#Give me your best shot Apollo

[cherry-bomb1985]

Gonna tempt Apollo's Dodgeball with a wildass take based solely on the Terminal Lore: I think the 'suits' behind the Hell Expedition and the Terminal's existence are responsible for Mankind's extinction, and might've also had a hand in the Final War being as long as it was.

The P-1 Terminal mentioned the record being a favorite of the CRO (Chief Revenue Officer), which is kind of unusual given it's a 1934 record and that would've been /years/ after the Final War was underway. Which does imply that life was going on as usual, aside from the world-wide war. Even after humanity retreated to the backs of the Earthmover's, I would like to believe they were still making music and shit.

Anywhosen, either this CRO and all the other suits involved in the Hell Expedition are really old fashioned OR are a lot, and I mean A LOT, older than their technician underlings.

(All this to say with the way Act 3 has broken the mold of the patterns the first two Acts set up, I wonder if we'll even get a Greek Mythological Figure as the final Prime Soul, let alone Lucifer Prime. What if it's one of these 'suits' that sold out humanity to Hell for a profit, and betrayed God by extending their lifespan?)

[atlabeth]

time’s blur - ialwbty au

series masterlist

pairing: luke castellan x daughter of poseidon!reader but this primarily features percy jackson & sister!reader

summary: somehow, someway, you come back.

a/n: wow it has been a while hasn't it!! 148 days to be exact!! im always thinking about these two in the corner of my mind and ive been wanting to write this au since i got an ask about it, originally i was going to do it all as a big long one shot but i just want to get something out lol. and this will give me more freedom to do wte i want with this au instead of just having one big one shot and leaving it. anyways enjoy there is actually some fluff for once but still some emotional damage and there is more to come!! also reader is 19 and percy is 15

wc: 3.5k

warning(s): hurricane dies but she has come back!! told through percy's pov. angst, hurt/comfort, signature percy jackson guilt, but some fluffy sibling moments<3

Percy doesn’t end up in the infirmary at 2:29 in the morning out of instinct, foresight, or any kind of divine ‘chosen one’ intervention. 

He ends up in the infirmary at 2:29 in the morning because some Apollo kid was hooking up with an Ares kid on the beach, and they found you. 

They found you, not Percy. He didn’t even have a clue until he woke up to Chiron in his cabin.

Percy had had his fair share of rude awakenings over the years, usually because of horrific demigod prophetic dreams, but the expression on Chiron’s face immediately alerted Percy that something was wrong, even through his groggy haze. 

“Chiron?” he rasps, and he sits up as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes. He has to make sure he’s not still dreaming. 

“I’m sorry to wake you, Percy,” he says. “But I need you to come with me.” 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Is everyone okay? Is camp okay? Is there an invasion?” 

“Nothing so ghastly,” Chiron says. Though his tone is a bit lighter, it still doesn’t ease Percy’s concerns. “But it does concern you.” 

“Great,” Percy mumbles, and he pulls himself out of bed. Normally he would have the foresight to change, but a part of him is still worried that Christmas has come early and Kronos has already invaded the city. 

So he follows Chiron—with all the sneaking around he’s done since getting to camp, it’s strange to be out this late and not have to worry about being eaten alive—clad in flannel pajama pants, a Yankee’s tee, and Converse he didn’t get the chance to fully lace up. 

“You’d tell me if something was wrong,” Percy says, glancing up at him. “Right?” 

“Of course,” he nods. “I wouldn’t classify this as something going wrong. Just… rather shocking.” 

“Great,” he repeats. “Are you going to tell me?” 

Chiron is silent for a moment, and Percy frowns. “Now I’m really worried.” 

“I suppose it’s best to rip the bandage off,” Chiron says. He stops right outside the Big House and lets out a sigh. “An hour ago, a girl was found on the beach. She looked as if she’d been washed ashore.” 

Percy’s frown deepens. “What? Gods— is she okay?” 

“Yes,” Chiron says. “I checked her over for injuries, but she only had some minor bruises. No water in her lungs, somehow.” 

“That’s crazy,” he says. “How could someone even wash up here? Even with demigods— don’t we have protections against that?” 

“All of this makes me believe there was some… divine intervention,” Chiron says slowly. “Especially with who she is.” 

Percy crosses his arms. “You’re making this sound like a huge deal. Who is she?”

“Percy,” Chiron says, soft but firm, “it’s your sister. Somehow, she’s come back to life.” 

And for a second, all he can do is stare. 

“What?” 

“I could never forget her face,” he says. “Or the presence of a child of Poseidon.” 

Percy shakes his head. “No, Chiron— if this is a joke, it’s not funny.” He huffs a mirthless laugh and looks down at his hands. “And if this is a shitty dream, then it’s really shitty.” 

“Perseus, this is real,” he states. 

He’s still shaking his head. “How can it be real? She’s dead— she’s been dead for years.”

“I don’t know,” he admits. “Mr. D has already gone back to Olympus to figure it out. But if I had to guess, your father decided to meddle.”

He wants to call it a lie. Honestly, he wants to punch Chiron for getting his hopes up about something like this. But deep down, Percy knows he’s telling the truth. 

“Can I see her?” he asks. “Is— is she okay? Does she know who she is?”

“In time,” Chiron says. “I cannot be sure, but it doesn’t look like she remembers anything from her life.” 

Percy shakes his head again. It doesn’t feel real. He’s imagined what it would feel like to meet you since the moment Luke told him about you, but he knew it could never happen. 

But now, all that stands between Percy and his sister is a few doors. 

“I want to see her,” he says.

“Of course,” Chiron nods. “I just need to make sure it won’t mess with her further. This isn’t like Thalia coming back with the fleece—though I have suspicions, I can’t be sure how this happened. It could be a very delicate matter.” 

“As long as it doesn’t hurt her more.” 

Chiron nods again and he opens the door to the Big House. He follows him up to his office door, then stops when Chiron gestures at the couch. 

“I just need to discuss a few more things with her.” 

Percy nods wordlessly and sits down, then Chiron disappears into his office. 

A million things are running through Percy’s mind, namely guilt. 

Shouldn’t he have been the one to find you? 

Maybe it doesn’t make sense, but it’s you. 

You’re his sister. He’s always had a connection to you, even when you were gone—gods, the night after he found out you existed you appeared in his dreams. Percy’s spent almost every moment since he found out about you wishing you were still here, that he could meet you, and when it finally does happen—somehow, because he still doesn’t understand what the fuck went on for this to happen—he’s not even the one to find you? He’s just asleep like every other night?

He huffs a sigh as he hunches over, his forearms on his knees. His leg bounces up and down at a rapid pace, moving his entire body with it, but this is one time he can’t lay his ADHD to rest. He’s more surprised he isn’t up pacing the entire room for the hundredth time. 

If Percy feels like this, he can’t even imagine how you must feel. To come back for seemingly no reason with no memories, after four years in Elysium. 

Luke said you’d been killed by a monster. You were buried like any other person. 

You were gone.

But you just… came back.  

He lets out another harried sigh and falls back against the couch. He’s exhausted, but there’s no chance of him being able to go back to sleep. Not with you around. 

Suddenly, the door opens, and Percy instantly darts up from his seat. You walk out with Chiron and it’s almost surreal.

You look like all the pictures, all his dreams, just older—more mature. He wants to cry and scream and hug you all at once. 

Your eyes widen slightly, and you glance at Chiron for a moment before you focus back on Percy.

“Uh— sorry,” he says, wincing a bit. He doesn’t know how to act around you, not when he knows you but you don’t know him. “I waited for you. I thought it would be good to have someone on the other side.” 

“That’s really nice,” you murmur. “I… I see why. Word on the street is that you’re my brother.” 

Percy nods way too many times. “Yeah. Uh— yeah. We’re both children of—” 

He pauses, his gaze moving past you to Chiron. He has to have explained all this to you, right? 

“Poseidon,” you finish, and you let out a slightly shaky laugh. “Chiron laid out all the basics.” 

“This has all got to be really confusing,” he says. “I remember how lost I was when I first got to camp, and I didn’t even…” 

“Die?” you ask wryly. He nods again. He really can’t finish any sentence around you—he’s so worried of saying the wrong thing and accidentally hurting you. Percy doesn’t know how any of this works.

“It’s strange,” you admit. “I… I lived this whole life before this, and I don’t even remember any of it.”

Percy’s heart clenches painfully. He doesn’t know how he’s going to explain everything to you when you start remembering. 

When you start remembering Luke. 

“Really?” he asks. “There’s nothing?”

You shake your head. “I have my name, but that’s all. And…”

Percy frowns. “What?”

You pause for a moment before you shake your head again. “Nothing. This is just…”

“Weird?” 

You nod with a slight laugh. “Yeah. To say the least.”

“If it makes you feel better, you’re not the first person to come back to life,” Percy says. “Uh, a girl named Thalia used to be a tree before she was turned back into a human.”

You frown. “Wow.”

“We can get to all of that some other day,” Chiron thankfully interrupts. “Percy, will you take her back to your cabin?”

“You’re sure we won’t get eaten by the harpies?” Percy asks. “Aello is out for my blood.”

“I promise,” Chiron says. He glances at you, your frown noticeably deeper, and he looks back at Percy. “Perhaps we should, ah, hold off on this sort of discussion. Until tomorrow, at least.”

“Of course,” Percy says. “Sorry. You must be exhausted.” 

“A little,” you admit. “Apparently coming back to life takes it out of you.” 

“Come back here first thing in the morning,” Chiron says. “We have… quite a bit to talk about.” 

“That’s an understatement,” you murmur. 

Percy smiles a bit, and he gestures with his head for you to follow him. You do, and Chiron goes back into his office. He nabs a bag of ambrosia squares from an empty bedside as the two of you go through the infirmary just to be safe, and when he glances back at you he sees you frowning. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. “Does anything hurt?” 

“You’re a Yankees fan?” you say instead. 

Percy blinks, then he realizes you’re looking at his shirt. “Uh— yeah.” He chuckles. “I’m from New York, and my mom loves them, so…” he tugs at his shirt. “I know you like the Red Sox. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say. “We can’t all be perfect.” 

Percy can’t help but smile. You died and came back to life, and you remember nothing but your name and your love for the Boston Red Sox. 

“That means you keep up with baseball, right?” 

“When I can,” he says. “We don’t really have technology out here.” 

“Have the Red Sox won a world series since I’ve been gone?” 

“They won last year, actually.”

Your eyes widen and you instantly grin. “Really?”

He nods. “They beat the Cardinals.”

“That— that’s huge!” you exclaim. “Oh my god, they broke the curse and I didn’t get to see it? This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me!”

“You know you died, right?”

“And look how well that worked out for me.” You shake your head. “I need to go to the library or something and find some footage.”

“As much as I would love to do that,” Percy says, “we have a few other things we have to focus on.”

You huff and shake your head. “Fine. But as soon as we figure all this out, I’m figuring out some way to see those games.” 

Percy chuckles. “I don’t think anyone’ll deny you that.” 

“Good.” 

Silence settles over the two of you as you walk back to the Poseidon cabin, and Percy just feels awkward. 

He always thought about what he would say to you if he finally got to see you again, and now you’re alive somehow and right next to him and he has no idea what to do. 

“You’re sure you’re not hurt?” Percy finally decides on. “Chiron said you just washed up on shore.” 

“I feel surprisingly okay,” you say. “All I remember is waking up at the bottom of the lake. I thought I was going to drown, so I kicked my way up, and then got to shore.” You shake your head. “Somehow, I didn’t drown. My clothes weren’t even wet. I’ve got to be the luckiest person out there.” 

“You’re a child of Poseidon,” he says. “We can’t breathe underwater so we can’t drown, and our clothes don’t get wet unless we want them to.” 

“Like I said,” you incline your head, “luckiest person out there.” 

“I just don’t get why you’re back,” Percy says. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you are. I just don’t understand how, or why— or why now.” 

You open your mouth to say something, but you’re not able to get any words out before a yawn interrupts it. 

“Maybe that’s a tomorrow problem,” you say. 

“I think you’re right,” Percy says. He opens the door to the camp store and you follow him inside, but you frown. 

“What is this?” 

“The camp store,” he says. “You don’t really have anything, so I wanted to get you some things.” 

You just stare as he starts taking things. “You’re just… stealing?” 

“Just a couple toiletries and some clothing,” he says. “They won’t miss it.” He stashes it all in a Camp Halfblood tote bag and holds it out to you, and though you’re a bit hesitant, you still take it. 

“Thanks,” you say. “We won’t get in trouble?” 

“I think everyone will cut you some slack for a while,” Percy says. “A guy did this for me my first day and it helps—makes you feel more at home.” 

You hum, and this time you open the door for Percy. “Nice guy.” 

Percy swallows the sudden lump in his throat, trying to ignore the chill that trickles down his spine as he realizes the implications of his words. 

“Yeah,” Percy mutters. “He was.” 

Eventually, the two of you get back to the Poseidon cabin. He opens the door for you and you slowly walk inside. 

Again, it’s strange that you’re here. It’s like if a piece of his history textbook suddenly came to life and started walking around—he’s heard so much about you, imagined what he thought would be an impossible meeting so many times, but now that it’s actually happening he doesn’t know what to do. 

And it hits even more as you walk over to a picture of yourself hanging on the wall, surrounded by a myriad of others. 

It’s one of many of you and Luke, him holding you close with an arm slung around your shoulder as you beam at the camera with the brightest smile imaginable. Before Luke got his scar, before you died, before he went off the deep end. 

“I put a couple of your pictures up,” Percy rushes to explain, his throat feeling scratchy, “and a few of your old things. As— as a way to remember you.”

“I love it,” you say, and the tension dissolves in his shoulders when he sees your smile. It really is so much brighter in person. “I— I can’t believe I don’t remember any of this.”

“We’ll figure out a way to get it back,” Percy says. “I promise.” 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you say idly as you continue to take all the pictures in. He can’t imagine what it must feel like to see all these memories of a past life you have no recollection of. 

“I don’t,” he says. “We’re gonna figure it out.”

You’re silent for a while as you keep looking at them. Then you take one of the pictures off the wall, the one of you and Luke at a baseball game. 

“Luke,” you murmur, as if you don’t realize you’re saying it out loud. You blink, then you turn to Percy. “His name is Luke, isn’t it?”

He nods, almost in disbelief. You don’t remember a damn thing about your old life but you know Luke’s name.

How is Percy supposed to tell you what he did? 

You laugh softly as you trail your nail over the edge. “We must’ve been pretty close if I got him to go to a Red Sox game.” You look over at Percy. “Does he go here too?”

After a moment, Percy shakes his head. “He— uh, he used to.”

“Makes sense,” you murmur, and you put the picture back on the wall. “I got the easy way out. Everyone else had to deal with the fallout.”

Percy frowns. “You were killed by a monster. I don’t think anyone considers that the easy way out.” 

“It kinda was,” you say with a shrug. “I— I don’t remember much about it, but Chiron said I was in Elysium. There aren’t any monsters down there, and there certainly aren’t any responsibilities.”

“Well,” Percy sits down on his bed, “I’m glad you’re here. You don’t know how many times I’ve imagined meeting you.” 

You chuckle. “I didn’t know I was so popular.” 

“I’m serious,” he says. “Poseidon is one of the Big Three, and they made an oath not to have kids. I was the only Big Three kid in general when I got to camp—when I found out about you, all I could think about was how badly I wanted to have a sister to talk about all of this with.” 

Your eyes soften, and you lean against his bed frame. “I’m sorry.” 

“What are you sorry about?” 

“I— I don’t know,” you say with a slight laugh. “I just feel bad that I couldn’t be there for you.” 

“You’re already doing a pretty good job at being a big sister,” Percy says wryly. 

“Thanks,” you say. “You’re doing a pretty good job at being a younger brother.” 

Percy laughs and smiles, and you smile too. He’s beginning to understand what Luke always said, about your presence embodying warmth. He’s only been around you for a few minutes and he already feels better. 

“I’ve never had a brother before this,” you say. “So there might be a couple speed bumps.” 

“We’ll get through them together,” Percy says. “Besides, I… I kind of always considered you my sister. Ever since I found out about you, even though you were…” 

“Dead?” you guess, and he winces. You chuckle a bit. “It’s still weird for me, too. Can’t imagine what it must be like for all of you.” 

“Weird,” he says without really thinking. “Really weird. But I’m thankful that you’re back.” 

You smile. “So am I, Percy.” 

You let out another yawn, and you sit down on the bed across from him. “God, what time is it?” 

Percy glances at the clock in the corner. “3:34.” 

You whistle. “I really chose a great time to come back, huh?” 

He chuckles, and he kicks off his shoes as gets up to turn the lights off. “I think some sleep would do us both some good.” 

You nod and do the same. As you lay back, one hand behind your head, you continue to look around the cabin. 

“Are these your band posters?” 

He shakes his head as he sits back down. “They’re yours, actually, but you’ve got good taste. I love Pearl Jam.” 

“I used to have good taste, you mean,” you say wryly. 

“Hey,” he says. “I meant what I told you. We’re gonna get your memories back.” 

“How are you so sure?” 

“I’ve done a lot of impossible things,” Percy says. “And so have you, from what I’ve heard. It’s kind of the Poseidon kid way, honestly.” 

“You’ll have to teach me some things, then.” 

“And when you get your memory back, you’ll have to do the same,” he says. 

You smile and nod. “Deal.” 

Percy smiles too, and he lays down. “You really should try and get some sleep. Chiron wasn’t joking when he said we have a lot to talk about.” He huffs a slight laugh. “Whatever the reason is for you coming back, I guarantee there’s gonna be some people upstairs that are mad about it.” 

Your eyebrows rise. “Upstairs?” 

“Olympus,” he says. “The gods don’t really like things happening out of their control.” 

You hum, and for a moment there’s nothing but silence and the sound of both your breathing. It’s a little strange having someone else here other than Tyson, but he’s thankful for it. 

“What’s gonna happen to me?” you ask. There’s an edge of fear in your voice, and Percy frowns. 

“Nothing.” 

“Don’t lie.” 

“Nothing is going to happen,” he repeats. “I’m not going to let anything happen. The gods have already messed with your life enough—they don’t get to do it again.” 

Percy half-expects to hear the sound of thunder echoing across camp, but the silence continues. Maybe Zeus isn’t listening in on him for once, or maybe he just expects the disrespect at this point. 

“I really am the luckiest person,” you say. “I’ve got someone like you looking out for me.” 

“You were looking out for me when you were gone,” he says. “You might not remember, but I could feel it. So I’m just repaying the favor.” 

Again, silence. It’s temporarily interrupted by the sound of sheets shifting, then you speak. 

“I’m really glad I got to meet you, Percy,” you murmur. 

He can’t help but smile, and he tries to ignore the tears beginning to spring in his eyes. He has no idea why you’re back—no idea what this could mean. Maybe your dad did bring you back, maybe it’s a bizarre case like Thalia, maybe you play a part in something that they don’t even know about yet and it's nothing but bad news.

But for once in his life, Percy’s not going to question it. 

You’re alive and you’re here. 

For now, that’s all he needs. 

“Me too,” he whispers.

[winxanity-ii]

could i request hermes headcanons with a male lover?

of course! sorry if not the best, just the concept of hermes taking one of apollos followers 😩

THAT BOY IS MINE

ship: hermes x male!apollo devotee!reader warnings: non-explicit word count: 861 a/n: my first male reader request hehhehe; i lowkey wanna make a full one-shot..

★·.·´🇪‌🇵‌🇮‌🇨‌: 🇹‌🇭‌🇪‌ 🇲‌🇺‌🇸‌🇮‌🇨‌🇦‌🇱‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

Trickster god Hermes, who first noticed you during one of Apollo's grand performances, as you stood in the crowd, bright laughter escaping your lips.

He didn't think much of it until he saw how you looked at Apollo—admiration clear in your eyes—and suddenly, the idea of getting your attention and challenging your admiration for Apollo was too irresistible for him to pass up.

Trickster god Hermes, who slips beside you during festivals, the kind of presence that catches you off guard.

He'd grin, that troublemaker smile of his, leaning in to whisper something sly about Apollo's radiance. "You think he's the only god worthy of your gaze?" he'd murmur, his eyes glinting with mischief as your cheeks warmed under his gaze.

Trickster god Hermes, who made sure you couldn't ignore him.

At first, it was harmless jokes, a teasing smile from across the temple grounds, or a comment as he materialized at your side, seemingly out of nowhere. But soon, he was there more often, lingering in your shadow. He loved the way you stiffened when he appeared, as if he had found a crack in your composure—and he intended to widen it.

Trickster god Hermes, who brushed his fingers against yours when you were organizing offerings in Apollo's temple, just to see the way you startled, your eyes meeting his in confusion.

He grinned, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "How devoted you are makes me envious, little muse. Would you give the same amount of devotion to me?" His words held a challenge, and for a moment, you wondered if there was more than jest in his eyes.

Trickster god Hermes, who knew how to make life an adventure, began slipping into your routines with ease.

He whisked you away from your duties, convincing you to join him on escapades across hills, through rivers, and into places you were not supposed to go. He showed you joy beyond Apollo’s measured perfection—the kind found in laughter that left you breathless, in the thrill of racing the wind, in moments stolen away just for yourselves. He made the divine feel real, imperfect, and you couldn't help but love that.

Trickster god Hermes, who was unpredictable, daring, and somehow made you feel seen.

He didn't look at you as merely another worshipper. He looked at you as someone he wanted. It unsettled you, the way he lingered too close, the intensity of his gaze following you as if you were the only one that mattered in a room full of people.

Trickster god Hermes, who found you alone in a grove, your shoulders slumped in loneliness as Apollo was too busy for you.

Instead of his usual antics, Hermes simply sat beside you, his shoulder brushing yours. He didn't say anything—he was just there—and for once, his presence wasn’t meant to charm or impress; it was just... real. It was the first time you saw something other than playful mischief in his eyes—it was care, and it unraveled something inside you.

Trickster god Hermes, who watched you with a longing that was hard to ignore.

He'd catch you glancing at Apollo from a distance, and his jaw would tense, that smile dropping for a heartbeat before it returned, sharper. He'd then make his presence known—his fingers skimming your waist, or his lips brushing your ear as he whispered something that made your pulse quicken. You were never just a follower to him, and he needed you to understand that.

Trickster god Hermes, who, for all his confidence, had waited for you to come to him.

He bided his time and made sure you knew he was always there. He listened when you spoke, his gaze never leaving your face, as though everything you said was the most important thing in the world. It wasn't Apollo's grandness, but it was real—and you found yourself seeking out Hermes more and more, your heart pulling toward the trickster who seemed to understand you in ways others didn't.

Trickster god Hermes, who watched with a soft smile the day you gave in.

When you leaned in to kiss him, he wrapped his arms around you as you kissed him, his lips curving against yours, the playful grin giving way to something deeper. Hermes held you close, as if you were the greatest treasure he had ever stolen, and he had no intention of letting go.

Trickster god Hermes, who made no secret of your connection afterward.

He'd drape himself over you in the presence of Apollo, his arm snug around your waist, whispering something teasingly possessive just loud enough for the sun god to hear with a knowing grin, as if to say, "He's mine now." There was no malice in it, only pride—pride that he had managed to steal your heart and that you had given it willingly.

Trickster god Hermes, who stole your heart in the most unexpected way, not by charm alone but through his laughter, his warmth, and his genuine affection.

He saw you not as someone worshipping from the shadows but as someone deserving of the spotlight, deserving of a love that was wild and unrestrained, just like the wind.

[surftrips]

BAD REPUTATION | LUKE CASTELLAN

HEARTBREAKER — CHAPTER 02

pairing luke castellan x fem!ares!reader

summary y/n is challenged by campers and her growing feelings for luke castellan.

author's note thank you for all the support on this series! i made a masterlist here so you can easily find the parts <3 as always, comment or message me if you'd like to be added to the taglist and lmk your thoughts :)

→ installment of this au read for context

Luke Castellan found it increasingly harder and harder to hide his feelings for you. He could no longer make eye contact with you without his face turning an embarrassing shade of red. In fact, he could hardly look at your face because somehow his eyes would always end up darting toward your lips, or even lower if you were wearing a certain tank top that day. 

“My eyes are up here, Castellan,” you quipped at him once. 

Quite frankly, it was ruining his own reputation around camp as the best swordsman and a stoic warrior. If word got out that he fell to his knees at the hands of an Ares girl, what would people think of him? 

As stories of your excellent skills got around, so did rumors about you. Everyone was interested to hear whose heart you had broken next, all because of that first fateful incident with a camper named Connor. 

Connor, son of Apollo, thought that he could challenge you to an archery competition. He had bet that if he won, he could take you out on a date. How could you resist the urge to prove him wrong?

A small crowd had gathered to watch the two of you. Some people rooted for Connor, trusting that his combat skills would be stronger because of his father. However, the innate strength and talent from your own godly father allowed you to become familiar with the bow and arrow rather quickly. 

“Careful, or one of your siblings will have to heal you later,” you warned. 

“Oh, I think you’re the one that’s going to end up at my cabin later,” Connor responded snarkily. 

You hated losing. It wasn’t an option for you. You didn’t care that Connor technically had the upper hand here, you were going to beat him regardless. 

The rules were simple: there were four targets. Whoever hit the most points, won. 

Connor went first, hitting an impressive 34 points. 

“Beat that, pretty girl.”

You tried not to cringe at his nickname for you, and confidently walked up to the front. You quickly scanned the crowd, eyes landing on the brunette-haired boy you didn't realize you were looking for. Luke smiled at you, and suddenly everyone else faded away.

Turning back toward the targets, you lined up your bow and arrow and took the first shot. You hit eight points, which was not bad, but you were going to have to do better in order to win.

Trying to hone in on your training, you closed your eyes for the next shot and trusted your instincts. You heard the arrow hitting wood and before you could open your eyes, cheers had erupted from the crowd. Bullseye. 

With 17 points left to beat Connor, you had to hit at least another bullseye. And you did just that. 

Turning to Connor, you said, “Any last words before I take this final shot?” 

“What time am I picking you up tonight?” he said, not losing hope just yet. You had to give it to him and his tireless persistence. 

Your eyes focused in on the last target, until all you could see was the gold center. It kind of looked like the sun, and reminded you of a certain someone. You released the arrow, but at the last second felt your finger flinch.

Shit, you thought. But the crowd had already begun cheering again, and you breathed out a sigh of relief. You had hit eight on the last one, just enough to win. 

“Okay, who’s next?” you declared triumphantly, not missing the disappointed look on Connor's face.

After the competition, Luke walked over to congratulate you on your win. 

“Hey, that was sick!” He placed his hand on your shoulder. 

“Hey, thanks!”

“You’re not beating yourself up over that last one, are you?”

“Wh- how’d you know?” You were silently cursing yourself for not making that last bullseye and blowing Connor completely out of the water. 

“I know you, Y/N. Don’t look so surprised.” 

“Okay, well, what am I thinking right now?”

“Hmmm,” he pretended to be lost in thought. “Dinner?”

“You know me so well.” 

Ever since then, various people at camp had challenged you to their own duels in an effort to ask you out, just for you to beat them time and time again.

You weren’t sure why anyone thought you would be interested in them, when you had not once expressed a want for any sort of romantic entanglements. Because that’s all they were to you, entanglements. Complicated messes that were hard to get out of.

“Okay, I need boy advice,” Annabeth announced.

“No,” you responded. This was the first of many sleepovers you, her, and Clarisse would have together. 

“What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“That’s my advice, do yourself a favor and just don’t.” 

“Okay, what’s the story?” the young girl asked. 

“I dated this guy once. Long story short, all men do is disappoint you. It’s not worth it.” 

“I second that,” Clarisse joined in. 

“Wait- who do you like?” you asked, processing Annabeth’s original question.

“Oh, forget it. I’m not gonna tell you guys now,” she responded.

“No, you have to tell us!” Clarisse insisted. 

When Annabeth didn’t respond, you and Clarisse began throwing pillows at her. 

“Stop! Stop!” she giggled. “Fine, fine. I’ll tell you guys.” 

You and Clarisse waited with baited breath as Annabeth formed his name in her mouth. “Percy.”

Chaos ensued. You’re pretty sure that you squealed loud enough to break glass and Clarisse nearly woke up the cabin on the other side of camp. Luckily for you guys, it was a weekend that many of the campers had gone home for. 

“Why are you guys cheering?” Annabeth asked, confused.

“Because we’re happy for you! Your first crush is so exciting!” Clarisse said.

Annabeth had always been like a younger sister to you and Clarisse, and you couldn’t help but be happy for her, despite your personal feelings about love. 

“Y/N, what do you think?” Annabeth turned to you. 

“I think you don’t even need our advice. Just be yourself, I’m sure he already thinks you’re amazing.” 

The young girl beamed at you. “I thought you were anti-boys.”

“I am, if it were up to me, there would be no boys here.” 

“Not even Luke?” Annabeth asked, feigning innocence.

“Well, is he a boy?” you responded.

“Yeah, but not just any boy….” Clarisse joined in.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you sat up on your elbows in bed. 

“Y/N, just admit it! He’s different!” Annabeth said.

“No, he’s still just a boy,” you said, trying to convince them, or yourself. 

Annabeth and Clarisse looked at each other knowingly, but dropped the subject before upsetting you further. 

The truth was, the thought of Luke Castellan terrified you. 

At first, you didn’t want to admit it. There was no way Luke Castellan liked you, and there was absolutely no way that you liked him back. Not in any universe, above or on earth. Not after you had made it your whole mission to swear off boys completely. 

Sure, you constantly picked each other as partners in Capture the Flag, sat next to each other over bonfires, and talked to each other everyday, but nothing friends didn’t do. 

You tried to be oblivious to his longing glances at you, the way his face lit up when he saw you, but Annabeth and Clarisse were not shy in pointing out each time he smiled at you like you hung the moon and stars. 

For years, Luke had repressed his emotions for fear of being perceived as weak. But each time you came around, he wondered if love could even be equated to weakness if he had never felt anything stronger. 

Liked by lukecastellan and 170 others.

tagged annaaabeth and clarisse

ynuser with the girls 🏹💕

view all comments.

annaaabeth love youuu

clarisse so much fun!

lukecastellan ur foul for that last pic

ynuser whose side are you on

percyjackson second pic is me to you when i don't get invited to the sleepover :(

—

TAGLIST: @ravisinghs-wife @jules-loves-lukecastellan @favreader23 @clydeisalsoellie @yuminako @luxreziaa @eddiesdrummergf @whataprettyshadeofred @grace-928 @girls-and-guts @supercutszns @noodlesketchbook @birdiewriteslit @mitskiswift99 @idontevencare1223 @randomnpc456 @lucycarlisleswife @angelicdanvers @imguce @anitatvd (please lmk if you want to be added or i missed you!)

[achenetype]

loser! luke who sees aphrodite!reader with tons of gifts and letters from admirers and gets a bit insecure about his crush on her but all reader really wants is for him to man up and tell her his feelings 🥹🥹🥹

loser!luke nation rise UPPPP. pathetic men are the best

pairing: luke castellan x aphrodite!reader

content: some suggestive themes, luke being so whipped for reader it hurts, daughter of aphrodite reader, mutual pining, first kiss (let's go luke you finally did it!)

listening to: right here by chase atlantic

you knew he liked you. he wasn't exactly subtle about it, but then again, no one was subtle to you. you were aphrodite's daughter. the goddess of love had blessed you with, among other things, the ability to sense feelings from a mile away. and luke's feelings were strong.

they changed depending on the day. every now and then, talking to him, you'd catch a tiny flicker of love from him. when you'd helped him look over strategy for capture the flag, his emotions rung out companionship, shot through with striations of the kind of love you have for a comrade in battle. mutual respect, and care. so much care.

now, when you're sitting shirtless next to him in the apollo cabin, squeezing his hand as one of the medics stitches up a wound on your arm, his feelings are dark. they're murky, as if clouded by something else. his eyes flick up to yours as you suck in a breath through your teeth, but they don't stay there for long; his gaze falls over your body; your chest, your stomach. the band of skin between your bra and your waistband.

you realize, a little slowly, that what he was feeling was lust.

so yes, you knew luke liked you, as much as any other guy did at least.

other guys at camp would give you gifts, ask you on dates. sometimes, they would write you letters, pages of messy, cramped demigod handwriting about how much they loved you. how they would do anything for you, how they could see themselves kissing you or fucking you or starting a family with you.

luke wasn't like that. he was your friend before he was anything else, and he didn't posture for your attention or try to impress you.

plus, you actually liked luke back.

he squeezes your hand again. "hey," he says, leaning over to look at your injured arm. "it's not too bad. only a few more stitches left."

you nod, biting your lip. luke's thumb rubs tiny circles over your knuckles, little concentric things that ground you to the world.

you wish, not for the first time, that he would lean in and kiss you. at least brush his lips against your hand, the way you can feel that he wants to.

you wish he would do a lot of things.

when the two of you are walking back to your cabin (because luke insists on being a gentleman, and you aren't going to refuse him when he smiles at you) he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled envelope.

"i was going to give this to you when we won capture the flag," he says, "but you...you got hurt, and i figured it might have been a bad time."

his eyes search your face as he holds out the letter. it's addressed in curving, fluid script to you, and as you open it luke's emotions flicker with uncertainty, with fear.

[Y/N], I think I'm in love with you.

oh. oh.

You're one of the only people who I can really be myself around. I could explain every reason why I love you, but that would take a lot more paper, and I already think this letter is going to be embarrassingly long. I've thought about you-

this sentence is scribbled out, but you can make out the faint outlines of the words even though you probably never give me a second thought imprinted into the paper. you look up at luke, who flushes a soft red.

You make me feel real. You're like a planet, and I'm just a moon orbiting you. Every time I see you, I feel like I can do anything in the world. I want to treat you right, better than anyone else ever could.

"luke," you say.

he looks up, and you swear his eyes are shiny with tears. "c'mere," you murmur, and pull him into a hug. "gods, you took long enough to tell me."

his arms wrap around you slowly, as if he's expecting you to be ripped away from him. when you pull back, one hand draped over his shoulder, he cups your face in his hands and thumbs over your cheek.

"can i kiss you?" he whispers.

I love you, and you are everything. You're the whole world. I would be honored to have you. — Luke.

"yes," you say back.

his lips meet yours, and you feel luke bloom with reddish-purple love. he kisses you like he's waited an eternity to do it, hungry, sloppy.

"i love you too," you murmur, and he laughs against your lips before kissing you again.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 7: Apollo, God Of Music]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 8.7k

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

“My uncle, he is a doctor in Zabrze,” Ludwika says, red Yardley lips, Camel cigarette. No one cares if she smokes; she’s not campaigning to be the next first lady. Fosco is puffing on a cigar. Mimi sips drowsily at her Gimlet; you could use a few shots, but you’re making do with a Pink Squirrel, something sweet and feminine and without any bite. “So I go to him and he gives me a bottle of chlordiazepoxide.”

“Oh, Librium,” Mimi says, perking up.

Ludwika waves her hand dismissively; cigarette smoke wafts through the air. “Whatever. The next day I have my audition. A tiny man who thinks he’s God. And I give it a real shot, I try my best, I’m nice, I’m charming, but he doesn’t like me. He says my teeth are too big, like a mouse’s. This is very rude. I did not comment on his fidgety little rat hands. But okay, no problem, I have a plan. No one will stop me from getting out of Poland.”

“You drugged him?” you ask, incredulous, grinning.

“You are a criminal,” Fosco tells Ludwika. “I will call J. Edgar Hoover, you should not be so close to positions of power.”

“Listen, listen,” Ludwika insists. “Here is what I do. I thank him very much for his consideration, and then as I leave I drop my purse and things go everywhere. I filled it before I left my apartment, of course. Anything I could find, empty lipstick tubes and perfume bottles, old makeup compacts with broken mirrors, coins, hair pins, tissues, pens, gum, Krówki candies, it is an avalanche. And when he bends down to help me pick up the mess—I have to encourage him, ‘oh sir won’t you grab that, I am just a stupid girl in a very short dress,’ you understand—I put the pills in his tea.”

“How many pills?” you ask.

“I don’t know. You think I had time to count? Maybe seven.”

“Seven?!” Mimi exclaims, and you take this to mean it was a generous dose.

“What? He did not die,” Ludwika says. “I wait two days and then I go back to his office. And it is so strange, can you believe it, he does not remember my audition! So I remind him that he thought I would be perfect for the ad he is shooting in Paris. He keeps squinting at me and saying ‘are you sure, are you sure?!’ Of course I’m sure! A week later, I am standing under the Eiffel Tower with a bottle of Coca-Cola. And then I book a job in London, and then another in New York City, and one of my new model friends sets me up on a blind date with Otto. Lunch in Astoria at a horrible Greek restaurant. Who wants to eat pie made out of spinach?! Now I am here with you people, and the journalists love when I smile for them with my big mouse teeth.”

All four of you laugh at your table, an elite club, the ones who married in. It’s Alicent’s 60th birthday, and the ballroom of the Texas State Hotel in downtown Houston is raucous with clinking glasses and chatter and music and the shutter clicks of photographers. The DJ is playing Fun, Fun, Fun by the Beach Boys. Alicent is dancing with Helaena and the children, and it’s the happiest you can ever remember seeing her. Otto, Aemond, and Sargent Shriver are deep in conversation by the bar, furrowed brows and Old Fashioneds, today’s newspapers and tomorrow’s itinerary. Criston is standing with the men but watching Alicent, face wistful, silver streaks in his jet black hair, and it occurs to you that they must have grown up together: Alicent a 19-year-old bride and Criston her husband’s fledgling bodyguard, the person closest to her age in the household, near and trusted and forbidden, orbiting adolescent twins like Artemis and Apollo. You keep looking around for Aegon. No one else seems aware that he’s gone.

“Otto thought he died and went to heaven when he found you,” you tell Ludwika. “His Eastern Bloc defector princess.”

“He is going to bring my mother to the States. I would be anything he wanted me to be. I would be a model, or a housewife, or a nurse. I would be Bigfoot! But this…” Ludwika gestures broadly: to the ballroom, the city, the latest stop on the campaign trail. “It is not so bad. I never expected to serve the Polish people so far from home. You know how you stop communism? You show the world that capitalism can do more for them. There must be a path to a better life, wars must be ended, injustices must be dealt with. Aemond will do that.” She grins at you, exhaling smoke through her nostrils. “You will help him.”

You reply a bit wryly: “It’s an honor.”

“We are like four legs of a table,” Fosco observes. He points at Ludwika with his smoldering cigar. “You are a Slav fleeing the Russians. My family has ancient titles in Italy and yet no castles, no land, we are essentially homeless. Mimi’s father is a third-generation oil tycoon from Pennsylvania. And she was supposed to fix Aegon.”

“I don’t think I succeeded,” Mimi confesses.

“And then when it was time for Aemond to get married…” Fosco turns to Mimi. “Do you remember? What an ordeal. The discussions went on and on and on. She must be smart, she must be sinless, she should be from a self-made family, a real rags-to-riches story of the American Dream.”

“Right.” Mimi nods groggily, reminiscing. “And from the South.”

“Yes! But not the Deep South. No, no. Someplace Aemond could actually win. Texas, Tennessee, North Carolina. Or Florida, of course.” Now Fosco notices how you’re looking at him, because you’ve never heard this before. He quickly pivots. “But the weekend Aemond met you, it was settled. Nobody could compare.”

His tone is odd; it suggests backstories, history, mythology. Ludwika appears to be just as intrigued as you are, taking a drag off her Camel, her eyes narrowing until they are thin and catlike. You ask: “Who else was being considered?”

“No one,” Fosco answers—too quickly—and he and Mimi exchange an uneasy glance.

What did Aemond and I talk about the night we met? you think dizzily. In those first hours, minutes, thirty seconds? Where I’m from. What I was studying.

Fosco, a true Italian, then attempts to deflect by flirting. He makes emphatic, passionate motions with his hands. “You were just so captivating, so clever…”

“And young enough that Aemond could easily beat Aegon’s record of five children,” Mimi adds. Fosco clears his throat and glares at her. Mimi realizes what she’s said and gazes forlornly down into her Gimlet, mortified, groaning softly. You’ve had one c-section already, and no living son to show for it. At most, you might be able to give Aemond two or three more children; and you don’t even want them. You want Ari back. You want to touch him, to hold him, even if only for a moment, even if only once.

“It’s fine,” you try to reassure Mimi, but everyone can tell it’s not.

Ludwika breaks the tension. “You do not want twenty kids anyway. Your uterus will fall out onto the floor.” And you’re so caught off-guard that all you can do is smile at her from across the table, knowing, appreciative. It’s a strange thing to be grateful for.

“She’s right,” Mimi says mournfully. “They had to sew mine back in.”

Fosco pleads: “Stop, stop, I will need a lobotomy.”

Mimi slurps on her Gimlet. “It’s sad. I used to love sex.”

“Mimi, please,” Fosco says, wincing, holding up his palms. “You are like my sister. I prefer to think you are the Virgin Mary.”

Ludwika sighs dramatically and looks to where Otto stands on the other side of the ballroom. “I used to love sex too.”

Now you’re all howling again, rocking back in your chairs. The DJ is playing Go Where You Wanna Go by the Mamas and the Papas. Cass Elliot is the real talent in that group and everybody knows it, but of course any mention of her must be dutifully accompanied by: If only she was more beautiful. If only she could lose weight and find a husband.

“I think you like it, yes?” Ludwika says to you like a dare, puffing on a fresh Camel, red lipstick staining the white paper, blood on sheets. She combs her manicured fingernails though her voluminous blonde hair. “I could tell when I met you. You dress like Jackie Kennedy, but you are not such a statue. She belongs in a museum. I can imagine you at the Summer of Love.”

Fosco and Mimi shift uncomfortably. It’s not the sort of thing they would ever ask you. It’s too personal, too easily a segue into criticizing Aemond. It’s a usurpation of the natural order. Mimi guzzles her Gimlet and flags down a waiter to get another. Fosco takes off his glasses and cleans them with his skinny black necktie.

Sex. You think back to before you began to dread it. This is difficult, like trying to remember Greek words or British manners, which fork to use with each course. Memories from another lifetime come back in flashes: tangled up with your first boyfriend in his tiny dorm room bed, Aemond peeling off your still-dripping swimsuit on the floor of your hotel room during your honeymoon in Hawaii. You shrug and give Ludwika a nod, a brisk, ungenerous answer in the affirmative. “I always feel like I could keep going.”

Paradoxically, this does not end the conversation. Ludwika, Fosco, and Mimi study you with the same bewildered, gear-spinning curiosity. After a moment Ludwika says: “Not after you’ve finished, surely. I am half dead by the end if it’s good.”

“Finished?” you ask, puzzled. All three of them gawk at you, then at each other.

Aegon breezes into the ballroom wearing the Gibson guitar he bought in Manhattan, blue like the Caribbean or the Mediterranean or the crystalline waves off the coast of Hawaii, dotted with fish and sea turtles. Your eyes go to him immediately and stay there; you can feel the swirling warmth of blood in your cheeks. As Aegon passes the table, he squeezes your shoulder—brief, familiar, welcome—and Fosco raises his thick eyebrows. Mimi is too busy gulping down her Gimlet to notice. Ludwika chuckles, low and wicked, then slides a makeup compact out of her Prada purse to check her lipstick. Aegon goes to the DJ and yells something over the music. He’s fucked up already, you can tell, pills or booze or both.

Fosco stops a passing waiter. “Signore, did you hear who won the United Nations Handicap?”

The waiter stares blankly back at him. “What?”

“The turf race at Monmouth Park. I have $200 on Dr. Fager.”

The DJ abruptly cuts off the music. Aegon gives his guitar a few practice strums to make sure it’s in tune. He stumbles when he walks, he lurches and sways. His blonde hair sticks to the sweat on his forehead. He is woefully underdressed. His white shirt is half-unbuttoned, his denim shorts tattered; on his feet he wears black moccasins. There is a small gold hoop in each of his ears. Otto keeps telling Aegon to take them out, and every time Aegon ignores him.

“Happy birthday, Mom,” you hear him say to Alicent, and she presses a palm to her heart, her dark eyes wide and shining. “When I first heard this, it made me think of you.”

Otto and Sargent Shriver—the aspiring vice president—are glowering at Aegon. Aemond smirks as he nips at an Old Fashioned, amused; but he makes sharp, intentional eye contact with each of the three journalists. You will tell the right version of this story, he means. You will not print anything we wouldn’t want written, or my family will be your enemies for life.

As soon as Aegon plucks the first few chords, you recognize the song. “Oh, that’s really funny.”

“What?” Fosco asks.

“It’s Mama Tried.” You stand and begin clapping, then motion for the rest of the table to do the same. They obey without protest, though Mimi can’t seem to keep track of the beat. Aegon is beaming as he sings.

“The first thing I remember knowin’

Was a lonesome whistle blowin’

And a youngin’s dream of growin’ up to ride

On a freight train leavin’ town

Not knowin’ where I'm bound

And no one could change my mind but Mama tried.”

Cosmo sprints over from where he had been dancing with Alicent. He grabs your hand and tugs you towards the center of the floor. “Let’s go, let’s go!” he shouts impatiently.

“Call the FBI, I’m being kidnapped,” you say to Fosco and Ludwika as you let Cosmo drag you away.

“One and only rebel child

From a family meek and mild

My Mama seemed to know what lay in store

Despite all my Sunday learnin’

Towards the bad I kept on turnin’

‘Til Mama couldn’t hold me anymore.”

At the heart of the ballroom, Criston has swooped in to dance with Alicent, slow chaste circling. Helaena has floated off to the bar to chat with Otto, who keeps all his smiles for her. The children—Targaryens and Shrivers alike—are stomping and cheering and alternating between various moves: the Mashed Potato, the Twist, the Swim, the Loco-Motion, the Watusi, the Pony in pairs. Aemond whistles to a photographer and then nods to where you are holding onto one of Cosmo’s tiny hands as he spins around at lawless, breakneck speed. Of course this would make for a good image: you being maternal, you promising the American people that they will one day have not only a first lady but a first family.

“And I turned 21 in prison doin’ life without parole

No one could steer me right but Mama tried, Mama tried

Mama tried to raise me better, but her pleading I denied

That leaves only me to blame ‘cause Mama tried.”

Cameras flash and the crowd keeps clapping. Cosmo giggles wildly each time he almost falls and you pull him back to his feet. There is a hand skimming around your waist, a listless powder blue dress your husband chose for you. Aemond replaces Cosmo as your dance partner. Aegon’s 10-year-old daughter Violeta spirits Cosmo away; Aemond reels you in close, one palm pressed into the small of your back, his left hand gripping your right. When you steal a glimpse of Aegon—still strumming, still singing—he doesn’t look so triumphant anymore. His grin is frozen and artificial. His drunk muddy eyes go steely.

“I need you to do something for me,” Aemond begins.

Of course, you once would have said. Anything. “What is it?”

“I want you to cut your hair like Jackie.”

You’re so stunned your feet stop moving. Aemond coaxes you back into the steps. “No.”

“Think about how much more versatile it would be. Jackie is an icon, she’s sophisticated, she’s mature.”

“If you wanted a wife in her thirties, you could have easily found one.”

“Honey—”

“I do everything you ask,” you say, barely more than a whisper. “Everything. I wear what you want me to. I go where you want me to. I spend ten hours a week getting my hair fixed. I keep it up, I keep it presentable. But I’m not chopping it off.”

“You’re never going to be able to wear it down anyway,” Aemond counters, so calm, so rational, like your skull is nothing but incendiary feminine mania. “If I win, you’ll be surrounded by staff and journalists for years. You can’t be photographed with it down, you look about eighteen. And like you live on a park bench in Haight-Ashbury.”

“It’s my hair. I’m keeping it.”

Aemond leans in and says, cold and severe: “You’re my wife, and everything that’s yours belongs to me.” Then he kisses your cheek as cameras click and strobe. “Think about it. Now smile.”

You force yourself to. The crowd applauds as Aegon finishes singing and flees the dancefloor. The DJ puts on Light My Fire by The Doors. You and Aemond leave in opposite directions: he goes to talk to Eunice Kennedy, who is hugging her 3-year-old son Anthony to her chest; you return to your table to drain the last of your Pink Squirrel. You need something stronger. You need to be alone so you can collect yourself.

Now Aegon has shed his guitar and is standing with his back to the wall, smoking a Lucky Strike and talking to some campaign staffer—she looks like a girl, but she’s probably your age—who is gazing up at him worshipfully. She says something that makes him laugh, his head thrown back, his eyes sparkling, and you feel like you’re waking up from your c-section all over again, your belly split open and rearranged, aching, stabbing, nauseous.

“Are you okay?” Ludwika asks, scrutinizing you.

“I’m perfect. I’ll be right back.”

You hurry out of the ballroom, the music fading behind you. You slip into one of the elevators in the lobby and hit the button for the top floor, where Aemond’s entourage has booked every suite. As the door is closing—as only a foot of space remains—Aegon shoves his way into the elevator, startling you. The door shuts behind him and you begin the ascent. Aegon slams the red emergency stop button, and the elevator jolts to a halt.

“What the hell are you doing—?!”

“What pissed you off, huh?” Aegon taunts, stepping closer. You back away from him until you run out of room; not because you want the distance, but because you’re afraid of what you’ll do if it’s gone.

“Nothing. I’m so great, I’ve never been better, can’t you tell?”

He’s so close you can feel the heat rising off his flushed skin, you can see the miles-deep murky blue of his irises, open water, shipwrecks and drowning. “You want all this to be over? You want the women with their big, adoring eyes and their short skirts to disappear? Grow up. Stop acting like a kid. Ask for it.”

“Ask for what?”

“You know.”

If you touch him now, you won’t be able to stop. There’s nowhere for us to go. There’s no way out of this family, this year, this world. “I don’t. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Aegon barks out a sardonic, cutting laugh. “Yeah, you’re definitely 23.”

“I thought you loved girls young enough to be your daughters. Isn’t that what gets you hard?”

“You’re a fucking coward.”

“You’re sweating on me, you pig.”

“You want it so bad,” Aegon whispers as he presses himself against you, his ribs and thighs and hips, and you clutch for the walls of the elevator so you don’t reach for him instead. His left hand is tearing your hair out of its clips and pins so it falls free like you used to wear it; the right is all over your face, your jaw, your chin, your cheeks, touching you ceaselessly, ravenously, a blind man reading chronicles of braille. You’re trying to turn away from him, but he keeps pulling you back in. You’re breathing his rum and nicotine, you’re gasping in low, starved moans. It might be more intimate than kissing, than sex. He’s already felt your body. What he asks for now is your soul. His words are warm and aching as he murmurs through loosed strands of your hair: “Tell me you want it, please, just tell me, just tell me, tell me and it’s yours.”

Your palms land on his bare, damp chest, and Aegon starts unfastening the last buttons of his shirt. Instead, you push him away. Aegon lets you. He surrenders. “I can’t,” you choke out. You hit the red button, and the elevator resumes its rise to the top floor of the hotel.

“I’m really fucked up right now,” he says with sudden realization, swaying, staring down at his feet like he fears he’ll lose track of them.

“I’m aware.”

“I’m sorry. I think…I think I wanted that to happen differently.”

“I can’t trust you when you’re like this,” you say. I feel like I can’t trust anyone. Aegon looks up at you, his glassy eyes large and wounded. When the elevator door opens, you step out and he stays in, riding it back to the lobby.

In the suite you share with Aemond, you turn on the radio and spin the dial until you find a Loretta Lynn song. You go to the minibar cabinet and down two tiny glass bottles of vodka, something that won’t make you smell like too much of a drunk. You’ll have to fix your hair before you go back to the ballroom; you’ll have to change your dress. You’re painted with Aegon’s sweat and smoke. You can’t risk your husband noticing. You slide open the top drawer of the nightstand on your side of the bed and take out the card you keep there, the one that travels with you to each stop on the campaign trail. Loretta Lynn croons from the radio, wronged and wrathful.

“If you don’t wanna go to Fist City

You’d better detour around my town

‘Cause I’ll grab you by the hair of your head

And I’ll lift you off of the ground

I'm not a-sayin’ my baby is a saint, ‘cause he ain’t

And that he won’t cat around with a kitty

I’m here to tell you, gal, to lay off of my man

If you don’t wanna go to Fist City.”

You lie on the floor and peer up at the card in your hands: jubilant cartoon cow, festive party hat. You know exactly what’s written on the inside; it’s etched into your memory like myths passed down through millennia. Nevertheless, you read it again. The original message is still crossed out, and there’s an addendum below it in hasty black ink: I thought this was blank…congrats on the new calf!

You graze your thumbprint across Aegon’s scrawled signature. It’s smudged now. You do this a lot. One day his name might disappear altogether from the stark white parchment, from memory.

You close the card and hug it to your chest like a mother holds a living child.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What’s going on between you and Aegon?”

Alarmed, you meet Aemond’s gaze, two reflections in the vanity mirror. It’s the next morning, and you’re finishing up your makeup. Your dress and jacket are striped with black and white, your jewelry is silver, chains on your wrists and small tasteful hoops in your ears. “Nothing.” There is a lull you have to fill before it becomes suspicious. “He’s been helpful, he’s been…you know. Ever since Mount Sinai.”

Aemond adjusts his cerulean blue tie, studying himself in the mirror. He’s still wearing his leather eyepatch. Putting in his glass eye is the last thing he does before leaving the suite each day. “He was a comfort to you.”

“Well, he was there.”

“Because I told him to be,” Aemond says, resting his hands on the back of your chair. “Someone had to stay at Asteria to keep tabs on things, to let me know what you were up to. Aegon was the most expendable. Mimi and the kids make for good photos, but Aegon…he’s not especially endearing to the public. Those few years as the mayor of Trenton just about ruined him. I’d love to make him the attorney general if I win, but I don’t think the people would stomach it. Maybe if he behaves himself he can have the job for my second term.”

Eight years, you think, unable to fathom it. Eight years in a fishbowl. Eight years lying under Aemond as he tries to get me pregnant with children neither of us can love.

Aemond leans down to touch his lips to the side of your throat. “I’m glad you’re finally friends,” he says. “Aegon’s not all bad. But don’t let him get you in trouble.”

“I wouldn’t.” What did you and Aemond talk about before Ari died? What was this marriage built on? The senate, the presidency, civil rights, poverty, the Space Race, Vietnam, Greek mythology. Everything but each other. Dreams and ideals that would dwarf any mortal, would render them invisible.

“And watch out for any reporters from the Wall Street Journal. They’d kill for Nixon. If they can twist your words, they will.” He gets something from inside his own nightstand: the bloodstained komboskini from when he was shot in Palm Beach. He places it in your right hand, all 100 knots. “Give this to someone today. You know how to do it, you’ve always understood this part. Pick the right person, the right moment. Make sure there are plenty of cameras around.”

“Where am I going? Lunch with the mayor’s wife, that’s this afternoon, isn’t it?”

Aemond nods. “And a few other stops. Then we’re going to the Alamo in San Antonio tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

He recoils, reaches for the left half of his face, kneads the scar tissue there as nerve pain radiates through his flesh all the way down to the bone. Once you felt such agonizing pity for him; now all you can think about is the matching scar you wear on your belly, hidden and shameful and a badge of your inadequacies: your body too weak to protect Ari, your mind too pliable to resist being ensnared by the crushing gravity of this man, this family, this life.

“How can I help?” you ask Aemond, because it’s the right thing to do. And randomly, you find yourself remembering the statue of Apollo in Helaena’s garden back at Asteria, the god of music, healing, truth, prophesy.

“You can’t.” Aemond goes to the bathroom to force his glass eye into its socket. You depart for the hotel lobby where Ludwika and Mimi, your companions for the day, are already waiting. Ludwika is wearing a rose pink Chanel skirt suit. Mimi—relatively functional, as she hasn’t been awake long enough to ruin herself yet—is dressed in delicate dove grey.

Alicent, Helaena, and the children are scheduled to tour a local high school and library; Criston, unsurprisingly, is going with them. Aemond, accompanied by Otto, has a series of meetings with local business leaders and politicians. Aegon and Fosco are headed to the Michael E. DeBakey Veterans Affairs Medical Center to promise maimed soldiers that Aemond will end the war that carved out bits of them and filled the voids with screaming nightmares. The limousine you share with Ludwika and Mimi ferries you first to the NASA’s Manned Spacecraft Center. Mimi is entranced by the reflective surface of the helmets, coated with gold to divert blinding sunbeams; in turn, the astronauts are entranced by Ludwika, who leaves lipstick smudges on their cheeks when she kisses them. Next is a tea party hosted by Iola Faye Cure Welch, the mayoress of Houston since 1964 and the mother of five children. And as you nibble daintily at triangle-shaped sandwiches and trudge through small talk about flowers and furniture, you can’t stop smiling. You can’t stop thinking about how ridiculous Aegon would think this is if he was here.

The driver mentions one last stop, then coasts through midafternoon traffic towards the city center. You spend the ride touching up your hair and makeup. Ludwika offers to let you borrow her seduction-red lipstick; you politely decline. You step out of the limo and shield your eyes from the glare of the Texas sun. It takes your vision a moment to adjust, and then you realize where you are. The sign above the main entranceway reads: Houston Methodist Hospital. The air snags in your throat, your lungs are empty. Your hands tremble violently. The earth rocks beneath your white high heels. Mount Sinai is the last hospital you walked into, and you left with your son in a casket so small it could have been mistaken for a shoebox.

“Alright, let’s go,” Ludwika says, linking an arm through yours. Mimi, badly in need of a drink, is looking deflated and edgy. “We are almost done. And I have been promised a medium-rare steak for dinner! Mushrooms and onions too! The Statue of Liberty did not lie. This country is a golden door.”

“I can’t.”

Ludwika stares at you. “What?”

“I can’t, I can’t go in there.”

“What is she talking about?” Ludwika asks Mimi, who shakes her head, mystified.

“I can’t,” you whimper.

They’ve never seen you like this. They don’t know what to do. They listen to you, that is the hierarchy; but it’s too late to change course now. Journalists are approaching in a swarm. Nurses and doctors are gathering by the front door to welcome you.

He knew, you think, suddenly furious. Aemond knew, and he didn’t tell me.

“It will be okay,” Ludwika says, patting your back awkwardly. “We are here with you. Nothing bad will happen.”

“Oh,” Mimi breathes, understanding. She looks at you with sympathy that shimmers on the surface of the opaque, polluted lake of her mind. Then she catches Ludwika’s eye and skims a hand down her own slim midsection. Ari, she mouths, and Ludwika’s face falls.

The doctors and nurses are whistling and applauding; the journalists are snapping photos and scrounging for quotes. You feel your conditioning over the past two years taking over: straight posture, gentle smile, hands clasped demurely together. But you are locked away somewhere underneath.

“Do not worry,” Ludwika tells you softly. “We will talk, we will make it easier for you.” Then she and Mimi begin boisterously shaking hands and thanking people for coming as you make your way through the crowd of journalists and towards the main entrance of the hospital.

People are saying things to you, but you don’t really hear them. You reply with words you won’t remember afterwards. You nod frequently and go wherever you are led. Doctors are explaining new research into placenta previa and c-sections. Nurses are showing you a state-of-the-art NICU for premature infants. Someone is placing a baby in your arms, and you can’t do anything but accept it numbly. You can’t look down at it, you can’t allow yourself to feel the weight of some other woman’s child. You wear your smile like armor and let the photographers capture their snapshots, painting a frame around you, deciding where you live.

Then you are introduced to the parents, women in hospital beds and men perched in chairs beside them, just like the one where Aegon slept at Mount Sinai. They take your hands when you offer them and tell you about their small children, sick children, dying children. One patient just delivered twins. The first did not survive beyond a few hours, but the second is in an incubator and gaining strength. You recall the komboskini stained with Aemond’s blood and take it out of your purse, give it to the suffering mother, watch faith rise in her face like dawn over the Atlantic. But you won’t remember her. You cannot allow yourself to.

Outside as you, Ludwika, and Mimi are headed back to the limousine, the journalists make one last attempt to poach a headline-worthy quote. “Mrs. Targaryen! Mrs. Targaryen!” a young man shouts, clambering to the front of the horde and jabbing a microphone in your face. “I’m from the Houston Chronicle. Can you tell me how the senator feels about the failure of the most recent phase of the Tet Offensive?”

You are in a fog; you don’t feel real, this moment and this city don’t feel real, and so you cannot remember what Aemond would want you to say. “The Vietnam War has claimed too many lives already. We should have never sent our men there to die. But since that is done, the best thing we can do now is end the draft immediately and then withdrawal from the region as soon as the South Vietnamese are able to defend their own territory, which is their responsibility.” The journalist already considers this effort fruitful and begins to retreat, but you have one last point to make. Ludwika and Mimi watch you anxiously. “I lost someone in Vietnam. I met him when I was in college. He had a good heart, and he joined because he thought it was wrong for poor men to have to fight while rich kids got exemptions, and he was killed in action in October of 1965.”

“This was a friend?” the journalist asks, eyes glowing hungrily. Then he adds as an afterthought: “I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

“A boyfriend. Corporal Cameron Marino from Schenectady, New York. People called him Cam.”

A solemn murmur ripples through the crowd. Hats are removed, hands held to chests. “Rest in peace, Cam,” someone says. Maybe they have somebody they care about in Vietnam, a friend or a lover or a brother. You wave goodbye and climb into the limousine. The outpouring swells as you vanish: We love you, Mrs. Targaryen! God bless you, Mrs. Targaryen!

In the lobby of the Texas State Hotel, you tell Ludwika and Mimi not to follow you. They have to listen. After some hesitation, Mimi heads for the bar in the ballroom; Ludwika asks the staff at the front desk if she’ll be able to make a call to Poland with the phone in her room. You take the elevator to the top floor. Fosco is in the hallway, on his way back from one of the vending machines with a Fresca. When he sees your face, his jaw drops.

“Dio mio, what happened?”

“Nothing,” you say, tears biting in your eyes. You pass him, digging your key out of your purse.

“Are you sure—?”

“Fosco, please. I don’t want to talk.”

“Okay,” he says doubtfully. Then he seems to get an idea and strides away with great purpose. You take shelter in your suite, silent and dim; Aemond isn’t back yet. You brace yourself against the locked door and sob into empty, trembling hands, at last hidden away where no one can see you, where no one can be disturbed or disappointed. You know now that none of it was healed—not the loss, not the revelations—but only buried, and now it’s all been unearthed again and the pain shrieks like exposed nerves.

It’s not fair. Ari deserved better, I deserved better.

There’s nothing you can do. Your hands ache to hold someone that no longer exists. You can’t unlearn the truth of what your marriage is.

There are two knocks, quick and rough. “Hey, it’s me.” And there’s such pure intimacy in those words. You know my voice. You know why I’m here. “Open the door.”

“I’m okay, just, just, just leave me alone���”

“Open the door,” Aegon says again. “Or I’ll get security up here to do it for you.”

Swiping the tears from your face, you let him in. He’s dressed in baggy black shorts, nothing on his feet, an unbuttoned stolen green army jacket. You once thought he wore those to play the part of a revolutionary from the comfort of his East Coast seaside mansion. Now you understand it’s because he misses Daeron, because he believes he should have gone to Vietnam instead. There are several dog tags strung around his neck; some of the veterans at the medical center he visited must have gifted them to him.

“What’s wrong?” Aegon’s eyes sweep over you, seeking, horrified. “What did he do?”

You can’t answer, you can’t breathe. You back away from him as more tears spill down your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey, let me help you. Please don’t be upset. Did he say something, did he hurt you?” Aegon reaches out, and as soon as he touches you your knees buckle and you’re on the floor, trying not to wail, trying not to scream, and Aegon is pulling you against his chest—bare skin, borrowed metal—and his hands are on your face and in your hair, and his lips are against your forehead as he murmurs: “Shh, shh, don’t cry. It’s okay.”

“No it’s not.”

“Whatever it is, I can help.”

“I had to go to a hospital and hold babies and I, I, I never even got to touch him, not once, not ever, and I can’t now because he’s gone. He’s locked in some fucking vault, he’s just bones, but he was supposed to be a person, and those other babies are going to get to grow up but he isn’t, and it’s not fair.”

“You’re right,” Aegon agrees softly, still holding you.

“No one else knew him.”

“I did. I was there the whole time.”

“Only because Aemond made you stay.”

“No,” Aegon swears. “I was supposed to spy on you. He never told me to do any of the rest of it. I stayed because I wanted to.”

“You did,” you say, very quietly, weakly, conceding.

“And I’m still here now.”

Your lungs aren’t burning quite so much. Your tears are slowing. You unravel yourself from Aegon, averting your eyes. Now you’re ashamed; you aren’t in the habit of revealing to people how much you’re splintering like cracked glass, fresh fractures every time you think to check the damage. “I’m, um, I’m really sorry.”

“Look, I don’t mean to bring up unpleasant memories, but this is definitely not the most embarrassing thing I’ve seen you do.”

You laugh, only for a few seconds, and Aegon smiles as he mops the tears from your face with the sleeve of his army jacket. Then he turns serious again.

“Can I ask you something? It’s very personal. It’s offensive, honestly. But I have to know.”

“You can ask.”

“Do you want more children?”

More children. Because Ari was real. “Not now. Not with Aemond.”

Aegon nods, suspicions confirmed. “Can you do that sponge thing you told me about?”

“No. I think he’d be able to feel it, he’s…” You gesture vaguely. It’s difficult to say. “He’s big.”

Aegon didn’t want to hear that. He didn’t want to have to think about it. He flinches, just enough that you notice. But as much as he’d like to, he doesn’t change the subject. “What about the pill?”

“No doctor is going to write me a prescription without my husband’s permission. Especially considering who my husband is.”

“I hate this fucking country,” Aegon hisses. “Puritanical goddamn hellscape. Old Testament bullshit.” He drags his fingers through his hair a few times, then pats your cheek like he did before: twice, gently, playfully. “Come on. Let’s go smoke.”

“I can’t do it on the balcony. Someone might get a picture.”

“Okay. No big deal. We’ll go to the roof.”

You stare at him. “The roof?”

“You really think I haven’t already been up there?” He stands and offers you his hand. “You’ll love it. The view is fantastic.”

The view is good, but the grass is better. You know that it makes some people useless, others paranoid, but for you it’s always painted the world a color that is softer, kinder, lighter, more bearable. You and Aegon lie next to each other, smoking and watching twilight fall over Houston like a spell. You’ll have to shower and gulp some Listerine before Aemond gets anywhere near you. It’s interesting; each day you seem to acquire new secrets to keep from him.

Aegon asks: “Where would you be right now if you weren’t Mrs. Targaryen?”

“Probably married to someone worse.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Okay, but let’s say you weren’t. Let’s say you can do whatever you want.” He points up at the lavender sky and acts like he’s moving the emerging glimmers of stars around with his fingertip. “There, I’ve changed your fate. Who would you be?”

You ponder this. “I want to teach math to kids and then spend every summer break getting baked on some beach.”

Aegon cackles. “Hell, sign me up.” He lights a third joint for himself with his tiny chrome Zippo. “Those are the people doing the real work. Teachers, nurses, farmers electricians, plumbers, welders, firemen, therapists, janitors, public defenders. The normal, unglamorous types.”

“You don’t think presidents and senators make a difference?”

“Sure they do. But only like 5% of the job is actually helping people. The rest of it is schmoozing and tea parties and making speeches, because looking and sounding good is better than doing good. They’re addicted to vapid pretenses that make them feel important. You live like that and you forget how to be a human. I mean, look at Nixon. The man was raised as a Quaker, one of the most peaceful religions on earth, and now he’s planning to throw ten or twenty thousand more boys into the great Vietnamese meatgrinder and probably napalm the hell out of Cambodia and Laos while he’s at it to get the communists’ supply lines. The man’s got no idea who he is anymore. I’d feel sorry for him if I wasn’t so terrified he’s gonna start World War III.”

I wonder who Aemond was a few decades ago. “What makes you feel important?”

“Nothing,” Aegon says. “I’m not under any delusions that I matter.”

“I think you matter, old man.”

“Really?”

“A little bit. About this much.” You hold your hand up to show him the infinitesimal space between your thumb and index finger, and Aegon chuckles, his eyes glazed and bloodshot.

“Let’s do it,” he says with sudden, forceful conviction. “If Nixon wins in November, we’ll get out of here. I’ll go back to Yuma to teach on the reservation and you can come with me. You get a math class, I take English, or Music, or both, whatever. We’ll buy a bungalow out in the desert and make s’mores every night and look up at the stars. I’ll show you how to play guitar if you give me algebra lessons.”

You peek over at him, intrigued. “Is that all we’re going to do?”

“Well we’ll fuck, obviously.”

“Oh, obviously.” You giggle; it’s ridiculous, it’s paradisical, it’s insane how good it sounds. But surely that’s only because you’re high. “I don’t know how Mimi would feel about that.”

“She won’t care. She doesn’t want me anymore, hasn’t in years. Sometimes she just forgets that when she’s wasted. Mimi can go to Arizona too. We’ll load up the kids in a van and strap her to the roof.”

Now your voice is somber. “She was supposed to fix you.”

“Yeah,” Aegon says: slow, meditative, guilty. “I think Mimi and I have a few too many of the same demons.”

You roll over, push yourself up on your palms, and crawl to the edge of the rooftop. You prop your elbows on the ledge and gaze out into the city lights, the sky turning from violet to indigo to primordial darkness. Aegon joins you, staring down at the distant aquamarine rectangle of the hotel pool.

He asks: “You think I could make that?”

“No.”

“Should I try?”

“You definitely shouldn’t.”

“A few months ago, you would have pushed me off this roof.”

You shrug. “You’ve proved yourself useful.”

“That’s why you like me now? Because I’m useful?”

“Who said I like you?” you tease, smiling.

“You like me,” Aegon says, grinning and smug, radiant in the silver moonlight and urban incandescence. “You like me so much it scares you. But there’s no need to panic. It’s okay. I know the feeling.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You want to touch him, you want him to touch you, you want to study every arc and angle of him like he’s a marble statue in a garden: too beautiful to be mortal, too fragile to be divine.

~~~~~~~~~~

Three nights later in Nebraska, there is a knock on the door of your hotel suite. The nannies have herded the children off to bed; the adults are unwinding downstairs in the courtyard of the Sheraton Omaha, designed to resemble an Italian garden. There’s a brand new Jacuzzi that you’re looking forward to taking a dip in. You finish pulling on your swimsuit, white and patterned with sunflowers, a one-piece with a flared skirt.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Richard Nixon,” Aegon says through the door. “Naked. Horny. Please love me.”

You laugh and let him in. He’s leaning against the doorframe in Hawaiian swim trunks and nothing else, pink sunburn glowing on his soft chest. He holds up a brown paper bag and shakes it.

“For you.”

“What is it, heroin?” Instead, you open the bag to find small, circular packs of pills. “No way. You did not.”

“That’s enough for six months,” Aegon says, smirking, proud of himself. “I’ll be back again in February. Guess that makes me your dealer, babe. I don’t accept cash, checks, or cards, only sexual favors. You want to get down on your knees, or should I?”

“How did you get these?”

“I told a doctor they’re for one of my whores.”

“Maybe they are.”

You’ve surprised him, you’ve got him thinking about it now. His face flushes a splotchy, charming pink. “So, uh, you coming down to the courtyard?”

“Yeah. Right now. Just let me hide these first. Are there instructions in here…?”

“Mm hmm,” Aegon says, still distracted, studying the entirely unremarkable carpet. You stow the paper bag of birth control pills in the bottom of your bras and panties drawer, then walk with Aegon to take the elevator down to the ground floor. You both notice the bright red emergency stop button and share a glance, smirking, taunting.

In the courtyard, Alicent is struggling to pay attention as Helaena identifies each and every species of plant and explains where in the world it is native to. Fosco is simultaneously teaching Criston how to yo-yo and berating him for not believing the Cubs will end up in the World Series. Fosco has apparently bet $500 on them. Ludwika is stretched out on a lounge chair like a cat and reading a copy of Cosmopolitan. Aemond, wearing his eyepatch and a blue pair of swim trunks, appears to be arguing with Otto over the contents of a newspaper article. Mimi is alone in the Jacuzzi, bubbles rumbling all around her as she slumps against the rim, a frosty Gimlet clutched in one hand.

“Mimi, get out of the Jacuzzi,” you order.

“I’m fine!” she slurs, and you groan, knowing you’re going to have to drag her out.

Aemond is approaching; no, not approaching, raging. “What the hell is wrong with you? What the fuck is this?” He hurls the newspaper at you, the Houston Chronicle. The headline reads: To Mrs. Targaryen, ending the Vietnam War is personal. “Why would you tell somebody that? Other papers are going to start reporting this. You gave them his full name. They’ve found his school, his friends, his gravesite in motherfucking Arlington National Cemetery—”

“You set me up,” you say. “You didn’t tell me about the hospital.”

Aegon takes the newspaper from you and frantically skims the article. “Hey, man,” he tells Aemond as he pieces it together, attempting to deescalate. It’s not a skill you knew he possessed. “She was rattled, she wasn’t thinking clearly. And there’s nothing bad in this article. It makes her sound invested and sympathetic, not…um…whatever you’re thinking.”

“You don’t get it,” Aemond seethes. “Journalists are going to start hounding his friends, his classmates, people who lived in his dorm building. Nixon’s newspapers will publish any gossip they can dig up about what she did when she was in school. Things people saw, things people overheard—”

“What, the fact that she had one boyfriend before she met you? That’s worthy of a nuclear meltdown?! Better prepare for Armageddon, a woman got laid, launch the goddamn warheads!”

“She doesn’t get to have a past! She should understand that, she signed up for this, she knew exactly what was expected of her!”

“And what about your past?” Aegon says, low and searing, and Aemond goes quiet. Their eyes are locked on each other: Aegon defiant, Aemond unnerved. You try to remember if you’ve ever seen that expression on his face before. You don’t think you have. Not even when he was shot and half-blinded. Not even when Ari died.

“What does that mean?” you ask your husband. Still staring at Aegon—tangled in a thorny, silent battle of wills—he doesn’t reply.

There are swift, thudding footsteps. Otto grabs Aegon by his hair, hooks a finger through the small gold hoop in his right ear, and tears it straight through the earlobe. Aegon screams as blood streams down his face, feeling the ravaged fringes of his flesh.

“I told you to take those out,” Otto says. “Now remove the other one before I rip it free, and go get yourself stitched up.”

You do something you’ve never done before, never even thought of. You strike out with both hands and shove Otto so hard he goes staggering backwards, his arms wheeling. The others are yelling and rushing over. Aemond is trying to yank you to him, but he can’t get a grip on your swimsuit. “I will kill you!” you roar at Otto. “I will push you down a staircase, I will slit your fucking throat, don’t you ever touch him!”

Alicent is weeping, appalled, trying to get a look at Aegon’s damaged ear. Criston is helping her, moving Aegon’s bloodied hair out of the way. Fosco links his arms around your waist and drags you out of Aemond’s reach just as he’s getting his fingers beneath a strap of your swimsuit. Helaena is covering her face with her hands and wailing. Ludwika is shrieking at Otto: “What did you do? Don’t give me that, what did you do?!”

You are engulfed with rage, red and irresistible. You’re trying to bolt out of Fosco’s grasp. You want to claw Otto’s eyes out; you want to put a bullet in him. As you struggle, you catch a glimpse of the Jacuzzi. You don’t see Mimi anymore.

“Wait,” you plead, but nobody hears you over the noise. You look desperately at Fosco. “Where’s Mimi?!”

Once he figures out what you’re trying to say, he whirls towards the Jacuzzi. “No!” he bellows, releasing you, and careens across the courtyard. You dash after him. Now the others understand, and they come running too. You see it just before Fosco dives in: there is a shadow at the bottom of the Jacuzzi. When he bursts up though the roiling water, he is carrying Mimi, limp and unconscious and blue.

Everyone is shouting at once. Fosco lays Mimi down on the cobblestones of the courtyard. Criston sends Ludwika to call an ambulance, kneels beside Mimi, checks for a pulse. Then he begins CPR. When he breathes air into her flooded lungs, there is no response, no resurrection.

“No, no, no, she has to be alright!” Aemond says, and everyone knows why. If she’s not, this will consume the headlines for days: no victorious campaigning, no speeches or photos, just a drowned alcoholic with a damning autopsy report.

“Oh my god,” Otto moans, pacing. “This can’t be happening, not this year, not now…”

Alicent seizes your hand and squeezes it until you think it will break. She is reciting prayers in Greek. Helaena is curled up under a butterfly bush, sobbing hysterically. When he realizes this, Otto hurries to comfort her.

“Don’t watch, Helaena. Let’s go inside, I’ll walk with you, there’s nothing more we can do here.”

“Mimi?!” Aegon commands, slapping her hard across the face. “Mimi, come on, wake up! Mimi? Mimi!” She’s still motionless, she’s still blue. Aegon turns to you, blood smeared all over the right side of his face. He’s petrified, he’s in shock. “I think she’s…she’s…”

“She’s gone,” Criston says; and he lifts his palms from her hollow body. The silent sky above is a labyrinth of bad stars.

[spartanseagoat]

Hey Babe, Let Me Tell You About Your Chiron Real Quick & Explain Why you are hurt

Hey y’all!! To kick off my new Astro page, I thought I would start off with some healing!

Who is Chiron?

Chiron in Greek Mythology was the Son of Kronos , other sources say Apollo and was a famous centaur. He was known for his vast knowledge of medicines and his overall deep wisdom. He was known for the arts as well. He was also an incredible teacher and taught many Greek heroes such as Hercules.

He was accidentally shot by a poisoned arrow and was unable to heal himself so Greek God Zeus honored him by giving him a place in the constellation known as Centaurus.

How does this play into astrology?

In astrology, Chiron is known as the “Wounded Healer and Teacher.” He represents the unhealed part of ourselves that we keep rehealing. Think of it this way, it’s like our triggers.

Imagine getting severely hurt physically , your wounds heal but now you have a nasty scar from that wound. Even though that wound is healed, you’ll always have that reminder of when you were in pain and it can be triggering.

You’ll never fully heal your Chiron but you can learn from it and how to grow as a person. Your Chiron wounds can be from past lives as well. You may have experienced this in your early childhood the most and it’s followed you through adulthood.

The parts of you that you need to start Healing based on the signs

*the house it’s in determine the area in life you are wounded in. Degrees of your placement also plays a part THIS IS A GENERALIZED BREAKDOWN!

Aries/1h- being hurt physically, not having confidence in yourself, not feeling bold. Don’t feel comfortable in the body you’re in. People saying mean things about your appearance, bullying was a big part of your early wounds.

Taurus/2h- your self worth, being homeless or struggling for home stability, financial struggles, feeling insecure about your voice or how you dress or look. Food struggles is another big one

Gemini/3h- you struggle with communicating your thoughts, having car or transportation struggles, having difficulties with siblings or co-workers. May have learning disabilities such as ADHD

Cancer/4h- you struggle with understanding your emotions and how to regulate them. Troubles with your home life or family, especially mother. Motherhood could be hard for you as well such as not wanting to be a mom or wanting to be one

Leo/5h- your inner childhood, being confident around others, don’t like being in the spotlight. Feel uncomfortable around children, bruised ego from childhood wound

Virgo/6h- suffer from perfectionism and wanting to be the best at everything. Physical Health related issues, work related issues, struggle with routines

Libra/7h- connecting with people one on one, relationship issues. Struggles with finding balance in your life, not having justice or fairness on your side. Struggles with trying to please everyone

Scorpio/8h- struggles with trusting others and being closed off, struggles with developing intimate connection with partners. Dealing with a death of a loved one at an early age, struggle with financial power and control. Power struggles in general

Sagittarius/9h- having a hard time communicating your beliefs and perspectives or people not understanding your worldview, struggles with broadening your view, traveling struggles, religious trauma, struggled in college/higher learning environments. Carry the world on their shoulders.

Capricorn/10h- struggles with ambition and setting long term goals, struggles with not getting recognition or the respect you earned. Struggles with responsibility. This can indicate being a workaholic as well

Aquarius/11h- feeling like an outcast from social circle or network. Having a hard time accomplishing your dreams fulfillment, struggles with social media or the internet in general. Struggles with seeing the good in humanity, being rebellious to the point of being reckless , always feeling uncomfortable in crowds.

Pisces/12h- lack boundaries with people, struggle to see people for who they are and put them on a pedestal, struggle with regulating your emotions due to feeling other people emotions, mental health struggles, addiction struggles, imprisonment struggles

Keep in mind this is a very broad and generalized reading. If you want me to make a detailed a post for each Chiron let me know here by voting!

[genericpuff]

hi, i know the episode came out weeks ago, but i wanted to talk about ep 277 and your essay on it. i thought it was very well thought out and had brought up lots of concerns abt apollo's other victims and the harm persephone caused to others that i just. hadn't really thought about myself because honestly this webcomic is a BLUR to me LOL. thank you for writing these insights and putting them online for others to read ! i think you manage to keep a respectful distance to rachel [1/]

Yeah, regarding how the SA was handled...

I think Rachel did exactly as well as anyone might have expected someone like her to write a plotline like that.

Honestly if Rachel really did want to do the arrow thing, I think it would have worked WAY better if she had used the arrow of hate. First of all, because it had already been established back in S2 when it was shot at him by Psyche, but ALSO because making it an arrow of love confirmed that Eros literally did what Apollo asked despite the fact that he's Persephone's best friend and should have been more suspicious of what he was going to use it for. Why not just do a bait & switch where Apollo is under the impression that it's an arrow of love but Persephone trusts in her friend and pieces it together that it's probably an arrow of hate? It would also payoff the whole "news crew being nearby" thing (as well as all the other gods that just randomly showed up) because uh oh now they all see his true nature and he can't hide behind his lies anymore!

After all, as I mentioned in my previous post about this (the one I believe you're referring to) it's not like there wasn't already foreshadowing that Apollo was going to fall on his own sword the way of Mr Waternoose from Monster's Inc, he was already showing signs of cracking under the guilt that he was feeling towards how he treated Persephone/Eris/Hermes/etc. so why did it have to be Persephone taking a massive risk by sticking him with an arrow of love that still doesn't fully explain why he would even suddenly be a changed man? Loads of people like Apollo think they're in love / define their infatuation as love so I don't see how an arrow of love would suddenly make him empathetic to her pain. Especially when, again, he still begs her not to make him confess, so the guilt he's feeling is still completely empty and unmotivated.

I will leave this with one final thing that I saw the other day that very much reminded me of the Apollo SA plotline and I think it rings very true for the misdirected conclusion of the plot itself:

One of the biggest issues of the Apollo SA plotline, at least in my opinion, is that it never really gets to the root of why people like Apollo exist. There absolutely were strong foundations for this - he's the son of a guy who's known for being a serial cheater, he's popular and egotistical and is used to women wanting him, etc. - but all of those foundations kind of fell to the wayside in favor of turning Apollo into just another boogeyman, especially to lift Hades up as a "good man" by comparison (when Hades himself also falls on this spectrum). But many people like Apollo aren't just random guys in an alleyway or conspiring with some "higher power" that's manipulating them, they're men who fundamentally do not understand consent and assault on the varying spectrums in which it exists from "SA just exists, oh well" passiveness to "I'm an actual monster who gets pleasure out of victimizing women" aggressiveness. I think there's a lot to discuss about how people like Apollo exist WITHOUT sympathizing with them, but LO manages to do neither - not only does it give us uncomfortable and unnecessary looks into the rapist's POV more than we get the victims, but it does it in a way that doesn't actually address the issue of how people like Apollo come to be, it's just "Apollo is the big evil boogeyman who raped Persephone". Not only does it not actually put enough focus on the victims, but it reduces the societal and cultural complexities of where Apollo's brand of egotistical entitlement comes from to just "some guys just be evil like that". Guys like Apollo don't just come out of the womb like that, they're often shaped into what they are by a society that both excuses them for awful behavior towards girls ("Boys will be boys!") and enables - if not outright encourages - them to objectify women as trophies that they're entitled to. Even the seemingly innocent and sentimental practice of "giving away a bride" at a wedding is rooted in these patriarchal systems, with the belief that a woman first "belongs" to her father before being "given to" her husband.

It's the part of feminism that often gets overlooked - it's not just about uplifting female voices and helping survivors speak up about and heal from SA, it's also about deconstructing and challenging the patriarchal systems that lead to SA victims being created in the first place. Sure, Apollo got sentenced to building temples in the Mortal Realm, but what is that actually doing to address the bigger topic of how men like him come to exist in the first place? Especially when it was also treated as a good thing for TGOEM to be disbanded, instead of, idk... reworking it into a women's support group for survivors like Persephone?

IDK, it's a very complicated subject that you can approach from a million different angles, I don't think that my criticizing it should outweigh the opinions of those who were satisfied with the punishment that was given to Apollo (my saying the SA plotline sucked doesn't mean you're not allowed to find your own validation in it) but I do think that, at best, Rachel ended the SA plotline the only way she could because she herself is just not equipped to tackle such broad subjects that require a lot more education, experience, and nuance than what she's capable of writing. There are definitely 1298423108 better ways that plotline could have been resolved, but not with Rachel Smythe at the helm.

And that's my many cents on that.

[letsmyy]

i have a request!!! you should write a daughter of apollo x leo valdez fic but based on espresso by sabrina carpenter (idk i feel like that song gives children of apollo vibes!) it'd be leo obsessed with the apollo girl (like him being absolutely obsessed with her, having the biggest crush on her possible, he constantly thinks about her, him being an absolute loser bf) and finally getting the courage to ask her out on a date or something like that.

“she’s like a shot of espresso…”

leo valdez x duaghter of apollo!reader

warnings: use of yn! english isn’t my first language so it might be some errors!!

thank you so much for your request, it made me so happy!! idk if what i wrote it’s exactly what you want but i hope you like it 🤕 this is my first timing writing a real fic and I think it really shows lol, but i promise I’ll try to improve in the next one, I’m so sorry if it’s that bad, and this is really short too? omg im really bad at this lol, but anyways, ly anon tell me your opinions (honestly) abt this later, kisses to uuu!! 🫶💗 (btw anon, please request other things I feel like I didn’t did you justice with this one)

words: 850

“is it that sweet? I guess so…..”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ - ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Leo was sure he was going crazy.

He always had a pretty big amount of silly crushes on girls, but with you? It was getting way too serious. Of course, you're beautiful, incredibly kind, and too generous for your own good, and you treated him well, but that isn't enough reason to make him lose sleep; at least that's what he thought.

And he was extremely wrong. Being in your presence was the equivalent of being bathed in the sunlight, and gods, he felt like a prisoner who hadn't seen the sun in years.

He's completely obsessed with you; he just needs the courage to verbalize that, but being honest, Leo felt like a coward at the moment.

While being lost in his thoughts (the thoughts being the pretty daughter of Apollo that never leaves his mind), the boy finally falls asleep.

Leo doesn't mind waking up if that means spending the day with the people he loves, so after getting ready for the day, he searches for you.

And he found you, talking with a much younger camper, helping him. You're smiling like it's the best day of your life, and Leo could swear that you're almost glowing.

The boy makes its way to you the same moment you finish talking to the kid, now having your full attention on Hephaestus' son.

"Leo! Good morning!" Your voice to him had the same effect as listening to his favorite music, it made him happy in ways he couldn't explain, even if his life depended on it. 

"Yn! Good morning!" He mimics you, not in a bad way, just a teasing one. You roll your eyes in fake annoyance.

"Sooo, did you sleep well, Valdez?" You ask, seeming really interested in the answer, but he knows that you're like that for everything, being extremely kind.

"Not really, would be better if I dreamed about you," you laugh amusingly.

"You say that every day, y'know?"

"I know, I say because it's true. " You can't help but blush a little. You're used to Leo flirting with you, but it never gets past that, so you just learned to joke back.

"Hilarious, Valdez... fortunately, I slept very well today, and I'm more excited than normal! I think it's because it's so sunny today, that's awesome, was thinking about going to the lake later. I can't waste such a pretty day like this one painting inside my cabin..."

"Unfortunately, I'll be in the bunker today, I have lots of things to do."

"What? No! You're coming with me, you can't waste this wonderful day either!" You grab his hands, walking toward the lake.

Leo could swear he would pass out at that moment. He couldn't even think about denying your offer, he would prefer dying to doing that.

After a few seconds, you guys get to the lake.

"Look how pretty it is! You have to go swimming with me, it’s a need.”

"Look, sunshine, water and fire don't get along so well, so I might skip that one" he says, apologetic. You frown, thinking.

"We don't need to go swimming, we can just talk, i really don't care." You smile lovingly at him.

"I don't want to ruin your day! There are many people that can go with you, you'll find someone better to do that." He's so oblivious that it's getting concerning.

"I want to spend time with you, Valdez. I don't mind if it's swimming or just talking, I want to, you know..be with you."

"Oh." He's acting like a loser, he can't think straight anymore and is blushing like crazy, but who cares?

"Oh?" You tease him, smiling.

"Yeah, we can. Just talk, I'm happy with that. " His smile was so genuine that made your heart melt.

That's when you realize you're still holding his hand, and you don't want to change that. You can feel he notices too.

Something just snapped in his head, now it’s the time, now or never, right?

"Yn? Can I tell you something?" He says it in a quiet tone, and you just nod.

"When I'm around you, it's like constantly drinking a shot of espresso, it's like being bathed in sunlight, you're incredibly energetic and enthusiastic, and i just can't get enough of you, you're my sunrise and daylight....all I'm saying is, gods, I very much love you more than just friends" You're surprised, really surprised, so surprised that you can't even speak for a moment, which just makes Leo even more nervous.

"Please say something...like, anything, a no it's better than silence because it’s less-“ Before he yaps again, you interrupt him:

"I like you too." The boy almost squeals of pure excitement.

"Seriously? Oh gods, oh gods. What?" He's so happy, it's so sincere, so soft, it's amazing, you can feel your heart beating so fast, and you don't even care; seeing him like this because of you is the best feeling you ever felt.

Then you see that one look, meant just for you, it's like time has frozen, and you're both thinking the same thing. Then, like all the stars aligned, you kissed him

[aristia-pjoheadcanons]

Hi! I wanted to ask for Percy x daughter of Apollo headcanons? Like best friends to lovers or wtv you feel like! Thank you but no worries if not 💕💕

☆Percy Jackson x Daughter of Apollo☆

Authors note: This is so sweet, i love best friends to lovers. (also, not me literally searching up what wtv means only to find out it means whatever and its not a trope lol)

you're his agapitós, just so you know. maybe he will come up with a nice nickanme and a private nickname for the two of you in private.

The child of Apollo has a bit of a love/hate relationship with their godly parent. On one hand, they admire Apollo's power and grace, but on the other hand, they feel like they can never live up to him.

They often struggle to decide if they should be proud of being his child, or if they should resent him for his high expectations.

Despite this inner turmoil, they do strive to live up to Apollo's ideals and make him proud.

Their relationship with Percy is a bit tense at times, you might often feel that Percy is too overprotective and doesn't let you take risks.

Despite this friction, you both genuinely care about each other deeply.

your bond with him is strong, you are dating a guy who only has eyes for his beloved.

maybe the child of apollo has a friend who is a troublemaker, a trickster and a prankster; which is how you managed to get acquainted with Percy.

Though you might not be a child of the big three or a prodigy like Annabeth, you put on a brave face and take down your foes with your skills, whether its medicine, archery, light - any weapon at all!

perhaps you are a charming person and can convicne a bunch of people to do something, even if you dont have charmspeak.

you are known to be the mediater during fights, someone people can rely on for good input since you arent biased. Which could be useful when dealing with the constant drama of demigod life.

capture the flag is the time for you to shine.

(I had to google this);The child of Apollo has the power to harness the energy of the sun, allowing them to create destructive solar blasts, drain the power of others, or even create an aura of warmth.

So, imagine the reader just harnessing the power of a STAR to make themselves overpowered in battle, landing accurate shots with their bow or even straight up knives, becoming faster and agile - flexible, moving so fast it looks natural.

heck, this type of fighting style is for sure gonna make percy stare and admire you.

I IMAGINE that you have a warm body because of the godly power that runs throuhg you, so if you were to hold percys hand (i imagine that hes kind of cold) youre a perfect pair.

demigod life is crazy and percy keeps getting dragged on quests, what if you join him and break the "3-people maximum in a party" rule? he would not care, he wants you near him because he trusts you and your abilities.

healing properties would also be nice but dont get too stressed, percy would never out you on the spot to make you uncomfortable.

percy is a feeler, he understands people because no one took the time to understand him, other than people really close to him. if you even furrow your brow in the slightest, this guy will try to think of anything that happened that day to make you upset or annoyed, and try to think of a solution. his solution is to engage in an awkward convo and give a compliment/pat on the back, but hes so goddamn awkward its funny but you cant laugh because you kind of want percy to keep doing right?

so you start doing the same, sit next to him when hes sitting alone, make your way toward him when he's literally just standing there completely comfortable with being alone;

but no, you want him to know you're there. give him a small smile and he would see you as somebody he can tlak to about his feelings! heck!!

during the pjo-series he never really lets himself feel too much, and instead undermines his feelings to the point he starts to ignore his on needs.

luckily, you are his anchor too. keep him on his toes but not in the way annabeth or the way his mother does; but in another way that can be even seen as intimite, if thats the right word for it.

caressing his back and wiping away his tears but letting him know that "hey, im not wiping them away because I want you to stop, but i'm wiping them away to let you know you're safe and not alone".

by the way, that last line?, would definetly make percy stop and stare at you like a deer in headlights and just try to process this whole entire situation. i dont know why but its funny for me to imagine him being angry or sad and just suddenly stopping, his eyebrows shoot up and he's staring at you as if he cant believe somebody does actually care about what he feels.

percy is a feeler who wont let himself feel, but you are there to remind him that in order for him to even confront his enemies, his foes - he needs to make an ally of himself first.

"dont make yourself your own enemy"

"*again percy is at a loss for words*"

beautiful and powerful, courages but not too aggressive, sentimental and empathetic, are words to describe the reader (definetly not percys own internal thoughts about you cough cough).

you stand out on your own, not because of who your godly parent is, but because of who you are. thats powerful and enough in itself. you dont need to be someone important to the prophecy or the war, you dont need to be someone great. you hold value in your worth for being you.

I feel like at some point you want percy to get out off his head for one second and look at himself the way you look at him.

it's up to you to determine what kind of person you want to be and what you want to make of your own life. and not because of some great prophecy.

Percy has always tried to do the best he can to live up to his destiny, but his own sense of self-worth and identity doesn't rely on those outside factors. percy values freedom and choice, which is why in the end he chose you because you make an impact on his life and his place in the world.

percy really isnt that difficult to get along with. if we tke a look at kane chronicles, he got to know the main character and was somewhat comfortable with him after fighting alongside him for literally 30-40minutes. the problem is that he never really opens up, maybe a result of his uppringing and unresolves trauma - you need to remind him that: control is not the same as suppression.

you would turn his world upside down for the better and his way thinking.

if its difficult through words, you write it down and make an essay about how great he is and how much more he can do with just being himself. he would read this in his room and on the ride home from long-island over and over again, at first he would be shocked - then flattered, happy and somewhat flustered.

he finds this compassionate side of you cute, that you are never really aggressive but are when it comes to letting him know that he is worth it and worth so much more.

he finds this side of you endearing, you speaking up (maybe not always but when the time is right) you stand tall with your chest full of words and you speak.

percys world would transform because of you. he cant be attracted to your light. it might seem like a normal light but it sparks full of life until it completely takes over before he can even understand whats going on.

His perspective and outlook on life would be completely altered by your compassionate and uplifting words.

He would be entranced by your light, drawn in by its brightness and energy, until it finally consumes him completely.

It's a powerful and transformative process that he might not even be able to comprehend or resist.

With you by his side, he would be transformed into something greater than he ever believed possible.

percy would in the end find his voice to speak up about his troubles, isntead of cracking a joke or making it seem like a joke.

or like the scene in HOO with Jason - just moving and and changing the subject when he sees that nobody said anythingn to comfort him (this scene makes me a tad-bit sad, he said it himself that he wasn't ok but bc they were exchausted nobody said anything so he just pretended he didnt say anything in the first place). but dont you think this is evidence that he does try to get better with speaking up, but he just needs someone to reach their hand out.

the two of you have a unique and intense connection to one another. percys sense of duty combined with your passionate nature, makes both an intriguing and powerful couple.

percy would be attached to you; your energy and he would feel inspired and motivated for bringing out a new side of himself.

at some point, percy stops looking shocked when you scold him for not caring about his feelings and while you go on a rant about how he's so important, he instead has a small smile on his face while hes looking up at you through his bangs.

reader: goes on a rant about percys emotions and how great he really is, not bc of his father but because of the way he truly and deeply cares for people and is even willing to look past past-mistakes

*literally batting his eyelashes because butterflies keep dancing in his stomach but he cant stop staring at you*

annabeth would exchange a knowing-look and smile when you make eye contact with her during one of your speeches, and you feel shy because you're realize that people are staring and PERCY IS STARING WITHOUT SAYING ANYTHING so he quickly finish the speech and walk fast out of there.

percy strives to be the best partner he can be.

As Percy begins to gain more confidence and express himself in a more authentic way, he would be more honest and upfront about his feelings, including his feelings for the child of Apollo.

When given the moment to confess, he would seize the opportunity and kiss the child of Apollo with a slightly sheepish smile, perhaps even a tad embarrassed about putting himself out there so directly. However, he would also be proud of his newfound confidence and would look forward to growing and developing this relationship with you....

the type of guy to be entranced by you when you speak for multiple reasons; hes inlove and loves you, he loves the way you speak, he cant stop staring at you face light up when you talk about something you consider worth of value, he cant stop staring at your lips.

i feel like every time you lick your lips during a convo with him or in a group setting, his eyes automatically flicker downwards to stare at them for a good second.

he whips his head around when he hear your voice and turns his body to the direction you are, even when someone is trying to talk to him.

blushing around your affections. this guy would get giddy at night thinking about the fact that you just took a leaf out of his hair or straightened up his shirt.

when you are around his home turf he wants to grab your attention by any means. his favourite thing is if he's able to grab your attention when you're talkign to someone, and makes you stop mid-sentence because of whatever he's doing.

he would strut over to you and you think hes just gonna talk to you like normal but he surges ofrward and give you a peck, and he watches your reaction as when he pulls away. his insecurities are still there but hes getting better.

he likes it especially, another favourite of his, is if he makes you flustered. whether you try to ignore him or you start breathing faster (which he can tell btw) or if you have a certain habit of touching something or somewhere on your body, he likes to pay attention and be attentive to the little things about you. he needs to know everything.

okay, his ALL TIME FAVOURITE, is if you try to suppress that beautiful smile. your mouth twitches, the corners of your eyes crinkle just a tiny bit, you lick you lips and try to pretend that you're cool - but then you let your guard down and let yourself smile.

he absolutely loves it when you look at him after that. your gaze is different from usual. of course, you always look at him in a way that only lovers do, but this look in your eyes is for him and him only. that special look of love and devotion in your eyes is his.

he loves every moment of vulnerability and weakness between the two of you, he likes to savour every moment with you...

[bomber-grl]

Percy Jackson x Child of Apollo ☀️

Pairing(s): Percy Jackson x Gn!Reader

Honestly I like the idea of an Apollo kid(aka you) looking down on Percy

Not necessarily with being evil but rather being competitive and having fun

Maybe this is when Percy decides to walk on by, he’s extremely skilled with swords so why not see what others do with their respective weapon?

He’s walking by and that’s when he sees you in particular

You’re shots are extremely accurate and one after another with little hesitation

Just because Percy’s a camp legend doesn’t mean he’s excused from doing chores

And so, he’s paired with you and some other people to clean out the restrooms

That’s when a friendly banter blossoms and you’re going on about how awesome arrows are to use and how his only power is water when you’re throwing out trash

He gasps in feign offense and tries his best to convince you water is just as cool as arrows

Although that may prove to be difficult to argue to an archer, and arrow enthusiast

The talents and impressiveness that Percy feels only doubles when he learns of your other skills

The moment he learns you can draw is when he’s amazed

He was never particularly good in the arts but he loves people who draw and paint or anything really

He may or may not be a little annoying with asking you to draw him but he doesn’t even need to ask

We all know an artists love language is drawing their s/o and just as that was inevitable, as was Percy finding said drawings

Not that they were ever secret

And if you ever do the trend where you draw each other? He’ll keep the portrait you painted of him and hang it on his wall with the rest of your drawings.

Anyway moving on to instruments

He’s also immediately fascinated

Something about Percy is that if it’s not something he can do he’s intrigued and if it is and you’re better then he’s ready to learn

Honestly? I feel like Percy gives drums or guitar vibes

Idk maybe it’s just me 🤷

He’d definitely ask you to teach him though, I don’t make the rules

He’s always wanted to learn but with school and constantly having to prevent wars and save the world he never had enough time

Plus with him you’ve got your own built in audience that’ll cheer and give praise

Even more ways to bond

There are a good amount of campers that belong to the Apollo cabin so when Percy is introduced to the them he’s met with a culture shock

Not exactly but it’d be a comparable idea to what he was feeling

He was alone most times (except for when Tyson was around) so he was used to be alone

But with the Apollo cabin? That was the opposite

It was warm and friendly and honestly was sad

Because although it was tight knit we all know that the cabin used to be tied with the Hermes cabin at camp until the titan war..

On a more happy note, now that I’ve mentioned Tyson let’s talk about how you meeting him went

I mean he was immediately nice to you as you were to him but if you show him your skills and specifically healing

You and Percy were hanging out with him near the lake and a very notable flower on the ground was crushed

Sure, Demeter children handled plants but healing was a universal effect

And so you made the once shriveled dry flower, seem alive again

Tyson is so intrigued and wants you to do it over and over again

Which is eventually stopped with Percy explaining why you can’t

It was sweet, and you even gave the flower to Tyson

Later you found out he kept it with him where he went, although it was delicate as it had already dried

I feel like an Apollo kid that can heal is so helpful for Percy

We all know how often he gets hurt so having a built in hospital is all he could need

Only downside is your constant scolding of course…

[iceandpeaches]

different dreams

pairings: clarrisse larue x areskid! reader (platonic), luke castellan x areskid! reader (romantic)

warning: stereotypical ares kid again.. i'm really on a role with these.. wtf

a/n: the meg march kinnie in me is screaming rn. inspired by the line, "just because my dreams are different than yours doesn't mean they're unimportant." written a while back so it might not be the best...

in a world full of combat and demigods, you enjoyed socialising more than anything. your siblings found it odd, with the nature of your parentage especially. a daughter of ares should love to fight and push people around, but you were the opposite. you enjoyed all things an ares daughter wasn’t expected to. you could’ve been mistaken for anyone else’s daughter, usually apollo for your musical ambitions or aphrodite for your beauty. it was fascinating how much love and kindness was in your heart, it was no wonder camp loved you. it was no wonder you were made one of the counsellors to your cabin. 

you were sat in on a kitchen counter, helping out one of the counsellors of the demeter cabin with preparing for a birthday party for the head counsellor of the hermes cabin; whom you had an undying crush on. you hum, arms occupied with a bowl of cake batter folding in some flour. speak of the devil, the boy walked in; looking for you. he sat on the counter, swiping some batter and licking it off his finger. a smile filled his features, glancing over at you.

“this is impressive, who’s this for?”

you frown, nudging him while you mixed your batter.

“it’s a surprise, castellan. now please, stop eating the batter thank you? we won’t have enough if you do.”

you giggle, enough for luke to forget that your father was ares. 

“get back to work y/n! this cake won’t make itself.”

you nod, walking over to the other side of the kitchen to grab a cake pan. in that moment, your half sister clarisse came to visit; more to find you. you were hiding away from sword fighting training, and clarisse was going frantic to find you.

“y/n! there you are. i looked all over for you. could you come back for training please? two cabins worth of campers dropped by and they’re this close to fighting each other.”

your brown crease into a gentle frown, not wanting to leave the kitchen or ruining your surprise party for luke. you glance over at him, luke already nodding without you asking. you smile, patting his shoulder watching him get off the counter. 

“big brother luke can come. but i wanna try some of that cake when it’s done.”

you giggle, nodding while you poured the batter into the pan. the demeter counsellor shooed luke out of the kitchen, hands shot into the air. you put the cakes into the oven, cleaning up the mess you had made. 

after what felt like forever, the cakes were done and clarisse had come back asking for you again. you finally got out of the kitchen, sat just outside to keep watch of the demeter counsellor. clarisse seemed annoyed at you, since you weren’t doing your due diligence in performing your duties and instead hiding away to do other things. it wasn’t very ares kid of you.

“risse, i’m truly sorry. i understand i mean.. being counsellor alongside you and everything. it’s just… i don’t feel very ares kid, you know?”

“you’re an ares kid, y/n. you’re just not thinking straight.”

“risse, just because my dreams are different from yours.. doesn’t mean they’re unimportant. i’m not like you, i’m not strong or cunning like you. i wish i was more like you, truly.”

clarisse rubbed your arm, unaware of your true feelings. she pulled you into her embrace, squeezing you tight. she wanted to understand you better, just didn’t know how to. she didn’t know how such a kind hearted soul could be a daughter of the god of war.

“y/n! come here, i need you to try this.”

you pulled away from your sister, a smile mirrored back to you as you got up back to the kitchen. you tried the treat, giving your friend your review, giggles filling the room. for the next hour or so, you got the dining pavilion ready alongside the other campers for luke’s surprise. 

after everything was ready, you knocked at his cabin door. your lips formed a dizzy smile, arm interlinked with his. 

“so.. about the cake.”

“you’ll have plenty of it later, trust me.”

you giggled, grabbing your pink sleeping mask from your pocket and put it over his eyes. you led him over to the pavilion, pulling the blindfold off to reveal the brightly decorated pavilion.

“happy birthday, luke.”

you grin, gently rubbing his back. you watched as luke blew out the big 1 and 9 you had placed on the cake, more giggles leaving your lips; engulfing you in a tight hug. clarisse’s gaze was fixed on you and luke as the rest of the campers chattered, understanding that you’d never be like her comforted her soul. she’d have a sister to lean on in bad times and in good. she ran up to you both, hugging you both. 

celebrations went on, luke impressed by all the set up, which led you to receive a (in his words) well deserved kiss to thank you.

[mysteryanimator]

What music would you believe would represent Mizrak? I was thinking his theme song would be, ✨"Unholy" by Sam Smith.✨

Because he is doing something unholy with that pretty face dragon vampire.👀👀😉

You've opened Pandora's box here. To tell you I have MULTIPLE playlists for both Mizrak and Olrox (and multiple playlists for their dynamic) is an understatement. Right now they're a mess/all over the place, but Unholy by Sam Smith is definitely on a couple of them. It's super hard for me to pick like ONE SONG, so I'm giving you multiple HAHAHAHA.

Here are a few songs I personally think fit Mizrak, categorised by general Mizrak and spicy-core Mizrak. Also, you're getting explanations for each song because I think too hard about my music choices. BTW, all thoughts are my own, I'm just being really silly since season 2 news is coming soon and I'm excited.

pspspspsps when nocturne s2 comes out make sure to watch it and give the crew the recognition they deserve coz they worked their asses off.

General:

Hell's Comin with Me - Poor Man's Posion This describes about bringing justice to those who have wronged him (and in this case others). Also, there's a line about "paying twice as much for the devil to keep your soul", which I feel like is a reference to indulgences but flipped on its head. Indulgences were an actual thing people paid for so they could secure a place in Heaven. So flipping it on its head to double it so they can be ensured they stay in hell is a very cool way of looking at it. Also, Providence, Feed the Machine and Give and Take get honorary mentions because they also fit well but this will get hella long if I also give them explanations LOL.

Foreigner's God - Hozier A song about uncertainty and isolation from the catholic church. To feel alienated by its ideas and values since Mizrak has been doubting about what Abbott is doing before the events of Nocturne take place.

Icarus & Apollo - Ripto Now this also can be a Mizrak/Olrox dynamic song, but also this can be seen as Mizrak's own self-discovery which is his conflict of the Abbott's path on 'protecting' the church and its people, versus how Mizrak personally thinks/wants to protect people. Collaborating with vampires and using night creatures, DEAD PEOPLE is not a path I think he wants but he's stuck unsure of where God is calling him to, and it's a path he has to figure out himself.

Wine and Wheat - Madds Buckley NOW, this is another Mizrak/Olrox dynamic song, but this leans more into Mizrak's POV along with the fact he's again, conflicted about his place amongst his fellow monks/Abbott since he has to conspire with vampires to keep their place against the revolution. COUPLED WITH THE FACT, he's sleeping with a vampire, it's a very confusing time for him, and all he can say in the face of it "Pray with me, pray with me for this madness to end" while he does the best he can to keep the people he cares about alive.

Father Finlee - Spencer Hood, Justin Ray Stringer I will admit a lot of this is for vibes, BUT, also this song is about a man who defies an almost impossible situation and escapes out alive, with Mizrak's perseverance, the burning passion to live, and the potential to die while trying to save others, is a very him thing.

Spicy-core:

side note from me, I feel like we moved far too quickly from this one shot LIKE WHAT THE FUCK /pos

His Hands - Blegh This is actually one of my favourites I'll be so honest HAHAHHA. (Also just the whole album of It Was a Religion by Blegh mostly fits if you think about it). This one steers more into Olrox/Mizrak dynamics because the song starts off very similar to how Mizrak and Olrox get to know each other. They 'do it again somewhere more comfortable' HAHASDJDS. But after that is all exalted from their bodies, there is something between them that they can't place and the tension is THICK. Also the gradual build of the lyrics "And you know you love him, And you might be in love with him, And you know you love him, And you're falling in love with him" IS CRAZY.

A Night to Remember - Beabadoobee, Laufey This one is super self-indulgent, this reminds me of them a lot HAHHA

Take Me Back to Eden - Sleep Token DOOMED YAOI. Not only do we have religious metaphors to describe a relationship here, is a doomed relationship.

The Summoning - Sleep Token "Did I mistake you for a sign from God?" HELLO? Like I know this is a song very much associated with Astarion, but ik this song works for Mizrak POV and Mizrak/Olrox dynamics. In my mind, I think Mizrak IS looking for a sign from God, anything that comes by his way to confirm his doubts, and Olrox just so happens to be a soft nudge that he should be doubting the system he grew up in.

Salvation - Christabelle Marbun I don't need to elaborate further if you look at the lyrics, let alone the title itself HAHHA. Also, this song is super self-indulgent, like there's no way I can't include this in a spice-core Mizrak thing.

Whisper - Burn the Ballroom Simply the lyrics "Come in, sit down, sweet angel, leave me all your tears." Biting the walls over it.

Whoops that was long but uh I have a lot more and its super hard to condense down to a few LOLOLOL, ty for the ask!

[toasecretsanta]

(1 of 2 fics)

Merry Christmas ToA fandom!!!

I [@firealder2005] was given @literallyjusttoa this year, and this fic is based off her prompt of Poseidon and Apollo bonding time!!!

I will have the fic up on my Ao3 once the submission is posted :3

Warnings: Just to be safe, I have the fic rated M for implied noncon because. well. Ancient times be ancient times, you know?

This was meant to be combined with the other fic I have but uh. I got carried away lmao

Let us begin!

Save Me, ‘Cuz I’m Fallin’

A soft curse left his lips as he adjusted his grip on the stack of bricks in his arms. Apollo blew a puff of air towards a curl of hair that had fallen into his eyes, warily scanning the people around him as he set his bricks down. He tucked that free strand back behind his ear, wiping his dusty, achy hands on his tunic as the slowly-growing wall before him casted a long shadow over him, the sunset looming from behind.

“Hey!” Apollo slightly jumped as a hand clamped down on his shoulder, roughly spinning him around. One of the guards stationed around the wall glared at him, eyes partially obscured by the helmet on his head. Apollo wondered why people wore those if they obstructed their view. It was terribly constricting.

The guard shook him again. “The king demands your presence. He’s not happy with you.”

Apollo swallowed and began surreptitiously looking for his one and only ally within these ever-growing, ever-entrapping walls — Poseidon. In the years he’d been quite literally slaving away in Ilios, he always felt a lot more comfortable dealing with its king without the older, formidable god at his side. Even if at times there wasn’t much Poseidon could do…

Apollo was thankful to catch sight of his uncle. Poseidon’s hair had grown unruly during their punishment, yet he was still able to cut an imposing figure through the polis as the slaves of Ilios were finally able to pause their back-breaking work and rest.

“Come on!” The guard grabbed his arm and yanked him forward. Apollo stumbled, the sandals on his feet slipping over the pebbles beneath them, and the guard snorted as he fell onto his knees. “Get up!” he barked, the fold of his cape snapping as the former god staggered back to his feet. “We don’t have all night!”

Apollo ducked his head and mutely nodded, wincing a bit as the scrapes on his knees stung. A quick look told Apollo they would heal within seconds, but it did little to reassure the nervousness growing in his throat. Gods, he hated it when Laomedon called for him…

He attempted to swallow the lump. No luck.

Glancing almost desperately over his shoulder, Apollo managed to catch Poseidon’s eye and gave him his best HELP! LAOMEDON WANTS TO TALK TO ME! look. It must have translated quite well, for Poseidon began shoving his way through the dwindling crowd and stormed after Apollo and the guard, who still had not removed his adamantine-grip from his arm. Rude.

“You! Guard!” His uncle’s voice boomed through the air. A slave he may be now, but nothing could ever take away the blood-freezing depths of his words. “Where are you taking my nephew?”

The guard’s head had snapped around to face Poseidon, who loomed a good foot taller than the Dardanian. Despite the angry behemoth before him, the guard clearly had a nice stash of bravery somewhere within him — or he was stupid, depending on your point of view.

Personally, if Apollo had been on the receiving end of the furious stare Poseidon was giving this Dardanian, he would have scampered out of the way faster than Arion could run.

“Your indolent nephew,” the guard sneered. “Is to come to the king. He has some words to share with him.”

“Very well,” Poseidon tersely replied, eyes storming like the Adriatic Sea on a bad day. “Lead the way.”

The guard hesitated, his grip on Apollo’s arm loosening a bit, much to his relief. He pulled it out of his grasp and hid a wince at the twinge that shot up to his shoulder. Thanks a lot, he grumbled, rubbing at the blossoming bruise. Not like that’s gonna make carrying bricks even more of a pain or anything…

Then again, he healed fast. Maybe he wouldn’t have to deal with a stinging arm in the morning.

Though…Apollo nervously folded his hands together as the Dardanian guard jerkily motioned for him and Poseidon to follow. By the attitude of the guard, he clearly didn’t think Apollo would exist when Eos decided to paint the sky pink with her fingers.

Apollo kept his eyes fixed on the dirt below, ignoring the sleepy city around him. He stifled a yawn that pulled at his throat, and jumped when Poseidon nudged his shoulder with his own.

“You good?” he murmured under his breath, eyeing the guard marching before them with an intense look of dislike.

The younger god nodded, shakily inhaling as he muttered a “yes” in response.

“Tired?”

“As always.”

A ghost of the jovial grin Apollo remembered appeared on his uncle’s face. “Just remember — once that stupid wall is done, we’re out of here.”

Apollo felt his own lips curl into a smile just as the guard quickened his pace and entered the throne room. Yeah, he couldn’t wait for this stupid punishment to be over. Apollo swatted at the sheer curtains hanging from the doorways, tensing as he spotted the king of Ilios seated on his throne, fingers tapping the armrest ominously.

“The slave you ordered, sir,” the guard bowed.

Laomedon barely gave Apollo a glance. “Why is he here?” He idly lifted a finger to point at Poseidon, who crossed his arms and glared at the king.

The guard cleared his throat, mouth opening as he clearly scrambled to explain how he was cowed into letting Poseidon in, when the king sighed and waved him away.

“Nevermind,” he inspected his nails. “Just go.” The guard quickly bowed once more before shuffling off.

Apollo clasped his hands before him and kept his gaze on the three steps leading up to the throne as Laomedon’s stare finally declared him entertaining enough for attention.

“So,” the king idly leaned forward, eyes fixed on Apollo. It made him distinctively uncomfortable. “I read the recent report on my wall’s construction.” A beat passed. “And I saw something…rather disappointing.” Laomedon rose from his throne and stood at the top of the stairs. “You do remember why your father made me your master, correct?”

Apollo silently nodded as Poseidon’s glare darkened.

“Good,” Laomedon took a step down. His voice darkened. “Then why,” Another step. “Are you failing,” His robes swished as he took the final step. “To meet your assigned quota?” The king’s scowl was harsh, burning into Apollo’s skin as he bit his lip.

“I–I,” Apollo stammered. Damn, he knew this was going to come back to bite him! “I know, I was supposed to get it done by today but I had to cover Aeacus’s quota too—”

“Quiet,” Laomedon’s eyes were still dark as Apollo’s jaw snapped shut against his will. “I don’t want excuses, Apollo. Zeus said to make sure you and Poseidon learned your places in the presence of a king, and that is exactly what I shall do.”

Apollo gulped and tried to hold back a tremor as Laomedon’s ruthless gaze pinned him down. “And this isn’t the first time you’ve been late,” Apollo dropped his gaze from Laomedon’s. “I let those be then, because I thought perhaps you still needed a little extra time to learn. Apparently I was wrong.”

Laomedon’s face split into a smirk. “Come here,” he snapped to the empty space in front of him. “Now.”

In less than a second, Apollo moved to obey. He gritted his teeth, once again attempting to fight against the compulsion, but like every single time before, it was no use.

A hand flashed out and grabbed his shoulder, pulling him to a stop. Poseidon’s gaze was as sharp as a shark’s as he stared Laomedon down. “No. He can stay right here to listen to what you have to say.”

Laomedon tutted. “Poseidon, let him go and stay put. Apollo — come here.”

Jerkily, Poseidon’s hand released Apollo and the younger god attempted to shoot his uncle with an assuring smile. He feared he only managed a grimace.

Taking a steadying breath, Apollo rolled his shoulders back and approached Laomedon, who was still smirking at his fuming uncle before snapping his dark eyes to him. The way the king steepled his fingers gave him an eerie resemblance to Zeus.

Of course, Apollo reflected as he steadily met Laomedon’s self-satisfied stare. He doesn’t quite have the intimidation factor down nearly as well. Though he had to admit, the way the king’s eyes flashed at Apollo’s nerve to meet him eye-to-eye was also very reminiscent of Zeus.

Apollo didn’t know if he meant it as a compliment or not.

Laomedon sighed, as if Apollo had caused him immense stress and disappointment. He tipped his head and clucked his tongue. “Now all that’s left is to find a proper punishment for you.”

The god recoiled at that, but Laomedon didn’t let him get far. He snatched the front of Apollo’s tunic and yanked him back toward him and grabbed his chin. “Since the wall isn’t tough enough work for you, perhaps a few months tending my lovely fields? By yourself?”

The ichor in his veins turned to ice. “That’ll take forever!” he protested.

“The winter months are almost upon us,” Poseidon added. Apollo couldn’t see his face, but he knew his uncle must be thunderous by the dark rumble of his words. “Not only would it be impossible for Apollo to accomplish alone, even with his lyre, but it would deprive your people of much-needed food the next year. Surely you’d know this.”

Laomedon’s eyes glanced behind Apollo, where Poseidon presumably was, hands still tight on Apollo’s tunic and face. He hummed. “I suppose,” he shrugged. “I would hate to have to punish my people because of you, Apollo.” The king’s brow furrowed, as if contemplating his choices. Personally, Apollo didn’t think it was a very good look on him.

Then the king got a wicked gleam in his eyes that also wasn’t a good look on him and set Apollo on edge.

“Of course…” Laomedon nearly purred and wow, his grandmother Rhea’s lions would be offended by how bad he made it sound. The king’s lips curved, a cruel tilt to his head, as he bared his teeth in a grin. “I could just sell you. Though I’d hate to be deprived of your company…”

A sharp inhale was sucked into Apollo’s lungs just as Poseidon let out a snarl.

Laomedon tilted Apollo’s head from side to side. His brows furrowed once more, though in a way that was like a lazy housecat able to play with an exhausted mouse at its paws. “You would fetch a fine price with that pretty face…”

The heart in his chest cavity thumped like a lone, rabid wolf ready to lash out to defend itself from a band of hunters. Apollo swallowed and shook his head.

“Believe me, I wouldn’t,” he nervously laughed. Under any other circumstances, he actually would have been quite offended at the idea that he wouldn’t be worth a lot of drachma, he was a gorgeous, talented god after all thank you very much, but he didn’t fancy getting tossed in the amphora and haggled over like livestock either. “Like you said, I’m awful at work — who’d want a slave who can’t work?”

“They would if they were a god,” much to Apollo’s growing horror, Laomedon seemed to actually be considering the idea, like actually thinking about it. “I’m sure Zeus would understand that you needed a harsher hand.”

“Absolutely not,” Poseidon interjected, his own scowl as harsh as the suggestion Laomedon had put forth. “First of all, my brother assigned us to you — he would not approve of you selling Apollo off. Secondly…” the older sea god drew himself to his full height and pinned the king with a raging stare. “I will not let you. You try it, and I swear I will kill you myself.”

Apollo hardly dared to breathe as slave and master — or god and mortal, he reminded himself — stared each other down. Poseidon’s face was simultaneously as stony as the walls of Ilios itself, and as wrathful as the seas he ruled. He was a true contradiction, and one not to cross.

Laomedon seemed to have realized that himself. His jaw ticked, eyes narrowing with a hint of…unease, perhaps? Wariness?

A cruel master Laomedon may be, but at least he wasn’t a stupid one. Poseidon would have killed him long ago if he had been.

“Then tell me, Poseidon,” Laomedon sounded equally irritated and irate. “What should Apollo’s punishment be?” The unease in his dark eyes was replaced with a brief flash that instinctively made Apollo wary. “Perhaps serving me more…directly in my palace?”

Apollo scowled. “I’d rather fight Python again.”

“Not to mention,” Poseidon called. “We’ll be down a worker for the walls — you said you want them built within a year, yes? Taking Apollo away from it would slow production.”

Laomedon gave a long sigh, absently brushing his thumb over Apollo’s cheek as he gave Poseidon a look.

“Well, since you’re so interested…” Laomedon released Apollo’s jaw — much to the god’s relief — but kept his grip on his tunic. The younger god attempted to subtly rub at his chin as Poseidon drew forth, the salty scent he carried with him drifting around Apollo. He inwardly breathed a sigh of relief at his uncle’s closeness.

“You can decide,” the king triumphantly declared. The relief Apollo felt was instantly squashed, and he stared with wide eyes first at Laomedon, then at Poseidon. His uncle had tensed, jaw clenched as he glared at Laomedon with nothing but pure dislike. “But of course,” Laomedon added slyly, finally relinquishing his hold on Apollo’s tunic with a lazy shrug, flicking at a strand of golden hair. “I retain the right to deny it and proceed with my idea.”

A wail of despair welled in Apollo’s throat, though he thankfully managed to swallow it back down. Though maybe a whimper escaped in the process.

This was it. Laomedon wasn’t going to be deterred by threats of what Zeus would do to him. There was no way he was going to accept whatever idea Poseidon came up with, not if he could humiliate a god of Apollo’s caliber.

Apollo silently cursed his father for taking off with Laomedon’s uncle. Why, oh why did Laomedon have to take his anger out on the most gorgeous god on Olympus? Was it because Ganymede had been snatched for his beauty and he was trying to make himself feel better by demeaning Apollo in such a way?

If so, he was so petty. Apollo hadn’t even been involved in that whole fiasco!

Poseidon had yet to say anything, his silence brewing a dangerous hurricane of potent emotions.

Laomedon, on the other hand, seemed to almost be enjoying himself. “We don’t have all night,” he tutted. “And I have a dowry to begin preparing for Proclia’s future marriage, so please do not waste my time.”

Apollo vaguely remembered Proclia. She was about thirteen, with long red hair and kind brown eyes. She had kindly given him some water one day when he’d been exhausted from brick-laying — much nicer than her pig of a father.

He hoped she was married to someone good. Though Laomedon didn’t seem to have an eye for such suitors. Maybe he could nudge Hymenaeus into helping…hmm…

Poseidon crossed his arms, face still shadowed with his storm, before he tersely nodded. “Very well. I suggest Apollo protect your cattle in the fields of Mount Ida. It’s been attacked lately by wild dogs, wolves, and other various beasts, am I correct?”

Laomedon frowned and tipped his head. “You are,” he agreed. “I have been losing the young cattle lately…ever since my father was king, anyway,” he added with a curl of his lips. Apollo winced and inwardly thought, Ganymede. The youth had used to protect Ilios’s herd of cattle…up until he caught Zeus’s fancy.

Apollo then arched a brow. Was it possible Poseidon was trying to appease Laomedon’s resentment of his uncle’s apotheosis with Apollo’s services in the very fields Ganymede had been taken from? He supposed it would be best to temper that anger…

…though did it have to come at the cost of him?

Laomedon, however, didn’t seem convinced. “Difficult that service may be,” he mused, fingers steepled once again. “I’m afraid I’m not quite satisfied with it. Any amendments to make? If not, I’ll be all too happy to get your nephew started on his new assignment.”

Assignment! Apollo scoffed, yet his hands shook at the possibility. He clenched them tightly as a  low growl left Poseidon’s throat. “An amendment it is, then,” he clenched his own fists and sarcastically muttered; “Do you have any suggestions?”

The king thoughtfully hummed. “You know, perhaps I do.”

Poseidon blinked. Apollo tensed. Clearly, his uncle had meant the comment in jest, but Laomedon had not taken it that way.

“How about this…” Laomedon crossed his arms and studied the two of them. “Apollo works in the fields, protecting my prized cattle, while you, Poseidon, take on his work on the walls. I’m sure you can handle a double workload better than Apollo.” Apollo quietly huffed at the slight. “Aeacus is almost recovered from his bout of sickness anyway,” Laomedon continued. “So he can continue his third of the wall soon enough.” The king then raised a finger. “But the condition is that Apollo will also get the mortar and bricks you will build with…from my palace.”

Apollo glanced at Poseidon out of the corner of his eye. His uncle caught it. Despite his unease, Apollo knew this was the best deal they were going to get. He gave a slight nod — I can do this. 

Poseidon inclined his head. “We accept the terms.” He announced.

Laomedon slyly smiled. “Good. Now go,” he pointed at the curtain-covered door behind them. “Best get some rest. You have work tomorrow.”

Work they had, indeed. 

Over the months, as Eurus’s autumn winds turned away and allowed Boreas’s chilly breath to descend over Ilios, Apollo spent his mornings quickly gathering as much mortar and bricks as he could, thanking his godly strength that he was able to carry so much, dodging running into Laomedon in the process, and delivering it to Poseidon before rushing to Mount Ida and perching on an outcrop, keeping a careful eye on the cattle and the wintry woods around him. A few times he had to fend off a particularly hungry wolf before communicating to it about a much better place to hunt, with deer roaming despite these barren months. The little guy had given him a thankful nuzzle before darting away in the direction Apollo had pointed.

“Never seen a wolf do that, before,” a feminine voice made Apollo jolt and he spun around, still half-kneeling from where he’d been speaking with the wolf. A girl around his age — that is to say, his human age of eighteen — stood before him. Her pale hair was braided, like bundles of flax woven into a fine basket. Pearls sat in her braids. Her dark skin was clean. Her eyes were like pools of fresh, spring water. Her peplos a rosy pink, like Eos’s lovely dawn. “They usually growl when they see humans.”

Apollo self-consciously adjusted his straw hat, thankful the only thing marring his own visage was the occasional smudge of dirt, though that itself was minorly annoying when faced with a pretty girl.

“Well,” he modestly shrugged and rose to his feet, casually leaning against his shepherd’s staff. “I suppose that’s because most humans don’t have anything good to say.”

The girl considered him. “I suppose,” she nodded. “I wouldn’t know the first thing to say to a wolf anyway. I’d probably communicate something along the lines of ‘I want to eat your young’ instead of ‘Hello, my name is Ourea. What’s yours?’.”

Apollo cracked a grin. “Was that an indirect way of introducing yourself? And to get my name?”

The girl — Ourea, Apollo noted, a name meaning ‘mountains’, as well as the name of some of Gaea’s offspring — smiled and gave a modest shrug of her own. “Perhaps. Not everyday you meet a man who can speak wolf.”

“It’s sadly a lost art,” Apollo mock-sighed. “Very few are able to master such a skill.”

“Oh?” Ourea drifted closer and intently stared at him. Her eyes were very distracting. Apollo had never really paid attention to the beauty of water before, but wow. It definitely deserved a few odes, perhaps even a sonnet. The way the sunlight shone off her eyes…it was like marveling at a sunset over the sea.

“Care to teach me?”

Apollo smiled. “Wouldn’t hurt to try.”

Ourea was rather good company. She was in the field waiting for him when he came to watch the herd, and he would impart to her the language of wolves — their code, their way of life, and how they communicated. She had trouble with it at first, which was a given. Mortals weren’t usually interested in learning about each other, let alone an animal, but he was fascinated with Ourea’s determination to push through his lessons.

They met everyday. Winter began to wane. Poseidon would give him a sly look every morning he came to drop off the day’s delivery of mortar and bricks, and shot a shit-eating grin his way at night when he returned a bit more flushed than usual and his tunic ajar.

Some people would think it weird that Poseidon wasn’t objecting to Apollo dating his daughter — after all, fathers were supposed to want their daughters to actually be able to marry the man they were seeing.

Poseidon though wasn’t a mortal father. He rarely interacted with his children, though he lent a hand if they asked for it. When Apollo had inquired about his opinion, his uncle had merely shrugged and said; “If Ourea wants you, I see no reason why she can’t.”

Apollo had to admit. Ourea’s presence was becoming a particular bright spot in Ilios. Not only would she meet him in the meadow, but also at the walls in the mornings and watch as he passed the materials to her father, waving cheekily at him whenever he playfully wrinkled his nose at her.

One particular bright spot was a nice night between them the day the walls were finished. The formidable stones rose high into the air, fortifying the main city even better than the outer city’s walls did — because they were built by two gods, of course.

And maybe Apollo had helped speed the process up a bit by playing his lyre as the construction came close to the end. His godly power had been greatly reduced thanks to his punishment, but he’d been able to manipulate the bricks into their proper places, creating a strong barrier to protect Ilios’s people — people who included Ourea…and his own child now.

He still remembered the day she told him, breath lingering around his ear, eyes shining as she whispered; “I’m expecting!”

Poseidon had clapped him on the shoulder and congratulated both of them. And nine months later, Ourea failed to arrive in the meadow. Apollo spent the rest of the day anxiously pacing the field, his restlessness no doubt warding off would-be attackers, though few they were as Notus’s summer sighs began.

Apollo practically ran back to Ilios in his haste to find Ourea, and find her he did. Her mother was busy attending to her, while his lover sat up in bed, a bundle in her arms. Her hair was down and pearlless, but her smile was as bright as the sea’s gems.

“Ileus,” she said. “After our city.”

The god bent down and placed a gentle kiss first on Ourea, then on Ileus. “Perfect,” he murmured. “He’s perfect.”

He and Poseidon were still technically in Laomedon’s service, even with the walls complete. Thanks to their godly intervention, the walls were finished earlier than planned — which was good, for Apollo could pop in and visit Ourea and Ileus more often, but also irksome. He missed having his full godly power at his disposal. He could’ve properly helped Ourea’s birthing pains. He could’ve — would show Laomedon what happens when you treat not one, but two gods cruelly.

Though despite the disgruntlement and unease Laomedon put in him, Apollo made a silent promise to protect this city. Not all of its inhabitants were as demeaning as their king — most treated him and Poseidon with the respect gods of their caliber deserved, and very few had dared to belittle Ourea for having a child out of wedlock, not with the knowledge that Apollo had fathered him.

All in all, Apollo was in high spirits. The walls were done. He and Poseidon were about to get paid for their work once autumn came about. Ourea swore Ileus was trying to imitate a wolf’s howl the night before — bless his little soul, already taking after his parents!

The snakes put a bit of a damper on his mood, three months later.

It happened fast. The guards along the walls raised the alarm as three massive drakons rushed the walls. Apollo had been transfixed to the spot, unable to tear his eyes away as the first drakon rammed into Poseidon’s wall. It screeched when it failed to topple it.

The second attempted the same with Apollo’s wall. It too fell prey to its invulnerability.

Meanwhile the third…Apollo remained rooted to the ground as it crashed through Aeacus’s third of the wall. Stone crumbled. Mortar cracked. Ash was flung into the air as the drakon stomped through, roared triumphantly, before turning tail and charging away, its brethren on its heels, screaming like a battalion of armed warriors.

Faintly, Apollo heard Poseidon swear and sensed Ourea clutch Ileus to her chest, as if afraid the drakons would return and snatch him away. The baby’s bright blue eyes stared at the drakons in awe, his pale hair askew.

Equally as faintly, Apollo could hear the rumbles of stone falling, though the walls around him remained intact, except for Aeacus’s third. He could feel the tremors echoing through the ground, the clanging of bronze-on-bronze.

A war would be fought here. A great one.

Apollo’s smokey green eyes rolled back into his head and his breaths turned harsh;

“Unyielding walls, made of stone,

Heed my words and be known.

None shall shake your roots of steel,

But beware the tenth year.

Red-haired Pyrrus to pluck you down,

And Ilion will fall by Aeacus’s crown.”

Hands grasped his shoulders and shook. Apollo dazedly jerked his head, blinking with bewildered pale gold eyes at the creased face of Poseidon.

“Apollo,” his uncle’s dark green eyes were fixed on him with a serious, intent expression. “Apollo, was that…”

The younger god swallowed and nodded. “I believe so.” He breathed through his nose. “It was a prophecy.”

“A prophecy?” Ourea breathed, blue eyes as wide as the pools of water in Ilios’s forests. “But what…what could it mean?”

Apollo frowned, biting his lip for a moment as he considered the prophecy, absently snapping his fingers for a papyrus scroll and reed pen. He quickly scrawled the prophecy down, studying the words.

Prophecies were tricky things. They liked to make you think you figured them out, or successfully averted them, before pulling the rug out from under you. (Just ask Acrisius)

However…he squinted suspiciously at the words before him.

Unyielding walls, made of stone, heed my words and be known.

Apollo eyed the walls of Troy as citizens and slaves alike clustered around the broken wall, clamoring over each other about how to fix it.

None shall shake your roots of steel, but beware the tenth year.

Unease filled his stomach. Beware the tenth year…tenth year the walls were built? Or perhaps…

The sound of bronze weapons clashing and the ground cracking apart from an earthquake ripped through his ears once more.

No. Beware the tenth year of war.

Red-haired Pyrrus to pluck you down, and Ilion will fall by Aeacus’s crown.

The wall. The wall that fell…it was built by Aeacus, not a god. That made it the weakest point, the prime place for attack…

Or it meant —

Apollo shoved the thought away. No. No. Ilion couldn’t…

“Apollo?” Poseidon asked. “Do you know what it means?”

The younger god glanced between the intense eyes of his uncle and the anxious ones of his lover.

“I have…a suspicion,” he admitted. He met Ourea’s worried face and softly said; “I think it says the walls will fall…and so will Ilion.”

Ourea pressed a hand to her mouth, eyes widening as she held Ileus tighter, making him whine as he attempted to wiggle out of her hold, making grabby hand at Apollo. He held out his fingers and allowed Ileus to snatch them, lips curving slightly as the boy attempted to stick them in his mouth.

Poseidon had turned and stared consideringly at the walls. Apollo stiffened as he heard him mumble “Good riddance” with a slight vindictive gleam in his storming eyes as people darted around, beginning to hastily repair the damage done to the wall.

Apollo couldn’t find it within himself to agree. He knew Poseidon only said it because of how harshly Laomedon had treated them, but personally, Apollo didn’t believe Ilion deserved to crumble to the ground because of the actions of one lousy king.

Plus…Apollo fervently looked into Ourea’s concerned eyes. Placing a kiss on her lips before ruffling Ileus’s hair, making the child babble, he knew one thing about himself.

Ilion was his city. And he would do his damndest to circumvent its fate — or at the very least, delay the inevitable for as long as possible.

They were his people, just like he was their god. And nothing would ever change that.

He eyed the palace with wariness. Steeling himself, he tapped Poseidon’s shoulder and said; “We should talk to Laomedon. He needs to know.”

Poseidon hummed and shrugged. “Very well. He’s also due to pay us back for our work.”

With that, his uncle marched towards the palace, leaving the commotion of the crumbled walls behind. Apollo took Ourea’s hand and gently squeezed it, smiling lightly as he clutched the papyrus with Ilion’s fatal fate written upon it.

“We’ll be back,” he whispered. He hesitated, then drew both her and Ileus into a hug. Ourea’s free hand rested on his arm as she laid her head on his shoulder. “And don’t worry,” he added quietly. “I’ll keep Ilion safe.”

“How?” Ourea’s words were muffled slightly. “If it’s prophesied…”

Apollo rubbed her back and kissed her hair. “I’m the god of prophecy,” he grinned. “I’ll find a way.”

I hope, he left unsaid.

----------

“No.”

Apollo blinked, mouth slightly open as he stared incredulously at Laomedon. The king sat on his throne, as relaxed as a lazy lion, the side of his face leaning on his hand as he coyly smirked at the two gods.

“No?” Poseidon spat. “That was the deal, you ungrateful, impious bdelyròs!”

Laomedon clucked his tongue, shaking his head. “No need for that kind of language, Poseidon. Especially around your nephew.”

Apollo glared at him. “I’ve heard worse, thanks.”

The king shrugged. “I suppose you have,” he agreed, raking his gaze over the younger god. “You have had some…choice words, at times. But I digress,” Apollo scowled at how relaxed Laomedon looked, like he wasn’t insulting them — oh, he knew very well how demeaning this was! It wasn’t enough that ordered them about and yanked them around for his own amusement, abusing the control he had over them, but now he denied them their deserved pay!

“You have made a very unwise decision,” Poseidon softly stated, mouth curving slightly into a snarl. “When we regain our places on Olympus, we are no longer in your service, nor under your command. We are free to do as we please…” he narrowed his eyes and gave the bored king a mocking smile. “I can promise you my wrath will be felt quite soon.”

“Ah…” Laomedon clutched his chest, as if suddenly struck with a heart-attack. Apollo secretly wished for it to happen, for the terrible man to bite the dust. “The thing is, Poseidon…neither of you are allowed to harm me, even after your punishment is finished.” He bared his crooked teeth in a grin. “I’m untouchable, while I can still very much touch you.”

Apollo clenched his fists, the papyrus in one of them crumpling, before crossing his arms. “Says who?” He demanded.

“Says your father,” Laomedon’s grin was sharp as he sat up straight in his throne. “After all, the lesson was all about not challenging a king, was it not? Taking vengeance on me would mean you haven’t learnt your lesson.”

Apollo was furious. He wasn’t allowed to give Laomedon a piece of his mind? To throttle him for everything he put him through? Completely unfair! How could father let him do this?

Angry, Apollo stalked up the stairs and slapped the papyrus onto the throne’s arm. “Maybe this will get you to rethink,” he hissed as Laomedon’s dark stare first roamed over him before idly glancing at the papyrus. “Or do you not care about Ilion’s destruction?”

Laomedon’s face twisted and he seized Apollo by the strap of his chiton, yanking him close enough for him to murmur darkly; “Careful there,” His hot breath made Apollo flinch away. “I still own you.”

He ripped himself out of Laomedon’s grip and gave him a vehement stare. “You own nothing,” he muttered contemptuously. Apollo glanced over his shoulder to Poseidon, who had his arms crossed and face twisted into a mean scowl.

Apollo turned back to Laomedon. He pointed to the papyrus. “The future of your kingdom is on that scroll,” he darkly warned. “I really think you should reconsider this choice — it may lead to Ilion’s ruin.”

Laomedon gave a disbelieving snort. “Ilion is the crown jewel of Anatolia,” his nose scrunched up as he gave the younger god a condescending look. “Our warriors are of the highest caliber. My children married to powerful allies. Very few would dare to challenge us — let alone be able to destroy us, dear Apollo.” 

He then leaned forward, finger tapping idly on the papyrus as he hummed. “Not to mention you are our patron god, duty-bound to come to our aid.” He glanced at the scroll and lightly snorted. “Barely half of this makes sense! Garbled nonsense.”

Apollo’s jaw clenched. “Smart men can decipher a mystery,” he growled. “Wise men learn from it.”

His stomach twisted as Laomedon pretended to not hear him. Apollo glanced at his uncle, whose stormy expression made him shiver.

He had warned Laomedon. He warned him of the present and future danger to Ilion. But he refused to listen.

And that arrogance will cost him. Dearly.

It is, after all, part of the duty of a god, Apollo reflected as he and Poseidon silently exited the throne room, stalking through the grand halls with glowers. Hubris is so commonly a mortal’s fatal flaw…and Laomedon will be no different.

 —

I refrained from my usual rambles so if you want my rambles see my Ao3 for the fic upload there! :3

[minhosimthings]

Icarus's Lament: A Hyunjin oneshot

Synopsis: A siren falls in obsessive love with a human, and it mimics the story of Icarus and Apollo

Pairings: Hyunjin × Fem!Siren!Reader, includes rest of Skz, and an original character

Warnings: fluff to angst, fem!reader, just suggestive towards the end, don't read if you don't want your heart broken, ANGSTY AT THE END, forbiddened love, one sided love, obsessive love

A/N: Kay, finally finished this and I AM OBSESSED. look im a simp for mythology and lore and all that stuff, so yeah writing this was very theurapeutic. im sorry I haven't posted in a long time, but i've kinda been busy with work and stuff so i couldn't find time to write. BUT this baby's out so simp on this while i work on some of my other wips.

PLEASE READ: So this fic is based off of the myth of Icarus and Apollo. you should probably read a bit about it if you want to understand why it has a significance to this fic. And by Icarus and Apollo, i mean the romantisized version of the two forbiddened lovers. Also also also shoutout to my darlings @iutdwae and @1-800-shedevil who are as obsessed with mythology as I am.

Mythology is so pretty isn't it? It's amazing how humans have made stories out of deities whose existence they made up simply because they were too afraid of being authoritarian of themselves. The Gods were made up to fulfill human desire, to tell them that someone is always watching. And the people who defied the existence of a robed man, carrying a cross or some other wooden thing, were burnt to death, no matter if God was watching or not. All so paradoxical isn't it? The Gods were greedy beings, or atleast that was your philosophy. You had Aphrodite, greedy for love, so greedy that the roses were stained with her blood when a lover was shot. Then you had Zeus, greedy for his women, so greedy that he couldn't notice his wife's burning wrath. You had Kore, the flower girl, so greedy for freedom, that she became Persephone for a man who took her from her flowers. Yet you questioned why they weren't reprimanded for their greed. Why were the beings below them scolded for wanting more than they could salvage, while The Gods had statues built of them, overflowing with wine and bread? Why must there always be a punishment for greed, no mater human, selkie or dragon?

"My sister, what are you doing near that mirror again?" Your older sister, Menthe's voice broke you out of your stupor from staring at a jewel encrusted mirror. It was a pretty one indeed, filled with magic and glitter near its seams. "Are you looking at the humans again, darling?" Menthe scoffed and wrapped her arms around your waist, her tail colliding with yours, sending a bolt of electricity through to your scales. "Menthe let me go." You fidgeted in her tight grasp, but you knew you couldn't win. Menthe wasn't the Queen's best soldier for nothing after all. "Stop looking at the humans and maybe I'll let you go." Menthe chuckled, seeing you give up and sink into her hold, feeling the seaweed coat the scales in her arms, protecting them. "Sister when will we be going up by the way? You said we could go together today." Menthe finally let go of you and swam away from you as fast as she could. "Menthe! Don't you run from me!" You chased after her, silently summoning the water to take you faster. Of course the ocean obliged. It always was sympathetic to you. To a siren who got turned when she was pushed into the water, by a man who was jealous of her love. By a ruthless human who hated her for something she had no control over. But still, it confused your sister and the entire mermaid population as to how you didn't remember anything about the incident or that you used to be human. You had woken up on a bed in the castle of the Mermaid Queen, surrounded by a bunch of beautiful tailed creatures. Amnesia, was how they explained. Menthe had taken you in, calling you her own sister and spoiling you rotten, because apparently you were too adorable. Your love for humanity remained though. Every day you would get your magical mirror out, a girl from the Princess of Mermaids, and stare at the humans passing on the beach above. They were fascinating, with how they could jump and run so easily. Even though you could turn into a human and walk on land, you could never jump or run like they did, lest you accidentally rip your beautiful tail, embroidered with glittering scales and the prettiest gradient of colours. You rarely took trips to the land, and whenever you did, you were always sent heavily guarded. The fact of why exactly you were special was still unknown to you, as no one ever had the courage to tell you that you used to human. Humans who were turned into mermaids or sirens, to be more specific, were always special, having the power to control the sea with the mere notes of their voices. But the only problem was that they never knew that, courtesy to siren rule being that the special ones couldn't be told that they were special. Weird rule, you always thought, not knowing that you were one of the special ones.

"Menthe come out from there I can see you hiding." You called out to your sister, who was trying to hide behind her wardrobe. She groaned and came out from behind, flipping her hair behind her, and dusting her tail. "Y/n why do you want to go today?" She whined, pouting. "I cannot take you, you know that?" "I'll go with Chan then." You said, firmly, trying to end the conversation. You hadn't been up on the beach in a long time, four months to be exact and you were greedy. You were greedy to go up there. And greed never exactly suited you because when you wanted something, oh Lord, give everyone around you strength and patience.

"Fine you can go with Chan." Menthe finally gave in. "But, if you even try to run away, I will seriously kill you." You giggled at her sentence, knowing that she couldn't even lay a finger on you if she tried to.

"Chan! It's so good to see you again." You swam up to a stout Siren with broad shoulders and the most adorable dimpled smile. "Y/Nnnie!" He swam over to you and engulfed you in his arms, giving you a sense of warmth from the surrounding cold water. "Going up today? You ready?" You balled your fists up and nodded frantically. To say you were excited would be an understatement. You were basically a hyperactive squirrel today.

"Be safe alright?" Menthe hugged you once last time and gave you a conch shell. "You know what the shell does right?" She quizzed you. You rolled your eyes at her, knowing that you've gone through this routine every single time you wanted to go up to get high by the beach. "It calls you incase I run away and you have to get me because I am a careless incompetent brat." You grumbled. "Well atleast the careless brat part is correct." Menthe chuckled before pulling you in for another hug and finally letting go of you.

"Why can't the sunlight reach down to the water Chan? I love this warm feeling so much." You and Chan stepped out from behind some moss covered rocks completely dry, despite having being submerged in water just a few seconds ago. The secret entrance to what the humans called 'Mermaid land', was known to only a few of the Sirens. It was a bunch of rocks and a humorous piece of driftwood which invoked curiously in the humans, although they never went near it. It was funny, you thought, how humans were scared of just driftwood. It was funny how humans feared everything and that they made up myths to explain their fears. Menthe had very patiently explained to you how humans weren't very smart but you didn't believe her much. If they weren't smart, how would they have invented so many things which made their lives easier, like fire?

"Do you want to go to the market first Y/N?" Chan asked you as you set foot on the warm sand on the beach. You loved the feeling of sand. It was like having a thousand needles prickle the bottom of your feet, except that the needles massaged your feet instead of pricking them, to make them bleed your precious blood. "Sure." You said to Chan. "We can go to the market first and then we can come relax on the beach before going back down. Is that alright Chan?" Chan nodded and smiled again, showing those adorable dimples to you. The people of the town knew Chan, since he came up more often than any of the other sirens. The people knew him not as Chan, but as Christopher, the mysterious stranger who could come down to town often to give remedies for human illnesses, since, to be frank, the creatures of the deep had much more knowledge about medicine than humans did. They didn't question him or ask anything since the dark plague when he basically saved every single child in the town, and the townspeople pledged their loyalty to him. Chan was peculiar to them, not saying a word to anyone but the children who would laugh and go after him, calling out 'Uncle Chan!'.

"The marketplace has gotten more prettier since I last saw it." You let out a breath of amazement at seeing all the trinkets and food being sold in the market. It was a wide lane, flanked with stalls, selling seafood, vegetables, mirrors, cloth, jewelry and tiny trinkets. "You saw it about four months ago Y/Nnie." Chan chuckled softly, as you tried to keep up with his pace. He was more used to walking on two legs than you were, and as you walked slowly behind him, he kept a protective arm around your waist, ready to catch you incase you fall. "Ooh Chan what are those?" You excitedly pointed towards a brass thingamabob. It was like a pillar, with many open top, where something was carved into it. It also had a tiny painting of a rose on it. "That's called a candelabra Y/N." Chan responded calmly. "Humans use it to light fire, in order to bring light." "Can-de-lab-ra." You pronounced the foreign word slowly, making Chan chuckle again at your cuteness. "Can I have one pleease?" You pouted to Chan, who you knew couldn't refuse anything when you asked for it. Two minutes later, you strolled deeper into the marketplace, holding the candelabra and a flower in your hand. Chan had a medical job he had to do in town, so he suggested you come with him and wait outside while he finished the job. "Menthe would kill me if I left you alone, but it wouldn't hurt to tell her." He shot you a mischievous smile. You didn't mind being left alone. You knew enough about humans to interact with them, without Chan's knowledge so you were excited.

"That's the house!" Chan called after a few minutes of walking. He pointed to a brick mansion, which looked like a palace. It was beautiful, with ivy coating its walls and lavender growing in the garden. You could smell the roses and herbs too, and you could hear the meowing of a cat. The mansion was far away from the main town, so you assumed it belonged to some rich family. That's how human society worked, as Menthe had told you. The richest lived far away from the common folk, merry making and drinking wine while the poorer ones starved under a candle. The humans who invented this system of society were cruel and unfair, you thought. Every siren in your universe was always treated fairly, no matter where they came from. And that's how you thought everything worked until you found out about humans, not knowing that you were a human yourself.

"Y/N-" Chan stopped you before you two knocked on the iron gate, guarding the house. "When we go inside, you need to bow when I bow okay? These are some important people according to human society so we need to respect them. And put on your hood to protect your identity. To them, you're my little sister alright?" You listened intently to all of his words, wanting to impress the first humans you would probably see up close. "And also, don't talk too much. I know you love talking, but these people don't really prefer it, okay?" Chan stroked your hair gently before kissing the top of your forehead.

"Ahh Mr Christopher wasn't it?" Most of the humans you'd see everyday seemed kind and lively and approachable but this man standing in front of you definetly wasn't. He had a bulging stomach, smooth, flattened greying hair and a magnificent, protruding moustache which made him look very much like a fat, angry walrus. "Your grace." Chan bowed to the man, surprising you. No one was addressed by 'your grace' except for the princess! It took you a second or two to realise that this was human land. Their rules were entirely different from yours, maybe even worse, you thought as you curtseyed to the walrus man. "And who is this beautiful young lady?" The man looked you up and down, eyes full of hunger. Chan stood slightly in front of you, shielding you. "She is my sister, your grace." His firm voice rang through the humongous hall. "Now I believe your niece and wife are the affected people in the household whom I was summoned to treat?" The walrus man looked slightly furious at Chan's words, but he didn't let his anger flow and instead said, "Yes. Yes they are. I shall guide to upstairs where they are resting. Meanwhile, your sister-" he shot you a look again. "-can explore our house perhaps? I shall send a servant with her." Chan looked at your pleading eyes, and gently smiled. He kissed the top of your forehead and whispered, 'be safe, don't do anything out of line.' and went off with the walrus man.

Was this what freedom felt like?, you thought as you strolled around the huge courtyard of the house, with a servant following you. She didn't talk much, instead preferring to cough every now and then, to remind you that she was there. Sand felt really good on your feet, but grass felt better. You had taken off your shoes, much to the disdain of the servant, and felt the dew-filled grass tickle your feet gently. Butterflies were flying here and there and they reminded you of the starfish that would accompany you whenever you and Menthe would go explore sunken ships and other ruins.

You were about to take a whiff of the lavender bushes you had so excitedly run up to when- "Oh where did you come from?" There was a strange creature tugging at your dress tightly. It had black and white fur and the tiniest paws you had ever seen. A dog. This was a creature called dog. Chan had told you about them on your second trip to the surface and you had always wanted to meet one up close. You bent down to pet the dog, seeing as it was tugging on your dress so tightly, when suddenly it ran away at the speed of a lightning bolt.

"Hey!" You shouted, quickly picking up your dress and running after it. "Come back here!" You ran after the dog, who seemed to be running to a more kempt part of the garden where weeds weren't growing and the grass was trimmed, and as you tightly clutched your skirt so as to not trip over it, you couldn't hear the servant behind you screaming at you to not go there. You could spot a figure in the distance holding something in his hand, and the dog was running up to the slender figure.

"Hey!" You called after the dog. "Wait for me! I'm not used to running!" "You wicked wrench stop right there!', a rough voice called after you and as you finally stopped running and looked back, a stout man jumped onto you and pinned you to the ground. You shouted out in pain, in response to your head roughly hitting the ground. You could feel the man's horrible breath against your ear as he said, "got you now you wrench!"

"What is going on here? Martin get off of the young lady." You heard a silky voice say, on whose command, the man on top of you, got off quickly and stood up straight. The man with the smooth voice extended a had towards you and helped you get up. He was handsome, with black hair framing his face perfectly and the most attractive eyes you had ever seen. His lips were smooth, and cherry red, like an octopus' and his figure was carved by the Gods themselves. He had a strong yet soft grip to his hand, which threatened the shredded appearance of his skin.

"Are you alright Miss?" He asked you, mesmerising you with his voice. Being a siren meant that you had the power to understand the most random. Whether it was the chirping of a bird or the clacks of the claws is a crab, it all meant something to you. It was basically music, or whatever the humans called it. But there was something about this man's voice, that you couldn't decipher. It was silky yet cracked, smooth yet with a tint of roughness to it. It was.... beautiful.

"Uh Miss?" The man said again, waving a hand infront of you, which made you realise that you were probably staring at him. "Oh I'm so sorry! Yes I'm quite fine, thank you." You said, keeping your tone calm. "Ahem Sir." The man named Martin gave a cough. "She was trying to enter the private garden sir. Surely you must punish her." The way he said all of that with a widening smile on his face disgusted you, but the man next to you spoke before you could. "Martin hasn't anyone taught you manners? You mus'nt ever touch a lady, leave pouncing on top of her! Would you like to be out of a job Martin?" Martin looked down at his shoes and shyly shook his head muttering the word no. "Apologise to her. Now." Martin bowed to you and apologized before hastily leaving.

"Im sorry about that Miss." The man bowed. "By the way what were you doing chasing Kkami like that?" "Kk-ami?" You slowly pronounced the word, trying hard not to keep staring into the man's beautiful eyes. The man chuckled softly as the dog you had been chasing ran up behind him, intertwining itself between his legs. "His name is Kkami. If he perhaps bit the seams of your dress, please forgive him. I really do not know why he does that, Miss- uh?" "Y/N. My name's Y/N. And Kkami's forgiven." You smiled at him, as he pronounced your name, spelling out syllable and syllable in his smooth honey voice. "My name is Hyunjin." He introduced himself. "Hwang Hyunjin. May I ask what you are doing in my house?" "I-"

"Y/N! We need to go!" You heard Chan's voice shouting your name loudly, and as you turned around in the direction of his voice, you saw him hurrying down to you and Hyunjin along with the walrus man. "Ahh my son." Walrus man sighed out. "I see you've met the sister of the man who had just saved your cousin and mother." Chan slightly blushed as Hyunjin extended a hand towards him, slightly leaning to shake hands with the shorter man.

"Nice to meet you. Well we really must get going. Thank you for your hospitality Mr Hwang." Chan bowed to the walrus man and hastily took your arm, leading you out of the big iron gate as the walrus man and Hyunjin stood there, blinking at the both of you leaving.

"He was sooo handsome Menthe! Like Apollo himself." You were currently brushing Menthe's long black hair and telling her all about your trip above, especially mentioning Hyunjin atleast a hundred times. "You have only talked about his features, my Y/N." Menthe chuckled. "What of his persona?" You thought for a moment and came to the realisation that you didn't know anything about this man. Just that he was the son of the walrus man, a dog owner and he was pretty kind. You shrugged your shoulders to Menthe, who chuckled again. "Ahh my sister." She sighed, with a smile imprinted on her face. "You're so innocent you are."

"By the way-" she added. "Chan's going up again tomorrow to check on that fat human's wife again. Do you wish to go?" She raised an eyebrow at you, as you jolted out of your shared bed. "OH COURSE I WANT TO GO I LOVE YOU MENTHE." You shouted, startling her as both of you giggled under your breath and went off to sleep, with the water floating calmly around you.

"Y/Nnie come on! We're going to be late!" Menthe shouted at you, as you delicately brushed your hair, making sure each strand stood as perfect as carved stone. "I'm coming!" You yelled back, as you took one last look in the mirror and went off to see Chan and go up to the heavens again.

"Whaat are you two up to?" You peeked your head out of the front door to see Chan and Menthe whispering to each other, about God knows what. Once they took a glimpse of you, with your eyes all curious and your head wrapped around the door, they immediately got away from each other's tails and stood awkwardly with their hands behind their back. Chan's ears got redder and Menthe fiddled with her fingers, a common thing they do whenever they were shy or embarrassed, or hiding something.

"Let's go Y/N, we're already late." Chan said, adjusting his satchel and ruffling his hair as he always does. "You know humans don't like tardiness right?"

"Chan why did you take me up again?" Chan stopped in his tracks as both of you walked up the path to the mansion again. He looked at you, with glassy eyes, and sighed, and then led you to an empty lane. "Y/N, I need you to listen to me very carefully." He sternly said. "The Hwang's eldest son, Hyunjin, the boy you met yesterday has asked for you again if I were to come to treat his mother one more time. He said he would like to talk to you. But I'm telling you-" his voice became deeper. "Do not, in any circumstance, reveal who you truly are. If he asks you where you and I are from, just say we are from a neighbouring village alright? Humans do not like beings like us. So if he finds out about what we hide under the waves, we're done for." He finished his impromptu speech and led his way along to the mansion again, with you meekly following behind him. It was scary to see Chan all serious like that, since he was probably the smiliest siren in all of the Kingdom.

"Mr Hwang." Chan bowed low to the walrus man, who was donning a velvet suit today, making him look like a fat plum. Behind him, stood the beautiful figure of Hyunjin, who eyed you up and down a number of times. "Well Mr Christopher-" Mr Hwang clapped his hands together. "My son wishes to spend some time with your sister for as long as you treat my wife and niece, if you allow. I promise that no harm will come to her." Chan looked at you, with what looked like pitiful eyes and bowed again to Mr Hwang. "I allow it, your grace. But please. I hope your son will be respectful to my sister." Mr Hwang waved his hand carelessly and muttered words of 'yes' and then left with Chan up the staircase, leaving you alone with Hyunjin.

"May we go out into the garden?" Hyunjin asked you, slightly bowing down, his silky black hair falling on his face. "Will Kkami be there?" You blurted out, eyes widened. Hyunjin chuckled and nodded, his eyes calm and collected. He led you out of the front door, letting you be in front while he silently followed behind. The garden felt much more livelier than it did yesterday. However, there was a new addition to the garden. There was large patch of tall, handsome flowers growing over in the spot where you chased Kkami down. They were painted with the hues of dark purple, pink, white and a bit of lilac. "Are you perhaps eyeing the hyacinths, Miss Y/N?" Hyunjin's voice snapped through the air, which made you lose the staring competition you had going on the flowers. "Hy-a-cinths?" You pronounced out, concluding that that was the name of those handsome flowers, which were all huddled together like crabs on the beach on a winter day. "May I touch them?" You tentatively asked him, to which he raised an eyebrow. "I don't think you can. Apparently they're very good poisons, or as my father and the library told me so." "You have a library here?" You had often read about libraries as big rooms with shelves everywhere, stocked with hundreds of books which humans could borrow and return within a time limit. Siren's weren't really that used to borrowing and returning things, so you and Menthe usually had a large collection of books at your own home. Human books had always interested you. How the pages fade with time, how humans like to breathe in their scent claiming it calmed them down, how they used to write stories and make collections of them.

"Miss Y/N?" Hyunjin tapped lightly on your shoulder, distracting you from a butterfly that had landed on one of the hyacinths. "Kkami's here." You looked down to see the same dog, nudging against your foot. Thankfully he wasn't chewing on your skirt and as you bent down to pet him, you noticed how much he looked like Hyunjin. You decided not to voice that thought out loud, sensing that it might be considered rude up here on land.

"He's very pretty." You told Hyunjin, still petting Kkami, who seemed to be enjoying the pets. You had a question burning within you though. Why would this man, who looked like the reincarnation of Apollo himself, ask for you when the only interaction you had with him was mumbled apologies and thank yous?

As if he had read your mind, Hyunjin knelt down next to you, and scratched Kkami's ears. "You must be wondering why I had especially asked for you, Miss Y/N?" God he smelled so good too, like fresh seaweed and the silver coating of Menthe's arrows. The most prominent feature of his, that stood out like a crab in a stingray's nest, was the tiny mole on his nose. It was like a blackhole that you would love to dive into and sleep in. "Well I was wondering about that, Mr Hwang." He smiled softly. "Please, Miss Y/N. Call me Hyunjin." "Then stop calling me Miss Y/N. Just Y/N is fine too." He chuckled at your words and stood up from his kneeling position. "Why don't we take a walk around the garden? I would love to show you the gazebo under which I paint."

The rest of the garden was, in a word or two, simply gorgeous. It was far larger than you had initially taken it to be, and as you took in the sweet scent of nectar, and the lively chirping of the birds, you realised that this house was as big as the Queen's Palace. These people surely weren't royalty. After all royal people have crowns don't they? And Chan hadn't told you anything about their lineage or where their from or if they were someones of importance.

"You look very familiar to me." Hyunjin said, making you slightly jump at his voice cutting through the silence. "As if I've seen you somewhere before." "Is that why you asked for me?" You raised an eyebrow at him, slightly picking up your pace to catch up to him. "If I say yes, would you be mad?" Hyunjin chuckled. "But yes, that is one of the main reasons I wanted to talk to you. Secondly, Kkami told me that he likes you, so he wanted you to come over." You looked down at your feet, to Kkami who was walking happily in between you and Hyunjin. You giggled under your breath. Hyunjin was adorable.

"Well who do I look like then?" You quizzed Hyunjin. His eyes faltered for a split second, as he raised his hand and pointed forward. "Let's talk under that gazebo." His hand was pointing towards a beautiful red structure, supported by four gold-coloured pillars. It had carvings all over it which were, from what you could decipher, love letters. You traced one of them saying 'Mea Vita', before settling down on the green bench next to Hyunjin.

"You look like the exact carbon copy of my late wife, Priscilla." Hyunjin sighed heavily as he said that. "I know it is stupid, rude even to summon you, just because you look like someone I used to love, but I need to know who you actually are, and where you're from." He sighed again before continuing. "She was taken from me, kidnapped, when we were 26 to God knows where. And now, here I am, a 30 year old man, lamenting about someone who I don't know even exists. So I need to know-" he leant closer to you holding your hand in his. You could feel his breath against your skin, as he said in a deep voice, "Are you Priscilla?"

Something in you burst. Something in you wanted to scream 'Yes!'. Something in you said, 'if you say yes, you can stay with him'. Something in you told you to ignore your old life and start a new one. Change is inevitable right?

"I-" "Y/N!" Before you could answer to Hyunjin, you heard Chan's raucous voice again, slicing through the air like a horn. "What are you doing with my sister, Hwang?" Chan spat at Hyunjin, who immediately let go of your hand and stood up. "I was not doing anything, Mr Christopher." He stated simply. Chan took your arm and dragged you out of the gate, before you could even say goodbye to Hyunjin.

"Chan why did you do that? I was talking to him!" You shouted at him, when both of you were well out of earshot of the mansion. "Y/N what was he telling you?" Chan said, taking on that stern voice again. Your mind faltered for a bit, wondering whether or not you should tell him about Priscilla. "He was telling me about the flowers in the garden Chan. Nothing else." You felt your stomach sink at telling Chan a bitter lie, but your mind was currently being controlled by your heart, and you were letting it.

"Y/N are you lying?" Chan looked you up and down, as if he could see right through you, but your mind didn't budge. You went closer to him, put your foot down and said in a tone as if to end the entire conversation, "He talked to me about flowers and nothing else."

"So I heard you upset Chan today." Menthe fiddled with a thread and needle, trying to sew her initials onto a handkerchief. "That's not like you, Y/Nnie." You put your own needle and thread down, and let out an exhaustive sigh. "I didn't upset him Menthe." You picked up the needle again, to continue stitching your crab across the handkerchief. "There was simply a misunderstanding."

Menthe sighed heavily and put down her needle and thread on the bedside table, swimming up to you and putting her tail next to yours. "You can't get close to humans, you know that right?" She put a hand on yours and kissed it gently. "I know you love humans Y/N. But under no circumstances, are you to get close to any of them, understand?" You gulped and nodded gently, kissing Menthe's forehead. It was a wild day today, and it was only about to get wilder. If only Menthe knew what was about to happen that night, she would have bound you to your bed right then and there.

Midnight. That was when Menthe usually fell dead asleep. It was a routine for her and everyone in the Siren Kingdom to fall fast asleep at midnight. You didn't know whether this was a spell or just pure habit, but it was weird how all of them fell collectively asleep together. But you weren't going to be on your bed tonight. Tonight, you were planning to do something. Something dangerous. Something that you wouldn't ever do. Something which was prompted by your newly acquired wings.

The moment you heard Menthe's snores rumbling through the sound of the serene water, you kicked off your blanket and silently got the bag of possessions you had packed and silently crept out of your house. There was certain feeling hanging in the air, something which you just couldn't describe. It wasn't guilt nor excitement which you felt. It was a serene feeling, like the ocean wrapping around you, like feeling a fire for the first time and it felt good, as you crept out of the water, leaving your place behind, possibly for forever.

The sand never felt warmer, even as it was bathing in the moonlight. The blowing wind never felt better, even when it was cold and chilly. The night never felt so alive, even though you had just abandoned the only home you had ever known.

You walked up along the dark and empty street, all alone, to Hyunjin's house. It was scary to be all alone, but I guess it was your determination which got you through the night to reach the iron gates of Hyunjin's house.

"Hello?" You called out, screaming at the top of your lungs. You couldn't see a thing in the darkness, but you could hear footsteps coming from afar. "Who's there?" A harsh voice called out. "Please!" You screamed with all your might. "I am an accomplice of Hyunjin's. My name is Priscilla!" For a moment, it seemed like the footsteps had stopped. You then heard more harsher footsteps and rough voices sounding through the air. And before you knew it, the gate was slowly opening and no more than six men ran up to you, one of whom you recognised. "You! It's you!' Martin said, pointing his finger to you. "Please-" you begged. "I need to see Hyunjin."

"How dare you speak the young master's name like that? You wench!" One of the guards grabbed your arm roughly. You roughed around, trying to break out of his hold when- "What is all this?" A familiar voice rang in your ear. Hyunjin. He came out of the darkness, holding a lamp, in a red robe. "Y/N? Is that you?" He asked you slowly as he held up the lamp. "Hyunjin." You said, silently.

"Let go of her, you bastard." Hyunjin growled at the man near your arm, who let go of you instantly. "Y/N, what happened? Wh-why are you here this late?" Hyunjin wrapped his arm around your shoulder.

"Hyunjin, it's me." You breathed out. "It's Priscilla."

"How do we know you really are Priscilla?" You stood before the walrus man and a thin old woman, who you assumed was Hyunjin's mother. She looked like him, the same eyes and the same lips, but she had an air of someone who liked everything to be perfect. "You may test me or ask me anything." You responded, keeping your head high. "Rest assure, I will answer."

The walrus man scoffed and put down his smoking pipe and leant forward. "What is Hyunjin's best talent, which got him into trouble when he was fifteen?" You smiled widely, and put your hand to your chest. "Forgive me my lord, but please. Do ask something more harder. He got into trouble with the mayor because he had painted a picture of his daughter, nude. Well of course the best painted in town needs the best muse doesn't he?" "And do you know, Priscilla? Whose daughter you are?" Hyunjin's mother asked. "Well, you all know I do not go by my family name anymore. I prefer to be the called, the Girl in blue." Hearing your words, the walrus man and the thin woman gasped. The Girl in Blue. That was the name of the painting which Hyunjin had painted of the mayor's daughter. Or more precisely the painting which he had made on Priscilla. Or should I say, you?

"Y- only Priscilla knows who the girl in that painting is." The thin woman said, in a barely heard whisper. "You- oh my! Priscilla!" She got up and hugged you tightly as Hyunjin smiled widely behind you. "Priscilla my darling." She kept whispering into your ear. Her hug was comforting.... Genuine. And it felt good. It felt so good. That a family like this had fallen for a little girl's lie.

"She did WHAT?" Chan screamed at Menthe and the other guards. They were at a meeting, when Menthe thought it would be good it tell them about the current sticky situation. "I don't know how she did it. Or why she did It. But I can see that she is at that boy's house." Menthe sighed. "Hwang's."

"You know how much trouble it would be if she's there." One of the guards, Changbin said. "She doesn't know of her past and it could be her strong point." "What of her past?" A stern voice came into the room. Minho, the chief advisor to the Queen and one of your friends had strolled in, with his strong black tail, decorated with golden scales.

"What of her past, Chan?" He questioned again, glaring at everyone in the room. "I only know that she used to be human, but someone-" he glared at Menthe. "Turned her into a siren. So I ask you one last time-" he leaned forward, putting both his hands on the table. "What of her past?"

"If I may, Minho." Jisung, one of the younger sirens, and Minho's best friend spoke up. "Y/N didn't use to be just a human. She was the daughter of the mayor of the town under whose waters we live in. She had a twin sister, Priscilla, who loved this boy called Hwang Hyunjin. They got married soon after Y/N turned 26. But unfortunately both the sisters got kidnapped one day. You know how these humans are." He let out a short laugh. " So greedy for money, that they would resort to violent methods. Once the ransom was paid however, the man who kidnapped them, didn't let them go. He had fallen for Y/N's beauty." Chan clenched his jaw at that, catching Menthe's attention. "When she rejected him, however, he grew angry and threatened to throw Priscilla and YN off of the ship. And it seems that Priscilla had offered to take her sister's place. But you know Y/N's persona. Headstrong and stubborn. She must have done something to anger the captain, which ultimately led to where we are right now."

Minho sighed heavily as Jisung finished with his speech. The room turned quiet, with a tense atmosphere. "Does she have the normal powers or anything else?" Minho turned to Chan, who looked down at his tail. "She is an extraordinary siren Minho. But she doesn't know about most of her powers, which us normal sirens do not possess. For example-" chan crossed his arms, showing off his veins like lighting bolts. "Mind reading." The room collectively gasped as Menthe held her hand to her chest. "Is-is that how she tricked them? The Hwangs?" She whispered, her eyes filling with tears. Chan simply nodded as Minho's eyebrows furrowed. "We cannot get her back. We simply cannot. If we try to, the entire human population will be after our kingdom. On behalf of the Queen, I cannot risk that." He swam over to Chan, and put his hand on his arm. "I'm sorry Chan." And he left the room, leaving the rest of the Sirens shocked and wounded.

The day was perfect. The day was pleasant. It was filled with flying birds and bells and bouquets. A sprightly day for a wedding.

You had spent a lot of time with Hyunjin after the day you had proved to his parents that you were 'Priscilla'. It was a pleasure to will away the seeds of dead time with Hyunjin, sitting in the garden, painting. He taught you how to paint, joking about how you apparently used to love colours but could never manipulate them as well as he did. You learnt how to paint his favourite flowers, hyacinths and you gifted him many handkerchiefs, embroidered with hyacinths. You learnt how to play something called a piano. You had seen something similar in the shipwreck you and Menthe had gone to last month but never actually expected it to make noise. It was mesmerising to watch Hyunjin play the piano, how his fingers delicately moved across the buttons, creating melodies only your dreams could ever produce.

The people of the town loved you. They never questioned about where you were from or how 'Priscilla' got back to her lover. You never really knew why, but as the Gods watched from above, upon a scene of you singing to the town's children, not knowing about the power of your voice, they shook their heads in disapproval. You learn how to be more human now, slowly taking in their habits and learning how to hunt, run, jump, climb up trees and nurture flowers.

You learnt the history of humans, about wars, battles, bones and bloodshed. That was the part about humans that you hated the most. That they never learnt to co-operate and live in harmony, like sirens did. One thing that did surprise you though was that you never had a day when you missed the ocean or your life there. You knew you couldn't go onto the beach, because if you did, the beautiful scales on your magnificent tail, would start to glimmer again. And a girl's got to keep a lie, doesn't she?

"Priscilla darling!" Mrs Hwang's voice rang through the dressing room. "Oh my! You look so beautiful." Indeed you did look beautiful in the gorgeous blue gown that Hyunjin had given you, reminiscing about the time when you first got married. Your hair was done up into a gentle ponytail, which made you wince every now and then, from the pain of it sticking to your scalp. "Thank you mother." You smiled at Mrs Hwang. "Might I ask, what you are doing here?" Mrs Hwang let out a tiny laugh, and clutched her hand in yours. When she let go of it, you saw that she had placed something on your palm. An ornamental comb. It was beautiful, green glimmers here and there with a giant blue jewel adorning the top. Tortoise shell, you assumed, as you traced the outline of the comb. It looked oddly familiar. "I thought you'd like it dear." Mrs Hwang said, as she fixed in into your hair. "It was you sister's was it not?" You gulped and nodded, not being able to understand anything. "Poor Y/N." Mrs Hwang breathed out. "She was so sweet." She said, before leaving the room, leaving you confunded and slightly scared.

The wedding was beautiful and as you walked down the aisle, accompanied with three girls, who called themselves your friends, you couldn't help but feel something weird. Something like everything was going to come crashing down any second. Something, like disaster.

"My muse?" Hyunjin cooed to you, as both of you sat on his ivory bed. You sat on Hyunjin's lap, still in your wedding dress, as he pulled you closer to him, wrapping his arms around your waist. It was almost midnight, since the walrus man insisted that they pour another shot of barrel wine until midnight. And now as you sat peacefully on Hyunjin's legs, feeling his hot breath hit your neck, there was an overwhelming sense of worry filling you.

"Priscilla? Darling are you listening?" Hyunjin said, cutting you out of staring at the bluejay outside the window. "Y-yes, my love." You stuttered. "What is it?" Instead of answering you, Hyunjin pulled you to him and kissed your lips harshly, biting them. "Hyunjin wha-" "Allow me to do this, my muse?" You nodded slowly, not knowing what the man in front of you, the man you gave up everything for, was about to do to you.

"God you're so pretty, my darling." He chuckled lowly as he moved his hands to your legs, sliding them up your thigh. You moaned out in pleasure, though you didn't know what he was doing. "Hyunjin~" you moaned as he took off your undergarments, and made his way down between your thighs.

"Oh I have been wanting to do this for so long." Hyunjin laughed, taking off his belt and putting you properly on the bed. He kissed you neck softly, all the while keeping his hand between your legs, massaging your privates. "Hyunjin- oh my!" You breathed out as he started moving his fingers faster.

"Priscilla?" Hyunjin slowly got out of the bed. "Priscilla what is this?" He gasped, his face turning into one of horror. "Hyunjin? What happened? Darling are you alright?" You asked him, while he kept staring at your legs. "You-you're not Priscilla." He whispered. You looked at his face, tears forming in his eyes and then looked down at your legs.

Of course. The Gods would never permit a siren and a human together would they? In the joy of the moment, of turning into a human, of getting a man whom you admired, you had forgotten one essential thing. You couldn't stay human, for more than a month. And you had been on land for two months atleast. Lies must always be revealed and yours seems to have come quicker. The scales. The scales of your tail had started reappearing from your thighs. And lucky you, Hyunjin had just saw it, as he bent down to your legs.

"Hyunjin! I can explain! No wait!" You cried as he picked up a dagger from the wall, as screamed for his guards. "Who are you, you wrench?" Pure fury ran through eyes. "What have you done to my Priscilla?" "No- Hyunjin I haven't done anything to her! I don't-" you cried. You could feel everything crashing and burning. You could feel Mother Earth wrapping her arms around you, telling you it was time to go. At that moment, all you could think about, was the ocean, the sea, the fish you would see everyday, Menthe combing your hair, Chan sending you a dimpled smile everytime he saw you. "Guards" Hyunjin commanded. "I want her by the hanging pole by sunset." He spat at you, before leaving the room. "Find out everything you can."

Love is a peculiar thing. We cannot ever exactly define it. It could be obsessive, friendly, or a dying hunger for each other's body. There were nine forms of love too, weren't there? Menthe always told you that you shouldn't ever go after the last form of love. Mania. That it was dark and cold and benefited no one. You would often heard the story of the boy who loved the sun so much that he flew towards it, on melted wings, and scorched feathers. No matter how much he fell, he still flew. And he didn't know that the Sun knew him too.

And the Sun always watched. Apollo watched from his golden chariot. He watched with his eagle eyes, along with Artemis, how Chan destroyed the town that night. How Menthe helped him, to set fire to every house, starting with the biggest one, where hyacinths grew aplenty. How Chan shed heavy tears over a girl who didn't know about him. Apollo watched, and he sighed, remembering the boy who flew towards him, begging for his love. Begging so much, not realising that the Sun couldn't reach him, and when he did, Icarus was all in Persephone's realm, buried deep underneath the sea, hearing the Siren's call one last time.

[theseusernamesarehard]

Stuck on the puzzle: Chapter one

next | masterlist

pairing: Luke Castellan x Olivia Messer (daughter of Apollo oc)

word count: 2,3k

summary: Will Solace arrives to camp Half-blood and finds that the two people helping him really don't get along.

Will Solace was having the weirdest day of his life. He had stumbled on to this weird camp place with his friend Mark only to find out that Mark was actually 20 and not 8 like Will and he wasn't his friend, but his protector? He also had hooves and antlers, but weirdly that didn't bother Will so much. He had always seen weird things, scary creatures hidden in dark alleys, winged horses and such. Every adult in his life had always chucked it up to him having a wild imagination and he hadn't questioned it until the pigeon started following him from school and suddenly started to grow bigger and bigger. Mark managed to scare off the creature for some time and within it they managed to make their way out of New York and almost onto the grounds of camp. Will barely made it across the border, but he did, the creature managing only a small scratch on his ankle.

The scratch was so small that he didn't think to mention it when a centaur (crazy) and the god of wine (crazier) explained to him that he was the son of a greek god who would maybe claim his as his son. He also didn't think to mention it to the dark haired teenager, who introduced himself as Luke Castellan, head counsellor of the Hermes cabin. Only when Luke started showing him around, was the scratch becoming a problem. He had to limp slightly and that was slowing him down, but Luke was a little intimidating with his knowledge of the camp and the way everyone greeted him with utter respect. Still, it was unapparent that Will was moving slowly, and eventually Luke noticed.

"Are you hurt? Mark said the harpy didn't get you", he frowned.

"It's no big deal", Will said shyly, but it was starting to really hurt.

"Let me have a look", Luke said and knelt down gently.

Luke lifted Will's pant leg and they both winced. The scratch seemed a lot bigger now than it was and it was starting to get yellow around the edges.

"Okay, next on the tour is the infirmary. And not to stress you out or anything, but we might have to get there fast, can you get on my back?" Luke asked.

Will nodded, suddenly in a lot of pain. Luke lifted him on his back and sprinted to the infirmary, a small building on the side of the cabins.

Luke let Will down to knock on the door and Will had the urge to hide behind him. He hadn't spent much time in hospitals and he didn't really want to start today.

The door opened to reveal a teenage girl. She had a smile on her face, but frowned immediately as she saw Luke.

"I'll get Lee", she said curtly.

"Wait no, it's not for me", Luke replied.

It seemed that only then she saw Will, who was doing his best to pretend he wasn't hiding and in great pain. He failed at both.

The girls face softened as she saw Will and when she looked back at Luke, an understanding seemed to pass between the two of them and they rushed Will inside.

"It's a harpy scratch, I think. Yellow edges and everything", Luke said once Will was settled into a bed. The girl had immediately started cutting his pant leg off with a knife.

"Why didn't you take him here immediately? I imagine you know they're poisonous."

Not as poisonous as her voice, Will thought.

"He didn't say anything, I just noticed him limping."

"I'm sorry", Will croaked, embarrassed he had hidden his injury.

Once again, a soft smile.

"It's not your fault. You're a tough kid for holding out that long", she said.

Will was given a glass of something that tasted like fresh movie theater popcorn with extra butter in it and he was so dumbfounded by it that he didn't register anything else around him.

"I'm going to have to give you a little shot on your leg, okay? Are you scared of needles?" the girl asked him.

Will shook his head.

"That's good. Means you're already tougher than this guy", she gestured to Luke, who was standing behind her looking at the ground. "Best swordsman in 300 years they say, but you try to give him a shot and you'd think he's never been near anything sharp."

Will smiled, still feeling a bit shy around the girl who gave Luke such a cold welcome. Behind her Luke was smiling so wide you'd think she'd sung his highest praises.

She injected the shot after cleaning the wound and told him to sleep it off in there for the night. He nodded, knowing that there was no way in hell, or maybe he should say Hades now, he was going to be able to sleep. She seemed to be a mind reader since she gave him a sleeping pill to take.

"It's going to be okay. Everyone's arrival is a bit insane and confusing. We've all been there and it's going to get better. Just sleep it off and Luke's going to continue the tour tomorrow", she said in a voice so calming, Will almost believed it.

He took the sleeping pill, but even in his sleepy state, he managed to hear a few words between Luke and the girl.

"Thanks for that", Luke said, he sounded awkward, something Will hadn't been sure he was capable of.

"Just doing my job", the girl said, back to the cold tone that seemed to be reserved specifically for Luke.

"But still, it takes a lot out of you, I know that now."

"Sure."

"Can you just cut me some slack? It's been like seven months. I've changed and I don't see any reason we can't be friends again. You don't have to heal me, look out for me, just talk to me. Please?" Luke's last words were barely above a whisper.

"I think you should go", her voice cracked a little.

"It's not fair."

"Life's not fair. Go."

The next morning Will woke up feeling a lot better. Luke wasn't there so the girl in the hospital was nice the whole time. Will was curious, so the temptation to ask her about Luke was big, but after seeing how deathly her stare could be, he didn't want to risk it. She introduced herself as Olivia.

"Your legs looking a whole lot better", she said cheerfully.

"What did you give me?" Will thought, only now to ask.

"Thinking of the taste? It's nectar, drink of the gods. It tastes like your favorite things, but you can't have too much. I'll give you a little bit before you go though."

"I mean in the vial. The shot."

She grimaced a little

"Right, I suppose you have a right to know."

"You don't have to say it if you don't want to", Will said, once again afraid to piss the girl off.

"No it's fine, some people think it's a little weird or gross. Or both."

"I won't."

She had a very bright smile, Will noticed.

"It was my blood."

"Huh?"

"I injected you with my blood. It's got some healing properties. Even I don't properly know how it works, but I'm O negative so it's been working for everyone."

"Your blood has healing powers?"

"Yup."

"So you have like a superpower?"

"I don't know if I'd call it that, but close enough. Some kids have a bit of godly power they've inherited from their parents."

"Like what?"

"Like...Children of Demeter. Some of them can make plants grow from anywhere and all of them have a certified green thumb."

"Who's your parent?"

"Apollo. God of the sun, healing, archery, prophecy...the list goes on, but even I can't remember all of it."

"So that's why you have healing blood."

She nodded.

"I'm also pretty good with a bow, but people get stuck on that first part."

Will was quiet for a moment.

"When did you get claimed?"

"It happens at a different time for everyone."

"It was quick, wasn't it."

"For me, yes. But then again I stumbled into camp with a three inch stab wound in my stomach that was almost gone by the time they got me to the infirmary, so there were suspicions quite early on. But even then it took my dad a week. Luke said-"

She paused, cleared her throat and carried on like nothing happened, but her smile was a bit faker.

"Luke said 'I could've told you that' immediately after it happened."

There was a knock on the door.

"Speak of the devil", she muttered. "It's open!"

"How you doing tough guy?" Luke smiled, deliberately avoiding Olivia, who was now busying herself with the medical equipment on the side.

"Better. Olivia said I can have a little nectar and be on my way."

Luke looked at her, questioning before he realized he was supposed to be avoiding her gaze. She looked back and once again Will got the feeling that something was being said.

"That's great! We can continue with the tour then!"

"One glass of nectar first. You can wait and make sure he doesn't drink it too fast", Olivia said, producing a glass and going deeper into the infirmary.

"You heard her, doctors orders", Luke said.

And so they left the infirmary. Luke first showed Will the Hermes cabin where his measly belongings had been placed on a sleeping bag in the corner on the ground.

"This is where I have to sleep?" Will asked, bummed.

"Just for now. As soon as you get claimed you'll get a bed in your cabin. Or here, if we're related."

"It's pretty crammed here already, though."

"Yup. But you'll get used to it, it's not as bad as it looks. Let's get breakfast."

At breakfast, Luke introduced Will to Chris Rodriquez, who'd been at camp for a year. Before he could even properly sit down, some girl came to say that there was an emergency counselor meeting about the feud between the Ares and Athena cabins. Luke sighed and got up reluctantly. Will watched him glance an automatic glance at the Apollo table, where Olivia got up. She walked right past him and sped up all the way to the big house, while Luke was almost dragging his feet. Chris looked at the whole spectacle disapprovingly.

"When are they going to get over this?" a girl sitting next to Chris said. She introduced herself to Will as Meg, daughter of Hecate, goddess of magic.

"I don't know", Chris sighed. "Luke keeps trying to talk to her, but she's either too stubborn or he's approaching it the wrong way because it always ends in a fight."

"My guess it that it's both."

"Well you should talk to her about it, you're always braiding each others hair and whatnot."

"I've tried, but she refuses to talk about anything Luke related. One time I tried asking her until she gave me an answer, but she just walked off."

"What happened?" Will got the courage to ask.

Both of the older campers, who seemed to have forgotten he was there, turned to him.

"It's a long story", Meg said apprehensively.

"Sorry. I don't mean to be nosy, they were just really weird to each other in the infirmary."

"Well the problem is no one really knows. Even Luke is kind of confused about the whole thing. They were inseparable for a while and then last fall there was this big screaming fight and they haven't really been friends since", Chris sighed.

Will nodded and the two soon left him to his own devices. Which meant that he stayed sitting down at the table because he didn't know his way around camp yet.

"Hey buddy, sorry about the interruption", Luke was suddenly smiling beside him. "Want to continue the tour?"

"Absolutely."

Luke showed Will the rest of the wonder that was camp Half-blood, but declared he wasn't allowed to try any of the fun stuff (archery, wall climbing or even canoeing) before he got another check up. So once again, they were at the infirmary.

This time a guy opened the door. Will was smart enough to figure out that he was also a child of Apollo and through that, Olivias half-brother. He tried to find any similarities, but they were hard to come by. Olivia had a light brown complexion and dark, curly hair down to her shoulders, while Lee had dirty blonde hair, like Will that looked to be sun bleached in different spots. The half-siblings shared the same smile though, Lee's scrunching up his freckles when he greeted Will and Luke. If he held any resentment towards Luke on behalf of his sister, he sure didn't show it.

"What's the problem?"

"Our new camper Will here got scratched by a harpy yesterday. Olivia-"

Lee raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"healed it yesterday, but I figured it might be worth getting a look at before we try any activities."

"Good thinking. Olivia give him a shot?"

"Yup. Along with some nectar and ambrosia."

"Alright, let's take a look", Lee gestured them in.

Olivia was already in there, fixing up a crying kid, about Will's age or maybe a year older, who had a bleeding knee. Olivia was patching him up and giving him the regular runaround of 'you're fine's and 'it'll only hurt a little's. The kid saw Luke and his tears stopped on sight.

"Luke! Luke!" he screamed out. "I got hurt!"

"Sure looks like you did, Dylan", Luke chuckled. "What's the battlewound like?"

The kid, apparently named Dylan, showed his sraped knee off with pride.

"I got it in a sword fight!"

"I'd hate to see what the other guy looks like."

"The other guy was a doll, based on what I heard", Olivia smiled.

"You weren't suppose to say that!"

"Sorry, I'm sure Chiron will have to throw it out once you're done getting your revenge, though."

"You're no fun, Olivia."

"Don't bite the hand that heals you."

"I'm sure you were fighting fiercely", Luke insured. "You do that sidestep I thought you?"

"I fucking nailed it!"

"Language!" Olivia and Luke said in unison, then proceeded to look at each other weird.

Lee choked a laugh from where he was checking Will's knee.

"You're all done Dylan", Olivia patted him on the back. "Make that doll pay for what he did."

"Will's done too", Lee announced. "Fully healed", he told Will.

"Great!", Luke clapped his hands together. "You wanna come show Will around? He just got here yesterday", he asked Dylan.

"Hell yes!"

"Dude!" Olivia sighed.

"Let's go before we get kicked out", Luke laughed and led the two boys out, looking at Olivia awkwardly when he waved her goodbye. She didn't wave back.

Will just barely heard Lee tell Olivia something about no traces and she responded that he might be one of 'theirs'.

Whatever that meant.