percy jackson has never really fit anywhere, half mortal, half god. there’s something about him that feels like the ocean: calm one moment, crashing the next, impossible to contain. he’s the kind of person who’d throw himself in front of a monster for you, make a sarcastic comment while doing it, then grin when he realizes you’re still breathing.

born to sally jackson and poseidon, one of the big three gods, percy grew up thinking he was just a regular kid with really bad luck. dyslexia, adhd, schools that never worked out, strange things happening around him. none of it made sense until he found out the truth: he’s a demigod. the son of the sea god himself.

camp half-blood became the only place that ever made him feel like he belonged. the smell of pine and salt air, the clash of swords, the laughter around campfires. it’s home. he’s loyal, brave, stubborn, and way too self-sacrificing for his own good. percy’s heart is huge, even when he tries to hide it behind jokes or that lazy, confident smirk he wears when he’s pretending everything’s fine. and for all his battles, all the quests and monsters and near-death experiences, there’s still this soft part of him that belongs to his mom. sally jackson, the best person he knew. she’s the one who taught him kindness, patience, and how to find little bits of rebellion in everyday life.

like blue food.

it started because gabe ugliano, his old stepfather, used to say blue food didn’t exist. so sally made it her mission to prove him wrong. blue cookies, blue candy, blue pancakes. it became a tradition, a quiet way to defy the ugliness in their lives and celebrate the sweetness they still had. it’s something percy never grew out of, even now.

which is why, at camp half-blood, you decide to surprise him.

it’s his birthday, something he’s usually bad at acknowledging, and everyone else seems to have forgotten. the camp’s busy, half the cabins are training, and percy’s spent most of the day pretending he doesn’t care. but you do.

you’ve been sneaking around the camp kitchen since morning, negotiating with the harpies for access to supplies. it’s a mess of flour and frosting, but you manage to pull it off. a homemade blue birthday cake. the color’s a little too bright, the icing uneven, but it’s perfect in the kind of way that means something.

you find him sitting by the lake, skipping stones into the water, his expression thoughtful. the light’s starting to fade, the surface of the lake catching streaks of orange and gold.

you call out ‘happy birthday’, holding the cake awkwardly in both hands.

he turns, eyes widening when he sees it. “wait—did you make that?”