Percabeth Dirty One Shots and Drabbles

WIRKYIWK 11

Greenconverses ao3

It was unbecoming of an Olympian goddess to pout, but when faced with a disappointment like this, it was hard not to.

Eris sniffed, observing the boisterous crowd around her with bitter displeasure. This was what these Roman demigods called a bacchanal these days? Small talk and polite political maneuvering? Where was the blood sport? The craven backstabbing and lustful frenzies?

There was certainly enough booze flowing to keep Dionysus happy, but as for her... this quaint little party just wouldn't do.

She'd expected so much better from this event, especially with Annabeth Chase in attendance. The little daughter of Athena had kicked over the most delicious hornets' nest of discontent on Olympus when she'd revealed herself as the true killer of Kronos. Eris could've subsisted for years on the latest outrageous arguments and threats from within Olympus' throne room, especially from Lord Thunderbolts himself, but the disturbance it had caused in the mortal world? Well, that was just too mouthwatering to resist.

Tonight's gala should have been a guaranteed feast of mortal conflict, a cross-pantheon bloodbath she could gorge herself silly on.

But no.

Both sides were getting along - even the pair she'd expected to ignite the fireworks.

Athena and Poseidon had both requested her help in ensuring their respective child would be the winner in whatever clash resulted between them tonight, wanting to stave off humiliation and gain back respect for their familial lines. However, their children weren't mad at each other - they were mad for each other.

Eris narrowed her eyes, watching the golden girl and New Rome's hellion dance around one another, each trying to keep up a pathetic pretense of disinterest. Longing stares and heated blushes were not what she'd been promised from the children of such infamous rivals. That flighty nuisance Aphrodite had to have something to do with this.

What a waste.

But perhaps she was getting ahead of herself.

She wasn't the only miserable soul at this party who'd prefer a disaster to a triumph. Enough sickening envy and burning resentment swirled in the air to tell her this: Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase were not beloved heroes of New Rome.

He was an omen of destruction, an ever-present threat to the city's peace and order that needed to be appeased. A monster badly in need of taming.

She was an arrogant girl with a knife, who had wormed her way into a place in history through sheer luck and spread legs. Not a hero, but someone who could at least get the job done... if temptation didn't bring her down first.

He had plenty of enemies and she so few allies. It might not be grand or flashy, but if the right strings were pulled, the right pawns emboldened...

Eris tapped her lips thoughtfully. She could work with this. All she needed was a good vessel; someone already close to the edge and primed to be pushed over.

The crowd rippled as a tall blonde demigod walked toward the edges of the banquet hall, lonely without his wife at his side or usual band of admirers behind him. Snickering whispers followed in his wake; shoulders tense and jaw set, he continued as though he didn't hear them.

But Eris heard everything.

" - can't believe he'd show his face here."

"Liar."

"Serves him right, trusting her."

"Just proves he never had the balls."

"...at least we know she can take down the son of Neptune."