Chapter Text
Look, I didn’t want to isekai myself.
If you’re reading this because you think it’d be fun to get isekai’d, my advice is this: close the tab right now. There is no isekai in Ba Sing Se.
If you’re normal (slim chance), reading this because you think it’s fiction, great. Read on. I envy you. Do you know how painful it is to go through puberty twice? Do you know how much worse it is when a bunch of immature gods are jerking you around like a thirteen year old boy with the house to himself?
No, you don’t. So fuck you.
My name is Phoebe Jackson. I’m not entirely sure how I committed iseaki.
I don’t even know if it was my choice. It’s not like I knew it was something that could happen to a person. And, if it ever were to happen, I would have thought I had a fifty/fifty shot at winding up in the Harry Potter universe. Otherwise I’d be in some anime I’d never seen before.
Not Sword Art Online, Not Sword Art Online, I might have thought to myself if I knew it was happening.
But I didn’t know what was going on, so I didn’t. I would tell you what committing isekai is like, only it’s a little hard to describe what it feels like to have your soul ripped from your body and forced into another. It was sort of like a vacuum cleaner sucked up my innards (FNAF Reference?!) and spit them out into someone else. Or maybe it was more like I was melted into clay, spun around a potter’s wheel, and reformed into something else by hands I could not see.
I’m not ashamed to admit the first thing I did in my new body was throw up. Profusely. In hindsight, it was worth it for the look on Nancy Bobobitch’s face alone.
But at that moment I had no clue I committed isekai, had no idea where I was or what I was doing… I had no idea I was a child who was soon to be left with the impression they had just woken up from the most peculiar dream.
See, my memories of my past life are all murky, like I spent the entire time drunk as a college freshman on Halloween. My theory is that the isekai gods didn’t want me to waste time asking troubling questions like, ‘Was I married in my past life?’ or ‘How old am I really?’
What they did do was make sure committing isekai fucking sucked. I’d give them 0/5 stars, a fifteen percent tip (I’m not a monster! The economy is in shambles), and a bad review on my Substack, just to spite them to my twenty three subscribers.
“I swear to god, we better not have left Jack in charge of the shrooms again,” were the first words out of my mouth. Then my vision swayed and I threw up into a garbage bin I distantly remembered calling for.
A chorus of ‘ewwwwws!’ alerted me to the small group of middle school girls in the room. A really bad trip, then.
They can’t say anything about you that you haven’t said six inches from the mirror, I thought to myself, grinning like a loon.
“What’s wrong with you?” one girl said.
“Someone get the nurse!” cried another.
My vision slowly but surely cleared. I was in a spacious dorm room with two bunk beds and four desks. Sunlight filtered through the open window. The scent was familiar to me; I had an impression of walks to school, summer park programs, and…
The nurse walked into the room and I lost the thread. I squinted up at her, curious how the drugs and my psyche were affecting my external stimuli. “Alyssa?” I asked. I think she was a mom friend. I could see my brain making her a nurse.
“No, dear,” she said, lips pursed in a frown. That made me sad–she was really quite pretty.
“Sorry,” I blurted out.
“Oh, there’s nothing to be sorry for! Let’s get you up.”
She grabbed my hands so she could help pull me to my feet, which was my first sign that something was truly wrong. Don’t get me wrong, chat–can I call you that? Is that cringe?–anyway, chat, my hands have always been dainty and thin and feminine and perfect. I may not remember my old name, but I am sure as fuck my hands were sexy enough to model rings on television.
These hands were dainty and thin only because they were so small. The nurse’s hands covered them completely! I stumbled, unfamiliar with how small and light I felt.
I looked up at the nurse in a sudden panic. “What time did we take them again?”
“Excuse me?”
“The shr–”
My voice cut off abruptly. For behind the nurse stood a hot pink mirror, the edges covered in polaroids and hanging lights. It was very 2000s, let me tell you, but I didn’t take much interest in it. I was a bit too distracted staring at the person in the reflection who was patently not me.
“I’m going to kill him,” I mumbled.
Then I blacked out and fell face first onto the carpet.
…
If you thought my first day post-isekai (PI, as it were) was going to get better, you’d be wrong. It turned out I was missing some trip to the city everyone was looking forward to. The nurse felt horrible about it; she kept asking if she could get me a book, or if I wanted to do some homework…
“It’s alright,” I said, even though it wasn’t at all alright, because my voice was too high pitched and childish, even the little voice in my head screaming, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck fuck–
No, everything was fine. Who cared if I was sick? Who cared about a field trip? It was hard to give a shit about that when I was stuck in the body of an twelve year old girl. I somehow knew, with startling confidence, that this was real. It was like the isekai gods were making me speed-run through the horrible experience of becoming somebody else. Summoning Salt would be proud, which I supposed was something, at least. But if this was real, that meant I would have to go through puberty again. To say I was unenthused by the prospect would be the understatement of the century. Hormones? Acne? The horrifying ordeal of a middle school locker room during gym class? Homework?
Hidden behind the curtain of the nurse’s office, hyperventilating like a vape fiend after two flights of stairs, I realized something else about this fucked up little nightmare: no memory, whether of the life I lived before or this one, came to me unprompted. If I considered something–like say, what my name was–the information dropped into my head as if it had been there the entire time.
Sometimes, at least. Everything else was an absence. It didn’t feel like I was grasping for information that should have been there. It just wasn’t there.
Make any sense? No? Probably because you haven’t been isekai’d. I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it, chat.
Once I felt like I could speak without either bursting into tears or screaming in fear, I asked if I could go to the bathroom. Once inside, I flicked on the light and slowly approached the mirror (someone on r/writing just felt a shiver down their spine because you, dear reader, are learning what a character looks like by a mirror. Get fucked nerds). The first thing I noticed was that I had really brown eyes. There was an immediate guileless to my expression that–let me assure you–would prove USEFUL later. My hair was a very average brown (imagine the very center of the ‘brown hair’ chart. Congrats! Whatever you imagined is your canon interpretation of me!), and long enough to brush against my shoulder blades. I absently reached around to braid my hair like my hands had a mind of their own.
While they worked, I decided it wasn’t just my eyes that made me think this girl had done nothing wrong. The baby fat clinging to her cheeks and rounding her face, full lips that pulled into a surprisingly cheerful smile when I finished the braid and inspected it… All of it gave the impression of youthful innocence. I knew that was something she–that I–liked to use to my advantage.
My reverie was broken by the sound of the nurse’s door slamming open. “Phoebe?”
I walked out of the bathroom and froze. Two boys stood in the entryway, the taller of the two huffing and puffing. I faintly wondered if he had been smoking; he had a Shaggy sort of vibe to him, one that was not helped by his overlarge sweatshirt, Rastacap, wispy chin beard, and acne. Tell me you wouldn't think a middle schooler who dressed like that was smoking the devil’s lettuce on the side.
The boy beside him, though… I took one look at him and something seemed to loosen in my chest. No–it felt more like something was being put into place. Everything about him was familiar, even the slight musk all middle school boys are blissfully unaware that I got a great whiff of when he hugged tightly.
“Per-r-r-rcy, give her some space,” Grover bleated.
“Oh, hush, you old–”
My voice cut off abruptly.
Grover?
Bleated?
Percy?
Holy fuck, I realized. I’ve been yeeted to the world of Percy Jackson.
I sat with that revelation for all of three seconds when I realized something else. I could be a god in this world.
I know, I know, it wasn't my best look. Very Light Yagami core. I swear I’m not an incel, and I was not planning to rule this potentially drug-induced fever dream of a world. Not that I could, when there were hundreds of actual gods waiting to smite me at a moment’s notice.
But I did know most of what was going to happen. And in true isekai fashion, I gave myself a moment to think about the implications. How could I not?
To spare you the time, it boiled down to this–my presence in this world could mean that there were other differences. A butterfly flaps its wings, and blah, blah, blah. You get the drill.
But if my memories of the future were correct… I could do a lot. I’d love to say that my first thought was to ‘save lives,’ or something noble like that, but really, I was thinking of all the ways I could make off like a bandit. Not very #virtuous of me, I know. Somebody call the Morality Police! This bitch thought about how she could make money on the stock market before she considered saving the lives of no-longer fictional characters! Get her capitalist ass!
The first altruistic inclination that came to me was to protect Percy. My brother. Percy Jackson was my brother! Now that I was with him, a deluge of memories came flooding to my mind. I was there when Percy pulled the lever at the aquarium. I took a dive with the rest of our class, that little shit!
I was the one who set off the Civil War cannon, though. That made me feel good… Until I remembered Rick decided the Romans fought for the Confederacy. Big yikes. Not very woke of him.
I decided I was going to have to deal with that as soon as we met the Romans. Oh, and the whole ‘minor gods not being recognized’ thing could be fixed earlier, couldn’t it? And what about Tyson? That kid deserved better. Or Bianca, her death was so stupid…
It was around then that I truly accepted this was real. Percy Jackson was no longer just a character in a book I read as a kid, but my living, breathing, brother. The love I felt for him was as immense as the ocean his father ruled, as deep as the Mariana Trench. I knew the moment he hugged me that I would do anything for this boy. Mom would kill me if I let something happen to him. I promised her when… We left…
I remembered my mom.
Sally Jackson.
My mom was Sally FUCKING Jackson.
Needless to say, Percy did not understand why I suddenly jumped to my feet, let out a feral shriek of joy, and danced with him around the nurse’s office, ignoring his complaints and Grover’s bleating laughter all the while.
…
I spent the rest of the school year ignoring everyone who was not named Percy, Grover, or Chiron. Mr. Brunner, rather. He really was an excellent teacher, but something about his gaze unsettled me. And not in the, ‘woah, this guy might be a villain!’ way, but in the way old people seem to develop some kind of stare that can pierce your very soul. His eyes were giving judgmental boomer.
I tried to remind myself that, unlike if I had been yeeted to Terfville, where I would have had to contend with wizard Hitler and a grease-lord who can read kids' minds, my mind was safe. But in a way… the Percy Jackson universe was almost worse. The gods were watching me. If I thought about it too much, I broke out in a cold sweat and had to run to the bathroom to avoid a repeat of my first day in this world.
Did they know? Did they know I wasn’t supposed to be here? Was my presence fucking everything up? My instincts screamed at me to wrap my brother in bubble wrap and hide him until he turns seventeen. I kept coming up with plans for how I could help him avoid his fate. If I didn’t, he would have to go on some hare-brained quest across America, getting to see the wonderful and awe inspiring sights of such beautiful places as St. Louis, New Jersey, and every capitalist’s hedonistic wet dream, Las Vegas. All to save his mother’s–Mom’s–life.
And that was just the tip of the iceberg. Luke’s betrayal? Awkward love triangles? Tartarus? I could spare him all of that pain. All I needed to do was march down to Chiron’s office and tell him everything I know, and then…
Fuck, I thought to myself, staring at my hands, no wonder every isekai has to have this segment!
If I told anyone what I know, that would for sure change things. Massively. I understood now why so many protagonists in isekai fics try to stay on the sidelines. There’s no other way to make sure they have some idea of what’s going to happen next.
That’s all well and good for a fictional character, but for those of us who actually have been isekai’d, the whole ‘soul sucking’ business is no joke. Despite knowing, in some intrinsic, undeniable way, that I was from a different world and had once been someone else, I was Phoebe Jackson now.
I did not–and as of writing this, do not–know what happened to Phoebe Jackson’s original soul. Did my soul merge with hers? Did hers get sucked and dumped, too? Or did I squash it down like a bug when I arrived here?
I decided to accept that I will never know, and as I obviously had no choice in the matter, I really shouldn’t bother thinking about it anymore.
(It bothers me so fucking much, chat, you have no idea).
Anyway, all that’s to say sitting on the sidelines was not an option. How could I, when I had no way of knowing for certain if my brother was going to survive the next five years? I couldn’t afford to let things play out until I knew for certain Percy’s fate was already set in stone, that my presence here wouldn’t change things so drastically that he may not make it out alive.
So with nothing else to do, I did my best to blend in. It was easiest with Percy. Our relationship and banter came naturally to me. He snuck me candy from his stash in return for help with English and Latin. I whispered answers to questions when he got called on, and he saved my spot in the lunch line because I–apparently–liked staying after English class to talk with the teacher about the readings. I somehow wasn’t dyslexic–something I certainly planned on bonding with Frank Zhang about, assuming I got to meet the sweetest boy ever conceived in fiction.
Other than my relationship with Percy (and Grover, lovable dork that he was), everything else was a major L, though. Despite knowing I was older than Nancy, the lack of tangible memories, let alone the physical and mental experience of being twelve, turned her from an annoying brat into a raging fury, a bitch of epic proportions. How I put up with her all year without hitting her is a testament to my patience.
And need I mention having to do homework designed for twelve year olds? It was such a massive waste of time I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs. No, what I really wanted to do was wring the neck of every Harry Potter time travel fic author who glossed over the utter banality of sitting through school for children. Even though I had no memories of my old time in school, the knowledge I had done all of this before made every minute sitting in a tiny desk painful.
(While we’re on the subject: Mac Miller, Doechii, Chappell Roan, and Khruangbin are the Mount Rushmore of NPR Tiny Desks. Do not fucking @ me, chat! I will ban you if you disagree!)
Being twelve years old really sucked ass. My body was uncoordinated and gangly in a manner not quite unlike that of a baby giraffe thanks to my long legs, I had a zit on my chin that refused to pop no matter how desperately I pinched it, and all of my emotions felt like they were cranked up to a million. I could alternate from tears of joy to tears of utter rage in a second, which Grover learned the hard way when he thought it would be funny to inform me teacup pigs are not actually real, but are just baby pigs.
One of the strangest parts of the experience was discovering new instincts and quirks about myself. I had a habit of chewing my nails I felt confident I didn’t have before. I bounced on the balls of my feet, full of an exuberant energy I couldn’t seem to shake off. I think that’s why I had no filter; I blabbered constantly about nothing of importance in a never-ending, rapid stream.
So when Percy asked why I stopped going on my morning runs I listened. And lo and behold, a run every morning and evening did wonders to work off my energy. I felt like a baby a golden shepherd whose owner had to take them out on walks lest they break all of the furniture in the living room.
I still was insanely energetic, though; my hand kept raising in class, especially English, and during recess I eagerly jumped into every game the boys played, running circles around them on the basketball court and making fools of them when we moved to kickball. I had so much fun chirping them like I was Shorsey (it was 2005–your mom jokes were all the rage), and I didn’t even have to feel bad about it. The boys were as annoying and sexist as you would expect a bunch of boys in 2005 to be. It was my feminist duty to put them in their place.
I kept at it until the end of the year, when final exams (for sixth graders? What the fuck!?) came around. I forced Percy and Grover to join me in the library after dinner to study. It usually didn’t go very well; Percy was prone to drawing comics in his notebooks while Grover, who I knew felt the same as me about this whole ‘school’ thing, half-heartedly read from his book and chided Percy for getting distracted.
A few days before our last day of school I found myself alone with my brother. Grover, the poor soul, had eaten one too many enchiladas and made an emergency dash to the bathroom. I knew his trials would last him at least twenty minutes, so I focused my attention on my brother, ready to tell him to lock in. I noticed something was wrong right away. He wasn’t doodling, nor was he pulling at his hair as he tried to read Latin. He sat stoically, eyes a thousand miles away.
I waved my hand in front of his face until he started. “Worried about Grover?” I asked. “Don’t worry, he always comes back lighter on his feet.”
Percy laughed, even though his nose wrinkled in disgust. “You know he hates when you bring it up.”
“Then he should keep better care of his tummy,” I replied with a rather mulish pout.
Percy rolled his eyes. He might have thought he was subtle, but I noticed the way he looked around the library to make sure nobody was listening in on us. Then he scratched the back of his head and said oh-so-innocently, “Hey, Phoebe?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you remember Ms. Dodds?”
And fuck if this wasn’t hard. I had realized awhile ago that the ‘trip’ the nurse told me about was the one to the Met. The very same trip that Percy slay-kinged one of the Furies. I had been playing along with everyone else about our new teacher so Percy would overhear Chiron and Grover talking about it. I should have known he would ask me about her eventually, though.
I knew it wasn’t wrong to lie to him. I had to let things play out until I knew if my knowledge of the future was accurate. But that didn’t mean I felt good about it. Percy, normally so confident, was seeking my reassurance. I knew enough about our relationship to know this kind of conversation didn’t happen often.
I scrunched my eyebrows together as if thinking heavily. “Ms. Dodds? Was she that witch from Ridgepointe who told me I was going to grow up to be a waitress?”
Percy’s laugh was strained. “No, not her. Do you… Do you really not remember her?”
“No, I don’t,” I replied, my voice pleasant and light and not all suspicious. “Should I?”
I held his gaze until he looked away, the space between his brows creased. “No. Forget I said anything.”
“Well, that’s easy enough,” I replied, elbowing him. “How else do you think I put up with you?”
“Oh, ha, ha,” he mumbled under his breath.
Thankfully I spotted Grover making his way over to us. “Good heavens, man!” I exclaimed, hopping to my feet. “How is the rear guard faring after the assault? Do you need reinforcements? Come, sit, you look as if you’ve seen a specter!”
Percy’s laughter got us booted from the library.
Totally worth it, though.