#Apollo Complex

[dems-demi]

I believe it was a divine intervention who wrote Will Solace on the narrative because how the fuck is he so interesting with so little screentime in the original series? This child who lost siblings and couldn’t even mourn them because he was dragged left and right to help, this child who became a talented and great healer at the ripe age of 12 and became a prodigy at 13, this child who kept absorbing pain and pushing down anger, this child who faced his trauma with a Trademarked Solace Smile and makes everyone feel safe besides himself, this child who had to be a dependable pillar, this child who saw death for so many times and had to accept it, this child, this child, this child whom everyone turns to at all times, this child who’s still only 16 and hasn’t properly been himself much because he has a duty that he loves and must uphold—helping and healing, something he deemed he could only do for others because he believed couldn’t do anything else. This child who got so scared when his best friend went missing, when his remaining siblings went missing, when he thought his father didn’t recognize him. This child who swallows his sadness. This child who was afraid of not being enough, who was afraid that people might leave him if he wasn’t—this child was afraid of people leaving him, because his own Dad did, his relationship with his Mom was not told much, the older siblings he loved left him by death, and he was nervous if Nico will leave him too. This child who feared losing the love of his life so he turned to his anger, his rage, his wrath—all pent up and went loose for a few minutes at Night herself and gave her a fucking hay fever. This child who had his own identity, who had and still has endless possibilities regarding who he is, his powers, and feelings yet reduced to just being a silly, goofy, perfect boyfriend healer of Nico di Angelo who never had a bad day and is stable—and some people loathe him for being “Nico’s Boyfriend” as if it’s his fault. This child is William Andrew Solace and I believe none of us has truly met him fully.

[glader-heaven]

Seeing hate on the Percy Jackson series to me is SOOO funny.

‘There’s too much plot armour’ ‘the characters are so two dimensional’ my friends THEYRE BOOKS FOR 12 YEAR OLDS 😭😭😭 ‘they don’t follow Greek mythology at all’ they’re literally FICTION books why would they need to be accurate 😭😭 are we seriously expecting books about demigods and Olympus in manhattan to be 100% accurate to Greek mythology

They are silly fiction books for children of course they’re not complex. I think people forget that 😭😭

[sagelessichor]

Okay, so Apollo? We all know him, right? God of the sun, light, poetry, and one too many other fucking things? Including truth, knowledge, logic, and education?

Yeah, how are we all forgetting who the God of fucking Education and Logic is? Please, for the love of everything holy, stop characterizing Apollo as a dumb blond who can’t do shit on his own and whose only traits are pride, vanity, anger issues, and being horny because he is so much more than that and this is really getting out of hand. I’ve read too many damned fics and posts where everyone treats and characterizes Apollo as an immature teenager and I am just so fucking over it. He is such a complex character and we all really need to stop reducing him to a blond dumb-dumb.

[imafuckinstar]

i lay awake at night wondering how the world would be if hera had been portrayed as the protector of women and goddess of childbirth in the riordanverse

[plushieslayer]

some HOO/PJO/TOA fans :

“we need more complex characters”

MY BROTHER IN CHRIST,YOU COULDN’T EVEN HANDLE HIM

[gingermintpepper]

“Your hair’s gotten longer.” 

It’s conscious effort that keeps him from tucking the strands behind his ear, from taking the knife at his hip and shearing it all off. He keeps his stance focused, attentive, there’s little else he can do when he’s taken so completely after his mother when it comes to his hair. His father scratches his chin, the clouds of his beard snaking about his finger like mist parting for mountain-peaks. Ares’ chin is still child-smooth. He can feel the tickle of his over-long fringe against his soft jaw. There’s no heart in his chest, but still he feels as though a pulse is lodged in his throat. 

Father sighs, put-upon, disappointed, and Ares feels a slight tremor start in his calves from holding himself so tense. “Well done, Ares. Go clean yourself up and get some rest. Phoebus will want to look you over later.” 

He should be ecstatic to be praised by his father. Over-the-moon with joy. There should be pride emanating from every pore of his body, the blood on his skin should be sweeter than ambrosia. 

Instead, he bows, manages a soft ‘thank you, Father’ around the lump in his throat and immediately flees the room. A mild ‘make sure to trim your hair’ hits the back of his head like a spear through the skull. He almost wishes the great door had slammed on his foot so he would have reason to feel this horrid in his retreat.  

Phoebus Apollo is waiting for him in his infirmary. 

He’s gilded as ever, gold from crown to heel. Perfect like the statues they carve of him in his temples. He has a smile for Ares when he sees him, a crinkle at the edges of his pretty eyes from the weight of his joy. Ares is waiting to see the crack in the marble, to see if that’s the chip that’ll reveal his fangs.

“Brother,” he greets, and his voice is warm - like the arms that embrace him, his voice is so warm, “Welcome back. I’ve heard you’ve done well.”  

There’s a tremble in Ares’ fingers he hadn’t noticed before. Strain from carrying his sword for so many days, a throb from wounds he hadn’t noticed he’d accrued. “Heard? There’s already gossip?” 

Phoebus blinks, disarming, demure, coquettish, “But of course,” and Phoebus’ voice is honey to Ares’ gravel, the juxtaposition is grating on his skin, “It’s Olympus. The gossip began long before you set your course.” Those warm hands lead him further into the room, bodily sits him on the chaise, pulls his helmet from his head. It’s all one, unbroken motion, “It’s summer alas, so I could not watch your war myself, but I hear it was quite the decisive victory.” 

A thousand thoughts run on horseback through his mind then. 

Did Father overhear some terrible slander that pre-emptively disappointed him? Was Ares’ victory merely a rumour, a bet his father hadn’t bothered to take? Was the gossip more enticing than the stark truth? That Ares wasn’t some child toddling about in the shadow of his sister, that his sword and spear weren’t merely for show - he’d think such a thing would warrant celebration. Not -

“Oh my,” Phoebus is in front of him, pleasant warmth more sticky heat with how close he’s pressed himself into Ares’ space. From this angle, Ares can see the multi-coloured flecks of his eyes, like shards of golden glass suspended in ichor. From this angle, with his hand so gently holding his hair, were Ares to blink too hard, he’d swear Phoebus looked just like his mother. “Your hair’s grown long again.” 

He pushes Phoebus off with such force that he bangs into the wall. It’s Phoebus, it won’t make even the impression of a scratch on him, but Ares wishes it would. Wishes he’d hit his shoulder or crack his neck or hit his head just hard enough for all that perfect, gilded gold to bleed. 

“I’m only here for you to heal me,” the tremble in his hand extends to his shoulder now. He flexes and unflexes his palm. Gods what he would give to just have a sword - “Don’t waste time with the pleasant-work.” 

Phoebus huffs, adjusts the fit of his himation, “...Only because we’re meant to be celebrating your victory.” He crosses the room in two great strides, his hair a swirling tempest behind him as he gathers his poultices and wraps. “The only reason I’ll not throw you from the window is because we are meant to be celebrating your victory.”  

There’s not enough acid in his tone for this to truly be a fight. Ares’ jaw clenches, he bites out a terse, “How benevolent.” 

“Aren’t I?” He’s got nectar and his sutures in hand, that focused look falling upon his face when he switches from overbearing busybody to Paeon of the Gods. “Now strip unfaltering Ares, let us see the measure of damage done to your indomitable flesh.” 

(Somewhere between the fifth set of stitches and the gentle frown that crosses Phoebus’ face when he notices the persistent tremble in his fingers, Ares pins his eyes to the far wall and asks, “What does it mean when Father says ‘well done’?” 

Any other sibling would mock before they gave a true response. Any other sibling would laugh and dismiss it, would say that praise is praise and any lingering ill feeling is just the worst of the war still fogging his mind. Phoebus does not answer immediately. He doesn’t make a single sound. The question settles like fetid water between them, unignorable, the scent right there on the tip of the tongue yet firmly unacknowledged. Ares closes his eyes and tries again to settle his squirming so he does not interfere with Phoebus’ work.  The metallic snip of scissors cutting thread breaks the silence. Phoebus bids him to sit up and slides his warm palms up his back until his fingers tangle gently in the ends of his hair. He twists the dark red strands until he’s gathered it all into a neat handful, holding it loosely as he switches his scissors for his shearing blade. “You should know it was not praise,” Phoebus says softly. The first of Ares cut hairs fall like viscera from his head. Phoebus treats each cutting with the sacredness of a blood-sacrifice. If he focused on the moment of tension right before the blade cuts though, Ares thinks he can imagine the agony of his sister’s sacred birth. “It is acknowledgement. Father thinks you’ve done well so he says ‘well done’.”

Gently, Phoebus releases him. Ruffles his head so all the extra hairs fall like red rain to the floor. Ares runs his fingers through the ends now curling against his ear. “Has he ever told you ‘well done’?” 

A laugh, warm and gilded, “No, and it would not make you feel better if he had.” 

Ares swallows down a thousand different questions. Phoebus wouldn’t answer them, he’s infuriating like that. Instead, he clenches his teeth, the phantom of Father’s dizzying tangle of grey cloud-hairs persistent in the corner of his eyes. “Cut it shorter.”

Phoebus doesn’t protest. He never seems to say a word when it really matters.)

[nocternalrandomness]

Apollo 11 Launch - 16 July 1969

[anglerflsh]

get Apollo'd idiot @sheerunfilteredhubris

[jinxedshapeshifter]

this just makes me wonder where he lives. wouldn't he have a house or apartment key on his key ring too or does he live in a fancy apartment that requires a key card

[the-tortured-fangirl-department]

Yes I know Apollo had done atrocious things. Yes I know he can be a self obsessed bastard. Yes I love him and I wanna wrap him in a blanket and tell him everything is going to be ok

[heliomanteia]

Kind of ironic but Will goes through the same mischaracterization within the fandom as Apollo goes through within myth communities.

"Sunshine boy" gets slapped on Will and successfully erases every other personality trait he could potentially have in the already scarce and poorly put together canon. Will, in the majority of Will-containing content, is either a function aimed at making other characters feel better, "Nico's boyfriend", or someone who exists entirely as an antithesis to a well-written character ("sunshine to his gloom" kinda rhetoric where the "gloomy guy" defines Will through opposition).

Apollo gets the "dumb blond man" treatment despite, like, nothing within Mediterranean mythology implying he's so much carefree. I am convinced that RR does at most bare minimum "research" into cultural topics he writes on but making Apollo the dumb and chill guy who only cares about poetics of love is, like, genuinely going against his entire myth narrative. Already ranted about this before but even Apoline aspect of being a "patron of music" is a deeply class-tied sociopolitical phenomenon. I'm aware TOA attempts at going from carefree to more aware and serious but that just feels artificial, like myth retellings that take away characters' agency to then show their "growth".

Like father like son I guess.

[starstuff-sys]

I WILL DRAW YOUR ALTER A FACECLAIM FOR $10!!

[plain text: I WILL DRAW YOUR ALTER A FACECLAIM FOR $10]

Examples of our art above

The watermarks on the images are from our main blog ( ginganthropy ) and Edgar’s /sys personal blog ( loveislove-so-kissacomputer )

Yes!! I’ll draw a faceclaim for your head mate for $10!!

It’ll be a bust drawing with no shading and any pose. You can give me a description of your alter or some reference images and I’ll draw them. You can ask for infinite revisions, too!!

I’ll take cash app or paypal.

Payment is required after completion of the sketch.

MESSAGE US IF YOU’RE INTERESTED!!!

[xiaofanfan888]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/59646442/chapters/163737985?view_adult=true

ICYMI: Chapter 4 of Grounded posted yesterday!

Hera discovers Apollo is missing. This leads to more than one devastating revelation and forces Hera to question everything she thought she knew about her troubled son.

This chapter is a major turning point in the overall story, and @hyacinthusmemorial and I have been really excited to share it! Mind the tags, warnings and author’s note. Happy reading!

[thechthonicherbalist]

More nightmares. Healing really is messy.

I guess it doesn't hurt to share some resources for others with the same issue:

Nightmares in PTSD - How to Cope

Understanding PTSD nightmares

The freedom of trauma resolution

The importance of processing trauma

Please be aware that if you're neurodivergent, like me, processing and nightmares can take much longer, require more energy, but also require more revisiting to gain a full understanding and relief from the experience, than it would be the case for neurotypical people. It is more difficult for us to work through all that. This makes it tempting to not process or address trauma at all, to avoid the intensity that comes with it, as it often goes hand in hand with overwhelming emotions, meltdowns, shutdowns, long recovery times... and it's just "easier" to practice escapism and avoid the healing and resolution process, by excessive consumption of media, alcohol and drugs, sh, sexual activity and other sources of dopamine. BUT: This leads to addiction and suppression of the traumatic experiences, which in turn will lead to a number of follow-up disorders, such as anxiety, depression, trust-and/or anger-issues, isolation and more. It is better to seek out non-harmful distractions in a balanced amount, paired with controlled exposure to trauma resolution. Usually this will present itself as the urge to address these experiences with other involved individuals or trusted partners, family members or friends. Ideally you have access to therapy.

[snoelledarts]

[WIP] // Sometimes goodbye is a second chance // Turning adult resurrected Jason Grace, Son of Jupiter around in my head like it’s a microwave oven.

[professional-loser]

let's just say turnabout academy had a great effect on my friend