percabeth oneshots

home

hello my slightly [or very] crazy readers! it's brutal out here.

so, this is a random drabble of annabeth's home.

disclaimer - not rr!

enjoy!

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Annabeth never understood why house was called a synonym of home.

Home was love, affection, respect. Happiness.

House was cold; merely a living space without meaning.

San Francisco with Frederick Chase was home for a while. It was long cuddles on the couch, throwing popcorn at the television, and bingeing war movies; it was worn throw blankets on the sofa, sweet smelling kitchens, and scruffy shoes; it was building war airplanes together, baking cupcakes, and going to museums.

Until she came. Helen Chase. Then it slowly became a house. No more cuddles on the couch; they aren't for sleeping, no more war movies; they scare the babies, no more worn throw blankets; they look disgusting, we need new ones, no more baking; you don't know how to.

Home was running around with Luke and Thalia. It was adrenaline pumping through her veins, wind whipping through hair as she ran, and hugging Thalia when she was scared; it was stealing food from rude people, muffled laughter, and midnight feasts; it was secret shelters, long group hugs and Luke's promises.

But that didn't last. There was no more Thalia; she was turned into a pine tree, there was no more stealing; you had all you wanted at Camp Half-Blood, and Luke broke all his promises; they weren't a family anymore.

Camp Half-Blood was home for a longer time. It was laughing while sparring, obstacle races throughout Camp, and trying not to fall into lava while wall climbing; it was eating till your stomach hurt, toasting marshmallows over the campfire, and stealing food from sleepy campers. It was picking fresh strawberries before winter, eating mangoes in the summer, and sharing apples year long.

Nothing went wrong at CHB. Yet everything went wrong. It kept being plunged into chaos, chaos so magnanimous, Annabeth couldn't bear to call it home. After all, a home is where you're supposed to feel safe, is it not? And, yes, even though Camp Half-Blood would always have some sort of semblance of home to her, she'd realised very early that home, wasn't a place. It was a person. Her person.

Annabeth Chase never thought the acne-ridden, drooling, Son of Poseidon, would be her home.

But he was.

With Percy Jackson, home was cuddling on tiny twin beds, having group cry sessions, and sharing clothes. It was laughing till you cried, raiding supermarkets, and trying to cook while obviously severely failing.

It was the little things, buying each other flowers after a fight, draping blankets over the other while they were sleeping, and finishing homework together. It was doing sliding around in slippery socks, pulling all-nighters, and marathoning the marvel movies.

It was so much more. So so much more. It was feelings that couldn't be described.

Because home and love weren't something you can put into words. Its layers and layers of emotions, memories, love, respect and more.

Annabeth Chase didn't believe home could be a person; after all, how could one person be everything you wanted and needed?

But when grey met green, she found her home.

Her home is and will always be Percy Jackson. He was all she'd ever wanted and needed.

He was her forever.

He was her home.

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