The 7 React To Percy Jackson Memes/Headcanons

Happy late birthday, Annabeth ( #selfadvertising )

I wasn't on crack when I wrote this, I promise. Even if it looks like I was.

"Okay," the person starts. "We'll be reading part of a one shot I wrote."

"Why only part of it?" Frank asks. 

"So my readers will have to go and read the rest to find out what happens," the person answers. "Duh."

"Huh," Annabeth says. "That's actually a pretty good strategy. Self-advertising."

"Thank you." The person bows dramatically. "This story is called Dirty Little Secrets."

"Who's it about?" Leo questions.

The person smiles innocently. "You'll figure it out. I made up a situation I thought could happen and I wrote it out." 

Jason blinks in surprise. He hadn't really been paying attention. "Wait, so we're revealing someone's secrets?"

"Kind of," the person answers. "I made up a secret. Like, an alternate universe."

Percy nods in understanding. "Okay, sure. That makes sense."

The person starts. 

 The vase shone in the dim lighting of the moon, a simple red rose sitting in the glass leaning toward the window, as if yearning to be with the moon. 

"Why do I feel like this will be important?" Leo asks.

"What?" Piper says. "The rose?"

"Yup," Leo responds.

Piper simply shrugs in response.

The vase set gently on a small wooden nightstand- all that was on it was a digital clock and the vase. The vase with the rose.

Percy frowns. It sounded familiar, but he couldn't figure out why.

The numbers on the clock glowed a light red color. Why was everything red? The glowing numbers read 2:00 am. Was it really that early? 

"Well, if the clock says it's 2, it's probably 2," Annabeth says.

That's what the numbers read. But numbers can be deceiving.

Annabeth shrugs. Maybe it's 2, maybe it's not. How would she know? She had no way of knowing if it was 2 or not. She didn't write this story. (Or did she? Kidding, kidding. I'm not Annabeth. I'm too stupid to be a child of Athena. Nah, I'm a child of Oizys.)

The bedside table was untouched. No one used it. All that lay in it's drawer was a small pack. A pack that hadn't been used in years. Next to it, a lighter.

"No!" Hazel exclaims. "Smoking is bad for you."

"Yup," the person agrees. "At the beginning of the story, I tell the readers not to smoke."

Jason frowns. "I'm confused. You always talk about readers, but this isn't a story. It's real life."

"It's real to you," the person responds. "But I'm sitting behind a computer screen, typing this out."

Jason gives the person a look that asks, What the flying fuck?

 The drawer had cobwebs. It hadn't been touched in 4 years. 

Annabeth shudders.

"Good," Hazel says happily.

It was somewhat forgotten about. And, on top of the table, was a vase. A vase with a red rose. The rose had thorns. All good roses do. Cut the thorn off, but the scars will stay. They always do. A rose without thorns is like a man without imperfections. All men have imperfections. Everyone has imperfections.