notes: heylo gng mb for not posting for 5 days, crashed out after Google docs deleted my drafts and this was one of the deleted drafts,, anyways I picked and choosed amon the characters I introduced thus far.. SOME are not here since A. I felt like they'll fit better as a older sibling figure, B. too old or I think they'll be too busy to have a lover or C. already have a romantic partner (I'm not splitting anyone up nor do I think anyone is interested in poly,,) This is NOT canon to the AU.
CHANCE first stumbled into your cafe on a whim, drawn more by the warm glow spilling out of the windows than the smell of coffee, but when you greeted him with that steady, genuine smile, he found himself returning the next day—and then the next—telling themselves it was the coffee when deep down, they knew it wasn’t.
They found themselves returning not for the adrenaline rushes they once lived on, but for the quiet steadiness you gave when you leaned against the counter to listen, your laughter softening the sharp edges of his cocky bravado until one day he realized he wasn’t gambling with his life anymore—he was gambling on the chance of you.
always sat in the same corner, fedora tipped low, shades hiding his eyes, speaking with his usual cocky bravado, but he caught himself lowering his guard more around you than anyone else, testing what it felt like to be seen without the armor of his thrill-seeker’s grin.
One evening, when the café was nearly empty, you offered them a slice of a new cake you’d baked, and the way their voice faltered on their “thanks” made them realize that no gamble had ever made their heart skip quite like you did.
He started staying longer after closing, offering to help you stack chairs or wipe tables under the excuse that he “owed you one,” but the truth was that he craved those quiet hours where the world fell away and it was just the two of you.
often tried to mask their softer feelings with banter, tossing out playful teases, but they noticed how your laughter didn’t mock him—it warmed him, made the ache of betrayal they once carried sting a little less.
He began to open up in fragments—half a story here, a muttered confession there—watching your face carefully each time, afraid of rejection, only to find patience in your eyes instead of judgment.
By the time they realized they were in love, it wasn’t with a rush of adrenaline like gambling or danger, but with a steady certainty—the kind that made them look at you across the cafe counter and think, “I’d risk everything for this, but for once, I don’t have to.”
The night he finally admitted, in a low and trembling voice, that he didn’t want to lose you like he lost the person before, your gentle promise that you weren’t going anywhere broke something open in him, something tender he had been too afraid to touch.
ELLIOT first noticed your cafe because of the music spilling from its door, a warmth in the melody that mirrored the ease in your smile when he stepped inside for the first time.
He told himself he came back because it was a quiet space to unwind, but the truth was, your presence pulled him in like a rhythm he couldn’t resist.
He lingered longer with each visit, always tapping his fingers against the table in time with the hum of conversation, until one day, he realized he was waiting for you to speak just so he could match his rhythm to your laughter.
You noticed how he softened when you remembered his usual order, and he noticed how his chest tightened every time you leaned close to set it down.
Once, when the cafe grew too noisy, you let him retreat behind the counter for a breather, and he realized then that you weren’t just kind—you made space for him in a way nobody else had.
He started staying past closing, carrying plates to the back or humming while you swept, discovering that silence with you was as precious as music.
When his hand brushed yours over a saucer, he froze, the unspoken notes between you louder than any melody he’d ever played.
He confessed his dreams of something more, voice low and uncertain, and your encouragement lit a fire in him that outshone the stage lights he once lived for.
The moment he saw you waiting for him at the window one rainy night, lantern glow haloing your figure, he knew there was no song sweeter than your presence.
Falling for you wasn’t a crescendo—it was a steady harmony, the kind of love that filled every empty space in his soul until he couldn’t imagine a life without it.
At first, GRIEFER treats you like he treats everyone else—with a sharp tongue and a wall of sarcasm—but he keeps showing up at the cafe anyway, as if daring you to chase him off.
You learn quickly that behind every grumble about the food or mutter about “W4ST1NG T1M3 H3R3,” there’s the quiet fact that he finishes everything you serve him, down to the last crumb.
When you tease him back, expecting him to snap, he instead smirks in a way that feels like a rare crack in his armor, and it leaves you unexpectedly flustered.
He pretends he doesn’t care when you check in on him, but you notice he always listens carefully when you ask if he’s eaten, if he’s slept, if he’s alright.
The first time he opens up about his dad, it’s brief—a passing comment about the Mayor—but you hear the affection buried under his rough tone, and it makes you realize how deeply he can care.
He starts helping around the cafe in small, subtle ways—carrying a heavy box, fixing a loose hinge—always with the excuse that “Y0U’D JU5T M3SS 1T UP 0THE3RWIS3.”
His visits grow longer, less about coffee and more about the way he leans against the counter, arms crossed, as though the cafe is the only place he can breathe easy.
You catch him watching you once, his usual scowl replaced with something softer, and though he quickly looks away, the memory lingers like a secret between you.
When he finally admits, in a low voice, that you make him feel less like he’s fighting the world alone, it’s the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen him.
And in that honesty, you see the truth—his love isn’t loud or showy, but steady and hidden, the kind that would tear down walls if it meant keeping you safe.
SHEDLETSKY barged into your cafe with his usual chaotic energy, cracking jokes at the menu, but when you laughed—not at him, but with him—he found himself returning far more often than he admitted.
At first, he tried to keep things light, leaning on humor to cover the sharpness in his eyes, but you noticed how his laughter always quieted when the cafe grew still.
He began sitting near the counter instead of by the window, close enough to toss quips your way while you worked, yet staying late into the night as if reluctant to leave.
You started saving his favorite pastry for him, and though he made a big show of pretending to be owed it, the glimmer in his eyes betrayed how much it meant.
The first time you scolded him lightly for tracking crumbs across the counter, he went uncharacteristically quiet, struck by the realization that someone cared enough to notice.
He helped you close up one evening, lifting chairs with ease, and for the first time, his humor fell away as he asked—quietly—why you were always so kind.
Your answer—that kindness wasn’t owed, it was chosen—lodged in his chest like a sword, making him wonder when the last time he’d chosen to love was.
The night your hand lingered on his arm after he’d made a joke to hide the loneliness in his eyes, he found himself wanting desperately not to let go.
He confessed, in a rare unguarded moment, that you made him feel like more than a punchline, and your soft reply that he always was brought tears he quickly hid behind a grin.
Falling in love with you wasn’t loud or comedic—it was steady, terrifying in its sincerity, until he realized the only thing he wanted more than laughter was a life where you stayed.
At first, you notice how NOOB’S eyes light up whenever you hand them something simple—a warm drink, a plate of food—as though kindness is a treasure they’re not used to holding.
They start lingering at the cafe not because they’re hungry, but because you make the space feel like a place where fear doesn’t control them.
they often ramble about food to fill silence, but over time, you realize those words hide the deeper truth—they only feel comfortable being themselves when you’re there to listen.
They surprise themselves when they admit they’re scared sometimes, expecting you to laugh, but your gentle reassurance plants something strong in their chest.
One day, they bring you a clumsy little gift—a badly wrapped snack, half-crushed in their pocket—and the shy way they say “for you” makes your heart ache.
They begin to see courage not as the absence of fear, but as standing beside you even when their hands shake.
They catch themselves staring at you across the counter, daydreaming about adventures where they’re not running away, but standing tall at your side.
The first time they call you their “favorite person,” it’s casual, but the flush in their cheeks betrays just how much it means.
At first, GUEST 666 watches you warily, expecting rejection like they’ve always known, but your lack of fear unsettles the wall they’ve built.
You offer them small kindnesses—a steady word, a gentle smile—and though they can’t express it easily, each one digs deeper into their heart than they’d like to admit.
They begin to stay longer in your company, not because they need to, but because your presence feels less like judgment and more like belonging.
You notice their eyes soften when you hand them something sweet, a caramel or chocolate treat, and realize it’s not the sugar they crave but the way you remembered.
When they see you laugh at something silly they’ve done, a flicker of warmth spreads through them—a reminder that they can still be seen as more than their shadows.
Slowly, they allow you to stand closer, no longer flinching when your hand brushes theirs, as if testing whether you’ll still stay once you’ve touched the sharp edges of who they are.
They start bringing you small tokens—a flower, a trinket, anything they can salvage—and though they never say it outright, it’s their way of confessing.
The silence that once felt heavy between you shifts into comfort, where they don’t need words to feel understood.
One night, when you reassure them that they’re not abandoned, not forgotten, their chest tightens with something unfamiliar: hope.
CALYPSO first stepped into your cafe with Kyoko, her calm and composed demeanor making her seem like the kind of customer who wouldn’t stay long, yet she returned quietly on her own days later.
At first, she spoke little, her words clipped and formal, but her eyes softened each time you greeted her warmly as though she belonged there.
She often sat by the window, watching the street while sipping coffee, though her gaze would drift back to you whenever she thought you weren’t looking.
Even when she insisted she had to travel again soon, her fingertips lingered against the cup you served her, as though savoring the memory of the place—and you—more than the drink itself.
She began bringing Kyoko less and less whenever she visited, preferring the quiet moments where it was just you and her in the cafe, a silence that somehow felt full instead of empty.
When she saw you tired one evening, she offered to help sweep, her movements graceful yet restrained, as though she was afraid of overstepping.
One night she confessed—her composure breaking—that she hated leaving, because every time she did it felt harder to be away from you.
You saw through the cool exterior then, recognizing the deep well of affection she struggled to keep contained.
The first time her hand brushed yours across the counter, her breath caught, her mask slipping as her eyes softened with something unmistakable.
Loving you became her quiet rebellion against distance, a reason to always find her way back no matter how far she traveled.
007N7 first comes to the cafe chasing after Coolkidd, Bluudud, and Pr3typriincess, but after that incident, he starts dropping by on his own, apologizing at first before realizing he enjoys your company more than he expected.
At first, he sits stiffly with his coffee, adjusting his crooked glasses and trying to look like he’s not awkward, though you can tell he hasn’t had a moment to relax in a long while.
When you bring him a warm pastry without him asking, he looks at you in quiet surprise, like he’s not used to being cared for in such simple ways.
You notice he always checks the windows when kids are outside, shoulders tense, and when you ask if he ever takes a break for himself, he gives you a half-smile and says, “Maybe here counts.”
The more he visits, the more you hear his laughter—soft, embarrassed chuckles that come when you tease him gently, and you realize how young he feels when he lets his guard down.
He often asks about your day instead of talking about his own, but one evening he admits he’s scared of failing the people who count on him, and you remind him that no one can protect everyone all the time.
He begins to linger after closing, insisting he’ll help clean even if he’s clumsy with a rag, because he likes being useful to you.
One night, when the cafe is empty, he confesses in a quiet, trembling voice that being around you makes him feel less like the anxious man everyone leans on and more like just… himself.
You catch the way his eyes soften when you call his name, as though no one’s ever said it like you do, with gentleness rather than expectation.
His love blooms slowly, like a hesitant hand reaching for yours across the table, full of gratitude that someone finally saw him as more than the caretaker of everyone else.
TAPH is curious when he first visits, head tilted as if cataloging every detail of the cafe, but he stayed because you don’t treat him like an oddity.
He's quiet at first, analytical, watching you move with a sharp gaze that makes you wonder what conclusions he's drawing about you.
When you ask him a simple question about his day, he answers in exact detail, and you realize how much thought he put into everything—even conversations.
He begins to show you little things he noticed—a shortcut to dry beans faster, a way to stack mugs without them falling—not to impress, but to share what he knows with someone who listens.
You find yourself smiling at his precision, and in turn, Taph begins smiling too, small but sincere, whenever he catches you amused by him.
He asks once, awkwardly, if you mind his company, because he'd never been sure if his intensity drives people away—and you tell him you enjoy it, which makes his feathers ruffle with pride.
He starts bringing you small trinkets he'd found on his “travels”, each one chosen with care and presented like an offering.
He confesses, in his own way, that your kindness feels like safety, a place they can rest without calculating or proving himself.
His love shows in actions—steady, protective, and thoughtful—but when he finally signs, it’s with a quiet conviction that makes your heart ache with how much it means.
The first time 1X1X1X1 appears, it feels like a trick of the light, a figure in the corner seat with an aura that makes the other customers leave quicker than usual.
Yet, you approach without fear, and that curiosity intrigues him enough to return again.
Her words are cryptic at first, sentences wrapped in riddles, but you find yourself responding with patience instead of dismissal.
Slowly, their visits shift from intimidation to genuine conversation, though their voice still carries that echo of mystery.
Slowly, his visits shift from intimidation to genuine conversation, though his voice still carries that echo of mystery.
When you ask her something personal—what she enjoys, what she misses—she pauses so long you think she won’t answer, until she admits no one’s ever asked before.
They begin to sit closer to the counter, their presence less like a shadow and more like a constant, lingering comfort in the background.
You notice he protects the cafe in his own way, making sure troublesome guests never bother you, though he pretends it’s coincidence.
One night, when the power flickers, she whispers that she'll never let darkness hurt you, and you realize her cryptic loyalty runs deeper than you knew.
For all their riddles, they fall silent when you smile at them, as if words fail in the face of something so simple and kind.
(A/N: These are based purely off of the musical canon, and any references taken from the original Odyssey and mythos is purely inspiration 💜)
Odysseus | Penelope | Telemachus (platonic)
Penelope isn’t sure what to think at first when Odysseus brings you home, but she quickly grows attached. She understands Odysseus better than anyone so it’s not difficult for her to see what he sees in you, even if you might not see it yourself. She’s gentle and nurturing where Odysseus is rough and overprotective, teaching you more domestic activities and helping you learn how to live without constantly looking over your shoulder. Odysseus does more than enough of that for the three of you. If Penelope is always at your side then he’s always in your shadow, just a few steps behind you, constantly watching as if he’s afraid he might blink and you’d disappear before his eyes. Slaughter seeps through the palace walls, death pervades the air and you never seem able to scrub the blood free from the marble floors, it follows behind him like a cloak hanging off of his shoulders. You and Penelope do what you can to bring him some peace of mind, however fleeting. When the palace feels just a little bit too quiet and Penelope is preoccupied soothing Odysseus’s night terrors, Telemachus is a constant source of energy when you need it. His optimism is refreshing, and you can’t help but wonder if his father had been more like him before the two of you met.
Athena
The goddess of wisdom knows all too well that her feelings for you are… unnatural, at least by mortal standards. While not so perverse as those typical of her extended family, she isn’t unfamiliar with customary courting etiquette. And quite frankly, she’d rather not deal with all those messy emotions. If she bottles up all these feelings for you, and never acts on them, surely nothing can possibly go wrong. Gods forbid any of her relatives find out about the little mortal that had won her favour, she can’t imagine the kind of trouble their attention would bring. Although there’s certainly no harm in keeping a watchful eye over you, just in case.
Hermes
Being loved by the quick-footed Hermes is uplifting, if exhausting. He’s tireless in his pursuit of your heart, cropping up when you’re least expecting him. The second he has a free moment (and all his moments are free-willed) and you find yourself alone, there he is again. No matter how many times you try to tell him no, you can’t bring yourself to hate him, bringing you gifts and messages to try and win you over. Even if he does somehow seem to scare all your other suitors off. Now and then he takes you with him, showing you sights and wonders you’d never have dreamed of seeing, stealing your breath away in a gust every single time.
Calypso
Lonely, lonely Calypso. After so many years without another soul to latch onto for company is it such a surprise that she’d grow so infatuated with you in an instant? She’s so afraid you might leave her, she won’t even give you the chance to make up your mind on whether you want to leave or not. She showers you in affection, lavishes you with attention, trying so hard to make sure you never want for anything ever again. Of course, she can get a little overzealous at times… you can hardly blame her when your touch is such an irresistible prospect, can you? So try to ignore that creeping feeling of panic fluttering frantically in your chest and obediently let her ply you with all the love a goddess has to give!
Poseidon
There are few fates worse than being hunted down by the ocean, frankly. Even fewer when you consider that the ocean has a penchant for threatening to drown entire nations in order to get his way, and a history of being ruthless with those who hurts those he considers his own. You’d better hope you’re with Odysseus’s crew if you want to survive Poseidon relatively unscathed, and pray that he doesn’t consider the risk of keeping you to outweigh the reward. In short; there’s very little chance of winning when the god of the seas is infatuated with you, and a very high chance you’ll end up hopeless if you don’t cave in to his demands quickly. And he would still tell you you’re lucky it was him whose eye you caught and not his brother’s.
Zeus
Speak of the devil, Poseidon wasn’t entirely wrong. It’s no secret that the attention of the King of the Gods was a bittersweet award. Any say you might’ve had on the matter is swept away by roiling clouds and silenced by the rumble of thunder. When Zeus wants something there’s no arguing with him, not for Heaven nor Earth. And to your complete and utter misfortune he wants you, something not even Odysseus nor any of the other gods can do much about. Your body and soul was his the moment he laid eyes on you. With a little luck you might be able to get something out of it, although it’s far more likely he’d steal away before you have a chance to plead your case.
You find out reincarnation actually exists the hard way and sort of maybe go through the five stages of grief?
Your death comes to you in the most embarrassing way on your thirteenth birthday.
On your way home from school, you had decided to take the long route and found yourself walking across the edge of a bridge, arms held out to help you keep balance and your mind somewhere far away.
Unfortunately for you, though, your far away thoughts cost you your focus, so you failed to remember that it had rained last night, and the bridge was still wet from the storm's assault in result.
All in all, your realization came too late in the form of you slipping and falling into dark, deep, rushing water that sung with triumph when your form fell into its embrace and sunk into its depths.
Death didn't last long, luckily enough, but that was only because you somehow opened your eyes just after closing them in acceptance of your inevitable end.
Needless to say, when you woke up—expecting either the gates of Heaven, the fiery pits of Hell, or perhaps nothing—to find yourself staring up into the eyes of two women you had never seen before in your life, you were pretty confused.
One of the women, who just so happened to be holding you, for some reason, had [S/t] skin, long, [H/c] hair, and fox-like [E/c] eyes that stared down at you with such pure adoration, you nearly did a double take to see if maybe your eyes weren't working as well as they used to due to, you know ... dying.
The other woman was quick to take your focus from the other one, though, and that was probably because of the fact that she had horns and goat ears??
Maybe you were right about your eye sight, after all. It clearly must've had something wrong with it now, if you were starting to see people with horns and goat ears.
"[Y/n] ..." The whisper of your name makes you return your attention to the woman holding you, and she smiles down at you, emitting a sort of warmth that had you snuggling closer to her before you could even think of stopping yourself. The action seems to please her, because her smile grows and she pulls you closer, placing a kiss atop your head.
You hear the other woman chuckle, the noise fond and just as warm as the presence of the one holding you, and then watch her from the corner of your eye as she draws closer and slips her arm beneath you, wanting to cradle you as well.
"Welcome to our world, little one," you hear her say, and with their combined warmth, you can only keep your eyes open for so long before exhaustion consumes you once again.
(In the back of your mind, the horned woman's words echo; "Welcome to our world"—something meant only to be a greeting to the new being they've brought to life, yet despite this, you can't help but feel as though it also alludes to something deeper.
But for now, sleep comes first, and you promise yourself that you'll only feel semi-disappointed when you wake up and learn this was all only a dream.)
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
You're going to lose your shit.
It was not a dream. This is not a dream.
You end up balling your eyes out for hours. The two women you had thought to be mere figments of your imagination (your new parents, apparently) panic throughout the entire ordeal and do everything they can to get you to stop, but for as bad as you feel for making them worry, you just can't stop because you were dead you were supposed to be dead how is this even possible—
The only peace they get is when you're asleep, but even then, those moments can only last for so long before the nightmares—the memories have your eyes shooting open to fill with tears in seconds, and then the cycle starts all over again.
Your parents (no they're not they can't be yours and you can't be theirs oh god do they even know what's happened to you back home what happened to your body) are, understandably, very concerned. Since coming home, you've done nothing but cry and cry and cry, and nothing they do can get you to stop. They've already tried taking you to the doctor, believing for a horrifying moment that you must have been painfully ill, but the appointment only ended with the man—eyes filled with sympathy for the couple—telling them that you're actually perfectly healthy.
"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid that there isn't anything that I can do to help you," he'd said, your cries just as loud as ever and making the [E/c]-eyed woman holding you—Penelope Ophelia—gather you up from where you were sitting on her lap to rock you gently in her arms in a desperate attempt to soothe you.
"Really?" Penelope's lover, the woman the horns (that the doctor doesn't seem to notice, mind you), sent the doctor a pained, frustrated look. "Nothing at all?" she asked.
He only shook his and apologized again.
You don't know how long it's been, nor do you care. All you know is that you were dead, and then you weren't, and now all you've ever known most likely doesn't matter, because who knows if you'll ever see it again?
But then one day, as if your world couldn't be turned upside down anymore than it already has, you manage to catch Penelope's loud gasp above your crying, and then—
"Willow! I think I know why [Y/n]'s been crying!" she says, suddenly rushing over to you and lifting you up for a closer look at your head. "They have horns coming in!"
You hear someone—Willow, obviously—spit their drink out from the other room, and the shock you feel at Penelope's words turns out to be all it takes for you to finally stop crying.
'Horns'? Did you hear that right?
Clearly taking your stunned silence as a sign for whatever reason, Penelope begins to coo at you and bring you close to caress your head and kiss it, and—Oh. Oh.
You can feel them: the horns, small bumps on your head (for now), everytime Penelope's delicate hands brush over them. The movements are gentle and careful, obviously out of fear of accidentally hurting you and setting your constant crying off once more, and your mind is so caught up trying to piece together an explanation for—for all of this—that you don't even notice Willow coming into the room, a bright grin on her face as she takes in the small nubs growing from your crown and says:
"Would you look at that?" She laughs and takes you from Penelop's grasp to hold you up in the air like that monkey from The Lion King did. "Looks like I win the bet after all! Ay, little satyr?"
Willow laughs again when she sees her wife playfully roll her eyes, and you—for the first time since you've been brought to their home—remain silent while your entire world crumbles around you.
Satyr?
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
The Percy Jackson series was a gift to you from your grandparents on your eleventh birthday, and you've been obsessed with it ever since.
When you found yourself sighing over the boring, mundane life you lived, you would open the books and get lost in the world of Camp Half-Blood: imagining yourself as a camper, wondering who your Godly parent would be, and grinning at the idea of getting to befriend the main cast and join them on their adventures. While you were stuck inside doing homework, Percy and his friends were out fighting monsters and meeting Gods, and a part of you—the part that always longed for something more—would wish you could reach out and join them.
And now here you were, in a world clearly not like your own, and one of your new mother's is apparently a satyr.
(You are, too, but you're not really ready to process that just yet.)
It wasn't possible—it couldn't be possible. It's not like satyrs were only relevant in Percy Jackson, after all; there are plenty of stories out there that included the mythological race! You couldn't have possibly just so happened to get reborn into the world of the book series you've adored for two years! It just—it wouldn't make sense! Clearly, one of your new guardians being a satyr was a mere coincidence. Nothing more, nothing less.
"Chiron wrote to me, recently," sighs Willow as she plops down onto the couch Penelope had decided to read a book to you on. "Looks like the camp's satyr situation is a lot more serious than I thought, if he's sending me letters and asking me to help out again."
You choke on your own spit and have Penelope frantically patting your back before the woman can even respond to what her wife just revealed.
Then, when that whole ordeal's finished, Penelope lays you down in your crib after her and Willow take turns kissing your forehead, and now you're left alone to stare up at the canopy painted to the ceiling, losing yourself to your thoughts.
This ... isn't a dream. Yeah, that's been pretty obvious for a while now, but the assurance made your shoulders feel a little lighter. This isn't a dream and ... it's a lot.
You ... What should you do? You don't know how you got here, and you honestly doubt that there's a way out, so ... Again, what should you do?
Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes and decide, for now, to just go over what you do know:
1. You've been reborn (no duh, but sometimes you just have to repeat that to yourself to properly get it through your head).
2. Your 'parents' are two women by the name of Penelope and Willow Ophelia. Willow is a satyr, and Penelope (as far as you know) is a human.
3. Again, you've been reborn, and into the world of Percy Jackson of all places.
The bigger, more logical part of you kind of wants to start crying again. Out of literally anyone in the world—your world—why was this happening to you? Everyone you've ever known, all you've ever known, are suddenly gone, and all because you decided you wanted to walk along the edge of a stupid, slippery bridge.
It's just ... so frustrating. You were never perfect, you never wanted to be perfect, but you liked to think you were a good person, at least. What could you have done to deserve this? Who could have thought you deserved this?!
Yet, still, for as badly as you want to freak out (to cry, scream, break something) you can't deny that there's a small part of you—the part of you that always knew, even if you didn't want to fully admit it to yourself, that you could never conform to what society expected from you, that wanted nothing more than to just jump into the pages of your beloved books and live out the rest of your days in Camp Half-Blood, fighting monsters and challenging Gods—that feels just a little bit ... giddy about this. Because for as much your old family tried, for as much as they loved you, they just couldn't understand why you were the way you were; couldn't make you feel seen in the way Percy, Annabeth, Nico, and all of the other demigods did.
And, Gods, that was just the biggest part of it, wasn't it?
Even after everything they'd gone through—the ignorance of adults not willing to understand, the apathy of other kids who thought lesser of those not like them, the loneliness and confusion because you didn't know what was wrong with you—they had still found a place to belong. Found people to belong to. And ... and ...
And you wanted that. More than anything in the world, back then.
But this was not your world anymore. This was theirs.
And now that you've thought about it, you realize that there's one more thing you can add to the list of 'Things I Know':
4. You've been reborn into the world of Percy Jackson, and you've already read a step-by-step guide on how to live in it.
(That morning, when Willow comes into your room to bring you down for breakfast, her forest green eyes swell with tears.
Your smile was just as beautiful as her and Penelope knew it'd be.)
CAN YOU DO CALYPSO X READER WHERE THEY'RE PLAYING IN A FLOWER FIELD PLEASE?? I WANT MY WOMEN TO BE LOVE AND CHERISH 💥💔💥💔💥💔💥💔💥💔💥💔💥💔💥💔💔💥💔💥💔💥💔💥💔💥💔💥💔💥💔💔💥 (your my new fave artist rn lollololollol)
YES AGREE ANON! CALYPSO X READER IS HERE,, ALL WOMEN SHOULD BE CHERISHED!!! (also the holding hands look kinda weird LOL i used a reference)
