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thewidowsghost · 3 years ago

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Daughter of the Sea - Chapter 3

Percy's POV

Confession time: I ditch Grover as soon as we get to the bus terminal.

I know, I know. It was rude. But Grover is kinda freaking me out, looking at me like I am a dead man, muttering, "Why does this always happen?" and "Why does it always have to be the sixth grade?"

Whenever he gets upset, Grover's bladder acts up, so I'm not surprised when, as soon as we get off the bus, he makes me promise to wait for him, then makes a beeline for the restroom. Instead of waiting, I get my suitcase, slip outside, and catch the first taxi uptown.

"East One-hundred-and-forth and First," I tell the driver.

A word about my mother, before you meet her.

Her name is Sally Jackson and she's the best person in the world, which just proves my theory that the best people have the rottenest luck. Her own parents died in a plane crash when she was five, and she was raised by an uncle who didn't care much about her. She wanted to be a novelist, so she spent high school working to save enough money for a college with a good creative-writing program. Then her uncle got cancer, and she had to quit school her senior year to take care of him. After he died, she was left with no money, no family, and no diploma.

The only good break she ever got was meeting mine and (Y/n)'s dad.

We didn't have any memories of him, just this warm sort of glow, maybe the barest trace of his smile. Our mom doesn't like to talk about him because it makes her sad; she has no pictures.

See, they weren't married. She told us he was rich and important, and their relationship was a secret. Then one day, he set sail across the Atlantic on some important journey, and he never came back.

Lost at sea, my mom had told us. Not dead. Lost at sea.

She worked odd jobs, took night classes to get her high school diploma, and raised me and my twin on her own. She never complained or got mad. Not even once. But I knew I wasn't an easy kid.

Finally, she married Gabe Ugliano, who was nice the first thirty seconds we knew him, then showed his true colors as a world-class jerk. When I was young, I nicknamed him Smelly Gabe. I'm sorry, but it's the truth. The guy reeked like moldy garlic pizza wrapped in gym shorts.

Between the two of us, we made my mom's life pretty hard. The way Smelly Gabe treated her, the way he and I got along...well, when I came home is a good example.

I walk into our little apartment, hoping my mom would be home from work. Instead, Smelly Gabe is in the living room, playing poker with his buddies. The television blares ESPN. Chips and beer cans are strewn all over the carpet.

Hardly looking, he says around his cigar, "So, you're home."

"Where's Mom and (Y/n)?" I wonder aloud.

"Your mom's working," he says. "You got any cash?"

That was it. No Welcome back. Good to see you. How has your life been the last six months?

"I don't have any cash," I toll him.

"Here," comes a voice, holding out a ten to the man.

Instantly, a smile sneaks its way onto my face.

"Hey, Perc," my twin sister says with a smile.

(Y/n)'s POV

I grab my brother's suitcase and carry it into his room; I set it down on the bed.

"You wanna come sit in my room?" I ask and Percy nods, a smile still on his face.

I lead the way to my room and when I open the door, Percy sinks into my desk chair.

"Percy?" comes our mom's voice.

She opens my bedroom door.

Our mother can make me feel good just by walking into the room. Her eyes sparkle and change color in the light. Her smile is as warm as a quilt. She's got a few gray streaks mixed in with her long brown hair, but I never think of her as old. When she looks at me, it's like she's seeing all the good things about me, none of the bad. I've never heard her raise her voice or say an unkind word to anyone, not even me or Percy or Gabe.

"Oh, Percy," she hugs her son tightly. "I can't believe it. You've grown since Christmas.

Percy's POV

Her red-white-and-blue Sweet on America uniform smelled like the best things in the world: chocolate, licorice, and all the other stuff she sold at the candy shop in Grand Central. She'd brought me a huge bag of "free samples," the way she always did when I came home.

We sit together on the edge of (Y/n)'s bed. While I attack the blueberry sour strings, (Y/n) stealing a few pieces of candy from the bag, Mom runs her hand through my hair and demands to know everything I hadn't put in my letters. She doesn't mention anything about my getting expelled. She doesn't seem to care about that. But was I okay? Was her little boy doing all right? The whole time, (Y/n)'s eyes were sparkling with amusement.

I tell Mom she is smothering me, and to lay off and all that, but secretly, I was really, really glad to see her and (Y/n).

From the other room, Gabe yells, "Hey, Sally—how about some bean dip, huh?"

I grit my teeth.

My mom is the nicest lady in the world. She should've been married to a millionaire, not to some jerk like Gabe.

For her sake, I try to sound upbeat about my last days at Yancy Academy. I tell her I'm not too down about the expulsion. I'd lasted almost the whole year this time. I'd made some new friends. I'd done pretty well in Latin. And honestly, the fights hadn't been as bad as the headmaster said. I liked Yancy Academy. I really did. I put such a good spin on the year, I almost convince myself. I start choking up, thinking about Grover and Mr. Brunner. Even Nancy Bobofit suddenly doesn't seem so bad.

Until that trip to the museum...

"What?" my mom asks. Her and my sister's eyes tug at my conscience, trying to pull out the secrets. "Did something scare you?"

"No, Mom."

I feel back for lying. I want to tell her about Mrs. Dodds and the three old ladies with the yarn, but I think it'd sound stupid.

Mom purses her lips. Both she and (Y/n) could tell I was holding back, but neither push me.

(Y/n)'s POV

"I have a surprise for both of you," Mom says. "We're going to the beach."

Percy's eyes widen. "Montauk?"

"Three nights - same cabin."

"When?" I ask excitedly.

Mom smiles. "As soon as I get changed."

I can't believe it. Mom, Percy, and I hadn't been to Montauk the last two summers, because Gabe said there wasn't enough money.

Gabe appears in my doorway and growls, "Bean dip, Sally? Didn't you hear me?"

"I've got it," I offer, rising from the bed and walking out into the kitchen to make the dip for Mom.

An hour later, we are ready to leave.

Gabe takes a break from his poker game long enough to watch me and Percy lug Mom's bags to the car. He keeps griping and groaning about losing her cooking - and most importantly, his '78 Camaro - for the whole weekend.

"Not a scratch on this car, you two," he warns us as I load the last bag. "Not one little scratch."

Like we'd be the ones driving. We're twelve. But that didn't matter to Gabe. If a seagull so much as pooped on his paint job, he'd find a way to blame us.

We get into the Camero, me in the passenger's seat, and Percy in the back.

Our rental cabin is on the south shore, way out at the tip of the Long Island. It is a little pastel box with faded curtains, half-sunken into the dunes. There is always sand in the sheets and spiders in the cabinets, and most of the time the sea is too cold to swim in.

Percy and I love the place.

We'd been going there since Percy and I were babies. Our mom had been going even longer. She never exactly said, but I knew why the beach was special to her. It was the place she'd met mine and Percy's dad.

As we get closer to Montauk, Mom seems to grow younger, years of worry and work disappearing from her face. Her eyes turning the color of the sea.

We arrive at the cabin, open all the cabin windows, and go through our usual cleaning routine. We walk on the beach, feed blue corn chips to the seagulls, and much on jelly beans, blue saltwater taffy, and all the other free samples my mom had brought from work.

I guess I should explain the blue food.

See, Gabe had once told Mom there was no such thing. They had this fight, which seemed like a small thing at the time. But ever since, Mom had gone out of her way to eat blue. She baked blue birthday cakes. She mixed blueberry smoothies. She bought blue-corn tortilla chips and brought home blue candy from the shop. This - alone with keeping her maiden name, Jackson, rather than calling herself Mrs. Ugliano - was proof that she wasn't totally suckered by Gabe. She did have a rebellious streak, like Percy.

When it gets dark, we make a fire. We roast hot dogs and marshmallows. Mom tells us stories about when she was a kid, back before her parents died in the plane crash. She tells us about the books she wanted to write when she gets enough money to quit the candy shop.

Finally, it seems that Percy gets the nerve to ask about what was always on our minds when we come to Montauk - our father. Mom's eyes go all misty. I figure that she was going to tell us the same things she always said, but neither Percy and I ever got tired of hearing them.

"He was kind, Percy," Mom says. "Tall, handsome, and powerful. But gentle, two. You have his black hair, you know, Percy, and you both have his green eyes."

Mom fishes a blue jelly bean out of her candy bag. "I wish he could see you, Percy, (Y/n). He would be so proud."

Percy's POV

I wondered how she could say that. What's so great about me? A dyslexic, hyperactive boy with a D+ report card, kicked out of the school for the sixth time in six years.

"How old were we?" I ask. "I mean . . . when he left?"

Mom watches the flames. "He was only with me for one summer, Percy. Right here at this beach. This cabin."

"But...he knew us as a baby."

"No, honey. He knew I was expecting twins, but he never saw you two. He had to leave before you were born."

I try to square that with the fact I seem to remember . . . something about my father. A warm glow. A smile.

(Y/n) and I had always assumed that he had known us as babies. Mom had never said it outright, but still, we'd always felt it must be true. Now, to be told that he'd never even seen us . . .

I realize I feel angry at my father. Maybe it was stupid, but I resent him for going on that ocean voyage, for not having the guts to marry Mom. He'd left us, and now we are stuck with Smelly Gable.

"Are you sending me away again?" I ask her. "To another boarding school."

She pulls a marshmallow from the fire.

"I don't know, honey." Mom's voice is heavy. "I think . . . I think we'll have to do something."

"Because you don't want me around?" I regret the words as soon as they come out of my mouth. (Y/n) bows her head, looking at the ground and Mom's eyes well with tears.

Mom takes my hand and squeezes it tight. "Oh, Percy, no. I - I have to, honey. For your own good. I have to send you away."

Her words remind me of what Mr. Brunner had said - that it was best for me to leave Yancy.

"Because I'm not normal," I say.

"You say that as if it's a bad thing, Percy. But you don't realize how important you are. I thought Yancy Academy would be far enough away. I thought you'd finally be safe.

"Safe from what?"

She meets my eyes, and a flood of memories comes back to me - all the weird, scary things that had ever happened to me and (Y/n), some of which we'd tried to forget.

During third grade, a man in a black trench coat had stalked us on the playground. When the teachers threatened to call the police, he went away growling, but no one believed (Y/n) when she'd told them that under his broad-brimmed hat, the man only had one eye, right in the middle of his head.

Before that—a really early memory. I was in preschool, and a teacher accidentally put me down for a nap in a cot that a snake had slithered into. My mom screamed when she came to pick me up and found me playing with a limp, scaly rope I'd somehow managed to strangle to death with my meaty toddler hands.

In every single school, something creepy had happened, something unsafe, and I was forced to move.

I know I should tell my mom about the old ladies at the fruit stand, and Mrs. Dodds at the art museum, about my weird hallucination that I had sliced my math teacher into dust with a sword. But I can't make myself tell her. I have a strange feeling the news would end our trip to Montauk, and I don't want that.

"I've tried to keep you as close to me as I could," my mom says. "They told me that was a mistake. But there's only one other option, Percy—the place your father wanted to send you two. And I just...I just can't stand to do it."

(Y/n)'s POV

"Our father wanted us to go to a special school?" I ask, a little confused.

"Not a school," she says softly. "A summer camp."

My head starts spinning. Why would my dad - who hadn't even stayed around long enough to see me and Percy be born - talk about a summer camp?

"I'm sorry, (Y/n)," she said, seeing the look in my eyes. "But I can't talk about it. I—I couldn't send you two to that place. It might mean saying good-bye to you for good."

"For good?" Percy asks. "But if it's only a summer camp.

Mom turns towards the fire, and I know from her expression that if either of us ask her any more questions, she would start to cry.

I have a weird, vivid dream. It is storming on the beach, and two beautiful animals, a white horse, and a golden eagle are trying to kill each other at the edge of the surf. The eagle swoops down and slashes the horse's muzzle with its huge talons. The horse rears up and kicks at the eagle's wings. As they fight, the ground rumbles and a monstrous voice chuckles somewhere and beneath the earth, goading the animals to fight harder.

I run towards them, knowing I have to stop them from killing each other, but I am running in slow motion. I know I am too late. I see the eagle dive down, its beak aimed at the horse's wide eyes, and I scream, No!

I wake with a start.

Outside, it really is storming, the kind of storm that cracks trees and blows down houses. There is no horse or eagle on the beach, just lightning making false daylight, and twenty-foot waves pounding the dunes like artillery.

With the next thunderclap, my mom and Percy wake. Mom sits up, eyes wide, and says, "Hurricane."

I know that's crazy. Long Island never sees hurricanes this early in the summer. But the ocean seems to have forgotten. Over the roar of the wind, I hear a distant bellow, an angry, tortured sound that makes my hair stand on end.

Percy's POV

Then a much closer noise, like mallets in the sand. A desperate voice - someone yelling, pounding on our cabin door.

My mother springs out of bed in her nightgown and throws open the lock.

Grover stands framed in the doorway against a backdrop of pouring rain. But he isn't . . . he isn't exactly Grover.

"Searching all night," he gasps. "What were you thinking?"

My mother looks at me in terror - not scared of Grover, but of why he'd come.

"Percy," she says, having to shout to be heard over the rain. "What happened at school? What didn't you tell me?"

I am frozen, looking at Grover. I can't understand what I'm seeing, and I see (Y/n) looking at my friend.

"O Zeu kai alloi theoi!" he yells. "It's right behind me! Didn't you tell her?"

I am too shocked to register that he'd just cursed in Ancient Greek, and I'd understood him perfectly. I am too shocked to wonder how Grover had gotten here by himself in the middle of the night. Because Grover doesn't have pants on - and where his legs should be . . . where his legs should be . . .

Mom looks at me sternly and talks in a tone she'd never used before, and (Y/n) flinches: "Percy. Tell me now!"

I stammer something about the old ladies at the fruit stand and Mrs. Dodds, and my mom stares at me, her face deathly pale in the flashes of lightning.

She grabs her purse, tosses me and (Y/n) our rain jackets, and says, "Get the car. All three of you. Go!"

Grover runs for the Camero - but he isn't running, exactly. He is trotting, shaking his shaggy hindquarters, and suddenly his story about a muscular disorder in his legs makes sense to me. I understand how he can run so fast and still limp when he walks.

Because where his feet should be, there are no feet. There are cloven hooves.

Word Count: 3041 words

#percy jackson x sister reader #percy jackson and the olympians reader insert #female reader #fem reader #reader insert

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yikesharringrove · 5 years ago

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the fic you wrote for my last prompt was amazing, ty 😭 can you do 50 + 56 this time please? and if you want to work in dyslexic!steve too that would be awesome! 🥰

You are speaking my fuckin’ language, dyslexic Steve is my ABSOLUTE jam. Honestly, whenever I write Steve, he’s dyslexic, although sometimes it’s not mentioned because it’s not important to Harry’s journey @ jk rowling

Thank you for your request! I’m really glad you liked the other one I wrote! You’re anonymous so I don’t know which one that is but I really enjoyed writing them all! Sorry for my manic energy rn.

Something a little different, it’s modern au! This is probably nothing like what you were thinking so I’m sorry, but I kinda love it ngl.

50: Secret Admirer

56: “I don’t know if I should be flattered or offended.”

Prompt list!

Billy spent three and a half hours reading through every single tweet on the account.

There were so fucking many of them. The earliest one was timestamped from four days ago, so obviously, this person had no life outside of tweeting.

Tweeting about Billy.

He had a few personal favorites. He had retweeted them to his account, figuring may as well play it up, make a joke outta everything.

@ImHardForHargrove: sorry WHOMST gave you the RIGHT to have eyes that fuckin blue im YELLING

@ImHardForHargrove: watchin u play basketball is a religious experience y are ur arms so BIG hhnnnng

And Billy’s absolute favorite, which he pinned right at the top of his account

@ImHardForHargrove: ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass

Billy knew he looked good. Knew he turned heads wherever he went. He did that on purpose. But realizing someone at Hawkins High had set up a thirst account for him, well.

“I don’t know if I should be flattered or offended.” Billy had explained the situation to Robin, letting her go through the account on his phone. “Like, It’s kinda nice, whoever this guy is, he’s got a crush. But also like, It’s kinda creepy. Plus he’s objectifying me,” Billy was talking through his sandwich.

Robin made a face of disgust. “Why do you keep saying ‘he’? All of the girls in this fucking school are practically drooling for you.”

“Hard for Hargrove, Robin. I know you’re like, revolted by the peen and whatever but that does not excuse a lack of basic sexual education and anatomy.” She gagged at him. Honest to God, gagged. He thought she was gonna spew all over the table.

“If I ever hear you call it a peen ever again, it’s on sight Hargrove.” Heather plopped herself down next to Robin, kissing her cheek before zeroing in on Billy’s phone, still in Robin’s hand.

“Have you guys worked out who it could be yet?” Her eyes were wide at Billy.

“Billy says he thinks its a guy even though people with penises aren’t necessarily men.” Robin gave him a pointed look.

“Yeah Robin, I know that, but, I don’t know I just think it’s a guy penis-having person.”

Heather narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you actually think that, or are you just hoping in that goblin little brain of yours that this account is Steve Harrington’s.” Billy could feel the heat spread down his neck.

“Billy, I know Steve is like, the only out guy in this whole fucking town, but you can do way better than him. PLUS, I feel like it makes more sense if the person running this account wasn’t out and had to channel their gay yearning through social media.”

“First of all Robin, you have this vendetta against Steve that I don’t get. He’s a nice guy. He’s kinda dopey, kinda dumb, but he’s like, sweet and shit. Second, I’m not out, so it still could be him because he doesn’t think I would, like, accept his advances or whatever. Hence, gay internet yearning.” The chime of the bell sent them packing their lunches, Billy’s phone vibrated in Robin’s hand. She rolled her eyes when he realized he turned on notifications for the account

“Get a fucking life you loser.” She slapped the phone into his hand. He opened the new tweet with embarrassing zeal.

@ImHardForHargrove: i saw u talking with ur mouth full and it was yucky but i was still 🥺🥺

His head shot up, trying to see who would have been facing him during lunch, but the cafeteria was almost empty.

The rest of the week Billy took deliberate care of every interaction he had with anyone. Observing who was in his surroundings, and making note of everything he did and said. He took extra caution around Steve, wanting to spot any minute detail that could give away who ran the account.

The account started blowing up. People were retweeting like fucking crazy. Everywhere he went, he was being asked if he’s seen it, like he doesn’t regularly retweet the good ones. The search for the owner of the account had spread throughout the whole school. A few girls even tried to claim the account was theirs, but every time that happened the account would tweet out something to discredit whoever made the claim, proving them a liar.

Billy was starting to lose hope it was Harrington. The tweets were coming at all different times, posted whenever the person thought about it, so Billy was losing track of who was near when he said or did something. And the tweets were always about stupid stuff Billy didn’t register doing. On Wednesday night the account said

@ImHardForHargrove: hi when you chew on your pencil and it makes me 🥴 that is all thx for comin to my ted talk

Friday afternoon gave them all:

@ImHardForHargrove: walked past ur classroom and u were asleep ive never wanted to CUDDLE someone so bad in my LIFE

But Saturday, Saturday renewed all hope for Harrington Billy could possibly have. Lauren Kranz was throwing a party. It was the first real rager in a while, so everyone was there, and everyone was sloshed. Everyone but Billy, who’d agreed to be designated driver for Robin and Heather like some kinda idiot.

He was brooding on the back porch when his phone went off. The account was active, and the owner was drunk.

@ImHardForHargrove: I can seeeeee u oyt the windw I wan u 2 FUC ME. RAW DOG.

@ImHardForHargrove: srry ur so beauitiful nd THICCC

@ImHardForHargrove: I wana shoot my shot but idk if u lik bois

@ImHardForHargrove: (ys i am boi)

@ImHardForHargrove: nd i dont wana get my heart broken agin 😥

He was right about it being a guy. He was right about him being too nervous to approach him outright. His brain was screaming stevestevesteve at him. Hawkins was shook when Steve came out as bisexual in his sophomore year. He was the golden boy, a real jock. He was NOT the kind of guy people would assume queer in a small midwestern town.

He was kind of a douchebag, dumping one girl for another, sleeping with her and never calling again. But then he settled down with this guy from the University of Indianapolis for a few months until Steve caught him cheating. Apparently, he had slashed the guy’s tires. Billy was impressed.

The next year came Wheeler, who only stuck around long enough to make sure Steve was nice and whipped before she fucked off on him too. So Steve retreated. Spent more time with middle schoolers than anybody else. Didn’t want to put his heart on the line anymore until he knew it wouldn’t be stomped on. Billy could respect that.

Billy couldn’t risk being out in a town like Hawkins. Word always had a way of getting right back to his dad, and in a tiny hick town with nothing better to do than gossip, it was usually only a matter of hours before Neil heard something he didn’t like.

@ImHardForHargrove: srry 4 bad typing rn. drunk nd dysl exic ren’t a happy combo

Billy’s heart stopped. The drunken idiot was giving himself away. Maybe if he sat here staring at the account long enough, enough would be revealed he could figure it all out like a shitty drunk episode of Blue’s Clues.

He was so focused on Twitter, refreshing his feed, again and again, he didn’t notice a very drunk, and very unsteady Steve Harrington stumbling out the back door towards him. Until he crashed into his back.

“Sorry, Bill!” Billy had Steve by the shoulders trying to keep him upright. “Heyy I have a question for you.” Steve grabbed one of Billy’s hands and veered over to the table and chairs arranged neatly on the small patio. When they were sitting, Steve kept ahold of Billy’s hand.

“Hi.” Steve was smiling like a little kid. Billy was in fucking love.

“hey, Harrington. What was your question.”

“So-oo. I have this friend. A very good friend. Super close. And he has a big ol�� crush on you but he’s too scared to ask you himself because he keeps getting his heart fuckin’ broken so he wanted me to ask. Are you into guys?” It’s a miracle Billy understood any of that, every word blending into the next.

“That depends.” Billy leaned in, running his tongue along his bottom lip. He saw Steve take in a sharp breath, following the movement with his glazed eyes. He knew Steve was talking about himself, he just wanted to rile him up a little. Make him blush first. “This friend you’re talkin’ about. He’s our age? Like you’re not trying to set me up with one a’ your kids, right?” Steve physically recoiled.

“NO, you fuckin’ pedo. I’m NOT trying to set you up with a fuckin’, fuckin’ middle schooler. My friend is, uh eighteen. He’s a senior.” Unless Tommy fuckin’ H. suddenly had a penchant for dick Billy didn’t know about, Steve was 100% talking about himself.

“Well, if he’s as pretty as you are, I’d love to go out with him sometime.” Billy winked. Steve went red.

“Okay, but like, does that mean you’d go out with me? Like I’m as pretty as me, right? Because I was talking about me. Not ‘a friend’ I was talking about me. Steve.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured that out. You know, I was hoping it was you running that Twitter. Any time you’d tweet out something you wanted to do with me, I was always picturin’ doing it with you, Baby.” Billy was practically purring. “Especially all the shit you wanted me to do TO you.” Steve gave something between a whine and a groan and flopped himself onto Billy’s lap, straddling him with very little grace.

“Thank God. ‘Cause you’re so fucking hot I’d let you do anything to me. Anything, Bill.” Billy smiled softly at him.

“Then let me take you home. Let me put you in bed to sleep off all this. And let me take you to breakfast tomorrow. Something nice and greasy for your hangover tummy.” Steve was a puddle in Billy’s lap. “C’mon, Drunky, git your ass up.” Steve just giggled and muttered Drunky Skunky under his breath.

Billy sighed and stood up, hefting Steve up with him.

“Bil-ly,” Steve whined. “You’re so strong, this is so fucking hot. I gotta tweet about this.”

“Tweet it later, Sweet Thing.”

It took Billy for-fucking-ever to find Robin and Heather (they were making out in the basement with the stoners). But Steve chirped and cooed into his ear, so happy Billy could lift him and hold him like it was nothing.

The last tweet from the account was timestamped from Sunday evening.

@ImHardForHargrove: Hi this is Steve. Billy’s my boyfriend now 🥰#ThirstWorks

#I'm gonna reblog this in the morning too #Im v proud of it I want people to SEE IT #harringrove #steve harrington #steve harrington x billy hargrove #billy hargrove x steve harrington #billy hargorve #modern au #modern harringrove #yikes writes #harringrove prompts #Harringrove Prompts list #harringrove prompt fill #prompt fill #prompt fic

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miraclesnail · 4 years ago

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1000 Ways and I Can Name You One

A thousand ways to tell the Stoll brothers apart and I can name you one. Travis and Connor centric oneshots featuring characters from PJO/HOO.

Chapter 32: Michael - Food

Plus the whole 9.7k fic under the read more but with funky formatting

Michael — Food

Michael (14) — Travis (13) — Connor (13)

Early June 2007

Pre Sea of Monsters

[8:07 AM]

The whole drive to Camp, Lee has been saying the weirdest things.

‘This camp is special.’

‘This camp is for children of Greek gods and goddesses.’

‘This camp helps the said children harness the godly gifts inherited from said gods and goddesses.’

‘This camp is top secret and no matter what, you cannot tell your mother about Camp Half Blood. Not a word. Not a complaint. Not even a compliment. Michael? Are you listening? Ar—are you laughing?! Michael, I’m not joking around. This is not a joke.’

Did Michael take Lee seriously? Not at all. Not even to humor him. What does Lee take him for? An idiot? Like, he doesn’t really have many friends at school (none actually) but even he knows when someone is trying to pull a prank on him. Lee typically goes for jump scares, but it’s good to see him broaden his horizon and try new things.

Yeah.

Michael wholeheartedly believes Lee is 100% kidding around.

It’s kind of a shock when he walks through the camp and sees flowers being grown in someone’s palms, men with hooves and horns trotting around, a goddamn girl rising from the lake like some kind of b-grade horror movie but minus the sunken eyes and gray skin and tattered white dress.

It’s a big shock. Kinda earth-shattering actually. Very disorientating. It’s taking all his mental capability to process the fact that the Greek gods are real , that the Greek myths are real , that his atheist beliefs are all wrong and holy fuck?? God is real .

It’s probably why when that SOB Shermie or Sherlock or whatever his name is picked a fight, he welcomed the easy distraction and picked one right back.

In hindsight, he should have maybe exhibited more self-control.

“He shoved me.”

The utter stare of incredulity has Michael quickly rephrasing his initial statement, fiddling with a loose string on his t-shirt.

“He shoved me first. ”

“And so you decided to turn it into a slugfest?” Lee says, arms crossing as they stand on Cabin 11’s porch.

“To be fair, to be fair,” Michael says, scrambling for excuses as his eyes dart from cabin to cabin, “to be really fair, that Sherm-guy started it.”

Lee didn’t buy it, not that Michael expected him too.

“You promised me, Michael,” Lee says, disappointed, and Michael looks away with guilt.

He did promise Lee. Right before they left the apartment complex, Lee explicitly said, “Promise me, Michael, that you’ll be on your best behavior?” And he said he will.

“Mike, I don’t want any phone calls from the head honcho again, okay?” his mom said, exasperated. He said there wouldn’t be any.

“Mikey, please tell us all the fights you’ll get into!” his four little siblings — Leo, Raphie, Carly, and Sam — screamed together with cheeky, smug, knowing grins as he got into the car with Lee. He said ‘in your dreams.’

Not even one full hour and he failed two out of three. Possibly all three if Travis and Connor decide to hand his ass to the director.

“I’m really sorry, Lee,” Michael says, head lowering, “I promise for real this time. I won’t get into any more fights. I swear.”

Like clockwork, the frown and crossed arms drop for a bright smile and a hair ruffling, like he actually believed Michael can do it. Lee’s weird like that. He believes in people and their lies despite what their actions are saying, believes in him even with the 14 years of experience that Michael cannot follow through on that promise.

It’s that same idealistic, stupid belief that has Lee clinging to the hope his birth mom will one day want to actually be a mom.

Michael slinks back into the cabin as quietly as he can. Miranda catches his eye and waves him over, patting the empty spot next to her. Michael hesitates (still remembers the way she tosses a boy a whole head taller than her like nothing) but thought better of it.

The promise, he thinks. Remember your promise.

He sees Sherman sitting on Miranda’s other side. As he slides down to sit cross-legged, he’s mentally preparing himself for a jeer. But Sherman is just staring at Miranda, wide-eyed and star-struck and totally ignoring him which is perfectly fine with Michael.

Miranda angles her body towards him, a slight smile on her face as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I just want to warn you that you’re in Connor’s bad book right now.”

“Should I be worried?” Michael says, glancing at the brothers talking on one of the upper bunk beds.

To which Miranda smiles sweetly. “You should keep your head down. I heard he gets a bit prank-crazy with people he doesn’t like.”

A sharp whistle brings his attention upfront.

“Okay, so hey, everybody! Exciting first day, I know. Welcome to Camp Half Blood,” one of the pair says with a big grin, standing on top of the upper bunk bed. The other sits at the edge, feet swinging over. “We’re already late for breakfast so I’ll make this super-duper quick. My name is Travis Stoll. I am one of your head counselors. This is Connor, my little brother.”

Connor waves, his smile matching Travis’s.

“I’m also your counselor. Any problems you guys have whether it be life problems, camp problems, prank problems, you can come to us. Lucky for you guys, you have two of us. Most cabins just have one,” Connor says.

“Where’s Luke?” someone in the back yells.

“Luke is gone now. If you see him, either in person or in a dream, tell us right away. Please come talk to me after this meeting if you want more details,” Connor answers, still cheerful but Michael kinda feels like his words are too curt. There’s definitely bad blood between this Luke person and them.

“Moving on,” Travis follows after, “the beds are all taken. Any more fighting over them will result in the instigator getting a timeout. For everybody else, sleeping bags are available and we will make room. Your stuff can be placed in the closet or tucked in your sleeping bag. I know this cabin’s patron is the god of thievery, but please show respect and decency towards your fellow cabinmates and don’t steal from each other. Steal from other cabins instead. Apollo’s kids are the easiest to steal from. So are Aphrodite’s if you want to practice before moving onto the big leagues. Athena’s and Hephaestus’s cabins are where the real challenge is.”

“What about the claiming rate? Someone said the gods would claim us more now,” a girl asks, standing from her sitting position with a bounce, hope in her eyes.

“Uh, um...” Travis falters, looking down at Connor for guidance. It’s hard to notice but Connor bites his cheeks and just barely shakes his head.

“Claiming, yeah. I’m not too sure about that. I’ll talk with Chi — Tantalus about that. Tantalus is the activity director now in case you all don’t know,” Travis answers.

There’s a chorus of groans.

Someone grumbles, “It’s been years.”

“What happened to Chiron?” another asks.

“Temporarily relieved of duty due to, uh, an investigation of his effectiveness on the job. Which, if you ask me, Chiron has been doing a fantastic job of and we should all write a very strongly worded letter to Zeus to get him back on his job.”

A boy in front of Michael shoots his hand up.

“I heard Luke went all ‘Anakin Skywalker’ on us and joined Kr—”

Connor blows an air horn and interrupts the boy before he could finish. Travis’s smile is strained as he says, “Okay, first rule on Camp Half Blood for the foreseeable future! No mentioning any of the bad guys by name. Names have power. Instead we will refer to him by initials. The evil titan guy will be called K.T. K for his first letter and T because he controls time.”

“Can we change it to K.K. Slider?” the same boy says.

Beside him, a girl socks the boy in the arm. “No! How dare you sully K.K.’s name like this?”

But Travis is already jumping down his bed, landing with grace. “K.K. Slider it is. That’s all for the morning announcements. Now everybody gets in a straight line. We’re going to the pavilion for breakfast and it is the best thing ever. You can literally get whatever you want. All you need is the power of imagination. Well, imagination and common sense. Don't imagine something you won’t eat. It’s not a contest to create the grossest food.”

Connor follows down after his brother with a grin and shrugs. “But if it was, I would win.”

Growing up, Michael is what everybody called a ‘problem child.’ Absolutely zero friends not helped by him picking and starting fights for the ‘smallest’ reasons. No remarkable talent except for his athleticism. Mediocre to poor grades due to inability to focus (and it doesn’t help that he’s dyslexic and that his teachers all hate him and that he has a homing device for all the school’s bullies).

The teachers blamed his mother for his attitude and academic abilities. But they don’t know shit. His mother helps him with his homework after coming back from work. His mother searches for ways to help him manage his ADHD and dyslexia. His mother is raising five kids all by herself with zero help from his deadbeat dad. Going to their extracurricular activities, funding their education, making time to have game and movie nights. His mother is literally Superman for finding time to do all that across five children. No. Make that six. Mom always attends Lee’s band performances and includes him with all their activities and outings and supports him the way Lee’s own mom should be doing.

Michael’s pretty sure his mom isn't the problem.

Besides his four younger siblings are literal angels. Clearly, the problem is him. Not his mother.

That’s why going into high school he had every intention of becoming a better son, a better brother, and a better student. Set a better reputation for his family, you know?

Unfortunately, this whole mess with him being half-god kinda put a pause on his plans.

And put every weird thing Lee ever did into perspective.

That one time Lee slapped his brand new Nokia cellphone out of his hands and ended his cell’s short life by stomping the hell out of it? Those dozens of times Lee lectured him about not using technology with his stupid excuse of ‘it rots your brain, Michael. Don’t touch it,’ despite Lee himself using a phone and a laptop on a daily basis?? Those hundreds of times Lee excused himself from dinner, movies, and the middle of game nights to ‘use the bathroom’ and coming back with a thin layer of gold dust??? Those weird dreams he gets of standing on top of a broken, tethering bridge and falling thousands of meters to his death in a ravine and Lee saying, ‘it’s just a dream. Don’t worry about it’ with a high-pitched, forced laugh that says he should be worrying????

Now he sees what it was all about. Obviously a metaphor for the earth-shattering revelation of his heritage.

He’s half- god . A demigod. Some part of him came from an immortal being.

It makes him see his dad in a whole new light.

Like, Michael always knows his dad is an asshole, leaving his mom and whatnot.

But now? Knowing his dad is a literal god in the Greek myths he read back in 6th grade? Those freaky assholes with their crazy sex adventures and ego-driven tantrums?

At least the fantasy asshole dad he had in mind didn’t commit mass genocide or is an egotistical, narcissistic jerk or had sex with their siblings, parents, animals, and who knows what else freaky shit the gods like to stick their dick in to.

And the most bizarre thing is that he’s expected to honor them by throwing the best parts of his meal into the fire.

Well, he’s not gonna.

“Throw your food into the fire, Mike,” one of his counselors says beside him as he tosses a bag of M&M into the flames.

“Why should I?”

“So the gods don’t get angry,” says the other counselor, throwing half of his strawberries — Michael stares at the plate. It’s just strawberries. Nothing else. That’s not healthy — into the fire before turning to help the others.

“They’re gonna threaten us if we don’t worship them? Sounds like a pretty unhealthy parent-child relationship,” Michael says.

The one that tossed the M&Ms shrugs. “Just toss something in. It can be anything. Even something you ha— don’t care about. That’s what I do. I don’t think Hermes minds.”

But what Michael hears is that this Hermes fella doesn’t give a shit.

A small boy with round glasses wedges in between them, frowning, and tosses in a sausage link. “Don’t listen to Connor. You’re never going to be claimed if you listen to him.”

Connor shrugs again. “Hermes hasn’t disowned me yet.”

“That’s because Hermes is busy with other things. The other gods don’t have a child plotting to usurp—” the kid starts to say but at Connor’s harsh nudging and loud cough and not so subtle nod towards the others in the pavilion and (kind of scary) glare, he shuts up. A second passes before the boy says to him, “Everybody likes to feel appreciated, Michael. Even gods. It’s good to remind them we’re here for them. Now more than ever.”

Michael frowns at the exchange. Child? Usurp? Usurp who? The gods? Yeah. Like that is even possible.

“What were you trying to say—”

“So I see you got over your embarrassing loss,” Connor interrupts with this infuriating smug grin. “Man, I would have hidden my face for like a year after the way I kicked your ass.”

And just like that, Michael forgets everything but that day back in March when he met the brothers. It’s an obvious bait and Michael just lunges for it like the dumb fish he is.

“No, I kicked your ass. Kicked it all the way down the stairs,” Michael huffs at Connor’s heel as they walk to the table. Connor slides into the first open spot he sees and Michael sits down across from him, elbow to elbow to his cabinmates. They need a bigger picnic table.

“Ass?” Besides Connor, Miranda’s head swivels to face them, her smile innocent but Michael knows better now. Behind that sweet smile is a demon. “Who kicked whose ass? ”

“We met Michael back in March when we hopped in Lee’s car and we’re not using that language, Mikey,” Travis says, sitting down beside Connor slurping a mouthful of cereal.

“So? Who won?” Miranda asks, leaning over to slide scrambled eggs onto Travis’s plate and picking off 75% of Travis’s many, many strawberries from his plate.

Travis stares at the egg with disdain. “Connor won, of course. And I don’t want that. Take it back.”

“Will said you need something more than just strawberries in the morning. Doctor’s orders. Disobey and you’ll feel his wrath,” Miranda says.

For half-a-second, Michael thinks Travis is going to fight but he turns back in his seat and just grabs his fork.

“There’s nothing wrong with just strawberries for breakfast,” Travis grumbles, stabbing his fork into the scrambled eggs. “Right? Nothing wrong with strawberries.”

“I think that depends on the quantity but don’t worry, Travis. I totally got you,” Connor says, pulling out a basket of strawberries and ducking from Miranda’s sudden lunge for it. With ease, Connor holds Miranda back while Travis indulges in his unhealthy obsession with a satisfied, blissed smile.

Michael thinks of the half Travis threw into the fire and before he knows it, he’s saying, “You really love strawberries, don’t you?”

Travis nods, mouth full. “Favorite food in the world.”

“Then you must like your—”

But Travis’s eyes shoot to a girl entering the pavilion, heading straight towards the table with the plant-speaking kid, and Michael knows his words are falling on deaf ears. Travis nudges Connor and whispers into his ear, a shit-eating grin sprouting on Connor’s face as he looks over his shoulder.

Miranda catches their grins and stands, yelling, “Katie, wait!”

But Katie sits down and Michael hears what is probably the world’s loudest, strongest whoopee cushion rip through the pavilion. Travis and Connor laugh as Katie stands back up, cushion in hand and face flushed tomato red.

“Welcome back, Miss Tattletale!” Travis yells.

“That was months ago, you pieces of — of — fertilizers! Give me a break!” Katie roars. The ground rumbles as a tree sprouts beside the table, hooking Travis and Connor up by the back of their shirts. They’re way too calm as they’re dangling several feet in the air. In unison, both brothers pull out squirt guns and aim them at Katie.

And it is definitely not water judging by the smell.

[9 AM, Sword Fighting]

Lee said he was a demigod. That monsters are real. And that they sometimes must fight off the monsters that come to eat them.

Michael never really thought about what it entailed. What they’re supposed to fight the monsters with.

Dimly, he’s aware of his counselors talking. Something about introduction to swordsmanship and the bare basics plus safety today, then tomorrow they will be training with Ares? Apollo? ‘Some god with the letter A’ cabin and learning a few techniques. He isn’t really paying attention to them as he stares at the blade in his hands.

It’s real. It’s a real, metal blade. And by the looks of it, everyone has one. Even the little 9-year-old. What the fuck? That’s how old the twins, Sam and Carly, are and holy shit. The thought of them with a real sword? The thought of them having to use it to battle some mythical monster? It's enough to make him vomit.

“Michael? Michael, hey.” Someone is snapping their fingers in front of his eyes and he knocks the hand away, glaring at … at … well, it’s either Travis or Connor, staring at him blankly, but he can’t tell who’s who yet. They should have worn nametags.

“What?”

“Have you ever used a sword before?”

Michael kinda felt it should have been obvious, but he shakes his head.

“Okay, well imagine you’re holding a kitchen knife and you’re cutting some veggies for a veggie soup but instead of a broccoli, it’s a monster and instead of small dainty cuts, you’re making big, wide, full power slashes. So nothing like what I told you to imagine. Forget I said that. You want to grip it like this with both hands—” Connor (or Travis?) demonstrates and Michael mimics the action, “—for the most control. You can try one-handed but the strikes tend to be flimsy at best unless you’re gifted like Clarisse or Percy. You want to kill the monsters as fast and in one go as you can while still being safe. Here’s—” he is walked over to a hand-made, hand-stuffed dummy with straws sticking out its seams. A happy face on a yellow sticky note stuck to where it’s head is. “—a practice dummy for you. Give it a few swings and get a feel for the weapon. I’ll be right back with more pointers after helping everyone. You good to be by yourself a bit?”

Then Travis (Connor?) is leaving after Michael hesitates to say ‘no, I’m not good’, taking off with a thumbs up and a crooked grin.

Michael almost called him back, but they’re a big cabin. Only a quarter of them have been gotten too, the other three-fourths goofing around while waiting their turn. Michael has never been to a summer camp before, nevermind one as strange as this, but he guesses they’re on a tight schedule.

So he looks down, readjusts his grip, and swings, missing spectacularly, losing his balance, and nearly taking his eye out.

[10:00 AM, Archery]

Michael didn’t need much help here.

The bow feels right in his hands. His body knows what to do, his arms pull back the bow like it has done this a million times and his first shot lands dead center in the bullseye.

The next five shots are the same.

“Woah,” his counselor mutters, face scrunched in thought before it lightens up, blue eyes shining with a gleam. “You’re a natural. Hey, you wanna be the archery tutor? I’ve never seen anyone aim so well and had such perfect form. Not even Annabeth.”

Michael lowers the bow and tries to figure out how he did what he just did despite never once using a bow before in his life.

[11:00 AM, Greek Mythology]

Michael knew Lee was a decent teacher, tutoring him in both English and Math, so it’s no surprise he’s decent at teaching Greek mythology too. All the campers are in the amphitheater with hand made wooden desks courtesy of the girl from breakfast. Lee is in the center with an overhead projector just having the time of his life explaining what each of the 12 Olympians plus Hades represents with a mind map.

He tries to pay attention. He really did. He gets through listening to Zeus, Poseidon, Hades, and part of Demeter’s history before his attention is pulled away by Travis and Connor. They’re far away from the group, beside the cabins, hunched over a … birdbath? It looks like they’re arguing to the birdbath, but Michael squints and with his perfect vision sees that there is a person. On the surface of the birdbath. A girl with blonde hair. There’s a girl in the water of the birdbath.

There’s a girl. In the water. Of a birdbath.

Maybe he shouldn’t be so surprised. Food pops into existence with a thought. A girl can grow fullass trees without blinking an eye. Miranda can toss a boy almost twice her weight over her shoulder.

So what if the camp has a Moaning Myrtle?

Before he knows it, Lee is done, Michael misses the other 8 Olympian’s tales, and everybody is packing up their notes to head back to their respective cabins.

They’re ending early to have enough time for a tour of the camp. Which is kind of telling where their priorities are when they hold training first over the tour.

It’s kind of even more telling what the camp’s view of safety is when there’s a climbing wall that spews lava and when asked about why there’s lava, Travis and Connor say cheerfully in unison, ‘it’s more exciting that way.’

“Hey, Travis,” a kid starts, tugging on one of the brother’s sleeves.

“I’m Connor, but yeah?” Connor corrects, turning to face the camper.

“Um, I heard from someone in the Ares Cabin that because of us, we’re in war with Kro—K.K. Is that true?”

Connor smiles and shakes his head. “No. We didn’t do anything.”

He didn’t refute the war part though.

And as if Connor hears his thoughts, he addresses the cabin, “You don’t have to fight if you don’t want to. But monsters are still a thing so you still have to go to the morning training. No way out of those. Sorry.”

[12:30, Lunch]

Michael is starting to think Travis is some kind of strawberry fanatic and that’s putting it lightly.

There’s another concerning amount of strawberries on his plate coupled with a grilled cheese sandwich and a salad, yes, but that’s way too many strawberries for one day.

“No such thing,” Travis says, scraping half of his ungodly amount into the fire.

“I think there is a limit though.” Connor shrugs, tossing a bag of M&M right after.

Michael follows them to the table, even more cramped now. Five new campers, unclaimed, arrived late because of road traffic. He tucks himself into the first opening he sees, shoulder to shoulder and elbow to elbow. Many inches too close in his opinion.

“Travis,” Michael starts, thinking back to breakfast, “You’re claimed, right? You know who your godly parent is?”

“Yup, Hermes. God of Pranksters,” Travis says, stabbing his fork into a lettuce and turning to wave it at Lee’s table which is much more roomier. Lee catches the action and nudges a boy beside him with an elbow, snickering. The boy turns and rolls his eyes at Travis.

“You like your dad, right?” Michael asks.

A quarter of the cabin immediately stops talking and not really subtly turns to them. He’s pretty sure he’s breaking some sort of taboo. Not that it bothers Michael all that much.

“Yeah, of course I do. He’s pretty cool,” Travis responds, rolling a cherry tomato around with a fork and not looking him in the eye.

“Why?” It feels like everyone in the cabin is staring at them now, but even then Michael can’t stop.

“‘Why?’” Travis repeats, twirling the fork. Michael can’t help but notice Connor gripping his fork tighter and he has a vivid image of the boy stabbing it into him. Connor seems like the type. “He’s my dad. I think I’m supposed to like him.”

“But he never talked with you though, right? He has never been there for you. How could you possibly like him?”

Travis shrugs. “He’s a god. He’s probably busy.”

Michael frowns. His mom is busy too. Granted, busy with normal things like a job but she still finds the time to tuck his siblings to bed. Still finds the time to cook breakfast and dinner for them. Still finds the time to make movie nights. Still tell them every day, without fail, that she loves them. Is still there for him and his siblings.

“So it doesn’t bother you? The way your relationship is with him right now?” Michael pushes.

Travis fidgets with his strawberries, muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like French.

“What was—” Michael starts to say, but Connor glares, hard. Michael thinks he can see the promise of pain and suffering Connor will inflict upon him. Guess he’d just written his name in Connor’s bad book in Sharpie.

“Look, Michael, it’s the social norm around here to not talk about our godly parents. Especially in ways that demean them.”

Social norm? Like he cares about something as trivial as that.

“I just want—”

“Drop it, Michael. Travis’s relationship with our dad is none of your business,” Connor snaps.

Travis is quiet, a hand resting on a cheek as he stabs into a strawberry, red juices spattering over lettuce and grilled cheese.

“I want his approval. He’s my dad. What kid doesn’t want their parent’s approval?”

Lee pulls him aside as lunch wraps up, leading them a bit away from the others.

“Michael, can you chill with the public grilling for a bit?”

“I just don’t get the worship around here for them though,” he argues.

Lee falters, thinking about his words. “Michael, for some of us, our godly parent is the only one that cares.”

“Wait, are you saying your dad talks to you here?” Michael says. He doesn’t really know what the whole deal is going on with Lee and his mom, but he knows enough to know that Ms. Fletcher deserves the worst mom of the century award.

Lee frowns a bit and shakes his head. “We talked once when I was claimed but other than that, no. Not really. And none of my half-siblings said anything to me about him either. But he’s already doing so much more than the other gods.”

“Really? Like what?”

And Lee answers without hesitating, “He claims us as his.”

Michael recalls the talk before breakfast and the questions. About claiming. About waiting. About giving up. The bitterness in their voices. The longing. The yearning. And a sinking feeling grows in the pit of his stomach.

“How long did it take for you to be claimed?” he asks.

“I was claimed the second I stepped onto Camp. Apollo tends to be rather fast when it comes to claiming his children. The longest he ever went without claiming is one week. Demeter claims fast during the fall and winter months when Persephone is away. Hephaestus takes on average a month or so to claim.”

“And the slowest god at claiming?”

Lee’s eyes narrow in thought. “Let’s see… Ares, Athena, Aphrodite, and Hermes seem to be the slowest.”

“How slow?”

“Slow as in… months, years.”

“Why?”

Lee looks away in discomfort. “Who knows? We shouldn’t speculate though. That’s just asking for a curse.”

He catches up to his cabin gathering for the next event and when he asks around about the claiming rate, he gets a mixture of answers.

“Because we’re not their favorites,” Miranda says cheerfully, while arm-wrestling (and clearly winning) with a flushed Sherman.

“Because we have to prove ourselves first,” the kid with the glasses states, eyes fixed on his shoes.

“Because they forgot we existed,” others say.

“Because they want something from us.”

“Because they don’t want the responsibilities of a parent.”

“Because they don’t care.”

“Because they don’t think we’re worth it.”

“It’s because they suck ass,” one of the older campers says with dead serious eyes as Travis chokes on his strawberry, tossing the rest of the fruits into the fire, plate and all.

“Shh! Celise, you’re gonna get cursed! Everybody, no bad-mouthing the gods or you’ll be turned into a snail and as cute as snails are, I like you all as humans.”

The camper shrugs and whispers, it’s true .

Trust me, they whisper next as they’re pulled aside by Travis’s frantic tugging.

They don’t care.

All of this is truly making him appreciate the gods more.

Connor whistles for everybody’s attention, standing on top of a rock with a piece of paper.

“It’s free choice from now until 3:30. Each counselor is hosting a different event. Travis and I are doing canoeing. Silena will be hosting horseback — that needs to be changed to pegasi — riding. Malcolm, you will take over for Annabeth since she isn’t here yet for the intro to Origami. Katie will be watching over the wall climbing. Lee, intro to guitar and lyres. Beckendorf, intro to welding. Pollux will be taking over Clarisse’s place at the arena for additional sword and archery lessons. And Castor will be teaching DIY soda. Here’s a map for each of you where everything is. Any questions? Yes, you, in the back. Hao, right?”

Michael takes the map, finds Lee’s name, finds the corresponding location, and then crumples the flimsy paper in his hands.

But before he can walk away, Miranda is there in front of him and tugging him by the arm with a beaming smile.

“Follow me for a sec? I want to show you something. It will be quick, I promise.”

[1:30 PM, Free Choice]

“Everybody gets a celestial weapon,” Miranda explains as they walk to the armory, “It KOs the monster and turns them into gold dust if it nicks them in the flesh just enough.”

Gold dust… like the gold dust Lee comes back sometimes covered in?

She leads him to an unassuming building beside one of the cabins, opening the door and revealing shelves stocked full of weapons. Miranda strides to the back without a double-take. Like it’s normal for a summer camp with children to have a stockpile meant for war.

“Do you have a preference?”

“I… uh…”

“Want some help? Based on what I saw in training, I think you’re better suited with something long-range. You looked uncomfortable with a sword. Aha! What about this?“

Then Miranda pulls out a rifle from one of the boxes.

Michael stares at it for a full second, wondering if he’s imagining it, wondering if Miranda is kidding, wondering if this whole day is just one big funny dream. But, no, Miranda remains standing there with a big ol’ grin and rifle in hand and waiting for them to say something.

“No.”

“What? Why not?”

“First of all, it’s a gun. Second of all, I share a room with two of my siblings who get into my shit all the time. Third, my mom would literally kill me if she sees me holding a rifle. And fourth, it’s a fucking gun .”

”It’s okay. This is a magic rifle. If you engage the safety and remove the magazine clip, it turns into a telescope.” Miranda demonstrates it for him and would you look at that. It actually became a telescope. “See? No problem. Mom won’t find out and plus! It actually works as a telescope! You can go stargazing with this thing and also kick any monster-butt.”

“What happens if it goes off and a bullet hits someone?”

“That’s okay too. The bullets are made of celestial metal. It can’t harm mortals.”

“But it’s a gun. And I don’t have a license.”

Miranda shrugs. “You can’t kill a mortal though. I don’t think you need a license if you seriously can’t hurt anyone. But if you don’t want a gun, then we can get you a bow. Apollo’s cabin is full of them. Come on.”

And as Michael follows Miranda out, he mutters under his breath, “Why are you all like this?”

Miranda laughs, spinning around her heels to face him.

“And you’re like a completely normal kid. If you didn’t pass the barrier, I would have thought Lee brought someone fully human.”

[2:20 PM, Free Choice]

“What is that?”

Lee does only a cursory glance at where Michael is pointing before going back to tuning his guitar engraved with his name and last initial on the Big House’s porch. “It’s Thalia’s Pine. Someone poisoned it unfortunately. A couple years ago a girl sacrificed herself to save her friends. Her father turned her dying body into a magic tree that protects all of camp. We’re trying to fix it, but it’s kinda slow-going right now.”

“That’s cool. That’s cool, but I’m talking about that .”

And Lee really looks at where Michael is pointing at. A … well, he doesn’t want to say robotic because there’s no way a robot can move that fluidly, but fine. A metallic bull the size of an elephant is charging towards them, running full speed but going nowhere. It’s like an invisible wall is holding it back. Just a bit aways are five people in a line in full bronze armor and a variety of weapons with two more people running towards them. A girl with a gruff voice is ordering to get into position.

“Is this some sort of play?” Michael asks, waiting for Lee’s answers but when there’s none, he turns to face him. “Lee?”

Lee is pale. His guitar falls out of his hands as he stands.

Michael tenses, alarmed. “Lee?”

“Shit,” Lee curses for the first time ever. “Fuck.”

Now Michael is really worried. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

Lee whirs to face him and Michael doesn’t like the fear, the panic he sees in Lee’s usually calm eyes.

“Michael, Beckendorf is in the forge. Get him first. Tell him there is a Colchis Bull at Half Blood Hill. Then go get Travis and Connor next — Hey? Michael, are you there?”

A second bull crashes into the invisible wall and they break through. They’re breathing fire. People are being set on fire. People are having their armor melted off. People are being burned. People are being trampled on. People are—

“Michael!” Lee shakes him hard by the shoulder. “Don’t look at it. Just go run and get Beckendorf.”

Then he’s forcibly turned around and pushed away to the sound of terrified screams and dying cries.

[3:00 PM, Free Choice]

So that’s a monster.

And he’s expected to fight one of them?

The guy who took out the first bull —Percy he thinks is the name — Percy did it with a little help with a flame-resistant man and Percy is about the same age as him. And Clarisse took out the second bull all by herself. So it’s definitely possible. With training and maybe a bow instead of a sword, Michael can do it.

He can do it.

…

Just because it’s possible, doesn’t mean it’s right. Doesn‘t mean it’s normal and fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

How can anyone not see how messed up this whole thing is? Monsters exist and they eat twerps like him? They’ll hunt him for as long as he lives? He’s always going to have to watch his back? He’s always going to have a weapon on him? This is what his day will be like every day? This is normal? This is what being a demigod means?

From the porch of the Big House, Michael watches Travis and Connor, amongst a few others with just as many beads on their necklaces, triaging the injured. Passing around nectar bottles and ambrosia brownies, helping them stand, checking their wounds all with an air of professionalism.

They were trained for this. They prepared for this.

Michael doesn’t like that little fact.

And speaking of little facts he doesn’t like, one just sits down next to him. When he’s not standing around like a dumbass, he goes to get more nectar bottles from the infirmary where a team of two people is running around tending to the patients. One is Lee. The other, and the clear leader, is the boy in blue scrubs and yellow flip flops. The kid barked orders left and right, telling people where to go, where to place the patients, how to treat the minor wounds until he can get there, basically keeping everything orderly and efficient, all with this air of confidence and calmness. It would have been very reassuring if the kid himself wasn’t this little, baby-faced 11-year-old.

And said 11-year-old is now sitting down beside him, downing a bottle of water then downing half a bottle of red Gatorade.

Michael is starting to see why Lee doesn’t want his mom to know where Camp Half Blood is. If she ever visited and saw how the camp is being run primarily by pre-teens and teens… well… she’ll probably lose it.

“Hey,” the kid says.

“Hey,” Michael replies, cautiously.

Then, silence.

The most awkward silence he has ever experienced as they just sit side by side.

The kid takes another sip from the Gatorade.

“You’re Michael, right? You’re Lee’s upstairs friend?”

Michael bristles at the words. “How did you—“

“When the cabins burned down, we stayed at Lee’s apartment for a couple days,” the kid explains, staring at Travis and Connor milling about the battlegrounds. He fidgets with a bandaid on the back of his hand. “This is going to sound really weird, but I thought I heard his voice and your last names match so it might not be my imagination. But do you have a younger brother named Raphael?”

“Yeah, I do. How do you know that?” Michael says, trying and failing to tone back the defensiveness in his voice. God please don’t let Raphie be a demigod like him.

The kid breaks into a big smile and it really makes him look like the child he is. “We used to be in a class together with Mrs. Rem. How is he by the way? Is he still watching Ninja Turtles? What did he think of the newest episode?”

Distantly, from a dinner chat a long time ago, Raphael mentioned a ‘Will’ who left class because of a stomach ache and was never seen again. He remembered Raphael being really worried. He remembered Raphael even saying that ‘Will doesn’t ever get sick’ and he remembered dismissively saying, “Don’t worry. The kid’s probably fine.”

There’s no way the kid next to him is that Will. It has to be a coincidence. It got to be. Forget how this kid knows Raphael is a fan of Ninja Turtles. It’s a popular show right now. Somewhere, in this 6.6 billion populated planet, there’s got to be a Will and a Raphael who both go to the same school with a 5th-grade teacher named Mrs. Rem and both watch Ninja Turtles and both love Raphael the sai-welding turtle.

“You went to Hodgkins Elementary School?”

“Yeah.”

There’s still a chance this is all a coincidence.

“Your favorite turtle is Raph?”

“Well, it’s Leo now but I used to like Raph.”

Still a coincidence.

“And your name’s Will?”

“It is.”

Just one big coincidence.

“And you left the classroom—” Michael wracks his brain — when, when did Raphael talked about the kid? — “Because of a stomach ache back in October?”

For a minute, Will is silent. A minute filled with nothing but the whistle of the wind and commanding yells of campers. Will chuckles, low, as the plastic bottle crinkles in his hands. But when Will speaks, his voice is carefully blank, devoid of emotion. “Not exactly, no. I saw something strange at school that nobody could see and I called my mom, er, my aunt. But she raised me so I considered her my mom. She said to get out, even if I have to lie. So I did. A stomach ache was the easiest to fake. She picked me up from school. I think she was going to take me to camp. But on the drive here… a cyclops showed up and totaled the car. We ran. She told me to go ahead and get help. And I did. Without looking back. I found Lee and he took care of the cyclops but mom… ”

The kid’s voice is still blank. Emotionless.

“She died because of me.”

A bitter smile.

“Because I was too weak. Because I was too scared.”

The bottle bursts in his hand, the red dripping off his hand and staining his scrubs.

“No one is ever going to die because of me. Not again. Not ever.”

The kid leaves, running back inside when someone screams bloody murder and another voice yells, “Solace!”

(“Will’s last name was on our vocab lists,” Raphael had said a long time ago. “Solace. It means comfort. That’s so cool. No way can I forget that.”)

Michael continues to sit there, watching the battlefield empty out one camper at a time until everyone injured has been attended to.

(“She died. Because of me. Weak. Scared.”)

Weak. He understands. Too scared. He understands that too. He experienced all that today with the bulls.

If it had been at home with his family, at school with his classmates, even at the park with random strangers, what would have happened? He would have fought, right? Adrenaline would have kicked in and he would do something. Or would he have frozen? Just like he did today? Just stood there, watching his family be stomped and kicked and lit on fire until someone kicked him into gear? (“Run, Michael. Don’t look back.”)

No.

No. Fuck no. Three months. He has three months of this summer camp / orphanage / ‘let’s-all-become-child-soldiers-together!’ hellhole. He has three months to kick this stupid deer in the headlights reaction.

(“She died because of me.”)

He’s not going to let anyone die.

[5:00 PM, Free Time]

He finds them in the cabin, one slumped on the bed with an arm over his eyes and the other sitting at the foot with a sketch of the cabin in one hand and a pencil in the other.

They’re talking about something secret because as soon as Michael slams the cabin door open, their conversation stops. He catches the last sentence though. Are the nightmares getting worse? And god, if these two are okay with everything that just happened today, just handled it all with a face that says this is nothing, then Michael doesn’t want to know what kind of nightmares are troubling them.

“What’s up?” Connor or Travis, the one on his back, asks, trying and failing to get upright. The arm moves and tired eyes peek at him from underneath.

“Is it Lee? Does he need us again?” the other asks, tossing the drawing under the bed.

“You said, whatever problems we have, we can come to you two,” Michael starts.

They nod together in sync.

“Then I want you guys to train me until I drop dead. Now until the end of summer.”

[6:00 PM, Dinner]

He barely has his food on the plate when a bright light shines over his head. Flashy. Illuminating. Almost eye-blinding. Michael looks up, squints, and sees the sun with 21 arrows surrounding it, representing the sun’s rays.

Distantly, he’s aware of a bored voice proclaiming him as a child of Apollo. But all he’s really focused on is his cabin’s, ex-cabin now he guesses, reactions. He can see all their faces down the line. Most are happy. They smile and cheer for him, patting on him on the back and congratulating him. But he can see it, beneath their grins, beneath the genuine elation, is frustration, jealousy, longing.

(“It's been years.”)

Travis, with his pile of strawberries, bumps him in the shoulder with his own. “Hey, congratulations. Apollo cabin is a lot roomier than ours so you get to actually sleep on a bed.”

Connor nods, tossing an M&M bag into the flames. “Too bad you’re gonna miss the experience of being crammed like sardines on the floor. It’s actually pretty cozy.”

Michael frowns as he conjures up a PB and J sandwich exactly how Mom would make it, cuts it into halves, and toss it in . “Are you guys still going—”

“We’ll still help you,” Travis interrupts, but his smile is impish, borderline devilish. “But—”

“It comes with a price now.” Connor follows with a just as sordid grin. “Two conditions. One, you have to help us with archery. We’re not bad but we’re not good either and could use a bit more work. Annabeth and I have this sparring contest every week to see who is more proficient in what weapon. She beats me every single time when it comes to archery, but that’s ending this year. And two, you have to be our inside man.”

“Inside man?” Michael asks, already kind of knowing what that means.

“Let us into your cabin. Help us set up pranks in your cabin. Tell us everything we want to know about your cabin. You know. That sort of thing,” Travis says flippantly.

And before Michael can reject, accept, do literally anything, Travis turns around and walks to the table with this unbearably cheerful hum. “Will is going to regret ever messing with my diet.”

Connor falls in step with a fond smile. “But seriously, Will has a point. You need to balance your meals a bit more.”

For such nice people , Michael thinks as he’s corralled towards the Apollo table by an ecstatic Lee , they can be such dicks.

[7:00 PM, Volleyball]

“Hey, Lee, when did the monsters start coming for me?” Michael asks as he twirls the volleyball in his hands once, twice and tosses it to Lee. In the background, Michael can hear the yells and cheers of the far more serious, far more competitive match going on. Apparently, there’s a tournament between the cabins and the winner gets bragging rights and no cabin inspection next month.

Lee isn’t participating. “Our cabin is always clean and orderly,” he had said with pride, though that didn’t stop his half-siblings ( my half-siblings) from making a team and participating.

“Eh? The monsters? Uh, l-last year,” Lee says, fumbling the ball just like he’s fumbling the lie.

So it’s been more than a year.

Michael bites his cheeks as he bends his knees and extends his arms to bounce the ball back.

“And you’ve been taking care of them all this time?”

“Well, not all of them,” Lee admits, catching the ball with both hands. “A lot of them went away on their own.”

Liar , sings his guts. He’s lying .

Because Lee is way too nice. Way too selfless. Way too noble to tell the truth that would most definitely hurt.

“Why? Why didn’t you take me to camp earlier? When the monster started coming? Why now?” he bites out, just barely holding back the snarl. You could have saved yourself years of pain, years of trouble.

“Because…” Lee looks over to the courts, to where Travis and Connor are arguing with Annabeth (the moaning myrtle girl, Michael realizes). Something about which team Percy should be on.

(“Your dad is the god of Athletes. Your cabin already have an advantage.”)

(“Okay, but consider this, only Travis and I are claimed. Everyone else on the team could be anyone’s child. And your team is completely made up of god-tier and gifted strategists.”)

(“Your #4 is literally speaking ten languages. He’s got to be a son of Hermes.”)

(“That is a stereotype. Abraham could just be remarkably smart.”)

Lee’s eyes go back to him. “Because I wanted you to have a normal life, to know that there’s more to life than just this. Besides, I’ve been watching you for years. You learn how to do something like it’s nothing after a few minutes. It’s kind of ridiculous and I am lowkey jealous. But if you feel like you’re not ready, I can always—”

“Shut up, idiot. You’re not dropping out of school for me,” Michael grumbles, Lee’s stupid chuckle not at all comforting.

“I heard you guys are in a war,” Michael says, “Are you fighting in it?”

Lee serves the ball over, high and easy to hit. “Yeah. It feels wrong not to.”

And Michael spikes it back as hard as he can. “But you’re going to college in a few months.”

Lee shrugs, easily leaning forward and kicking it back high into the air for another easy hit. “Julliard is close enough to camp.”

Michael catches it, tucking it under an arm. “That’s not what I meant. What’s the point of going to college if you might lose an arm or leg fighting in this stupid war? You should just focus on school.”

Lee laughs of all things. “That’s nothing. Will fixed worse.”

Michael bristles at Lee's casualness. “Well, if you’re gonna fight, then I am going too.”

Lee laughs again, tenser this time. “You think your mom is gonna let you?”

“She lets you!”

“Because she doesn’t know what I’m doing. And I’m not the one living with her. Besides, do you even know what we are fighting for?”

“Of course, I do! The enemy is K—” Crap. He never got the full name or title of the bad guy. And somehow he feels like saying Cabin 11’s made up name isn’t going to make Lee take him any more seriously. “I’ll learn more about it. Besides, you’re a great guy. I’m sure you’re fighting for the good guys.”

“Michael, your faith in me is nice but getting involved without knowing the full story is dumb. You’re not fighting.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I —”

Lee’s face hardened the way it does when he’s mad or worried or dead serious. Like that one time Leo microwaved a spoon. Like when Raphael tried to jump down a flight of stairs for a dare. Like when Carly and Sam ran onto the streets without looking. And crap. Michael is 14, practically an adult. He shouldn’t be cowing under Lee’s hard stare anymore. But he is and he’s (slightly, only just slightly) scared.

“No, you’re not,” Lee says, “Because I don’t want you to fight when you have so little experience. Because your mom will literally kill me if something, anything happens to you. Because something bad will happen to you if you do join this fight. So no. You’re not going to fight. You’re not going to participate. You’re only here to train and enjoy camp life.”

“Fine. Fine. I won’t,” Michael grumbles, ducking his head. “Sheesh, you make it sound like if I join, the camp is done for.”

The hard stare melts back into that familiar, soft, (almost) carefree aura with a shrug and small smile. “I just have a feeling. It’s good to trust your instincts.”

And my instincts are telling me right now that you need to quit. But Michael is pretty sure Lee won’t appreciate it and moves the conversation to the climbing wall and why it’s on fire.

[9:00 PM, Campfire Song]

“Mom,” Michael says, the phone pressed against his ears. He looks out the window, watching the vibrant flame of the bonfire climb high into the starry skies and the circles of cheerful campers surrounding it.

“Michael, I was wondering when you would call. How’s camp? Do you like it?”

“Camp is…Camp is great. Lots of activity. Really unique. I—” I like it dies on his tongue. He doesn’t like it. He might have if there was a bit less training. Luckily his mother didn’t catch that pause.

“That’s great! Made any new — Carly Yew, are those markers I see in your hands? You better not draw on the walls. Get some paper, baby, okay? Made any new friends?”

“A few.”

“You should invite them over! We can have a nice little movie night together.”

Michael frowns as he recalls someone, somewhere, saying not to gather in more than threes outside the barrier. It attracts the monsters apparently and Michael isn’t about to test that. “They can't. They’re busy. They’re like—um—they’re head counselors, you see, and have a lot of duties.” Like practically running the camp but he doesn’t think Mom would appreciate knowing that.

“Well, it’s nice to see you make friends even if they’re a bit older.”

Are Travis and Connor older than him? Possibly. They exude confidence that no normal teen has. Or maybe they have just been here for a long time. And that is all kinds of sad.

His mom asks him about his day, what he did, if he has something he really likes, and for the next hour, Michael goes into a heavily censored, G-rated, parent-safe tale of his first day at Camp Half Blood. It could have been worse. On his way to the Big House to use the phone, he overheard an older boy telling a couple newbies how a kid fought a Minotaur on his first day here and a girl having to sacrifice herself for her friends.

Wow, it would suck to be them.

[11:00 PM]

He meets dad in his dreams.

Michael doesn’t know why, but he thought Apollo to be a refined god. A serious god. A graceful god.

Instead he sees a teenager sporting pilot shades and leaning on a flaming red sports car in the dingy parking lot of Camp Half Blood with the early morning sun just breaking the horizon.

“Dad?” Michael says, (who else could it be?) but still not really sure. “Uh, Apollo?”

And the teen waves, flashing a smile that nearly blinds him. “Michael! It’s so good to finally meet you.”

Before Michael could react, the teen — Apollo — dad — pulls him into a crushing hug that knocks all the air out of his lungs.

Apollo is strangely… warm. But not overbearingly warm. Warm like first snuggling into bed under the covers. Plus he smells like laurel leaves, sweet and bright. And Michael has a vivid flashback of his mom — younger, much much younger — in the hospital bed smiling at a man in his mid-twenties with a bundle of sheets in his arm.

Michael blinks as Apollo pulls away, holding him at arm's length and looking him up and down with a musing stare.

“You resemble your mom more than me,” Apollo says with a nod, “Most of my children tend to take after my looks, but you’re different, Mike. I have to say, I like it! I can’t stay long. Godly matters I have to attend to, you know? Here, I got you a gift for making it so far in life. Tell Audrey I miss her and think sweetly about the time we spent together.”

Apollo is pressing a guitar into his hands with his name engraved in the body and stepping back to get into his car. It’s exactly the same as the guitar Lee has except for the engraving. So not unique by any means. But it is a gift. And mom would kill him for rejecting a gift. It’s rude she says, but Michael doesn’t care about Apollo enough yet to give a fuck. Besides if Lee’s experience is anything to go by, this is probably the last time he’ll ever talk to his dad. He needs to make this moment count for something.

“Wait.”

Apollo pauses just as the engine roars to life, purring sweetly and the window rolled down.

“I want to ask for something else.”

Apollo blinks and Michael can see the inkling of annoyance in the young face, but Apollo nods and says without a lick of irritation in his voice, “Sure, shoot.”

“I want you to spend more time with Lee.” Then Michael has a realization. “You know who Lee is, right? The oldest one in the cabin? About to go to Julliard? Want to become a teacher?”

Now Apollo is definitely irked, a telltale wrinkle in his brow. Michael can now add ‘gods’ to the list of people he can make pissed off. “Of course I know Lee, my little music enthusiast child. How could I not? But I’m a God, Michael. There’s only so much free time I have.”

“Then just a few minutes a week, or even a month. So he knows you care.”

Again a slight scowl, but it lingers for a few seconds more.

“I do care but okay. Okay, I will.” Apollo shifts the car into drive still a little annoyed. Michael thought that was it. Any minute now he’s going to wake up and start the day, but Apollo sighs, leans back in the leather seat, and hangs an elbow out the window. “Michael, you’re so much like your mother. Caring. Gutsy. Compassionate. It’s crazy how much you resemble her. You’re going to do great things. You’re—” The annoyance drops and for a brief second, Apollo looks grief-stricken. And once again, Michael dreams of falling, of a bridge, of a boat wafting through a chasm of fire. But Apollo smiles that blinding smile, fond, and shakes his head.

“Don’t worry so much about your family. They’re going to be fine. You’re going to be fine.”

Michael wakes up just as the car drives off, his gut itching.

Apollo is lying to you.

#fanfiction #ao3 #archive of our own #my writing #travis stoll #connor stoll #michael yew #lee fletcher #will solace #miranda gardiner #pjo #percy jackson

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nightcoremoon · 4 years ago

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there was a chinese girl who started going to my high school. nobody called her by her real name because while it was only two syllables it was still made of phonemes that the dumbass braindead white kids that composed our whole student body (and a lot of the staff) didn't want to learn so they called her a nickname that was basically the first two letter and the last letter together. idk the reason but a year later she started going by her cantonese name rather than her mandarin(?). we weren't like super close friends but we had similar manga taste and she saw I was reading death note one day and she was like hey I like death note and I was like yeah me too and we had a short lil convo, I had death note and vampire knight box sets and so I would loan her the volumes, I'd take one to school and trade it to her for the last one then the next day I'd bring the next one. she would read chinese scans online in computer based classes, so I think maybe she borrowed mine because it might be difficult to find the chinese scans of DN and VK but I don't know for sure. so we had at least a cordial peer/peer relationship and acquaintanceship if not really a close friendship. but I never called her by her name- I never really called most people by their name, usually just said "hey" or something and I think it's because I had name dysphoria even before I knew I was trans and I just didn't like referring to people as their names because then it suggested they do the same to me and brain was like PLEASE GOD NO! but still, I just never really called her by name. and some days just randomly I'll think back to the parts of high school I remember, this being one of them, and I think, should I have called her by her name in high school, would that have brought her even some small happiness, of being recognized by your actual name? or was it just ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ not a big deal, was it just whatever, and am I just way overthinking this? probably. could be either. I can't do anything about what I did then right now. or ever but what I can do is this.

if you can pronounce fucking tchaikovsky and michaelangelo and dostoyevski, then you can pronounce uzoamaka and quvenzhane and any number of the other "non-white" names that white peiple struggle so hard with even though it's really fuckin easy to just pronounce words right. uzo aduba said it first and she's right. in fact I'll add onto it. sodium laureth sulfate, carboxylic acid, amodimethicone, hexylene glycol, niacinamide, pyridoxine hydrochloride, hexyl cinnamal, saccharum officinarum, amyl cinnamal, linalool, hydroxypropyltrimonium, prunus amygdalus dulcis oil, persea gratissima, phenoxyethanol, leuconostoc, camellia sinensis, tocopherol, helianthus annuus (no I am not making any of these up), rosmarinus officinalis, and sodium hydroxide are all of the ingredients in garnier fructis avocado olive almond shampoo. every single one of these words is fucking easy to pronounce if you've heard it once before, unless you're either a) stupid or b) have some sort of disorder that interferes with linguistic skills or reading or auditory processing such as dyslexia, adhd, autism, poor eyesight, or something like that (so I'm not calling you stupid if you're dyslexic and can't read, I don't want any brainless 14 year old mouth breathing discourse gremlins getting on my ass for saying something they misconstrued as problematic, like shut up and get a hobby). if you can read fine, your brain can process letters fine, and your mouth can say the sounds your brain makes fine, then there is no reason why you can't pronounce any of those words.

and if you can pronounce weird latin-named chemicals, YOU CAN FUCKING PRONOUNCE TWO-SYLLABLE CHINESE NAMES.

not even bothering to touch on the racism aspect of this topic (mainly because it's not my place as a white person but also because I don't wanna write another paragraph), this irritates me as a LINGUIST. when you refuse to learn to pronounce the name of someone from another culture, you don't respect language, you don't respect basic communication skills, you don't respect people of color, and you're just a stupid self-centered fucking asshole.

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artificialqueens · 7 years ago

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Roses are red, Violets are Adored (Viadore/group fic) Remény

Author’s note: Hi friends! I haven’t been posting Roses here because I thought no one was interested and bothering people but a few friends on here encouraged me to continue to submit it. If you want to read ahead click here >>>> http://remeny-writes.tumblr.com/tagged/roses/chrono The fic is MASSIVE, 170,000 words so far as I am incapable of writing things without a stupid amount of details.

I am dyslexic so I do sometimes have issue with spelling and grammar and I apologize for that now!

Hope you enjoy this latest installment and you are having a great day!

Love and glitter,

Remèny

Content warning: This story is a complete work of fiction, I try to research the facts that I can but the situations are 100% fake. This fic contains medical related subjects, including mention of medications (rarely by name), equipment and sometimes death related content. Please avoid reading if any of the above may trigger you.

Chapter 71

TW mention of physical abuse (no details), mention of substance abuse, anger

Pearl’s POV

Phi Phi opened the hotel room door and let me whoosh by. I threw my carry on bag across the room in frustration and dove onto a bed, grabbing a few pillows and screaming into them. When I was all screamed out, I put the pillows back, turning around to see Phi Phi standing there, looking confused and a little taken aback

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No… Yes. I don’t know! I don’t know anything anymore!” I yelled hitting the mattress. She jumped back a little bit, and I clued in about her previous abuse with her Dad.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry Phi Phi!” I sat on the end of the bed, looking down at my feet.

She came and sat beside me.

“What is it Pearl?” She sounded concerned.

“I just keep having this feeling that if I hadn’t been out of it the first night Vi was so sick but didn’t go to the hospital, I would have made them go, and they wouldn’t have to be recovering for such a long period of time. I have known they were feeling like shit for a while and I did absolutely nothing about it! Nothing! I was just worrying about me, me, me, and how to get my next buzz.” I said in a rush. I didn’t want to say what I had been thinking at all but it came out like hot, fast word vomit.

“Does Violet have an eating disorder? Is that why they are sick?” Phi Phi blurted, then covered her mouth like she couldn’t believe she had said that outloud.

“Well normally girl can throw down in the kitchen, even for how tiny they are, but lately has had no appetite? It’s odd but everyone has times like that I guess.” I shrugged. I really didn’t want rumours to start about my sister.

“Maybe she really has gone to deal with exactly what Michelle said? I hope everything is okay, but if there was a death in the family, wouldn’t you think Michelle would just tell us that? If it was a death, I hope they are okay. I’m really glad Adore went with them though. They are such a cute fucking couple!” Phi Phi mused out loud.

“They are,” I admitted smiling

“Thanks Phi Phi! Sorry if I scared you!”

“It’s okay babe! I wasn’t scared! I’m not scared of you love. I was just startled. Don’t worry. Are you feeling any better?” She said, linking arms with me sitting on the edge of the bed.

“A little. Thanks for listening! I’m starving! Do you want to get something to eat?”

“My inner fat kid is saying I need chocolate to go with whatever we eat, cake, brownie, bar, hot!” Phi Phi said, grinning from ear to ear.

“Hot?” I asked, confused.

“Hot chocolate goof!” She elbowed me in the ribs.

“Ow bitch!”

We sat there for about 5 or 10 minutes jabbing each other in the ribs and laughing until we were both holding our sides as our stomach muscles felt like they were burning.

Chapter 72

Violet’s POV

“Ok hunny, you are all done!” Matt said, unhooking me from the chemo. “How ya feeling?”

“I actually feel fine! Other than a bit tired.” I said stretching and then holding my chest, wincing.

“Pain meds coming right up!”

“No it’s ok! It’s not that bad!” I didn’t want anyone to think I was weak.

Danny grabbed my hands, “Vi look at me.” I turned my body but couldn’t look him in the eye. “Look at me silly!” He lifted my chin to look in his gorgeous eyes “Between 1 and 10? Honestly.”

“Oh ok, a 7” I felt defeated, why couldn’t I lie to him? It’s not like it would be a big lie. It would actually be a good thing, it sucks seeing people you care about in pain.

“I admire your skills Danny! If I have another stubborn patient, I know who to call!” Matt said with a twinkle in his eyes, “be right back! hey Lucy!”

“Ugh why can’t I lie to you?” I laughed.

“Because he’s frikken adorable, d'uh!” Lucy said in a muffled voice, wheeling into the room. She was in her PJs still, looking a little pale. She had a bright neon pink bob on today.

“True!” I said nodding and flashing Danny a smile.

“You are in a lot of pain, aren’t you Jason?” Her face turning serious.

“I’m in a bit of pain yes, but it’s gonna be taken care of. Don’t worry!” I said giving her a smile. I had only known her for about 24 hours but she had already grown on me. But I knew a secret when I saw one. Lucy was hiding something.

“Hey darlings, I’m back!! Here ya go dollface!” Matt announced, hooking a syringe into my line and pushing the meds in followed by saline. “I gotta run back out but do you need anything?” I shook my head and he booted out of the room at warp speed.

“Why is he in such a hurry?” Danny pondered out loud.

“Rosalina.” Lucy said softly.

“Who?” We asked together.

Lucy cleared her throat, “Rosa, she is a 14 year old patient here who is dying.” Lucy said matter-of-factly.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” Danny said, his hands coming up to his mouth.

“Don’t be sorry. She fought hard as fuck for 6 years and now it’s time for her to rest.” She smiled regretfully.

I didn’t know that I was crying til Danny was wiping my cheeks with the hem of his shirt.

Lucy wheeled up and grabbed my hand. “It’s ok! It’s ok!” She patted my hand.

“NO IT’S NOT! FUCK CANCER!” I yelled and completely dissolved into loud messy tears.

Danny wrapped his arms around me while Lucy held my hand. My head on Danny’s shoulder.

“Shhh Vi, it’s ok! it’s ok!” Danny was running his fingers through my hair and rubbing my back.

By the time I was all cried out, I had the hiccups so bad I was holding my chest. The movement was killer on my new line.

“I’ll grab some water!” Danny said, rushing out of the room and returning with 3 styrofoam cups of ice water, handing one out to me and then Lucy. He gave Lucy a concerned look and I turned and saw Lucy with a puzzled look on her face.

“What’s wrong?” I was feeling alarmed, maybe something was wrong.

“Who the fuck is Vi?”

Danny and I started laughing.

“Whaaat?” She said, looking amused.

I liked just being Jason to her though. Danny seemed to sense that. “Oh it’s just a nickname! I don’t know when I even started calling you that! They just remind me of my friend Vivian so I said it once and it stuck!”

I let out a little relieved sigh. I leaned back on my bed and looked over at Lucy. She had her pant leg up and was leaning over to fiddle with her prosthetic.

“Y'ok Lucy?” I asked putting my hand on her shoulder.

“M'fine” She said, putting her pant leg down and sitting up, scratching her head.

“Oh my God!” Danny and I both yelled.

Danny took off and I stood up to kneel by her. She was completely blue, not just her lips but all around them and her fingers up to her palms.

“What?” She said, dazed.

“Lucy you’re..” but I didn’t get out the rest when her tiny frame slumped into my arms.

“HELP!! HELP!!” I yelled at the top of my lungs and Inheard a thousand feet running in our direction. Danny got back first, followed by Matt and a bunch of other nurses rolling in a gurney and oxygen tank.

Matt took Lucy away from me and Danny snatched me up out of the way.

Matt laid her down and grabbed an oxygen mask from one of the nurses.

“Let’s go!” They all exited the room leaving Danny and I shaking together on the bed.

Her empty wheelchair sitting in the corner, mockingly reminding us she wasn’t there and that had really happened.

Chapter 73

CW meds by name

Bonnie’s POV (Adore’s Mom)

Danny hadn’t answered his phone and I was at the hospital so I went into the bustling tree filled lobby, hoping there was an information desk somewhere. Thankfully, I located one by the elevator.

“Hi I’m looking where to find a patient named Jason Dardo?”

“Sure hunny,” an elderly lady said leafing through a massive book. “Is that D.A.R.D.O.?”

“Yes it is.”

“Ok he is in the Halton Reid memorial wing, what you want to do is go up this elevator to the 5th floor, when the doors open, you will be facing the wing. there is an door on both sides of the wall into the wing. Go in either to the end of the hall and you will find the nursing hub where you can ask directions to his room. I see he just got here so I don’t have any information than the floor and wing though. Got that dear? Would you like me to write it down?”

“No, no that’s ok!! Thank you so much!”

“I hope he feels better soon!” She said with a wistful smile.

“Me too!”

When I got up to the nurses desk a young man with blonde hair approached me first. Before I could even open my mouth he said, “hey Mrs Noriega! Nice to meet you! I’m Matt. Danny and Jason are the second to the end on the right, room 231.” He said coming around the large curved desk to shake my hand.

“How did you know who I am?” I asked bewildered.

“I watch the show!” He whispered, “so far I am the only one who knows what they do for a living or how famous they are. Don’t worry we are going to keep it that way!” He said “Go on now Mrs Noriega!”

“Please call me Bonnie, thanks Matt!”

When I got to the room, Danny was laying on the little sofa, asleep. I had to cover my mouth to keep in a gasp when I looked at Vi (it seemed foreign to call them Jason) in their hospital bed. The blanket was up to their chin, exposing some kind of medical tubing. The bed was swallowing up their slight frame. They had a troubled expression on their face. The setting seemed to make it sink in how sick they really were.

My Danny was slouched on the loveseat, his arm was hanging off it and his phone was about 2 feet away on the floor. Aw bless my sweet boy, no wonder he didn’t answer my text!

I didn’t want to wake them so I sat on the long bench and just watched over them. Vi looked a little flushed and was trying to kick off their blankets. I went over and pulled the blankets down. I hoped they didn’t have a fever but I didn’t know how long they had been sleeping so I didn’t want to put my hand on their forehead to check it.

I went out to the desk and flagged Matt over.

“Vi might have a temperature but they are sleeping and I don’t know how long they have been asleep so I don’t want to wake them when they need rest. Their face is flushed and they just kicked off their blankets.”

“I got just the thing!” Matt said “I’ll be right there!”

I went back in the room and the kids were still sleeping. Matt came in pulled out a thermometer but instead of putting it in their ear, they put it over their forehead, not touching their forehead at all. It let out a soft beep and I cringed, hoping it wouldn’t wake them.

Matt read it and walked over to me. “Good call Bonnie! It’s not super bad but I’m gonna get something to lower it, just in case and get their other meds while I’m at it. Be right back!”

Danny had rolled over on the sofa so his neck was all folded over. I grabbed a pillow from the other end of the loveseat and managed to lift him up a little bit and stuff the pillow under his head. Thankfully he slept like a rock so he didn’t move. He was so stinking cute, if I do say so myself.

Matt came bustling back in, pulling 4 syringes from his scrub pockets uncapping them and pushing them through the tubing that disappeared under Vi’s shirt collar.

“That should help a bit. I’ll be back in a bit to check in. Thanks for telling me! We would have picked it up when we did vitals but the sooner the better. Do NOT worry though, it doesn’t necessarily mean infection, sometimes it is a symptom of their ALL.”

I nodded and he ambled out. I settled in, pulled out my tablet,

checked my email and opened my kindle app and started reading.

Danny finally stirred and sat up, rubbing his eyes and looking around blearily at Vi until he spotted me. He bounded over, tackling me in a big hug.

“Hi Mom!” he whispered, smiling wildly.

“Hey Danny-boy!” I said beaming back. I was so proud of him for sticking by Vi’s side. Although I didn’t expect any other reaction from my loyal boy.

“How long have you been here and why didn’t you wake me up? You probably texted me and I didn’t get it. I’m sorry!”

“It’s hard to get a text when you drop your phone silly! I wasn’t going to wake you up, I’m not sure how much sleep you have been getting. I’ve only been here about 45 minutes. Vi looked flushed so I got Matt and he took their temp and gave them some meds.” Danny’s face fell, “don’t worry love, he said it wasn’t that high, that the meds were just a precautionary measure.”

We both stared at Vi for a long time, they weren’t grimacing anymore but looked peaceful. “They kinda look like sleeping beauty with their pale skin, rosy cheeks and long dark hair.”

“They do!” Danny agreed and I chuckled. “What Ma?”

“I didn’t realise that I had said that outloud!”

“You’re getting old Mom.”

“I know Danny-boy! I know!” I smiled.

His stomach rumbled so I reached into my bag, pulling out a container with still warm sandwiches.

“Eat child!”

He pulled out a grilled peanut butter, honey and banana sandwich half and mowed it down in less than 30 seconds, grabbing the second half.

“When was the last time you actually ate Danny?” I was worried about Vi getting healthy but Danny also needed to stay healthy to care for them.

“Um last night I had a bit while Vi was in surgery but mostly just because Matt made me.” Danny smiled, “he’s a good guy!”

“Vi had surgery?” I asked,immediately alarmed.

“Yeah but it was to put in the tube called a hickman that you can see sticking out their shirt collar. Vi is actually afraid of needles so this makes life a lot easier for then. I guess Matt is the master at getting blood work but he also said their veins were small and bad so they wouldn’t be able to keep an IV in long term for chemo.” He visibly shivered.

I put my arm around him. “It’s gonna be ok hunny.”

Danny leaned over, resting his elbows on his knees and putting his face in his hands. “I know Mom, it has to be. I don’t think I could live without them.”

Violet was stirring in their sleep. At first I thought they were just waking up but they started thrashing frenetically. Grabbing at their chest.

“No no no Cassie!” Vi whispered.

“Oh no! Mom help! They are going to pull out their line.”

Danny and I got on either side of them and held down their arms.

“Jason, wake up dear!” I said in their ear giving them a gentle shake, “WAKE UP!”

“Don’t bother Mom, they’re impossible to wake up during these dreams!”

“They’ve had these before?” I asked, shocked at how strong they were.

“NO NO NO CASSIE!” Vi bellowed.

I heard Matt coming before I saw him. He moved like lightning into the room. “What’s going on?”

“Vi is having a nightmare. They are IMPOSSIBLE to wake up!” Danny said in a panic. “They were trying to pull out their line. So that is why we are holding them. I mean they weren’t doing it on purpose!”

“No Cassie, stop!” Vi whined weakly, still struggling.

Matt pressed the call button and a girl said, “Can I help you?”

“Sylvie, can you ask Dr Hoskins to come in here and bring the medcart stat please?” He came over and stood up by Vi’s head, steadying it opening their eyelids and shining a light into them.

“Jason, it’s Matt. Can you hear me?” he said in a firm voice.

“No no no Cassie, she can’t breathe!” Vi increased their thrashing. It was getting harder and harder to hold them. A girl came crashing in with a rolling cart that looked like a mechanic’s toolbox.

“Jason wake up!” He said again, rubbing his knuckles on the middle of their chest roughly. I winced.

A large male Dr came barreling in, repeating the procedures that Matt did. Vi was still not waking up.

“No Cassie!”

“Ativan .5mg diluted with 1mg saline!” The Dr said, the nurse Sylvie prepared a syringe and handed it to him. He put it in their central line.

They thrashed for another minute or two then went completely slack.

“They said they haven’t had a Cassie nightmare in 5 or 6 years before they started having them again. They are terrified every time. I wish I knew why?!” Danny said sounding frustrated as hell.

“Who is Cassie?” the Dr asked Danny after Sylvie was called away to another patient.

“Cassie was Jason’s sister, she passed away from A.L.L. when Jason was 12. They were the only one in the room when she died.” Danny said, looking like his heart was breaking.

“Hmmmm,” the Dr said vaguely, “I will be back, I’m going to look into things we can do to help alleviate the nightmares. Nightmares are a very rare but possible symptom of A.L.L. as well but if he had them before, I am not sure if it’s that but I will look into it and be back either tonight or tomorrow. Okay?” he said, smiling.

Danny nodded, looking miserable.

“He probably won’t be awake til tomorrow. I gave him a very strong anti-anxiety med. They need the rest. Any questions?”

Danny shook his head and the Dr left.

Matt gave Danny’s shoulder a squeeze, “I’ll come and check in soon,” and left.

Danny launched himself at me and we settled down onto the small sofa, crying together.

I have never seen Danny so upset, he was more upset than he was when he was eliminated on American Idol. My heart was shattering.

I’m a horrible sparkly trashbag of a human being.

Chapter 75

Violet’s POV

I felt sunlight on my face, the light shining through my eyelids. I let out a sigh, not wanting to wake up just yet. Suddenly everything was dark. Cold little hands over my eyes.

“Guess who JD?” Cassie’s voice whispered in my ear.

“No no no Cassie!” hating that she was calling me by my old nickname.

Her hands had a vice grip over my eyes which felt like they were going to pop. I could feel her leaning on my chest so I started trying to shake her off, scrabbling at my chest to get her off.

“NO NO NO CASSIE!” She suddenly released me, stars popping up into my vision. I cracked open my eyes, expecting to be in the hospital in Cali but I was in a bright pink and white room. I was laying on a white wrought iron single bed with a white gossamer canopy. I was laying under a fluffy pink comforter. Cassie was humming an eerily echoing tune and spinning around in her dress absentmindedly.

I was in her room. The smell of dust hung heavy in the air.

“Get outta bed, sleepyhead!” She said, pulling on my arms so hard, I felt like they were going to rip out of their sockets.

“No Cassie Stop!” I yelled closing my eyes, shocked when she immediately abated. I kept my eyes closed hoping she would think I was sleeping like she used to when she was younger.

“I’M STILL HERE BITCH!” She whispered in an ugly tone, her cold breath on my cheek making me shiver.

“hey Jason!” Lucy’s sweet voice filled the room and my eyes snapped open. I was in my room at the hospital again and Lucy was wheeling in, her long ginger wig in a braid down her back.

“Hi little lady!” she said to Cassie with her cute Utah twang. “You look pretty today! I love pink too! My name’s Lucy!”

“Hi I’m Cassie! Your chair is pretty!”

“Want me to give you a ride around? Come on up!” Lucy said patting her knees.

Lucy started doing circles around the room, looking around Cass so she didn’t run into anything. Cassie was giggling malevolently. On one of the turns when Lucy was facing away, Cass was looking over her shoulder at me. Her arm snaked out like lightning, unhooking Lucy’s tube from her tank. Lucy was laughing at Cass as she spun them in a few circles, almost blurring with the speed. When Lucy stopped she was blue again.

“No Cassie, she can’t breathe!” I said, wanting to get up but feeling like I was being held down by invisible hands.

“Oh no! I’m fine, just a bit outta shape” Lucy said panting.

“Again again!” Cassie yelled smiling at her.

“No Cassie!”

I started to go fuzzy, struggling to stay awake to make sure Lucy was ok but it felt like hands were dragging me down and then I saw no more.

#remeny #roses are red violets are adored #sick fic #viadore #violet chachki #adore delano #pearl liaison #phi phi o'hara #OC #tw medication #tw medical #tw abuse mention #tw nightmares #group fic #rpdr fanfiction

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