K8

"How do you get over that feeling that everything in your life has been a lie?" Ominis asked, not bothering to face her. He was leaning against the desk, hair fussed, tie loose, and sleeves rolled up. He gripped the edges of the table like he was trying to hold his very grip on reality.

She looked at him curiously, but did not know how to answer him. When she had shared with him the secret she held and her growing abilities with ancient magic, he had seemed surprised at first–then angry with himself. She took a step toward him, unsure how to comfort him in this state, but he held up his hand to stop her. 

“I’m sorry, love. I’m not upset with you. Quite the opposite, I am quite touched that you chose to share this with me–that you felt safe enough to share this with me.” He raked his hands through his sandy blonde hair, seemingly uncaring of his usually tidy appearance. 

“I am upset with myself, I think. I work so hard to counteract the ways of my family and their preconceptions about muggle-borns, I forget how deep it runs within me. My first thought is not always kind. I am–I am not a kind man.” His voice breaks as he hangs his head in his hands, still refusing to look towards her.

“You are kind to me.” She replies, her soft voice cutting through the tension in the room. Slowly, she moves towards him, her hands grabbing his wrists to pull his arms around her. 

Now that his hands aren’t covering him, she can see the tear marks on his face and her heart cries out in sorrow. She kisses them away, he tenses but allows her to clean his face, first with her lips, then with the sleeves of her button down. He is still getting accustomed to her softness towards him, something he has never been afforded by anyone else.

“You are a good man, Ominis. Not because of how you were raised, or the voices that still reside in your head, but because you choose to be good. You choose to make the right choices. Being good isn’t just something you’re born into, it’s something you choose everyday. Like when you chose to help Sebastian, even when he did not deserve it, or when you chose to help me, even though you barely knew me.” She spoke quietly, holding onto Ominis’ shoulders like she was holding glass or something far more breakable.

He finally tilted his head so it faced her. What he did to deserve her, he would never know. Merlin, if she only knew of the depths from which she raised him from. He kissed her, savouring the soft warmth that always seemed to swirl around her, whether magical or not, Ominis was enamoured. 

When he finally pulled back, keeping his arms secured around her, he kissed her forehead, feeling appreciative of the peace she brought to his life.

A Percy Jackson fix-it story– a twenty-five year old Percy Jackson finds himself in ‘the good life’. He’s working on his PHD in marine biology, completing an off-shore research project collecting data on endangered sea animals in the Galapagos. He spends his days measuring fish, analysing water samples, playing with whale sharks, and defending against the occasional monster attack. He’s living the dream life, and yet– his dreams haunt him every night. Versions of himself he feels slipping away, day by day. He would never complain about his life– the research he gets to do, video chatting with his mom and Estelle on the weekends, running his environmental activism blog, and spending every moment he can in the water. But something just doesn’t feel right. This isn’t how his life was supposed to turn out– for better or for worse, he feels like an imposter, getting to spend his days in some alternate reality where demigods get to live normal and fulfilling lives. His feelings turn out to be correct when the fates show up at his work one day, determined to correct the timeline… by sending him back to Yancy Academy thirteen years in the past. 

Chapter 2 / 22

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Rating-- PG13+

Read on A03 or below:

Percy resigned himself to spend the rest of the school year training with Riptide. He spent every weekend and evening after class in the woods outside his dorm, using trees as training dummies, coming to bed with scrapes and bruises for his efforts. Percy was determined to increase his endurance as much as he possibly could - he knew what was coming, and he was going to be prepared. More often than not, his training sessions ended with him returning soaking wet to his shared room— the weather had been strange since the field trip. Hurricanes, thunderstorms, hail… Percy silently seethed against Zeus’ toddler-like temper tantrum, giving mortals across the east coast bad weather for weeks on end. 

Almost as unpredictable as the weather was Grover. Either things had already started to change on this timeline, or Percy was more oblivious the first time than he realised. Everywhere Percy went, Grover seemed to be there, watching him. At breakfast, in Latin class, sitting and watching from the bleachers as Percy ran laps with the PE class… Grover had been suspicious enough of Percy’s “study” sessions out in the woods during his free time, but his distaste for the unseasonably bad weather in the Hudson Valley kept him inside. 

Luckily enough, Grover’s suspicions were assuaged slowly as Percy’s grades crept up. Two of his teachers had accused him of cheating within the span of a month. They had been forced to back down, red-faced and apologetic when Percy explained he was simply utilizing the dyslexic reading aids that were afforded to him as a student with a documented learning disability. Mr. Nicholl's, Percy’s English teacher had been especially surprised and excited when Percy had requested his vocabulary sheets be printed on black paper in white font— a common accommodation for dyslexia. 

In truth, Percy’s grades were only slightly higher thanks to his accommodations— he hadn’t found a sudden excitement for learning as his teachers seemed to believe, he was simply an adult doing the homework of a middle schooler; It was not challenging to bring his grades up in the least. And just in time for exam prep.

Two weeks before final exams, in the middle of April, Mrs. Kerr made good on the mist’s promise for an Earth Day clean up at Yancy Academy. And so, on a dreary, overcast Friday afternoon in late April, Percy found himself with twenty other delinquents combing through the forest between the school and the river, cleaning up trash and litter strewn  about by the previous evening’s thunderstorm. Percy had found a decent sized stick he used as a skewer— stabbing empty pizza boxes and crushed soda cans and dropping them into his trash bag. He  watched Grover about twenty yards away cleaning up what looked like remnants of a homemade fire pit, muttering under his breath about “trashy humans, polluting green spaces”, Percy laughed to himself— Grover really was not the best at blending in. 

As they cleaned, Percy wandered closer and closer to the waters edge. Cleaning up spilled popcorn from the shoreline, he almost jumped when he saw a pair of eyes staring up at him from the murky depths of the river. Percy blinked. The eyes blinked back, slowly. A river Naiad. 

Hello there. Percy waved, reaching out to the spirit telepathically. 

Have you come to make another mess? The naiad asked him, tilting her head accusingly.

No. I’m sorry the mortals have made such a mess here. I’m trying to clean up what I can. The naiad assessed him silently for a full minute before breaching her head up from the surface. Her skin was gray with a tinge of green— like the rocks that covered the riverbank, and she stared up at him, half in wonder, half in fear. 

Is there more underwater? Percy asked her, questioning it himself as he sent feelers into the Hudson. Like a sonar, they returned to him— the riverbed was playing home to more trash than he had seen yet. Oh yuck, I’m so sorry. Here— Percy stood up straight and looked around. Grover was nose deep picking pieces of confetti poppers out of a bush and the other students were more than 100-yards away. No one was looking at him. Quickly, he used his control over the river to push the debris; a shopping cart, a dented metal trash-can, a car tire, and a large collection of fast-food bags, to-go containers, and plastic soda bottles to the bank of the river. Percy loaded the tire into the shopping cart, and then the metal trash can into the tire, filling it up with all the smaller food trash. 

The naiad was looking up at him curiously now, her eyes sparkling. My thanks, young one, he heard her speak in his mind. She waved her hand in his direction towards the shore, sending a shell onto the rocks at his feet. He bent down and picked it up, turning it over in his hands. It was a pearl shell, somewhat common in this area, but dwindling as invasive species took over. On the inside of the shell, there was an intricate carving of a seahorse and a hippocampus playing. As Percy watched, the carving seemed to move and he had to stare at it extra hard to make sure it wasn’t a trick of the light. When he looked back to thank her, he found himself looking into the empty expanse of the water– no eyes looked back this time.

“Wow, Percy!” Mrs.Kerr exclaimed, walking up next to Grover. “That’s quite the haul!” Percy smiled at her, quietly tucking the seashell into his pants pocket before anyone could question him about it. 

Percy spent the next two weeks reciting monsters as he trained– their names, history, who had killed them, which ones he had fought before, and what weaknesses he could exploit. He tried to think ahead to what changes he could make — how he could ensure he made the “right choice” this time, whatever that meant, but every time he tried to think of what changes he could make, and what possible repercussions he would deal with because of them, his head throbbed. Percy had always been impulsive, intuitive even. He was great in a firefight, or in ambushing monsters. But planning out what felt like ten-steps in the future was some incomprehensible 3D chess game, and Percy couldn’t even figure out regular chess. He had found his thoughts chasing each other through his mind when he started trying to think his way out of his mother’s summer trip to Hades. It was these thoughts hounding him as he entered his Latin final exam on the last day of class. 

The three-hour exam wasn’t half as hard as Percy remembered it to be. He was sure his dyslexia had made for a few interesting spelling errors, but had correctly identified the difference between Charon and Chiron, and had listed and explained all of Hercules labors (some really weren’t that bad, Cerberus was honestly a sweetheart who just wanted someone to play with). On his way out the door, Mr. Brunner cleared his throat and called him back. 

“Percy,” he said. “I’m encouraged by your growth since Christmas. Yancy will be lucky to have you back next year.” His tone was kind, his eyes twinkling, but Percy was still embarrassed, his face and ears growing hot under the unexpected praise. Even though he was speaking quietly, the other students finishing the test could still hear. Nancy Bobofit smirked at him and made kissing motions with her lips. Percy almost laughed— while he wouldn’t argue with her that his grades turning around was suspicious, he wasn’t a brown nosed, especially not with Mr. Brunner, or Chiron for that matter. He respected him, but found his ideology on the gods flawed. Then again, Chiron still feared the gods— Percy did not. 

“I appreciate it, Sir, but I will not be returning to Yancy next year.” Percy mumbled quietly, hanging his head to look at his shoes. Mr. Brunner wheeled his chair back and forth, like he wasn’t sure what to say. 

”Oh? Is there somewhere else you’ll be heading?” He asked, curiously. 

“This isn’t the right place for me,” Percy replied, echoing what Mr. Brunner had said to him the last time they had this conversation, “I’m heading somewhere my dad wants me to go— I think it’s a year-round type of thing, so I won’t be coming back to Yancy in the fall.” The gears were already turning in Percy’s head. He had zero desire to deal with mortal schooling a second time around— heck he hadn’t wanted to do it the first time, not until college when he was able to learn about things he was actually interested in. It couldn’t be that hard to get ‘homeschooling’ set up for him next year. That would allow him to spend more time with his mom, and eventually Paul and Estelle, without sacrificing his future. Besides, homeschooling had to look better on paper than the D and F report cards he had scraped by with previously. 

Mr. Brunner  looked positively puzzled, “Oh. Right… That sounds like a good idea. This is a school your father wants you to go to?” 

“Not exactly a school, but I’ll be homeschooling during the offseason.” Percy replied, trying hard not to look Mr. Brunner in the eye lest he start laughing.

”I see.” Mr. Brunner replied, stroking his beard, lost in thought. Percy took the opportunity to scoot towards the door.

”Anyway, thanks for the great year, Mr. Brunner!” He said before zooming out of the room.

”Wait, Percy—“ Mr. Brunner called after him, but Percy was already gone, making his way to the dorms to finish packing. 

On the last day of term, Percy loaded his suitcase onto the greyhound bus destined for Manhattan alongside Grover. He kept riptide in his pocket as always, and kept a backpack with his essentials with him— one too many times being separated from his unmentionables after sudden monster attacks had made him an efficient carry-on packer. During the whole bus ride, Grover kept glancing nervously down the aisle, watching the other passengers. He’d always acted nervous and fidgety when they left Yancy, as if he expected something bad to happen— which something, more times than not, did usually end up going bad. 

“No kindly ones here, Grover.” Percy said quietly in his ear. 

Grover nearly jumped out of his seat. “Wha-what do you mean?”

”You know, I am a lot smarter than most people give me credit for. Actually-“ Percy stopped, mid-thought. “ I think my Mom is the smart one. I’m only smart because I listen to her.”

Grover’s eye twitched in recognition. “How much did she tell you?”

”Everything she knew— or could guess at.” Percy replied, lying smoothly. While his forward thinking in changing the timeline had been a hill he could not climb, he had been careful about what he said, to both Grover and Chiron. Everything he had let slip he knew about was something that Sally arguably could have told him; The existence of the Greek world, the furies (Alecto whom he had fought), and who he was. These are all things Sally knew about. 

Grover’s ears turned pink. “Look, Percy—“ From his shirt pocket, he fished out a grubby business card. “Take this, okay? Just in case you need me this summer— or need a safe place to land.” He eyed Percy seriously. 

“Ah.” Percy said, accepting the business card and giving it a quick once-over. “This is the place my dad wants me to go.” He stuffed the business card into the front pocket of his backpack, missing the strange look Grover gave him.

”You know— you’re in contact with your father?” He asked, voice straining on a note of surprise. 

Percy winced. “Not exactly– he told my mom about the place. She hasn’t wanted me to go there, though.” Percy smiled, thinking about his mom— about how she wanted to keep him close. Fates be damned, he was not going to let his mother go to Hades this time— he owed her that much, hell he owed her everything, but this was something he could change. This was something he knew how to change now.

Grover cleared his throat, not meeting Percy’s eyes. “Maybe it’s time for you to go. With what happened on the field trip.” He looked down at his shoes— oversized sneakers Percy knew to be hiding his hooves. 

“Maybe.” Percy answered, pretending to mull it over. “But I want to spend some time with my mom. I haven’t seen her since Christmas. If I’m going to spend all summer there, I want to see her first.” Grover only hummed in response. Right on cue, there was a loud grinding noise coming from the bottom of the bus. Black smoke poured from the dashboard and the whole bus filled with a smell like rotten eggs. The driver cursed loudly and limped the Greyhound over to the side of the highway.

After a few minutes clanking around the engine compartment, the driver announced that all passengers needed to deboard temporarily. Grover and Percy dutifully followed the line of irritable travelers off the bus and onto the side of the highway. Grover eyed the litter-filled ditch mournfully. The bus had stopped on a stretch of country road—no place you’d notice if you didn’t break down there. On their side of the highway maple trees lined the ditch, blocking the view of houses from passing cars. On the other side, across four lanes of asphalt shimmering with afternoon heat, was an old-fashioned fruit stand.

The stuff on sale looked mouth watering: heaping boxes of blood red cherries and apples, walnuts and apricots, jugs of cider in a claw-foot tub full of ice. There were no customers, just three old ladies sitting in rocking chairs in the shade of a maple tree, knitting a large pair of socks Percy recognised from last time. 

The lady on the right knitted one of them. The lady on the left knitted the other. The lady in the middle held an enormous basket of electric-blue yarn—Luke’s lifeline Percy remembered. A memory resurfaced of May Castellan, Luke’s mom, lamenting her son’s terrible fate. Percy commiserated with her. Luke had so much potential… and for what? Made into a lackey for the powerful titan, Kronos. Percy shook his head, clearing himself from his stupor. He was determined to learn from his mistakes, including not sampling the delicious looking cherries the Fates had for sale.

”Tell me they’re not looking at you. They are, aren’t they?” Grover’s voice was barely above a whisper.

”Well, I am definitely looking at those cherries. Be right back!” Percy took off at a sprint.

”Percy, wait-“Grover called after him, but Percy was already darting across traffic. A driver honked at him as he made it to the other side of the highway, whether it was the mist changing the mortal’s perception or just the New York level of apathy keeping drivers from stopping, Percy did not know. 

Percy gave a quick bow when he made it to the stand. “Ladies— Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos.” He greeted them all respectfully. Lachesis raised an eyebrow at him, but all three ladies remained silent. “Right. I’m not sure exactly what I am supposed to be changing. The directions you gave weren’t exactly clear…” Atropos gave him a look that could only mean how can one mortal be so dumb? “But that’s fine, you know— learn as you go! Always been my motto.” Percy was nervous, addressing the three fates personally, especially in the body of his twelve-year-old self. 

“Anyway, the cherries look delicious, so I’m just gonna help myself.” Percy dug around in his backpack and quickly swapped a carton of cherries with a ten dollar bill. “Thanks! Stay safe out there!” He ran back across the highway, being mindful not to spill the cherries on his way. If the Fates were baffled by this behaviour, they didn’t show it. 

Grover was fuming when he returned. “Not funny, Percy. Not funny at all.”

The old lady in the middle, Atropos, took out a huge pair of scissors—gold and silver, long-bladed, like shears. 

Grover gasped, his voice caught in his throat. ”On the bus. We’re getting on the bus.”

”What?” Percy asked, leisurely popping a cherry into his mouth. The taste was sweet and tart at the same time and oh so juicy— the Fates really should have made the fruit stand their full time gig, they could make bank selling fruit this delicious. Grover stared at him open-mouthed and dumbfounded. 

Across the road, the ladies were still watching Percy. The middle one cut the yarn, the resounding snip cutting clear across four lanes of traffic. Her friends balled up the electric-blue socks, leaving Percy wondering once again who they were knitted for. Zeus, perhaps? In his full-godly form of twenty feet tall might fit them, Percy pondered silently, still munching on the cherries. 

At the rear of the bus, the driver wrenched a big chunk of smoking metal out of the engine compartment. The bus shuddered, and the engine roared back to life. The passengers cheered.

”Damn right!” Yelled the driver. He slapped the bus with his hat. “Everybody back on board!” 

Once the bus got going, Percy offered Grover a cherry. He was looking feverish, as if he caught the flu, shivering and chattering his teeth.

”Grover?” Percy asked, raising the carton of cherries between them. Grover hummed in response, taking a cherry and nibbling on it. His expression was hard to read.

”I don’t want it to be like the last time.” He finally mumbled, stuffing the pit of the cherry in his own backpack, no doubt with plans to plant it later. Percy thought that was a good idea and did the same with his pits.

A Percy Jackson fix-it story– a twenty-five year old Percy Jackson finds himself in ‘the good life’. He’s working on his PHD in marine biology, completing an off-shore research project collecting data on endangered sea animals in the Galapagos. He spends his days measuring fish, analysing water samples, playing with whale sharks, and defending against the occasional monster attack. He’s living the dream life, and yet– his dreams haunt him every night. Versions of himself he feels slipping away, day by day. He would never complain about his life– the research he gets to do, video chatting with his mom and Estelle on the weekends, running his environmental activism blog, and spending every moment he can in the water. But something just doesn’t feel right. This isn’t how his life was supposed to turn out– for better or for worse, he feels like an imposter, getting to spend his days in some alternate reality where demigods get to live normal and fulfilling lives. His feelings turn out to be correct when the fates show up at his work one day, determined to correct the timeline… by sending him back to Yancy Academy thirteen years in the past. 

Chapter 1 / 22

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Rating-- PG13+

Read on A03 or below:

He came to on a school bus, waking up bumping his head against the glass window pane. A boy sat next to him, breathing deeply and trying to ignore the girl in the seat behind them who seemed determined to rile him up, throwing pieces of her lunch into the boy’s curly hair. Percy startled. 

“Grover?” He asked, his eyes widening with recognition of his best friend, Grover Underwood, as he looked in sixth grade. 

“It’s okay, Percy.” Grover replied, clearly concerned that Percy was going to lose it on Nancy Bobofit. It came back to him in a flood. Grover was worried about Percy because he was already on probation with the school. One more toe out of line and Percy would be expelled from Yancey Academy. Confusion swarmed Percy. He wasn’t supposed to be at Yancy— he was supposed to be tagging and tracking a stream of Leatherback Sea Turtles on their migration through the islands. 

Percy looked down at himself. Grover wasn’t the only one looking like a middle schooler. Percy was wearing the blue Yancy Academy t-shirt— his body the scrawny and unscarred version of himself he barely remembered from before the days of monster slaying and lava rock wall climbing at camp. 

“Gods, I’m having the weirdest sense of Deja Vu.” He wined, taking into account his voice now sounded several octaves higher than normal. 

“I’m alright— she’s usually way worse than this.” Grover said, dodging another piece of Nancy’s lunch. Middle school bullies and Latin pop-quizzes. These were the things that tormented his life at twelve years old. Life was so much simpler here, in the mortal world; going to school, standing up to bullies, trying and failing to pass  his classes while battling his ADHD and dyslexia. Nancy Bobofit eventually gave up trying to rile them up. Percy’s patience and temper were that of a twenty-five year old man, not a twelve year old. It didn’t take a genius to understand Nancy probably had something more going on at home which led her to making the choices she did— anything and everything for attention, regardless if it was positive or negative. While Grover spent the rest of the ride pulling chunks of peanut butter and ketchup sandwich out of his hair, Percy desperately pulled on his memory, trying to remember where he was or what he was doing before waking up on the bus.

He had woken up as normal that day, rocking in the captain's bunk of his sailboat tied to the floating research platform he worked at. It had been shaping up to be a beautiful morning, sun just starting to peak over the horizon. He had made himself a cup of coffee and sat on the edge of his boat, dipping his feet into the water when they appeared out of nowhere. Three little old ladies, one in the middle holding a basket of yarn, flanked on either side by two ladies knitting what appeared to be mittens. Percy’s heart had jumped into his throat. This had not been the first time he had seen the old ladies. The first had been at a bus stop, when they cut the electric blue thread of life that had predicted the end of a son of Hermes, Luke Castellan. The second time had been in the throne room on Mount Olympus, when the three old ladies had carried Luke’s body for his funeral rites after the battle of Manhattan. And now it seemed, they had come for Percy. He had taken a deep breath— not in fear, but in sadness. Demigod lives were never long, and he did not fear death. He carried drachma with him with the foreknowledge that he would one day need to pay Charon, the ferryman of damnation. No, it was not fear that gripped him, but sadness. Estelle had just turned eight. He had plans to take her skateboarding when he returned home to New York. He was going to teach her how to kick flip. The three ladies paid him no attention— truly they did not pay much of anything attention; They all stared, blank faced ahead, at seemingly nothing. The yarn they knitted was not the same bright blue it had been the last time he saw them– this time it was sea green, a dark, murky color that reminded Percy of the sea floor. As he watched, the middle lady pulled out a pair of golden shears- and in one, fluid motion, snapped them closed around the yarn. Percy’s jaw dropped. There was no loud snip as there had been last time. And the yarn did not separate as it had last time either. The shears had dented around the yarn– the yarn that had refused to yield. The middle lady looked down at the yarn. The other two ladies stopped knitting. From the spot the shears had struck, the yarn transformed– bleeding gold in both directions, changing the sea green into a shimmering metallic, worthy of much more than a pair of mittens. The ladies looked up, straight at Percy,

“A choice has been made– the wrong choice. Learn from your mistakes Perseus Jackson. Make the right choice.”

His head throbbed. Percy remembered the old ladies, but did not remember anything past their dire warning. How did he get here? Had he messed something up so colossally bad, the fates had to intervene? He ran through a list of regrets in his head– not a short list by any means. Lives lost, reckless decisions made… the life of a demigod was not an easy one. Bianca, Zoë, Beckendorf, Silena, Castor, Lee Fletcher, Michael Yew… Jason. The number of lives lost from twelve to twenty-two was almost unimaginable had he not lived through it himself. What mistake had he made? What would happen if and when he corrected it? Would he be returned to his life? Would his life still be the same? A million questions swirled around his head as he unloaded from the bus and followed the line of sixth graders marching into the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The entire time he could hear Grover in the background rambling about the different exhibits he hoped to see inside. Percy could barely hold it together let alone find excitement for a middle school field trip to a museum his mom had taken him to multiple times. 

Chiron led the museum tour. Percy shook his head. Mr. Brunner led the museum tour. He rode his wheelchair, guiding the group past marble statues and ancient pottery. He stopped in an atrium of grave markers. Stele, he called them. Large, marble obelisks decorated and engraved with inscriptions from tombs– he gathered them around a larger one, about thirteen feet tall, showcasing a young girl from Paros Island. She had died sometime between four and five BC during Greece’s Classical Period. Annabeth would have loved this. Percy looked down at his shoes. Annabeth– who had been one of his best friends and his first love. She had moved to London after school– working at some architecture firm Percy could not pronounce the name of. Tartulus had trauma bonded them in a way, and college had allowed them both to pursue their own interests. They had drifted apart over the years– not that Percy held any ill will towards her, they had just become different people. 

Percy was jolted out of his stupor by Mrs. Dodds– Alecto, as Percy remembered. She was standing behind Nancy Bobofit (who was whispering to her friend loud enough for the whole museum to hear), looking down at him as if daring him to say something. Percy did not feel the need to take the bait– Nancy’s or Mrs. Dodds’. He turned his attention back to Mr. Brunner, who was droning on about Greek funeral art, looking sadly at the stele like he had been at this girl’s funeral. 

“And can anyone tell me what this scene represents?” Chiron asked the students, pointing to a carving on the side of the grave marker. Percy couldn’t really see Chiron or the engraved marker from his place at the back of the group, but he raised his hand nonetheless. Chiron, clearly surprised that Percy was willingly participating, called on him immediately,

“Yes, Percy? Can you see alright back there?” He asked, eyebrows raised.

“The scene shows the titan Kronos eating his children, the gods. The beginning of the end for the titanomachy.” Percy replied, not moving from his spot at the back. 

“The end of the titanomachy… Why would this be the beginning of the end for Kronos?” Chiron asked, prodding further.

“Kronos ate all his kids, except for Zeus who was hidden away at birth. Once Zeus had grown up, he tricked his father into drinking poison, forcing him to throw-up Zeus’ siblings who overpowered Kronos, ending the titanomachy and beginning the reign of the gods.” Percy stared down Mrs. Dodds as he spoke, trying his best to show he wasn’t scared of her. She could read it as another delinquent student, but Percy got the feeling she was aware he knew who she was, what she was, and he was not afraid of a Fury. Nancy Bobofit laughed,

“When are we going to use this in real life? Like– when is a job application going to say ‘please explain why Kronos ate his kids?’” Chiron, who had looked delighted at Percy’s answer, once again seized the opportunity for further learning.

“And why, Percy, as Ms. Bobofit excellently phrased, does this matter in real life?” Chiron had moved his wheelchair further to the side, so he could see Percy directly as he faced him. Percy thought for several moments. He could see why knowledge of the Greek world, monsters, gods and goddesses, titans and giants, were important in real life for him, but why would it be important to mortals? They didn’t pay attention anyway. Everything they saw or heard about the world Percy lived in was masked for them– the mist playing tricks on their mind and their senses. 

“I’m not sure, sir. Maybe prepare us for tragedy?” He answered, lamely.

“Tragedy you say? What was tragic about Zeus freeing his siblings and ending the tyranny of the titanomachy?” Chiron was looking at Percy interestingly now, more curiously than he would for a simple history lesson.

“Well, they didn’t really do any better than their father, did they? Look at Zeus’ son, Jason– he led the Argonauts and successfully found the golden fleece only for Hera to kill him as he slept on his ship. Then there’s Bellerophon, son of Posideon, who was killed by Zeus for daring to fly a Pegasus– Zeus saw the sky as his domain, even though the Pegasus is related to Poseidon. When Asclepius, son of Apollo, made medical advances offering mortals a way to come back from death, Zeus killed him, intent on keeping immortality for the gods. Kronos eating the gods and all the old stories of Greek mythology prepare us for tragedy in our own lives— give us someone to blame.” Outside thunder roared. While it had been raining when they arrived at the museum, Percy had a feeling he had just upset a few people upstairs, indeed Mr. Brunner had winced every time Percy named an Olympian. 

“That is certainly… one way to see it.” Mr. Brunner gave Percy a strange look. “Indeed Mr. Jackson, Zeus did feed Kronos a mixture of mustard and wine, which made him disgorge his other five children, Hestia, Goddess of Home and Hearth, Demeter, Goddess of Farming and the Harvest, Hera, Goddess of Family and Marriage, Hades, God of the Underworld, and Poseidon, God of the Sea, Storms, and Earthquakes.” Mr. Brunner spoke with a certain reverence that Percy could not appreciate— except perhaps for Hestia. The goddess had always been kind to Percy, had reminded him what mattered the most at the most difficult of times. “… the gods then defeated their father, Kronos, sliced him to pieces with his own scythe, and scattered his remains in Tartarus, the deepest and darkest part of the underworld.” Percy could not stop the unconscious shutter that ran through his body when Mr. Brunner mentioned Tartarus. Good to know that was still waiting for him in the future— though, maybe perhaps, he thought, he could find a way of keeping Annabeth from having to make the trip. “And on that happy note, it’s time for lunch.” Mr. Brunner smiled at them cheerfully, turning his motorised chair to face the exit, “Mrs. Dodds, would you lead us back outside?” 

The group drifted towards the doors, girls grimacing and boys being obnoxious, trying to push each other into the exhibits. Grover and Percy were about to follow when Mr. Brunner said “Mr. Jackson.”

Ah yes— time for him to tell me how vitally important Greek mythology is to my future. Totally inconspicuous, man. Percy thought, turning and motioning for Grover to continue on without him. He faced Mr. Brunner, who was still treating Percy with his puzzling gaze, “Sir?”

“I’m impressed with your knowledge of Greek heroes. You should keep studying— you may find more real life applications than a simple scapegoat.” Percy tried his best not to roll his eyes at Mr. Brunner’s words. “What you learn from me is vitally important and I expect you to treat it as such. I will accept only the best from you, Percy Jackson.” No wonder this guy made me so angry, Percy thought, I answered his question correctly and he still pushes for more. The first time they had this conversation, Percy had told Mr. Brunner he would try harder— this time, he decided against it, knowing his knowledge and abilities would speak for themselves in time. Mr. Brunner held his gaze for a few moments, then told him to go outside and eat his lunch.

The Yancy group was gathered on the marble stairs outside the museum, people watching and traffic watching along fifth avenue. Overhead, the light rain there had been this morning had let up, but the sky looked like a storm was coming. Zeus throwing a temper tantrum no doubt. None of the other students paid any attention to the questionable weather. There was a group feeding pigeons their lunchables, and on the far side of the steps, Nancy Bobofit was trying to pickpocket from some lady’s designer purse. Percy checked and sure enough, a few feet over sat Mrs. Dodds, not doing anything about their resident kleptomaniac. 

Percy and Grover sat on the edge of the fountain, away from the others, distancing themselves from the school group of losers and freaks. Percy subconsciously zipped up his hoodie, hiding the Yancy t-shirt they all had to wear today. 

“Detention?” Grover asked.

”Not from Brunner. He just wants to be a push-over I think. Nothing I do will ever be good enough for him.” Percy spoke from the heart, hoping Grover took it more to heart than he knew he would. Grover remained  still for a while, gazing off in the distance watching the pigeons congregate around lunchable crackers. Percy offered him his apple, which he accepted with a nod, eating the entire thing in two bites. How Grover managed to blend in with the mortals astounded Percy every time he went “undercover”.

Percy sat watching the traffic down Fifth Avenue. Taxis drove past as fast as they could without bumping into each other, taking turns laying on their horns. His spirits rose quickly— his mom was only a few blocks uptown from here. He could hop in a cab and see her within the hour. Another thought prompted him from the back of his mind, Gabe. As quickly as his excitement had risen, it deflated. His heart hurt— with the hindsight knowledge that Sally was only staying with that piece of trash because of him, Percy bit his tongue and turned away from the street, forcing himself to think of something else. He spotted Mr. Brunner parked at the end of the handicap ramp, chewing on a stalk of celery and reading a paperback novel, Othello by William Shakespeare. Percy had started to muse on the implications of Chiron reading Othello, when he spotted Nancy Bobofit and her gang of misfits heading their way. Remembering how his stunt with the water fountain had begun, he stood up and moved in front of Grover quickly,

”Finished your lunch already Nancy?” He asked, eyeing the remnants of her lunch in her hands. She glared at him, clearly upset he had blocked her target. 

“What’s it to you, Jackson?” She asked, rudely. Mrs. Dodds had turned her eagle eyes towards them, looking for any reason to separate and pull Percy aside. Percy took a deep breath and made his voice sound as sweet as possible,

”Oh, nothing. I just thought you were looking for a trashcan. There’s one over there, by Mr. Brunner.” He pointed his finger towards the trashcans lining the outside of the handicap ramp. Saying Mr. Brunner’s name seemed to have the intended effect as the centaur had picked his head up to see what was going on and who had said his name. Nancy noticed too, huffing as she walked away to slam her leftovers into the painted can next to their teacher. Percy smirked, and eyed Mrs. Dodds out of the corner of his eye. He wasn’t sure if this was enough to keep the Fury off his tail, but it was step one at keeping him out of the doghouse, so to speak. 

“Now, honey,” a mean, southern voice sounded behind him. Doghouse here I come, Percy thought. 

‘Yes, ma’am?” He asked, turning to face Mrs. Dodd’s and putting on the sweetest face his insubordinate self could manage.

”That’s no way to speak to your fellow classmates.” She said, matter of factly. 

“I was just trying to help-“ He began, trying to plead his case, but Mrs. Dodds shook her head at him. Was worth a shot he thought, wishing there was a way to avoid outing himself to Alecto. When he didn’t look repentant in the least, she frowned at him deeper.

”Come with me.” She said, turning on her heel and marching towards the doors of the museum. 

“Wait!” Grover said, looking from Percy to Mr. Brunner and back again. But Mr. Brunner did not look up from his book, a piece of celery hanging midway between table and mouth like he had just gotten to the best part of the story.

”It’s alright G-man— she’s probably just going to give me detention again.” Percy did roll his eyes this time, and followed Mrs. Dodds retreating figure into the museum.

By the time he caught up with her, they were back in the Greek and Roman section. Percy looked around. The gallery was empty besides the two of them. An uneasy feeling washed over him— one he had learned after Tartarus was his monster sense. Great, thank you— I had no idea the math teacher in front of me was a Fury. Mrs. Dodds stood in front of a giant, marble frieze of the gods. Her arms were crossed and she was making this sound in her throat like a dog growling. Real convincing math teacher behavior Percy thought idly. 

“You’ve been giving us problems, Honey.” She said, staring Percy down. Percy fixed his best look of repentance,

”Yes, ma’am.” 

Mrs. Dodds tugged on the cuffs of her leather jacket, “Did you really think you would get away with it?” Mrs. Dodds was starting to look less and less like a math teacher dealing out discipline and more and more like a leathery monster dealing out death.

”Ma’am?” Percy asked back, playing dumb can work sometimes, right?

Playing dumb did not work. Thunder shook the building. 

“The gods are not fools, Percy Jackson. It was only a matter of time before we found you out. Confess, and you will suffer less pain.” Percy tried his hardest to find the energy to be scared of Alecto the way he had been at twelve years old, but he couldn’t find it in him. This situation seemed just as bizarre to Percy as a man as it had when he was a boy, if not more so now. In the intervening years Percy had fought monsters, gods, titans, giants, and Gaea— he sure as hell wasn’t afraid of a Fury.

”I have nothing to confess to, Alecto.” Percy replied, strangely calm, choosing to name her. She was going to try to kill him either way, might as well make it on his terms. 

“Your time is up!” She snarled. Her eyes began to glow like hot coals. Her fingers stretched, elongating into talons. Her black motorcycle jacket melted into large, leathery wings. Mrs. Dodds no longer wore the human face of Percy’s math teacher— she was a fully formed Fury from Hades, sent on his orders to deliver him Percy Jackson— dead or alive. But probably dead. She lunged at him so fast, Percy was almost a shish ka bab on a talon, rolling out of the way just in time. Ow, my ankles. Percy’s body was not used to the monster fighting his twenty-five year old self had done regularly. This body was scrawny and uncoordinated— something he would need to work on, and quickly. 

Percy had just managed to scramble to his feet, Alecto turning to make another pass at him, when Mr. Brunner appeared in the doorway.

“What-ho Percy!” He yelled, throwing a pen across the room towards him. It transformed in mid air—  Anaklusmos, Riptide. Percy caught the sword in mid-air, swinging it into the proper positioning. It felt good in his hands, like coming home. Percy had fought with many weapons over the years, but Riptide was always his favourite. He didn’t have quite the same range he would with a longsword or a trident like his dad used, but at his current size it was probably better for him to be closer. He lacked the upper body strength to do serious damage with a longer range. 

It was almost too easy to dispatch Alecto. She made one wild attempt with her talon that was easy enough for Percy to duck under, instantly shooting up and slashing across her back, sending a puff cloud of golden dust everywhere. What a mess. 

The mist wasn’t as strong as Chiron likely wished it was. Try as it might to get Percy to see his sword back as a pen, it was his sword. He did a couple of practice feints and slashes with it, getting reaccustomed to the weight difference as a kid. It felt like getting reacquainted with an old friend. 

Percy made his way outside where it had started to rain in earnest. Grover was sitting by the fountain still, using a museum map to protect his hair from the growing downpour. Nancy was standing a few feet from him, grumbling to her friends about the weather and the slim pickings for marks because of it. When she saw Percy, she glared at him.

”I hope Mrs. Kerr kicked your butt!” 

Percy’s eye twitched. His skill with the mist had always been mediocre at best, something he now resolved to work on during this time around. He was not going to spend the rest of the semester being called crazy like last time and so, willing himself to remember everything Annabeth had taught him about mist manipulation, Percy snapped his fingers, “Oh not at all, Nancy. Mrs. Kerr is having me set up a campus clean-up event for Earth day after she’s witnessed  how much I care about the environment and keeping our public places clean of trash.” 

Nancy’s eyes, along with her surrounding friends, had gone slightly murky. It was working. 

“Don’t worry, I’ve told her how into recycling your family is, so she’s signed you up for trash picking!” Percy pushed his luck. The immediate frown and desperate look on Nancy’s face told him he was at least slightly successful. 

Thunder boomed overhead, distracting Nancy and her friends from their conversation as they ran to seek shelter under the museum awnings. Grover, having witnessed Percy’s mist trick, was looking panickingly between him and Mr. Brunner, who was slowly navigating through the rain over by the fountain where the two were still sitting. 

“Ah, Mr. Jackson,” Mr. Brunner said, sticking a bookmark into his now soggy paperback, “I believe that would be my pen. Please bring your own writing utensil in the future.” He held out his hand expectantly, but Percy’s grip on Riptide only tightened.

”Are you going to be the one fighting Kindly Ones next time?” Percy regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, but he could not bear to be separated from Riptide, not when there was so much at stake. Again. Mr. Brunner exchanged shocked looks with Grover, who also seemed lost for words. Mr. Brunner put his hand down, now giving Percy the same curious look he had given him in the gallery,

~ how they learned about the Room of Requirement ~ Part One of Five Ominis Gaunt - warnings: fluff :) 2.2k Sebastian Sallow Leander Prewett Amit Thakkar Garreth Weasley

A/N: this is written from a third person point of view as I find it less jarring than first or second. However, writing for an unnamed character and remaining gender neutral outside of a second person POV is giving me whiplash and doesn’t make for a comfortable reading. For this series, I’m using feminine pronouns (She/Her/Hers) for best readability. If anyone has any suggestions or tips on using gender neutral terms outside of first/second person perspective without naming the character or would like me to post another version with masculine pronouns (He/Him/His), please let me know.

-- Currently, requests/asks are open :) --

- how you two got together -

Ominis Gaunt

After a cold introduction outside the Undercroft, you and Ominis grow closer, fostering a shaky friendship over the shared endeavor of keeping Sebastian out of Azkaban (which is decidedly harder than it looks). Ominis realises his excitement over a new friend is something more in sixth year when the two of you are paired up in Sharp’s class working on brewing Amortentia. You are so gentle and patient with him and his lacking potion skills. You tutor him in potions, and although he tried as hard as he can, he’s disappointed when he can’t smell anything once it’s finished.

He does notice your perfume is a bit strong that day. He’s never quite been able to put his finger on the scent- both fruity and floral, some tantalising exotic orange with sweet and floral notes of vanilla. Imagine his surprise when Professor Sharp had commended the two of them on a perfect brew. With a creeping blush, he asks you what you smelled as the class packs to leave. You hesitate for a moment, shoving your potions book into your bag “pine trees and mint”.

You had left in a hurry after that. He had been too wrapped up in his own realisation to question why you left in such a hurry, pushing his own book into his bag, rattling against his jar of shoe polish and tin of hard peppermint candies. He was halfway down the corridor before his brain caught up with him and he tore off after you.

Sebastian Sallow

Sebastian knew he had a strong affliction for you after your first meeting— knocking him on his ass when you dueled in Defense Against the Dark Arts. The year following had only reenforced that idea. You followed him through thick and thin, and pulled him back from the edge when he had went too far. Sixth year had been busy with exams and it felt as if every person in the castle needed your attention- pulling you away from him.

Amit needed help mapping an uncharted constellation, Poppy needed your help with a brood of Giant Purple Toads, Natsai stole you away tracking a dark wizard camp into Romania, Garreth had begged you for assistance locating rare Pheonix feathers he needed for some new potion idea; even Ominis needed your attention on your joint charms project that was snowing both of you in. Every time he pulled you away for a few moments- under guise of studying or looking into some artifact Professor Hecat had brought in, the two of you had been interrupted and he had watched you be whisked off by some well meaning friend requiring your assistance.

He made it through first term before he’d had enough— grabbing your hand and dragging you from History of Magic class when Binns’ back was turned. He had shushed your protests, shoving you into the nearest broom cupboard following your abscondance. You had stumbled in, hand landing on his chest, pulled tight against him in the cramped space. He didn’t need to be an occulmens to see what you were thinking based on how you reacted to his touch- plans were set for the Yule Ball, and a promise was made that you would take him with you on your next adventure.

Leander Prewett

Leander had never been a sore loser before he met you— he had never been a loser at all. He prided himself on his wand work and his class work, top of his year in Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts (the latter likely only due to Sebastian’s penchant for rule breaking), he had been positively miffed when you defeated him in crossed wands. He had been less surprised but no less hurt when you repeated victory in summoner’s court.

Watching you do magic was no different than watching an artist at work. It was under this pretense he had requested tutoring from you in his worst subject- Divination. While he didn’t put much stock in the subject originally, a NEWT in Divination and work in short term precognition would put him over the top in his application for an apprenticeship at Gringotts following his final year at Hogwarts. Your patience with him and dedication to spending your evenings in a stuffy, unused classroom pouring over aged textbooks and drinking earl grey by the bucket full to practice reading tea leaves quickly turned into stolen glances and light caresses when exchanging materials.

It was one of these late nights, your cramped study space filled with tea steam, when passing you a cup of tea- your hands brushed and instead of looking away as he usually would, Leander looked at you and the blush creeping up your cheeks. The next time the two of you had tea, it was at Madame Puddlefoots, and Leander swore he would never take his eyes off you again.

Amit Thakkar

Amit was never shy or disingenuous with how he felt about you. He had complimented your intellect during a shared assignment in Astronomy and you had blushed, giggling at his forwardness. You had continued to work together, Amit becoming more and more awestruck by your brain. Your trip into the goblin mine had been overwhelming- it wasn’t for another day afterward he had recalled how impressed you had been that he could read Gobbledegook.

His face had been tinged pink for an hour afterwards. It took him awhile to find the courage to confirm mutual feelings, you were always being followed around by your “Slytherin henchmen” as Garreth had put it. Eventually, he was able to corner you after class, and the two of you shared a midnight picnic under the moonlight, mapping the constellations and theorising on Centaur star divination.

Garreth Weasley

You and Garreth had become fast friends after you convinced him against stealing from Professor Sharp in favor of you sourcing him a dozen Fwooper feathers from a den you had found not far from a poacher camp west of Keenbridge. It had been an easy trade for him- and opened up a new market for hard to find potion ingredients. He loved your easy smile, your love of adventure, and your never ending kindness toward man and beast alike.

He fell fast and hard, but was disuaged by your Slytherin henchman, following you around Hogwarts and capitalising on your time. You were away from the castle more time than not these days— although you had kept your word on sourcing nifler fur, Garreth just hadn’t expected for it to arrive via your owl with a short note.

stuck clearing out a spider infestation in Aranshire but I still want to know all about your new potion xxx

Garreth had never been a fan of spiders, but he was definitely a fan of yours and borrowed a school broom to go meet you out in Aranshire. What followed was a decent amount of blasting and small brush fires as the two of you battled arachnids out of the small hamlet. Garreth only managed to get tangled up in cobwebs twice, much to his chagrin and your amusement.

As the two of you sat in the aftermath, splitting a slightly squashed pumpkin pasty and picking pieces of cobwebs out of each other hair and clothes, Garreth confessed he had no immediate need for spider fangs or venom as was his initial reason for joining you, but rather had wanted to help and wanted to spend time with you without your cronies. You had laughed at that— the idea of Sebastian dressed up in a black hat and billowing coat like a muggle highwayman was downright comical.