#i imagine this would be around the second trials of apollo book | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sainedeparam · 3 years ago

Note

okay so: one book and one song for 7 oc's your choice and why!!!

Flor i am so sorry because this took me forever to answer 😭😭😭 i really had to think about what fit best and i ended up changing the “one book” to “one quote from a book” since i struggled with that but here we go. Under the cut because it ended up being too long akshsjsksl

One Song

Tate Cerati • Believer by Imagine Dragons

First things first // I'ma say all the words inside my head // I'm fired up and tired of the way that things have been, oh-ooh // The way that things have been, oh-ooh // Second thing second // Don't you tell me what you think that I could be // I'm the one at the sail, I'm the master of my sea, oh-ooh // The master of my sea, oh-ooh

No thoughts, just vibes with this song. I don’t really have a reason why I chose this for Tate other than vibes. It just felt so… him, if that makes sense.

Brynn Delvaux • Born Ready by Zayde Wølf

I don't believe in no devil // 'Cause I done raised this hell // Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh // I've been the last one standing // When all the giants fell // Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh // I won't shiver // I won't shake // I'm made of stone // I don't break // Start me up // Open my eyes // Turn me loose and you'll see why // I was born, born ready // I was born, born ready // Staring at the pressure now // I won't quit, not backing down // I was born, born ready // I was born, born ready

I like powerful women. The type of women that are feared by everyone. And this song best describes the kind of vibe I was going for when playing her route in WTNC.

Ryder Vesta • Centuries by Fall Out Boy

And I can't stop 'til the whole world knows my name // 'Cause I was only born inside my dreams // Until you die for me, as long as there's a light // My shadow's over you 'cause I am the opposite of amnesia // … // Some legends are told // Some turn to dust or to gold // But you will remember me // Remember me for centuries // And just one mistake // Is all it will take // We'll go down in history // Remember me for centuries // (Hey yeah, oh hey, hey yeah) // Remember me for centuries // We've been here forever // And here's the frozen proof // I could scream forever // We are the poisoned youth

In my head this is a Villain Theme Song and he’s cocky enough for this to fit him. And this is also to implement the fact that Ryder could never really become a Vigilante, let alone a Hero. Even if he’s dating a Hero, he will always will be a Villain and I love that for him.

Amaris Voight • Control by Halsey

I'm well acquainted with villains that live in my head // They beg me to write them so they'll never die when I'm dead // And I've grown familiar with villains that live in my head // They beg me to write them so I'll never die when I'm dead // I'm bigger than my body // I'm colder than this home // I'm meaner than my demons // I'm bigger than these bones // And all the kids cried out, "Please stop, you're scaring me" // I can't help this awful energy // God damn right, you should be scared of me // Who is in control?

I was listening to this song while I was thinking about what I wanted to do for Amaris’ future. There is sort of a complexity of whether this means her talking to the citizens she’s meant to protect, her talking to Nathaniel + Areum or just her talking to herself. You can’t just have the amount of power she does while not being able to fully control it and not be wary of her.

Kavan Vekany • Stronger by The Score

Set me on fire // Set me on, set me on fire (whoa, whoa-oh) // I'm still alive // I'm still ali- I'm still alive (whoa) // Bet you didn't think that I'd come back to life // Higher, faster, everlasting // Bet you didn't think that I'd come back to life // Higher, faster, never-crashing // Bet you didn't think that I'd come back to life // Stronger // (Stronger, stronger, stronger, stronger) // Bet you didn't think that I'd come back to life // Stronger // (Stronger, stronger, stronger, stronger) // Bet you didn't think that I'd come back to life // I do this with conviction // I write truths and never fiction // My disease is what you fed // I can't stop with my ambition // Like a missile on a mission // I'm a force that you will dread-ead

If The Exile was a series or movie, I can envision this song being played while at the end of Chapter 3, or maybe Chapter 4 since that’s when we maybe talk to Syfin + Trystan + Our Family.

Benjamin Blackwood • My Demons by STARSET

Mayday, mayday // The ship is slowly sinking // They think I'm crazy but they don't know the feeling // They're all around me circling like vultures // They wanna break me and wash away my colors // Wash away my colors // Take me high and I'll sing // Oh, you make everything okay, okay, okay (okay, okay, okay) // We are one and the same // Oh, you take all of the pain away, away, away (away, away, away) // Save me if I become // My demons

This is just basically him asking for help, I just haven’t decided if I want this to be romantic or platonic in terms of he’s asking for help from.

Kai Morgenstern • Lovely by Billie Eilish & Khalid

Thought I found a way // Thought I found a way out (found) // But you never go away (never go away) // So I guess I gotta stay now // Oh, I hope some day I'll make it out of here // Even if it takes all night or a hundred years // Need a place to hide, but I can't find one near // Wanna feel alive, outside I can't fight my fear // Isn't it lovely, all alone // Heart made of glass, my mind of stone // Tear me to pieces, skin to bone // Hello, welcome home

Kai and her complicated one-sided relationship with the supernatural world. There’s a reason why she has a really high Resistance Stat.

One Quote

Tate Cerati • Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Alire Saenz

“Another secret of the universe: Sometimes pain was like a storm that came out of nowhere. The clearest summer could end in a downpour. Could end in lightning and thunder.”

This ties to the moment he found out the truth about Daphne, and Alex. How everything just shattered for him in the blink of an eye. It also ties to other events, like finding out what happened to his mother and during the battle when Daphne dies trying to save him. It's just him not expecting an outcome that would destroy his life, in a sense. The kind of outcome where he has to live with that knowledge knowing there is nothing he could have done to change it.

Brynn Delvaux • They Both Die At The End by Adam Silvera

“Sometimes the truth is a secret you're keeping from yourself because living a lie is easier.”

I headcanon that she had her suspicions about what Hunters really were. I mean you can't really be that strong and still be human. But keeping it to herself and not investigating further was better than to face the truth because being just like the kind of creatures she was taught to hunt was too much for her to handle. Even after she learns the truth during the story she is still in a bit of denial.

Ryder Vesta • The Book Thief by Markus Zusak

“Usually we walk around constantly believing ourselves. 'I'm okay' we say. 'I'm alright'. But sometimes the truth arrives on you and you can't get it off. That's when you realize that sometimes it isn't even an answer--it's a question. Even now, I wonder how much of my life is convinced.”

I told you about what his childhood, and how he came to be working for the Phoenix Organization, so this fits into him questioning Phoenix and his upbringing. Trying to figure out whether what he was told about his parents abandoning him were true or not, and thinking about what he would do if it weren't. The slow process of finding the truth, thinking that he's okay until it hits the point where he realizes he's actually not okay and not knowing if he is actually strong enough to go against the person he was loyal to.

Amaris Voight • Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Alire Saenz

“Sometimes, you do things and you do them not because you're thinking but because you're feeling. Because you're feeling too much. And you can't always control the things you do when you're feeling too much.”

Every decision she made after waking up were based on feelings so they are a bit questionable even if they're not exactly bad, like not reaching out to Nathaniel and Areum. But it also fits in terms of her abilities. She has sort of learned how to use her abilities and has trained in order to be able to control her powers but she still doesn’t know the extent to what she can do so sometimes when she’s feeling too much, she can’t really control her abilities and the outcome of that is not always pretty :(

Kavan Vekany • The Burning Maze (The Trials of Apollo, #3) by Rick Riordan

“Pain is an interesting thing. You think you have reached your limit and you can’t possibly feel more tortured. Then you discover there is still another level of agony. And another level after that.”

After reading the new update, this just fits him so much. Everything he had to go through after [redacted], especially whatever they did in order for him to not be able to fully transform anymore? He’s known pain like never before, and you know it’s bad when even i think it’s too much lmao.

Benjamin Blackwood • Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury

“He was not happy. He was not happy. He said the words to himself. He recognized this as the true state of affairs. He wore his happiness like a mask and the girl had run off across the lawn with the mask and there was no way of going to knock on her door and ask for it back.”

He grew up thinking that there was only one way of doing things, his father’s way. It never really hit him until he got older. For the majority of his life he just kept on doing what he was told because he thought it was the right thing to do and because he wanted his father to be proud but he was never truly happy. He never stopped to think about that feeling until later on.

Kai Morgenstern • They Both Die At The End by Adam Silvera

“I've spent years living safely to secure a longer life, and look where that's gotten me. I'm at the finish line but I never ran the race.”

My favorite girl, who hates life in NMC and being a Keeper in general. She wasn’t exactly “safe” or “cautious” when doing things before the events of kotsam but her life was never in danger, she had everything she wanted. And then, in the form of one car crash and almost being killed, he future just went down the drain and in the span of 2 years (so far) she has had so many near death experiences. She’s just so tired at this point.

#i didn’t really give a big explanation for the songs and im sorry for that. i just didn’t know what to say since some were based on vibes #and i know Benjamin’s descriptions are confusing since i haven’t talked about him or his story to you so im sorry about that too akshsksks #also. after i finished writing this i realized it ended up being pretty sad and i guess it’s just on brand for me now 😔#i love them though. they do get sort of happy endings #my babies <3 #thank you love!!#misc: asks #tag: flor ✨

3 notes · View notes

sweetcherrypie101 · 4 years ago

Text

Bloody Hyacinths (a Greek mythology retelling)

just a little something i wrote after reading the Trials of Apollo.Apollo and Hyacinthus own my heart 🥺🥺

i really hope uncle rick brings hyacinthus into the story at some point in a future book cos he’s been mentioned so many times(/ω＼)

The meadow stretched out in front of us_, _adorned by purple flowers. I had created the flowers so lovingly, as I desired them to be a reflection of his beautiful eyes. Such a deed should have been child’s play for the great Apollo, but when I looked into those purple orbs, the turbulence of colored sea that pulled me in, it seemed to me that nothing could compare to the accentuated color of his irises. It had been a while since we got off my sun chariot, and my horses were on their way down the sky without me. In literal terms, the sun was beginning to set, wrapping the meadow in its dim colors. I didn’t stand there as the sun god that day, I was fulfilling my duties as a lover. Of cherishing the most wonderful mortal I’d ever met.

I glanced at him with expectant eyes. I hadn’t felt such need for validation in a couple centuries to say the least. His skin wore a dark, honey color and his sturdy figure turned to face me as I said, “My dear Hyacinthus, accept this gift as an expression of my great love and admiration for you. This island is now yours. When you lie down and let these flowers engulf you, you’ll know what a simple gaze of yours does to me.’’

_ _

I woke up with a start, for the fifth time the past hour. I’d seen the visions at least a thousand times before, my heart getting heavier each time the scene flashed before my eyes. Ever since my father, Zeus, turned me into a mortal, my sorrows aggrandized. My tears streamed down my cheek in patterns down my blistered skin like water moving down a crevasse. The pain had been agonizing enough when I was a god, but my puny mortal self had a pathetic response to heartbreak—heartbreak a several thousand years old.

The mortal world is cruel. Fear and danger roamed around every corner like wind spirits on Calypso’s island. With my immortality snatched away, the fear of death was so dreadful; it sent shivers down my fragile body. I could feel the dark, caustic mist approaching me insidiously, behind which is the face of the infamous Thanatos, Death himself, prepared to pull me into the ‘void’. Millennias lived in glory, all shattered within seconds. Surely no one could have imagined the great Apollo crumbling under the weight of mortality like this, not even Thanatos, or Zeus, or Apollo himself.

Not even my lovely Hyacinthus, whose life had so cruelly been taken away by my carelessness. I winced as the image appeared in my brain once again, my discus flying like Zeus’ lightning, Zephyros’ wind bending its course towards Hyacinths’s mass of blonde hair, him turning his head just in time for the discus to leave an ugly gash across his forehead. At least that’s what it looked like to me, until he started pouring out of the wound. I remember letting out a scream as he fell, his weight cushioned by the bed of flowers. You’d think my priority would be saving him. It should’ve. But I was too absorbed by my anger towards Zephyros, while his life slipped away- in the arms of the god of healing, who did nothing to save him.

I spent centuries blaming Zephyros. But deep down I knew it was my arrogance that was at fault. At some point I faced the truth and the blow was strong enough to break an Olympian. Its definitely strong enough to kill a mortal…

_ _

His head was cradled in my arms, his luscious hair a gold and red mélange. The red was all over my hands, how a murderer’s hand should look. ‘tha thymámai,’ I whispered persistently into his ears until his fair lashes veiled his purple orbs, and his body went limp against mine. ‘I’ll remember. I’ll remember what it was like to love you.’ I would have done anything to save him, and you bet I could have, being a mighty Olympian. However, it was too late. Divinity meant so little at that moment. I wondered if he thought he was just another mortal in my life, who would wither anyway. That was the bitter truth. He was always destined to die anyway. But I, I was Apollo of the twelve Olympians. I had to carry on, without him. I had to carry on knowing the fact that I was the one responsible for his fall. It occurred to me, perhaps death isn’t as bad as it seems.

_ _

When I watched his face through teary eyes, death was the last thing I worried about. Such a punishment would give him justice, anyway. Or it could allow me to be with him, to love him once again. My vision was blurry but somehow his face was crystal clear. My tears only seemed to make his wonderful skin sparkle. And his eyes…their purple irises so intense, they seemed to radiate a fiery light. The light I had so longed to see. The light I yearned for thousands of years after. I would do anything to save the purple fire that light up my life although I was the one to shut it down completely.

His face began to dissolve as these thoughts clouded my head. I reached out a quivery hand, and just like that, he was gone completely.

The meadow stretched out in front of me. i stood alone, my heart aware of his absence and aching. I stared at the island smothered in purple bulbous flowers, at least ten shades lighter with their heads low. Conceivably mourning. And right there in the middle was a cluster of dark colored....hyacinths. Yes, that’s what i’ll call them. He lay there on the purple hyacinths as they soaked his blood and grew into red and magenta flowers. Gradually more of the bloody hyacinths would grow and acclimatize among the shades of purple, forever reminding me of that day.

‘tha thymámai.’

I woke up with a jolt again but it had stopped having an effect on me after the sixth time. I was drained of energy although i lay asleep the whole time. But i couldn’t sit up either.

The visions were gone and i was miserable. I noticed that i was holding onto something tightly- _very _tightly as my hand was numb and my nails bloody. As my vision focused, I realized it was a hyacinth- insidiously soaking the blood from my palm. I let out a sob. All my despair came rushing out through endless streams of tears. I felt like I could go on forever- but my abject body would be unable to comply. So i cried until I had no tears left. And my mind just thought of the one thought that hadn’t occurred to me in years. it was possible to die from heartbreak and perhaps-

Perhaps death isn’t as bad as it seems.

35 notes · View notes

thejudgingtrash · 5 years ago

Note

Now hold up I would personally love to hear a full rant on this supposed adaptation I have never heard of until now. Like, legitimately, I wanna know what you have to say about this cause you seem to be one of the most valid PJO blogs

Uhhh what??? Me one of the most valid PJO blogs??? What kinda crack have you been smoking WHAT afahsgjskdh.

But still thank you 😊🥺🙈

Alright, you wanted a rant. You got a rant. Fuck the positives let’s just straight up jump into my aggression.

WARNING: Massive rant with a lot of swear words. If you can’t handle the heat, feel free to ignore this. I personally haven’t worked in Hollyweird, but I had some behind the scenes stuff here in Europe going on for a short period and also the trusty words of my college professors. So here will be a lot of prediction and speculation involved. Yes, I know that I’m a huge hypocrite for voicing my opinions based on stuff that hasn’t been pushed through in months and that I could be easily proven wrong in a few weeks/months. Still thank you should you actually take the time to read through this tomfuckery.

If things are wrong, please DO correct me!

Links to further reads will be included partially.

TL;DR: Keep your hopes to a low, stop harassing people online and mAnAgE yOuR eXpEcTaTiOnS!!111!!

Okay. First things first:

DISNEY

DOESN’T

GIVE

SINGLE

FUCK

ABOUT

YOU

Disney is a fucking multi-billion dollar corporation with many, many, many studios, stations, brands and franchises worldwide. The Percy Jackson franchise is a dime in a dozen. Disney doesn’t give a single fuck about the PJO fandom in general.

Disney doesn’t give a fuck about you 20-something year old with your 9 year old blog discussing which toilet paper brand Percy uses. And Disney also doesn’t give a fuck about you 16 year old, writing the worst fucking Solangelo fanfic I’ve read so far on this hellsite. Like goddamn.

Trust me, they know you are interested. They know they got you hooked. They see the numbers, they see the like/reblog ratio, they see the Twitter engagement. They see you with #disneyadaptpercyjackson. They see the petitions, they see how excited you were for the musical. You don’t get to be a gigantic conglomerate like Disney with playing stupid.

Also to you fuckfarts saying oH nO I wOn’T wAtCh It I dOn’T cArE aBoUt NeW sTuFf. Congrats dipshit. You are STILL alerting followers and people about what’s happening and creating more buzz, giving more awareness and adding to the transaction costs. You really cheated the system, you little edgelord. Again:

You are nothing but a number. You are a fucking walking dollar bill. You are a consumer waiting for a new shiny product to fill the void in your life for 45 minutes weekly or by two hours at some point.

The PJO movies 1. & 2 happened for a reason. Because Fox saw a popular book series á la Harry Potter, Twilight (and The Hunger Games) and wanted a piece of that action. They wanted your fucking money. Them entirely fucking up and ignoring Riordan’s advice is on them of course. But still. The movies happened. (And also saw people saying they were flops. Reception wise: hell yes. They are awful adaptations (not per se awful movies, there’s a difference). But money wise?? They made together over 245 million dollars in profit. Of course, that isn’t today’s Marvel level but it’s still fairly decent. Also don’t forget that the second movie still got greenlit. Interest was still there despite part one. You disliking something doesn’t turn it into a flop)).

Again, Disney doesn’t care about you. THIS is what Disney cares about:

1. MONEY

2. PROFIT

3. ENGAGEMENT

4. TOTAL GROSS

5. CONVERSION RATES

11. …. “Artistry“

So in terms of money, we gotta speak about the on-going woke culture. You know, lgbtqia+ stuff, poc representation and all the good shit we want and need in our life, right?

Well, I got bad news for ya. Disney being money hungry has its massive downsides. Because where is the money? In the east. Well and what happens if we include the woke stuff? Possible censorships (even retroactively! You know Gravity Falls went through that), bans, etc.

So all of you talking about representation and artistic vision and being bold and brave and blablabla… Throw that into the fucking trash. We can probably be glad if we get Grover back as the token black kid and a few other minorities sprinkled here and there. Open gay Nico? Doubt it. Your afro-latino Percy head canon? Definitely keep that but unlikely to be realized. And also, if you think that Annabeth wouldn’t get turned into the blandest whitest “I dOn’T nEeD nO mAn“ radfem, I got some bad news for ya…

The likelihood of everything being dumbed down, toned down with the exception of a few adult jokes or being even partially censored (depending on certain regions) is very, very high.

Also what makes you think we’re even getting close to the Heroes of Olympus and Trials of Apollo saga? I doubt you will see The Seven for a long time unless Riordan really says fuck it and throws his final ace card into Disney’s filthy greedy mouth.

So if Disney doesn’t have the fandom’s interest at heart, what are they interested in? Well… MONEY. Also NEW engagement. They know your funky ass is going to tune in. They know people will pirate the shit (Me waving like a maniac), they all KNOW that. Again, they aren’t stupid.

So: MORE engagement. MORE money. How do we get even more engagement? By luring new people into the fandom. Who is most likely going to get lured into a family friendly show/movie series because let’s not forget that we’re talking about Disney+? The targeted audience of the books. Who is the targeted audience of the books? MIDDLE SCHOOLERS. 11 to 14 year olds. Disney wants those kids’ (well their parents’ hard earned) money. They want to sell products, in that case books + Disney Plus subscriptions + possible merch. There you also have the likely future rating for the fucking show. Sorry to disappoint everyone that was hoping for gritty Game of Thrones filled with 12 year olds (like seriously wtf?).

Now that that’s settled, let’s talk about the outlook on the show/movie and Riordan’s influence that you people clearly overestimate.

How much power or say does Rick Riordan actually have?

ZERO. ABSOLUTELY NONE.

He’s in the worst fucking lose-lose-situation you could imagine.

Disney owns the books and Fox owns the movie rights. Wait. Fox got bought. By whom you ask? DISNEY, what a coincidence! In Rick Riordan’s own words:

Disney has him by his fucking balls and could crush them at any minute. And if you think, that Disney is letting go of that sweet sweet intellectual property you are fucking mistaken. Riordan isn’t a J.K. Rowling who OWNS the Wizarding World. You have no idea what Disney are capable of with massive lobbying that goes so far to influence copyright laws in the States (LINK)

So you can stop harassing him about a fucking Netflix adaptation as well! Or petitions that do nothing but annoy people.

These negotiations take up YEARS to get the simplest stuff done. No need to shit your pants whenever Riordan’s tweeting stuff.

Still: would Disney be fucking mad to do this without him? Absolutely!

Should Disney involve him to prevent a PJO movie 2.0 scenario?

Yes, they definitely should!

But CAN Disney do this without him?

OF COURSE THEY CAN! THEY OWN EVERYTHING.

In Riordan’s own words:

Read carefully what he has written. He doesn’t say he’s going to halter productions, he’s saying HE WON’T BE A PART OF IT. This also makes me curious about WHO approached WHO in the first place (my guess Disney tried to make some amendments because Fox ain’t shit and trying to alienate the author again would be a goddamn stupid move). Disney has the fucking film rights. Of course they can pump out shit without involving him. They could pull a Fantastic Four (the awful 2015 version) just to keep the rights and for the fuck of it.

There are the following possibilities with Riordan’s involvement:

1. Riordan as a producer: Dude’s gotta be loaded. We know that. But backing the production costs many, many, many millions and I don’t know if he’s THAT loaded. Also film producing isn’t his forte.

2. Riordan as a screenplay writer: Now we’re getting closer to something. Yes, many productions these days have authors directly involved which is great! But also can go the other way around (J.K. Rowling and her Grindelwald fiasco. Author’s do NEED to learn when to stop intermeddling with their franchises, just saying) Book writing and screenplay writing are two very DIFFERENT disciplines. You don’t have the liberties of book writing when it comes to film. The screenplay is the guide for the entire production, the visuals, the set design, the whole atmosphere of the product, the very first thing that needs to be done so that directors, designers and lastly the casted actors know what they have to do. Everything has to come to a point in a very short time and there are many, many, many versions of a screenplay before a final raw draft gets handed out. If that isn’t in Riordan’s interest (which I can completely understand) then that’s simply not happening

3. Riordan as a guide: Directors, screenplay writers, etc. sit down with Riordan on a regular basis to show him the written screenplay, which actors they have in mind, the whole vision and he has a mini veto right.

If you ask me, a mix of scenario 2 and 3 is the most likely to be the most successful. That means, that Riordan needs to have a good faithful team, that sticks closely to the source material. That isn’t guaranteed! Again: look at the PJO movies. But of course, we don’t know the internals of these meetings.

So… now the final part. The whole fucking “Animation vs. Live action“ debate. Well, both sides have their pro’s and con’s. And both sides are filled with a bunch of fucking morons. I won’t try to get you to either side.

But to those that want are begging for a live action version with age-appropriate actors I have the following to say:

FUCK

YOU

PARTICULAR!

WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU WANT CHILDREN TO GO THROUGH THE HELL THAT IS DISNEY AND THE SHADY SHIT GOING ON THERE SO THAT YOU CAN BE ENTERTAINED FOR SOME MERE MINUTES?!

Oh my god…. You people REALLY really want a fourth wave Me Too movement in 15-20 years. Not every Hollyweird kid has a helicopter parent hovering around them on set and many do get abused/robbed by their parents. And the people involved in the production! Of course, animation has still a chance of this happening but the risk is somewhat lower when it just comes to voice acting.

Tbh, I actually wouldn’t mind an aged-up cast again just to prevent this as best as possible. Unfortunately, child actors will always be needed.

I have nothing much to add to this, I’ll just drop a link to an old small post from me about that right here (LINK)

Personally I lean more towards animation but in the big picture I won’t care. (Also the whole animation is for kids and dumbs down the whole narrative for PJO is fucking stupid, boo boo the fool. You being in your late teens/twenties and grown out of the targeted audience is the cause of nature. Animation can be mature or would you show Attack on Titan or South Park to your 8 year old cousin?)

I’ll be just tuning in to see if this is as messy as I’d expect it to be or to be pleasantly surprised.

Also again: this process is a long one. It’s going to be exhausting, depressing, demanding, pushing.

From the meetings now that will take a very long time, to a screenplay, which can take YEARS in finalizing, to hiring staff, location hunting and set design (should they go the live action route), to casting, to costume design, to rehearsing/production, to filming, to dispersing, to editing, to fx, to finishing, to marketing, to publishing, NOTHING IS SET IN STONE! This is a very, very, very, wanky process despite contracts and everything on paper. Let’s not forget, Disney can afford some good lawyers.

And even if everything goes as smoothly as possible. Higher up people could see the final edit of everything with editors having scenes close to the books in an a/b/c/d cut and some producer says NO! I want an c/a/b/d version that again fucks up the dynamics of the books. Or something terrible: everything is shot and done and THEN it get’s postponed. Or even fucking worse: SHELVED to be NEVER RELEASED. Aka Henry Selick’s career after Coraline (Coraline from 2009 is STILL his latest release because of his fucked up Disney contract and them cancelling his shit). Millions of dollars wasted and we won’t get to see ANYTHING. This is all very possible and happens constantly in the film business AND at Disney. This is nothing new.

And there’s nothing we can do about it. No one cares about Riordan, no one cares about the books, no one cares about the fandom.

DISNEY holds the cards. DISNEY gets to decide. Neither Riordan, nor you nor me hold ANY power in this.

So kids… what have we learned today? In conclusion:

Keep your hopes to a low, stop harassing people online and mAnAgE yOuR eXpEcTaTiOnS!!111!!

That’s it. That’s all I wanted to say.

WHEW.

#percy jackson and the olympians #pjo #percy jackson movie #percy jackson #percy jackson adaptation #disney #disney adapt percy jackson #annabeth chase #grover underwood #nico di angelo #rick riordan #riordanverse #my rants

75 notes · View notes

cthulhubert · 5 years ago

Text

Thoughts, not even a review, of Terra Ignota

recently finished Will to Battle.

(Book 3 of Terra Ignota, preceded by Too Like the Lightning and Seven Surrenders. The sequel and finale, Perhaps the Stars, is expected in 2021.)

So I wanted to post some thoughts, not even a review, really.

The take away is that despite many of its major, fundamental features leaving me cold or even actively repulsing me, I overall very much enjoyed reading it.

This is perhaps a higher recommendation than unalloyed praise. The more I like something, the more I complain. For one thing, it's a kind of eustress: the perfect thing has no flaws to catch interest; for another, if I just plain dislike something, I wouldn't spare much thought on it to begin with, much less linearize so many of them into words.

So my mostly negative venting (consisting of immediate and thorough spoilers) beneath the cut

So right off the bat: I HATE the genius serial killer trope; and I detest SFF trolley problem analogs.

I was so irritated by the one-two punch of these big reveals in the first book that I actually let my hold on Seven Surrenders and read several other books in the interim. (I knew I'd be back though, I put a new one on both 2 and 3 next.)

Mycroft Canner... one who believes themself "free" merely because they can kill. It reminds me of something that's stuck in my mind for a long time: a guy calling other peoples cucks because they used alarm clocks to wake up. "I can't believe you let a machine boss you around."

Because I otherwise liked the writing so much, I kept trying to dredge up another layer of meaning to the treatment of Mycroft as torturer-rapist-murderer. For instance: "Oh, so many people around him being sympathetic and liking him is actually the narrative sneakily reminding us that the core trait of serial killers like this is a manipulative personality, which his savant abilities would only feed." Carlyle Foster even brings this up specifically in the scene where we first learn the specifics of Canner's crimes, but of course, their portrayal in that scene (which, reminder, is literally by Mycroft) is of one hysterical and unreasonable.

Palmer did achieve one of most author's highest goals in emotionally transporting me to one of their scenes, but it just really made me wish I was in Carlyle's shoes. To react with, rather than panic, the cold disdain merited by a creature so broken it is wrong about the ways in which it is broken. To spit on them and denigrate their feelings of uniqueness and specialness, arising both from the murders and from their oh so pitiable martyrdom and servitude now. "If only we could mercifully lobotomize away your personality and still use the savanthood modules so unfortunately stapled to them."

Mycroft: "Everybody seems to have one murder they thought was the worst. I thought yours would be []" Me instead of Carlyle, snidely: "Is that a fun game for you, that speculation?"

(In another scene, the Major's sympathy to Mycroft and Saladin as "fellow killers" somewhat raised my hackles; my experience is military people expressing exaggerated disgust for "civilian" killers, perhaps as a way of mental separation between their acts. Though the revelation that the Major is Achilles, with an ancient's attitudes, perhaps ameliorates this.)

As for OS... if you've invented prophecy, there will be heaps upon myriads upon multitudes of miraculous ways to reshape the world before you reach a best value intervention of cold-blooded murder. I was, at least, amused by considering the linear combination of this limitation between the author and the characters. Palmer was quite clever in making sure that the mystical demographic math must be facilitated by humans (and the very odd set-set humans at that).

I admit I hold this philosophy a bit more strongly than my time investment in the fields merit, but I see it this way:

In physics, infinite, friction-less planes in perfect vacuums occupied by inelastic, spherical cows are a useful tool. They approximate things that are theoretically possible, absent the various extra forces.

In ethics, and in any system that is so truly complex, everything you remove makes for a completely different system. None of the elements are basically orthogonal to the circumstances the way air resistance is to a bullet.

These philosophical sorts of thought experiments are, at best, emotional exercises. They are not simplified tools to build a foundation for more complex issues, they're figments born of the phantasmal conditions possible only in the interior of the brain, and too much work with them will only foul both logic and intuition with garbage data.

As for what merely fell flat:

While I deeply enjoyed so much of the speculation about cultural changes brought about by technology, and travel technology specifically, the "no proselytizing" law felt quite forced. I can definitely believe such a law would be passed after the Church Wars described, but holding so strong for centuries?

There are all kinds of supernatural thoughts and beliefs people accept, and there simply isn't a neat threshold between those and religion. Even in the counterfactual world where there was one, it would be quite concealed by the sophistry that's metastasized through the entire discussion space around it.

I can think of a dozen questions off the top of my head that they'd have to decide. And while flipping a coin or an attempt at a definitional framework could answer them, it couldn't do it in a way that's strong enough to stand the test of time. Imagine Laurel/Yanny, the Dress, or if a hot dog is a sandwich, but with material-security level of investment in them!

I'm areligious (to put it... mildly) but for personal, psychosocial reasons, when I sit down to eat I spend a moment in mindful gratitude towards the plants and animals that gave their life for mine. Is that religious? Are ghost hunter shows illegal because they're proselytory for any animistic religion? Would acupuncturists be able to work, or is that a daoist superstition? Could my neighbor's still paint the ceiling of their porch haint blue? Are scientists allowed to register trials for psychic powers? Can schools teach the arguments for dualism?

That doesn't even get into the subjects that, in real life, yank out all the stops on linguistic-conceptual inventiveness! Europe has had a pestilential outbreak of sophistry around head scarves! Would the Alliance ban them for being religious garb? If so, would they ban clothing that covers the ankles as Calvinist religious garb? Or that covers the nipples? (Oh wait, showing the nipples is of significance in some religions! can't allow that!) Should they ban clothing that contains unmixed fibers for being a religious display!? They don't seem to do any of these things, but that's just as much a choice about the First Law as doing so.

Someone proposes personhood begins at conception; I claim that this is fundamentally a supernaturalist belief. Is one of us in violation of the first law? If a hive outlaws birth control, how are they investigated for whether this is a cultural or religious condition? What happens when, I dunno, a Cousin run campus has somebody that wants to put Intelligent Design in the biology textbooks? Most people (well including the people pushing it) know that it's religion wrapped in plausibly deniable words. So is that proselytizing, or is someone pointing it out proselytizing atheism?

Speaking of, there's a pretty good correlation of peace and prosperity with movement to non-religioun. It honestly doesn't seem like sensayers should have much work.

But we meet Bridger and his miracles right at the beginning of the book, before we know a thing about the Church Wars etc. And it's obviously a central tension of the story, intended to be coequal with the brewing war, and yet it quite failed to rouse my interest. The book would've been stronger without it.

Perhaps this *is* just a me thing, since my mind has held miraculous intervention as a solved problem for most of my life. If I were convinced of an event's miraculous character, the most parsimonious explanation is in the vein of, "We're in a simulation that's only been running for a week or so, either as a game or as an experiment, and now we're running under different rules than the ones our (artificial) memories imply." The probability of that happening is too low to waste time processing any other ramifications or possibilities ahead of time.

There is another, related layer of enjoyable consideration, which is of course the reliability of the narrator and his evidence. In Will to Battle, our author is revealed as explicitly delusional, suffering regular, presumably PTSD (and/or anti-sleep drug) related hallucinations. I wish I'd had the patience to do a very close read, or to do a second read—especially given the revelation that 9A edited some of the delusions out of the first two books. Diegetic skepticism is a regular part of the narrative. And there are lots of "rhymes" in the text to mundane circumstances. We're told Bridger looks like Apollo and Seine, and shown the artificial, parentless children, Ganymede and Danaë (crafted to be such a degree of hyperstimulus that among other things, Ganymede has an entire school of art dedicated to him). We're shown that perceptions are malleable, with Thisbe's "witchcraft" and Cato's magician like showmanship. We're constantly exposed to griffincloth and know that just its presence at JEDD's assassination spread skepticism. We're told that scientists proclaim Achilles to have Ancient Greek DNA and an adult's bone structure, but we're also constantly shown an incredible variety of artificial animals and related wonders, and told Apollo was a great scientist.

And yet, over and over the narrative rebukes skepticism. 9A endorses most of what Mycroft has written, and if we go so far as considering them (along with, eg, the officialese headings and warnings) as Mycroft's delusions too, we're at the point where we have to step back so far that the unreliable narrator is actually this "Ada Palmer" character, who is writing about things that don't exist in a year we haven't reached yet!

I was bothered that nobody who learned about it seemed ready to express the proper amount of disgust at the extra-incestuous politics of the world leaders, and honestly find it simply hard to accept that their consortium worked so altruistically.

Finally, ultimately, the central themes of the novel, about peace and war and complacency seem awfully poorly considered for the current era, where voting age children have never known a world without an official war, and the just grown generation is the first since the industrial revolution to be poorer and less healthy and more stressed than their parents. Not just this novel, but the world in general seems to be sorely missing the concept of the important qualitative differences between distress and eustress.

#terra ignota #pls share your thoughts if you disagree I'm bored

4 notes · View notes

moononmyfloor · 5 years ago

Text

Review: The Tyrant's Tomb by Rick Riordan

Thoughts on The Cover

Well, if you've seen my previous posts by now you'd know that I'm not a big fan of loud and action-packed covers. I prefer classy, if not always subtle. But you might like it! See, Reyna is owning the bigger portion of it, which is a nice change. :-)

Ok to Low Points

Halfway through the book, I was STILL unable to "get" into the story

Literally, not much was going on for 2/3 of the whole book, which is very surprising considering:

The time between the release dates of The Tyrant's Tomb and The Burning Maze is the longest as of yet. Whereas other books within a series have come out within twelve months of each other, these two books will be released within eighteen months of each other.

.....and that even the most boring books by Uncle Rick had some silver linings here and there to keep you engaged. Even The Dark Prophecy had the gang arrive and settle in Indianapolis, visit the zoo and free Griffins and REVISIT the emperor. Here? Apollo and Co. escorted Jason's hearse into Camp Jupiter in a frankly insulting manner(more about that later), Apollo got sick, we see that the noble prophecies are being tattooed on Tyson's back, Apollo and Co. went on a lil' trial quest and returned, Apollo got more sick.🤷‍♀️ I was so confused I opened the previous books to see how far those stories had progressed by midpoint.

It got slightly better later on, but it doesn't change the fact throughout the 1st half of the book I just kept on turning pages SIMPLY because I wanted it to get it on with and finish the story. Sad.

2. The so-called Tyrant

I didn't see much tyranny, like...only 3 pages were spent in the Tyrant's Tomb and his company, bad old Commodus and Caligula had more appearances than Tarquin who re-appeared in the very last chapters only to get immediately vanquished courtesy of Diana.....yeah. That's that.

3. How Jason's final voyage was depicted

Uncle Rick doesn't write emotional crying scenes well.

People talk about peeing and pop chewing gum bubbles while delivering the hearses of valued, honored characters.

And I seriously wonder in what position and condition poor Jason's body was after all the drama his coffin underwent.

And based on the spoilery lines(which sadly turned out to be not spoilers at all) we saw in the Magnus Chase series I thought we'd at least get a Percy-Annabeth cameo in this, that Jason will have more of his closest comrades mourning and sending him off. Nah. Nada. Not even a mention of Annabeth. Then why did Uncle Rick mention things like Annabeth and Percy being at California and even Magnus joining them at their time of crisis? Utter puzzlement. And we were also robbed of Nico's reaction to Jason's demise, considering how much Nico valued Jason as a brother-in-arms and a friend. Let's not even talk about Thalia. Why, Uncle Rick? :-(

Which brings us to...

4. Plot Inconsistencies

Why do I have to talk about this in each and every book? :-( Seriously, why would you write about Percy and Annabeth going to New Rome to attend college and being broken hearted over Jason DURING the period of Demigod communication malfunction, only to have us know they have YET to travel across the country and when we meet them again it would still be at New York? And now the communication is working, proving that Uncle Rick conveniently forgot about the clues he conveniently dropped.

AT LEAST I'm glad one thing is consistent in the Trials of Apollo series, that when Zeus decided they'll stop meddling too much in demigod affairs at the end of Heroes of Olympus, he meant it and now it's super duper hard to seek a god even for dire needs, no matter how wonderfully (ill)timed that decision was, costing lives of valued heroes.

5. The Haiku-titles weren't amusing at all this time.

I found one fun haiku .

O, blood moon rising

Take a rain check on doomsday

I’m stuck in traffic

6. The whole Apollo-Reyna debacle.

I would say Uncle Rick pulled a clever twist by turning fan theories on their heads here, but it too way more plot space than needed and when he got to the "Gotcha!" part, I was not feeling it. For YEARS now, we heard abut this no-mortal-no-demigod thing over and over, and fans predicted it might mean Apollo's the one for Reyna. And when it initially seemed like it was the route that Uncle Rick was indeed taking, the only thought that circulated inside my head was; "Reyna doesn't need this completely random and unwanted baggage! Give the girl a dam break!!" But then he was like; "Lol nooo. You kids are wrong", but STILL I was not happy...well, for obvious reasons.

What's the point of this whole plotline? So unnecessary. I mean, the fans always wondered WHY exactly would Reyna think she needs a partner in her life, but now I see Reyna might not have had time to contemplate her personal life logically like WE had what's with her dramatic life. Of course the shallow gods would think her heart was something to be "cured" and Reyna never stopped to think that it's quite the opposite till Apollo provided her with a breather and reason. And to answer why din't she choose to join Amazons instead of Hunters is probably that she wanted to be her own person and not be under her sis the Queen once again. She'd indeed have the freedom, calm and few friends so she wouldn't feel lonely and bored with the Hunt. She might even choose to leave Hunters after she found herself in her own time. I get it. But the way it was dragged and executed was meh.

If Uncle Rick intended this plotline of Reyna to be empowering for female readers, in my opinion it was not. Yes, even a badass girl could have weaknesses, not enough self-confidence and wobbly life choices, but Reyna took too much time with her "Eureka!" moment.

It was funny while it lasted, at least.

“Lester.” Reyna sighed. “What in Tartarus are you saying? I’m not in the mood for riddles.”

“That maybe I’m the answer,” I blurted. “To healing your heart. I could…you know, be your boyfriend. As Lester. If you wanted. You and me. You know, like…yeah.”

HAHAHAHA. That Totally came from the left field Lester, even for you.

“Your girlfriend was pregnant when you had her killed?” Reyna launched another kick at my face. I managed to dodge it, since I’d had a lot of practice cowering, but it hurt to know that this time she hadn’t been aiming at an incoming raven. Oh, no. She wanted to knock my teeth in.

“You suck,” Meg agreed.

I mean, if THIS is not the ultimate deal breaker then what is? Apollo might have changed for better by now, but it doesn't mean we can overlook what he did. I for one certainly don't need a loveline for him in this series. I'm glad Uncle Rick drew(or at least seemed to have) a clear line here.

High Points

It took half the page count even for Uncle Rick's special brand of snark to return. Nonetheless I managed to find some good ones. Which is what matters, right?

“So,” I said, making a second attempt at nonchalance, “are you and Thalia, er…?”

Reyna raised an eyebrow. “Involved romantically?”

“Well, I just…I mean…Um…”

Oh, very smooth, Apollo. Have I mentioned I was once the god of poetry?

Reyna rolled her eyes. “If I had a denarius for every time I got that question…Aside from the fact that Thalia is in the Hunters, and thus sworn to celibacy…Why does a strong friendship always have to progress to romance?"

Preach, sister. But then again I would have to ask did YOU have to swear to celibacy to prove your independence....which is sort of the point🙄..

Even when I was a god and could speak any language I wanted, I’d never sung well in Italian. I kept mixing it up with Latin, so I came off sounding like Julius Caesar with a head cold.

LOL

It was time to be helpful. I needed to be repulsive for my friends!

Which you're most of the time...the latter sentence I mean.

4. Don't we all relate? 😂

“O protector of Rome!” I read aloud. “O insert name here!”

5. And one more.

I bet Gregorix was wishing he’d pursued that business degree his mom always wanted him to get. Being a barbarian bodyguard was mentally exhausting.

Heartrending quotes.

This was the source of all our communications troubles—one sad, angry, forgotten little god.

2. This was the wisest quote I saw in the book. The simple indescribable deepness of letting go.

“Good-bye, Apollo,” said the Sibyl’s voice, clearer now. “I forgive you. Not because you deserve it. Not for your sake at all. But because I will not go into oblivion carrying hate when I can carry love.”

Even if I could’ve spoken, I wouldn’t have known what to say. I was in shock. Her tone asked for no reply, no apology. She didn’t need or want anything from me. It was almost as if I were the one being erased.

3. I was saddened to learn about Julia's untimely loss, but I'm sure everybody had a meltdown moment at the following scene.

The old god’s face hardened a bit more, which shouldn’t have been possible for stone. “I see. Well. I’ve concentrated the last bits of my power here, around Julia. They may destroy New Rome, but they will not harm this girl!”

“Or this statue!” said Julia.

4. Honestly? I too forgot until Apollo pointed it out and then I had *shivers*! They're one immediate family, grieving over one loss that affects all of them in various ways, and having mixed reactions about each others the members who survived!

I shivered. How easy it was to forget that this young woman was also my sister. And Jason was my brother. At one time, I would have discounted that connection. They’re just demigods, I would have said. Not really family.

Overall Conclusion

This is the most bored-outta-my-mind I felt after reading a PJO universe book. Am I finally growing out of the Percy Jackson and the Heroes of Olympus fandom? Oh dear, I hope not. I can't imagine living without it and I'm SO not happy with this new development. Just as I feared, Uncle Rick couldn't keep it up after the excellent Burning Maze and now.....please, for your fans' sake who had been loyal for years, I hope at least the final book delivers. Just so we could at least part ways/go dormant with pleasant sentiments and a content heart.🙆‍♀️

#rick riordan #trials of apollo #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #the tyrants tomb #book reviews.#reviews #pjo

13 notes · View notes

wardencommanderrodimiss · 6 years ago

Text

Chapter 18: Klavier and Phoenix both know weird people, and Apollo is always suffering for it. also, there is the inescapable passage of time.

[Beginning] [Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

In four successive days, Apollo spots crows following him on six different occasions.

The first is sitting at the kitchen window the morning after his conversation with Klavier. It watches him with a critical eye, and remembering that he has the magatama sitting on his dresser needing to be returned to Phoenix today, he goes to get it. Just out of curiosity, really; but the crow is gone when he gets back.

He counts as part of that same occasion the crows digging around in the dumpsters around back of the office when he arrives. After Klavier mentioned a witch and a crow hanging around bothering him, he doesn’t think he won’t be able to notice crows, but the trash seems like normal crow behavior. He knows they’re smart, but there was something very uncomfortable about the staring of the one earlier. He doesn’t bother with the magatama in his pocket.

Even though Phoenix did imply that he did want Apollo to go chase down Klavier, he doesn’t know whether that was supposed to be in the middle of a Thursday, without preamble, and not asking to take the magatama on the way out. Biking over, he prepared excuses. Phoenix enters the office around 10 am and Apollo, offering the magatama, cannot even get through “Sorry—” before Phoenix cuts him off.

“No worries. How’s Klavier doing?” Phoenix flips the magatama over in his hand the way Trucy sometimes spins playing cards.

“Not good,” Apollo says, because he simply wasn’t, “but I don’t think going for ‘spiraling off a cliff’, either.”

“That’s good to hear.” Phoenix is still fiddling with the magatama. “If you can, keep an eye on him still, would you?”

“Uh,” Apollo says. “Yeah, okay?”

Trucy shows up in the afternoon, her arrival heralded by her outside yelling, “Stop eating trash! You’re better than this!” and Apollo counts that as Crow Encounter 1.5.

The second is in the building lobby when he and Clay head out grocery shopping over the weekend. All three of them freeze and stare at each other. “You see it, right?” Apollo asks. Clay nods.

Apollo holds the door open for it on the way out and it squawks at him.

The third is at the kitchen window again that evening, every time he looks. He doesn’t have a magatama this time, can’t do anything but glare back at it. It flies away, croaking loudly, when he brandishes a barbecue wing (Clay ordered them and invited Mr Starbuck over to watch hockey) at it. He doesn’t answer the two of them when they ask what he’s laughing at when he returns to the living room, not really wanting to talk about witches right then.

By the fourth, he’s figured out how to distinguish one of them. If there are several together, if he looks closely, one of them looks almost blue – a dark, glossy navy blue, but still blue – compared to any other. There’s no apparent pattern in the next crow sightings whether the bluish one is there or not. After the sixth, when it is there on a bench in People Park and doesn’t fly away when he and Trucy and Vera approach to eat, but instead just hops around his feet, he offers it an egg and gives up both on counting and on pattern-searching. That one is probably the familiar, he thinks, harassing Apollo whenever it can be spared from its work – though what use a bird is to a prosecutor, he has no idea.

The crows, he doesn’t mention to Klavier. He’s not sure if he should say something like “you should go say hi to your witch coworker so that I stop being stalked by birds as your one apparent human contact” when, since having seen each other in person, since that last thanks, their texts have not strayed from light, stupid remarks. Klavier complains about Vongole’s shenanigans (having apparently not yet hellhound-proofed his fridge) or passes along the weirdest out-of-context statements he hears in the halls (if that implies that he has rejoined office social life, Apollo doesn’t know); Apollo relays Trucy’s best and worst jokes or sends a snapshot of Vera’s latest painting. Phoenix catches him texting and asks, every time, if it’s Klavier. He does this every two days, then every three; then every week, like he’s willing to lengthen the leash with the consistency of the knowledge that – Klavier is alive? It’s a bleak thought, that Phoenix might be expecting otherwise.

October slips into November. The office gets colder; more blankets manifest on top of bookshelves and on desks and chairs and are thrown at Apollo’s head. He’s almost grown used to Phoenix’s constant presence, is used to, to the point of sometimes forgetting, Vera’s. Trucy starts a Youtube channel and makes getting work done in the afternoons difficult recording videos of little sleight-of-hand magic tricks, drags the wifi to a crawl uploading them. She records a cover of My Boyfriend is the Prosecution’s Witness, and then another one where she changes all the pronouns, and Apollo sends both to Klavier. She doesn’t talk much about fae magic anymore, tries to get Apollo into professional wrestling, and sometimes he pretends he didn’t see her sitting at Phoenix’s desk with the mitamah cradled in her hands. Vera tries to paint her nails in the office once and Phoenix gags on the smell. He asks Apollo what he’s been talking to Klavier about lately.

Toward the end of November, Apollo is alone at the office, reorganizing some paperwork for the little cases he’s managed to pick up, when he hears the front office door loudly creak open and someone yell, “‘Sup, Mia! Eyyo, Niii-iick!”

Apollo pokes his head out, not sure what or who he will find, and certainly not expecting a man wearing red skinny jeans and a blazer jacket so orange that Apollo feels compelled to tell him that Halloween was last month. The beret doesn’t really help the costume effect. “Hello?” Apollo calls. “Do you need something?”

(He’s learned from Iris’ warning.)

“You must be Apollo! Nick’s told me about you, like, once, but he’s pretty shit about keeping everyone up-to-date, so I figure that’s good. Is he around or am I gonna have to camp out here until he finds his way back?” The man wanders in past the couches to examine Vera’s smaller paintings propped up on the piano. “Ooh, nice.”

“Um, who are you?” Apollo asks.

“He hasn’t told you about me?” Apollo shakes his head. “‘Course he hasn’t. Nick’s useless. The name’s Laurice Deauxnim, call me Larry. Everyone does, except everyone who doesn’t.” He extends a hand and Apollo stares stupidly at him for a few seconds before he realizes that he should shake it. “Nick didn’t tell you I’d be coming around?” Apollo shakes his head again. “Seriously, Nick, c’mon.” Larry turns his eyes to the ceiling and spreads his hands wide. “Useless, am I right?” he entreats the ceiling, or maybe Mia, considering that he had mentioned her name on arrival. He must know Phoenix well, to know her. “Anyway, I’m an author-artist, I was off on a book tour-new inspiration tour-vacation kinda thing when he talked to me about your changeling friend, but now I am back, baby.”

A pillow hits Larry in the face, and not softly lobbed the way blankets hit Apollo or Trucy, but like it came straight from an air cannon.

“Uh,” Apollo says.

Larry tosses it back at the couch. “Good talk, Mia.”

“I have no idea when either Mr Wright or Vera are going to get here,” Apollo says. If he thinks back, he can remember Phoenix saying that there was someone he had to introduce Vera to – but he can’t imagine this man, orange and red to Vera’s blues and purples, in any way having any way to relate to her. He can imagine Vera retreating back somewhere into the kitchen and not coming back out. He also can imagine purgatory, which is what waiting around for Phoenix in the same office space as this man will be. Iris may have been cryptic and terrifying, but she was quiet.

It’s about ten minutes of some chatter that Apollo tunes out, Larry examining Vera’s paintings and brushes and talking probably mostly to himself, occasionally looking to Apollo like he expects a response he doesn’t get. They both turn expectantly to the door as it opens, and Trucy wanders in with some boxes of Eldoon’s stacked high. “Uncle Larry!” she yelps. “You’re here!”

Uncle, huh. The last one of those was Valant, and this Larry seems to be at least at that level of eccentric, but on Phoenix’s side, not Zak’s.

“Sure am, kiddo! Where’s your dad? He still sleeping, or he finally quit that stupid club?”

“Yeah, he just didn’t go back after the murder trial,” Trucy says. Her smile takes on a bit of a plastic quality as she says the last three words. Who else knows about her father’s murder, who outside of that courtroom; who has she or Phoenix told? “He’s really bad at keeping people up-to-date, huh?”

Larry looks at Apollo and says, “It took him four months to tell me he had a daughter, y’know? And we live in the same city!” Trucy giggles.

Apollo wonders if Larry was ever told that Trucy was adopted. Somehow, he wouldn’t put it past Phoenix.

“Trucy, what exactly is your school schedule?” Apollo asks. He gets the same answer every time, but he still feels obligated to ask, if her father won’t seem to.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says.

“Oof, don’t let Edgy hear that.” Larry rescues Trucy from beneath the noodles and puts them on the coffee table. “Y’know you’re in for another five-hour lecture about ‘the importance of education’” – he throws his voice to some weird accent that sounds nothing like anything and makes Trucy laugh harder – “and how ‘you don’t want to end up like some certain particular orange man who’—”

“You’re not a good example for the perils of flunking high school,” Trucy says brightly. Apollo has a sudden parental urge to ask her what her report card looks like. “You’ve turned out fine, Uncle Larry!”

“It’s all sheer dumb luck and he knows it.” And there’s Phoenix, strolling in with his hands in his hoodie pockets like he knew exactly the timing of when to best appear to make the best joke. “Hey, how’s it going, you sorry bastard?”

Larry gasps in a comically dramatic way, clapping his hands over Trucy’s ears. “I’m fifteen, Uncle Larry,” Trucy says tiredly. “I know what swear words are.”

“Oh.” Larry removes his hands. “Right.” He stares at Phoenix with a glare that keeps turning halfway into a grin before he can fix it. “Well, dumbass, you wouldn’t have to ask how I’m doing if you’d pick up the phone once in a while! Edgy’s better about chatting with me! Edgy is!”

“Sure he is,” Phoenix says with a lazy wave of his hand. “He’s not the one who the fae have banned from getting a new phone that texts faster than a brick.”

“So you two are old friends?” Apollo asks.

Larry gives him a thumbs-up. “Right in one,” Phoenix says.

“Yeah,” Apollo says, “that’s kinda how I greet my best friend, so.”

The three of them chatter over each other, chaotic snippets of conversation burying themselves beneath each other and beneath the weight of obvious years that Apollo is not privy to. Trucy is scolding Larry for forgetting how old she is, and Larry is saying that he just doesn’t have the brains to keep track of the ages of all his friends’ daughters’ cousins’ in-laws, and Phoenix is telling him that he unlike some people doesn’t even have that expected of him and still can’t manage friends’ daughters, and then Trucy has her laptop from somewhere and is pulling up her Youtube channel, and her hat is hovering in midair obviously balanced on her wisp, and Larry elbows Phoenix into a bookshelf.

It’s weird – it’s far more than weird – to see Phoenix on that level of familiarity with someone. With Iris, the history between them, obviously deep, was obviously a gulf that they weren’t trying to, or couldn’t, bridge. But today, Apollo thinks he almost sees a hint of the man Phoenix was before, and not just before the disbarment.

He can’t exactly get away from them; the filing cabinet is in the back room where they settle, Larry lounging in Phoenix’s desk chair with his feet up on the desk, Phoenix sitting on the desk, and Trucy bouncing about all over. He listens to some gossip about mutual friends of theirs – which includes Prosecutor Edgeworth, somehow – and Larry’s career, learning that he’s a picture book writer and artist. A quick search of his name, on Apollo’s fourth stab at how to spell that surname, turns up that he is probably about as successful and well-off as a picture book writer can get. On his wikipedia page – personal life section incredibly short – there’s a note about a woman named Elise with the same surname, another author-illustrator, many less books under her belt, all more than seven years ago, and even less about who she was behind the books.

If Larry wasn’t a friend of Phoenix’s, Apollo wouldn’t think that anything about that was really a mystery. Some people prefer their private lives.

As it is, Apollo tries to dredge up anything from his memory of that month-old aside. It was the same day as his conversation with Klavier, which pushed just about everything else out of his head and didn’t let it back in. “Are you the friend whose mentor was one of the fae?” Apollo asks at the closest thing to a lull in the conversation; Trucy is laughing while Phoenix and Larry glare at each other in mock anger about a joke Apollo didn’t catch, off a discussion about shapeshifters. (Apollo desperately doesn’t and wants to know more about what they know about shapeshifters. It’s the way he feels about most new magic concept. He hasn’t braved asking Trucy more about kitsunes.)

“That’s me,” Larry says. “Unless you’ve made other unfortunate artist friends while I’m not looking, and that’s unlikely, since the only friend you’ve made in the last seven years was a mortal enemy.”

“Look at you,” Phoenix says dryly. “You’ve learned how to use logic, even though I have made friends, thanks.”

“You haven’t told me about any new friends, either,” Trucy says, pouting.

Larry pantomimes stabbing Phoenix in the leg with a pencil. “Anyway yeah,” he says, still gesturing with the pencil but now like he’s a professor lecturing with an imaginary blackboard, pointing to concepts visible only in his mind. “That’s me. Her name was Elise, or at least that’s the name she went by at the end.” He is quiet for a few seconds. “I found her art at a low point in my life, which I guess that low point was ‘most of my twenties’, there Nick I said it before you could, and was so inspired that I reached out to her and I worked with her up until she died.”

“You forgot that the ‘worked with her’ part involved swearing your apparent ‘undying fealty’ to her teachings and ‘everything she could provide you’,” Phoenix says, making a few quotes with his fingers, again with that deep dryness to his voice, not quite sarcastic but plainly amused. “Which – Apollo, tell me the problem of using that phrasing to one of the fae?”

“Everything?”

“Yes,” Phoenix says.

“Shush, Nick,” Larry says.

“I haven’t heard this one,” Trucy says. She perches herself on Apollo’s desk and puts her chin in her hands.

Larry groans. Phoenix’s expression is positively gleeful. “So he’s talking to her about learning painting and publishing from her, in his overdramatic exaggerated way that he says everything,” he says, more animated in his manner of speech than he has ever been before, “and she’s hearing from that ‘oh, he wants to gain magic from me’ and that’s one way how you can accidentally become a witch.”

Does Phoenix know anyone whose life isn’t a fae nightmare? “They don’t make you draw up a meticulous contract beforehand?” Apollo asks.

“They hold the cards in that setup – if you, human, the one at risk, don’t ask, I can’t imagine many would suggest it.” Phoenix snatches the pencil out of Larry’s hand. “Again, sheer dumb luck for it to turn out all right. Be careful swearing oaths to people – you might end up bound and magic for it.”

“I’ll keep that under advisement,” Apollo says, and Phoenix nods like he has imparted some sort of sage wisdom instead of saying something that should, by every right, be obvious.

He isn’t around for wherever and whenever Phoenix introduces Vera to Larry. Their conversation about her assuages some of Apollo’s fears about Larry’s exuberance; Phoenix becomes a human thesaurus but only for the words “sheltered”, “quiet”, and “shy”. “Sorta like Pearls was when we first met her,” Phoenix says, another glimpse of their depth of history, and Apollo wonders about who this girl is before Phoenix adds, “Except Vera grew up here, and Pearls on the other side of the veil.”

Ah. One of the fae. Go figure. How many of them does Phoenix know, anyway, and how is he not dead from it all yet?

Over the next week, Vera’s art supplies begin a slow migration out of the office. She leaves some pencils and sketchbooks around, shows up whenever Larry is meeting with his agent – apparently he hasn’t been home in a while, has a lot to catch up on, drags Phoenix along to anything dealing with a contract while they argue about something pro-bono a decade ago that Phoenix is trying to collect on. Apollo and Trucy leave the office that Friday evening, leaving Vera the only one there, her head in her sketchbook, not even looking up to tell them that she has found the zone and she doesn’t need them to wait around to walk her home.

“I’m so proud of her,” Trucy says, skipping down the sidewalk beneath the spotted streetlights. “She’s come so far since we met her!”

“She’s older than you,” Apollo reminds her.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t be proud of her,” Trucy says. “I’m proud of you when you win a case. I’m proud of Daddy that he’s getting his life back together. And I’m proud of Vera for how she’s doing with everything she found out about herself and her family.”

“And how are you doing with everything about you and yours?” He hasn’t asked her, because she has never drawn close to it, seems to have chosen pretending nothing is wrong as her coping mechanism, which Apollo understands. He’s tried forceful repression and almost succeeded at it. He can’t blame her for not wanting to face all that is behind her. But it seems like a better time than any, the distance of nearly a month and a half, and in the dark Trucy doesn’t have to look at him, doesn’t have to work to hide her facial expressions from him.

After a short delay, her face turned from him under the lights, Trucy says quietly, “Mia had some old grimoires. Daddy’s up late reading all of them, looking for stuff about mitamahs. He wants to help, he always wants to help, but he’s so busy, he’s got court stuff and Court stuff and he was talking about taking the Bar again and now this and I wish sometimes for his sake that we hadn’t ever gone and found any of it at all.” Even in the dark, he sees her shadowy figure slump. “And I wanted to be magic like my grandfather and now I don’t know what to be, but I do know I’m a Wright, and Wrights don’t run from the truth even when it hurts or just kinda sucks.”

In spite of himself, Apollo laughs, and Trucy does too. “Your dad has a real way with words,” he tells her, and she laughs again. “But I mean – if you want to learn about magic, you can learn about magic. It doesn’t have to be like anyone else. You can be magic like you.”

(Like Apollo is a defense attorney not like Dhurke, but like Apollo, and he wants to tell her he understands but like every time before, he doesn’t allow himself to form the words.)

“I guess,” she says. “I guess I can.”

His Saturday plans to sleep in and stay in bed for longer end with his phone’s incessant buzzing. 8:36 in the morning, and he is being called by the number that is saved in his phone as the Wright Anything Agency, the ancient desk phone that Apollo doesn’t know exactly how to make an outgoing call from. He’s not sure he’s ever taken a call on it, either; clients just seem to walk in or be handed to him, and he goes from there.

“Hello?”

Silence.

“Trucy,” Apollo says, “this isn’t really funny.”

He hangs up and plants his face back into his pillow.

Buzz buzz buzz.

Wright Anything Agency.

“Trucy—”

At the loud burst of static, Apollo tries to jerk away from the phone in his hand, rolling halfway out of bed in the process. “What the hell,” he says, at some distance to the phone with no idea of whether he can be heard. “Can we not do something weird for one weekend?”

Again, he hangs up, but this time he does not move. His phone barely has time to return to its lock screen before there is a third incoming call from the same source.

He puts it to his ear and waits. The static is back, soft enough to listen to. Its hiss isn’t constant but has peaks and valleys like a hum, like a whisper, like if he just listens hard enough he would swear that it has the same pulse and rhythm as speech. Blinking at the wall behind his bed, he cautiously asks, “Mia?”

The crackle in response is loud, but not painfully. If he had to classify it as anything, it seems like an affirmation, not the scolding of the static of the second call. “Okay,” he says. “You win.”

He hangs up, waiting for a fourth call to chase him down, and it doesn’t.

“Dude.” Clay slumps into the kitchen, yawning, to take in Apollo dressed in a t-shirt and jeans and shoving a granola bar into his mouth. “Where are you going?”

“I’m getting crank-called by my office’s ghost and I’m presuming it’s for something important,” Apollo replies, through a mouthful of granola, and the words come out such a mess that he has to repeat them after he swallows. At Clay’s dead-eyed expression, he adds, “She’s a benevolent ghost, mostly, I think. Mr Wright said.”

“Yeah, call me if you want me to start looking into exorcisms,” Clay says. “Otherwise” – he throws a thumb over his shoulder – “I’m goin’ back to bed.”

In the gray morning, the streets are sparsely-populated and about as quiet as it gets, restless night over and day not quite begun. The office, when Apollo reaches it, pops the door open before he can even try the handle to see if, like every morning, it is unlocked for him. “Hello?” he calls. The room is empty. No one responds. “Who am I even looking for?” he mutters, and in response, the last of Vera’s paint cans rattle. “Vera?” The lights blink and a book falls, almost in slow-motion, from the shelf next to the far door. “Okay.”

How did he not notice Mia’s presence before Phoenix pointed it out? Had she left him alone to flounder before then? Had everything weird just faded into the background weirdness of his life? He opens the door. The lamp on his desk flickers on, a spotlight twisted to point at the bathroom door. In the quiet, the sound of soft sobbing reaches through the door. “Vera?” Apollo repeats.

Abruptly, the sobbing stops. “I’m fine,” she says, her voice raised as much as it possibly can be, soft as it is through the door. “You can go home.”

“You’re crying,” Apollo says. “I’m not going anywhere.” He slumps against the wall and slowly folds down to the floor. “I didn’t have any plans for today, anyway.”

“Please go home.” Vera’s voice emerges closer, from the crack along the wall. She might have moved, too. “You don’t need to see me.”

See her? There’s something he can work with. “What happened, Vera?”

A second passes, an audible sniff, and then several more seconds. “I don’t know how to go back,” she says, fainter again. The lock clicks open. Apollo scrambles to his feet as the door opens. His breath catches.

Something broke, and it isn’t just the cracks in the center of the mirror.

Vera doesn’t look like she was the one who opened the door. She sits on the floor, hugging her knees, and her fingers digging into her jeans are too long, ending in what looks like sharp bony claws. The skin on her hands and face is variegated, patchy, blue a few shades light than her hair and pale lilac mixed across each other like they were sprayed and splattered down onto a canvas. Her ears end in points and curve near their tips but are surprisingly short, ending at least an inch before the top of her head and instead hooking outward. It reminds Apollo a little of a bat. Her red eyes are a little too big for her face, blinking furiously, and she quickly reaches up to rub away the tear tracks down her cheeks. Apollo almost jumps forward, terrified by those claws going so close to her eyes, but he holds himself back and then realizes, with the iron ring on his hand, he would just make things worse. He shoves it down into the pocket of his jeans.

“Oh,” Apollo says.

Why did Mia call him and not Trucy? He’s no good at this.

“Mr Laurice told me all about his mentor.” Vera’s voice, now that she isn’t raising it through the door, drops to a raspy whisper. “And how he didn’t know what she looked like. He showed me a picture of her how she looked as human, but... “ She sniffs again. “I wondered what I look like. So last night I tried and…” Another, louder sniff, and then a sob that she doesn’t choke down. “I can’t go back. I’ve tried and tried and I... And I can’t go out like this.” She chews on the end of one of her thumb-claws and he can see several of her teeth end in long points like her ears and fingers. “People can’t see me like…”

“You’ve been here all night?” Vera nods. “Did you – did you have dinner?” She shakes her head. Apollo fails to conjure a memory of whether she had anything substantial for lunch or was absorbed in her work that early, too. “Okay, um, here’s what we’ll do.” He extends a hand to Vera. She stares at it for several seconds – maybe she can See some lingering effect of the ring – but accepts it and he helps her up off the floor. “I’m gonna call Trucy because she knows a little more about magic, and I’ll run out and get you something to eat, and we can all figure this out together, okay?” She nods. “Okay.”

He tries his best not to sound frantic when he explains the situation to Trucy. Can a glamour just go away, forever? Vera can’t go back to living like a shut-in, not like this, not when she’s been learning not to shy so far away from the world, not when she’s been introduced to a mentor who can do more for her than just let her hang out in a cramped Anything Agency. “I will be there in five minutes,” Trucy says, hanging up immediately after, not letting Apollo ask how she intends for that impossible timetable, since she said she was at home, to work.

Five minutes later, a void-portal opens near the bookshelf – Vera screams – and Trucy stumbles out with a makeup compact mirror in her hand, and Apollo wonders how he forgot about that Gramarye trick. “Got it the first time this time!” she announces proudly, holding the mirror aloft and then letting it fall from her fingers, slumping over as though exhausted. Her hair is tangled, obviously unbrushed, and she doesn’t even have her hat, probably having thrown on the clothes closest at hand, jean shorts and a baggy t-shirt and her white boots. She flings herself over the back of the couch and stays as she lands.

“You didn’t need to exhaust yourself to get here immediately,” Apollo says. Vera puts her face in her hands; maybe it would have been better for her to take longer to arrive, give Vera more time to accept that someone else was going to see her now too.

“I did.” Trucy rights herself and leans forward. “Vera!” She grins. “You’re so pretty!”

Vera moves her hands apart to look up at Trucy with one big red eye. “Those are such good colors for you! You look just like a pretty painting!”

That’s Trucy, good at this, and Apollo, only a comfort to someone who is a thousand times more willing to talk than Vera is. “I’ll go get you something to eat,” he says.

“Not Eldoon’s,” Trucy scolds, turning a frown and furrowed brow up at Apollo.

“I know, and I wouldn’t anyway. No one should have Eldoon’s at nine in the morning!”

Trucy’s expression tells him that she has definitely had Eldoon’s this early in the morning at least once before.

He makes a run to the source of their other dietary staple, Kitaki Bakery, instead. Mr Kitaki knows by now what the Anything Agency tend to get and doesn’t bat an eye when Apollo asks for whatever they have that is minimal salt. Halfway back through People Park, his thoughts bouncing between that first case and Vera’s situation now, he realizes that he and Trucy aren’t the only ones who could help with Vera’s situation.

Hey so, weird question about glamours Is it possible to like get it stuck and not be able to use it again

That doesn’t make any sense when he retreads after pressing send, so he tries again, stops walking to concentrate on whatever the hell he’s trying to convey. Context. Context would probably help.

Vera’s at the agency and she looks not human and she wants to change back and can’t and she’s freaked out Is it possible that she’s just stuck forever or is there some way to go back And how Trucy and I know nothing

He doesn’t know what rock star prosecutors do with their Saturday mornings – it probably depends on what they do with their Friday nights, and Apollo has no clue about that either – but the message is out there, if Klavier is awake to help.

Maybe that’s why Mia called Apollo.

The TV blares the opening theme of the Steel Samurai on Apollo’s return to the agency. Vera, still blue and purple and fae, at least no longer hides her face, and Trucy flings herself into the couch next to Vera. “We’ve got a game plan,” Trucy announces. Apollo hands her the pastry boxes. “Chill out, eat food, relax, and maybe it works better when not stressed.” She pats Vera’s hand, apparently unfazed by her claws. “We’ll just have a chill day in today!”

“I’m sorry,” Vera whispers. “I know you both had better things to do.”

Trucy looks at Apollo. Apollo looks to the ceiling. “Nope,” Trucy says.

“Not really,” Apollo agrees. “You should’ve called, Vera – called last night, especially, really.”

She ducks her head. Her ears more a little, flaring out and moving down. “I didn’t want to be a bother,” she says. “Since I said I would be okay… And then you were all home again, and I would call you back…”

“You’re not a bother, Vera! You’re family!” Trucy grins at her and squeezes her hand. Then the smile falls off her face. “Wait, Polly, Vera didn’t call at all? How did you know…?”

Vera blinks at him, her big eyes making her resemble some sort of owl, if owls had demonic red eyes. “I got a series of calls from the office phone,” Apollo says. “No voice on the other end. I think it was Mia.”

“Oh,” Trucy says, sinking back into the couch. “I bet it was, too.” They watch the Evil Magistrate make a long villainous speech before he flees, and then Trucy adds, “I always wish I could’ve known her while she was alive. ‘Cause I always think I do know her, and then I think – do I, really? How do you get to know someone from her ghost? And why wasn’t I allowed to know her? Why’d some stupid bastard who thought he was hot shit take that away from us?”

The office is silent until the next episode starts and Trucy launches into a story about how Phoenix defended the original Steel Samurai actor. It seems like a diversion, a distraction, from the way the air hangs heavy after Trucy’s outburst, the way the audio from the TV sounds thinner and hollow. He doesn’t mind it. Vera listens to her unblinking, hypnotized, though it is impossible to tell where exactly her eyes are focused, on Trucy or on the television; there is barely a change in the hue of her eyes where the light hits them, no apparent pupils in her ping-pong ball eyes.

They make it through that episode and half of the next, Apollo still puzzling over the apparent circles of people that Phoenix knows, and all jolt at the sound of knocking on the door. Phoenix doesn’t knock, and it’s still barely 9:30 on a Saturday morning. Is the agency properly open on weekends? What are its hours? Apollo has never had a clear idea. The three of them sit frozen for several more seconds, time enough for the knocking to start again. Trucy vaults the back of the couch. “Coming!” she calls, smoothing down some flyaway hairs and yanking the door open. “Oh! Prosecutor Gavin! Hi!”

If Apollo is surprised – and he is, frozen in place and staring in confusion at the back of Trucy’s head as she continues to frantically comb flat her hair – then Trucy, who has no idea that Apollo contacted him, must be shocked as all hell. He checks his phone to see if he hadn’t missed a text in response, some advance warning, finding nothing. He just showed up.

Something thumps to the floor. Apollo finally turns his head. Vera flees over the back of the other couch, landing heavily and slamming the door to the other room hard enough to shake the coffee table. “Vera! Wait—!”

“I see I’m already not helping the situation,” Klavier says dryly. Apollo expects to see the tired-eyed man he last saw over a month ago – has it been that long? – and the plastic smile that paired with that bitter tone. But Apollo doesn’t have the magatama on him, and Klavier is Klavier, insufferably glamorous (in every sense of the word), and he’s grinning at them both with his spotlight smile, like even just in a t-shirt and jeans with his hair pulled back low, he should only be at home on the stage.

Apollo hates him again, though he can appreciate that he isn’t wearing that stupid necklace.

“You could have just… texted back.” Apollo scrambles to his feet as Klavier enters the office, as out-of-place as he was the first time he dropped by. “Or – or just called if it was too much to write—”

“Oh,” Trucy says. “You texted him? That explains – anyway, ignore him, Prosecutor Gavin.” She pats Klavier’s arm. “I’m glad to see you.”

“I could hardly ignore a distressed damsel, ja?” Klavier asks. “And besides, I haven’t seen my favorite Fraülein Magician in a hot second.”

“Vera tried to hide from me too when I showed up,” Trucy says, trailing behind Klavier as they pick their way through the usual office mess. “It’s not just you. And she—”

Klavier yelps and jerks his hand away from the doorknob. Still at some distance to it, Apollo can feel the cold radiating from the metal, an unequivocal warning. If it’s Mia not letting them in, she must have reason; there must be something—

“Your rings,” Apollo says.

“Huh?” Trucy asks.

“Prosecutor Gavin – those are iron, right? And Vera—”

Klavier’s eyes widen. “Ah,” he says, immediately plucking them off of his fingers. “Of course.”

“What happens?” Trucy asks. Klavier, reaching for the door again, a little more hesitant than before, freezes. “Like is it like magnets that it just repels, or…?”

“Like most magic, it depends.” Klavier’s eyes have a vacant, absent look, one that glamour can’t hide. “The scar on Kris’ hand, though – that was iron. I don’t suppose he ever forgave me for it.”

He obviously braces himself before touching the doorknob again, shoulders slumping with relief when nothing happens. “Vera!” Trucy calls, ducking in under Klavier’s arm. “It’s okay! None of us are mad at you, Vera!”

“I’m sorry for yelling at you in court,” Klavier says. “That was unbecoming of me, and you undeserving.”

The bathroom door is open, the kitchen door is nonexistent, and Vera’s voice rises up from somewhere in the room. “I did deserve it,” she says. Trucy makes a beeline for Phoenix’s desk. “You can be mad at me. It’s okay. I screwed everything up, and I’m just like your brother--”

“Nein, Fraülein, let me stop you there.” Klavier walks to the desk and leans against it, his back to Trucy attempting to drag Vera out from underneath. “The only thing you have in common with my brother is that you are both changelings, and I can hardly hold a grudge for that, ja? I do not fault Herr Forehead for being human when many heinous criminals I have prosecuted are also human.”

Apollo decides not to acknowledge that.

Her work done, Trucy hops up onto the desk. Vera stands there, her head ducked, her ears flattened out to the sides and drooping further. Klavier glances back over his shoulder and grins at her; unlike Apollo or even Trucy, he doesn’t have to hesitate a moment. He would have Seen her before, wouldn’t he? “There we go,” he says. “No need for pretty little Fraüleins to hide their pretty faces like that, ja?”

Vera lowers her head further, her eyes almost frantically avoiding Klavier’s, her clawed fingers tugging her hair down around her ears. It doesn’t help. “I would still rather look like me,” she says softly. “I want to be me again.”

Klavier sighs heavily. “Well, that’s the first part of your problem, Fraülein: this is you, much as anything else is.”

A soft sob escapes Vera’s throat. Apollo glares at Klavier. “Like I am Prosecutor Gavin and Klavier the rock star; I am not me if you cut away either. Everyone has different faces for the world at different times, ja? Yours and mine, Fraülein, are just a bit more literal than most.”

Vera sinks down into the desk chair, her hands spread out in front of her, the white hooked claws splayed apart. “I’m afraid I have no answer that will be like—” Klavier snaps his fingers. “I’m not very good at teaching magic, I’ve been told.” His knuckles pale on the hand that he doesn’t have in the air, tightly gripping the edge of the desk. “But I can promise you only more hurt in trying to bury half of yourself.”

“Turn your thinking around!” Trucy says brightly. Klavier looks relieved, probably that they aren’t going to dwell on what he said, read into it everything that is definitely there beneath the surface. “You’re not trying to – to change yourself or anything, just be a different self for the situation. Like how I’m not allowed to wear my top hat to school, or Polly – well, I guess Polly’s only got one face and it’s loud.”

“Hey!”

“There you go proving her point,” Klavier says with a smirk.

“Daddy says that magic is all about being sure,” Trucy continues, content to ignore that which she has sparked. “That if you don’t think you can, you won’t. So you can! I know you can!” She beams at Vera. She’s a good cheerleader; it’s part of what makes her such a good counsel in court. (The other part is that she’s smart as hell, but sometimes Apollo needs someone to believe in him when he doesn’t believe in him.)

Vera stares at her claws, visibly uncomfortable with the attention all on her. “Why didn’t my father tell me?” she asks. “I could have figured this out a long time ago.”

Apollo, thinking about someone else who wasn’t told, who also found out in a bad situation, fails to not look at Klavier, who glances away. Trucy turns to look at him as well. “There’s hardly a guide for how to raise a changeling, ja?” Klavier drums his fingers on the desk. “Perhaps he hoped to stop you from being torn in two like this. Perhaps he worried that once you knew, you would try some sort of dangerous magic. Perhaps he was afraid to face it, too. Who knows? I have wondered often myself, much as I know it is far too late to ask.”

Apollo thinks, if not quite that question, he and Trucy just as well have questions for their parents, far too late to ask them. And Trucy’s face falls, her eyes cast down toward her boots, undoubtedly thinking the same. There’s one other question Apollo has, one he could ask, one that isn’t too late, and doesn’t: why Klavier didn’t tell anyone what Vera was. Was he afraid to face it, for fear of facing that echo of his brother?

For several minutes, the only sound in the office is the faint rumble of the TV from the next room over. Trucy is the first to move; she doesn’t speak but instead gasps and smacks Apollo’s arm. “Vera!” she says, fortunately excited, not horrified or afraid. “Your hands, look!”

And she grabs one of Vera’s hands – still mottled like paint splashes, but purple and blue the whole way up her fingers, ending with silver nails and stubby human fingertips. “Good work, Fraülein!” Klavier says, leaning halfway over the desk to look. He grins at her, another one of his flashbulb smiles, and Apollo would swear that the skin on Vera’s cheeks, even the blue part, takes on a purpler tone. Is that how she blushes with this face?

“I thought glamour was just illusions,” Trucy says, still holding Vera’s hand and studying it like it is a piece of evidence. Vera for her part at least doesn’t seem to mind. “But like…” She taps the end of one of Vera’s fingers. “There’s obviously not an invisible claw here. So it’s like a kind of shapeshifting?”

“It’s magic, Fraülein,” Klavier says. “It is a glamour. I don’t know what to tell you.”

“I’m an artist,” Vera says softly. “Whatever face I have… I’m an artist. And I’m not trained to hold a brush with claws, so…” She shrugs. Trucy finally drops her hand. “They went away.”

Magic is about being sure, and if she’s sure of anything, it’s that.

Klavier offers her a high-five, which she accepts. “You’ve got it, Fraülein.”

“Just not…” She frowns. “The rest.”

“Ach, don’t doubt yourself now. I’ve no doubt before long you’ll be able to show off either of your lovely faces whenever you choose. And all without my poor advice.”

Vera starts to giggle and then hastily presses her hand over her mouth. “It helped,” she says.

They can’t hear the front door open, but it is apparent when the murmur from the TV is added to. Phoenix’s voice drifts in, half a conversation, starts and stops, and like no one else is with him. They all look to the door and Phoenix enters, phone in one hand, two heavy-looking leather-bound books balanced in his other arm. His eyes pass over the four of them, flashing blue and black, but his part of his conversation doesn’t falter. “Okay, but there’s absolutely no need to have a midlife crisis at seventeen,” he says. He drops the two tomes on Apollo’s desk.

“I did that,” Klavier says quietly. “Wouldn’t recommend it, either.”

Phoenix stands with his hand still on the books, shaking his head at whatever is being said on the other end of the line. He rolls his eyes. “Well first I’d take a breath, and then – no, they’re not going to discriminate based on your birthday, I know a kid – not really a kid anymore, she’d kick my ass if she heard that – who got her badge at thirteen so you are – take a breath, please.” He drags a hand down his face. “Yeah, words of wisdom still aren’t really my forte, so I’d hang up the phone and go study some more – yeah.” He laughs. “And I do kinda have to cut you off, sorry. Got some kids here in local time I gotta check up with.” His eyes flicker between colors at them again. “Of course there’ll still be room for you here. Just maybe not as much space as I thought a year ago. Talk to you later, kiddo. Right,” he says, shoving the phone into his pocket and spinning on his feet a little to properly face them all. “Someone wanna give me the opening statement?”

“Glamour’s stuck,” Trucy says.

“I panicked,” Vera says, sinking down a little further in the desk chair.

Phoenix nods. “It happens. Even some friends of mine, they’ve known their magic their entire lives – still, they get hurt or tired or hungry or upset, and they’ll end up stuck for a bit, too. Which – checklist.” He holds up two fingers and taps one for each question. “Have you eaten recently?” Vera nods. “Sleep okay last night?” She shakes her head. “That’s not gonna help, for sure.”

“I feel a little better now,” Vera says, staring down at her hands again. They are still clawless. “Trucy and Apollo helped. And Prosecutor Gavin too, a lot.”

“Good to hear.” Phoenix takes a few steps toward his desk and stops, raising his voice without turning his head. “Speaking of, Prosecutor Gavin could at least stand to say goodbye before he sneaks out.”

And Apollo turns his head and Klavier simply isn’t there any more. He made the joke – probably not a joke – about being seventeen and now Apollo scans the room and he is simply gone. Gone, and knowing the sensation to expect, Apollo can’t make his eyes focus on a space next to the door.

“You don’t have a magatama on you,” Klavier says. He doesn’t really reappear, like he was invisible and now isn’t. “How did you…?”

“I’m a father,” Phoenix says, “of a daughter with a will o’ the wisp that, when she was littler, she liked to use to distract me while she stole cookies out of the pantry.” Trucy’s face turns pink; Phoenix grins unrepentantly. “I know when you kids are trying to make me look somewhere else.”

“Ah,” Klavier says.

Phoenix waves over his shoulder. “Don’t be a stranger,” he says. “Door’s usually unlocked.”

Klavier nods once, wide-eyed, numbly, and he slips through the door.

“Still didn’t say goodbye,” Phoenix mutters.

“I don’t think he likes you very much,” Vera says quietly, staring intently down at her nails.

“No,” Phoenix says. “Not really. We’ll work on that, but you first, kiddo.” He claps a hand on Vera’s shoulder. “One worry at a time.”

“Daddy,” Trucy says sharply. She has gone to Apollo’s desk, paging through the thick volumes that Phoenix deposited there. “You said you were running errands when you left.”

“That was my plan,” he says, dragging his hand down his face, but nothing about his movements appears like a lie to Apollo. “Then I was handed possible new leads and got waylaid.”

Trucy’s frown deepens. “Daddy…”

It must be about the mitamah again, like Trucy said last night. “I’m not overworking myself, sweetheart, I promise,” Phoenix says.

And that isn’t a lie, either, not to Apollo’s eyes, but the dark shadows under Phoenix’s eyes still contest that truth. He can’t actually be managing just one worry at a time.

I’m pretty sure Mr Wright doesn’t hate you You didn’t have to run out like that

-Ah, you had all your agency people there -I didn’t want to impose

You’re like the least imposing visitor to ever show up here tbh Not like the fae woman who just showed up and then told me to watch my phrasing on how I ask clients if they need help

-the what

Yeah

-You’ll have to tell me about that sometime

#now i have to spend the rest of the day on schoolwork and i am not looking forward to it wooooo #fic: the seelie of kurain #roddy fanfics

10 notes · View notes

gallifreyandemigoddess · 7 years ago

Text

Listen, I have a lot of emotions about “The Burning Maze” and everything that unfolded in this particular book. It destroyed my soul in many ways, but it also gave me an immense amount of satisfaction and joy.

But, to start it off in the same way that I’ve started my other two posts about “The Hidden Oracle” and “The Dark Prophecy”, I will start with my favorite sun god, Lester Apollo.

I’m really happy with how profound his character development has become.

“All of this,” I announced, “is my fault.”

You can imagine how difficult this was for me to say. The words simply had not been in the vocabulary of Apollo.

We have this former Olympian who was used to having everything he could ever desire and who was arrogant and self-centered (though in the first book he admitted that his self-centeredness was a pretense, something to hide how lonely and heartbroken he actually was, more specifically on the twenty-seventh chapter, on page 258) I add the source to show that I’m not making shit up. And through the course of his trials he has, in a way, grown to accept his fate as a human.

He still laments his fate, and he still wishes he could become a god and leave all those problems behind, but he has grown to understand what it means to be a human, and to accept his emotions and to feel.

“In times past, I would have scoffed at any nymph who dared to call me poor thing. Now, Mellie’s show of concern caused a lump to form in my throat. I was tempted to rest my head on her shoulder and sob out my troubles.”

“Gods wouldn’t normally mourn the loss of a griffin, or a few dryads, or a single ecosystem. The longer I was mortal, the more affected I was by even the smallest loss.”

There are several parts where he is gentle to Meg and to Grover when they seem to be hurting. The Apollo from the first book would have never done that, he would’ve cared only about himself and his own feelings.

The few times he mentioned how much he missed being a god, he wasn’t thinking only about how he could simply pass his duty to the demigods and return to the safety of Olympus, he was also thinking about the lives he could’ve saved had he still been the god of healing.

This part, however, shows great depth because in the past (around the first book maybe), he wouldn’t have given the choice a second thought, he would’ve just left:

I wondered, if my own father, Zeus, appeared to me just then and offered me a way back to Olympus, what price would I be willing to pay? Would I leave Meg to her fate? Would I abandon the demigods and satyrs and dryads who had become my comrades? Would I forget about all the terrible things Zeus had done to me over the centuries and swallow my pride, just so I could regain my place in Olympus, knowing full well I would still be under Zeus’ thumb?

Also, the little fucker tried to sacrifice himself so many times in the story I was about to tear my hair out. I lost it when he actually impaled himself with the Arrow of Dodona, I was very, as the scientists call it, shooketh.

“Let my friends go,” I said. “All of them. Then you can have me.”

The emperor’s eyes gleamed like a strix’s. “And if I don’t?”

I summoned my courage and issued a threat I never could have imagined in my previous four thousand years of life. “Ill kill myself.”

On a familiar note, Apollo is starting to realize that perhaps Zeus had a valid reason for sending him down to Earth as a mortal, which shows more growth, because on the last books he had only seen his punishment as something unfair.

“I began to wonder if maybe, just maybe, Zeus had been right to send me to earth, to correct the wrongs I had allowed to happen.

Sassy Apollo is the best thing to happen:

“Girl, I see you- I felt like saying- You are not subtle, and we really need to have a talk about crushing on dryads.”

“Full points for vagueness, girl, but I want the dirt.”

Supporting (and charming) Apollo is also an amazing thing:

“Such a gorgeous blade held by the most beautiful woman ever to walk the earth. (No offense to the billions of other women out there who are also quite enchanting; I love you all.)”

Also, this part in which he was literally the Dad Friend?

“Meg!” I chided. “Sit back and buckle up, please. Grover, stop eating your seat belt. Your setting a bad example.”

Just imagine this scene please, “Meg summoned her golden swords. Grover fumbled for his reed pipes. I prepared to run away screaming.” because I pictured little Lester shifting uncomfortably on his spot as his friends prepared to fight like in a scene of The Avengers, and he just, he had nothing.

The time in which Meg was a straight up savage:

“Unbelievable,” I muttered. “After four thousand years, I am still discovering new things.”

“Like how dumb you are,” Meg volunteered.

“No.”

“So you already knew that?”

Caligula’s character.

Caligula wants to be the new fucking sun god, and his whole plan to extract what is left of Apollo’s divinity? Fucking twisted but at the same time so...I don’t know how to explain it. I hate his character and I would die if anything happened to Apollo (I’d be damned if by the end he doesn’t go back to being a god) but at the same time, that plan shocked me to my very core. Its unnerving and unsettling but it makes sense. He always wanted to be seen as a god.

On the past book, the second emperor revealed turned out to be a former lover of Apollo, but on this book, it is shown that Caligula’s personality startled the god since ancient times. I find it curious how he seems to have history with each emperor.

Finally, Caligula laughed. “Well done!” He patted my shoulder, then snapped his fingers. One of his servants shuffled forwards and handed me a heavy pouch of gold coins.

Caligula whispered in my ear, “I feel safer already.”

After that, I stayed away from Rome for decades. It was a rare man who could make a god nervous, but Caligula unsettled me. This particular part though, I could almost feel the sexual tension, and no one can convince me otherwise that this wasn’t Caligula flirting with the disguised Apollo.

Another thing I found really interesting is the explanation for when Apollo became the new sun god, and his words to Helios nearly at the end of the book:

“But I remember you- your brilliance, your warmth. I remember your friendship with the gods and the mortals of the earth. I can never be as great a sun deity as you were, but every day I try to honor your memory- to remember your best qualities.”

Now let’s move on, kids.

Let’s talk about Piper, Grover, and Jason for a moment.

I had forgotten how amazing Piper McLean was, specifically, how caring and sweet she is? She comforted Meg a lot of times thorough the book, and she was such a badass too? I love her? She’s the best? How could anyone hate her?

I also like how well she clicked with Apollo. It was cute.

Piper gave me a wry smile. “That’s nice. I like that. You’re sure you’re not the god of wisdom?”

“I applied for the job,” I said, “but they gave it to someone else. Something about inventing olives.” I rolled my eyes.

She burst out laughing, which made me feel as if a good strong wind had finally blown all the wildlife smoke out of California. I grinned in response. When was the last time I’d had such a positive exchange with an equal, a friend, a kindred soul? I could not recall.

I liked this too:

Piper arched her eyebrows. “Are you sensing a disturbance in the Force?”

“Please,” I muttered. “I’m sensing my usual bad luck.” Because RELATABLE.

Grover is still a sweet, dorky child. I like that we had more information about him as the book proceeded, specifically that he is yet to see Percy again (when will we have that reunion? I don’t know, but I need that to happen asap) and that he has never been to Camp Jupiter. All those months he had been in Palm Springs dealing with the natural disasters happening all around and with the disappearing dryads. It warmed my heart how he was so happy to go back to Camp Half-Blood, to his home.

I wasn’t expecting the news of Piper and Jason’s breakup, but I like that at least we got an explanation and that it was rational.

“You’re wondering who you are without all the pressure.”

Piper loves him, but their relationship had a wrong start.

Hera messed with their memories, made them start dating for a reason that did not exist. Her mother, the goddess of love, made her believe that she needed to have a boyfriend to be a proper daughter of Aphrodite. It’s only reasonable that after everything ended and they tried to settle down she’d realize that she doesn’t know where that leaves her. She needs time to decide who she is- not the daughter of Aphrodite, not as one of the Seven of the prophecy- as her own person.

And even when they’re not a couple anymore, they’re still partners.

It struck me how easily they talked together, even about difficult things, and how well they seemed to understand each other.

Jason Grace. This part is certainly harder to write.

Let’s start with nice things:

“I tried to talk sense into Zeus. I told him it was wrong to punish you. He wouldn’t listen.”

I stared at him blankly, whatever remained of my natural eloquence clogged in my throat. Jason Grace had done what?

Zeus had many children, which meant I had many half-brothers and half-sisters. Except for my twin, Artemis, I’d never felt close to any of them. Certainly, I’d never had a brother defend me in front of Father. My Olympian brethren were more likely to deflect Zeus’ fury by yelling Apollo did it!

This young demigod had stood up for me. He’d had no reason to do so. He barely knew me. Yet he’d risked his own life and faced the wrath of Zeus.

My first thought was to scream ARE YOU INSANE?

Then more appropriate words came to me: “Thank you.”

Jason took me by the shoulders- not out of anger, or in a clinging way, but as a brother. “Promise me one thing. Whatever happens, when you get back to Olympus, when you’re a god again, remember. Remember what it’s like to be human.”

A few weeks ago, I would’ve scoffed. Why would I want to remember this?

Now, however, I had some inkling of what Jason meant. I had learned a lot about human frailty and human strength. I felt…different towards mortals, having been one of them.

“I promise,” I told Jason.

I really loved that part. I think it defines exactly the kind of person that Jason Grace was.

All right, let’s move on.

His death. Jason Grace’s death.

I won’t describe the scene, out of respect, but I honestly think that (while he didn’t deserve to die) he died as a hero, and that it is the only thing that matters. He died to protect his friends- his brother and his ex-girlfriend- and he knew what would happen, he was ready for it. He made his choice. It hurts, of course it does, but he had a hero’s death.

Other parts I liked about the story:

How were heroes with accessibility needs supposed to enjoy this death trap?

Grover summoned the cry of Pan again.

You humans. You’re why we gods can’t have nice things. Are you sure, Apollo? Because I’m pretty sure that Percy Jackson could do a flawless PowerPoint presentation on how wrong you are.

That could be my life motto, I thought. He takes a lot of damage. Same, Apollo, same.

Imagine this scene, please, because it honestly gave me life:

Behind me, Grover wrestled with Coach Hedge, who was desperately trying to claw open a family fun pack of grenades while cursing the tamper-proof package. Apollo is trying to be diplomatic and remain calm while they’re being threatened to life, and behind him are two satyrs wrestling over opening or not a big pack of grenades.

The Ares-so-lame video that went viral in mount Olympus that Apollo was definitely not responsible for uploading.

I enjoy running people over in a chariot as much as the next deity, but I did not like the idea of being the guy run over. Honey, now you know how demigods feel.

Apparently, Hephaestus throws great pool parties.

If a goat wears a goatee, is it a man-tee?

Apollo’s bitterness towards his family: “The Olympians allowed Zeus to strip me of my powers and toss me to earth. They’ve done half Caligula’s job for him. They won’t interfere. As usual, they’ll expect heroes to set things right.” Tune down the salt, Apollo, not a month before that moment you were one of the gods that expected heroes to fix everything.

This quote: “It’s been my observation that you humans are more than the sum of your history. You can choose how much of your ancestry to embrace. You can overcome the expectations of your family and your society. What you cannot, and should never do, is try to be someone other than yourself.”

Mount Olympus Mega-God lottery.

The oracle’s riddles; the little game they had to solve to get to her.

The multiple mentions of Apollo’s love handles.

Imagine this, please: I still have nightmares about Hermes skating through Olympus with his big hair and gym shorts and high striped socks, listening to Donna Summer on his Walkman.

Carry him away! I prayed, knowing that no god would listen. Please, just let Tempest get him to safety. This part wrecked me. How pained everyone was to Jason’s death, how a former god knows that his kind never listen to those kinds of prayers because they don’t care.

The maze giving Apollo the middle finger.

Apollo’s imminent rage and heartbreak when the maze used Hyacinthus against him.

Apparently Camp Half-Blood has a satyr school for young satyrs that want to be protectors?

Very few people look as good in tights as Spider-Man. 100% agreed.

Who cared about Apollo? I DO, BITCH, I DO.

How Apollo thought of his family when he was under Medea’s spell. Of his parents, of his twin sister.

The heartbreak that came with Crest’s death. How much it affected Apollo. The poor thing was just a child, and he died to protect them.

REYNA AVILA RAMIREZ ARELLANO IS GOING TO APPEAR ON THE NEXT BOOK. YES. MY QUEEN.

How Jason wanted to fulfill the promise he made to the sea goddess he met with Percy all those months before.

Leo’s arrival broke my heart. He couldn’t say goodbye to Jason. I pictured Piper and Leo’s reunion a million times, but I never imagines that.

I found myself crying. It was ridiculous, gods don’t cry. But as I looked at Jason’s diorama in the seat next to me, all I could think about was that he would never get to see his carefully labeled plans finished. As I held my ukulele, I could only picture Crest playing his last chord with broken fingers.

This line: “I would not allow those who had sacrificed themselves to do so for nothing.”

And the ending: But from now on, I would be more than Lester. I would be more than an observer. I would be Apollo. And I would remember.

Everything that happened on this book has shaped Apollo, has made him more human. I think on the next book his promise of being more than an observer (or remembering) will come true- I think he will be stronger than before, because he wants to honor the memory of those that died for his cause.

I want to see Reyna interact with Meg and Apollo, but most of all, I’m kind of worried for Thalia Grace. She deserves to know what happened to Jason, but I know that it would break my heart. She could react in so many ways…It’s only going to be painful.

But I’m so ready for it! (NOT)

As a whole, I loved the book. I’m really looking forwards to “The Tyrant’s Tomb.”

#trials of apollo #trials of apollo the burning maze #toa #apollo #lester papadopoulos #my opinion as usual #meg mccaffrey #piper mclean #grover underwood #percy jackson #pjo #toa spoilers #trials of apollo spoilers #jason grace #reyna avila ramirez arellano #the burning maze spoilers #rick riordan #book review #Greek Mythology

1K notes · View notes

flightfoot · 6 years ago

Text

Continuation of discussion on Olympian Pain Ch.4

flightfoot

Yeah, I noticed that you actually said Tartarus after I wrote that. …Honestly I think that Zeus being tossed to earth and having to take Apollo’s place on his quest would probably be a better punishment, but in his case, he’d probably be left there until he dies. I really like the idea of Zeus having his own redemption arc where he has to live out three mortal lifespans as a demigod with no memory of who he really is, and achieve Elysium each time. I’d like that even if Apollo doesn’t die or get dissolved, actually.

I’ve had this little imagining in my head for awhile where Apollo dies fighting Python while protecting Meg, and his godly essence nearly sputters out, but Meg manages to get ahold of it unknowingly as he’s dying (kinda like how gods can possess godlings in the Kane Chronicles). Zeus transports Meg up to Olympus, blames her for Apollo’s death (because someone has to take the blame, and you know it won’t be Zeus), and she just TEARS him a new one… and then he incinerates her. The other demigods who were present at the battle and were also called to Olympus immediately start attacking Zeus, and their godly parents help. Meg manages to bring herself back as the god redemption and rebirth (she’s got dryads in California who seem to worship her, that might be enough to obtain godhood. Plus she has Apollo’s essence still with her, and there’s no WAY she’d let him be disintegrated completely) and is able to bring Apollo back with her. He’d probably be a baby though, since those reincarnated dryads still started out as saplings. Plus his essence was almost completely gone, it would take a while to recover from that. She dishes out her punishment: Zeus would be reborn three times on earth as a demigod, with no knowledge of who he is and only with the powers a demigod of his parentage would be expected to have. Meg would be the only one who would know when and who he’d been reborn as, to keep things fair. Upon his third death, the council would reconvene and decide whether to give him his powers back.

In this little idea I had, Apollo would become Camp director for Camp Half-blood once he had recovered, so he’d know Zeus well in each of his lives… especially his last one, where he’d be reborn as Apollo’s son. Apollo would bond with Zeus closely, like he would with his other children, and would confess that Meg had told him that Zeus was on his last lifetime. He’d talk about how nervous he was about facing his father again, how he used to punish Apollo brutally and blame it on his lightning bolt, of how Zeus reminded him of both Nero and Caligula, and how furious and scared he was when he learned that Zeus had vaporized Meg. Zeus (in mortal form with amnesia of his true identity) would be furious at Zeus for inflicting such pain on Apollo, and shout about how he would fight against Zeus if he tried to hurt Apollo, even if it meant his own death - which Apollo isn’t happy about, but Zeus is stubborn regardless of form. Then he dies and remembers that HE’S the one who committed all those wrongs.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

authorgirl1111

If it helps I’ve thought it a ridiculous amount of times about Apollo succeeding Zeus as king.

I have a story both on tumblr, DeviantArt and A03 about what could happen the final chapter of if the final book in the TOA series and in it, a new prophecy is uttered that basically says that Zeus is going to be kicked off the throne. I wrote an essay on why I think Apollo would succeed Zeus as king. (It’s not that good. I published it but it’s not that good.)

I think there’s a story (not finished) on this sight, About Zeus becoming human except he doesn’t have amnesia.

“I’ve had this little imagining in my head for awhile where Apollo dies fighting Python while protecting Meg, “ Yeah cause actually blaming Python or the Triumvirate would actually make sense yeah? LOL Zeus never makes much sense.

Huh, actually that would be interesting. Would Apollo age quickly too? Like he first did when he was first born?

Meg getting incinerated given her mouth actually makes sense. (Though Zeus has never incinerated Percy…. then again I don’t think Percy ever mouthed off to him in such close proximity. I don’t know about the worship of dryads would give her immortality, I always thought it was the worship of humans that determined immortality in riordanverse… ehh it could probably still work.

Three times? Why? Cause Zeus is just worse then Apollo? I wonder how meg would know though. She has power over plants not the dead… or maybe Hades tells her?

ooh that would be awkward his father reborn as his son? Yeesh.

That would probably grant him a healthy dose of guilt wouldn’t it? Yeesh.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

flightfoot

Apollo succeeding Zeus as king WOULD be an appropriately climatic end to his character arc, though I think we’d have to have a second book series to get him to the point where that would make sense. It would be kinda tricky to pull off convincingly - I doubt a lot of the other Olympians would just agree to go along with Apollo being the ruler without a good reason, plus it wouldn’t feel right if him becoming king came across as just being a reward for getting to the end of his trials - but it would be much better for the PJO universe as a whole. Zeus is a REALLY sucky ruler.

Oh, I’ve read both your story, and that “Zeus turns mortal” story. I like the general idea of yours, but the prophecy needs to be WAY less obvious. It basically just sounds like Apollo will become king because destiny says so, and because he becomes strong enough to dethrone him. But part of Apollo’s character arc is about learning what it’s like to be weak, and needing to rely on others, and make friends. I want him to become king kinda the same way Percy became the leader in The Last Olympian - because everyone respects him and most people like him, not simply because he’s stronger than everyone else.

I do really like the rest of your fic, though. Apollo just kinda folding Nico into his brood of children will never stop being adorable and heartwarming! Plus him continuing to comfort Meg was great, really showed that he was still the same person, even after having his godhood restored.

As for that “Zeus turns mortal” fic (It’s on wattpad, btw)... I like the concept, but not the execution. It came off as very mean-spirited to me. Even when I agreed with the Olympians that Zeus deserved the punishment, the way they talked about it made me dislike them, ESPECIALLY Apollo. Plus the author put in a bunch of swear words in ways that were just awkward and uncomfortable.

Zeus managed to blame Apollo for the Giant War, when his only real contribution to it was not discouraging Octavian. Zeus insisting on keeping Gods and demigods apart was far more harmful, but he never owned up to his own mistakes and deflected almost all of it onto Apollo, even blaming him for things that weren’t remotely his fault, like saying that him allowing the Prophecy of Seven to be spoken by Rachel helped to trigger it, even though the Romans had had that Prophecy for millennia. With Apollo’s death, he’d be ESPECIALLY eager to deflect blame away from himself, since HE would be responsible for Apollo being put in that position, and not receiving any help. If he didn’t just blame Gaea and the Giants for the Giant war, then I doubt that blaming the Triumvirate and Python for Apollo’s death would be sufficient.

I figure he’d age at an accelerated rate, but not as fast as he did when he was first born. Apollo and Artemis both gestated quite a bit longer than they should have because of Hera, so they were more developed when they were born than most gods are. Plus Apollo would need to recover from almost having his essence snuffed out. I figure he’d age at the rate of maybe a week per year, until he reached maturity around 16~17, so at about 16 weeks. And in the meantime he could visit his various friends while he’s still growing up. I REALLY want a little 5-year-old Apollo to stay a night at the Waystation while there’s a furious thunderstorm going on outside, and for him to be unable to hide how scared he is of it (since his physical form does somewhat impact his mind), and for the residents of the Waystation to comfort him, and be horrified about how Zeus used to hurt him. I want Calypso to sing him a lullaby, Jo and Emmie to tell him what Zeus did was wrong, and for little Georgina to offer him a stuffed animal and some advice for what her moms used to tell her when she got scared of thunderstorms.

Meanwhile, Lityerses is just kinda hiding because he figures that mentally, emotionally, and physically, Apollo is five right now, and would be scared of him. But Apollo has none of it, seeks him out quickly, says he trusts him and he’s happy to see him again, and snuggles up in Lit’s lap for a nap. And Lit just sits there with tears in his eyes, stroking Apollo’s hair while he sleeps, not seeming to believe that this little kid who he once tried to behead, now trusts him and loves him so much. He still can’t believe that ANYONE loves and trusts him, much less someone he used to enthusiastically talk about murdering.

Oh, and back at Camp Half-blood, the whole camp would basically adopt Apollo, and Harley would decide that he’s his little brother. And he’d still insist on that fact even when Apollo became an adult again.

Eh, Riordan has been making it fairly easy to become a god lately, if simply instituting mandatory worship is enough, even in cases where the whole nation hates them and doesn’t respect them, like with Commodus. And he never says that humans have to be the ones worshipping, so I’m going with it for now.

Poseidon’s also generally considered more powerful than Demeter, and would DEFINITELY be REALLY pissed if Zeus harmed Percy. We don’t really know Demeter’s feelings on Meg, on the other hand. I mean, she’s never bothered to communicate with Meg. She claimed her so she definitely knows Meg exists now, but she still hasn’t visited her, even in a dream. Plus, yeah, I think Meg would mouth off more in close proximity to Zeus, and his temper would already be running high with stress from Apollo dying, and a desire to deflect blame to save his own skin, so he’d be raring to punish Meg anyway.

Partly because he’s worse and has been so terrible for so long. I don’t think he actually learned anything from when Apollo, Poseidon, Athena, and Hera tied him up to try and tell him to be a better king. But there’s another reason too. Managing to achieve Elysium three times in a row and achieve entrance to the Isles of the Blest is considered like winning the Good Person Lottery. If Zeus managed to fulfill those same requirements, It would be a good sign that he really HAS changed,and won’t simply revert, like how he reneged on his promise to be faithful to Hera.

My thought is that Meg would become a full goddess, with actual powers and a Sphere of Influence. She’d be dead and would feel that Apollo’s essence was with her, but was slipping away, and if she went to the afterlife like she was supposed to, he’d be gone for good. So she holds onto his essence and desperately tries to avoid going to the Underworld, and then notices that there are some thin little cords connecting her to the mortal world, connected to the dryads that worship her. She follows them back, hard though it is. Those cords will let her return, but not Apollo - and that’s unacceptable. But she refuses to give up. She’s not quite sure what all of this is, what all is going on, but she feels like she can do SOMETHING. Apollo’s essence is like a seed, she thinks. He needs a casing to protect him. She feels around for something to keep him safe and comfortable, and senses something. Her dress. A present from a mother, a kind stranger, who only wanted to help make her comfortable. A present that had gotten ruined many times, but that she still insisted on getting repaired, because of what it meant to her. The dress may not be physically here - it was incinerated along with her body - but the feelings embodied by the dress, the essence of it, remains. She “tears” off a portion of the dress, and wraps Apollo’s essence in it. This time, the cords acquiesce.

Meg materializes in the throne room on Olympus, right where she was incinerated. A chia plant and a yellow daisy spring up at her feet. She’s holding a small green bundle tight against her chest. The throne room had clearly just been through a massive battle. Thrones were damaged, there were scorch marks everywhere, and the gods and demigods she could see all looked tired. Zeus was tied up in a celestial bronze net on the floor. Everyone just GAPED at her, not believing their own eyes. She’s still not entirely sure what happened, but at least Apollo’s safe. She unwraps his head and turns him towards the others, so everyone can see him. Artemis knows who it is immediately - how could she not recognize her baby brother? She delivered him, for Gods’ sake! She rushes over to them and breaks down sobbing as Meg gently transfers the baby Apollo into her arms, just glad that he’s back in SOME form, even if she’s not sure whether he retained his memories. At least he’s HERE, and SAFE. The tension breaks, and all the demigods plus most of the Olympians rush over to Apollo, Artemis, and Meg. Hades, Poseidon, and Hera remain with Zeus. Hades and Poseidon to make sure that Zeus stays trapped, and Hera because she really doesn’t care for Apollo.

After reassuring herself that Apollo is safe and protected, Meg approaches Zeus. She senses that she can cause Zeus to be reborn, kinda like how she just seemed to know how to summon a satyr. As the one who was just now wronged by Zeus, she floats the idea that Zeus should be sent to Earth, to be reborn, without his memories. If Apollo could learn so much from his stay on Earth, perhaps Zeus could as well, and finally become a better person. Hades suggests (with no small amount of glee) that Zeus should be reborn three times as a mortal, and have to achieve Elysium each time. If he can prove worthy of the Isle of Blest, then he may prove worthy to be a god again. If he fails... well, the council can decide on his fate if it comes to that. Meg agrees, with the stipulation that only she would know who Zeus was in each lifetime. She didn’t want the other gods to interfere, and potentially sabotage him. She also stipulates that Zeus will be unable to be granted immortality while Zeus curses and shouts at them, but to no avail. Meg sends him to be reborn.

Time passes. Apollo grows up again and becomes Camp Director. Meg hangs around Camp Half-blood most of the time. Even if she’s a goddess now, she still behaves like Meg. Zeus is reborn. First time he’s born as the son of a minor Greek goddess. Apollo spots him from the sun chariot, and escorts him safely to camp. He’s weirdly bristly with Apollo at first, and even he’s not sure why. He warms up eventually though. When he hears about Luke, he considers him a hero for making sure the minor gods got recognized. He’s quite cocky, but he still dies a heroic death, and is granted Elysium. As soon as the judges give their decision, he vanishes, immediately reborn. This time he’s reborn as a legacy of Jupiter in New Rome. He has few powers, but he’s still a valuable member of the legion. He grows up hearing of the brave son of Jupiter who led the charge on Mount Orthys, a member of the Seven who took down Gaea, and who died protecting his comrades. He wishes he could meet Jason or Jupiter, get to know those members of his extended family, but Jupiter’s been sentenced to some punishment which most of the campers don’t know the details of. He eventually meets Thalia and asks her to tell him about her father and brother. After hearing from Thalia’s perspective, he wishes he could meet Jason more than ever, but he’s kinda glad that Jupiter has been sentenced to live out three mortal lives. Any asshole who would murder an innocent twelve-year-old just to try and deflect blame deserves a long punishment. If anything, he thinks it’s too lenient.

In this second life, Zeus dies defending his comrades, and once judged, is immediately reborn for the last time - this time, as Apollo’s son. While he’s raised by his mother, he often gets visits from kind men. He knows they’re secretly the same man, since they all have the same smile, even though they look different. He goes along with it, though, and pretends that the disguises fool him. He’s a little kid, cheering him up when some kids pick on him at school. He’s a street musician, who first coaxes Zeus into singing in public. He’s even a teacher’s aid once, who sits with Zeus and helps teach him how to read, even though his dyslexia makes that difficult.

Then one day, when he’s about ten, Zeus sees his first monster. He panics and runs and prays that someone will help him. A moment later, an arrow is sticking out of the beast. It crumples to the ground and vanishes. Zeus looks at the man who shot the beast and recognizes him as the same man he’s encountered throughout the years. The man introduces himself as Apollo, explains that if he had stayed with Zeus and let him know who he was earlier, then monsters would have been able to find Zeus earlier as well. It was a moot point now, though, so Apollo drove Zeus to camp in the Sun Chariot.

Zeus is swarmed by his half-siblings upon entering camp. Apollo had told them that he was gonna have to retrieve him soon,and they’d been looking forward to meeting him. Apollo didn’t have children nearly as often as he used to, but he made sure to pay attention to each and every child, and they were all excited to welcome someone else to the family.

Zeus gets to experience a happy family life, staying with his mother most of the year, but spending summers at Camp Half-Blood. He bonds with Apollo quite closely over the years. At one point, when he’s around fourteen, he sees his father looking worried and scared, and coaxes him into opening up. Apollo confesses that Meg told him that his own father, Zeus, was on his third life, and may die and have his divinity restored in the next few years. Apollo doesn’t really know how to deal with that. Zeus will have proven himself a good mortal, achieving Elysium three times in a row, but this was still the man who liked to electrocute Apollo, who tried to murder Meg and even sorta succeeded. He wasn’t sure he was ready to face him. Mortal!Zeus got pissed at Zeus, and silently promised himself that until Apollo could talk about Zeus with no fear on his face, that he wouldn’t forgive Zeus.

Mortal!Zeus dies about a year later. Apollo’s devastated. He escorts his son down to the Underworld, and watches as he’s judged. As soon as they declare him worthy of Elysium, sparkles surround Mortal!Zeus, and he transforms back to his regular divine state, receiving all the memories that had been taken from him. Both Apollo and Zeus are shocked. Zeus remembers everything he’s done to Apollo, and done to other gods and mortals over time, and teleports away to sort out the immense guilt he feels. Apollo stumbles around, trying to figure out WHAT THE HECK JUST HAPPENED.

They later reconcile, Zeus apologizing for everything he’s done, admitting that saying sorry isn’t really enough to make up for his actions over the years, and that he’ll stay away from Apollo, if that’s what he wants. He has to let Apollo know first though, that he was the best Dad he could ever ask for. Apollo tells him not to stay away, and pulls him into a hug, Zeus crying all the while. It’s still super awkward, but they would make it work.

Well that kinda turned into a fanfic there. I think Meg becoming the goddess of rebirth and redemption would make sense, since agriculture is often associated with rebirth. The redemption part is because Meg has seen how people can be redeemed, people like Apollo, Lit, Crest, and even herself. There is no god of redemption currently, so she will become one. It kinda goes along with rebirth, anyway.

#fanfiction #authorgirl1111 #flightfoot #toa #trials of apollo

60 notes · View notes

thepartyponies · 4 years ago

Note

based on ur url i assume ur joking a la 'there is no war in ba sing se' but if not do yourself a favor and Don't look for the heroes of olympus books i cannot emphasize enough how bad they suck in every possible way to the point that there are people who wholeheartedly believe they were written by a ghostwriter or something (personally im inclined to think rr just got lazy and had less oversight from editors based off of his previous success but i wouldn't actually rule it out tbh) imo it wouldn't make a difference ghostwriter or no bc he still would have had to sign off on the shitshow which is almost as bad.. if i try to explain all the ways it sucks I'll be here all night but some of the headlines include: generally stupid plot and boring big bad, lazy/racist ~representation~ of minorities, boring romances, the blandest main character possible, a Huge retcon of the og material in order to actually make it as stupid as possible almost as if that were the actual objective, character arcs that actively suck and take away from the characters, more plot holes than plot, and the most poorly written and outstandingly stupid and unsatisfying conclusion imaginable,, the hoo books suck so bad they ruined the pjo books -10/10 would not recommend i wish i could erase all knowledge of their existence from my mind

I did read the second series, heroes of olympus but i forgot how many books there were so I thought the tenth book might have been something more recent. I read most of the when they first came out bc i was still excited for more pjo content but right around the fourth book I really lost interest and i didn’t read the fifth until much later when i found a pdf of it online. Obviously I don’t remember much of that one, i only read it once. There were some good parts to the series but I agree that overall the quality was significantly reduced. I especially wasn’t a fan of how there was such a huge focus on who likes who and finding everyone an S.O. In pjo you just had the main ship and then a few other things going on in the background but now everyone has drama and i’m tired of it.

i guess there’s a “trials of Apollo” series now? I haven’t touched those but i read some plot summaries online and i don’t think i’m missing too much.

but back to the main issue at hand: somebody sent me the part where percy uses riptide as an actual pen bc i don’t remember that and i don’t get how that works if it changes whenever you take the cap off

#nonnie #replies

0 notes

kjack89 · 8 years ago

Text

The Liberator, Vol I: A Passing Hero (2500 Follower Giveaway Fic #18)

For @lotaire, who requested an ExR superhero AU with some more plot details for me to know and you to find out. Called “Vol. I” because I couldn’t quite fit everything from the prompt in (mainly the happy ending), which means at some point, a second volume will be required. (Also because, like, comic books. And such.)

ExR, Modern, superhero AU, developing relationship.

“Not guilty.”

Long after the verdict had been read and the courtroom cleared, the two words still seemed to hang in the air just as Enjolras still sat at the prosecution table, stunned. Slowly, he packed his papers into his briefcase and stood, ready to begin the long walk out of the courtroom. He paused to frown at the figure still seated in the back, fast asleep. “I can’t wait to see your sketches from today,” he said, a little loudly, and even managed a smile when the court artist woke up with a start.

“Oh, is it over already?” Grantaire asked, stretching and yawning. “I mean, I didn’t expect it to last long. It’s not like there was a solid case.”

“Excuse me?” Enjolras said coldly.

Grantaire smiled at him. “Don’t take it like that,” he said, standing and following Enjolras out of the courtroom. ��It’s not your fault that you weren’t given much more than circumstantial evidence to work with, and it’s pretty hard to get a conviction these days.”

Enjolras snorted. “You’re telling me,” he said, running a tired hand through his hair. “I swear, these days it seems like the bad guys just keep winning, and the District Attorney’s office doesn’t have the resources to keep up with the volume of crime.” He smiled slightly. “But at least we have the Liberator on our side. Maybe he’ll bring this guy to justice as well.”

Grantaire’s smile faded. “I’m not sure you can call what the Liberator does ‘justice’,” he said, almost reluctantly. “I mean, he’s killed people. You’re an officer of the court -- surely you don’t want a murderer to escape justice of his own.”

“I don’t think it’s as black and white as that,” Enjolras said, his conviction clear in his voice. “Our legal system is currently broken -- there’s too much corruption from the top down to truly bring some very dangerous people to justice, to get them off the streets.” He shook his head. “Obviously I don’t condone killing anyone, but we’re talking about rapists and human traffickers and murderers, not petty thieves or vandals or anything like that. With these people left on the streets, more innocent people will get hurt, and criminals are emboldened.” Enjolras shot a sideways look at Grantaire, his tone turning curt. “Of course, given your lack of convictions, I’m not surprised that you don’t share my view.”

Grantaire shrugged. “It’s not that I don’t share your view, I’m just not thrilled about one person playing judge and jury. It’s too much power for one person, especially a vigilante that the public knows nothing about.”

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “I know he’s a good man,” he said simply. “I don’t need to know much more.”

For a moment, it looked like Grantaire might argue, but he settled instead for winking at Enjolras. “If I had known that all it took to get you hot and bothered was being a vigilante dressed in a leotard, I would’ve done it a long time ago.”

Enjolras scowled at him. “Putting you in a costume wouldn’t change the fundamental things we disagree on. And being a superhero would require you to actually care.”

“Oh, so now you’re saying the Liberator is a superhero?” Grantaire asked, laughing slightly.

“No,” Enjolras said shortly. “But you would have to be to get me even remotely hot and bothered.”

With that, he left, walking in the direction of his office and leaving Grantaire staring after him, something like resignation in his expression.

“Honey, I’m home,” Grantaire called, dropping his bag on the floor next to the couch before collapsing against the worn cushions. “Did you get my suit ironed?”

Combeferre leaned back in his computer chair, sipping from a mug of tea. “For the eighteen-thousandth time, don’t call me honey,” he said calmly. “And I don’t do your laundry, asshole, ironing included.”

Grantaire yawned widely. “Someone’s in a bad mood,” he said, rolling over and squinting at the computer screen. “Tracking bad guys not going well?”

“Hardly. I tracked Le Cabuc’s movements all the way from the courthouse. He’s at a bar on 5th Street with known Patron-Minette ties and has been for awhile. I can’t imagine him leaving anytime soon.” Combeferre picked up his cellhpone and looked at Grantaire accusingly. “I got a text from Enjolras.”

Sighing, Grantaire leaned back and closed his eyes. “Then I understand your bad mood,” he said sourly. “Talking to Apollo is enough to make anyone crabby.”

“He doesn’t understand why you hate the Liberator so much.” Grantaire’s expression didn’t change and Combeferre sighed. “Grantaire, you’re going to have to tell him eventually.”

“Am not,” Grantaire said petulantly. “And I thought you were perfectly fine keeping your best friend in the dark. If you’ve changed your mind…”

Combeferre shook his head. “It’s not about me,” he said, a touch impatiently. “It’s about the fact that you’re keeping a huge secret from the guy that you purport to have feelings for.” He shrugged and drained his cup of tea. “I’m perfectly happy keeping Enjolras in the dark because I’m frankly not keen on putting him as an agent of the court in the position of knowing that we’re committing felonies, even if they’re felonies he would support. Besides…” He trailed off and shrugged. “It’s not my secret to tell.”

“You’re right,” Grantaire said, sitting up and ruffling his hair. “It’s not your secret. And it’s not your problem.” He stood and walked over to the wall, pressing a button and watching impassively as a panel slid back, revealing a dark blue suit of body armor emblazoned with a silver “L” across the chest and three stars on either shoulder. He picked up a small silver shield with the words Unus ex eis sum written across it and inspected it for any dings or dirt. “Is Le Cabuc still at that bar?”

For a moment, Combeferre just looked at him, clearly wanting to say more, but then he shook his head and turned back to the computer. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll take it you’re going after him?”

The question was probably unnecessary, as Grantaire was already strapping himself into the body armor. “He was accused of killing a man in cold blood, and your search indicated he’s probably guilty of killing at least two kids.” He paused in the middle of pulling his gauntlet on. “He laughed about it,” he said quietly. “After the trial. He laughed about murdering three people and getting away with it.”

Combeferre nodded slowly. “I’m not saying he doesn’t deserve it,” he started cautiously, “but honestly, I’m worried about you. You need to make sure that what you’re doing isn’t taking a toll on your soul.”

“That would require me to believe that I have a soul to be worried about,” Grantaire said before putting his helmet on, making sure that only his mouth was visible. “Besides, it’s not me doing this. It’s the Liberator.”

With that, he was gone, slipping out into the night, and Combeferre sighed, turning back to his computer to track Grantaire’s movements. “Just because you choose to believe you don’t have a soul doesn’t make it true,” he muttered, putting on his headset and cracking his knuckles before getting down to work.

Grantaire stared dully ahead, his eyes red-rimmed and exhausted, nursing the largest cup of coffee that the café offered. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn’t even notice when Enjolras slid into the seat across from him until he spoke. “Did you hear?” Enjolras asked, practically jubilant. “The Liberator took Le Cabuc down.”

It took a moment for Grantaire to realize what he was talking about. “Oh, really?” he asked, a little listlessly.

Enjolras frowned. “What’s wrong with you?”

Grantaire shrugged. “Nothing,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. “I just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.” He took a large gulp of coffee before asking Enjolras, “So why aren’t you at work right now?”

“I took the day off,” Enjolras said, still frowning at Grantaire. “There’s a rally downtown to protest another round of cuts to social service agencies, and you know I wouldn’t miss that. Besides, I could ask you the same thing -- why aren’t you at work?”

Grantaire half-smiled. “Well, there’s no court cases on the docket today, so not exactly anything for me to draw. I was thinking of heading to the park, doing some sketches, whatever.”

Enjolras opened his mouth to reply when the barista called, “Double red-eye for Enjolras!”

He stood, hovering awkwardly for a moment before telling Grantaire, “Maybe I’ll see you at the rally, if you decide against the park.”

“Yeah, sure,” Grantaire said, watching Enjolras leave, coffee. “Maybe you will.”

“Social services save lives!” Enjolras shouted, his fist raised in the air. His shout was matched by hundreds of similar slogans bellowed throughout the square, and his blood seemed to thrum with the very exhilaration of seeing so many people come together to fight for the same cause. “Safe communities start with social safety nets!”

Another shout rang out, not too far from Enjolras, but this one was far from the message the rally was trying to spread. “Waste of money!” one guy shouted, as another called, “Fuck socialist propaganda!”

Enjolras moved quickly towards the source of the shouting, ready and willing to convince any counter-protesters that it would be in their best interest to get out while they still could. But before he could get there, one of the protesters threw down his sign and pushed one of the counter-protesters.

And that was when things got ugly.

Pushing and shouting erupted all around Enjolras, who found himself face-to-face with a massive guy sporting a swastika tattoo on his neck, and Enjolras had only just managed to push him out of the way when, without warning, gunshots rang out.

People screamed and scattered, panic spreading throughout the rally. Enjolras turned, eager to get to safety -- and eager to avoid police entanglement if possible, knowing that another mark on his record would not look good to the DA -- and almost ran right into the guy still brandishing his weapon. “Oh, shit,” Enjolras said, backing up slowly.

“You!” the guy half-snarled, pointing the gun at Enjolras. “Aren’t you that prosecutor who tried to send me to jail?”

Enjolras held up his hands placatingly, but his mouth never did know when to stop. “For possession of an illegal firearm, if memory serves, and it looks like you’re really living up to the charge, Brujon.”

The gunman, Brujon, sneered. “Good thing you can’t charge me if you’re dead, bitch.”

He was just about to pull the trigger when out of nowhere, a gloved fist smashed into his face. Enjolras’s eyes widened as the masked face of the Liberator turned to him, something almost familiar in the set of his jaw. Wordlessly, The Liberator grabbed Enjolras around the waist with one arm while aiming a grappling hook gun with the other one and firing.

When Enjolras later told the story, he conspicuously left out the part where he screamed and threw his arms around the Liberator’s neck as they flew through the air. He also left out how he was pretty sure, for just a moment, that the Liberator was laughing at him.

Only when they were safely up on a roof, far above the chaos below, did Enjolras let go of his grip on the Liberator’s neck. “Are you alright?” the Liberator asked, taking a step back from Enjolras, who couldn’t stop looking at him, drinking him in eagerly as if he was a dream that Enjolras might wake up from.

“I’m fine,” Enjolras says, smiling almost shyly at him. “Thanks to you.” The Liberator nodded and turned to leave. “Wait,” Enjolras said, reaching out to grab his arm. “Where are you going?”

The Liberator half-turned. “Someone needs to make sure Brujon doesn’t get away. And there are innocent people still in danger.”

Enjolras smiled slightly. “Well, I can’t argue with that, but before you go, I want to tell you something.” He bit his lip, feeling close to tongue-tied, which was a rare experience for him. “I’ve always admired what you do, and, well, I have friends with far more principles than I’ve ever claimed to have, but I know that death is sometimes a necessity.”

“Maybe,” the Liberator said quietly, “but I think of it more as a duty.”

He hefted his shield and Enjolras looked at it, frowning slightly. “What does your shield mean?” he asked.

The Liberator seemed surprised by the question. “I am one of them,” he said. “It’s Latin.”

“No, I know that,” Enjolras said, blushing slightly. “I mean -- one of who?”

For a long moment, the Liberator just looked at him. Though his mask hid most of his face, Enjolras got the feeling that he was debating over how to answer. Finally, the Liberator said softly, “One of the people I’m trying to save.”

Enjolras didn’t know what to say to that, so he settled for blurting, “You’re a hero.”

The Liberator just shook his head. “I’m no hero.”

“To me, you are,” Enjolras said simply. “I believe in you.”

Without warning or preamble, the Liberator crossed over to Enjolras and kissed him, his gloved hand warm against Enjolras’s cheek. Enjolras was surprised for a moment, but then kissed him back, surprised by the passion he felt from a man he had just met.

Then, equally abrupt, the Liberator turned away, leaping off of the roof, using his grappling hook to swing back down toward the rally. Enjolras watched him go, his cheeks tinged pink and a slow smile spreading across his face.

“Honey, I’m home,” Grantaire croaked, no humor in his voice as he dragged himself across the living room to practically collapse onto the couch. He was bleeding on his arm from a switchblade that had managed to find a weak spot in his body armor, and he could feel the bruises blossoming across his torso and back.

“Are you alright?” Combeferre asked mildly from his computer chair. “Do you need me to call Joly?”

“No, I’ll be fine,” Grantaire groaned.

Combeferre took a sip of tea and watched as Grantaire slowly began to remove his body armor, wincing with every piece that he took off. “You don’t seem fine,” Combeferre said.

Grantaire shrugged, examining the cut on his arm. “It’s only some bruises.” he said, not looking up at Combeferre as he said it. “I don’t even think this’ll need stitches.” Now he did manage to look up at Combeferre, smiling with a ghost of his usual grin. “Trust me, I’ve had worse.”

“I didn’t just mean physically,” Combeferre said evenly, tapping a finger against his cellphone. “I meant this text that I got from Enjolras.”

Suddenly, Grantaire couldn’t seem to meet Combeferre’s eyes. “I’m not a mind reader,” he muttered. “I don’t know what the text says.”

“It says that Enjolras met the Liberator,” Combeferre told him. “It also says that Enjolras thinks he might be a little bit in love with him.” Grantaire still didn’t look up at Combeferre, who sighed heavily. “What did you do?”

Grantaire just shook his head. “Something I’ve always wanted to do,” he said quietly, staring straight ahead and replaying that moment on the rooftop, a moment he would hold onto as long as he lived. “And something I never should have done.”

#Enjolras x Grantaire #ExR #Enjoltaire #Enjolras #Grantaire #Combeferre #fanfiction #Les Miserables #modern au #superhero au #secret identity #sorry I know you asked for fluff and a happy ending #and this is literally the opposite of that #so when day when I write vol 2 I'll give you the fluff you wanted #promise #violence cw #blood cw #mild injury cw

73 notes · View notes