Flawed characters are the ones we root for, cry over, and remember long after the story ends. But creating a character who’s both imperfect and likable can feel like a tightrope walk.
1. Flaws That Stem From Their Strengths
When a character’s greatest strength is also their Achilles' heel, it creates depth.
Strength: Fiercely loyal.
Flaw: Blind to betrayal or willing to go to dangerous extremes for loved ones.
“She’d burn the whole world down to save her sister—even if it killed her.”
2. Let Their Flaws Cause Problems
Flaws should have consequences—messy, believable ones.
Flaw: Impatience.
Result: They rush into action, ruining carefully laid plans.
“I thought I could handle it myself,” he muttered, staring at the smoking wreckage. “Guess not.”
3. Show Self-Awareness—or Lack Thereof
Characters who know they’re flawed (but struggle to change) are relatable. Characters who don’t realize their flaws can create dramatic tension.
A self-aware flaw: “I know I talk too much. It’s just… silence makes me feel like I’m disappearing.”
A blind spot: “What do you mean I always have to be right? I’m just better at solving problems than most people!”
4. Give Them Redeeming Traits
A mix of good and bad keeps characters balanced.
Flaw: They’re manipulative.
Redeeming Trait: They use it to protect vulnerable people.
“Yes, I lied to get him to trust me. But he would’ve died otherwise.”
Readers are more forgiving of flaws when they see the bigger picture.
5. Let Them Grow—But Slowly
Instant redemption feels cheap. Characters should stumble, fail, and backslide before they change.
Early in the story: “I don’t need anyone. I’ve got this.”
Midpoint: “Okay, fine. Maybe I could use some help. But don’t get used to it.”
End: “Thank you. For everything.”
The gradual arc makes their growth feel earned.
6. Make Them Relatable, Not Perfect
Readers connect with characters who feel human—messy emotions, bad decisions, and all.
A bad decision: Skipping their best friend’s wedding because they’re jealous of their happiness.
A messy emotion: Feeling guilty afterward but doubling down to justify their actions.
A vulnerable moment: Finally apologizing, unsure if they’ll be forgiven.
7. Use Humor as a Balancing Act
Humor softens even the most prickly characters.
Flaw: Cynicism.
Humorous side: Making snarky, self-deprecating remarks that reveal their softer side.
“Love? No thanks. I’m allergic to heartbreak—and flowers.”
8. Avoid Overdoing the Flaws
Too many flaws can make a character feel unlikable or overburdened.
Instead of: A character who’s selfish, cruel, cowardly, and rude.
Try: A character who’s selfish but occasionally shows surprising generosity.
“Don’t tell anyone I helped you. I have a reputation to maintain.”
9. Let Them Be Vulnerable
Vulnerability adds layers and makes flaws understandable.
Flaw: They’re cold and distant.
Vulnerability: They’ve been hurt before and are terrified of getting close to anyone again.
“It’s easier this way. If I don’t care about you, then you can’t leave me.”
10. Make Their Flaws Integral to the Plot
When flaws directly impact the story, they feel purposeful rather than tacked on.
Flaw: Their arrogance alienates the people they need.
Plot Impact: When their plan fails, they’re left scrambling because no one will help them.
Flawed but lovable characters are the backbone of compelling stories. They remind us that imperfection is human—and that growth is possible.
You're an immortal being who has been trapped deep under the rubble of a destroyed city for thousands of years after a series of natural disasters wiped out all of humanity. You've given up hope of ever being freed from this nightmare. One day, the rubble begins to shift…
advice for a character who grips control like a lifeline. who wants to be in charge of every little thing because whenever they're not in control of something something bad could happen. has happened. they can't let a single variable be wild or in someone else's hands
How to Write a Controlling Character
Backstory Rooted in Trauma or Guilt
This character likely has a history that has ingrained the belief that they must be in control or face devastating consequences. Perhaps they once trusted someone else with something crucial—a promise, a responsibility, or a life-altering choice—and that trust was broken in a way that had lasting repercussions. For example, maybe they lost someone because they weren’t “careful enough,” or they experienced a betrayal when they trusted another person’s plan.
They might frequently flash back to this moment, possibly catching themselves thinking, If only I’d been the one in control, this wouldn’t have happened. This memory fuels their need to keep a tight grip on everything, especially if they’re in high-stakes situations.
Rigid Daily Routines and Habits
This character’s day is probably packed with small rituals and routines that give them a sense of security. From double-checking door locks to setting multiple alarms, they rely on routines to give themselves a sense of order. In fact, they might be nearly ritualistic about small actions—checking emails three times before sending, never leaving a task halfway finished, or meticulously arranging their workspace.
Even something as simple as making coffee can become a precise process. If someone moves one of their tools or a file from their desk, they may feel a spike of frustration or even anxiety, seeing it as a disruption to their personal “system.” They could feel that control in their daily life is the only thing keeping chaos at bay.
Intensely Observant of Details and Mistakes
They are hyperaware of mistakes or inefficiencies in others, mentally cataloging things like a coworker’s slight lateness or a friend’s disorganization. They may feel a sense of superiority (or frustration) over people who don’t “have it together” and take it upon themselves to organize or “fix” things for others.
In conversation, they might cut people off or “correct” them even over small points, often justifying this to themselves as necessary. For instance, if someone shares a plan that seems half-formed, this character could immediately dive in, pointing out potential problems or filling in details.
Controlling Relationships and Social Situations
This character struggles in relationships where they aren’t the dominant or organizing force. They might instinctively take over when making plans with friends, micromanaging even casual hangouts to make sure everything goes “right.” For example, they might pick the restaurant, plan the travel route, and check weather forecasts—assuming that if they don’t, no one else will think of these things.
When someone resists their attempts at control, they can respond defensively, often turning cold or resentful, unable to understand why anyone wouldn’t want them to manage the situation. Statements like, “Fine, but don’t blame me if this doesn’t go well,” are frequent in their interactions.
Extreme Anxiety or Panic When Control Is Taken Away
When things go beyond their reach, this character might experience panic, as if they’re suddenly powerless. For instance, if an unexpected roadblock prevents them from handling a task (like a canceled flight they needed to board, or a plan that falls apart), they might spend hours trying to regain control, calling every contact or frantically exploring alternatives.
Their reaction may feel extreme to others. Even minor setbacks—such as a colleague taking initiative on a project or a friend planning something without consulting them—can trigger a disproportionate response, like clenching their fists, pacing, or silently stewing as they feel the situation “slipping.”
Inability to Accept Help or Collaboration
Their controlling nature makes it hard for them to collaborate, as they believe their methods are the only ones that work. For them, accepting help feels like an admission of weakness or failure, so they rarely delegate or ask for assistance. If they do reluctantly accept help, they are constantly supervising or “suggesting” things, making it feel more like they’re still in charge.
In a team setting, they might take on all the major tasks, either out of distrust in others’ abilities or a feeling that no one will match their standards. Their motto could be something like, “If you want something done right, do it yourself,” even if that means working late or burning out.
Reluctance to Show Vulnerability or Need
Since vulnerability and control rarely coexist for them, they avoid showing weakness at all costs, preferring to mask stress or struggles as “just part of the job.” If they do become overwhelmed, they’re more likely to shut people out, saying, “I’ve got it handled,” even if it’s far from true.
When people push them to let go or share the load, they might lash out, accusing others of “just not understanding.” They often see their intense responsibility as a form of sacrifice, justifying their behavior with, “If I don’t handle this, who will?”
pairing: percy jackson x fem child of hecate!reader
words: 4,558
warnings: incident involving a car, being chased, that's all??
timeline: the lightning thief
a/n: this is kinda unedited because i didn't want to gatekeep it much longer. this took so long to post, and half of the chapter was sitting in my drive for like three months. it's okay if you hate me cause i hate me too. overall, I hope you guys enjoy it regardless.
prologue chapter ii chapter iii
Summer nights granted some rest to the stifling heat during the day. Vincent shrugs on a light sweater, his skin prickling at the chilly breeze tonight. The car engine rumbles, headlights on as he packs his twins suitcases in the trunk. He told them to pack heavy, which took them by surprise. They were bursting with questions but he dodged them all, not ready to explain himself just yet. For now, he leaves them to their assumptions of a possibly long road trip to a certain destination.
Florida. They 100% think they’re going to Florida and it was a cherry on top for the news Vincent was about to reveal. He wasn’t sure how they were going to take it, other than the predictable disappointment they weren't going to Disney,
Should he just market it as a regular summer camp? He considered it but he didn’t want to leave them in the dark. Honesty and finally revealing the secrets he’s held onto felt like the only way to do it.
“I call shotgun!” You shout. You knew well enough that claiming your dibs meant nothing to Atticus. As you expected, his footsteps quicken but he fails to outrun you. As your hand reaches the door handle first, Atticus whines something unintelligible.
“Neither of you are sitting in the front,” Vincent declares sternly, wiping your look of victory straight off your face.
“What?” Your father doesn’t respond right away, shutting the truck closed. “Why?”
“Because then you’ll argue about it the whole way. Just sit in the back together.”
He doesn’t react to your scrunched face, making it clear this wasn’t up for negotiation. It was a little selfish but you and Atticus arguing wasn’t the only reason he wanted you to sit in the back. He read somewhere it’s easier to be confrontational when you aren’t looking at the person. To do what he needs to do tonight, he’ll take any advice; even if it’s from Psychology Daily.
“No fair,” you grumble as you slide into the backseat, Atticus moves in behind you with his own teasing smile.
Vincent settles in the driver's seat and glances in the rearview to make sure your seatbelts on. “Alright kids,” he begins, switching the gear shift. The pedal feels heavy under his feet, and his knuckles tighten around the wheel. “Here we go.”
“Where are we going, actually?” Atticus asks, sitting up in his seat. “You haven’t said.”
“Somewhere,” Vincent answers vaguely. You and Atticus exchange a look, the corners of your lips turned upwards. It must be a surprise, and surprises are always good, you concluded. There couldn’t be any other reason for his ambiguity.
“How long until we get ‘Somewhere’?”
“About 2 hours.”
That wasn’t the answer you were expecting. Okay, so definitely not Disney. Little bit of a bummer but anywhere you go with your dad is always fun.
Atticus meets your gaze, your brains recalculating every place you’ve been to that might take that long.
“Are we going to Rhode Island again?” You guessed.
“No.”
“Atlantic City?” Atticus chimes in.
“No.”
“Are we leaving the state?”
“No.”
You and Atticus sit back in your seats in defeat, pondering in silence. Vincent gulps hard. You two were never patient for answers. Or patient for really anything. His vision falters from the road, the silence in the car is becoming increasingly uncomfortable.
The radio.
Suddenly reminded of the tool's existence, his fingers, almost frantic, feel around for the button. He doesn’t care what he ends up listening to as long as something plays. Turning the dial, he skims through stations and settles on the first one that runs clear of static.
NSYNC’s “Bye, Bye, Bye” plays through the speakers and it rips through your train of thought. Atticus catches you side eyeing him with a wicked grin. Your brother was never one for pop songs and his instant dread brought you satisfaction.
“Don't want to be a fool for you. Just another player in your game for two!” You sing, scooting closer to the boy despite Atticus’s physical attempts to keep the distance.
“Stop!”
You sit back in your seat, quiet for a moment. Seemingly done with your torment, your brother settles down. The moment he turns to look out the window, your mischievous smirk returns. “Might sound crazy but it ain't no lie! Baby, BYE BYE BYE!”
“STOP!”
“Y/n, please,” Vincent groans and you press your lips together hard in an effort not to laugh.
“Sorry,” you apologize to your dad and abide by his wishes only.
Checking in the rear view mirror, Vincent catches you quietly whispering the words to the pop songs that play back to back and Atticus occupied on his game boy. Unaware of how long it will take before you are interrogating him again, he takes the time to plan out what he was going to say. Soon, he found out no matter how he worded it, he knew he’d sound insane.
Your mother is a goddess and I’m taking you to a special camp with other demigods.
That’s ridiculous…
Vincent considers perhaps it wouldn’t be so farfetched. You and Atticus are aware you have abilities other kids don’t. Hearing and seeing spirits was one, the disastrous consequences of your anger was another. Cordelia ruled it out to be a sort of telekinesis. Especially after realizing, you and Atticus had a habit of stealing cookies from the table by willing them to fly towards you.
Plenty of times Vincent told you not to use your powers outside of home and to not tell people about the spirits you vividly have encounters with.
Still, it all felt too much. Having abilities and being told you’re half god was on very different ends of the supernatural spectrum.
The signs greeting him to Long Island came earlier than he expected. Vincent knew he had to tell them, rip the bandaid now. He can reveal the news, stop at a gas station to fill the tank and leave them alone to digest everything. The method of telling them they’re going to a summer camp and leaving them to figure everything out felt like the easiest option but it didn’t feel right. The twins deserved to hear the news from their father and no one else.
Before he can back out, he turns the dial for the radio volume.
“I have to talk to you guys about something.” Vincent fights the quiver in his throat, his eyes set on the road.
“Are we in trouble?” Atticus asks.
“No, you’re not in trouble. I just have a few things to tell you.”
Vincent shifts in his seat from the silence, his twins waiting for him to continue. “For a long time, you both have had questions about who your mother is.”
If your father didn’t have your full attention a second ago, he definitely had it now. Your mom, were you finally going to meet her? The day you exchange your first words with her, suddenly it felt closer than you thought.
Vincent sighs shakily. “Grandma always tells you that your gifts are because of her.”
“She was a witch like grandma. A powerful one,” you chime in, and Vincent nods slowly.
“Your mother isn’t just a witch though, She…”
Atticus exchanges a look with you before his eyes return to the side of your father’s face.
“She is a goddess.”
That was the last thing you expected. The silence that followed was deafening. Vincent felt silly, as if he was telling a lie.
“Dad, are you okay?” Atticus asks half jokingly. Surely, your father was playing a prank on you. Your mother being a goddess? Impossible.
“You're playing a prank on us,” you accuse and your father shakes his head before you can finish.
“I am not joking. This is serious.”
Slowly, you sit back in your seat. The tone of your father, the sternness of his face didn’t look like he was kidding. It confused you even more.
“I’m taking you two to a summer camp where there are kids like you. They have powers, and godly parents and you’ll learn everything you need to know as demigods.”
“Who’s our mother?”
Vincent shifts in his seat, his eyes flickering at the rear view and his heart sinks when they immediately meet yours. At times, he catches a glimpse of your mother in your face. Every time he catches it, it strikes too many emotions in his chest. Grief, pride, longing, were only a few he could name. Right now, it makes him nervous.
“Lady Hecate.”
“How is this possible?” You whisper to yourself but loud enough to be heard.
Vincent swallows hard but it does nothing to ease the rock in his throat. “When you study to be a professor, you have to write a really long presentation on an original concept in your major.”
His fingers adjust on the wheel. “I was having a hard time coming up with a topic. So much so, I had considered leaving school. Grandma knew and she prayed to Hecate as her patron to help me. I didn’t know it was her at the time but at a presentation I was doing for an academic convention, I had seen her in the crowd and I fell in love with her.”
Your father took a pause. It was as if it was too painful to recall the memory. Plenty of times you’ve heard this story but never from his mouth. It was always told from a third person, that person being your grandmother. Clearly, she failed to mention the goddess part.
“She introduced herself to me as Florence. She told me she transferred from another school and was my new colleague. We studied together and we became very close friends. She helped me a lot and led me to my dissertation topic. Once I had everything ready to put together, she left. Her errand was complete.
I didn’t know she was going to leave. The night I began working on the project, it was halloween. Grandma heard a knock on the door and she found you two in golden cradles at the doorstep. Your mother had left you two with me as a gift, to commemorate the love we had for each other. She didn’t want to leave but she couldn’t stay. There are rules the gods have to obey when it comes to humans, one of them was she could not raise you like a normal mother.”
Dad got dumped badly.
Hearing the story from him for the first time left you dumbstruck. Years of wondering why your father avoids talking about your mother suddenly made sense. Now every assumption you made about her, you had to reformulate. A goddess mother? That wasn’t even on your list of possibilities.
Your mouth opens to say something but your father cuts in.
“It is a lot to process, I know. It seems unbelievable but this is very serious. Because of who your mother is, you guys are different from other people. You have powers and bad things like monsters and entities gravitate towards you. Remember how Grandma always has to cleanse the house because you two get nightmares or scary things happen?”
He catches your nods through the rear view. “The reason that happens is because you two are demigods. Your auras and scents are different from regular mortals.”
Atticus nods his head slowly. “This feels like I’m in a superhero movie.”
Your brother's awestruck expression makes your father chuckle. It felt nice; the comedic timing allowed Vincent to lower his tense shoulders, just a bit. “You two remember the stories I used to read to you at bedtime, right?”
“The ones about Hercules, and Jason?”
“And Odysseus, Achilles too?”
“Yes. From those stories, you know being a demigod is a hard life but I know you guys are strong. I know that you two will be okay and do extraordinary things. At this camp, you will be safe and you’ll train to use your powers and abilities. I wanted to spend one last summer with you but grandma and I decided it was time for you to go there.”
“It’s just for the summer, right?” You ask nervously.
“Yes, only for the summer. I know Grandma will protest but if you wish for me to pick you guys up for any reason, I will.” Vincent smiles sadly at you before his focus returns to the road and he pulls into a gas station right off the exit. “I am going to stop here for gas and then we’re going straight there. Any snacks?”
“Oreos!” Atticus jumps in and a small smile spreads across your face.
“I want Oreos too.”
“Copycat.”
“Shut up.”
A huff of laughter leaves your father. “Oreos, got it,” he says and the moment he closes the car door behind him, you and Atticus whip your gazes at each other.
“Do you think it’s true? Or is dad losing it?” Atticus’s eyes are filled with every emotion under the sun. He was excited but also nervous. Concerned but ready for the reality he was about to accept.
“I don’t know. It sounds crazy but he looked serious.” Atticus nods in agreement. He never pegged his dad to be an actor so he couldn’t even begin to deny what he said was untrue.
“That’s so cool!” Atticus shouts, his voice too loud for the confined space you’re in.
“It is pretty cool, isn’t it?” The laugh that bubbles in your throat is cut off by a gasp. Unexpectedly, you slide toward him, the buckle of the seat belt digging in your hip.“What?” you mutter to yourself, a sense of urgency filling your chest as Atticus yelps.
“A cyclops!”
“Cyclops?” You quickly follow your brother's gaze and sure enough, there it was. A tall statue beams over the window on your side, shaking the car frantically and roaring in determination. Frozen in your spot, you blink a few times, your brain barely processing the monster you’ve only heard about in stories.
You simply watched, leaving your brother frantically trying to find a way out of the situation. One eye catches your gaze after its attempts at shaking you out of the car fail. There’s a furrow of a single eyebrow, a pause of thought and you jerk back hard as its soccer ball size fist starts banging on the window.
You find some instinct to slide away, watching the cracks slowly spread like spiderwebs. Then suddenly, there is a loud crash of glass followed by a muffled call of your name under a deafening roar. Atticus grabs you by your collar, hauling you out from the other side of the car like a limp doll. Barely out of your trance, your shaky legs move to keep up with your brother.
There aren’t many options where you could go, running down the massive road would leave you to deal with a monster and cars. Desperate to lose the monster, you decide the hill into the woods was your best option.
“The woods,” you choke out through your panting and Atticus doesn’t argue, running straight ahead with a grip on your hand so tight your fingers are turning white.
“ATTICUS? Y/N!” Goosebumps riddle your body, your ears tingling at the sound of your father’s voice. The desperation, the scratch of his yell made your eyes prickle with grief. You didn’t dare look back, refusing to see the look on his face. It won’t hurt him, you rationalized. It’s trying to hurt us because of our scent.
As much as you wanted to make a u-turn straight to your father, the thumping footsteps of the cyclops were too close. You knew you had to get away first, then you can worry about making your way back to your dad.
Atticus leaps over a log, twists and turns through trees. As much as you wanted to free your hand from his violent grip, you didn’t want to risk losing him. Crashes of thin trees being mowed down by the monster and its frustrated growls start to sound faint in the distance.
Your heavy pants made your lungs hurt and just as you thought you were out of any line of danger, a boulder speeds right past you and crashes into the trees ahead.
Atticus gasps, his other hand patting the pocket of his jeans, “We’re not going to lose him,” he says, his tone frantic. “He’ll knock us down before we’re able to.”
Before you can ask what you should do, Atticus makes a sharp turn to the right treading off course. “If we can get far enough, I can try to blind him,” he says and you furrow your eyebrows.
“With what?” Your question is cut off by the desperate hitching of your breath. Atticus doesn’t say anything, turning and flashing a quick smile at you which is the last thing you expected. He raises his slingshot in the air and you scoff. “Dad told you not to bring it!”
“Well, it’s a good thing I did anyway. C’mon!” Atticus picks up his speed and you sigh in relief as you come upon a flat patch of land with rocks big enough to hide behind.
Taking cover behind a boulder, the cyclops missed the sight of you by a second. His shout of anger echoes through the stillness as he realizes he’s lost the two of you but in his persistence he sniffs around, trying to catch the familiar demi-god scent once again.
This doesn’t even feel real, you think to yourself, fully expecting to be woken up by your alarm clock for school any minute now. Beside you, Atticus ruffles the ground, trying to find a rock big enough to cause damage but not big enough to compromise the distance he needs.
“Whatever rock you’re looking for, you need to find it now,” you whisper frantically as the monster’s vision snaps in your direction. A gasp leaves your lips, back pressed against the boulder in panic and as you turn to your brother, he practically shoves a baseball size stone in your face. He beams proudly and hops up into view.
“Alright, big guy,” he shouts.
Your eyes widen. “What are you-?”
“Come at me!”
“By the gods, you better not miss,” you whisper sharply and he chuckles in response. Cringing at the sound of the cyclops stomping towards you, there is a stretch of Atticus’s sling. Strategically, he adjusts his direction, one eye in focus as he aims right for the monster’s eye.
“Get ready to run,” Atticus warns, barely giving you time as he gages on the right moment and releases his hold on the sling. There’s a quick rush of air and a cry of agony follows afterwards. “NOW!”
You hop up, grasping your brother’s hand once again. “Did you-?”
“Hell yeah, I did,” Atticus shouts proudly and an excited cackle leaves his lips. You were amazed at Atticus’s enthusiasm at this moment. You were scared out of your mind but to Atticus, this was a video game in real time.
It didn’t take long for the two of you to lose the enraged monster behind. Blindly, it throws whatever he can get his hands hoping to knock one of you down but alas, he was unsuccessful. For a while, you hear his raging and as the sounds grew distant, you eventually heard nothing but the cicadas.
“What do we do now?” You ask, Atticus perched on a rock to keep his sights on the vast forest. You’ve been running for so long, the possibility of finding the road again without running into something else would be slim.
“I don’t know.” His voice is filled with fatigue and shaky with anxiety. Atticus only had a slingshot, not a compass; it wasn’t even a question if the two of you were lost. Sitting on the dirt, you sigh softly trying to think of a plan.
You could keep walking until you find a road. At some point, you and Atticus would stumble upon something but who knows how long that would take you and how many monsters will be in your path. Shifting in your seat, you do the only thing you could do comfortably in this moment.
Pray.
Lady Hecate is your mother, after all. Cordelia was always adamant she would be there for you whenever you needed her.
“Hekate, dark mother, keeper of the keys to the door between worlds; Hekate, lovely dame of earthly, watery and celestial frame; Mighty Hekate, mother of all witches, please assist my brother and I back to safety. Help us find dad or this camp we’re supposed to go to, please. Hear my voice, know my gratitude, Hail Hekate.” The prayer leaves you pleadingly and your brother’s fingers interlaced with yours as he repeats the prayer himself.
For a second, there was nothing. You looked up for a sign, something different from the chirps of insects and the sounds of the wind rustling in the trees. As time passed, you begged in your mind for help or even a strike of intuition. Just as you were inching toward defeat, there’s a snap of a twig and a white iridescent glow appears further ahead.
Immediately, you stand up but Atticus grabs on your calf. “It could be something dangerous,” he points out and you frown.
“Or it could help us.”
The feeling in your gut was telling you it was from your mother. Slowly, you inch closer, the dark outline amongst the iridescent glow becoming more pronounced. Atticus hovers behind you, ready to take off if this thing charges at you but soon he also notices a snout and the proud statue of a well trained dog.
The both of you jump in surprise when it barks, but it didn’t feel malicious. Quickly, the hound turns on its heels and gallops away. At first, you didn’t move but when it halted and stared, you realized you should follow.
“Should we go?”
“It’s Hecate’s sacred animal, it has to be safe,” you say, your legs taking you toward it. There’s a short huff before the hound continues its way through the forest and you and Atticus follow as best as you can while also keeping your eye out for any more monsters.
“Where do you think it’s taking us?” Atticus whispers.
“Probably to the camp. I don’t think this is the direction we came from.”
Your brother nods, his hand becoming sweaty in your grasp despite the cool air. The nervousness coming off of him was adding to your own feelings, suffocating you.
“You know, what you did back there was really cool.”
At the compliment you can feel Atticus’s anxiety begin to lessen. A small smile forms on your lips as he gleams with pride. “All those times of me flinging golf balls at your forehead paid off, didn’t it?”
Atticus chuckles at your side eye. “I guess some good came out of you tormenting me,” you mutter in playful defeat.
Before Atticus could tease you anymore, the hound ahead of you begins to growl. At first, you thought it was toward you but as you look further into the trees, you catch the hoard of cyclops coming from the right side of the forest.
“You two blinded my brother?!”
The gravel in his voice makes goosebumps form all over your skin. Atticus slowly moves towards the dog and he chuckles nervously. “No, I think you have the wrong people.”
“I don’t think I do,” the cyclops responds and suddenly, he and his four other friends are charging at you, yelling threats that definitely aren’t empty. A yelp leaves your lips, you and Atticus hauling yourselves along the trees once again.
“Um, could you slow down!” You shout at the dog much too far ahead and you swear it rolled its eyes and mumbled something when it halted. You ignore the sass coming from the canine, just happy it waited for you and your brother before continuing its route. Atticus tries his best to sling over rocks and twigs while he was far enough to stop but it did nothing but anger the cyclops.
With quick thinking, your hand reaches out, your sights focused on a decent size log ahead. You’ve made plenty of things fly with your will alone, a log couldn’t be much different. As the log ascends from the ground quickly, you visualize it shooting back and slamming into the gut of the leader. You didn’t think it would work but then you heard a groan and a thump as if someone fell.
“Nice!” Atticus chuckles before the hound barks frantically ahead. Returning your sights forward, you notice a post and a giant sign over an archway reading: CAMP HALF-BLOOD.
“We’re almost there!” You shout in relief before you scream at the arrow passing right by your face.
☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆
“ALERT! Potential threat sighted!” Annabeth calls, binoculars pressed on her face. She squints, a dog and two kids her age running full force in the direction of the gates but that didn't interest her. Her main concern was the gang of cyclops’ hot on your heels.
“CYCLOPS’ APPROACHING! BE READY TO ATTACK!”
Annabeth hears the rustling of her postmates and bow's stretching as the archers line up beside her. Amongst the growing seriousness of the situation, she suddenly hears a giggle. The sound is so misplaced, Annabeth furrows her eyebrows. Removing the binoculars from her face, she finds Silena nudging Beckendorf's shoulder playfully.
“Beckendorf, Silena, stop flirting!” Annabeth commands and Silena finds only amusement at the younger girl's orders.
As unserious as the twelve year old looked, Silena and Beckdenorf quickly straightened their postures, “Yes ma’am!” They shout and turn to the scene ahead right as the cyclops roared.
“FIRE!” Annabeth shouts and just like that there’s a whizz of arrows flying right into the cyclops with great accuracy. One by one, the cyclops fell to the ground like flies. A smirk of satisfaction appears on Annabeth’s lips, as her archers cheer in success.
☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆
“Do you think they’ll shoot at us too?” Atticus asks nervously and you look up at the small people perched up on the post, waiting expectantly for your arrival to the gates.
“I hope not,” you pant, hand coming to your chest as if it would help relieve the burn. Once the monsters were taken down, the hound began to slow down and you and Atticus followed. You were grateful the chase was over but your destination made you nervous.
“HEY!” A girl’s call catches your attention. She stands at the foot of the entrance, her hand waving around wide for you to see. Unsure if it was safe, you double checked with the hound but it was gone. His errand was done, you realize.
Hesitantly, you wave back, following Atticus as he jogs over to the girl. A boy appears on her side, much bigger in stature and much more intimidating-looking but the warm look on his face tells you you shouldn’t be scared.
With a welcoming smile, the girl with pretty blue eyes and long dark hair cascading over her shoulders nods proudly.
warning: very mild cursing, angsty, mild violence, sfw, witchcraft
category: long-term fic, slow burn, friends to lovers, reader-insert
a/n: this is the rewritten version of young god! my original masterlist is still up, and you can read ahead to those chapters while you wait for these chapters. Please note that I will one day, eventually, take those chapters down and repost them with edits that make sense to the newly edited version.
a series of scenarios that follow a child of hecate reader and her life throughout the percy jackson and olympian series and the heroes of olympus series. all the scenarios boil down to one big quest that will change her life forever.
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐟
I: 𝗣𝗿𝗼𝗹𝗼𝗴𝘂𝗲
⤐ “Someone is either having twins or is going to die." alternatively: the twins have arrived
II: 𝗜𝘁'𝘀 𝗧𝗶𝗺𝗲
⤐ “I know you’re scared. I am, too, but they’re growing and getting strong. It’s time.” alternatively: vincent realizes it's time
III. 𝗚𝗿𝗼𝘄𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗻𝘀
⤐ "What do we do now?" alternatively, you have a little detour on their way to camp
IV: 𝗙𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗵 𝗠𝗲𝗮𝘁
⤐ "I knew it." alternatively, you and your brother get claimed.
my lobby: everything you need is there; masterlists, ask box, wip list, you name it
updated: nov 26, 2022
“Someone is either having twins or is going to die."
pairing: percy jackson x child of hecate!reader
words: 1,929
warnings: none
timeline: the lightning thief
a/n: finally, the first chapter of the young god rewrite is here! haha, heyyyy. this took way too long. like ridiculously long, and i'm so so sorry. so much happened these last few months. despite it all, i know that i will always return to this story. i can't promise to be consistent, but i will make sure i post very soon. i love you guys and all of your support. it really does keep me revisiting this story. i hope you enjoy this, and don't be afraid to comment! i love hearing what you have to say.
Eager fingers stretch across the keyboard, one by one, to form words, the words into sentences, the sentences into paragraphs. The keyboard was no match for his racing thoughts; every small dent barely satisfied the eagerness in his chest. He could yell at the sky in frustration. Why couldn’t the words just write themselves?
His topic for this lengthy assignment felt unique, equipped with a theory he formulated himself, and he couldn’t contain the excitement of finally documenting his web of ideas. For a while now, the world drowned out around him. No sound or person could get his attention; however, as he marks down a clever thought led to him by her for the first time, his mind wanders.
Florence. The image of her forms in his mind. He visualizes her eyes first. Their green color, how clear they are like moss-covered ponds, and how they droop and pinch at the ends. He can recall the first time he gazed into them, the way they captivated him at first sight. By now, he’s stared into them plenty, and every time, he admired the way they were right at the cusps of both striking and lovely.
She wasn’t his girlfriend. Not yet, at least. She was a friend, a close companion, a like-minded individual that he just so happened to have a major crush on. The side of his mouth quirks upwards. The word crush felt so juvenile but so was his feelings towards her. At his age, he didn’t think he’d find a connection that took him back to the purest form of infatuation from his youth.
He intended to ask for her heart right after the midterms passed. Though, a running feud in his mind questioned whether to ask her when the semester was over. During the summer, they would allow their love to flourish alongside flowers in his mother’s garden. He had fallen in love with the idea but waiting that long didn’t feel right. He knew waiting was stalling the rejection a part of him was expecting to receive.
Another voice in his head told him he was just being paranoid. He’s sure their many outings together had to mean something. Her soft smiles and laughs at his jokes, the tension-filled brushes of their hands. The flirting couldn’t have been all in his head. Right? The idea that he’s misinterpreted it all made him antsy in his seat. It’s enough to release an anxious sigh, and his vision moves upwards to soothe the strain of his neck. His hand rubs the ache, and as he closes his eyes, he suddenly notices a rhythmic creaking.
His mother whispers frantically under her breath, shaky fingers resting on her lips in deep thought. Vincent furrows his eyebrows. It was a rare sight to see his mother so disheveled. Her usually kept hair had wisps out of place, and the look on her face was riddled with torment. She paces again and again, unphased at the bothersome sound of creaking wood or even the harsh thumps of her step. Vincent marvels at how this small woman has such a thunderous stride as if her worry gave her extra weight.
“Um, Mom?” Vincent hesitantly calls, and it’s not enough to catch her attention. “Hello?” He calls for a second time, his voice more pronounced. His mother’s gaze adverts quickly in his direction, and the creaking ends. “Could you not pace? You’re making me anxious.”
“Well, that makes two of us!” Cordelia throws her hands in the air, exasperated. “First, it was the phantom cries—”
“Dad, Mom is losing it.”
“Let her be.” Vincent’s father, Theo, sits back on the loveseat on the younger boy’s right. He waves his hand dismissively, eyes fixed on the crossword puzzle in front of him. After 25 years of marriage, he’s far used to his wife’s paranoia.
“Then the dream where I was in a hospital…. and the geese in the yard! You saw the geese!” Vincent and Theo exchange a look. Cordelia searches for a hint of validation with her frazzled eyes.
“It’s near migrating season, is it not?” Theo points out, scribbling down an answer in the boxes.
“Well, yes… it is, but there were so many! Then, I cracked an egg with two yolks when I was making breakfast this morning!”
“And that means?” Vincent sighs, eyes following her back and forth as if he’s watching an intense tennis match.
“Someone is either having twins or is going to die.”
“Well, let’s hope it’s not the latter,” Theo mutters.
Vincent stifles the chuckle in his throat. “Or you just happened to crack an egg with a double yolk. Not everything is a sign, Mom.”
“I know not everything is a sign, Vincent, but I got goosebumps. Then the candle holder on the altar fell over. Lady Hecate is trying to tell me something. I just don’t know what.” Cordelia makes a beeline for the altar on the other side of the living room. She settles in front of it, adjusting the placement of her offerings with shaky hands.
Vincent sighs, watching his mother whisper a brief prayer for clarity. When she catches her son's eyes, worry flashes in her features.
“Something big is at work here. I’ve asked her countless questions, but the answers are so vague. Last night, I pulled a handful of cards in my divination session with her: The Tower, The Empress, The Page of Swords, The Page of Wands, and The Sun. It all felt domestic, youthful, and transformative.”
Vincent frowns, leaning his chin on the sofa's backrest. Cordelia stares at the tablecloth as if her answer will ascend from it any second now. Suddenly, she gasps, turning to her son sharply. “Have you and Florence—?”
“No! We haven’t!” Vincent groans. He ignores the wave of heat gracing his cheeks and returns his attention to his laptop.
“Well then, what’s all this baby business about?” Cordelia sighs. “Perhaps I’m interpreting it wrong.”
“Perhaps,” Vincent mutters, gaze fixed on the blinking cursor to find his previous train of thought.
“Honey, why don’t you sit down and have some tea? Or you can sit outside and let the neighborhood kids know we’re giving out candy. They always skip our home.” Theo smiles warmly at Cordelia. She sighs once again, her shoulders slumping in defeat this time.
“I guess Funeral Homes are too creepy even on Halloween,” Vincent sighs.
“You know, I’m starting to think that our impressive pomegranate growth in the garden this past summer has something to do with it too!”
Vincent pinches the bridge of his nose, and before he or Theodore suggests Cordelia take up one of their offers, the doorbell rings.
“Maybe your big thing at work is at the door.” Vincent jokes, quickly catching his father trying to hide his smirk.
Cordelia scoffs, fixing her hair in front of the mirror by the staircase. “You both just think I’m a madwoman,” she mutters, trudging downstairs to meet the trick-or-treaters.
There was silence for a while, and both men returned to their tasks before the hysterics. Theo was convinced Cordelia was finally occupied with something, but quickly, his satisfaction curdled into a panic when a wail proceeded to a harsh gasp.
“Mom?”
“Honey?”
The two rise from their seats, eyes widening as the door slams closed. “THEO! VINCENT!”
The calls of their names send their feet moving. They hurry down the stairs and turn the corner through the lounge area. As they appear at the doorway, Cordelia kneels over two golden baskets glowing like lanterns in the darkroom. With glistening eyes, she looks up, her hand over her heart as if it was the only thing preventing it from beating out of her chest.
“Dear Heavens, someone left their babies on our doorstep?” Theo approaches the baskets, kneeling beside his wife. He peeks under the white blankets in need of a closer look to confirm what he’s seeing is real.
“We have to take them to a firehouse,” Vincent gawks, frozen in his spot.
“No! What are you talking about? They’re ours!”
Theo and Vincent exchange glances with each other, pretty sure Cordelia has lost it. As Vincent is about to protest, a choked sob leaves her.
“Lady Hecate sent them; I know it. It all makes sense now.” From Vincent's view, he doesn’t see the letter she’s grasping for dear life on her lap. She shakes her head, “I knew it was her when you brought her into my shop, Vincent. How foolish of me not to recognize my patron in my presence.”
“Mom, what are you going on about?” Vincent kneels beside her. She meets his gaze with a veil of sympathy and presents the letter to him. In gold ink, it shimmered, To Vincent.
“Honey, the babies, they're yours.” There wasn’t a hint of amusement in her tone, but Vincent couldn’t help but scoff. There was no way these two babies were his. It was impossible.
“Is this a prank?” He asks as one of the babies coo and fusses in their blanket.
Cordelia quickly reaches for the child, cradling them until he settles down again. “Lady Hecate has a sense of humor, but I don’t think this is a display. Read the letter.”
Vincent carefully takes it from her, the paper thick in his hand. It didn’t feel like any regular envelope. It was made from a material he couldn’t identify, but its surprising weight is fitting for the heavy news inside. Still doubtful of his mother's conclusions, he opens the letter with shaky hands.
Dear Vincent,
This will come as a great surprise; therefore, I will explain myself the best I can and hope it will be enough. Your mother has been a devotee of mine since her youth, and it was through her did the fates introduce us. My attendance at your presentation was merely an errand; I did not foresee our gazes meeting or our relationship flourishing as it did. It was there I introduced myself as Florence and not by my real name, Hecate. Please do not take the falsehood of my identity as deception. For it was what I had to do to protect you and, as selfish as it may be, to have the room to get to know your soul the way I yearned to.
As for the children on your doorstep, your mother’s suspicions have been right. The twins are ours. They are a physical manifestation of your tender adoration for me and my affection for you. I am confident you and your parents will nurture and keep them well under your roof. You may name and raise them as you please. The only thing I ask is that you see them as gifts, not as burdens. Our time together was unwillingly temporary, and it’s through our twins I could reassure you had a piece of me to keep. Their lives are a lit flame representing our love despite my absence, so please, take your love for me and invest it into them.
As much as I wish to raise them beside you, there are rules I must obey. However, I will never be far. I will watch over your family as I’ve done for over a decade now. Every milestone our twins meet, I will be aware of. I’ll make sure of it. Whoever they become, they will make me proud, and so will you.
Vincent, please take care of yourself. Continue being the wise and gentle man I have fallen in love with.
“I know you’re scared. I am, too, but they’re growing and getting strong. It’s time.”
pairing: percy jackson x fem child of hecate!reader
words: 6,762
warnings: brief mentions of religious institutions, catholicism, human sacrifices, and tripping on mushrooms. if you're a ginger... i'm so sorry.
timeline: the lightning thief
a/n: so excited to finally get this posted. one thing i really wish i did when i initially started writing this fic was give a proper insight on the mc's and her brother's home life. i thought the addition of her grandmother and grandpa would be so fun and i'm excited to hear what you think. in the next chapter we will finally see the twins get to camp so stay tuned!
The final bell of the school year rings, releasing a flood of excited children. Their shouts and quick footsteps move from the hallways to the echoing streets, bodies quickly funneling themselves through the double doors like inmates breaking out of prison.
You scrunch your nose, trailing behind the crowd along with Atticus. Though excited to go home, neither of you was ready for the awful weather outside. Today’s sweltering heat washes over your body, humid and suffocating, no doubt. Some say it’s a beautiful day, but to your standards, this was torture from mother nature herself.
Atticus grunts in annoyance as the rays of sunlight hit him hard. It was a slap in the face compared to the air-conditioning you’re begrudgingly leaving behind. Your brother trudges beside you, quick to unbutton and shove his tie into his pocket. You follow, exposing your skin to bake under the unforgiving sun.
“Glad that’s over,” you speak almost in a sigh, and Atticus nods.
“I didn’t think it would end,” Atticus’s eyes avert to the statue of Saints in front of your school’s chapel as you pass by. “I still think those things are alive.”
A snort leaves your lips, flashing your gaze at them one more time. After the principal forced you and Atticus to scrub the stone as punishment for wearing black nail polish, you couldn’t bear to look at them. That and your brother was right. Those angel statues have definitely whispered your name once. “I don’t want to hear or see anything else about Saints for the rest of the summer.”
“Don’t want to hear about Jesus either,” Atticus adds.
“Or how Eve ruined everything.”
“Or how God made his archnemesis.”
You pause for a moment in thought. “Satan’s pretty cool, though.”
Atticus nods. “Agreed.”
Neither of you says anything else. The children's chatter around the streets does enough to fill the silence. There are thumps of basketballs in the passing park’s courtyard and the low hum of the sprinklers. The ice cream truck jingle plays in the distance, herding kids toward the sound, and cars whoosh by, honking through traffic on the busy road. As you and Atticus make your way to the residential streets, your silence feels more meaningful as it’s filled with soft croaks of cicadas and bird chirps.
Soon, your family's familiar baby blue Victorian home is in sight. Like a sore thumb, it sticks out from the traditional American homes on the block. On the outside, the white trim and the many flower bushes your grandmother tends to make the home look sweet and inviting. At first glance, it would look like any regular residence. Though different in style, there would be no reason for a double take if, of course, the white monument sign announcing “Cromwell Funeral Home” wasn’t there.
“Hey! Wednesday and Pugsley Addams!” A slow, agonizing sigh leaves your nostrils. Felix Bain, a fitting last name for the nuisance he is, runs out of his front door as you and Atticus pass by. His posse of boys is hot on his heels, their faces with the same arrogant smile as their dictator. They giggle and chatter, but yours and Atticus’s stride don’t falter.
“Ignore him,” Atticus mumbles.
“I can’t believe you guys don’t melt in the sun,” Felix shouts again. “I’m surprised you can even get into the chapel. You must have some weird pagan magic protecting you.”
You didn’t expect Atticus to betray his advice, halting sharply and turning in Felix’s direction. Your eyebrow raises.
“Felix, do you know what they say about gingers?” Atticus asks. The friendly tone in his voice is bitter under his deadpan expression.
Felix’s smile widens with arrogant challenge. “What?”
“They say gingers have no soul and every freckle on their pale ghostly face is a soul they’ve taken to fill the emptiness.”
Felix’s lips falter, eyebrows slowly knitting in the center of his forehead.
“You have a lot of freckles,” you point out, your jaw clenching to hide your smile.
Felix’s mouth opens, but you cut him off quickly. “Gingers are also known to be unlucky. So unlucky that Ancient Egyptians used them as human sacrifices to release their bad luck.” Slowly, he begins to frown, shifting on his feet nervously. “Count yourself lucky you don’t live down the street from pagans….” Your eyes fix on your home a few houses from his. “Oh, wait. You do.”
“You guys are weird!” Felix yells, his face almost as red as his hair. Smiling wickedly, you and Atticus turn on your heels, ignoring Felix's sloppy insults in your direction.
“If I were you, I’d make sure to lock your windows at night,” Atticus shouts behind him.
Angrily, the redhead stomps inside his home and mutters about how freaky the two of you are. The moment his front door slams closed, you and Atticus burst into laughter.
“That was so mean!”
You scoff. “So what?! He deserved it, and you’re the one who started it.”
“I did, but I wasn’t the one who made it seem like we were gonna sacrifice him!”
You shrug, opening the gate to your home. “Oh well.”
Atticus shakes his head in playful disapproval, “You’re on a roll today.”
Your eyebrow raises in confusion, stumbling to the side from Atticus’s nudge. “What do you mean?”
“First, it was Avery and then Felix.”
Atticus laughs at how your eyes roll, hand coming up in a dismissive wave. “Oh, please.”
“It was kinda mean.”
“So what if I charged her double?” Quickly, you reach into the mailbox beside your door, collecting the envelopes for your grandparents, “First, you call my tarot cards stupid.” A loud clunk hits your ears as you harshly slam the box close. “Then suddenly, you want to be nice, so I can give you a reading about your stupid crush. You know what, I’m glad the cards told her he doesn’t like her.”
As he walks into the house, Atticus laughs and mutters something about you being cruel. You trail close behind, surprised to see the ground floor decorated and ready for service. On your left are a couple of loveseats and coat racks right across the rows of banquet chairs. Further inside, there’s a hallway with a lounge area usually set up with desserts and Hors D'oeuvre for the guest.
“My little rascals, how was school?” A familiar voice calls from inside the mourning area, putting a smile on your face.
Your grandmother stands on a small ladder, hands carefully arranging flowers where the casket will be placed. Bright reds, whites, and pinks decorate the walls, and Cordelia hopes the display will soothe the eyes of grieving families.
“It was fine,” Atticus answers, and you nod in agreement.
Being realistic, how well can school go? Almost every day, the nuns penalize you for something. Whether it’s a minor offense like having nail polish or a freak accident at the chapel altar, you and Atticus never seemed to stay out of trouble. As for today, it was just fine. It could have been worse. You only got outed once by your teacher for dozing off during mass, and knowing it was the last day of school soothed any of your usual dread.
“Just fine?”
“Mhm,” you shrug, leaning against the doorway as you admire the display.
“Very well,” Cordelia says with a slight smirk, aware of the chaos she’s about to unleash. As you and Atticus move to leave your grandmother to her task, she perks up. “Since you’re here….” You halt in your tracks. “Could one of you get me the hammer from the basement? It should be in the toolbox somewhere.”
Before you can react, your brother shoves you from behind. “Not it!”
A growl leaves your lips as the boy flees before you can recover. “Hey, get back here!”
“No!” Hot on his heels, you turn through the lounge area, watching Atticus struggle with the doorknob before he bursts into the back hallway.
“You’re lazy!” You shout, finger raised in the air. Atticus, already halfway up the stairs, flashes you a smile.
“And you’re slow.”
☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆
Theo goes down the checklist of his last-minute details. First, he soothes the flyaways from the hair, cleans the sides of the lips from any lipstick, and adjusts the flowers in her folded hands. Poor girl, he thinks. Her life was taken right at the cusp of some of the best years life has to offer. Her family wanted a closed casket, afraid her face was too mangled to do otherwise, but Theo never cowered from a challenge. Nothing’s ever too broken to fix, he always says, and his work showed for it.
Classical music played low from the record player in the background. As he checks the final product, it’s peaceful enough to keep his head clear until the twins make it home. Theo liked to call them Tom and Jerry. You being Tom and Atticus being Jerry and never was it the opposite. A small huff of laughter leaves him as he catches some of their argument.
“You’re lazy!”
“And you're slow!”
He shakes his head. “Those kids are something else,” he mutters under his breath, middle finger pushing the round glasses up the bridge of his nose.
Expectantly, he stares at the long staircase on his right as the door flings open. You stomp down the stairs with an angry look and he couldn’t help but laugh at his usually cranky grandchild.
“Hi, Grandpa,” you greet a lot more cheerfully than you looked, and his heart warms.
“Hi, Pretty Girl,” he coos, his arms stretching wide for your embrace. His hearty laugh is muffled through his chest as you wrap your arms around his waist. “How was school today?”
“It was fine. Slow day,” you shrug. “Grandma needs a hammer. Where’s the toolbox?”
“In the big metal cabinet back there. Just shout if you can’t find it; I’m heading to the bathroom.”
“Okay.” You turn on your heels, twisting through the tables of equipment.
The storage room was filled with boxes of everything from old furniture, family photos, decorations, and a bunch of other things your grandmother insisted on keeping. Grandpa always urged her to clean it out, the room so congested that the door only opens just enough for you to slip in but she refused. Luckily, you didn’t need to tango your way through stacks of items, the cabinet straight ahead. You felt silly when your own reflection scared you, not expecting an old mirror to lean against the space beside you.
You search for a second, finding the hammer in plain sight. Grasping the head of it, you wiggle it out of the toolbox and shut the cabinet closed. About ready to turn on your heels, you almost missed it. You catch something in the corner of your eye, and it takes a second look to see what it is.
Not again.
A girl with ghastly gray skin and hair matted to her sunken cheeks stood a few feet behind you. Soft droplets of water dripped from her hunched-over frame, and her cold blue eyes burned a hole in the back of your skull.
Your pulse roars in your ears. As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t look away. Her expression changed from a blank stare to pure bewilderment, and in her panic, she catches your gaze through the reflection. A shaky breath leaves you, watching in anticipation as her mouth opens wide. Slowly her chest fills with air, and your hands slap over your ears as a truck horn blares from her throat.
As if released from a trance, you whip your gaze in her direction to find her gone. Even the droplets on the floor didn’t darken the concrete as you had seen through the mirror. Your eyes flicker across your surroundings. Though nothing revealed what you saw was real, the eeriness left behind was enough to get you moving, and you ran straight to the stairs without looking back.
One would think you just ran a marathon. By the time you made it back to Cordelia, you were winded. Your heavy footsteps announced your arrival, and Cordelia turned around, her smile faltering when she caught sight of your puzzled eyes.
“Oh honey, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Cordelia jokes, grabbing the hammer from your grasp.
“I think I just did,” you mutter to yourself.
Shifting on your feet, you admire the intricate arrangement your grandmother had put together as a distraction. She’s always had an eye for that kind of stuff. You wander a little to your left, curious to see the memorial photo perched on the mahogany stand, and the sight of it makes the hairs at the back of your neck stand up straight. That’s her. Instead, she wasn’t gray and wet. The photo seemed to be a graduation picture, and she gleamed with life, her skin sunkissed.
You don’t know how long you were staring at the picture, but it was long enough for Cordelia to notice. “I saw her.”
Cordelia quirks her eyebrow. Her heels click on the floorboards as she arrives at your side. “Did you see her around town?”
“No.” You rip your gaze from the photo. “I saw her downstairs.” Cordelia opens her mouth, assuming you’d seen her in the casket, freshly put together for her service tonight, but you cut her off. “I saw her in the mirror downstairs, standing behind me.”
There’s a short pause between you and your grandmother, the two of you pondering in careful silence.
“You know…” she begins slowly, fiddling with a loose nail between her fingers. “Our family is from a long line of witches, honey.”
“I know.” She smiles warmly at you, reaching over to rub your back soothingly. “You said my mom is a witch too.”
“I did. A very powerful one. You and Atticus, all your gifts are credited to her.”
The mystery of your mother was a topic that frequented your mind. Occasionally, your grandparents brought her up and often recounted the one time your father introduced her to them. You’ve heard the story plenty, but you yearned for more every time. What did her voice sound like? Where in your face did you look like her the most? How tall was she? Did she have freckles or a beauty mark? Did her green eyes have brown or yellow flecks? You wanted to know it all.
They always tried to give you as much as they remembered and often asked your father to help them verify some details. You knew it was their way of ensuring you and Atticus didn’t forget about her. However, they never considered how hard it was to hear about your mom and never fully knew who she was.
“Dad doesn’t like talking about her.”
“It was tough for him when she left,” Cordelia smiles sadly, her thumb stroking the back of your neck affectionately. “I don’t think he ever fully recovered.”
“Why did she leave?” You ask, testing the waters. This is usually when the conversation ends, but you figured you’d give it a shot. Time and time again, you’ve asked the same question, but your family has kept this piece of information strictly confidential.
Every time, your grandmother says the same thing as she’s saying right now. “You’ll know one day, but she had her reasons.”
The disappointment on your face was evident, and she tsks. “Don’t give me that face, honey,” she leans her cheek on top of your head. “One day, you’ll know with age. Just not right now.”
Not right now. You’ve heard it too many times before. What even was the hold-up? You would think that being 11, almost 12 in the fall, would be old enough to know this secret. If you think about it, you’ve been in the double digits for two years. You were practically a teenager at this point, and still, you were too young by their standards.
“As for who you saw downstairs, seeing the dead doesn’t always have to be scary.” Cordelia’s voice takes you out of your thoughts, going from one frustrating topic to a daunting one.
“I know. She just looked scary,” you frowned.
“Her soul is restless, perhaps, confused too. I’m sure she won’t linger for long.” A shiver runs up your spine, and your arms wrap around your frame. It felt as if the simple conversation about this girl was summoning her. A voice told you you were psyching yourself out, but as your grandmother's eyes flickered across the room, you realized you were wrong. “I think I will speak with her.”
More than happy to leave the creepy stuff to her, you nod and don’t dare look in the direction her eyes are fixed on. “Well, you have fun with that,” you giggle nervously, stepping back toward the back hall entrance.
Cordelia sends you an amused smile. Maybe one day, you’ll be as courageous as your grandma. Many times she’s told her creepy, unsettling accounts of the supernatural after you and Atticus would beg them out of her. They always made you feel better about the memories of your own strange occurrences that filled you with dread.
Weird things happened to you so often you had thought it was universal. However, after the kids in school called you crazy that one time in kindergarten, you quickly realized it wasn’t. Grandma’s stories reassured you that you weren’t losing your mind. However, it was quite an annoyance for your father. As much as you and your brother enjoyed a scary story, you always sought refuge in his room when the tales lingered in your minds well into nighttime.
“I will.”
You give her a thumbs-up before turning on your heels.
“Oh, and honey?”
“Yes?“
“Remember to light your candle for Lady Hecate. You forgot this morning.”
Your palm flies right to the middle of your temple. All day you had felt like you forgot about something, but you couldn’t put your finger on it.
“Okay, I will,” you say shortly. Quickly, you reach the brown door in the back of the hallway that leads you to the mahogany stairs. For a second, your eyes grace the entrance to Grandpa Theo’s workspace, and a shiver goes up your spine. It was in your head, but you bolted up the stairs, feeling like you were being chased.
“How rude, not lighting your candle for Lady Hecate,” Atticus peers over the railing, and your eyes roll. “Even I remembered.”
“Maybe if you had to rush out because someone decided to take forever in the shower, you would have forgotten too.”
“No, I wouldn't because I’m better than you.” A squeal leaves him when you reach over to push him, hands missing his body by a few inches.
“Whatever lets you sleep at night,” you mumble.
As always, Hecate’s altar is in your path the moment you reach the top of the stairs. You couldn’t remember a time when the table wasn’t settled tight in the corner of the living room, making it a staple of your childhood. The dark brown table with its offerings was an eerie sight for some people, but to you, it was comforting. Talking at the altar always brought you comfort; oddly enough, you felt heard too.
Right on the top ledge sits a bronze statue of Hecate. She stands tall with an extravagant crown on her head, her dress flowy and rustled under the cape over her shoulders. Her left hand holds twin torches, and her right has a dagger. At her feet are skulls and two dogs peeking from the back of her dress on each side. If the statue wasn’t daunting enough, the shelf right under held five candle holders lined up neatly. The sides are caked with long drops of black wax, except for the holder with the candle you forgot to light this morning. According to your friends, that made the whole setup creepy, not the offerings on the table.
Those offerings included a bouquet of dried lavender sitting in a vase you made years ago in art class, and beside it was a board of dried bread, fruits, chocolate, and garlic alongside a wine-filled chalice. There are also small trinkets that litter the table as presents to your deity. One of them is a small Yoda figurine Atticus insisted Hecate would love. Finally, settled in the corner is a diffuser, the steam dispersing the scent of citrus and flowers. That combination of smells is one that you equate with home. A whiff of that anywhere could take to the memories of this table.
“I apologize, Lady Hecate,” you say, pulling the box of matches from the drawer. “It’s Atticus’s fault that I forgot.” A smile emerges as you light the candle and throw the match in the little cauldron beside to snuff the flame.
“Not true,” Atticus chimes in, his footsteps growing heavy as he emerges beside you. “Hecate should punish you for forgetting.”
You roll your eyes. “Shut up.”
Atticus leans on the wall next to the table, arms crossed as you dig for a clean cloth in the middle drawer. You dab some coconut oil on it to polish Hecate’s statue. “Today was the last day of school,” you begin, carefully rubbing the base. “Atticus and I only got in trouble once.”
“It was probably because we were only there for three hours,” he concludes.
“For sure.” Moving the oil up Hecate’s dress, you hum softly. “I hope the summer goes by slowly. I don’t want to go back any time soon.”
“Neither do I.”
“And I hope we go on vacation like last year.” You bring Hecate’s ear close to your lips as if you were telling her a secret. “Persuade our dad to take us to Disney World this year.”
“And Universal,” Atticus adds.
“And Universal, please,” you whisper again, and your brother perks up excitedly.
“You think she will?”
“I think so. She gave Felix nightmares when we asked,” you and your brother smile knowingly, excited for the trip as if it was already set in stone.
By the time you finished polishing Hecate, you and Atticus had already discussed all the plans for your trip. You would like to think her divine intervention was already at work, especially as you hear footsteps coming up the stairs before your father appears in the living room.
“Hi, Dad,” you and Atticus say in unison, and the man smiles tiredly. He only had two lecture classes on Friday, but being up all night working on his latest academic project had taken all his energy.
“Hey, kids,” he says sweetly, ruffling your and Atticus’s hair affectionately. Putting his computer bag on the couch and tossing his keys on the kitchen island, he doesn’t notice his twins staring at him. He must have felt the burning gaze, eventually looking in your direction. As he unbuttons the cuffs of his dress shirt, eyebrows raised at how your smiles stay frozen on your faces. “What are you guys so happy about?”
Stifled giggles release from your throats, and Vincent’s expression becomes increasingly suspicious. He’s not sure what those looks mean. “Unpredictable” already felt like an understatement for you two.
“So, Atticus and I were thinking,” you pause for suspense, slightly enjoying the nervous anticipation from your father.
“We were thinking that you could take us to Disney for vacation,” Atticus blurted out before you could.
Vincent immediately snorts at the suggestion. “I’ll think about it.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Eh,” Vincent shrugs with a playful smile that tells you not to get your hopes up. At the sight, you and Atticus slouch, ready to beg. “You guys suggest it like it’s cheap.”
“That’s why you’re paying for it,” Atticus says matter-of-factly, and Vincent couldn’t help but laugh.
“Summer’s barely started, and you guys are already planning a vacation?” You and Atticus nod and his eyes switch between you, wondering how this idea came to be. “Let’s talk about this another day. For now, go upstairs and wash up for dinner. I’m gonna start cooking.”
Atticus sighs, and you mimic the boy beside you. It was a shot in the dark, but he’ll come around. You were sure of it.
“Lame,” you say, the word drawn out, and Vincent shakes his head, amused, as the two of you disappear upstairs to your rooms.
☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆
What is there to do? Sitting at the edge of your bed, you look around your room, searching for something to occupy your time. Usually, by this point of the night, you and Atticus were doing homework at the table and waiting for dinner. You could almost laugh at yourself. School is over for the year, and you’re sitting here wondering what to do besides a homework assignment that doesn't even exist.
Your usual hobby of reading felt too school-like, and it didn’t feel like the right activity to celebrate your first night of freedom. Through your jack and jill bathroom, you can hear the plastic buttons of Atticus’s controller and his frustration when he loses his game again. For a second, you considered joining him, but that didn’t feel right either.
You resort to plopping back into the bed, staring at the ceiling—small snippets of your day flash by, your mind skimming through them like pages in a book. Abruptly, the memories stop at your conversation with your grandmother.
“You’ll know one day, but she had her reasons.”
Your once-forgotten disappointment ventures right back. If you had a dollar for every time you tried to come up with possible reasons why she left, you’d be rich. Brainstorming every reason you could think of, you concluded the only one that made sense was that she didn’t want you and Atticus. Truly, what could be the reason for leaving you on a doorstep and never coming to see you again? Sometimes, it felt like your grandmother was bluffing when she claimed to know that your mother loves you very much and that one day, you will meet her. Those promises felt like things your grandmother said to convince herself or to uphold an ideal to refuse reality.
Your father’s feelings about it were the most complicated part. Every time she was brought up, it was like he couldn’t bear to listen or speak of it like swallowing something rotten. Grandma said he was heartbroken, which added to the huge question mark of this situation. How could your mother love you so much but then leave and hurt your father in the process? It was just bizarre.
If the day ever came when you got to meet her, you questioned what you would even say. You suppose you’d hear her reasons first, but sometimes when you thought of the scenario, you couldn’t imagine giving her the time. Though inconsiderate, you wanted to yell and tell her how it feels to be the only person in class without a mother. Sure, your grandmother was always there, and your father filled in the roles as much as he could. Still, it felt like there was something you were missing out on.
Putting on a movie or submitting to the prospect of reading felt like a good idea now more than ever. At least then, it would pull you out of these suffocating thoughts for a little while. The moment you sit in your bed, you’re surprised to see your brother standing in your bathroom doorway.
“Wha—”
Atticus moves so fast, you barely process the moment he slings a small golf ball right in your direction.
“Ow!” Rubbing the sting it left behind on your chest, you glare at him
“Give me the money,” he demands.
“Seriously? That’s what you did that for?”
Atticus doesn’t cower under your growing anger, and he nods pridefully. “Yep.”
“It’s not even your money,” you explain.
“We split what we make; we agreed on it,” Atticus says, and as you open your mouth, he flings a golf ball at you once again.
“Atticus, stop!” You screech. When you decided you needed a distraction, this wasn’t the one you were hoping for. Of course, right now is when he decides to torment you for a measly 10 dollars. Both of you had two clients today, and charging Avery double meant you made more money. It was yours to keep, but here Atticus is claiming his half.
His high-pitched laughter fuels your rage, “Give it to me!”
“It’s not yours! I worked for it!” With a smile you wanted to wack off his face, he secures another ball into the leather tab of his slingshot. “Stop!”
You didn’t even have a chance, his eyes calculating the shot with ease, and he releases the ball. It flies right to the plastic cup on your nightstand, and there’s a clunk, juice running out in long droplets straight to the floor.
I’m gonna kill him, is the first thought that crosses your mind.
You hate mess. Your brother knew that better than anyone. Along with the pulse thumping hard in your ears is the echoing drips coating the wooden floor. The boards will get sticky, and so will your nightstand. The innocent bystander of the attack, your journal, is probably soaked, and who’s gonna clean it? You. Of course, you, and here he is, smiling at you like it’s the funniest thing in the world.
“You’re dead!” You scream with a straight stride in his direction, and Atticus yelps, dodging your attempt to grab him. He manages to slip past you, his hand snatching the money off your desk on his way out. “Ugh!”
Harmonious thumping footsteps fill the hallway, wooden floorboards creaking with every heavy step. Downstairs, the chandelier over the dining table shakes, and Cordelia's cup of tea ripples into circles. “They’re fighting again.”
Right through the dining room archway, Vincent cleans some dishes. His hands pause their task, head tilting back and eyes close for a moment. The bickering never ends with you two.
Quickly, he wipes his hands with a dish towel nearby, his footsteps heavy as he makes his way to the bottom of the stairs.
“What’s going on?” Your father’s tired call is just loud enough for the both of you to hear, but neither you nor Atticus gives him the time.
Hot on his heels, you follow your twin into his bedroom. He makes a beeline into your shared bathroom and returns to your room.
“I made that money myself!” Your anger bubbles in your core as every attempt to grab his collar fails. A harsh grunt of frustration leaves your lip, and a door slamming follows. You don’t waste time checking the door that shuts by itself, lunging at Atticus one more time, but alas, he quickly escapes and heads down the hall.
“We’re business partners! You’re supposed to give me half!” After several more attempts, Atticus squeals when you finally get ahold of his collar. He falls back on the floor from your hard tug, arms tucking into his chest to cage the money between his hands.
“Since when? We agreed we keep what we make, and I made that money!” Atticus squirms in your hold, his fist waving frantically. “GIMME!”
“Guys! What’s going on?” Your father calls louder, and a loud crack comes from upstairs. It was so loud that you backed off from prying Atticus’s fingers, thinking he cracked a bone.
Atticus gasps at your father's call, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he laughs at your frustration. “You’re so ugly. You look like Grumpy from Snow White!”
His hands catch your arms before you can punt him, and the two of you are wrestling as if your life depended on it, and in Atticus’s case, it kind of did.
“Shut up!” You yell, then there’s a shatter.
A painting on your left falls straight off the wall. Atticus gasps and tilts his head aside just enough for the frame to miss his face as it falls flat. When you’re distracted, he shoves you off of him, rolling on his stomach and crawling away as fast as he can. He tries to get back on his feet, but you regain your balance quick, and right as he reaches the top of the stairs, you grab his foot and drag him back.
“Help!” He chokes out, reaching to grab the banister of the stairs, but it is too late. A groan leaves his lips as you climb on top of him. Straddling his back, your hand grabs a fist full of his hair and pulls back. “AHH!”
“Gimme it!”
“DAD!”
“Y/n! Let go of your brother right now!” In your blind rage, you just notice your father standing with a disapproving glare at the top of the stairs.
“He took my money!” You lean over to retrieve the bill from him, but he continues to wave his fist.
“It’s OUR money!”
“No, it isn’t!”
“Is too!”
“IS NOT!” A strangled yell comes from Atticus as you tug on his hair a little harder, causing the skin around his eyes to pull up. He looked ridiculous, but you are too angry to find any humor.
“Y/n! Enough!” Vincent stands his ground, and your eyes snap at your father. You looked wicked with your glowing green eyes and a swirling aura over your head. Anyone sane enough would cringe at the sight, but his glare remains assertive and steady. “Let. Go.”
The sternness of his tone brings you back to your senses, and there is relief in Vincent’s gaze at your dimming aura. You take your time, but eventually, you release your brother.
“Now, without violence, tell me what happened.” Your father demands, leaning against the staircase railing. His calm and relaxed nature brings your mood down, and you rise from your spot.
“Atticus took my money.”
“It’s OUR money,” he says once again. The repeated phrase makes you so angry that you shove him back on the floor right as he’s about to stand up. “OW!”
“Y/n, keep your hands to yourself,” Vincent scolds, and you huff. He sighs, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “What money are we talking about?”
“The money we made from our business.”
Vincent raises an eyebrow at you. “Business?
“Yeah, our tarot reading business.”
“Tarot reading business?” He furrowed his eyebrows at your nod as if it was the most nonchalant thing in the world. “You two ran a tarot reading business at your Catholic school?”
“Um, yeah?” You shrug, and so does Atticus beside you.
It wasn’t that big of a deal. The nuns never found out, so who cares? The two of you were careful, only doing readings in the bathrooms or behind the bookshelves in the library. Maybe, it was a little wrong to do readings between the church pews, but it was only once!
Okay, maybe twice.
Actually, it was three times.
Regardless, it’s not like the bible explicitly says, “you cannot use tarot cards.” The last time you checked the fine print, it wasn’t in the Ten Commandments.
Also, five dollars per reading was enough to get you guys all the candy and snacks you could need, so it was something you couldn’t give up. In that case, it could have been considered greed or gluttony even but those rules don't apply to you. After all, you weren’t even Catholic.
“Pretty sure you shouldn’t be doing Tarot readings at your Catholic school.”
“And I’m pretty sure pagans shouldn’t go to Catholic school, but here we are.” You mimic the beaming squint of your father but you backed down.
Vincent sends you an expression telling you you weren’t being fair and your vision falters elsewhere. Catholic school was the only option after you and Atticus got expelled from the only public school in your area.
It’s a long story, but basically, Atticus picked mushrooms from the forest behind your house for an art project, and you made the mistake of mentioning them to your friends at lunch. Next thing you know, Jackson makes a bet to eat the mushroom despite you and Atticus saying it was a bad idea.
One thing leads to another, and Jackson ends up having a bad trip in the middle of math class. It could have been worse. Better psychedelic than poisonous, right? Your principal disagreed and expelled you and Atticus immediately.
Vincent sighs, “Give me the money.”
“What?!” You ask, and Atticus clutches the bills into his chest.
“Give it to me. Now. I will keep it until you two calm down.”
You furrow your eyebrows, “But—”
Your father's hand comes up, stopping your words. “Atticus, give me.” Your brother sighs, begrudgingly handing it over. “Go to your rooms.”
You move quickly at the command, not because you are eager to obey, but because you’re so angry you don’t want to be around either of them. You slam your bedroom door closed and Atticus’s door follows right after, leaving your father alone in a deafening silence.
The soft sigh that leaves Cordelia makes Vincent’s eyes shut tight. He didn’t even notice she joined him upstairs during the chaos. His mother stares at him in his peripheral vision as he assesses the damage you left behind. The only window in the hall is shattered. Again. Two out of three paintings are discarded on the floor, frames broken at the ends.
“You’ve held it off long enough.” The floorboard creaks under Cordelia’s slippers. She tsks at the falling paintings. “I know you’re scared. I am, too, but they’re growing and getting strong. It’s time.”
It’s time. Fear strikes his chest. Those words felt miles away once but not anymore. Vincent envies his past self and the privilege of tucking away the dreaded scenario.
The tiny babies he used to rock to sleep, the ones that glowed in his arms from the sheer power of their tiny wails, the two that snuggled against him when they were scared at night, were ready to leave. It feels impossible.
Even now, after watching your legs and pride grow, he cannot wrap his head around how the two of you should go off to this camp, unlock your mother's powers, and learn to wield weapons.
WEAPONS? Oh gods.
The other day, Atticus stapled his hand, and you almost took a finger off trying to wash a kitchen knife. How will the two of you even manage with swords? Vincent senses an anxiety headache coming around just at the thought.
“Lady Hecate, give me strength.” The statement is drowsy but pleading. He needed all the divine intervention he could get.
His twin's youth was slipping through his fingers uncontrollably like the shifting nature of water. Through his grief, Vincent tried to think of the benefits of their departure.
They won’t have to deal with the eerie entities they attract for the first time. Finally, no weird nightmares or occurrences, at least for a time. They’d learn to get their powers under control, which would be a blessing to his wallet. It’s going to be his third time replacing that window. They’d also get all the answers about their mother, who they’ve been dying to know about.
Cordelia always pushed her boundaries, telling them bits and pieces of who she was and snippets of memories of when Vincent was utterly in love with her. He didn’t like it, but he was grateful for it.
It’s been over a decade since Hecate last graced him with her presence, and he still found it hard to talk about. He couldn’t help but grieve the idea of how different their lives would be if their godly parent were more involved. Still, he was glad they knew her as their patron. In a way, just like a mother, they did seek her out for solace.
Despite all the positives, Vincent had to acknowledge it was also one step closer to becoming the people they were supposed to be. Whoever they were supposed to be.
The mystery of that drove him insane. Even aware that the trajectory of their life was up to the fates, he still prayed and hoped they didn’t end up like the Greek tragedies he’s spent years of his life studying. It was foolish, but praying was the only thing that brought him a faux sense of control.
With a feeling heavy as stone in his throat, he nodded to no one.
It’s time, he thinks, the voice in his head far more certain than he felt.
“I’m guessing you haven’t heard of the easy way to success.”
𝑃𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: Nico DiAngelo x Male!reader
𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: Angst?????? But not really? But yes?
𝐴/𝑁: hi! Thank you to all the people who read the first chapter LMFAO I’ll actually marry u. ❤️ This chapter is kind of different from the “main story” so don’t hate me for it but it’ll be worth it!
Chapter 1 < > N/A
"Psst." Tick tock.
"Hey, kid." Tick Tock.
"D'aww he's a cutie," Tick Tock.
"Let's pinch him." Tick Tock.
"No, that's mean." Tick Tock.
"Well, do you know a better way to wake him up?" Tick Tock.
"Leave him alone. He's sleeping like a baby." Tick Tock.
"We don't have time to waste, dimwit." Tick Tock.
"Take that back!" Tick Tock.
"Both of you cut it out. The kid's waking up.” Tick Tock.
Why was it so loud? Was that a clock? Who bought a clock?!
Your eyes popped open as you processed the loud ticking that had been filling your ears. Everything around you was blurry, your vision taking its sweet time to adjust to the room. In the middle of your rapid blinking, you heard hushed whispers coming from above you.
“Look at him. He’s taking ages just to focus.” This was not a voice you recognized. It was a smooth, but also angry, voice? It reminded you of something you’d hear from an Ares kid.
A second voice followed the previous. This one was chirpy, with a slight rasp to it. “Would you quit being rough on the kid, Phobetor? Oh, I just want to pinch his cheeks!”
The voice is now known as, ‘Phobetor’, hissed at the scolding he’d received, going quiet. That was strange. Were they new kids again?
You could see clearly now, your vision focused on the ceiling above. The surrounding ticking grew louder. When you shifted on what you thought was your bed, the “mattress” under you creaked and was missing its soft touch. This wasn’t the only thing missing. Shivering, you noticed the lack of a blanket. Where was Britney? Did you fall on the floor in your sleep?
Wincing at the aching in your back, you lifted yourself up, halting when the sight in front of you was not the Hermes cabin. There were Clocks. Multiple clocks scattered on the walls. They weren’t regular clocks either; they were cuckoo clocks.
None of the clocks looked the same, each being their own. One was in the shape of a church and another in the shape of a lily-pad.
“Is this a prank?” You muttered, blinking at the clock that had a boy pulling a girl’s hair. Weird.
Turning away from the clock, you noticed a shelf. There were toys scattered on each, all of them huddled together. Not modern toys, they were vintage. One even looked strikingly similar to the antique porcelain doll your mom had grown up with, placed on her bedside table.
You made sure to be gentle with your touch as you picked up the doll. It was delicate, anything could easily scratch it. As you admired the Victorian-styled dress the doll adorned, a light sound reached your ears. Music?
With your ears guiding you, you made it to a wooden dresser lined with music boxes. Just like the dolls, they appeared to be vintage. Handcrafted too. This reminded you of when you had to sleep in the Apollo cabin for a week because Connor let in a bunch of stink bugs and you had watched Fletcher craft his music box.
With the help of Beckendorf, it was a neat thing to see be put together and now, in front of you, these music boxes were built in the same way as Fletcher’s.
Just like the clocks, each music box was unique. There was one with an angel, surrounded by constellations twinkling all around. It was a pretty sight, but you couldn’t help but snicker at the one next to it, it was a baby Eros, diaper and all. It was amusing how mortals interpreted the gods. They were either spot-on or couldn’t be farther from the truth.
There was one music box that caught your attention the most, though, the one with a ballerina gracefully spinning on a cloud to the tune of ‘Merry-Go-Round of Life'. This familiar tune had mesmerized you, the corners of your lips quirking up as you allowed yourself to fall into a nostalgic state. Humming along, you reminisced about the days of dancing through your home to the soft music, daydreaming about what your life would be. It was a pleasant song that you could depend on each time you were down. It was as if it was made for you.
“Oh, Figaro! Would you look at this hat!”
This new presence halted your humming. You were so caught up in the music; you didn’t hear anyone come in. That didn’t bother you too much, though, because this voice was familiar. You knew exactly who it was.
With a wide smile, you turned, ready to greet the person. “Hey Chiron-“
The rest of your sentence fell flat, your mouth gaping when you came face to face with who you thought was your mentor. Whoever this was, wasn’t him. It was a Chiron reject. The supposed centaur now had two human legs, his horse butt missing. Not only that, but he was dressed like your grandfather. He donned a vest that looked like it came straight from the 1920s along with horrible suspenders.
Your forehead wrinkled at the mess in front of you. Were you being affected by the mist?
“Oh, he’s even cuter when he is confused!” There was that smooth voice again. But there was no one besides Chiron around you.
“Um, who said that?” You asked, spinning in place, trying to catch every spot around you.
“We’re right next to you.” The scary voice from earlier responded. What was his name again? Phobetor?
“I don’t see you.” You said flatly, crossing your arms.
“Don’t have to.” There was a cold undertone in his voice, as if you had run over his dog or something. Which you had to say offended you, you’d never hurt an innocent dog. Unless it was the Stolls’s dog you might’ve, but that’s beside the point.
Obviously, you were missing something here.
“I know you are confused.” An entirely distinct voice spoke, different from the other two. The sound was softer, and it was a pleasant contrast to the scary voices before. It wasn’t too hard on your ears. It was gentle, like a mother reading her kid a bedtime story. His presence, though, felt stronger than the previous, and you could’ve sworn you felt a hand on your shoulder.
“Yeah, apparently I’m missing a lot lately.” You muttered, recalling the events with your father.
As you expected, the dreamy voice was dismissive and unhelpful. “Now is not the time for questions.” He said, “We will explain, but first, you must pay attention.”
After he finished, it was as if someone had pushed you, forcing you to turn around and face grandpa Chiron again.
A scoff left your lips when the voices went silent. They were no help. Were you just going crazy and hearing voices in your head? Or maybe it was… Kronos? You grimaced at the thought; the world didn’t need another weird demented psycho. Luke was right there. From what you’ve heard about the guy, he wasn’t the brightest of the bunch. Who seriously trusts the guy who ate his own children? A demented person, that’s what.
You figured it would be best to tell Chiron about your dilemma, even if he was phony and dressed like your grandfather.
Marching up to him, you yelled. “Chiron, I’m being haunted!”
It didn’t seem that he heard your declaration, walking straight past you instead.
Your mouth hung open in disbelief. How could he ignore you? You were sure you were his favorite camper. Who else willingly spent time with him?
Waving your hand in front of his face, you raised your voice. “Chiron, It’s me Y/n, I tried dyeing your tail pink last month, remember?!”
Still, he continued about his day, continuing to walk ahead as if you were a… ghost? Oh gods, did you die in your sleep?! This was horrible. Chiron was dressed as your grandpa and you were dead. Those voices were probably other ghosts, too.
To say you were stressed out was an understatement. All you could do was watch Chiron and touch the things that surrounded you. You didn’t have anyone to talk to besides those voices and frankly; you didn’t want to speak with them. Could you even go outside? Or were you stuck here, cursed to see Chiron in suspenders?
With a heavy sigh, you accepted your fate. “Guess I am dead.” You frowned, taking a seat on the floor and staring directly ahead at a garbage pail. “When Drew dies, she is so making fun of me.”
Sat in your self-pity, you looked at the cat that had been following Chiron around. The cat’s face made your head tilt. It weirdly reminded you of Percy.
This whole thing was hurting your brain.
The Percy cat jumped up onto a table, settling itself in front of Chiron, who had been standing in front of the table and what looked to be working on something.
“Figaro, what did I say about jumping onto the workbench?” Chiron chuckled, petting Per–Figaro? Where have you heard that name before?
Figaro purred at the smooth touches he had been receiving, nuzzling into Chiron’s hand.
“Okay, okay, I’ll excuse it this one last time.” Figaro's purring grew louder, now curling around Chiron’s hand. Chiron gave the cat one last pet before lightly pushing him to the side and pulling out a small hat from his pocket. Something that’d fit a child.
You thought maybe it was for the other dead kids. You’d all be doomed to horrible fashion choices. Even in death, Chiron didn’t know how to dress. Shaking your head, you sighed at the tragedy that was Chiron’s lack of style.
The ex centaur placed the hat onto something in front of him. You tried moving your head to see what it was, but his body blocked your view.
“Let’s give him a name.” Chiron said, finally moving out of the way.
It was just a puppet on the table- a wooden puppet. Hm, a weird grandpa, a strange shop and a puppet. This was vaguely familiar, something in the back of your memory. It was a story! But what was the name… something with a P, Pinok? No, that’s not it. Piney? No, that's even further. What was it…
“Pinocchio!”
Oh gods, Pinocchio!
“His name shall be Pinocchio,” Chiron repeated, swinging the puppet around in his arms.
This was nuts. You couldn’t possibly be in Pinocchio, right?
You eyed the puppet in Geppetto’s arms. Something was different about him. This wasn’t the Pinocchio from the original story. This Pinocchio was familiar. He sure looked similar to someone you knew. Someone you met recently.
“Nico.” Your voice was a whisper, even though you were sure they couldn’t hear you.
The afterlife was strange, that's for sure.
You were stuck in a fairytale for eternity! When you were a lot younger, you had read every single fairytale story that was held in your aunt’s library. It was always a fun adventure for you, an escape. But here you are now, with no way to escape, stuck in Pinocchio forever. Not only that, but the people you knew were also here to torment you.
It didn’t help that you had to watch Chiron - Geppetto? swing Pinocchio Nico around. This was something you didn’t think would ever happen. The last time you asked Chiron for a literal horseback ride, he told you he’s not equipped for that type of stuff. What good was having horseback then?
Since Chiron was Gepetto then, this was Gepetto's workshop, if you remembered the story correctly. The many clocks, toys, and music boxes made that obvious.
If you were truly in this story, that meant you already knew what would happen. That’s no fun. What did you do in your life that made you deserve this?
Figaro’s hiss brought you back from your thoughts, scrambling as Geppetto chased him around with Pinocchio, scaring the poor cat.
You snorted at the thought of Percy being afraid of Nico. Nico’s too sweet. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.
Geppetto laughed at the cat hiding under the stool (What a sadist) “Oh, he’s a cheeky boy, isn't he Figaro?”
Figaro was not amused, pushing himself further under the stool. Before Geppetto could continue teasing (tormenting) Figaro and, amid his laughter, a loud bell rang.
The first ring set off a chain reaction: one bell, then another, and then another. Soon, every clock in the room rang. It was as if it was a clock choir. Except instead of angelic voices; it was an earsplitting sound.
Wincing, you quickly covered your ears to preserve whatever hearing you had left.
Geppetto pulled out his pocket watch. Which you thought was redundant considering the many clocks currently going off, but you digress. As he checked the time, a frown presented itself on his face. “Looks like it’s time for bed, Figaro.”
A meow came from the small cat as he came crawling out from under the stool.
Before anything else could happen, though, your vision went completely black.
You yelled and stumbled back, placing your hands over your eyes. Did you go blind? Oh, no-no-no. You’d rather be stuck watching this weird movie than be blind any day.
Luckily for you, your blindness didn’t last longer than a few seconds. Everything came together, light entered your vision and you could see once again. But as you scanned the room, you realized you weren’t in the workshop anymore; you were in a bedroom.
Unlike the workshop, it was simple. There was just a bed in the middle of the room, a smaller one beside it. This smaller bed spelled out “Figaro” on top. You figured if that was Figaro’s bed, then the bigger one must’ve been Geppetto’s. This was Geppetto’s bedroom.
Now that you understood where you were, your vision going out made more sense. It must’ve been you switching in transition between the scenes of the story. This was the conclusion you were most confident in, deciding that it was what you would believe, even if it wasn’t true.
Geppetto appeared through the door with Figaro on his tail (ironic).
With Figaro sauntering behind, Geppetto also carried Pinocchio in his arms, sitting him against the wall on the dresser.
Pinocchio received a pat on the head from Geppetto before he, and Figaro got into their respective beds.
While the two were getting comfortable, Figaro already being half asleep, Geppetto noticed the doll staring straight ahead at them.
He laid back on his pillow, making eye contact with Pinocchio. “Look at him, Figaro, he almost looks alive.”
The cat responded with a sleepy meow, already closing his eyes to give in to sleep.
Geppetto gave a small smile to the tired cat, eyes glossed with excitement. “Wouldn’t it be nice if he was a real boy? A boy who could talk and play without strings.”
His head fell back onto his pillow as he fell into his daydream, the evidence of longing in his face. He snapped back to reality after a few more seconds, turning over and blowing out the candle on his bedside table.
The room went dark afterward, but old Geppetto was still up, taking an interest in the window. “Figaro.” He started, “I forgot to open the window, would you mind?”
Figaro did, in fact, mind, rolling his eyes as he got out of his sheets and begrudgingly scrambled onto Geppetto’s bed to hop onto the windowsill.
He slipped through a small crack of the window that was open, pulling it back with his legs, allowing in the moonlight.
A shriek from Geppetto made Figaro’s tail stick up, shocked by the sudden sound. “Look! It’s a wishing star!” He exclaimed, pointing at the highest star in the sky, shining brighter than any star you’d ever seen.
Clasping his hands together, he spoke out to the star as if he was praying. “Starlight, star bright, first star I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish, I might have the wish I make tonight.”
As he wished upon the star, you caught yourself speaking along with him, line for line. You remembered this line from the book. When you were even younger, you had repeated it to almost every star you saw in the sky, hoping it’d make your dreams come true.
Geppetto hooked his finger under Figaro’s chin. “Figaro, you know what I wished for?” He asked, stroking the cat’s chin. Figaro shook his head, basking in the affection.
Geppetto glanced at the puppet, then brought his attention back to Figaro. “I wished for my Pinocchio to be a real boy. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
He sighed, laying himself back on his bed with a yawn, Figaro curling at his feet. “Goodnight Figaro.”
“Goodnight Pinocchio.” He added, mid-yawn.
Once his eyes shut, Geppetto began snoring almost immediately and you could’ve sworn you heard the faint sound of a horse neighing. Either way, he sounded like an animal. He was a mouth breather. You were tempted to go over and shut his mouth. You didn’t want him to suffocate, though.
A twinkling sound entered the room from the window, along with moonlight that was increasingly getting brighter. Soon the entire room was blanketed in a crystal blue light and the highest star in the sky grew larger. You remembered this: it was the blue fairy coming to grant Geppetto’s wish.
You watched unamused as the middle of the room glowed and formed into the silhouette of a lady. Blah Blah Blah, we all know how this goes. It was no good if you could predict the whole thing. But something.. different happened. This wasn't right. It didn’t look like a lady. Its silhouette was a lot.. shorter and younger. When the light dimmed, what it revealed made your eyes pop out of your head.
In the middle of the room, clad in a dress way too big for her, was none other than..
Drew?! Why was SHE the blue fairy?
You didn’t stop the giggles coming out of your throat, taking in that your borderline evil best friend was the sweet, good-natured fairy. The Stolls would've loved this. Why was it you never had a camera when needed?
Fairy Drew walked around the room, wand in hand, and approached the sleeping Gepetto. “Good Gepetto, you have given so much happiness to others- Blah Blah You deserve to have your wish come true, let's get this over with.” she groaned, making her way over to Pinocchio.
Watching her stomp on over, you thought about how ridiculous this whole thing was. Your friends as fairytale characters? Drew wasn’t even cast correctly. Although it made things more enjoyable.
‘Nico’ was sitting still on the table. It was creepy seeing him made of wood, still and dull. In a dark way, it was almost like seeing him dead. That thought alone was unsettling. The last you’d ever want to see is your new friend, void of life. You quickly shifted your eyes back to the fairy.
Drew lifted her wand, preparing to chant out a spell. “Little puppet made of pine, wake.” An illuminating blue glow appeared when the wand tapped the top of Pinocchio’s head.
Curiously watching, you watched as his eyes became bright, blinking as he looked around the room. The first thing he did was move his arms, gasping as they did his bidding. “I can move!”
His eyes opened wide, finger pointing to his mouth. “I can talk!”
Fairy Drew grabbed his hands, helping the boy stand. “I brought you to life because tonight Geppetto wished for a real boy.” She looked off to the side, muttering, “I don’t know why he’d want that, but.”
Pinocchio ignored her words, too busy admiring himself. “Am I a real boy?” He asked, eyes wide.
Fairy Drew shook her head.
“No, that is up to you. To make your father’s wish come true. Prove yourself brave, truthful, and unselfish.” She squinted her eyes at Pinocchio, almost glaring. “Or I’ll turn you into a ghost.”
Your head tilted. Was that in the original script?
“Oh no!”
“You’ll be confined here to the workshop, haunting your father.”
This was not the same fairy from the original story. She had sent poor Pinocchio into distress and you didn’t blame him. Fairy Drew was menacing.
After literally threatening a child, she pulled back her wand, her head falling back as she went into a fit of laughter. “I’m just kidding. You should've seen your face!”
Through her laughter, she mockingly put her hands up. “Oh, no!” she yelled out, mimicking Pinocchio’s words. Both your eyebrows went up as you watched her continuously laugh and mock Pinocchio. No doubt in you that this was Drew.
Pinocchio didn’t seem bothered though, he even started laughing along with Drew, making you cringe at his innocence.
After what felt like forever, the fairy’s laughter subsided, and her smile dropped. She pointed her wand back at the former puppet, frowning. “But I will turn you back to wood if you misbehave.”
Pinocchio hastily nodded, not wanting to be wood again. “I’ll be good, I promise!”
Fairy Drew patted Pinocchio on the head, her not so comforting smile looking down at him. “We both know that’s not true. You can’t tell right from wrong, silly Pinocchio.”
She walked away from Pinocchio, her dress sparkling more with every step. Reaching the window, she placed a hand outside in search of something.
Once she had succeeded in her mission, she reeled her hand back in. On her palm was a small cricket perched nicely. “This will do.” She muttered, nose scrunched as she made her way back, placing the cricket down.
This was when you noticed the absence of another important character.
With a twirl of her wand, the once chirping cricket was now chatting away angrily. “You’ve got some nerve taking me from the middle of my late-night stroll!” It fumed, stomping around the dresser. He sounded an awful lot like Mr. D.
Pinocchio gasped at the talking cricket, scooping him up in his hands.
“Hey, put me down! You’ve all got sweaty hands!”
Fairy Drew rolled her eyes, lightly flicking the bug. “He’s not a real boy. He can’t have sweaty hands. And quit complaining, or I’ll zap your mouth off.”
That was the end of the cricket’s tantrum.
“What’s your name cricket, sir?” Said Pinocchio, bringing the cricket to eye level.
The cricket glanced at Fairy Drew with a scowl, who smiled and waved back at him, causing his scowl to deepen before turning back to Pinocchio. “It’s Jiminy, Jiminy Cricket.”
Jiminy Cricket! Out of all the characters, he’s the only one that matters.
But, that meant Jiminy Cricket was Mr. D? Grumpy old Mr. D was Jiminy Cricket. Jeez, this is a messed-up rendition of Pinocchio.
“Well, Jiminy,” Drew sneered, dragging his name. “You must serve as Pinocchio’s conscience, for he would be a menace without one.”
“What is a menace?”
“It’s what you will become if this bug does not accept this offer.”
Jiminy began muttering to himself, his arms shaking as he trudged his tiny legs across the dresser. “If you think I’m going to be the consciousness of a bobblehead, you are mistaken.” Pinocchio frowned, touching his head.
Fairy Drew placed her hand in front of Jiminy, blocking his path. “You don’t have a choice, bug.” The tip of her wand glowed as she glowered at him. Jiminy hurriedly ran back to Pinocchio’s side.
“Alright Alright, fine!” He agreed reluctantly, eyeing the star on the tip of her wand.
The tip of her wand went back to its original state. “Good!”
It was now at this point that you had zoned the character’s out, staring blankly ahead as they moved along the story. There was not much else for you to do. You knew the story, all the main characters were introduced. You couldn’t just sit still the whole time.
“Didn’t I tell you to pay attention?” A voice hissed in your ear, making you flinch and bringing you back to reality.
Your eyes scanned around to where you’d heard the voice.
“You already know you cannot see us.” It was the chirpy voice from earlier. Your nose crinkled at the realization, not exactly thrilled to hear the voices again. “Oh, it's you.”
A short breeze blew past you. You folded into yourself.
“Now don’t be rude, I have a name, you know.” He noted, a light chuckle echoing around you.
“Well, you didn’t introduce yourself. What am I supposed to call you?” You snapped.
The anonymous voice was testing your patience. The guessing game didn’t sound fun right now.
You heard nothing chatter of the group behind you as he had gone silent. What a punk. Couldn’t even say his name.
You shrugged it off, returning your gaze to the characters in front of you. However, this didn’t last you too long because a loud, piercing, high-pitched sound traveled through your ears, almost bursting your eardrums.
With a snap, the noise stopped and again came the vloud,oice. “I will ignore your attitude, but consider this a warning.”
His threat didn’t bother you as much as it should have. You were too focused on the low ringing still in your ears, covering them to stop it.
“Next time, make his ears bleed.” Phobetor snickered, inserting himself into the conversation.
Great, another one. If these were the ghosts you were stuck within the afterlife with, you’d have to die again.
An irritated groan left your lips. “Look, all I want to know is what’s going on? Why am I in Pinocchio? Who are you three? And am I dead or what?”
After your survey of questions, Phobetor snorted to the right of you. “Kid thinks he’s dead!” He laughed.
You imagined he’d be holding his stomach.
You took a deep breath, deciding to take the high road and resist the urge to tell the laughing whatever he was off, and plastered a smile onto your face.
“I am sorry for my brothers.” It was Mr. Soft lullaby.
“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Morpheus. My brother, who almost turned you deaf, was Phanatos and the one that I am sure you want to get rid of is Phobetor. We are the Oneiroi - spirits of dreams.”
“So, I’m not dead?”
“You are not dead." Morpheus confirmed, taking a second before speaking again. “Although since you keep mentioning it, it seems that is what you want.”
“No!” You jumped, clearing your throat and nervously looking around. “I do not want to die. I just thought I was in the afterlife.”
The laugh of Phantasos was disturbing, almost as piercing as the noise he’d sent to your ears. “Either way, we were not sent here to kill you-”
“Unfortunately.” Mumbled Phobetor.
“We get it, Phobetor, you’re edgy.”
“What’s being edgy got to do with me wanting to kill him?”
“Can you be quiet? All you spout is nonsense!”
“Nonsense?! You are the father of nonsense!”
“Lalalala, I can’t hear you!”
“Oh, wait till I get my hands on you.”
Shifting on your feet, you stood awkwardly as you listened to the brothers argue. It seemed never-ending until a rough cough interrupted them, their silence following.
“Now, where was I?” Morpheus sighed.
You perked up, raising your finger. “You were about to tell me why you are harassing me in my dreams.”
He hummed. “Ah, right.” If you could see him, you thought he’d be nodding. “As I said before, we are the spirits of dreams. Think of us as guides.”
“Guides?”
Morpheus did not speak again. Instead, everything around you had gone still. The characters had stopped moving, the clouds from the sky had paused moving, even Geppetto’s sleeping form seemed to stop breathing.
“What’s going on-”
A shadow looming over you had made your words fall flat. A hand rested on your shoulder. You held in a sharp breath after hearing the low snicker from behind you. “Don’t be afraid.”
Glancing at the hand on your shoulder, you let your eyes trail up to the rest of its arm, your head slowly turning. It was just an arm. Nothing crazy. Just an arm.
When your eyes stopped at its shoulder, you forced yourself to move your gaze to its face.
“Morpheus?”
The man- the god above you smiled with a nod. “You are correct.”
Stepping back, you took in his appearance.
He wasn’t as scary as you thought he’d be. His face held serenity as if he had been at peace for a very long time. “I thought you were, like, hideous. No offense.”
Briefly, his smile dropped, eyes flickering.
“None taken.” He let out through his teeth.
He let out an awkward cough, removing his hand from your shoulder and snapping his fingers. “Brothers, you may come out now.”
The room shook but nothing fell, as it was all stuck in place. Of course, you mean everything except for you. You stumbled, gripping onto Morpheus who had jumped at the abrupt contact.
“Finally! I was getting claustrophobic.”
“I hate you.”
The voices of Phobetor and Phanatos took over the room, their shadows looming over you in the same way Morphesus’s had. Still holding you, Morpheus had his eyes set behind you.
“This has been the longest intro ever.” He grumbled.
Spinning you around, Morpheus faced you to the other two. You gulped at their faces. The two were standing over you, peering down. They did not hold the same calm aura that their brother did.
Phobetor’s face was straight-up, intimidating. Even though he was only looking at you, his eyes were sharp, as though he had disdain for you. You also didn’t miss the large frown on his face.
Phantasos wasn’t frowning, but his eyes weren't full of disdain, either. He was actually the opposite of Phobetor. He was smiling. But his smile was what you’d describe as something you’d see on a lunatic and his eyes mirrored his smile, excited but unstable.
“He looks terrified.” Phobetor pointed out, his frown deepening.
Phanatos scoffed, rolling his eyes. “It’s because you scared him with that ugly face of yours.”
Shoving past his brother, he strolled on over to you.
“Don’t worry, Phobetor is all for show. I’ll protect you!”
His words didn’t provide you with much comfort. Phantasos was the most unsettling of the bunch.
Sure, Phobetor was scary looking but, there was an unpredictable gleam in Phantasos’s eyes. At least you could guess what Phobetor was like, but Phantasos was a whole other playing field.
He brought his face close to yours, leveling you eye to eye.
“Anteros sure made a cutie, I want to eat him up!” He cooed out, gently poking your cheeks with giggles, leaving his lips.
Eyes widening, you subconsciously leaned back into Morpheus. Gosh, why did you have to be adorable? Why couldn’t you be a troll? The price of being pretty sure was heavy, thanks dad.
From behind you, Morpheus pushed Phantasos’s face away from you. “You both scare him.” He said, obviously annoyed with both of his siblings.
He set you up straight before walking around you, stopping once he was standing with his brothers.
“Now for proper introductions”
Placing his hand on Phobetor’s shoulder, he started.
“Phobetor is the personification of nightmares. Every nightmare you’ve had was his doing.”
Huh, so it was his fault you kept dreaming of being chased by a gigantic rat when you were 6, rude much.
The god in mention grumbled next to him with a deep scowl.“Ironically, this is a nightmare.”
Morpheus cocked his head to the left of him, where Phantasos was standing. Phantasos sent you a small wave, making you snap your eyes back to Morpheus.
“Phantasos is the personification of fantasy dreams. Think unusual, weird. His dreams may also hold clues of a present, past or future event.”
You gestured to your surroundings, pointing at the still characters. “Weird like this dream?”
He confirmed your question with a hum. “Correct.”
You nodded, growing an understanding. Well, that explains the weird personalities of those two. But what about Morpheus?
You squinted. “And you?”
He stood up straight. “I am the personification of dreams. Being a sort of messenger for the gods is what I specialize in. I’m sure you’ve heard from your fellow demigods about the strange things they’ve received in their dreams. I am the one who sends those divine messages.”
Cool, these guys are invasive.
“Okay, that’s neat but, why are you bothering me? I’ve had plenty of dreams before and I’ve never once seen you appear. Why now?” You were tired of being left in the dark, you expected answers.
This didn’t seem to go over well with Phobetor. Letting out a harsh breath from his nose, he glared so hard at you, you probably felt it in your next life. “Careful kid, curiosity killed the cat.”
You couldn’t let him win easily, though. You wanted revenge for those rat nightmares.
With a shrug, you stood as tall as you could for a 10-year-old. “Satisfaction brought it back.” His fist clenched and a victory smile graced your lips.
Y/n: 1 Phobetor: 0
Phantasos brought his hands up to his face, quickly covering his mouth to stifle the laughter that was threatening to release. Morpheus, on the other hand, looked done with the entire scenario, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head.
“You know what.” He released his nose, eyeing you.
“We’ve wasted too much time. The story must move along. We cannot tell you everything but, we’ll try to answer more when we meet again but please remember… PAY ATTENTION.”
They were leaving? You didn’t even know half of what was happening.
“Wait, hold on- “There was no point in protest because as soon as Morpheus clapped, the three were gone.
Some guides they are. Whatever, you’re a growing independent man, you didn’t need their help.
The sound of chatter had brought you up to meet the now unfrozen characters, moving along as if nothing had happened.
“….And now I’m done here.” Fairy Drew announced, readying herself by the window.
She gave Pinocchio one last look. “Remember Pinocchio, follow the rules and you’ll be fine.” As she finished, she rolled her eyes at Jiminy, letting the blue light from her wand send her away.
“Good riddance,” Jiminy muttered and crossed his arms (legs?), jumping when he turned his head and Pinocchio was looking right at him. “Oh, you’re still here.”
Pinocchio shook his head, smiling. “Of course I am! I don’t have magic like the blue fairy silly Jiminy.”
“You sure don't, 'cause if you did you wouldn’t be such a bobblehead.”
“I do not have the bobblehead that you keep speaking of.”
Jiminy waved Pinocchio off, walking across the table. “Your head is empty enough to be one.”
Watching them was boring you again, so what better thing to do than do things you weren’t supposed to.
You decided to approach them, a smirk growing on your lips. Grabbing a plain sheet that had been draped over a chair, you held it up like a ghost.
You figured since they couldn’t see you, you’d have to do other things to make your presence known. Although there’s no harm in having fun with it, right?
Throwing the blanket over yourself, you crept behind Jiminy, who was still wandering about the table in a fit of incoherent mumbles. Pinocchio watched him, his eyes going back and forth as they trained on the cricket.
Pinocchio’s eyes didn’t stay on him for too long, though. His eyes flickered up at the floating sheet behind Jiminy. He curiously watched before notifying his conscience.
“Jiminy.” He called.
Jiminy, who was too caught up in his rambling, ignored the call, continuing to sputter what you would consider to be gibberish.
The sheet was thin enough to make out some things outside. As you looked through, you caught Pinocchio’s stare.
Raising the blanket with one of your arms, you moved it to mimic a wave. For a second, Pinocchio was taken aback, but he quickly shook it off, shooting you a smile and a wave in return.
You leaned in, directly behind Jiminy now. Pinocchio giggled as he watched you mock the mumbling cricket, mirroring his movement.
This brought Jiminy back to earth, him pausing in front of Pinocchio. “Are my struggles funny to you?”
He shook his head, pointing behind him to you, who was currently giving Jiminy bunny ears. “There is-”
“Listen, kid, you don’t make fun of adult struggles.”
“But look-”
“No no, I get it. You’re still new to this whole lifestyle. I’ll let this slide.”
The wooden boy huffed, spinning Jiminy around to face you.
Jiminy’s body went still at the sight of you, eyes unblinking.
Oh, gosh, did you put him in a state of shock? Yeah, you wanted to scare him, but not to the point where it looked like he stopped breathing. Gently poking Jiminy’s head, you scanned him to make sure he was still present. Sure enough, he was not dead. Your prodding had brought him out of his temporary shock.
It was now your turn to freeze when he screamed and began thrashing around. “GHOST!!”
The frantic cricket hopped onto Pinocchio’s shoulder.
“If you’re good for anything, get us out of here!!”
Your body shook as laughter poured out of you. If only the real Mr. D could see this. Essentially, you were watching Mr. D tug on Nico to run, you just had to laugh.
Pinocchio scrambled to get up, startled by Jiminy’s abrupt behavior. He quickly jumped down from the dresser, almost bumping into you. Jiminy let out a yelp as they ran past you.
“The door kid! Run out the door!!!” Pinocchio made a b-line to the door with Jiminy perched on his shoulder, gripping onto his collar. During his run, though, he missed the carpet that was placed next to Gepetto’s bed, making him trip and fall onto the floor, knocking down a few of the dolls on Gepetto’s bedside table.
The carpenter, in question, woke up with a start, his eyes wide at the loud noise. He sat up and frantically looked around. “What was that?!”
When he woke, Pinocchio jumped up from the floor.
“It’s a ghost!” He screamed.
As Geppetto turned to look in your direction, you hastily dropped the sheet. His brow rose when he saw an empty room.
“There is no ghost, Pinocchio.” He responded, laying back down.
It took 3 seconds (yes; you counted) before Geppetto realized his puppet had just spoken. This time when he jumped, he had knocked Figaro off the bed. Ouch.
“Pinocchio!!”
He scrambled out of bed, picking up the boy. “What- h-how?!”
Pinocchio pointed at the window. “You’ve wished for me to be a real boy!”
Geppetto’s confusion twisted into an understanding, his eyes lighting up. “That’s right.. my wish. My son!”
He danced around the room as he had done before. The difference was Pinocchio was alive and the father and son duo were laughing together. Figaro tried his best to avoid their feet, hissing when they got too close.
The dance ended with Geppetto falling back onto his bed, Pinocchio still in his arms. “Oh, we’ve got to go to bed!”
Pinocchio tilted his head as his father tucked him in. “Why do we have to go to bed?”
Geppetto slipped into bed next to him, along with Figaro curled up at the bottom. “Well, you’ve got school in the morning.” He said.
School? Pinocchio was like just born. What happened to Pre-k? Daycare? No wonder his son ends up being a liar. Fairy Tales had no sense of logic.
As the family cuddled in bed, your vision had gone out again. The scene was changing, thank gods. Soon you were going to start pinching yourself so you wouldn’t be forced to be stuck in the same scene anymore.
When you could see again, you couldn’t help but squint from the bright sunlight. This time you were outside, in front of the workshop.
Geppetto was kneeling in front of Pinocchio. “I want you to be a good boy at school today, okay?”
Pinocchio’s attention wasn’t on his dad’s words; instead, he was closely watching the small kids who were running past the workshop.
“Are those real boys?” He asked.
Geppetto hummed, turning Pinocchio’s head in his direction, fixing his hat. “Yes, those are real boys. They’re your classmates.” You watched as he stood up, urging his son to follow the rest of the kids. “Go on, follow them to school.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. Pinocchio ran down the steps of the workshop, his cheeks stretched wide.
Geppetto chuckled as he watched Pinocchio run off, going back inside of the workshop after his son had left his sight.
You continued behind Pinocchio, your situation in mind. All you had to do was watch the dream play out. Just like any typical dream, it was a bunch of mumbo jumbo. At least you’re getting a free movie.
Pinocchio was getting close to the school now. He was skipping along the path, not noticing the figures that were spying on him. You weren’t as blind as him, so you could see them just fine. They were hiding behind a skinny tree, not practical but, what truly was in your life.
You couldn’t remember who these two were supposed to be. Their backs were turned to you so you couldn’t catch their faces.
Right when Pinocchio was approaching the tree, one figure whispered to the other before raising his voice.
“And that’s when I told her…” He started, accidentally putting his cane in Pinocchio’s path. You squinted at the voice. That was someone you knew. Someone very annoying.
Pinocchio, being painfully unaware of his surroundings, tripped over the cane. The two guys gasped, scrambling to pick him up.
“How clumsy of me!” The one with the cane said, nudging the other away as he tried to pickpocket Pinocchio.
When the pickpocket got knocked over, you caught a glimpse of his face.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
On the floor was ½ of the one and only Stoll brothers, Travis specifically. If this was Travis, then the other guy had to be Connor. With a scoff, you rolled your eyes. Of course, the Stolls would be the crooks in Pinocchio. Are you really surprised?
Connor snatched Pinocchio’s school book.
“A man of letters, I see.” He mused, holding the book upside down.
Pinocchio nodded, happily taking his book back. “I’m going to school!”
Travis snickered at his comment, earning a glare from Connor, who had wrapped his arm securely around Pinocchio’s shoulders. “I’m guessing you haven’t heard of the easy way to success.”
“Easy way?”
“A theater!” Connor yelled out, making jazz hands. “Bright lights, Music, Applause, and Fame!”
“Fame?”
Connor spun Pinocchio around. “You bet! With that physique and profile, you’re a natural-born actor!” Behind the two, Travis nodded dumbly.
“You’re going straight to the top, my little wooden boy! I can just see your name- “Connor paused. “what is your name?”
“Pinocchio!”
“Pinocchio! In big bright lights! P i n o k i um- A star in the making!”
This was stupid. Nico would never fall for this in the real world. Pinocchio needs to get it together. He’s making your best friend look bad. This was the part where the crooks had been trying to sell Pinocchio, all the red flags, and Pinocchio got none of them. Part of his journey to being a real boy should’ve also been learning to have common sense.
All you could do was let out a deep sigh as you watched him get caught up in the excitement and be whisked away by the duo.
This was when you noticed the absence of a certain cricket. Where was that deranged bug? He should’ve been in this scene somewhere nearby. In the fairy tale, he had been following Pinocchio to school. That’s weird.
Dwelling on Jiminy’s whereabouts was not something you could do for long. The now-familiar feeling of everything going black came to you, shifting your attention to the big stage in front of you when you could see again. What was strange about this stage was the people sitting in the crowd. Their faces were blank, and they were completely still. Talk about a tough crowd.
A big, bulky man stood in front of the stage, mic in hand. Unlike other characters, you knew who this was as soon as you saw him. It was Stromboli, the puppeteer. He wasn’t someone you knew in reality. Strangely, he was the same person he was in the original story. Although it was weird seeing your friends throughout your dream, it was fun. You couldn’t help but frown when you saw his face.
“Ladies and Gentlemen! I hope you’ve enjoyed the show so far!” His voice boomed, a thick Italian accent going into the crowd. His words caused a chain reaction of cheers and clapping.
Looking around, your brows furrowed at the lack of movement from the surrounding images. There was no one really there, yet there was still sound.
This didn’t seem to affect Stromboli, who, regardless of the still images, continued with his speech. “Today, to conclude this magnificent show, I will show you something you cannot believe. The only puppet who can sing and dance without strings - PINOCCHIO!”
The curtains on the stage opened and there was Pinocchio on miniature stairs that were placed at the center of the stage. He looked unsure when he saw the crowd, but soon got over his temporary fright when he opened his mouth to sing, taking his first step down the stairs. You winced when he missed a step, causing him to tumble the rest of the way down.
Immediately, Stromboli dragged Pinocchio up by the collar, his face so red you thought it’d pop off. He went off on Pinocchio in Italian, but when the “crowd” found humor in Pinocchio’s accident, you could practically see the dollar signs in his eyes.
His face turned back to its regular color.
“Such a cute kid.” He laughed, patting the naïve puppet’s head.
Pinocchio quickly recovered and began his performance, eyes shimmering.
Now, this was something you could enjoy - a show. This scene intrigued you more than the previous, it was a performance. Something worth singing and dancing along to. You didn’t care about seeing Pinocchio repeatedly get scammed, knowing how that goes. Right now, the dancing and singing puppet had all of your attention, and him looking like Nico made it so much more mesmerizing. You wondered if Nico had ever performed before, you’d have to ask him.
“Oh, I love music, don’t you?”
You almost hit the person next to you, violently jerking your arm away from the armrest of your chair. “What the-“
The said person had grabbed your arm before it could contact them. “Was that your attempt at assault?”
You would’ve released the breath you were holding if this person was anyone else, but unfortunately, it was Phantasos who had returned, his eyes still as wild as they were before. Quickly retracting your arm back from his grip, you huffed. “You scared me.”
Even with a frown, he terrified you. “I’m not Phobetor. I’d never scare you.”
Shifting uncomfortably in your seat, you looked away. “I’d rather him than you.”
“Truly, you wound me, young one.” The god sighed deeply, placing his hand over his chest. “Your attitude isn’t as charming as your face. I’ll blame it on puberty.”
Settling fully into his seat, he placed his eyes on the stage. “I meant what I said about music, you know.” He gestured to Pinocchio. “Especially when the lyrics hold a double meaning.”
You cocked a brow, taking in the lyrics of the song Pinocchio was singing. “He’s singing about not having strings? It’s straightforward.”
Phantasos waved a single finger in your face. “Are you sure? Not everything is what it seems. Perhaps you should open your eyes, be more mindful.”
Was he playing the mind Olympics with you? Were you really meant to see something or was this some weird game?
“Are you joking?”
“Are you?”
You couldn’t help the frustrated groan that came out of you. Phantasos only returned to watching the show, humming along as if he wasn’t just being cryptic. Weirdo.
But maybe he was right. Morpheus mentioned Phantasos’s dreams could hold clues, he could be telling the truth. You, again, began listening to the lyrics Pinocchio was singing.
“I've got no strings
To hold me down
To make me fret
Or make me frown
I had strings
But now I'm free
There are no strings on me”
Scratching your head, you couldn’t figure out what was so important about this song. As before, the song is just about how he’s a puppet with no strings. There’s no big secret, no double meaning.
“Hun, you really are dense.” Phantasos said, still swaying with the music.
You glanced at him, throwing him a discreet, dirty look. “Why don’t you just tell me?”
“Because, dear, I’m here to guide you, not hold your hand.” He booped your nose. “Don’t be foolish. You know how it goes. It’s up to you to decide which way to go.”
No wonder you demigods die young. The gods insist on hiding the most vital information from you in the name of ‘heroism’.
“Since you won’t tell me, I’m sticking to what I said before: It’s straightforward.”
Phantasos didn’t look happy with your choice, his smile dropping. “Demigods, I always wonder why such drastic things like the fate of the universe are given to such young, naïve children.” He sighed, raising his hand up. “Farewell, maybe my brothers will have better luck.”
With a snap, he was gone. Was it okay for you to be relieved? Or should you have been panicking and begging for him to come back? You hoped that with your rash decision, he’d give in and help you a little more. Now that he was gone, you couldn’t help the drop in your stomach.
This dream is just odd. Now you weren’t sure if it really was just a dream or if it was actually trying to tell you something. The dream spirits made you believe it’s the latter, but the events of the story don’t agree. You just couldn’t see what they had been trying to direct you to.
You didn’t want to think about it for too long, you’d freak yourself out.
The hopping Jiminy Cricket was able to distract you, him jumping right past your feet.
“This kid chose fame over school. How cheap.”
The frown on his face grew deeper when he took notice of how well Pinocchio was doing on stage.
Sighing, he said, “I guess the bobblehead doesn’t need me anymore. I should leave peacefully out of his life.”
Jiminy solemnly began to walk away, and you stared at him in wonder. This was absolutely stupid. He’s leaving because Pinocchio can sing? Now you weren’t an Athena kid, but you were pretty sure a singer still needs a conscience.
Right when Jiminy walked away from the stage, Pinocchio was finishing up his performance. You would’ve kept watching, but your vision had other plans. Yeah, yeah okay. The scene changed. You were ready to get this over with.
Now, with your vision back, you were inside of a carriage. Pinocchio sat at a table with Stromboli, who was counting coins.
“200.” Stromboli counted, moving towards Pinocchio.
Putting coins inside of a bag, he yelled out. “People like me!”
“Yes, you are sensational, Pinocchio! 300!”
Pinocchio held the bag open, waiting for the coins to slide in his direction. “Does that mean I’m an actor?”
“Yes! Your name will be on everybody’s tongue!” The puppeteer pulled out a very obvious fake coin, handing it to Pinocchio. “For you, my boy!”
He took the coin proudly. “Oh gee, thanks! I’ll go straight home and tell my father!”
Stromboli was in the middle of taking a swig when he heard what Pinocchio said, spitting his drink out immediately. (dude, where’s the class?)
“Home?” He laughed. “Sure, going home to your father! You are a comedian, too!“
“You mean it’s funny?”
“Hilarious!”
Pinocchio hopped off the table, waving to Stromboli. “I’ll be back in the morning!”
You could see the tears forming In Stromboli’s eyes as his laughter grew. He grabbed Pinocchio by the collar. “Silly one!”
The two of them were now laughing together, Pinocchio joining in.
Maybe you and Pinocchio aren’t so different after all. He couldn’t see clearly. His conscience wasn’t there to guide him. He only believed in what he saw in front of him, only figuring it out when it’s too late. Would you be like that too?
Stromboli held the kid tightly before throwing him into a cage.
“This will be your home.” He shouted. Pinocchio scrambled up, shaking the bars of the cage. “No!”
Stromboli didn’t care for his cries, though, disregarding him completely. “We will tour the world! Paris, London, Moscow! Your face will be on everyone’s tongue.” He grabbed the bag of coins on the table before giving a menacing look to Pinocchio.
“You are mine, little puppet. We leave now.”
Pinocchio hopelessly shook the cage harder as he watched Stromboli leave the carriage. When he realized Stromboli wasn’t coming back, he sat down and wept.
Sympathy was such a pain in the butt. You wanted to be mad at him and call him stupid, but Pinocchio was just a kid who trusted in those around him. He didn’t know any better.
While Pinocchio cried, there was rustling coming from the door. He looked up quickly, hopefully eyeing the door. From a small crack came out Jiminy.
“Jiminy!”
“Oh, you wooden idiot.”
Jiminy ran in front of Pinocchio’s cage. “What did he do to you?!”
“He locked me up! He wouldn’t let me go home to my father!”
“Did he now?”
“He said he’d push my face on everyone’s tongue!”
“Really?”
“Uh huh!”
Pinocchio pointed to the lock.
“Please help me Jiminy please!” He begged.
Jiminy sighed, cracking his knuckles. “Oh, I’d love to strangle that fairy right now.” He complained before jumping into the lock.
“Is it working?” Pinocchio asked.
A bunch of incoherent mumbles came from his conscience, a few (pg) curses too. Eventually he popped back out, covered in ash, and sent a glare to the lock. “Must be one of the old ones.”
“You mean you can’t open it?”
He shook his head. “It’ll take a miracle to get us out of here.”
Pinocchio frowned. “Gee..”
The two sat solemnly as the carriage went on, their hope dwindling.
“Wow, they give up faster than I do during capture the flag and I give up fast.” You muttered to yourself. You weren’t too worried about them, though. This was the part where the blue fairy would come to save them.
But
What if you did?
Save Pinocchio. This had to be what the dream spirits intended for you. Surely they weren’t expecting you to just sit tight. Your chance to prove yourself, you could be a hero and save Pinocchio.
With a newfound sense of duty, you looked around the carriage for anything that could help release the pair. You were careful to not make your presence known, being careful to not bump into or touch anything.
There was not much except old boxes and random junk in the room, but you weren’t as helpless as Pinocchio and Jiminy. You’d actually figure something out.
As you were tapping your foot in thought, you wondered about what would happen next in the story. Geppetto should soon be outside, calling for Pinocchio, passing right by the carriage anytime now. He missed the carriage in the original story, but maybe you could shorten the story by guiding him to it!
You patted yourself on the back. “Y/n, you genius.”
Swinging open the door, you jumped out of the carriage, missing the horrified looks of Pinching and Jiminy who believed the door had swung open by itself.
“Ew ew ew,” You hopped around, avoiding the mud on the ground. “Please, not these shoes.”
Amidst your hopping, the far calls of Geppetto calling Pinocchio’s name reached your ears. The distraction caused you to step right into a huge mud puddle.
“Oh, come on.”
You sighed. “Whatever, it's just a dream.”
Cringing once more, you ran off to Geppetto, finding him in the middle of a crossroads, the carriage approaching him. You pushed on your heel, picking up your speed.
Once in arm distance, you lunged forward, knocking the Chiron lookalike directly in front of the moving carriage.
“Woah!!”
The carriage came to a screeching stop after Geppetto’s cry. Stromboli, who was driving the carriage, hopped off fuming. “Are you an idiot, huh? Did you not see a moving vehicle in front of you?!!”
Chiron put his hand up as he struggled to get off the slippery floor. “I don’t know what came over me, sir, my apologies. I want no trouble.”
Stromboli snorted at his struggle, standing over him like some god. “You look weak.”
“I just want to find my son. He has not come home.”
“Your son?” A look of realization came over him, and he grew a sinister smile . “You mean Pinocchio!”
Geppetto’s eyes lit up at the mention of his son’s name. “Yes! Have you seen him?”
Stromboli’s laugh mirrored the one he had earlier, his head tilting back and a hand over his big stomach. “He is my puppet!”
“He is not a puppet! He is my son. Give him back, you twisted man!” He stood tall, facing the puppeteer.
“He’s a puppet! He is not meant to be free, doomed to be controlled!”
You huffed at Stromboli’s words. Who was he to decide who Pinocchio would be? He’s a big hairy guy who’s so broke he can’t even afford an actual home! You wouldn’t let him control Pinocchio, no matter what.
Grabbing a rock that had been resting beside your feet, you threw it right at Stromboli’s temple. His eyes went wide at the impact, but it only lasted for a second, his body going unconscious soon after.
“Take that loser!” Sticking your tongue out at him, you did a victory dance. “Gods, I’m great at this!”
Geppetto flinched at Stromboli’s passed out figure but quickly blinked through his confusion, brushing it off and running to the cart Pinocchio was being held in. You followed him after going through Stromboli’s pockets (gross) and finding the keys to the lock.
“Pinocchio!”
Pinocchio, who had been crying in his arms, perked up at the sound of his father’s voice. “Father!!”
Geppetto ran to the cage, placing his hands on the bars. “Oh, my boy. Let’s get you out of here.”
“We tried. There’s no way without a key!”
“We?”
“Yes, me and Jiminy! He’s my conscience, he’s a real good guy!”
Jiminy made his presence known, waving Pinocchio off with rosy cheeks. “No need to toot my horn.“
Geppetto gave him soft eyes. “Thank you for protecting my son, Jiminy.”
The cricket looked away. “Just all in a day's work, nothing crazy.”
You rolled your eyes. What work did he even do? He only came when Pinocchio was already in trouble. What a pretentious bug. More like all in a day's work of being useless.
“Father, we need a key! “Pinocchio reminded him.
“Ah right, okay let’s see..”
While he examined the room, you, not so subtlety, threw the rusted keys in his direction, wincing when it landed on his head. “Oops..”
“Papa, the sky is falling!”
Oh yikes, did you make Pinocchio think he was chicken little? Spoiler: wrong story dude.
Geppetto shook his head, unlocking the cage door. “Don’t be silly. They probably fell from one of the hooks on the ceiling.”
Almost immediately after the cage door was open, Pinocchio jumped forward to embrace his father. Geppetto laughed at his son’s actions, gently petting his head.
“It’s alright Pinocchio, I’ve got you now.”
Now this would’ve been heartwarming if it wasn’t for the sudden darkness you were pulled into. Another scene change? But you helped Pinocchio… there shouldn’t be any more to the story. When everything came to light again, you scratched your head, trying to understand your situation. The familiar clocks on the walls let you know you had returned to Geppetto’s shop.
Did you fail? No. You couldn’t have. You saved him, but why were you still dreaming?
“Good morning, son!”
Jumping at Geppetto’s call, you faced him to where he was standing at a table with Pinocchio.
Pinocchio smiled widely. “Morning!”
The two were in the middle of what looked to be eating breakfast. You frowned. This wasn’t in the original story.
Geppetto returned the smile, pulling out a chair and sitting in front of Pinocchio. “Good morning.” He passed Pinocchio an apple. “Now that we are all comfortable, why don’t you tell me what happened yesterday? Why didn’t you go to school?”
Pinocchio nervously stared at the fruit instead of his father’s questioning eyes. Even Jiminy, who had appeared on Pinocchio’s head, was awaiting an answer.
He gulped. “Oh, um.. I met somebody!” Taking a quick bite of the apple, he hesitantly continued. “These two enormous monsters!”
When the words fell from his lips, as you expected, his nose grew. Both Jiminy and Geppetto’s eyes went wide at his growth spurt.
Pinocchio was also taken aback by his nose, patting it lightly. Geppetto stood from his seat and brought his hand up to Pinocchio’s chin, worry all over his face.
“Oh no, your nose! Did they do this to you? You must’ve been scared.”
The little liar shook his head. “I wasn’t, but they had me all tied up in a big sac!” He stretched his arms out wide, his nose following.
“What about sir Jiminy?” Geppetto asked, examining the nose.
Jiminy whisper-yelled into Pinocchio’s ear. “Hey kid, leave me out of this!”
Unfortunately, Pinocchio ignored him, downsizing his outstretched arms. “They tied him into a little sac!”
After the third lie, his nose grew as long as the table. Pinocchio yelped, dropping the apple in his hands. “My nose!”
Geppetto stood perplexed at his son’s growing situation. “This is no good.”
He hurried to his rack and grabbed a coat. “We need to get you checked out. I’ll go get the doctor. Be good while I’m gone!”
Once he had left, Jiminy hopped down from Pinocchio’s shoulder, arms crossed, an unhappy look on his face. “Why did you lie, Pinocchio?”
“That’s an interesting question. Why did he lie?”
You stood still upon the entrance of Phobetor’s dark voice behind you. The dream spirits appearing out of nowhere were something you had now learned to be accustomed to. Not bothering to meet him, you kept your eyes on the cricket and the boy.
“What do you want?” You grumbled.
He walked up beside you and sighed. “I’d love to torment you.” The corners of his mouth twitched. “Instead, I’ve been ordered to,” he gagged, “help you.”
“I love the enthusiasm.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, the excitement is just radiating off of you.”
Phobetor chuckled, puffing his chest out proudly. “Well, I have been working on my temperament.”
Squinting, you nodded slowly. “Right. Anyyyyway, I really do want to know what you’re here for?” You crossed your arms. “With total offense, you guys suck at your job.”
His face twisted into one of anger, and he spoke slowly to himself. “Patience Phobetor Patience..”
With a deep breath, he turned towards you.
“Why did he lie?” He repeated.
He circled around you. “Why do people lie, do you know?”
Your eyes followed him as you thought about his question. Did he think you were dumb?
It was simple. Everyone knows why people lie.
“Because they’re scared.” You answered.
He paused in front of Pinocchio, nodding. “That is true.” he placed his hands onto the boy’s shoulders, freezing him and Jiminy. “Do you know what most people fear?”
‘You’ is what you wanted to say, but you figured he’d send you to Tartarus if you said that. Even if you wanted to answer his question seriously, you couldn’t. If you were being honest with yourself, you never gave such a thing much thought. Growing up, you’ve only ever been concerned with your own feelings, mostly with some exceptions. Besides the select few you did think about, other people were typically an afterthought.
Acknowledging your silence, he continued on.
“Most people fear the truth. The shame or guilt that may come with it or the perception of those around them. It is a tricky concept. If you lie, people might like you better. If you tell the truth, people might hate you. But with truth, there is free will.”
Phobetor grabbed your hand. “When you are afraid, you move by the bounds of fear, doubt, and insecurity, dictates every choice you make. You must keep up with the 'truth' you’ve forced yourself to believe.”
Shifting uncomfortably, you pulled your hand away from his.
“Why are you telling me this? Pinocchio’s the liar here.” You questioned, staring at the frozen puppet, not really understanding where this was going.
“There are liars all around you, demigod. One day, you will come to realize that the bravest ones are usually the biggest cowards.” Phobetor mused, turning you back to the duo. “Heads up.”
You furrowed your brows, looking back at him. “Huh-“
Of course, when you needed him the most, he vanished. Seriously, what were those guys useful for besides spinning your head around? They left you with more questions than answers.
Pinocchio and Jiminy continued right where they left off, but before Pinocchio could answer Jiminy’s question, the bell from the front door rang, and in came a strange man.
The man was dressed in all black, a ski mask over his face, concealing his identity. Obviously, he was a robber.
“Father-” Pinocchio started, pausing when he saw the robber. In typical Pinocchio fashion, he couldn’t decipher shady individuals and instead greeted the robber warmly.
“Oh, hello! I thought you were my father.” He smiled at the masked man.
The robber stood as if he was in thought, his eyes being the only thing visible through his mask as they pierced down into Pinocchio’s innocent ones.
“Your father?” His voice was bitter, void of any emotion. Something was off about this man. You didn’t recognize him as a character in the story. He wasn’t one of the crooks, and he definitely was not Stromboli.
Pinocchio gestured to the missing coat from the rack. “My father has gone out to get the doctor because my nose, you see, won't go down.”
Robber didn't care for the long nose, taking an interest in analyzing the surrounding room. You were unsure of what to do. Some of you wanted to jump in and get Pinocchio out of there, but the other part of you, the curious one, couldn’t seem to stop watching.
He crouched down to be eye level with Pinocchio. “Well, I’m a friend of your father’s and he owes me something, you see.”
The long-nosed boy looked curiously into the eyes of the robber. “He does?”
“Yes, something important.” Robber stood up and walked to the counter next to the toy shelf, trailing his finger along its side.
He stopped at the cash register. “I’ll just take it from here. You could just tell him I dropped by, yeah?”
Pinocchio didn’t have time to respond, with Jiminy cutting into the conversation.
“Hey, Pinocchio, maybe we should wait for your dad to get home. I don’t trust this guy.” He said, crossing his arms.
At least he was actually doing his job now. But from the way Pinocchio looked back at Jiminy and the robber, you knew he was about to make a mistake.
The robber cut in quickly after Jiminy. “Now, Pinocchio. I promise, as a friend of your father’s, he wouldn’t mind. But,” He frowned. “I have some bad news to tell you about him.”
“Bad news?”
He hung his head low and sighed. “You’ve been living a lie.” Yeah, no kidding.
“Your father is a bad, sinful man. He stole everything from me, my house, my clothes, and even my money.”
“Oh no, why would he do that?!”
“Because of greed, my boy.”
“Well, why are you friends with him, then?”
Pinocchio’s questions to the robber had actually impressed you. He seemed to have learned some critical thinking skills, after all.
He approached the robber, crossing his arms. “You shouldn’t be friends with people who steal from you,” He sighed. “So I’ll let you take the money back and you don’t have to keep being friends with my dad anymore.”
Your eyebrows dropped at his words. Just when you thought he was actually cool, he had to ruin it by being as naïve as he was before.
Jiminy darted across the table. “Pinocchio-“
“Oh, how kind of you!” The robber interrupted while opening the cash register and taking out wads of cash. “I’ll be on my way with these soon, but I do have one more thing to tell you about your father.”
Pinocchio brought over a bag to the robber, helping him slide in the cash, much to Jiminy’s dismay. “What is it?”
“Isn’t it strange your father makes all these toys for kids but none for you?”
Pinocchio knitted his brows. “What do you mean?”
The robber shrugged, slinging the money bag over his shoulder. “All I’m saying is your father does things for other people he wouldn’t even think about doing for you. I mean, even now he’s not here, the doctor’s office isn’t too far. Why didn’t he take you?”
Oh, come on, Pinocchio, you are better than this. Your faith in Pinocchio was dwindling by the second as he sat in his thoughts, considering the words of the masked man.
“I.. I don’t know.”
His frown deepened when the robber placed his hand on his shoulder. “I know it sucks to learn about the truth, but I have a gift that might bring your spirits up.”
After rummaging in his pocket, he brought out a full-blown diamond which had stumped you. You couldn’t understand why he had to rob Geppetto of his money if he had such a gem in his possession.
Jiminy shared the same confusion as you while he watched Pinocchio take the diamond from the robber’s outstretch hand, looking at his face on its surface. He didn’t bother to respond to the robber’s last sentence before he bid goodbye.
“Be a good boy now, Pinocchio. I’ll be on my way. I hope I have enlightened you.” Was what he said as he made way back outside, chuckling darkly when the door closed behind him.
You balled your first. What a jerk. Everything he did completely grossed you out, how easily he took advantage of Pinocchio and even laughing about it after. He probably felt like the greatest man in the world after what he just pulled and it couldn’t have angered you more.
Jiminy hopped off the table, approaching Pinocchio and climbing up his body to his head. He anxiously tugged on Pinocchio’s ear. “Don’t tell me you believe that, fool?”
The boy shrugged, going to take a seat at the dining table. “Jiminy, I don’t know,” he sighed softly, cradling the diamond. “I never know. I'm always wrong. There’s nothing I can do right. I.. I’ll never be the boy my father wants me to be.”
His eyes pooled with tears and his head found his arms on the table, muffled sobs being let out.
You coughed, blinking away the wetness that was building up in your eyes. Jiminy wasn’t in any better shape than you. He was sniffling and mumbling on about allergies and dust in the air.
Even in the heavy atmosphere, though, you let out a small giggle at Pinocchio’s nose that was hanging from the edge of the table as he cried.
“Pinocchio, I’m home-" Geppetto’s voice echoed through the room, only dropping when he noticed Pinocchio’s current position. Running over, he crouched at his son’s level, stroking his back. “What happened? Are you okay?!”
Lifting his head to meet his father’s eyes, Pinocchio spoke through his choked sobs. “Father, are you a liar?”
Geppetto looked shocked at the accusation. “Of course not!“
“Where’s the doctor?”
“He couldn’t make it-“
“You went to gift other kids, didn’t you?”
“What? Now Pinocchio-“
“No!” Pinocchio shrugged off Geppetto’s hand that was rested on his back. “You are a liar, after all!”
Geppetto was almost knocked down as Pinocchio pushed past him to stand. When he turned back to his father, his once sad eyes were angry. “You lied to me! You said you’d be getting a doctor. I don’t see one!”
“If you just let me explain-“
“No! Liar, liar, liar!”
Who knew Pinocchio had such fury?? Watching him go off on his father made you think about Nico. You only knew him for a day. Was he ever this angry? That wasn’t exactly something you’d be thrilled to see. Hopefully, you were wrong.
Figaro, who you’d almost forgotten about, had peaked his head out from the staircase, scrambling back immediately once he heard the yells of Pinocchio.
“I hate you!”
If you could hear someone’s heartbreaking, you surely would've heard Geppetto’s heart shattering into a million pieces.
You weren’t feeling too bad for Pinocchio now. You wanted to go in there and pummel him until he begged his father for forgiveness. But luckily for him, a harsh knock on the door disrupted your plans.
Geppetto sighed heavily as he departed from Pinocchio to go open the door. He gasped at the man standing outside. “Officer? What are you doing here? Did something happen?”
The officer squinted at him. “Yes, something did happen. The nearby jewelry store was robbed.”
“Oh, no that’s awful, but,” Geppetto tilted his head. “Why come here?”
“Well,” the officer started. “We got a report stating the missing diamond was stolen by you.”
Geppetto laughed dryly. “Me? Surely it was a mistake. There’s no diamond here.”
“Sir, I’m going to have to go through your shop.”
“There’s nothing here. The only person who was home was my son, Pinocchio.” He turned to Pinocchio. “You didn’t take anything right, son?”
Pinocchio only blinked silently at his father, and when Geppetto glanced at Jiminy, who was avoiding his eyes, he knew something was wrong. The officer also took notice of the odd behavior and he attempted to move past Geppetto and into the shop. “I’m going in-“
Geppetto shook the worry off his face and blocked the officer’s path. “I believe you need a warrant.”
The officer chuckled. "Are you telling me how to do my job?"
"Well, if you knew how to do your job, I wouldn't have to tell you now, would I?"
You gasped and brought your hands over your mouth. Geppetto had sass. What a cool old man. His response really reminded you of Chiron, but Chiron was only half as cool as Geppetto.
“Alright, I’m done playing games.” The officer said, now putting his hands on Geppetto and trying to move him out of the way. Geppetto stood firm, though, not allowing himself to be moved. “I said you need a warrant.”
As the two argued and Pinocchio watched, growing anxious. You knew you needed to help the father-son duo escape. You never thought it’d be in your future to help a wanted criminal, but here you are now, grabbing a can of pepper spray that was sitting on a shelf and spraying it over Geppetto’s shoulder and into the officer’s eyes.
He screamed immediately, hands flying over his eyes. “My EYES!!”
You gave him a kick just to make sure he stayed down and got a weird sense of déjà vu when Geppetto ignored the screaming officer to scoop up Pinocchio in his arms. It was like the Stromboli incident 2.0.
He stormed out of the door, running to the forest behind their home while the officer yelled into his walkie-talkie for back up. You felt dizzy in the chaos, almost falling back when your vision went out.
This time, as your vision returned, you yelped at something poking on your leg. Looking down, you noticed a stick that was pressing into you.
“Stab me, would you?” You muttered, rubbing your leg and throwing the stick in a random direction.
You took in the smell of pure nature while you analyzed your surroundings. You were in the middle of the forest. It looked strikingly similar to the forest from camp, even the same wonky tree you saw the Demeter kids experiment on was there.
It tempted you to walk around and see what else you could find, but once you took a step forward; you had almost collided with Geppetto, who was running like a madman with Pinocchio tucked under his arm.
Jumping back, you watched as he dropped to the floor, gasping for air, and releasing Pinocchio.
Pinocchio scrambled to his father’s side. “Father, are you okay?!”
Geppetto raised his hand to signal that he was fine. Once he was all caught up in his breathing, he reached up to Pinocchio’s face. “Son, did you steal that diamond?”
Pinocchio quickly shook his head, showing his father the diamond. “No! It’s right here, a man gave it to me as a gift!”
“Who’s this man?”
“He said he was your friend.”
“My friend?”
Pinocchio nodded. “Yes, he said-”
In the distance, police sirens were blaring and whistles from every direction in the forest were going off, interrupting Pinocchio’s speech. Geppetto got to his feet and gripped his son’s shoulders. “Give the diamond back, Pinocchio, it is not yours.”
Pinocchio looked offended at his words and reeled the diamond back into his chest. “No! It is my gift.”
The whistling grew closer and Geppetto tugged on Pinocchio’s shoulders. “It is not yours to keep Pinocchio, if we are to get away, you must give it back-”
“It’s not fair! The other kids you give things to get to keep their presents, why can’t I?!”
“Pinocchio right now is not the time to talk about this-”
“Everyone else gets Geppetto’s toys, but I get nothing!”
The whistling was now too close for comfort, causing Geppetto to anxiously eye the forest. Releasing Pinocchio’s shoulders, he aimed for the diamond in his arms. But Pinocchio whirled back, tears in his eyes. “I never want to see you again! ”
“That’s it, I’m going in.” You said, readying yourself to run in and stop Pinocchio's tantrum. But as you dashed towards the small family, a barrier pushed you back. You made a small ‘oof’ sound as you hit the ground. Frowning, you got up and tried to run in again, only to be blocked by the barrier.
Huffing, you got up and poked at it. “What is this?”
You would’ve investigated the barrier more, but the yelling of officers from all different directions, even one from right behind you, startled you and you reeled back away from the barrier.
The officers surrounded Pinocchio and his father. They were doomed. There was nowhere to run. Every direction was blocked.
Geppetto pushed Pinocchio behind his legs. “Can I help you?” He asked the officers.
You recognized the officer from earlier as he approached Geppetto. “Don’t play dumb, carpenter. We know you and the boy have the diamond.”
Geppetto didn’t falter. “I already told you, we do not have a diamond. You’re wasting everyone’s time.”
“Alright,” The officer nodded his chin towards Geppetto. “Arrest them guys.”
“No, wait!” Pinocchio ran out from behind Geppetto, the diamond on full display in his arms. “Here!”
“Pinocchio-”
“My father stole it! He made me hold it for him!”
Your jaw dropped. This had to be a dream in a dream because there was no way that Pinocchio just lied. Well, it was Pinocchio, after all. But he lied, like really really bad and this time there was truly nothing you could do.
Geppetto gaped at Pinocchio’s words, yet he remained strong and faced the officer again.
“He’s telling the truth. I stole the diamond.” He ‘confessed’.
The officer didn’t seem too convinced with the act, but it looked as if he cared little to investigate further and turned to his comrades. “You heard the man. We’ve got our culprit.”
The other officers turned to each other, shrugging before cheering at their victory. It left a sour taste in your mouth. The real culprit had gotten away, and now Geppetto was paying the price. Even Pinocchio, who you thought was innocent, was just as bad as the culprit who put him in this situation. It was unfair. You told yourself it was only a dream, but you couldn’t help the anger you felt towards the whole thing. Why did it have to be this way?
Once the handcuffs were placed onto Geppetto’s wrist, he received a harsh shove from the officer as they began to navigate him out of the forest. Geppetto turned to Pinocchio with sad eyes, still managing a smile. “I love you, Pinocchio.” Was all he said before he disappeared into the forest with the rest of the police crew.
With his shoulders slumped, Pinocchio kept his eyes on where his father was once standing. His lips quivered, and he forced himself to take a deep breath and calm down.
You scoffed. "Oh boo hoo, you did this to yourself."
Sympathy was the last thing this kid was getting out of you, him looking like Nico wasn't enough for you anymore. He would have to complete all the twelve labors of Hercules to win you back.
“I guess it’s time to go home.” He mumbled.
His feet stood frozen in place when he attempted to move. He knitted his brows, looking down at his legs. He screamed when he noticed both of his legs becoming wooden. “My legs!” As he reached down to grab his leg, his eyes widened at the wooden hand. “My hand!!”
Soon both of his legs were fully wood, and he lost his mobility, forcing him down onto the ground. He flailed his arms, screaming for help. But it was in the middle of the forest. Who would hear him? His eyes were fully alarmed as he watched the bottom half of his torso become wood. Still, he continued to scream.
This wasn’t a dream. This wasn’t a fairytale. It was a nightmare, and you wanted it to end. You squeezed your eyes shut and pinched your arm as tightly as you could, attempting to drown out the screams of Pinocchio, but it was to no use. His screams were only getting louder the more desperate you became. Your attempt was hopeless, you couldn’t escape.
So you turned your back towards Pinocchio, clutching your ears. You kept your eyes on the tree in front of you, steadying your breath. You’ll wake up soon Y/n. That is what you repeated to yourself. It was your only form of comfort.
A blue light shining behind you had taken away your attention from the tree. The familiar twinkling sound from earlier brought you to ease, and you slowly turned your head to face Fairy Drew.
Unlike earlier, where even with her poor attitude she still showed signs of playfulness, her face was completely serious as she approached Pinocchio, whose screaming had stopped at her entrance. Most of his body was wood now except for his face. His cheeks were tear-stricken as he looked up at Fairy Drew with his last bit of hope.
"Help me." His voice was scratchy from his screams as he pleaded weakly.
Fairy Drew shook her head and took a seat next to his immobile figure. "The only person who could help you is you. I gave you a task, and you failed. You were selfish, a coward, and most of all, a liar." She sneered. "You will never be a real boy, Pinocchio."
"I-" His mouth turned into wood right as he tried to respond. Fairy Drew watched coldly from above him as the wood was slowly taking up the rest of his face. His eyes were glued to the sky, his eyes on the same wishing star he was born from and as the wood completely took over his face, a single tear left his eye.
You swallowed the pit in your throat, not entirely sure what to make of what had just happened. If you wanted to see what happened next, which you really didn't, you couldn't. Instead of your vision going black, the area around you turned dimmed and you were left standing in complete darkness.
“Phew, talk about a grand finale.”
At the sound of Morpheus’s voice, you ran towards him, going straight for his chest and engulfing him in a hug. You sobbed into his chest, wailing and rambling about the entire dream. “…..There was an officer and then there was this diamond and then Pinocchio lied and then he got turned to wood!!”
Morpheus awkwardly patted your back as you cried, groaning when you blew your nose into his clothes.
“Hey, uh, it’s okay. Just a dream, bud.”
You looked up at him with your brows knitted and watery eyes. “Why would you show me that?!”
He sighed and looked back at you with a shrug. “Why do we do anything?”
Fuming, you stomped away from him. “Don’t talk to me. We are not friends anymore.”
“Maybe it’s time for you to wake up.”
This made you whip your head back around to him. “No! I have too many questions. I can’t wake up now!”
He smiled at you, sending you a salute. “Rise and shine, kid.”
Before you could protest any longer, he snapped his fingers, and you sent him the harshest glare you could muster before going unconscious.
warnings: uh, death, grieving, mentions of murder, brief mention of cults
timeline: the titan’s curse
if you want to be tagged every time I update this story, click here
a/n: hi... here's another chapter after 3 months and 3 weeks. no, i will not round it. i hope you guys like it! if there are any typos, they're in your head. enjoy! <3
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve
“Dad, I think I want to join the hunters.”
The payphone wire slips between your twirling fingers, the receiver is cold against your ear. Your eloquent, well-spoken father—the same man who can carry a three-hour class lecture without losing a thought—is stuttering over the phone at the utterance of a single sentence.
He’s torn between his immediate reaction and his more thoughtful one, and every nervous consonant over the receiver vibrates against your ear. And each one is a small jab beating down any feeling of confidence towards your decision. Finally, he surrenders to his staggering thoughts with a defeated sigh.
“I need a second.”
His silence is so prolonged; you thought the phone call dropped. There wasn’t a single rustle of movement or a faint breath that indicated he was on the line. Even over the phone, you can just imagine the crease in between his eyebrows and his concerned, even panicked eyes boring into your face.
“Okay.” His tone is firm now that he’s come to terms with the hurdle you shoved right in front of him. “I don’t want to disregard your decision because you’re a very smart girl, but I need to know why you’re considering this.”
There’s a clench in your chest, and you’re not sure if you would rather your dad straight out forbid you from joining than holding his tongue and allowing you to explain. “If I’m in the hunters, I’ll stay 14 forever. I’ll vow to maidenhood, so there will never be a baby for her to steal, and I can’t go on to my next life if I never die.”
A thoughtful hum travels through the line, and you lean against the wall beside the payphone. Your eyes falter to the busy courtyard of campers setting up stands and decorations for the Winter Solstice festival that will take place in the next couple of days.
“I see. Well, logically, joining the hunters would solve that problem, but have you considered the weight of your oath to Lady Artemis? This is a very important decision, and to every decision, there are cons; cons you need to take into account whether you can live with them or not.”
Your teeth gnaw on your bottom lip. Right. The cons were plenty. One had to do with the person on the other side of the line. The other had to do with the vibrant boy who plays a rendition of tag with Ambrose and Nico by the forest trees.
“Have you already spoken to Lady Artemis about it?” Your father’s voice cuts in, and you shake your head despite knowing he couldn’t see you.
“No. She's not with them right now, but I spoke to the assigned head of the group, Zoe.”
“And what did she say?”
☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆
No matter how warm Percy’s gloves are, they don’t cancel out the clamminess of your hands. I can’t give these gloves back like this, and you realize the cloth is warm but also damp. Suddenly, the image of Percy repulsed at getting his gloves back soaked with your hand fluids makes you want to crawl inside of a hole.
He’ll literally never talk to me again.
You make a mental note to throw them in the wash before returning them, and even as you come up with that solution, the imaginary scenario lingers, only adding to your anxiety. To distract yourself from the stubborn thought, you double, then triple check the courtyard was rid of witnesses as you walked toward the Artemis Cabin. In the summers, gossip traveled around fast, and with less than a quarter of campers around, everyone could know about your consultation by dinner.
The group of girls sit and talk amongst themselves; some sharpen their knives while others rebraid their fellow hunter’s hair. They haven’t noticed your approach yet, and you’re glad they haven’t; not only are you still gathering your courage but also trying to decide how you will even ask for what you want. Do you ask for an orientation? Do they have pamphlets like a vacation resort? You didn’t even know what to expect.
The opportunity to make a beeline to the left and pretend you were heading to the armory still stands, and you heavily consider doing so. There's a push and pull between your conflicting thoughts, and the moment you decide to back out, you are already in their range of acknowledgment.
Bianca tapped Zoe’s shoulder after laying eyes on you, and you try not to look sheepish as, almost in unison, the group turns to focus on you. It’s hard not to cower from the hostile looks and flickering eyes that study you with an intensity like the mean girls at your school.
As you halted a few feet from the porch steps, it dawned on you that the script you practiced in your mind vanished.
“Um." Your mouth goes dry, unable to find the words as if you had forgotten the entirety of the English language. "I'm considering—"
“Thou wish to join?” Zoe cuts in, and she rises from the planks, her hands tugging her coat back in its place.
"Uh, I don't know for sure yet. I'm considering it."
There’s a muffled chuckle from the left side of the porch coming from Eve and Edith. The two exchange an amused, almost plotting look. At the realization that they could be your cohorts, the urge to turn on your heels and pretend this didn’t happen only grew. Did the hunters have an initiation tradition? After playing capture the flag with those two, you hope not.
"Follow me." Zoe turns on her heels, and the girls that crowd her path move out of her way. Ignoring the stares and the weird tension in the air—though that might just be in your head—you follow her into the cabin.
The Artemis cabin is pretty tidy, considering its occasional use. The Artemis statue in the very front is clean and glowing in the sunlight seeping through the windows. Their belongings are splayed against the walls and tucked away into trunks. Their beds are made, the sheets smoothed down so meticulously, you can just imagine Zoe doing rounds like a military sergeant and checking for perfection.
Zoe pulls a drawer open, the sound drawing your attention as she reveals what looks to be a brochure and passes it over to you. “We are very excited to hear you’re considering joining the hunters….”
As you remain fixed on the purple brochure in your grasp, your focus drowns out her practiced orientation speech.
A WISE CHOICE FOR YOUR FUTURE! It read on the front with a picture of a girl holding a bow and arrow. Inside there are pictures of the girls hunting, fighting monsters, and shooting bows. The bottom with bold letters says HEALTH BENEFITS: IMMORTALITY AND WHAT IT MEANS FOR YOU! and A BOY-FREE TOMORROW!
This kinda sounds like a cult. It’s like the Girl Scouts on steroids and without the cookies, which arguably could make the hunters more likable if they did sell cookies. Was it misogynistic to think so? Would you believe it any different if a group of boys traveled with a god, had the same high-strung attitudes, and openly expressed their dislike for love and women? Nope, it would still be like a cult. In fact, it probably would be even worse, you decide.
“What’s your name, again?” Zoe’s voice cuts into your thoughts.
“Um, Y/n,” you answer, and she smiles.
“Hecate’s daughter, correct? I can tell from the powers you used during Capture the Flag. You’d be a great addition! What could possibly hold you back?”
For a moment, you’re silent, blinking at the girl. “Well, Atticus—”
“Ah, boys.” Zoe rolls her eyes.
“Yeah, boys. My brother,” you emphasize, annoyance laced in your tone. She spoke as if you were being held back by a little crush, not because of your twin brother, with whom you’ve never spent more than a few hours apart.
Your father always joked about the mutual separation anxiety you two had. As children, he insisted on putting you in different classes, hoping that it would ease the dependency and allow you to develop an identity of your own. He quickly realized, though, that the two of you were ill-tempered and awful to have in the classroom when separated, forcing him to appeal his initial decision.
Having you together came with its own challenges, but all of your teachers agreed that keeping you apart was a lot harder. Something told you that you are too idealistic with this plan as your stomach churns a little more when you think of being away from your brother.
Zoe waves her hand, disregarding your reason as if it’s an easy one to solve. “Well, you get over that, and then we’re ready to take you in. When Lady Artemis returns, you can bind your oath officially,” she says proudly.
The only sound you can make is a hum, afraid that if you open your mouth, you’d say something you’ll regret. “Thanks,” you mumble as you turn on your heels, folding the brochure and stuffing it in your pocket.
☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆
“Three syllables?” Al guesses, his smile gleaming as you press your finger to your nose. Atticus furrows his eyebrows, both boys watching attentively and half worried while you climb on the tree branch.
The bitter cold nipped at your cheeks, and there’s a sting of snow against your jeans once you’ve settled. Slinging your foot, so your legs are facing both ways, you carefully lean back, hanging from the branch. A giggle leaves your lips, Al putting his arms up fast, ready to catch you with a hovering spell in case you fall off.
“Um.” Atticus tilts his head; his eyebrows furrow deeper with confusion. Almost simultaneously, the two boys tilt their heads to the side. You’d be laughing if blood wasn’t rushing to your head, and you put your arms out defensively.
“Hurry up,” you grunt, and Atticus breaks into a smile.
“Okay, uh, monkey?” He guesses.
“That’s two syllables,” Alabaster points out, hand resting on his chin. “Monkey bars?”
You shake your head, huffing at their wrong guesses. Here you are, thinking your charade choice would be too easy, but the two were at a loss.
“No?” You shake your head, confirming that Alabaster’s guess was wrong, and Atticus shrugs beside him.
“I don’t know.”
A sigh leaves your lips, swinging your body back and forth from the branch, hoping that they’ll guess one more time before you tap out.
All of a sudden, a blinking light bulb practically appears over Alabaster’s head. “The hanged man!”
“Finally!”
The vision of your brothers fades, and a voice speaking your name infiltrates your senses. A drowsy sigh leaves you, and your eyes flutter open. Before they can adjust, a dark figure looms over your frame, and you gasp harshly, only to be filled with relief when you see the familiar pale, chubby-cheeked boy.
Nico’s eyes glisten, more tears threatening to escape and follow the ones already rolling down the curve of his face. “Y/n?”
“Nico? What happened?” You prop yourself up, and the boy crouches down so that you’ll hear his whispers better.
Soft snores and mindless shifts filling the cabin tell you you’re the only two awake and will be for a while.
“I had a bad dream.” His voice cracks, fingers restlessly fiddling with themselves, and you frown.
“What about?” You ask, eyes flicking around the room. The first thought that filled your mind was something snuck into camp, but the energy in the room is light and protected as usual.
“I was back at my school, and I couldn’t find my sister.” He pauses. “While I was looking for her, my teeth fell out.”
A heaviness strikes your chest. “Did it hurt? When your teeth fell out?”
“Yes,” Nico whines. “I woke up to check if my teeth were still there because it felt so real.” His gaze sets out on the rest of the cabin, and you shift in your spot, eyes studying his grief-stricken expression. “Something isn’t right. I feel sick.”
Hiding the concern on your face is a hard task as he searches for your reaction. Teeth falling out in your dreams were never good, and your mind wanders to the cards and charms you read for Percy.
Death. If anything was affirmed more than once, it was death. The last thing you want to do is think of the worst, but the feeling in your gut anchors you to the thought.
“You didn’t eat dinner today.”
Nico frowns, “I didn’t feel hungry.”
“It’s probably why you feel sick.” As Nico’s expression shows you he’s accepted your answer as the truth, you felt worse. You were lying to him, no doubt, but what other choice did you have? It’s not like you should tell him what you're thinking. Three AM in a cabin full of sleeping campers is not the best time to conspire that his sister could be…
“Here. I have snacks.”
The remnants of Nico’s frown remain even as his eyes light up at the sight of the snacks stashed in your night table. He eyes the granola bar in the corner, studying the packaging before opening it up. Nico nibbles on the corner, silently pondering on his worries, and it leaves you thinking about your own.
You’ve had a handful of dreams where your teeth fell out but rarely, the death it prophesied was the death of someone close to you. There’s a possibility his dream had nothing to do with someone he knows personally. Still, you can’t shake off the worry that it could.
“Hey.” The word slips from your lips barely above a whisper, but it does its job at getting his attention. “If you’re still scared, you can bring your sleeping bag over and sleep next to Ambrose.”
Nico’s eyes falter to the hound, who huffs excitedly at the thought of a cuddle buddy tonight. Through his sniffles and pink eyes, Nico finds the urge to smile, Ambrose exchanging looks between the two of you as if he’s coxing him to agree. Almost immediately, his mood brightens at the offer, and he stuffs the last piece of granola in his mouth to drag his sleeping bag over.
Once Nico tucks himself in, Ambrose curls up beside him, and he speaks a quiet good night. You take in the sight of the boy’s small frame. After a few moments, the rise and fall of his chest slow down, and his face relaxes as he drifts to a temporary peace.
Only then do you turn over and attempt to sleep yourself. But the tick-tock of the clock at the front of the Hermes cabin taunts every passing second at the way your heavy heart keeps you up a little longer.
☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆
“Have you spoken to Atticus about any of this?” A shaky sigh leaves you, and it was enough to tell your dad that you haven’t. “Stella, he’s not going to take it well.”
“I know.” Your voice is shaky, eyes flickering over to Ambrose trampling down Atticus. Nico’s laugh echoes in the air as he joins the two down on the grass. “That’s why I haven’t told him anything.”
There’s another prolonged silence on the line, and your fingers nervously fidget with the loose thread in your coat pocket. “If he tells you not to go, will you stay?”
Your stomach jumps, rolls, and churns at the scenario of telling Atticus you’re joining the hunters. There was no doubt in your mind that he would protest and insist you stay, and you don’t know how far you will go to defend yourself.
Atticus’s opposition might be enough to sway your choice unless you come to a firm decision to leave. Usually, once you’ve set intentions on something, you’re not easily persuaded, always staying dedicated to what you've chosen. But you’re having a hard time imagining that you’d find that firmness when it comes time to tell your brother.
“I don’t know.”
☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆
The infirmary is not your ideal place for studying. The constant in and out of injured campers, the chattering, and, of course, the spontaneous acapella of the Apollo campers had your attention all over the place. Your eyes mindlessly scan through the Latin, the words appearing to be meaningless clusters before another occurrence breaks through your concentration.
A frustrated huff leaves your lips, and you shake your head as if the action would boggle your brain straight. For the fifth time, you had to start over this confringo potion for a kid who shattered his tibia during a freak accident on a pegasus, which is awful because he kind of needs it as soon as possible.
Besides you, Lou didn’t share the same urgency. Clearly, she didn’t; not a single ounce. The girl has her arms wrapped around your neck, weighing you down with suffocating affection, and she’s periodically covering your view of the spellbook.
Being a consistent study partner had given you some expectation that she’d be determined to get some work done, but you had been wrong. It was a rare occasion, but she was currently at Atticus’s level of distraction. Which means she was annoying in the most overwhelming way possible.
Your shimming shoulders do nothing to nudge her off, and neither was the glare from the side of your eye. Instead, she readjusts herself, making a delighted squeal as she nuzzles her cheek into your shoulder.
“You know, we’re supposed to be practicing our healing potions, not hugging.”
Lou gives you a big smile, squeezing you even tighter. “I just missed you and Atticus so much.”
A part of you knows you shouldn’t entertain her efforts, but at the confession, you had to admit that you missed her too. Phone calls and letters aren’t something you are good at keeping up with, so when you finally saw each other again, there was a lot to catch up on. “But you missed me more, right?”
You hug her tightly, the two of you swaying for a little before your fingers find the top of her waist, and you pinch just enough to tickle her. She jolts backward with a yelp, and a snort leaves your lips, taking the opportunity to return to your task. “You missed us so much you’re willing to stay with us for another week?”
“Honestly? I want to stay more for your dad.” Your movements come to a halt before you could even start, gaze shifting slowly to Lou’s crooked smile.
“Don’t be weird.” You grimace, and she bursts out laughing. That was one comment that held the same connotation of “will your brother be home too?” and you hated it. When it came from Lou, you know she was joking, mercilessly making fun of the situations you’ve found yourself time and time again. “One more comment, and I’m ditching you.”
Lou dramatically gasps, eyes crossing at the pestle you hover right over her nose before they flicker back to your narrow eyes. “I wasn’t being weird!”
“You just implied that my dad is hot.” Lou snorts, disrupting the theatrics of her fake offense.
“I didn’t imply that at all!” Lou defends herself, her words plagued with a subtle laugh.
“Your dad is hot?” Fletcher chimes in, appearing from behind the curtain. His eyes scan whatever report that’s on the clipboard in his hand, but his ears tune in to your bickering.
“You literally did. I knew what you meant.”
“Is your dad hot?” Fletcher repeats with an eagerness for the answer this time. His question echos throughout the tent, catching the attention of both his sister Harper and Silena, who were gossiping at the main desk just a few seconds ago.
“No!” You snap, and your arms cross over your chest as the four break out into sly giggles. Why does this always happen to me? You think to yourself, not really wanting to continue this conversation.
Fletcher jumps with a goofy smile on his lips as Harper flicks her hand to smack his chest. “Obviously, she doesn’t think her dad is hot. That would be weird.” Harper returns her gaze, eyes scanning you up and down. “So, do you have a picture?”
You pinch the bridge of your nose, and Lou laughs with pride for the chaos she started. Gee, thanks, Lou. Who wouldn’t enjoy being harassed about how attractive their dad apparently is? And even their brother? From like everyone they know.
“Take my word for it. He is.” Silena chimes in, propping her legs and crossing them on top of the informational desk.
You were about to ask how she knew what he looked like, then the memory of walking into Silena’s father’s chocolate store during last year's holiday season had sped to the forefront of your mind. Even the simple recalling of Silena teasing you about your dad’s appearance has you cringing as hard as the first time.
“Wait. You’ve seen her dad?” Fletcher asks, surprised, and he opens his mouth to speak —probably to add something even more humiliating—but to your luck, he stops himself.
Silena winks over at you, popping the bubble she made with her gum. “Their family shopped at my dad’s chocolate store once.”
“Silena.” Her name comes out in a drawn-out groan that only makes her smile even more. She had given you that same mischievous smile when your father had introduced himself to Mr. Beauregard. When you had walked away to take a look at the bonbon selection, Silena came over and blatantly called your dad a “hottie just like your brother.”
You’re pretty sure that statement was permission to vomit everywhere, but you opted with just staying quiet. Why are they always called attractive anyways? It made you think that you should be offended, but technically, since you looked like Atticus, if he was ugly… so were you. And he wasn’t ugly, according to everyone.
Recently, you joked about Atticus’s many admirers while you had none. Then your lovely brother told you that the boys at school didn’t approach you because they were scared of you. It made you laugh. You couldn’t help but find the thought ridiculous, but when you took time to notice it, the realization hit you like a truck. It turns out that beating up every kid who was mean to Atticus growing up had backfired, but it didn’t matter. With all the crazy demigod stuff, you couldn’t imagine dating a regular mortal anyways.
“Her dad looks great in navy blue,” she comments. Of course, Silena remembers what he wore that day. You couldn’t expect anything less from a child of Aphrodite.
“Do you have a picture or not?” Harper asks again, and you grunt.
“No, I don’t!”
“He’s like an older Atticus,” Silena continues, and Fletcher nods, looking up in the air as if he imagines it.
“So he is hot,” he decides.
“I’m gonna throw up.” Your confession sends laughter throughout the room, and you peer down at your spellbook. You hoped it was enough to show them that you’re checking out of the conversation. Lucky for you, they get the hint and change the topic when Silena mentions her father is dropping off chocolates for the Winter Solstice festival this weekend.
The others occupy Lou long enough to let you work on the potion for that poor kid. Just a few minutes ago, the task seemed like the most complicated task ever, but as you’re flying through it, you don’t understand how it took you this long. Michael emerges from the curtains asking for the potion right as you bottle it up and you pass it to him, crossing your fingers that it catches on well.
“Um, we have a crisis here.” Atticus’s voice rings in the air right as he appears, carrying Nico on his back. The boy rests his chin on his shoulder, his tear-stained cheeks taking you back to the restless night you both had a couple of days ago.
“What happened?” You and Lou ask in unison, and you approach the two boys with Fletcher.
Fletcher scans Nico, studying his injuries. “Sprained ankle?” He guesses before Atticus can answer.
“Yeah. He rolled his ankle climbing the Lava Wall.”
Atticus flinches under your glare. “You were supposed to be watching him.”
“I was watching him. He sprained his ankle and didn’t fall into the Lava. I call that a success.” Nico grumbles something unintelligible that makes Atticus smile, and the older boy whispers an amused apology.
Fletcher reaches over, carefully lifting Nico’s pant leg to take a quick look. You wince at the bruise forming along his ankle while the child of Apollo hums analytically.
He steps back to make room in Atticus’s path. “You can put him down on bed five. Some nectar will fix that up. He’ll be walking fine by dinner.”
Atticus adjusts Nico on his back, hoisting him up higher before disappearing behind the curtains. You make a mental note to scold Atticus when he comes back. Nico shouldn’t have been on the Lava wall anyways; he had just gotten to camp, and you’re pretty sure he doesn’t even reach the height limit.
Sitting in your seat, you watch the banter between the older Apollo kids and one of their youngest campers Will. They laugh and pester him for being so late to his shift, and Fletcher announces jokingly he’s going to cut his pay.
“We don’t even get paid,” Will grumbles, and Fletcher puts him in a weak chokehold to ruffle up his hair. The younger boy’s attempts to escape make his siblings laugh, and you smile, Will reminding you of Nico at that moment.
“Hey, Willie. I have your first job for you.” Silena catches the furrowing of your eyes, sending a wink in your direction before returning her gaze to the blonde. “Kid name Nico sprained his ankle. You should help him. Pick up your weight,” she teases.
The sing-song tone of her suggestion was the same as the day she innocently made the proposition that left you and Percy alone in the strawberry fields. She was obviously up to something, but it seems you’re the only one that noticed. Fletcher just pats Will’s back and simply tells the boy to “chop, chop.”
Once Will disappears in the curtains, Atticus returns, and your eyes immediately narrow at him. He gives you a sheepish smile. Not only do your eyes serve as a warning, but so does the agitation radiating off of you and on to him.
“Okay, listen.” His hands come up in a defensive position, and you lean back into the wall behind you. “I didn’t want him to climb the wall either. BUT…” Atticus sticks his fingers out the moment you open your mouth to protest. “He’s been off since breakfast. Recently, he’s been down in the dumps, but it’s really obvious today.”
A frown plagues your features. “Has he told you anything new?”
“He’s worried about his sister. He says he feels like something bad happened. I told him he’s probably just psyching himself out, but it’s obvious he’s stressed. After I did the Lava Wall, he wanted to try it, and I figured why not? It would get his mind off of his sister for a while. I was ready to interfere with a hovering spell if he fell off… I just didn’t think he’d roll his ankle while he was climbing.”
Your sigh doesn’t do much to wash away the bad feeling in your gut. There was little doubt in your mind that something terrible did happen. The morning of Nico’s bad dream had sent your fingers tingling to review Percy’s reading from the top of your head. You wanted to prove your suspicions wrong, but some things made too much sense to ignore.
“Yeah. He’s been different since he had that dream,” you mention, and Atticus nods. The next day you confided in Atticus about what Nico told you, and he had the same worry. He didn’t need any explanation to understand where your frame of thinking was going, but neither of you wanted to speak it out into the universe.
“I’m just…” Atticus holds his tongue, and you tilt your head, silently coxing him to speak what he wanted to say. “I just don’t understand how she can leave him like this.” His face hardens, and you shift on your feet, not expecting his mood to change suddenly. “Picking up and just leaving your little brother behind because he annoys you? I mean, I only know Nico’s side of the story, but the poor kid adores his sister, and she wants nothing to do with him.”
The confession had stuck you with surprise and even hurt. Ouch.
You didn’t think Atticus had an opinion of what happened between Nico and Bianca, and you didn’t expect he’d be this passionate about it. The words had nothing to do with you, but you took it to heart.
A knot forms in your throat and your mouth is open, but nothing comes out. You’re afraid that if you try to speak, you’ll have to strain to say anything. Will Atticus react this way if you tell him you’re joining the hunters? The betrayal that seeps through the utterance of each word, would it be there when he spoke of you?
“I mean, maybe there’s more to the story than Nico has noticed,” Lou chimes in, and you’re glad she did because still, you couldn’t find the words.
“I don’t know. I just feel bad for him.” Atticus shrugs.
You wonder if distance would affect how you felt Atticus’s emotions. It was a question you’ve never asked before, but right now, the urge for an answer is eating away at you. This brew of his grief, anger, stress, would it reach miles and miles out and strike you in the chest just as it does right now? You imagine how it would feel, sensing his every emotion, his strikes of pain. If something were wrong, you’d feel it and wouldn’t be able to come to his aid. How cruel would it be to sense all his grief from your departure for weeks, maybe even months after? It would just be a brutal reminder of all the sadness you left in your wake.
You don’t think you can live with that, and you want to make the decision so you won’t have to, but when you return to the reason for all of this, your chest grows heavier. Joining the hunters seemed like your only way out.
“Yeah, I feel bad for him too,” you mumble, and Lou frowns, gaze switching between you and Atticus as if she is also a part of your clashing emotions.
☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆
“What is this?!” Nico shouts loud enough over the music from across the courtyard. A paper plate filled with funnel cake covered in mountains of powdered sugar rests on his palms, and his eyes glint with wonder.
“You’ve never seen this before? It’s funnel cake. Fried dough with a bunch of sugar on top,” you explain, passing him a fork. He balances the plate on his left palm and pokes at it with the utensil.
“This is sugar?! All of it?” You nod, and you’re not sure how but the sparkle in his orbs brightens even more. He stabs the dough and slides it towards his mouth, and Nico looks as if he’s taken a bite of the most decadent dessert in the world.
“Good?” You ask through your laughter, and Nico gives you a sugar-coated grin. He’s too busy clearing his mouth for the next bite to provide you with a verbal confirmation, so he just nods.
“Okay!” Atticus chimes in, slinging his arm around your shoulders, and he traps Lou in the same position on his other side. “What are we doing first? I think we should do the dunk tank, and Y/n should sit inside of it.”
A snort leaves Lou Ellen, and Atticus gives you a funny grin. “Yeah, no. I don’t want to get wet, and I can’t swim.”
Atticus grunts, glancing over at the Camp Half-Blood interpretation of the Dunk Tank. Instead of a tank, the seat is over the lake, dropping you right into the cold water. “Boo. Where were you when I was taking swimming lessons?”
“Refusing to take swimming lessons,” you retort, and Lou giggles, eyebrows furrowing.
“Why?”
“Because Y/n here is a scaredy-cat and cried every time she was near a body of water until she was like ten.” Lou laughs, her expression telling you she doesn’t believe it, but as seconds pass and you don’t come to your defense, her laughter becomes louder.
“No way!”
Atticus snorts, the both of them staring at you as you shift on your feet. “I don’t like pools, okay?”
“Or lake, or oceans, or ponds—”
“Ponds aren’t that bad.” You wiggle your way out of Atticus’s grip, and Lou’s face of disbelief remains. Her running thoughts display all over her features, and you already know what’s coming.
“Really? Bodies of water?”
“It’s a valid fear! Any sane person is afraid of the ocean!”
“Okay, I get the ocean but POOLS?”
“Let’s go play some skeeball.” Both Atticus and Lou laugh, making jokes loud enough for you to hear while you walk away from them. You turn around briefly to narrow your eyes at them, but it only fuels the running joke.
Nico ends up becoming your distraction, jogging to your side and quickly joining you for the skeeball game. If there were any suspicion that he is an Apollo kid, it would go down the drain after watching him play his game of skeeball. Atticus tried to get him to aim a little better and throw the balls a little softer, but almost every single time, the ball barely made it in the cage where the holes are.
His consistent defeat made him venture off to play something else, and so did his curiosity. He mentioned he’s never seen most of the games at the fair, and Nico could barely contain his excitement to try it all. The boy’s never-ending energy wore you and Lou out quickly, but Atticus took one for the team, the latter seemingly unphased at being tugged in every which way.
The night passes fast, and it’s festive until the last hour. Even Mr. D looks content, overseeing the events as if feeding off all the high energy. Hours of activities and stuffing yourself with sweets with your brother and friends quickly took your mind off of every worry you’ve had these last few days. Even Nico was temporarily relieved of his troubles, too caught up with everything around him as if all of it was new to him.
If only life allowed you to sit in this state of contentment forever. You wouldn’t have to worry about that stupid fairy queen, or joining the hunters, or Nico’s sister if only you could live in the last few hours forever. The rise and fall of your night were quick and unruly. You felt sick at the way your mood soured as the word of Percy returning with Annabeth quickly spread through the crowds.
The burdens of the last few days return to your shoulders with a velocity that made you want to crumble. Nico heard Percy’s name in a passing conversation before you even did. Suddenly, he was shoving his bag of cotton candy and the teddy bear Atticus won for him into your hands. You thought he was excited to play another game, but instead, he ran through the crowd, weaving through the bodies as fast as he could. He made a beeline to the big house, and that’s when you heard Connor mention Percy was back from his quest.
Atticus rests his hand against your shoulder. He meant it to be a comforting gesture, but it just weighed down your body even more. You know being guilty was irrational. There wasn’t much you could do, and at no point was it the brightest idea to tell Nico, who was already worried, that all the signs of his sister's death lit up like fireworks.
“We made sure he had fun these last few days. It was all we could do,” Atticus spoke as if he could read your mind.
You hated that he was right. It was all you could do, but that made you feel more helpless than consoling.
☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆
The Hades statue, the last present from his sister, is small but feels like a thousand pounds in your grasp. Your eyes flicker between the small toy and the giant crack of the marble steps. The night grew colder, and the emptiness of your surroundings just put an eerie overcast at Percy’s retelling of Bianca’s sudden death. Regret fills his words, and you feel bad for him almost as much as you felt for Nico. You could just tell that he took the responsibility of keeping Bianca safe seriously, and he was angry at himself for failing.
“The cards, the charms, it all came true.” Percy’s eyes graze on the darkened horizon, and you find yourself reaching over to grab his cold hand, giving it a comforting squeeze.
Percy was the last person you expected to come running into the Hermes cabin as you impatiently waited for Nico’s return. Atticus took his shoes from you, urging you to sit just as he noticed you were cleaning to keep your restless mind busy. When you tidied up your space, you decided to tidy Atticus’s and then planned to work on Lou’s. A part of you hoped that when you finished, Nico would return, and you wouldn’t end up staring at the front door like you were a few moments before.
But to no avail, the minutes passed, and he still hadn’t returned. You figured, maybe, he was speaking with his sister and saying his final farewell before she ran off with the hunters. Perhaps she was telling him everything that happened on the quest, and considering Nico’s one-hundred questions, you wouldn’t put past him to hold her up.
“I’m sure he’ll come around,” Atticus said, and he gave you a weary smile. It didn't help that he looked as if he didn’t believe it himself.
Just then, the cabin door opens but instead of a gloomy Nico, you were met with a panicked Percy. His eyes scanned the room before they halted at the catching of your eyes. You rose from your bed, and you forcibly held back the tears threatening to form in your eyes. Percy didn’t have to say any words because as his panicked look turned into sorrow, you knew that your unfortunate prediction had come true.
You couldn’t find the words to comfort Percy. Something tells you that even if you insist that none of this was his fault, he wouldn’t believe it. There’s a silence that falls between you, your hands finding warmth in each other. After another beat or two, Percy’s grip tightens around your hand, and he sighs. He goes off to tell you about the skeletons, how the floor opened up at Nico’s command, the way his eyes had a ring of red around them, and how he fled into the forest with no conviction.
“Atticus and I had our suspicions about his godly parent,” you admit after Percy hints at who it could be. “Ambrose could touch him like he was any normal dog. Our first thought was that he was our brother, but… this was always at the back of our mind.” Your eyes grace the forest trees to your left. “Ambrose and I have to find him. He couldn’t have gone far.”
The hound on your side stands tall from his seated position beside you. You release Percy’s hand, leaning down and ruffling his fur encouragingly. “You remember his scent, right? Lead me to him, okay?" The dog gives you a gargled snort, telling you he understood, and you return to your feet.
“Y/n, there’s a blizzard going on right now,” Percy protests, and you didn’t mean to glare at him. You didn’t even know you were until he backed down, undaring to say anything more.
“Ambrose can track him down quickly. Nico barely has any formal training; he could die out there.” You don’t wait for his response before your eyes close, a familiar tug forming in your gut. There’s a bone-chilling breeze, shadows from every direction beginning to swallow you whole.
The picnic table will be a good place to start. If Nico isn’t there, you’ll search outward. Ambrose could find a needle in a haystack with just his nose; there is no doubt in your mind you wouldn’t be able to find him tonight.
The last thing you see is Percy’s face, unnerving and appearing as if he wanted to protest once again. If he did, he was too late, the shadows overtaking you, and you were on your way to your destination.
Fluffy snowflakes shoot down fast, harsh on the exposed skin of your cheeks. You only dressed warm enough to talk Percy outside for a few minutes, meaning you threw on a jacket and put some slippers on. As you squint your eyes to avoid getting snow into them, you realize when Percy said a blizzard, he meant it. You wished you had a scarf and some actual boats but getting them right now felt like a waste of time.
It would only take five minutes, but five minutes could mean everything in the search for Nico. In five minutes, a monster can attack him. In five minutes, he could twist an ankle. In five minutes, he could reach the main road. So you make do with what you have, a thin jacket with a hoodie and fluffy slippers.
Ambrose smells the snow while you look for footprints, even though you’re sure small prints like Nico’s would be covered quickly in this weather. It doesn’t take long for Ambrose to snort, and he stands tall, eyes scanning the forest.
The reaction makes you nervous. Either a monster is on his radar, or he’s caught a whiff of Nico’s scent. The muscles on his body clench, and suddenly, his tail wags rapidly, and you figured it must be the latter. He speeds a few feet ahead, and you try to keep up as fast as you can, cringing at the wads of snow that melt and seep into your pajama pants.
It shouldn’t be long until you find him. If you had to suck it up and deal with some frostbite, you will.
The trek toward his scent was uninterrupted for a good ten minutes. The freezing air rushing in and out of your nostrils makes your lungs burn, and a grunt escapes your lips. For someone with short legs, he got some serious distance. At this point, the slippers on your feet were done for, so soaked with freezing water that your toes felt like you stepped in a pile of needles, but you couldn’t stop.
Finally, Ambrose barks erratically, his tail wagging so fast you would think it’s ready to fall off. He has to be close. The realization sparks a sense of relief, but you didn’t want to give in too soon. As Ambrose bolts ahead instead of waiting for you to catch up, you swore you had seen someone shift behind a tree.
Your wobbling, freezing legs push a little bit more to take you towards Ambrose, and when he finally comes into view, the hound is circling a patch of snow. He sniffs and sniffs and sniffs before whining, giving you sad puppy eyes. Among Ambrose’s paws in the snow were footprints so small that they could only be Nico’s, which tells you he was just here. But the prints left you at a dead end as if he disappeared into thin air.
At first, you thought it was impossible, but then you slowly considered the possibility that he did. He could have shadow traveled is the first thought you weigh. Any powers he possessed you haven’t seen, but judging from Percy’s story, if Nico can crack open the ground and summon skeleton soldiers to his will, there’s no doubt he could figure out how to shadow travel by coincidence.
A string of curses leaves your lips, and if you weren’t so apprehensive about your hands, you would have shaken the tree in front of you in anger. Who knows where he could be now? You could only hope that he would come back when he cooled down.
Your eyes stared southward in the direction you came from. You didn’t want to, but the situation was out of your hands, so you unwillingly shadow traveled back to camp. Within the borders, it was about 30 degrees warmer than outside, which meant the frost on your clothes melted rapidly, leaving you shivering, damp, frustrated, and sad.
By this time of night, campers have deserted the courtyard. The machines and lights that earlier burst with energy are unplugged and left to deal with in the morning, leaving an eerie remembrance of the great night you had. The high energy, the laughter, the memories that just occurred wisped away with the chilly wind, and you stood in the middle of it all, trying to understand how in a few hours, everything had changed.
☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆
The nymphs outdid themselves today. Too bad you couldn’t bear to stomach any of it.
Your fork pokes at the roast on your plate, the food growing cold by the second. Talks of everyone’s plans for Christmas and all the fun things that occurred last night fill the table. On your left, Connor tells your brother and Lou about how he and Travis tried to teepee the big house. But Mr. D ruined their plans when he caught them, turned them into snakes, and held them captive in a tank for half of the night.
A soft sigh leaves your lips, and your disinterest drowns out the chattering. As your gaze adverts from the plate in front of you, you catch Percy’s eyes from across the pavilion. He awkwardly shifts in his seat, and he gives you a sad, sheepish smile, and you find enough in you to return it. He still felt terrible about what happened, you can tell. You told him you shouldn't blame himself, but he couldn’t shake off his guilt. Prophecies are warnings. Rarely can you change them. There was no one to blame for her death other than the fates.
“Earth to Y/n?” Connor waves his hand in front of your face. “Did you bring the gifts?”
“Hm?” You shift in your seat, not processing what he said. His eyes flicker in the direction you were looking before he smirks knowingly.
“The gifts. You said you would bring them to dinner so we can open them.”
“Oh right.” You feel your cheeks get hot. Great, now Connor thinks you were ogling at Percy or something. It doesn’t really help your case since he swears you’re in love with him. Which you’re not, you’re not sure why everyone thinks so. “I— uh, forgot them.”
“Something’s on your mind,” he teases.
Yeah, a lot of things are on your mind, like how Nico disappeared and how he can be anywhere by now. Or he could be dead… gods, you really hope he isn’t dead. But you know who is actually dead? Bianca. And you know who could die? You, if you join the hunters. Which would ruin the whole point of you joining the hunters in the first place. But what was your other option? With the hunters, at least you could dodge death a little longer than if you stay a mortal. Then that stupid fairy queen has to wait, if you’re lucky, a hundred years before you she can get her hands on your baby. But maybe, by then, she would have found her martyr in some other kid, who knows? But if you leave to the hunters, Atticus will be devastated, and so will you, even if you try to act all strong. Now the whole ordeal with Nico and Bianca has given you a real-life example of how your brother could react if you do leave, and now you know for sure you’ll break his heart. So, can you really leave? Y/n, do you really have the strength to go? At this point, you don’t know, and it’s eating you alive, but Connor just thinks Percy’s cute face with his pretty green eyes and freckles, and his pink lips are the only thing you’re thinking about. And sure, sometimes you think about it, but “sometimes” is not right now.
Anger boils in your chest, and Connor misreads you, his smirk only growing. The sight of his expression makes you want to tell him you’re keeping his gift, but that would be mean. You’d just be taking your frustration out on him.
“I’ll get them,” you say quickly. Connor chuckles at how you shoot up from your seat, ready to remove yourself before he can publicly humiliate you. “I’ll be back.”
You take the long way back to the Hermes Cabin just so you can collect your thoughts. The loud chatters of the dining pavilion sound less and less as you finally make it past the empty courtyard and onto the steps of the cabin.
All of the presents you and Atticus bought for the Hermes Cabin gift exchange are exactly where you left them, right on your bed. Lou and Atticus were going on about wanting to use a ouija board, and you got so carried away at explaining why that’s such a bad idea that you left it behind.
A soft sigh leaves your lips, and you grab ahold of the bag and sling it over your shoulder. Right as you turn on your heels, the hair at the back of your neck stands straight, and you gasp. Your eyes scan the room frantically, trying to find the source of the draft. Ambrose growls beside you, and your gaze snaps in the direction of a creaking floor panel towards the back of the cabin.
A swirling dark shadow appears, and a protection spell lays at the tip of your tongue. Please, please, please don’t let it be what I think it is, you think. The thought of dealing with another demon fills with absolute dread and not even fear at this point.
Before you can utter the spell to cast it away, the shadows unravel a face. “Nico?” For a moment, you couldn’t believe it was him, but as he exposes his form, a sense of relief washes over you. “Oh my god, Nico! Where have you been?”
“You told me there was a spell for almost everything.” Nico glowers dangerously, completely ignoring your question. Your smile falters before it can fully form, fingers gripping the bag of presents tighter. “Is there a spell to bring people back to life?"
“No,” you deny without much thought. Of course, there is, but it wasn’t a spell to mess with. Your brothers hid away the black magic book that held all of the spells of this caliber, and recently, you and Lou found them in the tunnels under the big house. Just reading the spell sent a shiver up your spine, and then your whole body awakened at the fact that someone had attempted it. Whether it was successful or not, it didn’t say.
“Don’t lie to me.” Nico’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and the red ring around his eyes glows brighter. Even if you deny the existence of a spell, Nico wouldn’t believe you, and from the way he stands his ground, it seems like he’ll figure out a way to get it himself.
"Nico—"
"Can you or can you not?”
Your eyes falter elsewhere. Nico barely looked like himself. The darkness of grief and anger has overtaken his orbs that shone with a certain innocence and excitement. “I can, but it's not a perfect spell. There are too many factors.”
Nico stands tall. “Like what?"
“Well, you need her body, and you don't have it. A soul needs a body, and to even find her soul is a whole other ordeal and—”
You have to kill someone and exchange their soul for the one you need for the revival.
Your scan the tiles ahead as if they held the details to the spell. “Nico, it's too much.”
“I don't care as long as I can bring my sister back.”
“Your sister would want you to move on.”
“You don't even know my sister—!”
“But I know the dead! The dead, they’re sorrowful and regretful, but they are wise because they've lived and reflected.” You shift on your feet. “Your sister wouldn't want you to bring her back. Her death was written in her fate, Neeks. We shouldn’t interfere.”
“Be quiet!”
You open your mouth, but the words don’t come out as Nico’s eyes falter to your desk. Schist, in speaking of dark magic books, it was laying pretty on your desk. You were doing some reading and debated whether or not to lock it back in your trunk before leaving for dinner. There was an urge to put it away, but you ignored it, and right now, you seriously wish you hadn’t.
Nico moves fast, and you race over to the desk, the bag of presents spilling over as you release it. Both of your hands attempt to snatch the book away, and he grunts as you gather all your strength to straggle it from his grasp.
“Nico, no! No!” You hold the book tightly against your chest, eyes watering at the sight of his own. Blinking them away, you glance down at your arms. “No one can cheat death,” you crook. “Not me, not you, not even the gods. The universe has an order, and when you mess with that order, things get bad. Really bad."
For a moment, you swore Nico’s face had softened. You hoped it would be then that Nico would give up this quest of bringing his sister back. There are no words, his mouth still in a frown, but suddenly his eyes darken once again. “If you won't help me, I'll figure it out myself."
“Nico,” you begin, and the boy makes a beeline to the exit. Right as you move to go after him, shadows collect and morphe around his body, and you panic. Once he shadow travels out of this room, who knows when you’ll see him again. “Nico, wait!” You pleaded, and the desperation in your voice was enough to make him release the shadows.
He turns around, expression expectant. You can’t give in to this idea, and you won’t. Doing this spell required murder and treason toward the order of the universe. Sometimes you were willing to push the rules, but not like this; you vow to never push them like this. “If I can get you in contact with your sister and she tells you not to bring her back, would that be enough to stop you?”
Nico doesn’t say anything, shifting on his feet. The movement tells you he was willing to listen, and you continue before he can decide otherwise. “We can do a seance, okay? We can ask her to come forward and speak to us if she wishes to. I cannot bring her back, Nico. I really can’t, but I can do this for you. Let me do this for you.”
A stray tear escapes his waterline and drips straight down his cheek and right to the tiles under his feet. His lip quivers, and his throat bobs, collecting the words he wished to speak. “Okay,” is all he settles with, and he barely utters it.
“Okay,” you repeat, wiping your cheeks with the sleeve of your sweater, and you give him a sad smile he doesn’t return. “Hang around the picnic table near Zeus’s fist. Atticus, Lou, and I will meet you there as soon as we can get away.”
“And you won’t tell anyone that I’m here?” he asks warily, looking around the room, afraid someone will suddenly reveal they’ve been present the entire time.
“I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”
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adenoidal (adj) : some of the sound seems to come through their nose.
appealing (adj): voice shows that you want help, approval, or agreement.
breathy (adj): with loud breathing noises.
booming (adj): very loud and attention-getting.
brittle (adj): if you speak in a brittle voice, you sound as if you are about to cry.
croaky (adj): they speak in a low, rough voice that sounds as if they have a sore throat.
grating (adj): a grating voice, laugh, or sound is unpleasant and annoying.
gravelly (adj): a gravelly voice sounds low and rough.
high-pitched (adj): true to its name, a high-pitched voice or sound is very high.
honeyed (adj): honeyed words or a honeyed voice sound very nice, but you cannot trust the person who is speaking.
matter-of-fact (adj): usually used if the person speaking knows what they are talking about (or absolutely think they know what they are talking about).
penetrating (adj): a penetrating voice is so high or loud that it makes you slightly uncomfortable.
raucous (adj): a raucous voice or noise is loud and sounds rough.
rough (adj): a rough voice is not soft and is unpleasant to listen to.
shrill (adj): a shrill voice is very loud, high, and unpleasant.
silvery (adj): this voice is clear, light, and pleasant.
stentorian (adj): a stentorian voice sounds very loud and severe.
strangled (adj): a strangled sound is one that someone stops before they finish making it.
strident (adj): this voice is loud and unpleasant.
thick (adj): if your voice is thick with an emotion, it sounds less clear than usual because of the emotion.
tight (adj): shows that you are nervous or annoyed.
toneless (adj): does not express any emotion.
wheezy (adj): a wheezy noise sounds as if it is made by someone who has difficulty breathing.
Can you do a Percy Jackson x reader with prompt “on your knees”
✦ pairing: percy jackson (18+) x fem!reader
✦ smut warnings: Consensual rough oral sex / mouth fucking (percy receiving), dom!percy + sub!reader, instruction kink (idk what it’s called lmao).
✦ word count: 298
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“Such a pretty mouth,” Percy purrs while his thumb swipes across your bottom lip. He has you pinned against the wall, trapped between his body and arms. Your breaths become heavier as you process his words. He’s been teasing you for the last hour — touching you, trailing his hand up your thigh only to miss the area you need him most. To be fair, you did tease him too. How could you not? He’s a sight for sore eyes; it was hard not to want him almost all the time.
“On your knees,” Percy orders. You readily obey, dropping to your knees and already working at unbuttoning his jeans. Your pussy is so wet and pulsing so so much urgency, you can’t help but subconsciously rut against your foot for some kind of relief.
Percy grips your chin harshly, forcing you to look up at him. “Don’t even think about doing that.” Your innocent and weary eyes plead into his, but all he does is drop his hand to your throat. “Suck.”
Quickly, you pull his jeans down, along with his underwear, and pump your hand up and down. Your tongue swirls around his tip, humming as salvia drools down to your chin. Percy leans his head back, his hands in your hair as he makes you take him your mouth. His cock hits the back of your throat, and his lips twitch into a content smirk when you gag. He knows he’s too big for you to do that, but you’ve given him the green light before and have communicated a safe signal if you needed to stop.
“Fuck, just like that,” Percy grunts; his hands are tangled so tightly in your hair, you can’t help but moan around him. “Gods, you’re so good for me.”
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Percy has never once complained when you needed him. In fact, he takes much pride in knowing that it is him that pleases you, that can make your thighs shake and body tremble when you cum.
He wastes no time in getting on his knees and gently pulling your underwear down. Your pregnant tummy is not so big that you can’t see him, but big enough to cause some discomfort in your lower back, so Percy’s careful in positioning you so that you’re not in pain.
His lips wrap around your clit, sucking delightfully on the sensitive and heated nerves. His fingers toy with your entrance before carefully thrusting two fingers inside you; the gasp that departs from your lips leaves him feeling more than satisfied. You try and grind your hips against his mouth, but with your stomach, you’re left to be a whiney mess.
“Don’t worry, gorgeous. I got you,” he reassures, tongue flicking rapidly on your clit.
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Leo pushes you against the dining table; both of your breathing is hot and heavy. His fingers tease you through your underwear while yours palm his cock through his jeans. Leo bucks his hips against you, shredding you of your clothes. He can’t take the teasing anymore, and neither can you.
He’s rough when he enters you. Your body rock against the table, pussy tightening around him as you’re gripping at his shoulders and back. Leo gently pushes you back, the coolness of the table sending shocks throughout your body. He holds your ankles up to his chest, grunting as he fucking harder into you.
“Such a pretty girl for me,” he hums. “you like when I ruin you, don’t you?”
“yes,” you whimper, eyes screwed shut as his cock hits all the right places. His thumb circles your clit, watching as you squirm under his hot touch.
“That’s it, baby,” Leo chuckles.
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Percy lets out a groan when you shove him against the wall. The two of you are so hungry, so greedy for each other; the tension could be cut with a knife. Your lips attack his neck, loving how he’s a whiney mess under your hold. He’s pulling at your waist, bucking his hips against your crotch, his moans getting louder by the second.
“Keep doing that, and I’ll stop right now,” you warn, voice so raspy with sexual longing. Percy huffs out an exaggerated annoying sigh, only making you chuckle. You pin his hands above his head and palm him through his jeans, loving how he’s already so hard for you.
Percy whimpers when you drop to your knees, undoing the button of his jeans and teasing him by slowly dragging down the zipper.
“Fuck,” Percy breaths, his hands coming down to tangle in your hair. He sucks in a breath when you finally take his cock in your hand. Your mouth waters at the sight of him — he’s so hard and ready for you, his desperation is enough to get a rise out of you.
Your lips wrap around his cock, sucking at his tip while humming around him. His precum drips on your tongue, a taste that you don’t care too much about as the only thing you care about is pleasing him. Percy’s gripping at the wall, his breathing staggering when you bob your head with such earnest, it makes his head spin.
“I — fuck — I’m not gonna last long,” he moans, hands gripping your hair tightly. You take his hands and pin them to the wall.
You pull away and flash your eyes up at him, “don’t even think about touching me, mister. You know the rules.”
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You're drunk on the feeling of Percy's cock filling you up. Your legs are spread so wide for him, and his forehead is pressed against yours as he watches his cock be coated with your slick. His thrusts are slow but hard, your body jolting along with each of his movements. He's waiting for you to beg for more, not wanting to give you any kind of satisfaction just yet.
He dips his head into the hollow of your neck, kissing and sucking at the supple skin. With your moans acting as encouragement, he thrusts a little faster, almost chuckling at how whiny you are for more.
"Percy," you breathe, "faster, please."
He adjusts himself, so his arms are beside your hips before slamming his cock into you hard. Your eyes almost instantly screw up, mouth agape as loud moans spill from it uncontrollably. Percy thrusts radially into you, the sound of skin slapping against skin mixing in with your moans.
"So fucking good," Percy grunts, hand coming up to the headboard. He hooks your leg around his waist before fucking harder into you, not wasting any time being ruthless with you.
Your nails scratch at his back as he hovers over you. Both of your moans are so loud; you're sure you're gonna get noise complaints. Again. He loves how yielding you are under his touch, how much you crave him and hold a desire that runs so deep.
"Feel good, princess?" He asks, kissing your cheek and laughing lightly when you can barely make a coherent sentence. "Good."
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“Shit,” Percy hisses when pushes his cock into you. You’re holding on for dear life on his shoulders, gasping at the leg-clenching, pussy-tightening feeling of his cock hitting all the right places. His thrusts quickened, the bed slamming into the wall in rhythm with his hips.
You’re trembling, moaning so loudly your voice almost becomes hoarse.
“Percy,” you let out a broken moan, the pleasure overtaking your body and your senses. The way his cock is stretching you so good, reaching so deep inside you and so hard and fast — oh gods, you thought you’d cum on the spot. He reaches up to the headboard and lifts your ankles to his shoulders.
Skin slaps against skin as Percy pounds relentlessly into you with his grunts muffled against your neck. Gods, nothing was truly better than this moment.
“Percy,” you whine again, tears starting to form from how good everything felt — it was like the ecstasy of it all transcended your body into another place, leaving you in nothing but seventh heaven. Your pussy clenches tightly around him, taking his cock so well.
“Fuck!” You cry, scratching harshly at his back. “Feels so good,” you manage to moan in between hard thrusts.
“That’s it, baby, take my cock like the good girl you are.”
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