Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

What if Sally died at the hands of Gabe trying to protect Percy from him?

What if Percy ran away from home after seeing her mother get murdered by her stepfather?

What if Lucifer Morningstar was in New York collecting a Soul?

What if Percy meets Lucifer on the street and he decides to adopt her both legally and through blood?

What if Percy is raised in hell with Maze?

What if Sally was the child of Valerie Tulle and Eros?

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Copyright © 2023 Livvie_Heart on Wattpad

Copyright © 2023  Petrova-Royalty4444 / basileiapetrova on Wattpad

No part of this content can be replicated in any means. Any illegal reproduction of this content will result in immediate reporting.

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𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘...

└─── °∘∘°☽【❖】☾°∘∘° ───┘

Mackenzie Foy as P̶e̶r̶s̶e̶u̶s̶ A̶n̶d̶r̶o̶m̶e̶d̶a̶ J̶a̶c̶k̶s̶o̶n̶ Estella Andromeda Nyx Jackson

── The Daughter

❝ i find that i have very good natural acting skills. it really comes handy at times. ❞

❝ annabeth, that's my godmother. ❞

❝ drew, i would appreciate it if you stop staring at my dad like that ❞

The Youngest Child of the Underworld

The Princess of the Underworld

 Daughter of the Underworld

 Daughter of the Sea

Princess

Tom Ellis as Lucifer Morningstar

── The Father

❝ oh yeah, i almost forgot. you need to go to the camp. ❞

❝ you shock me. my daughter's an angel ❞

the Prince of Pride 

the Morning Star

the Son of Dawn

the Child of God

the Devil

Satan

Mckenna Grace       as       Annabeth Chase

Aryan Simhadri       as       Grover Underwood

Charlie Bushnell       as       Luke Castellan

Toby Stephens       as       Poseidon

Dilraba Dilmurat       as       Maria Manumbale-Cheong

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𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕒𝕤𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕃𝕦𝕔𝕚𝕗𝕖𝕣 𝕒𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕞𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕧𝕖𝕤

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 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕒𝕤𝕥 𝕠𝕗 ℙ𝕁𝕆 𝕒𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕞𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕧𝕖𝕤

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𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕒𝕤𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕋𝕍𝔻 𝕒𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕞𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕧𝕖𝕤

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❏ *·˚❜.ೃ ੈ✰ | 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒍𝒂𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒓 ❞ . . .

❏ 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ❞ . . . Estella Andromeda Nyx Jackson, her plot, her personality, and any other things related to her are owned by me and Ruelle (now owned by Rayane). I own the name and any other parts onwards from the A/N published by Ruelle back then in The Devils' Siren Daughter on Wattpad. No one can steal any parts of the book without prior written permission. Otherwise, action will have to be taken. I do not permit translations or publishing on different websites unless you ask me directly via PM on Wattpad

❏ 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐬 ❞ . . . Layout inspo by @amourfolklore / amourfolklore on both Wattpad and AO3. Character inspo by Petrova-Royalty4444 / basileiapetrova (a.k.a Ruelle and now, Rayane) on Wattpad. Gif banners inspo by various. I used Canva, IbisPaint X and Photopea to create all graphics.

❏ 𝐝𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ❞ . . .  Christi, for supporting me every step of the way. Creqampuffs for inspiring me to update my story whenever possible.

❛ His Daughter - Livvie_Heart

©Livvie_Heart, 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒅.

PJO x Lucifer x TVD

Layout inspo by ©amourfolklore

Chapter Text

 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

 ─ the devil's daughter

❝ i might be a child, but i'm not stupid ❜❜

In which, we learn about how Estella Andromeda Nyx Jackson-Salvatore-Morningstar gave Olympus heart attacks.

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𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕝𝕠𝕘𝕦𝕖

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"Percy run!" was the last thing I ever heard from my mother.

I heard a loud, heart-wretching scream belonging to my mother, with two loud gunshots following shortly after. That night was the worst one of my life. The following days were torturous and gruesome.

I couldn't even make sure she got a proper funeral because I was on the run.

I had lived off the streets, making a small makeshift shelter using cardboard boxes I had scavenged from a rubbish dump. As for food, there was always the ocassional soup kitchen or pickpocketing any rich looking person.

I had chosen to stay in New York, not wanting to leave my home. Little did I know that my decision would make me get a new home and family.

I had been on the streets that day, scavenging for food (and dodging the authorities), when I stumbled upon a strange and ominous figure in an alleyway. She was about 5'7 in height, imposing, beautiful and had an air of confidence around her. Her eyes were a peircing dark brown, that almost looked black, and dark black hair. She held two daggers in her hands that seemed to gleam in the dim streetlight.

"Hey there kid" the lady had spoken to me, "What's your name?"

"I-I-I'm Percy" I stuttered.

She nodded, taking a drag on her cigarette, "I'm Maze. So who are you running from?"

My eyes widened in shock, "How'd you know?"

Maze smirked, a sly look in her eyes, "I've been around for a long time kid. I know a lot of things."

I felt a shiver run don my spine as Maze took my hand, leading me down the alley, "Come on kid. Let's get outta here. You don't want to be seen with me"

While we walked, she told me stories about her past. I listened in awe, feeling a great sense of wonder.

As we entered her home, I was introduced to the devil.

He told me about them.

He asked me if he could adopt me, and the rest is history.

❛ His Daughter - Livvie_Heart

© Livvie_Heart, 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒅.

PJO x Lucifer x TVD

Layout inspo by © amourfolklore

Chapter Text

𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐲

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ℍ𝕚𝕤 𝔻𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕖𝕣

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Graphics made by me

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Netflix Title Card made by me

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Sign Off Banner made by me

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└─── °∘∘°☽【❖】☾°∘∘° ───┘

❛ His Daughter - Livvie_Heart

© Livvie_Heart, 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒅.

PJO x Lucifer x TVD

Layout inspo by © amourfolklore

Chapter Text

 𝓞𝓝𝓔

┌─── ∘°°∘☽【❖】☾∘°°∘ ───┐

ℍ𝕚𝕤 𝔻𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕖𝕣

└─── °∘∘°☽【❖】☾°∘∘° ───┘

Look, I didn't want to be a half-blood. If you're reading this because you think you might be one, my advice is: close this book right now. Believe whatever lie your mom or dad told you about your birth, and try to lead a normal life.

Being a half-blood is dangerous. It's scary. Most of the time, it gets you killed in painful, nasty ways.

If you're a normal kid, reading this because you think it's fiction, great. Read on. I envy you for being able to believe that none of this ever happened.

But if you recognize yourself in these pages—if you feel something stirring inside—stop reading immediately. You might be one of us. And once you know that, it's only a matter of time before they sense it too, and they'll come for you.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

My name is Percy Jackson. Or, at least it was. My name right now is Estella Andromeda Nyx Jackson-Salvatore-Morningstar. You're probably gonna ask, "Morningstar as in, the Devil?". Well, yeah. But I prefer for him to be known as my dad.

I'm twelve years old. Until a few months ago, I was a boarding student at Yancy Academy, a private school for troubled kids in upstate New York.

Am I a troubled kid?

Yeah. You could say that. But I prefer the term manipulative and too-smart-for-your-own-good.

I could start at any point in my long awesome life to prove it, but things really started going bad last May, when our sixth-grade class took a field trip to Manhattan— twenty-eight mental-case kids and two teachers on a yellow school bus, heading to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to look at ancient Greek and Roman stuff.

I know—it sounds like torture (and not the fun kind). Most Yancy field trips were.

But Mr. Brunner, our Latin teacher, was leading this trip, so I had hopes.

Mr. Brunner was this middle-aged guy in a motorized wheelchair. He had thinning hair and a scruffy beard and a frayed tweed jacket, which always smelled like coffee. You wouldn't think he'd be cool, but he told stories and jokes and let us play games in class. He also had this awesome collection of Roman armor and weapons, so he was the only teacher whose class didn't put me to sleep.

I hoped the trip would be okay. At least, I hoped that for once I wouldn't get in trouble.

Boy, was I wrong.

See, bad things happen to me on field trips. Like at my fifth-grade school, when we went to the Saratoga battlefield, I had this accident with a Revolutionary War cannon. I wasn't aiming for the school bus, but of course I got expelled anyway. And before that, at my fourth-grade school, when we took a behind-the-scenes tour of the Marine World shark pool, I sort of hit the wrong lever on the catwalk and our class took an unplanned swim. And the time before that... Well, you get the idea.

This trip, I was determined to be good.

All the way into the city, I put up with Nancy Bobofit, the freckly, redheaded kleptomaniac girl, who was just a queen bee wannabe (because everyone knows it belongs to me.) hitting my best friend Grover in the back of the head with chunks of peanut butter-and-ketchup sandwich.

Grover was an easy target. He was scrawny. He cried when he got frustrated. He must've been held back several grades, because he was the only sixth grader with acne and the start of a wispy beard on his chin. On top of all that, he was crippled. He had a note excusing him from PE for the rest of his life because he had some kind of muscular disease in his legs. He walked funny, like every step hurt him, but don't let that fool you. You should've seen him run when it was enchilada day in the cafeteria.

Anyway, Nancy Bobofit was throwing wads of sandwich that stuck in his curly brown hair, and she knew I couldn't do anything back to her because I was already on probation. The headmaster had threatened me with death by in-school suspension if anything bad, embarrassing, or even mildly entertaining happened on this trip. I called Daddy after that to see if he could kill the headmaster and replace him. He obviously said yes.

"I'm going to kill her," I mumbled.

Grover tried to calm me down. "It's okay. I like peanut butter."

He dodged another piece of Nancy's lunch.

"That's it." I started to get up, but Grover pulled me back to my seat.

"You're already on probation," he reminded me. "You know who'll get blamed if anything happens."

Looking back on it, I wish I'd decked Nancy Bobofit right then and there. In-school suspension would've been nothing compared to the mess I was about to get myself into.

Mr. Brunner led the museum tour.

He rode up front in his wheelchair, guiding us through the big echoey galleries, past marble statues and glass cases full of really old black-and-orange pottery.

It blew my mind that this stuff had survived for two thousand, three thousand years.

He gathered us around a thirteen-foot-tall stone column with a big sphinx on the top, and started telling us how it was a grave marker, a stele, for a girl about our age. He told us about the carvings on the sides. I was trying to listen to what he had to say, because it was kind of interesting, but everybody around me was talking, and every time I told them to shut up, the other teacher chaperone, Mrs. Dodds, would give me the evil eye.

Mrs. Dodds was this little math teacher from Georgia who always wore a black leather jacket, even though she was fifty years old. She looked mean enough to ride a Harley right into your locker. She had come to Yancy halfway through the year, when our last math teacher had a nervous breakdown.

From her first day, Mrs. Dodds loved Nancy Bobofit and figured I was a devil spawn (which was true and she knew it too). She would point her crooked finger at me and say, "Now, honey," real sweet, and I knew I was going to get after-school detention for a month.

One time, she made me "erase answers out of old math workbooks until midnight", as I told everyone. Which, wasn't actually true. See, Mrs Dodds was actually the Fury Alecto. My godmother to be precise (she and Mama Maze had a literal war over it. Dad went along with it, until they broke his newest bottle of Domaine Romanée-Conti). We actually spent the entire time gossiping and she gave me tips on ways to torture someone.

I told Grover I didn't think Mrs. Dodds was human, as a joke. He looked at me, real serious, and said, "You're absolutely right."

Mr. Brunner kept talking about Greek funeral art.

Finally, Nancy Bobofit (or Ms Throw-a-fit as I like to call her) snickered something about the naked guy on the stele, and I turned around and said, "Will you shut up?"

It came out louder than I meant it to.

The whole group laughed. Mr. Brunner stopped his story.

"Miss Morningstar," he said, "did you have a comment?"

My face blank, I said, "No, sir."

Mr. Brunner pointed to one of the pictures on the stele. "Perhaps you'll tell us what this picture represents?"

I looked at the carving, and felt a flush of relief, because I actually recognized it. Daddy already taught me about Greeks, Romans and Egyptians existing. I learnt that I was Poseiden's daughter. Papa (Poseiden) trained me in my water powers. "That's Kronos eating his kids, right?"

"Yes," Mr. Brunner said, obviously not satisfied. "And he did this because ..."

"Well..." I pretended to think . "Kronos was the king Titan, and he received a prophecy that one of his children would be his downfall and take him down just like he did to his own father so he ate each of his children every time when they were born. But his wife Queen Rhea hid baby Zeus, and gave Kronos a rock to eat instead. And later, when Zeus grew up, he tricked his dad, Kronos, into drinking a mixture of mustard and wine and he ended up barfing up his brothers and sisters

"Eeew!" said one of the girls behind me.

"—and so there was this big fight between the gods and the Titans," I continued, "and the gods won."

Some applause came from the group.

Behind me, Nancy Bobofit mumbled to a friend, "Like we're going to use this in real life. Like it's going to say on our job applications, 'Please explain why Kronos ate his kids.'"

"And why, Miss Morningstar," Brunner said, "to paraphrase Miss Bobofit's excellent question, does this matter in real life?"

"Busted," Grover muttered.

"Shut up," Nancy hissed, her face even brighter red than her hair.

At least Nancy got packed, too. Mr. Brunner was the only one who ever caught her saying anything wrong. He had radar ears.

I, very visibly, rolled my eyes. "Newton's third law. His actions got an equal reaction. Or morally. What goes around comes around."

"I see." Mr. Brunner looked shocked but proud. "Well, full credit, Miss Morningstar. Zeus did indeed feed Kronos a mixture of mustard and wine, which made him disgorge his other five children, who, of course, being immortal gods, had been living and growing up completely undigested in the Titan's stomach. The gods defeated their father, sliced him to pieces with his own scythe, and scattered his remains in Tartarus, the darkest part of the Underworld. On that happy note, it's time for lunch. Mrs. Dodds, would you lead us back outside?"

The class drifted off, the girls holding their stomachs, the guys pushing each other around and acting like doofuses.

Grover and I were about to follow when Mr. Brunner said, "Miss Morningstar."

I knew that was coming.

I told Grover to keep going. Then I turned toward Mr. Brunner. "Sir?"

Mr. Brunner had this look that wouldn't let you go— intense brown eyes that could've been a thousand years old and had seen everything.

"You must learn the answer to my question," Mr. Brunner told me.

"About the Titans?"

"About real life. And how your studies apply to it."

"Oh."

"What you learn from me," he said, "is vitally important. I expect you to treat it as such. I will accept only the best from you, Estella Jackson-Salvatore-Morningstar."

I was so annoyed by this, Mr Brunner. I was so good at this shit, because Uncle Amanadiel already taught me this. And I even knew more, seeing if I only stuck to the basics, Rory would have tickled me (hey, I'm very tickle-sensitive)

I mean, sure, it was kind of cool on tournament days, when he dressed up in a suit of Roman armor and shouted: "What ho!'" and challenged us, sword-point against chalk, to run to the board and name every Greek and Roman person who had ever lived, and their mother, and what god they worshipped. But Mr. Brunner expected me to be as good as everybody else, despite the fact that I have dyslexia and attention deficit disorder and I had never gotten a grade under A+.

I mumbled something about trying harder, while Mr. Brunner took one long sad look at the stele, like he'd been at this girl's funeral.

He told me to go outside and eat my lunch.

The class gathered on the front steps of the museum, where we could watch the foot traffic along Fifth Avenue.

Overhead, a huge storm was brewing, with clouds blacker than I'd ever seen over the city. I figured maybe Zeus or Papa caused it or something, because the weather all across New York state had been weird since Christmas. We'd had massive snow storms, flooding, wildfires from lightning strikes. I wouldn't have been surprised if this was a hurricane blowing in. Daddy did tell me something happened on Olympus, but didn't go into much detail.

Nobody else seemed to notice. Some of the guys were pelting pigeons with Lunchables crackers. Nancy Bobofit was trying to pickpocket something from a lady's purse, and, of course, Aunty wasn't seeing a thing.

Grover and I sat on the edge of the fountain, away from the others. We thought that maybe if we did that, everybody wouldn't know we were from that school—the school for loser freaks who couldn't make it elsewhere.

"Detention?" Grover asked.

"Nah," I said. "Not from Brunner. I just wish he'd lay off me sometimes. I mean—I'm not a genius."

Grover didn't say anything for a while. Then, when I thought he was going to give me some deep philosophical comment to make me feel better, he said, "Can I have your apple?"

I didn't have much of an appetite, so I let him take it.

I watched the stream of cabs going down Fifth Avenue, and thought about my mom's apartment, only a little ways uptown from where we sat. I hadn't seen her since Christmas. I wanted so bad to jump in a taxi and head home. She'd hug me and be glad to see me, but she'd be disappointed, too. She'd send me right back to Yancy, remind me that I had to try harder, even if this was my sixth school in six years and I was probably going to be kicked out again. I wouldn't be able to stand that sad look she'd give me.

Though, I don't think I can do it. Uncle Hades put the Underworld under strict watch. Even an experienced necromancer won't be able to bring someone's ghost back. Maybe I can get Aunty Perse to bribe him?

I noticed that Mr. Brunner parked his wheelchair at the base of the handicapped ramp. He ate celery while he read a paperback novel. A red umbrella stuck up from the back of his chair, making it look like a motorized cafe table.

I was about to unwrap my sandwich when Nancy Bobofit appeared in front of me with her ugly friends—I guess she'd gotten tired of stealing from the tourists—and dumped her half-eaten lunch in Grover's lap.

"Oops." She grinned at me with her crooked teeth. Her freckles were orange, as if somebody had spray-painted her face with liquid Cheetos.

I tried to stay cool. The school counselor had told me a million times, "Count to ten, get control of your temper." But I was so mad my mind went blank. A wave roared in my ears.

I don't remember touching her, but the next thing I knew, Nancy was sitting on her butt in the fountain, screaming, "Estella pushed me!"

I just rolled my eyes and said, "Well, you should be thankful to me that at least someone got you wet, seeing that no one would ever be with such an ugly bitch like you." I mean, I was raised by Lucifer Morningstar. Those kind of comments should be self expected by everyone by now.

Mrs. Dodds materialized next to us. 

Some of the kids were whispering: "Did you see—"

"—the water—"

"—like it grabbed her—"

I knew what they were talking about. Sometime, my water powers act unexpectedly. I only discovered them a few years ago. Unlike my devil powers, I hadn't practised them from childhood.

As soon as Mrs. Dodds was sure poor little Nancy was okay, promising to get her a new shirt at the museum gift shop, etc., etc., Mrs. Dodds turned on me. There was a triumphant fire in her eyes, as if I'd done something she'd been waiting for all semester. "Now, honey-"

"I know," I pretended to grumble, "A month erasing workbooks."

That wasn't the right thing to say.

"Come with me," Mrs. Dodds said.

"Wait!" Grover yelped. "It was me. I pushed her."

I stared at him, stunned. I couldn't believe he was trying to cover for me. Mrs. Dodds scared Grover to death.

She glared at him so hard his whiskery chin trembled.

"I don't think so, Mr. Underwood," she said.

"But—"

"You—will—stay—here."

Grover looked at me desperately.

"It's okay, man," I told him. "Thanks for trying."

"Honey," Mrs. Dodds barked at me. "Now."

Nancy Bobofit smirked.

I gave her my deluxe I'll-kill-you-later stare. Then I turned to face Mrs. Dodds, but she wasn't there. She was standing at the museum entrance, way at the top of the steps, gesturing impatiently at me to come on.

Uh, she always does this to me? Like, Aunty? Can you, not expose us?

I have moments like that a lot, when my brain falls asleep or something, and the next thing I know I've missed something, as if a puzzle piece fell out of the universe and left me staring at the blank place behind it. The school counselor told me this was part of the ADHD, my brain misinterpreting things.

I wasn't so sure.

I went after Mrs. Dodds.

Halfway up the steps, I glanced back at Grover. He was looking pale, cutting his eyes between me and Mr. Brunner, like he wanted Mr. Brunner to notice what was going on, but Mr. Brunner was absorbed in his novel.

I looked back up. Mrs. Dodds had disappeared again. She was now inside the building, at the end of the entrance hall.

Okay, I thought. She's going to congratulate me. But apparently that wasn't the plan.

I followed her deeper into the museum. When I finally caught up to her, we were back in the Greek and Roman section. Except for us, the gallery was empty.

Mrs. Dodds stood with her arms crossed in front of a big marble frieze of the Greek gods. She was making this weird noise in her throat, like growling.

Even without the noise, I would've been nervous. It's weird being alone with a teacher, especially Mrs. Dodds. Something about the way she looked at the frieze, as if she wanted to pulverize it...

"Congrats, honey. Thanks a bunch for doing that," she said.

I smirked, "No problem aunty. That bitch was super annoying."

She tugged on the cuffs of her leather jacket. "Honey you're going to have to act scared, since he's actually Chiron from the camp and thinks I'm about to attack you"

I nodded. If I can trick Uncle Hades into letting me necromance my mom, this was an easy job.

I said, "I'll—I'll try harder, ma'am."

Thunder shook the building.

"We are not fools, Estella Jackson-Salvatore-Morningstar," Mrs. Dodds said. "It was only a matter of time before we found you out. Confess, and you will suffer less pain."

I didn't know what she was talking about.

All I could think of was that the teachers must've found the illegal stash of candy I'd been selling out of my dorm room. Or maybe they'd realized I got my essay on Tom Sawyer from the Internet without ever reading the book and now they were going to take away my grade. Or worse, they were going to make me read the book.

"Well?" she demanded.

"Ma'am, I don't..."

"Your time is up," she hissed.

Then the weirdest thing happened. Her eyes began to glow like barbecue coals. Her fingers stretched, turning into talons. Her jacket melted into large, leathery wings. She wasn't human. She was a shriveled hag with bat wings and claws and a mouth full of yellow fangs, and she was about to slice me to ribbons.

Then things got even stranger.

Mr. Brunner, who'd been out in front of the museum a minute before, wheeled his chair into the doorway of the gallery, holding a pen in his hand.

"What ho, Estella!" he shouted, and tossed the pen through the air.

Mrs. Dodds lunged at me.

With a yelp, I dodged and felt talons slash the air next to my ear. I snatched the ballpoint pen out of the air, but when it hit my hand, it wasn't a pen anymore. It was a sword—Mr. Brunner's celestial bronze sword, which he always used on tournament day.

Mrs. Dodds spun toward me with a look in her eyes that said 'swing the sword at me'.

She snarled, "Die, honey!"

And she flew straight at me.

I straightened my back and swung the sword like Aunt Azreal taught me to.

The metal blade hit her shoulder and passed clean through her body as if she were made of water. Hisss!

Mrs. Dodds was a sand castle in a power fan. She exploded into yellow powder, vaporized on the spot, leaving nothing but the smell of sulfur and a dying screech and a chill of evil in the air, as if those two glowing red eyes were still watching me.

I was alone.

There was a ballpoint pen in my hand.

Mr. Brunner wasn't there. Nobody was there but me.

My hands were trembling with anger. I was so going to torture the person who made me kill-not actually kill as she was immortal-my godmother.

I went back outside.

It had started to rain.

Grover was sitting by the fountain, a museum map tented over his head. Nancy Bobofit was still standing there, soaked from her swim in the fountain, grumbling to her ugly friends. When she saw me, she said, "I hope Mrs. Kerr whipped your butt."

I said, "Who?"

"Our teacher. Duh!"

I blinked. We had no teacher named Mrs. Kerr.

"Oh yeah, she told me to tell you that you had two months detention"

She screamed in frustration and turned away.

I asked Grover where Mrs Kerr was.

He said, "Who?"

But he looked at me while saying it, as if he was shocked I knew Aunty's new name the mist made for her. "Not funny, man," I told him. "This is serious."

Thunder boomed overhead.

I saw Mr. Brunner sitting under his red umbrella, reading his book, as if he'd never moved.

I went over to him.

He looked up, a little distracted. "Ah, that would be my pen. Please bring your own writing utensil in the future, Miss Morningstar."

I acted confused.

"Sir," I said, "I'm sorry, but you didn't hand me anything. Also, Mrs Kerr told me to inform you that Nancy has two months of detention"

He stared at me baffled.

Hello there,

I'm so excited for the next few chapter, especially the one where Estella gets claimed.

Livvie xoxo

Edited 17 March 2024

❛ His Daughter - Livvie_Heart

© Livvie_Heart, 𝒂𝒍𝒍  𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔 𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒅.

PJO x Lucifer x TVD

Layout inspo by © amourfolklore

Chapter Text

𝓣𝓦𝓞

┌─── ∘°°∘☽【❖】☾∘°°∘ ───┐

ℍ𝕚𝕤 𝔻𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕖𝕣

└─── °∘∘°☽【❖】☾°∘∘° ───┘

I was used to the twenty-four/seven weird experience, being the daughter of the devil and all,  but usually they were over after a long time. This twenty-four/seven hallucination was definitely what I could handle.

For the rest of the school year, the entire campus seemed to be playing some kind of trick on me. The students acted as if they were completely and totally convinced that Mrs. Kerr—a perky blond woman whom I'd never seen in my life until she got on our bus at the end of the field trip—had been our pre-algebra teacher since Christmas.

I just played along. I managed to use my charmspeak on her to get her to hate Nancy and make me her favourite.

The freak weather continued. Even though I liked it's chaos, it didn't help my mood. One night, a thunderstorm blew out the windows in my dorm room. A few days later, the biggest tornado ever spotted in the Hudson Valley touched down only fifty miles from Yancy Academy. One of the current events we studied in social studies class was the unusual number of small planes that had gone down in sudden squalls in the Atlantic that year.

I started feeling moody most of the time. I started being more ruder to everyone. I got into more fights with Nancy Throw-a-fit and her friends.

Finally, when our English teacher, Mr. Nicoll, asked me for the millionth time why I was too lazy to study for spelling tests, I snapped. I called him an old sot. He would stare at me in ways I didn't like.

The next day, the dead body of a Mr. Nicoll, the English teacher of Yancy Academy, was found bloody and mangled.

Don't blame me.

The headmaster was also mysteriously was killed in a car crash by an unknown vehicle. My dad became the headmaster after that.

I did remember to tell my dad I didn't want to come back.

I was homesick.

I wanted to be with my family in our mega mansion, even if I had to put up with my obnoxious Uncle Micheal and his stupid poker parties.

And yet... there were things I'd miss at Yancy. The view of the woods out my dorm window, the Hudson River in the distance, the smell of pine trees. I'd miss Grover, who'd been a good friend, even if he was a little strange. I worried how he'd survive next year without me

I'd miss all the classes too.

As exam week got closer, I studied really hard. But I studied for Latin even harder. I hadn't forgotten what Mr. Brunner had told me about this subject being life-and-death for me. I wasn't sure why, but I'd started to believe him.

The evening before my final, I got so frustrated I threw the Cambridge Guide to Greek Mythology across my dorm room. Words had started swimming off the page, circling my head, the letters doing one-eighties as if they were riding skateboards. There was no way I was going to remember the difference between Chiron and Charon, or Polydictes and Polydeuces. And conjugating those Latin verbs? Forget it.

I didn't need Latin anyways.

I paced the room, feeling like ants were crawling around inside my shirt.

I remembered Mr. Brunner's serious expression, his thousand-year-old eyes. I will accept only the best from you, Estella Morningstar.

I let out a scream of frustration.

Suddenly, I transformed into my devil form.

I slowly calmed down and imagined myself as a human again.

Ever since the start of these weather changes my empathic, pathokinesis and amokinesis abilities have leveled up to a different plain field.

After I wore my slippers, I walked downstairs to the faculty offices to warn Mr. Brunner of the B I was sure to get. Most of them were dark and empty, but Mr. Brunner's door was ajar, light from his window stretching across the hallway floor.

I was three steps from the door handle when I heard voices inside the office. Mr. Brunner asked a question. A voice that was definitely Grover's said "... worried about Ella, sir."

I froze.

I'm not usually an eavesdropper, but I dare you to try not listening if you hear your best friend talking about you to an adult. I inched closer.

"... alone this summer," Grover was saying. "I mean, a Kindly One in the school! Now that we know for sure, and they know too—"

"We would only make matters worse by rushing her," Mr. Brunner said. "We need the girl to mature more."

"But she may not have time. The summer solstice deadline— "

"Will have to be resolved without her, Grover. Let her enjoy her ignorance while he still can."

"Sir, she saw her... ."

"Her imagination," Mr. Brunner insisted. "The Mist over the students and staff will be enough to convince her of that."

"Sir, I ... I can't fail in my duties again." Grover's voice was choked with emotion. "You know what that would mean."

"You haven't failed, Grover," Mr. Brunner said kindly. "I should have seen her for what she was. Now let's just worry about keeping Estella alive until next fall—"

The mythology book dropped out of my hand and hit the floor with a thud.

Mr. Brunner went silent.

I picked up the book and backed down the hall.

A shadow slid across the lighted glass of Brunner's office door, the shadow of something much taller than my wheelchair-bound teacher, holding something that looked suspiciously like an archer's bow.

I opened the nearest door and slipped inside.

A few seconds later I heard a slow clop-clop-clop, like muffled wood blocks, then a sound like an animal snuffling right outside my door. A large, dark shape paused in front of the glass, then moved on.

Somewhere in the hallway, Mr. Brunner spoke. "Nothing," he murmured. "My nerves haven't been right since the winter solstice."

"Mine neither," Grover said. "But I could have sworn ..."

"Go back to the dorm," Mr. Brunner told him. "You've got a long day of exams tomorrow."

"Don't remind me."

The lights went out in Mr. Brunner's office.

I waited in the dark for what seemed like forever.

Finally, I slipped out into the hallway and made my way back up to the dorm.

Grover was lying on his bed, studying his Latin exam notes like he'd been there all night.

"Hey," he said, bleary-eyed. "You going to be ready for this test?"

I didn't answer.

"You look awful." He frowned. "Is everything okay?"

"Just... tired."

I turned so he couldn't read my expression, and started getting ready for bed.

I kind of understood what I'd heard downstairs. It was probably about what Zeus and Papa were arguing about. I wanted to believe I'd imagined the whole thing.

But one thing was clear: Grover and Mr. Brunner were talking about me behind my back. They thought I was in some kind of danger.

The next afternoon, as I was leaving the three-hour Latin exam, my eyes swimming with all the Greek and Roman names I'd correctly spelled, Mr. Brunner called me back inside.

For a moment, I was worried he'd found out about my eavesdropping the night before, but that didn't seem to be the problem.

"Estella" he said. "Don't be discouraged about leaving Yancy. It's...it's for the best."

His tone was kind, but the words still embarrassed me. Even though he was speaking quietly, the other kids finishing the test could hear. Nancy Bobofit smirked at me and made sarcastic little kissing motions with her lips.

I nonchalantly said, "Okay, sir."

"I mean ..." Mr. Brunner wheeled his chair back and forth, like he wasn't sure what to say. "This isn't the right place for you. It was only a matter of time."

My eyebrow raised.

Here was my favorite teacher, in front of the class, telling me I couldn't handle it. After saying he believed in me all year, now he was telling me I was destined to get kicked out.

"Right," I said, nodding.

"No, no," Mr. Brunner said. "Oh, confound it all. What I'm trying to say... you're not normal, Percy. That's nothing to be—"

"Thanks," I said, trying to make him feel bad. "Thanks a lot, sir, for reminding me."

"Estella—"

But I was already gone.

On the last day of the term, I neatly packed my stuff into my suitcases.

The other girls were joking around, talking about their vacation plans. One of them was going on a hiking trip to Switzerland. Another was cruising the Caribbean for a month. They were rich juvenile delinquents, like me. Their daddies were executives, or ambassadors, or celebrities. I was a princess, however, from a family of nobles.

They asked me what I'd be doing this summer. I said, "Attending this camp. Only the most highest of people's children will be going there." I mean, I wasn't wrong either. They were fucking demigods.

"Oh wow," one of the girls said, eyes wide. "That's awesome"

They went back to their conversation, but this time I joined as well.

The only person I dreaded saying good-bye to was Grover, but as it turned out, I didn't have to. He asked me if he could join me in my limo and get down at the Greyhound station. 

During the whole bus ride, Grover kept glancing nervously out the window. It occurred to me that he'd always acted nervous and fidgety when we left Yancy, as if he expected something bad to happen. Before, I'd always assumed he was worried about getting teased. But there was nobody to tease him in the limo.

Finally I couldn't stand it anymore.

I said, "Looking for Kindly Ones?"

Grover nearly jumped out of his seat. "Wha—what do you mean?"

I confessed about eavesdropping on him and Mr. Brunner the night before the exam.

Grover's eye twitched. "How much did you hear?"

"Oh... not much. What's the summer solstice dead-line?" I asked, pretending to be dumb.

He winced. "Look, Percy... I was just worried for you, see? I mean, hallucinating about demon math teachers..."

"Grover—"

"And I was telling Mr. Brunner that maybe you were overstressed or something, because there was no such person as Mrs. Dodds, and..."

"Grover, you're a really, really bad liar."

His ears turned pink.

From his shirt pocket, he fished out a grubby business card. "Just take this, okay? In case you need me this summer.

The card was in fancy script, which was murder on my dyslexic eyes, but I finally made out something like:

Grover Underwood

Keeper

Half-Blood Hill

Long Island, New York

(800) 009-0009

"What's Half—"

"Don't say it aloud!" he yelped. "That's my, um... summer address."

My eyebrow rose. Grover had a summer home. I'd never considered that his family might be as rich as all of us at Yancy.

"Okay," I said nonchalantly. "So, you want me to come visit your mansion."

He nodded. "Or... or if you need me."

I let out a laugh. "Grover, I'm way richer than you are. Seriously. Besides, I'll be really busy at my camp. And why would I need you?"

It came out harsher than I meant it to.

Grover blushed right down to his Adam's apple. "Look, Ella, the truth is, I—I kind of have to protect you."

I stared at him.

All year long, I'd gotten in fights, keeping bullies away from him. I'd lost sleep worrying that he'd get beaten up next year without me. And here he was acting like he was the one who defended me.

"Grover," I said, "what exactly are you protecting me from?"

There was a huge grinding noise under our feet. Black smoke poured from the dashboard and the whole limo filled with a smell like rotten eggs. The driver cursed and limped the limo over to the side of the highway. I was so going to sue the company.

After a few minutes clanking around in the engine compartment, the driver announced that we'd have to get off. Grover and I got outside with the butler and the three maids.

We were on a stretch of country road—no place you'd notice if you didn't break down there. On our side of the highway was nothing but maple trees and litter from passing cars. On the other side, across four lanes of asphalt shimmering with afternoon heat, was an old-fashioned fruit stand.

The stuff on sale looked really good: heaping boxes of blood red cherries and apples, walnuts and apricots, jugs of cider in a claw-foot tub full of ice. There were no customers, just three old ladies sitting in rocking chairs in the shade of a maple tree, knitting the biggest pair of socks I'd ever seen.

I mean these socks were the size of sweaters, but they were clearly socks. The lady on the right knitted one of them. The lady on the left knitted the other. The lady in the middle held an enormous basket of electric-blue yarn.

All three women looked ancient, with pale faces wrinkled like fruit leather, silver hair tied back in white bandannas, bony arms sticking out of bleached cotton dresses.

The Fates.

The weirdest thing was, they seemed to be looking right at me.

I looked over at Grover to say something about this and saw that the blood had drained from his face. His nose was twitching.

"Grover?" I said. "Hey, man—"

"Tell me they're not looking at you. They are, aren't they?"

"Yeah. Weird, huh? You think those socks would fit me?" I joked.

"Not funny, Ella. Not funny at all."

The old lady in the middle took out a huge pair of scissors—gold and silver, long-bladed, like shears. I heard Grover catch his breath.

"We're getting on the limo," he told me. "Come on."

"What?" I said. "It's a thousand degrees in there."

"Come on!'" He pried open the door and climbed inside, but I stayed back.

Across the road, the old ladies were still watching me. The middle one cut the yarn, and I swear I could hear that snip across four lanes of traffic. Her two friends balled up the electric-blue socks, leaving me wondering who they could possibly be for—Sasquatch or Godzilla.

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

The servants cheered.

"Darn right!" yelled the driver. He slapped the bus with his hat. "Everybody back on board!"

Once we got going, I started feeling feverish, as if I'd caught the flu.

Grover didn't look much better. He was shivering and his teeth were chattering.

"Grover?"

"Yeah?"

"What are you not telling me?"

He dabbed his forehead with his shirt sleeve. "Ella, what did you see back at the fruit stand?"

"You mean the old ladies? What is it about them, man? They're not like... Mrs. Dodds, are they?"

His expression was hard to read, but I got the feeling that the fruit-stand ladies were something much, much worse than Mrs. Dodds. He said, "Just tell me what you saw."

"The middle one took out her scissors, and she cut the yarn." He closed his eyes and made a gesture with his fingers that might've been crossing himself, but it wasn't. It was something else, something almost—older.

He said, "You saw her snip the cord."

"Yeah. So?" But even as I said it, I knew it was a big deal. It was one of our lifelines.

"This is not happening," Grover mumbled. He started chewing at his thumb. "I don't want this to be like the last time."

"What last time?"

"Always sixth grade. They never get past sixth."

"Grover," I said, because he was really starting to scare me. "What are you talking about?"

"Let me walk take home from the terminal. Promise me."

This seemed like a strange request to me, but I promised he could.

"Is this like a superstition or something?" I asked.

No answer.

"Grover—that snipping of the yarn. Does that mean somebody is going to die?"

He looked at me mournfully, like he was already picking the kind of dead things I'd like best on my coffin.

Hello everyone!

The next few chapter will be published later this week. They're probably one of my favourite one. Not going to tell you. No spoilers!

Livvie xoxo

Edited 17 March 2024 and 29 May 2024

❛ His Daughter - Livvie_Heart

© Livvie_Heart, 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒅.

PJO x Lucifer x TVD

Layout inspo by © amourfolklore