“I carried Grover last time.” 

“You carried Connor. Now listen up, we’re almost there and I have a plan.” 

“Oh god, she has a plan.” 

“Shut up. You love my plans.” 

“Whatever you say, captain.” 

“Grover is going to puke as soon as we stop, so I’m going to run and open his door. I need you to push him out of the car the second I’m out.” 

“And if you don’t make it?” 

“I’m gonna make it.” 

The car stops and abruptly ends the argument. Annabeth flies out her door and Percy shoves Grover forward by the shoulders just as he yells about puking. Never bet against Annabeth, or something like that. Grover tumbles onto the sidewalk without leaving a mark in the Uber. 

Instead he throws up on Annabeth. 

The only sound is Clarisse cackling as Percy wrestles his way out of the car. Grover starts crying while Annabeth sits there, covered in vomit and a look of shock. 

He presses his keys into her hand. “You go shower, and I’ll be up there soon with—” The Uber driver starts yelling at Clarisse. “Hang on.” 

He pulls the other three out of the backseat before anything else can go wrong. The Uber speeds away the moment the door closes.

Annabeth pulls Grover to his feet. “You’ll lose Silena and Beckendorf if you try it alone, and I really don’t want to bail anyone out for indecent exposure in the morning. Take Grover before I strangle him.” 

Percy knows better than to question Annabeth when she’s got that fierce look in her eye, so he hoists Grover over his shoulder without the usual sideways comment. “Once is enough, buddy,” he says quietly, hoping Grover doesn’t puke down his back. 

Annabeth leads the way up the stairs, holding Clarisse’s hand and pausing every ten steps to shoo Silena and Beckendorf forward. She’s right, as always: Percy would’ve lost them. But Annabeth handles it with her shoulders squared and her expression fiery, making Percy glad once more that he’s as close to sober as he is. It’s so easy to get dumbstruck looking at her, even when her makeup is smudged and she’s covered in their best friend’s vomit. No matter the circumstances, Percy will always find her beautiful. 

By the time he dumps Grover in his own bed, the lovebirds have claimed the couch and the shower is running. Just as the panic of missing Clarisse strikes, Percy hears Annabeth curse at her from the bathroom. 

“Percy!” she yells.

Then Clarisse. “Yeah, c’mere Twinkle Toes.” 

“Shut up.”

He raps his knuckles against the door. The shower is running. “You okay?” 

The door opens wide enough for Annabeth’s face. “Could you grab me some clothes? I think I left some last time I spent the night.” 

Clarisse coos. “Spent the night, huh?” 

There’s a thud, a curse, and Annabeth nearly slips as she presumably kicks Clarisse. She catches herself just as her bare shoulder comes into view. 

Percy clears his throat. “Uh, yeah. No problem.” 

He retreats to his room and grabs an old sweatshirt and pair of plaid pants for her. She definitely left something of her own the last several times she came over, but sue Percy for enjoying the sight of her in his clothes. 

Clarisse answers the door looking suspiciously like she’s been sprayed by the showerhead. “Do us all a favor,” she hisses, “and tell her how you feel. How long has it been, anyway? Silena owes me money if I’m right.” 

Percy waves her off and tosses the clothes in her face, but once everyone has gone to bed and Annabeth is asleep and smelling like his own bodywash on the other side of his bed, he faces the truth. 

He is a coward harboring a secret truth that shines like sunlight, one that can only be faced alone at night because it’s so blinding. 

“I’ve been in love with you for years,” he whispers, watching her chest rise slowly in the moonlight. 

And then her breath catches, her eyelashes flutter, and Percy is an idiot caught in her headlights. 

She doesn’t move, just swallows deeply and says, “Say that again.” 

“I thought you were asleep.” 

“Percy, please.” 

The please and the fact that she hasn’t run out of the room are the only reasons he’s able to repeat himself. 

“How drunk are you?” She sounds small, unsure, and entirely unlike herself.

He props himself up on his elbow and nearly reaches for her. “Completely sober.” 

And then she’s rolling them over faster than Percy can process, and he would want to slow down this moment if her lips weren’t on his with a fervor he’s only dreamed of. The world is blindingly bright in the midnight morning; the sun isn’t out, but it might as well be. 

Percy says “I love you,” against her mouth, and he thinks maybe he could be brave for her. If being brave means a lifetime of this, he’ll never take the coward’s way out again.

#BlackLivesMatter

Resources for Canada:

Mental health resources for the Black community in Toronto

A script for Torontonians to follow when contacting city officials

Podcast detailing racism and corruption in Ontario

How non-Black folk can support Black Canadians

Resources for America:

Split a donation between 70+ bail funds

How to donate when you have no money 

Podcast on racism in American

Podcast episode on racial inequality in medicine, and protest safety

Fund for Black Trans women in Atlanta

Twitter thread with compiled petitions, organizations, and other information

How to safely film police misconduct

Resources for biologists and naturalists:

Information on #BlackBirdersWeek 

Boost for Black paleoartists

Free Field Ornithologist memberships for Black students (must be sponsored by a mentor/advisor)

Opportunity to bird/botanize/geologize the Californian desert

Donation to supply Black birders with binoculars 

Article on structural racism in Natural History museums

Free to use antifascist paleoart/paleontology icons

Resources for the arts:

Google drive with Black revolutionary texts

Graphics you should be posting on Instagram instead of the ‘BlackOut’ square

Boost for Black Gamdev/Art streamers

Resources for Black animators

More resources for Black animators

#DrawingWhileBlack directory

Portfolio reviews for Black artists

Rad screenprinted shirts that benefit the Louisville Community Bail Fund

Feel free to add to this!

This is honestly amazing

i was in a thrift shop the other day and they were playing the most unsettling variations of normal christmas music, culminating in this rendition of the 12 days of christmas except it was like 12 guys all singing over each other and going “no!” and interrupting the lyrics with random other phrases until they deadass just started singing 5 golden rings to toto’s africa. can anyone confirm that this is a real song and not that i stroked so hard i astral projected into a universe where everything is somehow worse than it is here

John Boyega at Hyde Park demonstration #BlackLivesMattter

ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ

does anyone hve any sin recommendations i just fell from the garden of eden five seconds ago

i think its so funny that alumni from schools like harvard and columbia that were there during the protests in the 60s-80s are expressing support for students currently protesting against the genocide in palestine, and random zionists that were NOT at these protests in the 60s-80s have the never ending audacity to tell these alumni "well thats different, what you protested was good and what they're protesting is bad." as if protesters against the vietnam war and apartheid south africa were not also demonized, arrested, brutalized, and even killed for their activism. history only remembers them fondly after the damage has already been done.

If Dr. Seuss Books Were Titled According to Their Subtexts

I need this

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