Who the hell thought making me a Half-blood was a good idea? {ON HOLD}

ACT THREE-For Fuck's Sake, I ain't drowning in no Sea of Monsters!

Disclaimer: The world of Percy Jackson, its characters and settings are the copyrighted works of Rick Riordan and his publishing companies and affiliates. No profit was made from the writing of this story nor was any malice intended in any way, shape or form to the author or the actors/actresses who so brilliantly have brought them to life.This author is not responsible for underage readers. Please observe the ratings, warnings, and age of legal consent for your country.

Look, I didn't want to be a half-blood.

Well, I did, but that was a long time ago. A long time ago, in a different life, under a different name, with a different face. Now? Now I wish I hadn't read so many gods-damned Mary Sue 'Percy's twin sister' fanfics when I was eleven. Hindsight's a raging bitch, but she's not as big of a bitch as the Fates. Now that I think about it, I can actually punch the Fates in this lifetime... Wait, no, I'm not an idiot. Anyway.

I really didn't want to be a half-blood. When I imagined seeing the Rick Riordan Universe I imagined being in it at a safe distance, like as an oracle or participating in a brief, childless, godly fling; not running from monsters because they want to eat my sweet, sweet demigod body. What was it that the musical said? "So if you think you are a half-blood, better get headed to the exits now, 'cause folks will think you're lying, better run and don't start crying, 'cause you're monster chow." What a fun rhyme to capture my current existence.

My name is Persephone "Percy" Ophelia Jackson. My name should have been Perseus "Percy" Achilles Jackson, but I guess I messed that up. I messed a lot of things up, actually, since they were different from what I remember. Kinda. Things were different even before I got here. Such as being Latina; Percy was described as being tan but never actually of color, and the fact that Smelly Gabe was physically abusive? Heavily implied but not fun to find out as the truth.

Turns out no matter what universe I'm in I'll still be an immigrant. Second-gen, this time, and both times I went from Brazil to America. My new mother's name is Sabelle "Sally" Rosa Marie Silvia-Jackson, but she dropped Silvia from my name.

There was a mass shooting at my university. There I was, a free 20 year-old that was living by myself and beholden to nothing except my student loans, ready to fight God, until I walked into the wrong class and found myself unwilling to fight my anxiety to leave and go to the class that I was supposed to be at. The shooter came in, guns blazing. Ophelia Marie Eduarda de Lopez died from blood loss, a bullet in her chest, alone and scared inside the only classroom the shooter managed to get to.

It sucked. 0/100, wouldn't recommend.

And then I woke up, 28 years before in 1992, in my new teenage mother's arms.