Abrote



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  1. Rec *

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    Ever since Harry’s found himself stuck in the 1940s, he’s been trying his best not to draw attention to himself at Hogwarts and to keep out of Tom Riddle’s orbit as much as possible. Unfortunately, Tom doesn’t appear to have gotten the same memo, however, as he simply won’t leave the young omega alone.

    He’s even gotten it into his head apparently that Harry needs an alpha chaperone to Slughorn’s Christmas party, of all things. What could he possibly be up to now and why is he so bound and determined to bring Harry into it? This whole ordeal is just giving him a headache.

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    03 Feb 2026

  2. Rec *

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    21 Dec 2025

  3. Rec *

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    Jason decides to take his chance. “So what’s the deal with him, anyway? People here talk about him like he’s a god.”

    To his surprise, Clarisse snorts. “Something like that. Prissy’s an annoying one, that’s for sure. But I can’t deny that he’s powerful.”

    “Powerful how?” He finds himself asking, curious. Everyone keeps talking about Percy Jackson, but people have yet to tell him more than that he’s Annabeth’s boyfriend, missing, and a son of Neptune. No, Poseidon. For some reason, the names swirl in his head, jumbled. He jolts out of his thoughts to Clarisse’s sigh of annoyance.

    “What is it with all the hero-worship around here?” She mutters under her breath, and then huffs. “At least it wouldn’t go to his head.” She clears her throat, voice finally rising above a whisper. “Control-the-sea powerful. Create-a-storm powerful. Blow-up-a-toilet powerful. Blow-up-a-volcano powerful. That sort of thing.” She shrugs like she hasn’t dropped bombshell after bombshell, and Jason barely has enough presence of mind left to register that his jaw is hanging open. “Right–”

    Or, 10 times someone thought Percy was a god, and the one time someone knew he was (or at least something like one).

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    16 Dec 2025

  4. Rec *

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    In the aftermath, a thousand and one deaths flash before his eyes, and Ares feels them all. Every sword. Every spear. Every knife.

    Over and over again, he breathes his last breath, sometimes at the hands of another soldier and sometimes at the hands of himself. He stares at his own face, caked in blood and viscera, and hates himself for loving it.

    War is his vice of choice. It is his lover. His best friend. His worst enemy. He hates to love it, but no matter how he tries, he can’t seem to escape its clutches.

    He’s not quite sure if he really wants to.

    - - -

    It’s ironic, isn’t it? Ares hates all of Poseidon’s children with a vengeful fury, and yet, in this new world of Christianity and Capitalism, Perseus Fucking Jackson is the closest thing he has to a priest.

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    16 Dec 2025

  5. Rec *

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    There's far too much divinity in Percy Jackson. It oozes from him, to the point where he's sometimes mistaken for Poseidon. Percy doesn't know this yet. All he knows is that this nereid is asking to borrow five drachmas.

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    10 Dec 2025