#stop just believing book one Apollo

[the-tortured-fangirl-department]

Pre Lester Apollo is not one dimensional and is already complicated and I’m tiered of parts of the fandom pretending he’s just selfish, self-centred and loves himself more than anything (this things are true but also not it’s complicated ok?)

[kamaluhkhan]

anti-curse

pairing: percy jackson x daughter of apollo!reader

summary: whether he knew it or not, percy jackson made the world a better, brighter place — and you intend to protect him, no matter what path the fates leads you down. fuck prophetic dreams. the future wasn't written in stone.

warnings/disclaimers: mentions of typical demigod things (battles, weapons, etc.); this is set during the heroes of olympus series so roughly follows that plot + features the seven demigods; mainly inspired by book!percy (dark hair, sea green eyes) bc that's the one i fell in love w growing up; characters are aged up from the book (reader + percy are meant to be 21-22 y/o) bc i imagine there was more time between prophecies/series....anyways, please enjoy <3

when you first met percy jackson, he almost shot you through the chest with an arrow.

given that apollo is your godly parent, you often found yourself at the archery field, which happened to be one of the first stops on percy’s tour of camp half-blood. after that first mishap, your other half-siblings were, understandably, too scared to let percy try again — frankly chiron seemed a bit hesitant as well — and you could sense that percy felt disheartened. so, you flashed the boy a reassuring smile before giving him a few pointers and a second chance. when he smiled back at you, you felt a fluttering in your stomach that told you percy jackson would be more than a little important in your life.

archery still wasn't percy's strong suit, but your gut feeling turned out to be true. you and percy had dealt with a lot since then — a handful of quests, several prophecies, more than a few near-death experiences, a titan war, and, maybe worst of all, high school. you couldn't imagine getting through any of it without him by your side, and you knew the feeling was mutual.

so, you were entirely anticipating that percy would be hurt by your announcement during dinner. 

“no way that’s happening.” percy laughs, as if he can’t believe you’d suggest something as ridiculous as not having him accompany you on your quest. he remains unfazed, takes a sip of his electric blue coke before gesturing to the empty seat next to him. “come on, sunshine. have something to eat.”

the nickname sends your heart into a frenzy as you sit next to him. you and percy had never been anything other than friends, but sometimes....sometimes you look at his dangerous ocean eyes and wind-swept dark hair and it makes you blush. sometimes you consider the way his laughter fills you with warmth and his smile holds a thousand memories, the way he teases and winks at you and you decide that he makes your world so much brighter. sometimes you remember how sarcastic and thoughtful and loyal and reckless he is, his heart of gold and unpredictability of the sea. and you start to think that maybe possibly you'd fallen in love with your best friend.

that was not the issue at hand, though. you summon your favourite food and drink, but don't particularly feel like having either. percy returns to his conversation with hazel about how the two of you would drive up to montauk after you finally got your license, any time either of you needed to escape your reality, even just for a night. you'd sit on the beach, stargazing and roasting stale marshmallows and wishing to stay there forever. hazel seems to think that sounds like a nice escape, and percy promises that once the eight of you fulfill this prophecy, you'll all go to the beach house together, which makes hazel break out into a grin.

you can't help but smile at percy who loves his friends, who has loved you for so long. that feeling is quickly replaced by a pang in your chest that reminds you what's at stake. from the corner of your eye, you notice annabeth across from you, who looks at you like you’re a puzzle she can’t quite solve. you're trying to hide it, but if anyone can read you better than percy, it's annabeth. she knows something is weighing on your mind. you briefly lock eyes with jason, who you had gone to earlier for help, from the other side of the room, where he sits between piper and frank. 

if you weren’t so distracted, you would have been able to enjoy dinner. the eight of you — all demigods of the current great prophecy — hadn’t been all together in a while, and it was nice to share a meal aboard the argo ii despite the reality of why you’d all been traveling together. leo had equipped the ship with magic plates and cups, and with the lively jokes and stories filling the air, you could almost imagine it was an ordinary summer evening at camp. you could almost forget that tomorrow, you had to go on a quest to rescue apollo and artemis from python, a monster so powerful your father barely defeated him thousands of years ago. you could almost ignore the impending war with gaea and the giants, and the doomed fate of the world if you were to fail. the one thing you could no longer ignore, however, is the gut feeling you have about the fate of the boy sitting next to you if your quest is to unfold the way you had first planned it. 

you clear your throat, an attempt to interrupt the group's conversations. 

“i was serious earlier,” you declare. “you’re not coming with me, percy. jason is.”

the smile percy had on his face fades. his eyes are filled with concern and disbelief, as he glances at you. “i – i don’t understand.”

"percy,” jason jumps in carefully, aware that he’s treading through dangerous waters like you had warned him. “y/n and i were strategizing earlier and it seems to make the most sense, given our powers combined." 

percy shakes his head. “but — but you can’t just make last minute changes. we’ve already got everything set. right, valdez?”

leo shrugs, swallowing a mouthful of chicken before responding. “i don’t know, man. i’m no expert in quests, but it seems like i’m not the one who should be deciding this.” leo looks at you, and you nod gratefully.

you've been on edge since last night, and to calm your nerves you fiddle with the gold chain around your neck. it was a gift from your father: a necklace with a music note charm that can transform into an electric guitar or a bow and quiver. thankfully, you hadn't had to need both at the same time.

“it's up to me. and i want leo and jason to come with me.”

“then i’ll come too,” percy's voice remains calm, but insistant.

“isn’t there that thing about quests usually being done in threes?”

“that is true, piper,” percy agrees. he tilts his head towards you, like he's calling on you to remember. "exceptions have been made, though. like that one time with zoe." that had been years ago, when demigods from camp half-blood and hunters of artemis joined forces. five had been sent out on a quest, but only three came back. you shiver at the thought.

"or my quest through the labyrinth," annabeth recalls.

"but won't that also change our other plans, though?" hazel asks.

"not necessarily," you pipe in, your voice more assertive. "if jason and percy just switch. no harm done."

"we're not interchangeable," percy grumbles.

"hera sure seemed to think so!" leo searches the room for positive responses to his joke, but the most he gets is a half-hearted laugh from frank. "too soon?"

you take a deep breath. "it's not a big deal, really."

"it kind of is," percy counters. "you've never gone on a quest without me."

"you've gone on quests without me," you point out.

"that's...that's different."

"why? because i'm so weak that i need the son of the sea god to protect me at all times?"

you're giving percy the coldest stare you ever have. he hesitates to hold your gaze.

"you know that's not what i meant," he sighs.

"then what did you mean?"

percy looks at you, his eyes and tone softer. “look, sunshine, let's just stick with the plan, alright? we can just —”

“gods, you never listen, do you?" you finally snap. "you're not coming! i don’t want you there, percy!”

percy stares at you, stunned. you look around the table, and everyone looks back at you, wide-eyed. they weren’t used to this side of you, your sudden outburst not fitting in with your usually sunny disposition. 

“well, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” leo jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood, with less than ideal results.

“you saw something in your dreams, didn’t you?” annabeth realizes. 

her conclusion makes you freeze.

demigod dreams are always significant, carrying vivid images of monsters, messages from friends or enemies. some children of apollo like you had visions of the future — pseudo prophecies that are supposedly set to unfold given the path you’re on. technically, you weren’t supposed to share your visions, something about messing with fate or destiny, but that didn’t mean you had to accept the way things were. 

what you saw in your dreams last night, what might happen to percy, made your blood run cold.

you would defy all the laws of the universe and divine rules if it meant you could protect him. so fuck the path the fates are attempting to lead you down, and fuck prophetic dreams. you refuse to let percy die. no matter how frustrated you’re acting towards him in this moment, you know he would still do the same for you.

you figure that the future isn't written in stone, right?

either way, you're willing to challenge destiny for percy jackson.

without answering annabeth, you get up from the table and take a deep breath, carefully avoiding percy’s gaze. 

“i go with leo and jason, or i go alone.” your voice is steady, fighting the heavy beating of your heart and tears caught in your throat. “either way, i leave in the morning.” you exit the mess hall before anyone — before percy — can protest.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 7: Apollo, God Of Music]

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

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

Word Count: 8.7k

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

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

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

“Oh, Librium,” Mimi says, perking up.

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

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

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

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

“How many pills?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” Fosco asks.

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

“The first thing I remember knowin’

Was a lonesome whistle blowin’

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

On a freight train leavin’ town

Not knowin’ where I'm bound

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

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

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

“One and only rebel child

From a family meek and mild

My Mama seemed to know what lay in store

Despite all my Sunday learnin’

Towards the bad I kept on turnin’

‘Til Mama couldn’t hold me anymore.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Honey—”

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

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

“It’s my hair. I’m keeping it.”

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

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

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

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

“I’m perfect. I’ll be right back.”

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

“What the hell are you doing—?!”

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

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

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

“Ask for what?”

“You know.”

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

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

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

“You’re a fucking coward.”

“You’re sweating on me, you pig.”

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

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

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

“I’m aware.”

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

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

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

“If you don’t wanna go to Fist City

You’d better detour around my town

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

And I’ll lift you off of the ground

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

And that he won’t cat around with a kitty

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

If you don’t wanna go to Fist City.”

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

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

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

~~~~~~~~~~

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

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

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

“Well, he was there.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t.”

Ludwika stares at you. “What?”

“I can’t, I can’t go in there.”

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

“I can’t,” you whimper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dio mio, what happened?”

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

“Are you sure—?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No it’s not.”

“Whatever it is, I can help.”

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

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

“No one else knew him.”

“I did. I was there the whole time.”

“Only because Aemond made you stay.”

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

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

“And I’m still here now.”

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

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

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

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

“You can ask.”

“Do you want more children?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stare at him. “The roof?”

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

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

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

“Probably married to someone worse.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think you matter, old man.”

“Really?”

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

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

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

“Well we’ll fuck, obviously.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

“Should I try?”

“You definitely shouldn’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

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

~~~~~~~~~~

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

“Who is it?”

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

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

“For you.”

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

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

“How did you get these?”

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

“Maybe they are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[iwannascreameurekaa]

Percy Jackson fans who refuse to read trials of Apollo kinda piss me off

I've only heard a few reasons on my people don't want to read TOA but most of the reasons are honestly stupid... and bullshit so

! Might have TOA spoilers !

reason one: Lester is annoying

no shit he's Apollo that's his whole character development thing usually when a character starts off bad that means they're going to evolve into a better person that's basic writing

reason two: caleo

valid tbh but really you just gotta Manipulate yourself into believing that Rick was 100% writing them as friends idk

but also they're only in a last part of the first book, the second, and basically no where else

reason three: the one and only Jason Grace scene

did I say spoilers? Cause there's gonna be spoilers here!! So you don't want to read a five book series because one of those books contain the death of a character who you didn't even particularly like until their death? Most of the fanbase disliked or even hated Jason before the burning maze and I see loads of hate towards him today but we're not getting into that rn we're talking about TOA so here's my solution if you don't want to read a characters death scene: don't read any Percy jackson book. There are plenty of people who die during any Riordan book so stop whining about one. If you don't want to read the book that's fine but saying your reason for not reading is because someone dies is stupid. Do I need to name all the people that have died throughought the series?

reason four: Percy's not in the book

It is completely valid if your favorite character is Percy and you want him to show up more but that mf has 5+ books from his pov and is also in multiple other books. He's in four out of five of the hero's of Olympus series he's in the first TOA book he's in Magnus chase too so grow up he's not going to be in every book

I think the only other reason I've seen is that they can't afford to buy the books which is completely valid you're fine

but I think that sums up my little rant

Edit: spelling, added something to the caleo part 👍

[kozumesphone]

hi hi hi can i please get a percy jackson x daughter of aphrodite reader?? basically she’s all about the love part of Aphrodite and she’s talking about it constantly and he’s her friend and kinda realises like oh wait i’m in love w her

does that make sense?? also can i get a moodboard w it?? <33

thank you and ily!

masterlist

💌┊₊˚⊹꒷ BROOKLYN BABY .ᐟ

⤷ percy jackson x daughter of aphrodite!reader ‧₊˚ ⋅

ᝰ. 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 . . . percy jackson and the heroes of olympus

ᝰ. 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬 . . . y/n constantly yaps about the idea of love to her best friend, percy, and he realises he has feelings for her. (annie’s y/n’s close friend too! i’m too nice to make her an angry b </3) also!! y/n has brown eyes solely bc brown eyes are pretty asf and not talked about enough <3 + ft. best friends to lovers, minor gods dissing (like one time), y/n reading the cruel prince (not directly mentioned), percy having an ‘uh oh, i’m in love’ moment, and a book bouquet. p.s. moodboard at the end!

ᝰ. 𝐤𝐞𝐲 . . . y/n: your name | y/l/n: your last name | n/n: nickname

ᝰ. 𝐰𝐜 . . . 1.4k

ᝰ. 𝐚/𝐧 . . . hdkwjdkw 1/8 asks complete lmao. this req was so cute!! I love reading the ‘moment of realisation’ dialogues in books, but it was especially fun to write it for the first time. it was a little weird to write only bc i’m a cabin 3 kid irl but it’s okay 😭 for the sake of a fluffy fic, I powered through, guys <3

2 years ago . . .

✮⋆˙ y/n’s pov

“some kid killed a minotaur!” a hermes cabin demigod yelled from near the dining pavilion. glancing up from our glasses of soda, annabeth and I turned towards the voice. “he’s a new one!”

we looked at each other, wondering which god couldn’t keep it in their pants again.

suddenly, a few apollo kids ran out from the infirmary towards the arch near thalia’s tree.

“the new kid’s probably clumsy,” annabeth said.

“he killed a minotaur,” I shot back.

“hey, you can be dumb and strong at the same time.”

“uh huh. whose child do you think he is? I bet it’s one of the big three.” I said.

“no way, they have a pact, remember-”

“do you really think they actually follow that, annie?” I snickered at her.

in a while, an unconscious boy about their age was carried into the infirmary. I only caught sight of his black hair, and dishevelled and bloody look. I decided to visit him the next day to check up on his condition.

the rest of the day was spent reading in my cabin, while my sisters tried new makeup products on our brother, which was quite funny, really.

throughout the next week, I left the warmth of my bed to visit the new kid—percy jackson—in the infirmary. he had begun to regain consciousness.

“who are you?” he asked, sharply inhaling a breath.

“oh, hey,” I smiled at him. “i’m y/n y/l/n. daughter of aphrodite.”

“right. daughter of aphrodite. a goddess,” he repeated slowly.

I realised that no one had explained about camp half-blood to him yet, and took that job upon myself after calling out for will and letting him know that his patient was awake.

“so, there’s gods and goddesses. and monsters. and everything in the greek myths you were taught? they’re all real. at camp half-blood, we’re all demigods—the children of a god or goddess and a mortal.” I continued to explain to him how the demigod world worked, remembering to talk about the mist, the gods, the cabins, and everything else.

I expected him to not believe me, and call me names (like the other new campers) for lying, but he took it like a champ. he nodded at me, sitting up properly, and asked for something so his arm would stop paining. I immediately got will to help him.

the next week, when I was out by the beach, reading my romance novel about a mortal girl and a faerie prince falling in love after being enemies, I heard sand shifting around behind me.

“who-” I turned around.

“hey, y/n, right?” percy asked, walking closer.

“ah, you remember,” I said, a smile growing on my face.

“well, yeah. you’re really just the only person who has spoken to me normally… and not like I was some intimidating and scary… thing,” he said, running his hands through his already dishevelled hair.

“come, sit down.” I patted the sand beside me. he took his place there, sitting down with his legs criss-crossed.

“what are you reading?” he asked.

I explained to him the plot, setting, characters, and everything about the book I was reading for the next few hours.

we sat there till dusk, watching the sun set into pretty hues of pink, purple, and orange.

“it’s so pretty, isn’t it?” I asked.

✮⋆˙ percy’s pov

“yeah, it is.” I replied to her, eyes fixed on her side profile.

wow. she’s so beautiful.

timeskip: present

“perce!” y/n called loudly, running towards me.

“heyyyy! n/n, you’re back! how was the quest? did you get hurt or anything?” I asked, hugging her, and then moving back to scan her for injuries.

“i’m fine, perce, all good. I got will to check me out and he cleared me,” she said, grinning. her face was swiped with dirt and grime, but she still looked like she was an ethereal princess who walked out of one of her books. “what? have I got a lot of dirt on my face?”

“nah, you’re cool. ‘s pretty.” I said, and she laughed—my favourite sound in the entire world. “and anyway, you need to change out of these clothes and meet me outside your cabin. I have something for you.”

“what is it?”

“that’s a surprise-”

“I hate surprises.”

“you’ll like this one,” I winked at her, as she laughed again.

timeskip

✮⋆˙ y/n’s pov

I changed into casual loose sweatpants and a shirt since it was summer.

ah, summer. one of most romantic seasons ever. the breeze whipping around a girl’s hair, as a boy runs towards her with flowers. the sunlight falling onto their faces as they share a kiss. watching the sun set in pretty shades everyday with each other. that was summer.

everything about it reminded me of percy. watching sunsets, seeing the sunlight fall on his face after he gets out of the water. the flowers, now dry, that he gifted me for every special occasion.

it was hard to admit that I liked him more than I would like any friend. i’d never picked up any hints from him, that might’ve signalled that he liked me, no matter how many of my siblings told me he did.

all friends hold hands, right? and all good friends wish each other a good morning and good night everyday. what was so special? the flowers?

“hey, n/n!” percy’s voice dragged me out of my thoughts. he was dressed in loose shorts and a hawaii button up, and my gods, he looked so gorgeous.

“perce! at least tell me where we’re going now,” I groaned.

“nuh-uh. a surprise is a surprise.” he brought out a blindfold and handed it to me. I raised my eyebrow at him. “put it on. i’ll take you there.”

“I swear to gods, if this turns out to be a prank-”

“shh, it won’t. now put it on,” he promised.

I walked closer to him and put on the blindfold, and he turned me around a few times to make sure I wouldn’t figure out where we’re going. I scoffed at his childish actions.

as he was standing behind me, I felt his warmth on my back. he took my arms at my side and urged me to walk ahead.

he manoeuvred me in different directions and finally stopped after a while.

“you ready, princess?” he asked. the nickname did something to cause butterflies in my stomach.

“yeah,” I whispered.

he took off the blindfold, and it was too bright for a second. I shielded my eyes and groaned, before letting them adjust to the harsh sunlight.

I looked around and saw a huge, fluffy blanket laid down on the grass of the fields. a basket with food was set in one corner and a bouquet in the centre.

specifically, a book bouquet.

“PERCY, HOW DID YO-”

“surprise,” he grinned, as I turned around and hugged him. he’d always given me gifts when I returned from quests, but this was, by far, the best.

“how’d you know all my favourites?” I asked, looking at the 10 romance novels on the blanket.

“oh, annie helped,” he said enthusiastically. “should we sit down and start eating? you can tell me all about the people in your books, and why you like romance books especially, yeah?”

smiling, we sat down on the blankets, and ate away with no care in the world.

✮⋆˙ percy’s pov

as she talked about her books for the next few hours, I could only think about how beautiful her brown eyes were, especially when the sunlight hit them at the correct angle. how soft her lips looked as her mouth moved at a faster pace than her thoughts. how perfect her cheeks were, smiling wide. how amazing she was. how smart and beautiful she was.

when did my feelings of friendship turn into love, for her?

as she continued to speak of the love between her favourite characters, I noticed her longing for a similar love. I could give that to her, couldn’t I?

wait. what? what am I even thinking? y/n’s my best friend.

“love is everywhere, in every gesture, every glance. it’s the thread that binds us together, connecting hearts across time and space,” she said.

and at that moment, I knew I was done for.

I was hopelessly in love with my best friend.

percy jackson x daughter of aphrodite — the love like in her books <3

taglist — @nuncscioquidsitamor-14 @mqstermindswift @puffoz @skeelly @urmomabby @sunnitheapollokid @jgracie @canonfeminine @cinemaconrad @totokyo @urbanflorals @aezuria @thetunnelunderoceanboulevard @cherigall @percabethluvr @pjoverseluvr @maybxlle @mershellscape @riordanness @starlitszn @metyouattherighttime @a-beautiful-fool @sequinsnstars @ssparksflyy @fayvpor @iheartgirlzn

kozumesphone © 2024 | don’t repost my works onto other platforms, or edit and post them even on tumblr, without asking me first • don’t steal my works, steal my heart instead • reblogs and comments are more than appreciated !

[its-your-mind]

This is a call to action for all the PJO girlies (gender neutral) that I know are sleeper agents on this webbed site

Go read Trials of Apollo. Go do it. Do it right now.

I know what you’re thinking. “Tbh I didn’t love Rick’s writing towards the end of Heroes of Olympus” “There’s no Percy so why bother” “All of the Argo II crew are kinda OOC” and listen my friends. You are so valid to have those opinions. I felt the same way after Blood of Olympus. But listen to me. Look at me.

Now that you have had some time away, you must give these books another try. For me. For Uncle Rick. For the demon baby grain spirit who is only able to say his own name (Peaches).

Do not worry friends, I do not expect you to read just based on my say-so - I also provide:

A list of reasons why you (yes you) should go read the Trials of Apollo series right now gogogo:

(Spoiler warning - all broad plot things that you learn early on, but I know some people (including me) avoid that shit at all costs)

All the chapters are titled in bad haiku. Ya know that one scene in Titan’s Curse where Apollo just starts reciting apropos of nothing? That’s every chapter title. They’re all so bad it’s amazing.

Apollo is so up his own ass about everything, and it’s so cool to experience the same world through the eyes of someone who is not used to being in amongst the chaos

Oh yeah the plot. That’s a reason to read it.

Okay so

Basically Zeus continues his streak of being a shitty shit parent and decides to blame like… every bad thing that has happened on Apollo, and punish him by turning him mortal and enslaving him to a demigod girl named Meg who is a garbage gremlin with a little demon baby guard named Peaches (see above)

And like the A plot is they gotta save the oracles from shitty old Romans who wanna take over the world (stop me if you’ve heard this one before)

But like the B plot is about what it means to discover that you’ve fucked up, you’ve made mistakes, you’ve hurt people, and you gotta fucking own up to that shit

But also

You do not deserve to be punished for every horrible thing that has ever happened because of you, or even around you, and when a parental or authority figure in your life tells you that, they are an abuser and they are wrong

And yet

It can be so hard to fully separate yourself from them. Because for so long, they were all you had.

But that’s okay, because when you start to learn that the people who were supposed to care for you and love you were not actually doing that, there are people around you who will love you, who will support you, who will pick you up and hold you close and make sure you know that you are okay

And they can’t fix you

But they can give you the safe space to fix yourself

hmm that was an essay about themes and metaphors BUT THATS WHY YOU SHOULD READ IT

also there’s a wikipedia arrow who only speaks in Elizabethan prose (in all caps)

OH ALSO ALSO you get to see Will and Nico being a CUTE AS FUCK couple in the first book. Nico smiles. Also makes skeletons grow out of the ground when people annoy him. Fuck I love this little gay death boy so much.

AND. You get to see so MANY of your old friends. And they still! Get! Plot! And! Character! Development!! Even though they are only there for a little bit

OH OH OH there are two old lesbians who run a halfway house for people who are tangled up in magic shit with nowhere else to go

Did I mention Peaches? I did. He’s my favorite.

OH ALSO. This is “unreliable narrator” executed SO FUCKING WELL. Like, all narrators are unreliable. But Apollo used to be a FUCKING GOD. He has not had to deal with the reality of death all that much. He’s used to people praising his name and bowing down at his feet. But that ain’t happening!! And he is Unhappy about that!! But it also lets there be such a clear juxtaposition between what Apollo believes about himself and about the world and what is really true, which is such a wonderful way to write about recovery from trauma.

Ahem

Anyway it’s just real good Uncle Rick continues to knock it out of the park but he just did something different and we (at least I) needed some space from OG PJO fan brain before I could appreciate how fucking awesome this series is.

OH OH OH and if you like audiobooks Robbie Daymond (hello CR mutuals - yes, this is the one who is our beloved Blue Boi who we (Orym) so desperately need returned) is the audiobook narrator and he is. So fucking good. Absolutely NAILS the dramatic-ass-inner-monologue of this dramatic ass ex-deity. Also nails all the other voices as well. 15/10 audiobook narration I’m lichrally gonna go listen to other books JUST cuz he reads them.

okay why the fuck are you still here. GO. GET THESE BOOKS. If your public library does Libby you can absolutely get them on there. GO FORTH.

[chaostroberry1]

I would like to request another yandere please

Like what you did for Apollo but for Nikola Tesla please

.

.

.

PLEASSSSSSS I BEG OF YOU I NEED ITTT PKEASEEEEE 😭😭😭😭😭

The man has barely any media and I'm pretty sure he will never even get a sub plot but okeaseeeeeee I beggggg I beg on my knees for content of him pleaseeeeeee I begggggg of youuuuuu

Ofc! Nikola Tesla 🔛🔝

Yandere Nikola Tesla × Reader

Tesla's love calculations | by chaostroberry1 (loading...)

Love isn't a good enough word for how I feel. | Tesla's love calculations

- I'd say you were a janitor, who'd always clean up after him and all of the workers mess. You could say you even cleaned up exhausted workers who were incredibly tired after using up their brain power.

- but, not only that, you had a sweet crush on the main man. One who did not care about resting. Always using his brain whenever it came to new ideas that he believed he could create.

- he never noticed you, he was too busy with his work. And had already shown that he didn't really have given for that type of stuff. It's sad, but you had to get over it. You can't force someone to love some nobody like you.

- What you weren't aware of, was the fact that he also felt the same way. He just didn't understand his feelings yet. But that was all until he saw you interact in a little conversation with one of the men there. It just struck his heart with negativity for some reason, and he didn't understand.

- he had to think long and hard before finally realizing it after one of the dudes beside him noticed his jealous gaze, suddenly calling him out and asking if he wanted to be the one talking to you instead. Of course..how could he not have realized it before? He was in love! Or was it even love..?

- his fellow workers caught on after word spread around, obviously not to you, but almost everyone working with the mad scientist. And do not deny it, I KNOW they gossip. They oughta be snickering when they see Tesla eyeing someone out of jealousy that they were talking to you. Oh man, that was some real drama right there.

- if you look closely, he has a few books that he's been reading. About love, and all. Such a sweetheart he was...or not. (I'm sorry for edging y'all so much.)

- he came across one book that talked about the difference of love and obssession, and it really caught his eye. Making him buy it immediately and then reading about it.

- It was a poorly made book. The pages were torn and made of low quality materials. But that didn't stop him. The book perfectly described his feelings towards you, and it came to be such a surprise to him when he saw that ot was a sign of really unhealthy love. He had to read it over and over again, wanting to believe that maybe it was just a misunderstanding. But it wasn't. Whoever wrote it knew very well what they were doing.

- the next day, he avoided talking to you as much as he could. The man only wanted to make inventions, he didn't care about things like love. But oh boy was it so difficult to keep his eyes off you. The prettiest thing he saw and felt, it was undescribable. When you got the idea that he hated you, it ended with you talking to him less. And he did not like that.

- he caught you talking to another guy, a janitor who you've been talking to for the past few weeks now. And I am not kidding when I say that all the workers there saw the bitter look on Tesla's face. You thought it would end there, right? Wrong. A day passes, and you find out that the same guy you talked to, had ended up passing due to getting too close to one of the inventions. In Tesla's defence, he had told the guy not to touch any buttons, but the guy ended up doing so anyway, which is unbelievable. But you had no choice but to listen anyway.

- the real story was that the guy tried to clean the invention, which was made by the dear scientist, who made sure to program it as a bomb. Strong enough to kill anything once it's ready to explode. Tesla knew this, it was his plan all along to get rid of that pest, without putting suspicion on his name. And it worked! Good for him.

- finally, he confessed his love for you. Which you happily agreed to. Because you were just a little dummy who didn't know any better. That's why you were better off with him, cus he was smarter, and knew what was good for you.

- you won't even realize his growing possessiveness, not even when he gave such a bitter face to the people who are around you. Would you believe me if I said that he even thought of lying to you that a life threatening world ending virus was spreading and he had to lock you up forever to keep you safe? Let's be happy that he didn't go through with that. He's not THAT bad.

- he loves having you around whenever he's working on something, just so that when his eyes get tired from looking at the board, he can look back at you and immediately get an energy boost.

- he was such a sweetheart and he loved you so much. It was best of you just didn't know his secret side when it came to you. He barely let's you out. He'd drag you around to show you new things or ideas he came up with, and even asked you if you wanted anything made just for you.

- he won't ever let you out unless it was necessary. Like maybe a fire, or evacuating to somewhere safe.

- Expect him to ask for your opinion on basically anything. Just so that he can interrupt your thoughts from going anywhere near the idea of leaving.

- when you and him do it for the every first time, man was he addicted. It's like anytime he's stressed after work, he immediately gets on you so that you could relieve him. He's nice, don't worry. He's very romantic too.

- I can also believe that he'd make good pickup lines. Like geek typa shit that you wouldn't understand. But that's okay, it's Tesla. Your loving husband.

- Promise him that you'd stay with him forever. Don't ever make him think you'd leave. You know what happened to your friend right? He'll threaten to do stuff like that in the future if there really was no other way to convince you.

___

@gayerthanthegays here you go!! Luv some Nikola Tesla content 😍

[moonschocolate]

Headcanons about my current hyperfixation: THEOO!!☆

I keep stalking the 'theodore nott headcanons' tag so I might as well write my own headcanons about him

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

this man has social anxiety. prove me wrong.

when he was younger he found comfort in reading fiction books, like pjo

he 100% had an obsession with greek mythology, or mythology in general, and it's still kinda there but not like before

then growing up he got into classics

like one day he was like 'what if I read a Dostoevskij book' and that's where it all started

he prefers reading this kind of books because they teach you more

tallest boy you've ever seen, somewhat taller (only by few centimeteres) than Fred and George

he plays the cello, like kind of, he knows how to play a piece only studying it, i believe this man was never able to play a piece at first sight

surprisingly (to him) he really has a lot of things in common with Luna, when he found out he wanted to spend more time with her

he's really silent, but GOD does he ever stop thinking?? his head is loud af

enjoys being with his friends, they're used to him not shouting in their ears (unlike some other boy *cough cough* Mattheo *cough cough ... cough*)and he enjoys their company and they do too

not the type of boy to run to Spotify or whatever music app whenever he can, but he enjoys some kind of music (mostly smooth piano jazz, dramatic classical music since it's my fav, and he thinks TV girl, Lamp, Ichiko Aoba are cool)

never replies quickly, he's always late replying cuz thinks being on his phone is a complete waste of time, but it's not like he's NEVER on it

chill with Halloween but feral over Christmas (does not show it)

legos. I've said all.

YOU CANNOT TELL ME THIS MAN DOESNT HAVE HIS ROOM FULL OF STAR WARS SETS

despite enjoying english and all that kind of subjects, he is feral, and when I say feral I mean feral over maths. He loves learing new concepts because then it all makes sense and it's just so cool (explained from a person who is also feral over maths, pls tell me you get what i mean)

hyperfixations? oh so many

again, greek mythology

you could tell this man "Hey do you know about the myth of Apolloand Daphne" his eyes would light up and he would tell you the myth, his opinion, and related myths ("there's also this other myht with Apollo where he-")

A S T R O L O G Y

still greek mythology related but

he could stay hours talking about constellations

"hey do you know the myth behind the gemini constellation? No? Can I tell you about it?! Okay so-"

paper stars.

if there's a paper stripe around he'd grab it and make a paper star out of it

looks like the typa guy who'd take a lot of pictures with a canon/sony camera

when he feels anxious he'd do this thing where (get ready for the worst explanation ever) he'd put one of his nails of the right hand in between the skin and the nail of his thumb on his left hand and make the nail go left and right, still in between the skin and the nail (I ALWAYS DO THAT I HOPE IT MAKES SENSE I TRIED TO BE AS SPECIFIC AS I COULD)

He tried to go to a party since Blaise, Draco, Enzo, Theo, Pansy (basically everyone you get it)... begged him to come along

we could sum up his experience in one word

NIGHTMARE

The music was too loud, the people were to close to him, everyone was shouting, there were alcohol and drugs (he still wonders how they got literal drugs into the castle), everyone tried to dance with him and talk to him, that time he got overwhelmed tried to leave, but they were all like 'heyyyy nooo dont leaveeeee stay hereeeeee' but his friends understood it wasn't for him and Blaise went with him to his dorm, waited until he felt better then went back to the party

has never been to a party since then

smart af

like he easily surpasses draco and mione

also theo and mione are really close friends, one time they found eachother in the library reading the same book and chatting they found out they have several things in common

has a collection of stylographs, that stays in his library neatly ordinated

best sense of style (he obv got it from Blaise but he made it better)

he loves movies, he's watched movies like Dead Poets Society, Dorian Gray, but also movies about historical facts like The Darkest Hour, The King's Speech, Hidden Figures, The Pianist (I'm a sucker for this kind of movies honestly)

!! HE HAS DIMPLES !!

He loves professor Lupin, he thinks of him as Keating is dps

secretly listens to Micheal Bublè in Christmas, he loves his Christmas songs

he only buys old books, never new ones, he thinks that already used books, from decades ago, he thinks they hold stories, and it's even better when the books have annotations, maybe he'll erase them, but it's good to hear other's opinions

has a lot of vynils

used to study for his dad, now this became a habit, that's why he's the best in class

his relationship with his mom is not strong, MORE

When his mom died he was 5 so he didn't understand

when he finally knew the truth he cried for weeks, then he would occasionally go out to look at the stars, which he always admired with his mom, and cried thinking about her, thinking that she was watching him from up there

when he was like 10 he didn't cry no more, only if he ever opened up

he shared anything with her

he NEVER let ANYONE call him Teddy, he always though that is what his mom called him, and he didn't want other people to 'interfere' with that, he feels like it's their thing

despises horror movies. gets scared to death watching them, and doesnt find the lore interesting

never walks around with only socks on, has the fear of walking on water accidentally and getting his feet wet and the feeling disgustes him

also, has the whole collection of pjo books (every book. from percy jackson and the olympians to the chalice of the gods)

loves cats so much, he has two cats, but he wishes he had more

he has male brown cat named Monet and a grey cat with some beige spots and green eyes (it's mt bsf's cat, I love her - the cat - and I thought she could be a honourable mention) named Vivienne

defo has an obsession with sharks, but is even more obsessed with jellyfish, he knows a lot of scientific names for their species, for exmample Phylloriza Punctata, or Chrisaora Quinquecirrha, or Aurelia Aurelita, he's obsessed

Fav subject isn't potions, it's astronomy instead

since i live for loser!Theo, im in love with the idea of him stuttering in front of a guy/girl he finds cute or attractive, blushing and being awkward

my man absolutely doesn't know how to talk, he speaks too fast, and when ppl tell him to slow down, then he thinks he's talking too slow

if anyone fatshames any of his friends, or is racist/homophobic towards them, or just insults them, he will try to avoid throwing punches, but lets say he'll exchange a word or two with that person

if he's itchy, he scratches so hard there could be blood (a bit exaggerated but you get it)

could've been a Ravenclaw, but if he did his father would be really mad at him, so he's happy he isn't

another headcanon that I kindly stole rn from @heirofs1ytherin is that he's into poetry. LIKE 100% ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ You probably got that I love him HES MY BABY

[helenofsparta2]

I'm a Percy Jackson apologist, not because I think he has anything to apologize for, but because people in this fandom tend to blame him for every little thing that goes wrong in those books, even if he had little or zero control over it or even made the objectively good or reasonable choice.

"Percy choked Nico in the last Olympian"

Percy was imprisoned by Hades himself, after Nico had (although, of course, unwillingly) betrayed him, in a cell, he was convinced would suffocate him, had just woken up of a nightmare of Typhon wreaking havoc in the US, with the gods doing very little to slow him down, and didn't even know it was Nico, he was attacking at first. He only realized it was him, after he had him already pinned to the floor and he let him go only a few moments after that. For all Percy could have known, Nico could have been a servant of Hades sent to kill him.

"Percy forgot to free Calypso."

First of all, not Percy's responsibility. Not at all.

Second of all, he did free her.

Percy stood before all the Olympians and, after winning the war for them, one of his demands was specifically that she (and other gods) should be forgiven. Let me be clear, Leo would not have been able to free Calypso from her island without this specific request. There was no possible way for Percy to know, that the gods would be assholes about it and wouldn't inform her of that. Hell, he even knew, that Hephaestus visited her from time to time to chat, so there was no reason for him to doubt that he'd just tell her.

"Percy killed Michael Yew in the battle of Manhattan"

Percy probably saved the entire Apollo cabin on that bridge. And as a reminder, it was Michael's idea to destroy it in the first place. Percy even told him to run before that. His death was without a doubt a tragedy, but by no means Percy's fault.

"Percy treated Tyson shitty after finding out he was a cyclops"

When? Give me one example in the Sea of Monsters were Percy was actively being a jerk to Tyson. Not something he thought, but something he actually did. He wasn't a fan of Tyson being his brother and denied it to other campers, yes. But, as a reminder, camp half-blood, or ar least some members of it, started to bully Percy after Tyson got claimed. The one place he thought he belonged to treated his friend and him by association like shit.

Still, he was on Tysons's side. He even defended him in front of Annabeth, his best friend might I add, and didn't stop spending time with him. They were a team during the chariot race, and even while thinking that Tyson might be a liability on their quest to save Grover, Percy refused to leave him behind, because he feared, that Tyson would be blamed for their disappearance.

I could go on and on and on, because that kid (and he is a kid, at the end of heroes of Olympus Percy is not even 17 years old) gets blamed for so much it's exhausting, but I 100% believe that nothing that Percy Jackson did was ever wrong and there is absolutely nothing he has to apologize for. Prove me wrong.

[savemyballsplease]

My review on ACFTL 3.1/5⭐⭐⭐

SPOILERSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

you have been warned.

One year and 30 days. i waited. impulsively,selfishly being the first to look up any new updates on the book, the title, a quote, a word? everything. all for it to end up like this AGAIN. it felt very rushed. and was sooooooooo underwhelming. eva had to always rush behind him like she had to do the work while he just gave up. i read another review saying he is the villain so wasn't he supposed to be the one not giving up,he should have been endlessly pursuing her/ so true, couldn't agree more.

JACKS changed all of a sudden in this book, he generally is flirtatious, kind and cruel+charming.but here in this one he isnt trying at all. he wasnt doing anything for her.i wanted him to apologise and plead for her forgiveness after she lost her memories after his wholerude ass tantrum at the arch.but he didn't, instead he sort of blamed her for losing her memories. isnt he resposible in the first place.he was not even involved in this book. he felt like a SIDE character.

EVERYTIME I SAW ASSOLO's pov i had to take a deep breath because it was gonna suck.i didnt wanna see aurora or Appolo. gosh were they annoying.

it had very magical writing. But Garber has written better. the plotline seemed bland to me since the previous book was a filler book[but now looking back i was too harsh on the previous book] and this one was just adding to the second book.

okay we readers have been waiting for these two to kiss for like three years. and she gave us what one page? maybe two? couldn't she have given us a wedding? an epilogue to the epilogue???? likeeee the epilogue was not a good epilogue. what about when she saw her vision, where she was gonna married in a place like the hollow in the first book in her dad's curiosity shop??? was this there in this acftl or did i just miss it?? cuz i feel like she was supposed to be adding that as the epilogue.

i am soooo pisssed bout the fact that she GAVE US BARELY TWO PAGES OF THEM BEING TOGETHER AND THATS IT ???LIKE WHATTT. AND lala deserved better like her dude Dane's alive. shouldnt she know about this shit?? the whole deal with castor and lala what about that?? what happened to Marisol or LUCIEN??

i cant believe reading this book has made me think the previous book was wayy better. jesus i have a newfound respect for the previous book as the plot was more involved,pacing and everything was better than this one. ughhhhhh so many elements missing.

EDIT:i just read the waterstone and B&N epilogues.

in the waterstone one why tf did the epilogue have to be about such a frivolous thing.whyyy eva do u want to be so naive? after everything Apollo had done she wants to set him free or sum shit.i swear i hate evangeline sometimes. but jacks stops herself from doing that. i don't know this felt very unnecessary and tedious to be an epilogue.

the B&Noble's one was more sweet and emotional. i liked it but my statement still stands. stephanie could have given us more EVAJACKS.

[tsarinatorment]

Michael Yew's Fatal Flaw

This meta is the fault of @apollosgiftofprophecy who made the questionable decision of asking about Michael's fatal flaw in my vicinity the other day.

People who have been following me for a while may recall I once answered an ask about Apollo kid fatal flaws, and mentioned Michael there. Please ignore what I said back then because I'd barely even started picking him apart to see what made him tick, and my conclusions there have since been deemed rather surface-level!

The first question, of course, is what is a fatal flaw? What makes it different from a regular character flaw? The clue's in the name, I think - fatal flaw is one that's most likely to one day result in the hero's death, as Annabeth also suggests in Sea of Monsters:

“I don’t know, Percy, but every hero has one. If you don’t find it and learn to control it … well, they don’t call it ‘fatal’ for nothing.”

Athena gives us a little more to go on in The Titan's Curse:

"In each case, your loved ones have been used to lure you into Kronos's traps. Your fatal flaw is personal loyalty, Percy. You do not know when it is time to cut your losses. To save a friend, you would sacrifice the world. In a hero of the prophecy, that is very, very dangerous." I balled my fists. "That's not a flaw. Just because I want to help my friends—" "The most dangerous flaws are those which are good in moderation," she said. "Evil is easy to fight. Lack of wisdom… that is very hard indeed."

Of course, she's talking specifically to Percy about his flaw here, but there are certainly broader points to be inferred from this. When you break down all her warnings, it boils down near enough to "your fatal flaw is one you either cannot fight, or do not want to fight, because you think it is right/justified", which is interesting. It's a flaw that you don't, necessarily, recognise as a flaw, which makes it difficult to do anything about because how can something that's right be wrong?

As Athena says, the most dangerous flaws are those which are good in moderation - flaws that, in most situations, actually help, or are perceived to do so. These are the flaws most likely to kill the hero - and maybe others, as well.

With that out of the way, let's start picking apart Michael properly.

Generally, I see anger, pride or stubbornness put forwards as suggestions for his fatal flaw, so I'll look at each of those and see how well they actually fit. On top of that, I'm also going to explore two other contenders that I've come to notice from the hundreds of times I've re-read his scenes - protectiveness, and love.

First up, let's talk about Anger.

Anger is the one that seems to spring to mind most readily for some people (myself included), and it's hardly surprising given his introductory scene:

She was in the midst of yelling at Michael Yew, the new head counselor for Apollo, which looked kind of funny since Clarisse was a foot taller. Michael had taken over the Apollo cabin after Lee Fletcher died in battle last summer. Michael stood four feet six, with another two feet of attitude. He reminded me of a ferret, with a pointy nose and scrunched-up features—either because he scowled so much or because he spent too much time looking down the shaft of an arrow. "It's our loot!" he yelled, standing on his tiptoes so he could get in Clarisse's face. "If you don't like it, you can kiss my quiver!" [...] I couldn't believe Clarisse and Michael standing over her, arguing about something as stupid as loot, when she'd just lost Beckendorf. "STOP IT!" I yelled. "What are you guys doing?" Clarisse glowered at me. "Tell Michael not to be a selfish jerk." "Oh, that's perfect, coming from you," Michael said.

(As an aside, I love Michael's "kiss my quiver" line because hip quivers are very much a thing and if you think of his quiver as on his hip instead of his back... he's basically saying "kiss my ass" but in a kid-book-friendly way)

Michael's introduction is full of aggression - he's standing on tiptoes, getting "in Clarisse's face", and yelling at her. To make matters worse, it's in front of a grieving Silena which makes him (and Clarisse, but we've already had four books on how much Clarisse can be a bitch in Percy's opinion) look incredibly callous and uncaring. Percy's rather unflattering description about "two feet of attitude" and "because he scowled so much" adds to the overall impression that Michael's a right piece of work as well. Thanks, Percy.

It's a good introduction, though. This is memorable, as far as character introductions go (far more memorable than the first time we're introduced to Beckendorf, or Silena, etc.), and it's full of personality - personality that says Michael is not afraid to throw hands and will do it anywhere, anytime. It directly opposes him with Clarisse, but in such a way that makes them seem like similar characters, and we know anger/rage is one of Clarisse's traits as well.

This scene isn't a one-off, either. We get the full feud against the Ares cabin, which Michael spearheads:

We ducked as Michael Yew's chariot dive-bombed an Ares camper. The Ares camper tried to stab him and cuss him out in rhyming couplets. He was pretty creative about rhyming those cuss words. "We're fighting for our lives," I said, "and they're bickering about some stupid chariot." "They'll get over it," Annabeth said. "Clarisse will come to her senses."

The fact that it's Clarisse, not Michael, that Annabeth thinks is going to stand down also says a lot about how she sees the pair of them, and she must know Michael reasonably well, so this adds another note to the impression that Michael can be even more unreasonable than Clarisse (although it should also be noted that in this feud Michael is the one in the right, and Chiron has said as much to the campers, or at least the head counsellors - and of course from a narrative point of view, Clarisse is a far more familiar character for readers).

Michael himself also admits later on that he lost his temper with Clarisse again off-screen:

Michael shrugged. "Yeah, well, I called her some names when she said she still wouldn't fight. I doubt that helped. Here come the uglies!"

Those names certainly weren't ones for polite company - or a children's book. I think we can confidently say that Michael certainly has a temper, much like his father is legendary for.

But is it a fatal flaw? Well, sadly we have a scene that's implied to be Michael's death scene (I say implied because we never saw a body and a lot of things don't quite add up, so I prefer to think of him as not-dead, but for the purposes of this meta we'll consider it his death scene), so let's go look at that.

He struck the bridge with the butt of his scythe, and a wave of pure force blasted me backward. Cars went careening. Demigods—even Luke's own men—were blown off the edge of the bridge. Suspension cords whipped around, and I skidded halfway back to Manhattan. I got unsteadily to my feet. The remaining Apollo campers had almost made it to the end of the bridge, except for Michael Yew, who was perched on one of the suspension cables a few yards away from me, His last arrow was notched in his bow.

Michael's final stand happens immediately after several demigods - including his own siblings - are just blown clean off the bridge by Kronos. Is it a decision spurred by anger after things going wrong after they were finally going right? It would make sense.

However, there is one big issue with anger as his fatal flaw. Obviously, Michael does have this temper, and it does get out of hand, but we only ever see it get out of hand in the (relative) safety of camp. The Michael we see in Manhattan actually seems very calm and in control the entire time. He's observant and quick-witted, and is the only head counsellor to spot (or at least verbalise) a potential flaws in Percy and Annabeth's plan.

"He's right," Annabeth said. "The gods of the wind should keep Kronos's forces away from Olympus by air, so he'll try a ground assault. We have to cut off the entrances to the island." "They have boats," Michael Yew pointed out. An electric tingle went down my back. Suddenly I understood Athena's advice: Remember the rivers. "I'll take care of the boats," I said. Michael frowned. "How?" "Just leave it to me," I said.

Of course, Percy being the son of Poseidon can plug that massive gap, but it took Michael asking the question for him to make the important connection that he needed to.

This calmness continues into the battle itself, as well.

Michael Yew ran up to us. He was definitely the shortest commando I'd ever seen. He had a bandaged cut on his arm. His ferrety face was smeared with soot and his quiver was almost empty, but he was smiling like he was having a great time. "Glad you could join us," he said. "Where are the other reinforcements?" "For now, we're it," I said. "Then we're dead," he said. [...] "We have to fall back," Michael said. "I've got Kayla and Austin setting traps farther down the bridge." "No," I said. "Bring your campers forward to this position and wait for my signal. We're going to drive the enemy back to Brooklyn." Michael laughed. "How do you plan to do that?" I drew my sword. "Percy," Annabeth said, "let me come with you." "Too dangerous," I said. "Besides, I need you to help Michael coordinate the defensive line. I'll distract the monsters. You group up here. Move the sleeping mortals out of the way. Then you can start picking off monsters while I keep them focused on me. If anybody can do all that, you can." Michael snorted. "Thanks a lot."

No temper tantrums, no yelling like he did with Clarisse earlier - he's matter of fact when he realises they don't really have reinforcements (not knowing, of course, about Percy's little Styx bath), he doesn't argue with Percy when Percy starts taking command. He continues to say his piece and get his point across, but at no point do we ever get the sense that Michael is anything other than perfectly in control at any point during the battle - which is not what you would expect from a rage-based fatal flaw.

For example, contrast Michael's scenes with Clarisse later in the battle:

The real Clarisse looked up at the drakon, her face filled with absolute hate. I'd seen a look that intense only once before. Her father, Ares, had worn the same expression when I'd fought him in single combat. "YOU WANT DEATH?" Clarisse screamed at the drakon. "WELL, COME ON!" She grabbed her spear from the fallen girl. With no armor or shield, she charged the drakon.

and

"I AM CLARISSE, DRAKON-SLAYER!" she yelled. "I will kill you ALL! Where is Kronos? Bring him out! Is he a coward?" "Clarisse!" I yelled. "Stop it. Withdraw!" "What's the matter, Titan lord?" she yelled. "BRING IT ON!" There was no answer from the enemy. Slowly, they began to fall back behind a dracaenae shield wall, while Clarisse drove in circles around Fifth Avenue, daring anyone to cross her path. The two- hundred-foot-long drakon carcass made a hollow scraping noise against the pavement, like a thousand knives. Meanwhile, we tended our wounded, bringing them inside the lobby. Long after the enemy had retreated from sight, Clarisse kept riding up and down the avenue with her horrible trophy, demanding that Kronos meet her battle.

Calm and collected whomst? Not to say that Clarisse's temper isn't understandable here, but this fits much more in line with Athena's description of a fatal flaw - one that seems justified, right, even (and later on, Clarisse gets frozen by a Hyperborean Giant, so this does come back to bite her!), as opposed to the way Michael seems to stay in control of his temper even when his siblings are being killed around him.

With all that in mind, while I willa gree that anger is a flaw of Michael's, it certainly doesn't seem to check the boxes to be a fatal flaw, so let's move onto the next one: Pride.

Pride has its roots in the same parts of the narration as anger, so this section is going to be rather shorter because I don't need to rehash all the quotes again. The main thing that stands out on the pride side of the feud, specifically, is that it's completely needless for Michael to keep agitating Clarisse and the Ares cabin.

Clarisse turned to Chiron. "You're in charge, right? Does my cabin get what we want or not?" Chiron shuffled his hooves. "My dear, as I've already explained, Michael is correct. Apollo's cabin has the best claim. Besides, we have more important matters—" [...] "I see," Clarisse said. "And the senior counselors? Are any of you going to side with me?" Nobody was smiling now. None of them met Clarisse's eyes.

Chiron's put his hooves down on the matter - the Apollo cabin has the best claim to the chariot, Clarisse is the aggressor here. The other head counsellors all agree with that, too. Michael could, and given the upcoming war, should, ignore her and put his and his siblings' focus towards the war and not an argument he's already won.

But he doesn't. His chariot is attacking the campers - the Apollo kids aren't just defending themselves from the upset Ares kids, they're on the offensive themselves, arguably more so than the Ares campers.

As we crossed the commons area, a fight broke out between the Ares and Apollo cabins. Some Apollo campers armed with firebombs flew over the Ares cabin in a chariot pulled by two pegasi. I'd never seen the chariot before, but it looked like a pretty sweet ride. Soon, the roof of the Ares cabin was burning, and naiads from the canoe lake rushed over to blow water on it. Then the Ares campers called down a curse, and all the Apollo kids' arrows turned to rubber. The Apollo kids kept shooting at the Ares kids, but the arrows bounced off. Two archers ran by, chased by an angry Ares kid who was yelling in poetry: "Curse me, eh? I'll make you pay! / I don't want to rhyme all day!"

This feels a lot like he's trying to validate that yes, the chariot really is his cabin's, and the fact that Clarisse keeps insisting otherwise despite every non-Ares member of the camp being on Michael's side is insulting/undermining the Apollo cabin's claim.

It also sounds like he made sure to have the final word against Clarisse when she still refused to come and fight, which is a very prideful action.

"Nah," Michael said. "Left it at camp. I told Clarisse she could have it. Whatever, you know? Not worth fighting about anymore. But she said it was too late. We'd insulted her honor for the last time or some stupid thing." "Least you tried," I said. Michael shrugged. "Yeah, well, I called her some names when she said she still wouldn't fight. I doubt that helped. Here come the uglies!"

The thing is, though, that we hit a snag with the pride theory at this point for a similar reason to the anger one - as soon as there's something bigger and more immediate to focus on, Michael sets it aside.

He gives up the chariot they were fighting over - the chariot that, rightfully, is the Apollo cabin's - for no reason other than because he knew that they needed the Ares cabin to come and fight and it was the only thing he could think of that he could do to try and change Clarisse's mind - made even more stark when compared with Michael's original, in-camp, reaction to Clarisse's declaration.

Clarisse threw her knife on the Ping-Pong table. "All of you can fight this war without Ares. Until I get satisfaction, no one in my cabin is lifting a finger to help. Have fun dying." The counselors were all too stunned to say anything as Clarisse stormed out of the room. Finally Michael Yew said, "Good riddance."

It's true that Michael does get upset when Clarisse ignores his sacrifice of the chariot and still refuses to fight, but I think that's understandable given the situation (and he is, still, a teenage boy with a temper). It doesn't change the fact that he does it, however, nor the fact that Michael doesn't rescind the sacrifice and bring the chariot with him regardless, despite its potential stragetic uses in the war. Pride certainly doesn't seem to have much if any weight in his final stand, either, so I'd say that like anger, this doesn't actually fit as his fatal flaw, even if it might be somewhat of a personal trait/flaw.

At this point, it seems a little bit like a moot point to poke at Stubbornness because most of the counter-arguments for anger and pride also address this, but I'll quickly go over it anyway because this is the first one that properly shows itself all the way through Michael's appearances.

I've already mentioned the way he doesn't back down in the chariot feud, which is pride, yes, but also stubbornness - he won't leave it alone, won't let Clarisse stake her own claim on it, keeps fighting past the point of necessity over it.

But then we have his final scene, where he stands his ground. There's no indication that Michael even tried to run when the bridge crumbled.

I got unsteadily to my feet. The remaining Apollo campers had almost made it to the end of the bridge, except for Michael Yew, who was perched on one of the suspension cables a few yards away from me, His last arrow was notched in his bow. "Michael, go!" I screamed. "Percy, the bridge!" he called. "It's already weak!" At first I didn't understand. Then I looked down and saw fissures in the pavement. Patches of the road were half melted from Greek fire. The bridge had taken a beating from Kronos's blast and the exploding arrows. "Break it!" Michael yelled. "Use your powers!" [...] I turned to thank Michael Yew, but the words died in my throat. Twenty feet away, a bow lay in the street. Its owner was nowhere to be seen. "No!" I searched the wreckage on my side of the bridge. I stared down at the river. Nothing.

Michael completely ignores Percy telling him to run, tells him to break the bridge that he's currently on and clearly has no intentions of leaving, not with that notched arrow that he then seems to have fired, given that there's no arrow later on. This seems the closest we've got so far to a flaw that goes beyond a simple character flaw and into the fatal category.

Except.

He's a stubborn character, but just like with anger, like with pride, Michael keeps putting it aside when it might otherwise cause issues during the battle - he questions Percy's plans more than once, but despite that, he cedes command to Percy on Williamsburg Bridge, follows his orders instead of continuing with his own strategies, and generally shows that he's exactly the sort of person you want by your side/at your back when you're fighting. Michael's flexible and prepared to change and adapt as the situation does - which is pretty much the opposite of stubbornness, so while at first glance it seemed like a strong candidate it's once again contradicted by the scenes on Williamsburg Bridge.

So, that's the three usual suspects that arise from the chariot feud all falling apart once we rearch the battlefield. Michael is certainly passionate about the fight - more than once, Percy implies that he seems to actually be having a good time on the battlefield and there's no other explanation other than eagerness for this moment:

I sliced through armor like it was made of paper. Snake women exploded. Hellhounds melted to shadow. I slashed and stabbed and whirled, and I might have even laughed once or twice—a crazy laugh that scared me as much as it did my enemies. I was aware of the Apollo campers behind me shooting arrows, disrupting every attempt by the enemy to rally. Finally, the monsters turned and fled—about twenty left alive out of two hundred. I followed with the Apollo campers at my heels. "Yes!" yelled Michael Yew. "That's what I'm talking about!"

But despite all of this, that passion doesn't seem to be based in anger, pride, or stubbornness, despite those being the first things people seem to think of when they think about Michael - and that's why I have two more options added to the list to explore.

Moving on, then, I'll start with Protectiveness.

So, just now I said that stubbornness is what caused Michael's final moments, but is it really? It was certainly part of it, but also - as I mentioned earlier, when talking about anger, Michael's final stand is immediately after some of his siblings have been thrown off the bridge - having already seen at least one other sibling killed earlier:

Hellhounds leaped ahead of the line from time to time. Most were destroyed with arrows, but one got hold of an Apollo camper and dragged him away. I didn't see what happened to him next. I didn't want to know.

Siblings, of course, that as their head counsellor he is the one in charge of and responsible for - it's likely that he's the oldest in the cabin as well (although not guaranteed), and that these are all his younger siblings that are getting killed/seriously injured/status unknown. We're told that the "remaining" Apollo campers are running for the end of the bridge and retreating as far as possible - all of them except for Michael, who was with them to start with but stopped and turned to face the enemy.

Michael and his archers tried to retreat, but Annabeth stayed right beside me, fighting with her knife and mirrored shield as we slowly backed up the bridge.

Followed by

The remaining Apollo campers had almost made it to the end of the bridge, except for Michael Yew, who was perched on one of the suspension cables a few yards away from me. His last arrow was notched in his bow.

This is the point when Michael makes the decision that the bridge has to be destroyed, figures out how to destroy it, and basically orders Percy to do it. I've got a whole other argument about how Michael is the reason Olympus didn't fall that first night of the siege, but at this point I think it's blatantly obvious that the only thing Michael is thinking about is protecting his siblings. Why else would he put himself (tiny archer who should never, ever, be on the front lines - which is hinted at by the fact he still seeks out as high a ground as he can get aka the cables) as the rear guard, the barrier between an entire army and his fleeing siblings?

He's protecting his siblings - he's guarding their backs as they flee to safety and he's finding a way to stop them from being pursued, even if it kills him in the process. It's clearly the right decision to him, the only decision he thinks he can take - and it's textbook fatal flaw.

But before I settle on that, there's one more I want to talk about, which is really an extension of protectiveness, and that's Love.

I'll admit that love always feels like a bit of a cheat to me as a fatal flaw - it's a bit of a catch-all, in that if you argue hard enough you can pull back almost any character to love in some way (which is why Aphrodite is such an underrated yet powerful goddess), and it's nowhere near as obvious for Michael as it is for Apollo and Nico (yes I know what Bianca said, but consider: she didn't know what she was talking about. Nico's fatal flaw is a whole other meta, though), but I think it fills in a few gaps that protectiveness leaves a little open.

There's something that gets overlooked a lot when Michael gets discussed, especially the chariot feud, despite the fact that Percy outright states it.

Michael had taken over the Apollo cabin after Lee Fletcher died in battle last summer.

No sugar-coating, no forgetting about a background character that got all of two pre-death appearances - Lee was killed in battle, and Michael was the one that took over the cabin from him.

We never get any canon information on Michael and Lee's relationship, but obviously they knew each other well, given that Michael's the next most senior kid - and isn't that the kicker. Because this line tells us one very important thing: Michael had to step into his big brother's suddenly-vacated shoes in the immediate aftermath of a battle, with no time to grieve.

We even have a comparison to make right in that same scene:

Even Jake Mason, the hastily appointed new counselor from Hephaestus, managed a faint smile.

Jake's also been shoved into the same role, a role we later find out he never wanted and never recovered from - big brother's dead, your turn to step up and lead the cabin in war. Most of the counsellors are laughing but all Jake can do is a faint smile. He's not okay, and you wouldn't expect him to be - and in The Lost Hero he's even more blatant about the fact that he's not okay (same as Will, in fact) - so, clearly, Michael is not okay, either.

The chariot feud is a whole mess of emotions - anger, pride and stubbornness are ones I've already covered - but I never see anyone talk about grief, and how Michael's been forced to lead a cabin in the wake of the death of his older sibling (the first wartime promotion, really - the Stolls situation isn't quite the same), and how he has to be at least somewhat off-balance, because grief is a tricky little thing and there's no way it hasn't got its nasty little claws in Michael, and that only a few scant months - a year at most - after Lee's death, it's still very, very raw.

And there's a strong correlation between love and grief. "What is grief but love perservering?" "Grief is the price we pay for love" - there's a neverending list of sayings about grief and love.

Then there's the bridge. There's Michael putting Austin and Kayla right at the back, setting traps but a long way back from the front line. There's the way he knew that without the Ares cabin they weren't going to win so he surrendered the chariot in the hopes of getting the front line fighters to join in - the ones that will stand between the archers and the enemy, between his siblings and the enemy. There's, again, the way he stood his ground as a barrier between Kronos and his army and his siblings, even though if Percy hadn't destroyed the bridge he would've been overrun and killed (and he was in such a precarious position that breaking the bridge... well, we know what happened or do we).

But also there's the fact that Michael was fighting at all. The fact that Michael wanted to fight - when Percy gives him the opportunity to take the fight to Kronos, to fight back rather than just numbly defending the bridge/Manhattan/Olympus, Michael seizes it.

His ferrety face was smeared with soot and his quiver was almost empty, but he was smiling like he was having a great time.

"That was my last sonic arrow," Michael said. "A gift from your dad?" I asked. "God of music?" Michael grinned wickedly.

I followed with the Apollo campers at my heels. "Yes!" yelled Michael Yew. "That's what I'm talking about!"

He's right there on the front line, it's so obvious that he's there because he wants to be, because he believes in their cause. Because he loves Apollo.

It's never said in so many words (although we know Apollo has interacted with Michael because he's given him those sonic arrows), but it's there in Michael's actions, in how he never falters in the pro-god side of the war despite losing sibling after sibling after sibling to it - Michael has to love Apollo for anything else to make sense.

It's his siblings he sacrifices himself for, but it's his father he chose to fight for. And it's both that he died for.

If that's not a fatal flaw in action, what is?

[itsliveloud]

~~Possible Spoilers for the Entire Broken Heart Series~~~

So this isn't really a theory, more of just a possible realization. Someome probably already thought of this BUT I think I know why ACFTL is called A Curse for True Love!!

What if the 3 titles of the series are in Jacks's POV?

Let me explain......

Once Upon a Broken Heart----

Jacks first meets Evangeline when she has a broken heart, and she comes to him to try and heal her Broken Heart (ie stopping Luc and Merisol's wedding.) Of course she is still Broken Hearted. Fast forward she meets Apollo (~her heart is trying to mend itself but it's forced because she knows Apollo doesn't really love her) She starts to fall for Jacks, and yet her heart breaks again at the end of OUABH because of Jacks's Betrayal.

Ballad of Neverafter-----

This book is all about The Ballad of the Archer and the Fox (ie Jacks is the real Archer and Eva his Little Fox. Jacks, at one point says "Ballads never end happily" AND YET this whole book is really about Eva and Jacks falling for eachother and thier Ballad!! At the end of Ballad we know for a fact Eva admits to loving Jacks and let she honest we know Jacks loves Eva. Fairytale usually end with "And they lived Happily ever after" so Jacks and Ev being torn apart by Apollo at the end after Jacks resets time and saves her is thier "Neverafter" because she forgets him.

Enter....A Curse For True Love----

I 1000000% believe Eva is Jacks True Love, and he, hers. Yes, Tella made his heart beat, but Eva made him FEEL. I believe they are True Loves because they choose eachother (like Tella chose Legend) This entire book will basically be about Evangeline being Cursed with her memory loss, and undoubtedly Jacks fighting to get her memories back to her so The Archer and his Fox can Finally have the Happily Ever After they deserve.

So I think of it like Jacks saying, "Once Upon a time Evangeline Fox had a Broken Heart when we met. From the beginning the story Of us, Our Ballad, was seen as a (of) Neverafter, one without a happy ending like the story of my First Fox, and my Curse. But I believe Evangeline is my (for) One True Love."-----Something like that

Anyway I just thought of all that after I was able to read the Sneek Peak of the first 4 Chapters! I won't spoil what I read besides the dedication but OMG OCTOBER 24TH NEEDS TO BE HERE NOW!!!!

[everythingendsbutcomicsr4ever]

((This originally comes as my response to someone saying that ppl don’t like The Sun and The Star because it’s a middle school book and we were expecting the series to grow along with us.))

Valid point I keep finding BUT I recently read the PJO series again in preparation for TSATS and those books still slap!! They’re so good even tho I’m reading them as an adult even though they're meant for kids. (Also I recently read ToA because of course I’m gonna keep reading Rick’s middle school books until the day I die or they stop coming out lol. And that series while more goofy at points I still really liked) I also read one of Mark Oshiro's other books in prep for this book because I was excited for The Sun and Star to be released and I just COULD NOT get through it 😭 the writing was just giving me the ick and the characters where all kind of samie like that sassy talking wit. Which was a bummer because I liked the premise of the book “Anger is a Gift”, which was about underfunded schools mainly facing ppl of color and immigrants which leads to the school-to-prison pipeline because of the defunct way America funds public schools that keeps the poor poor and the rich getting richer & it was ACAB & had a lot of queer representation & etc. So I thought I’d really like it but I just couldn’t get through it because of the writing and I noticed this same writing style showing up in TSATS. Just because it’s for kids doesn’t excuse it from being bad. Like early Pixar and Studio Ghibli is still so good to watch back again and my 50+ yrs old parents like it. Book examples would be Harry Potter (screw JK Rowling tho fr) & the The Little Prince

Not to bash on ppl who say this is the main reason ppl don’t like the book but it feels like a straw man argument to say that the books not growing with us is the main reason ppl didnt like it. All tho I’m sure ppl have argued this but that is definitely their fault because Rick is staying in middle-grade fiction forever like that’s his thing! Why would ppl expect different 🤣 You think he wants to write a sex scene?! LMAO

(Here’s my review, it’s unhinged and not great because I should be doing productive stuff but am distracted until I can at least write down some of my thoughts on my disappointing experience)

Here are some things I didn’t like about it from a piece of art standpoint:

The pacing was bad

This book was filled with the first thing they teach you about writing which is: SHOW don’t TELL

It made me not ship Solangelo surprisingly like how??! I used to love Solangelo but I think this mainly is because of the collective consciousness of the fandom and because we wanted Nico to find happiness with someone. But if you really look back on their moments canonically from the books Will is a background character (who honestly kind of gaslights Nico by invalidating that ppl treated him differently as a son of Hades and that he didn't feel welcome at camp) and they kind of have a quick meet cute in the last book of The Last Olympian. They get together without us seeing their developing relationship and we now know they’re dating in The Trials of Apollo where we see them briefly in the first book and then more so in the last book. Honestly, this canonically alone doesn’t give me enough information or examples to really know or care about their relationship in comparison to Percy and Annabeth who we get to see develop. So TSATS just kind of felt hollow to me because I’m supposed to believe they’d die for each other but I DONT KNOW THE POWER OF THEIR LOVE?? This could just be a first love fling type thing like I was never shown the depth of their romance just told constantly in the book how much they love each other so it just felt kind of empty and emotionally unsatisfying to me.

Solangelo's relationship has always been in the background and the fans are what really made it cause we love Nico and want him to be happy. So when Will and Nico are fighting in this book all I can think is that this is just their relationship period.

So the reason it made me not like Solangelo was because Tarturus was supposed to bring out the worst in them and strain their relationship but, like, I haven’t really seen much of their relationship so I don’t have a “control group” to base this off of. So Will just seemed rude when he was so mean about Nico’s underworld home and about Nico's darkness which I also didn’t understand wtf he was talking about because Nico has killed just as many monsters as other campers and what else was his darknes based off of. cause he’s emo/goth?? Cause he can raise the dead?? Like guys we’ve discussed this just because a character wears black doesn't automatically make them the bad guy. I honestly thought Will just thought that was hot and they’d have that normie x alt relationship dynamic (that meme of: My hot witch wife. Me doing whatever she wants) I thought THAT was Solangelo not Will constantly trying to bring this light side to him and trying to change him. I agree that Nico needs help w his trauma and PTSD and things like that but this felt like if someone tried to “cure” a goth person, like actually screw you

I thought Will was supposed to look like a normie but be secretly a freak (in a good way lol) / goth interest. Cause this is meee I thought I was like Will as someone who looks like a normie and has a sunny disposition but I have a lot of alt/goth interests and I would let an alt girlie step all over me tbh lol. So does he like Nico for who he is or not?!

This is more in line w what I thought their relationship was like lol:

The flashbacks and forwards I thought were ok even if they took you out of the story a bit but this device is supposed to be used for an IMPORTANT event not just as a way to quickly give context to their relationship and when we got to the scene this was taking place in I was like that’s it?? He what? fell down and is suffering from sun withdrawals and this is the book's big moment to justify jarring flashback scenes?

Mark Oshiro is not a fantasy adventure or horror writer and it shows. Maybe it’s just me but their depiction of Tarturus and the nightmare and the journey were just not up to snuff with good horror and fantasy books I’ve read. (And if your gonna say something about how it’s for kids then I raise you the book series “Goosbumps”) So as a genre in itself, it was just disappointing. It was mainly a relationship guidebook book but I didn’t really like that or feel like it was done well, It felt lectury and also idk if that's the genre middle schoolers really like?? 😅

It had too many references which really dates a book, A lot of professional writers say not to use too much slang or modernreferences (unless you’re trying to make a book expressly about a time period) because it really dates a book and doesn’t make a story feel timeless for future generations if you use too many references (this doesn’t include political novels tho which are very much based in that time when the events happening) Anyways for future writers keep this in mind, you don't need to keep in touch with the youth through urban dictionary you can just write about the emotions of being young or whatever. If you’ve tried to read a comic book aimed at teens from the 50s like I have you’ll realise how funny that is.

(Also the carebear reference that I didn’t even understand and I watched carebear as a kid & Lil Nas video which if this was written for kids that music video feels a bit inappropriate for them 😂 it had a reference both too old and too young for middle schoolers AND how in the world would 1930s born, dropped out of elementary school, can’t use the internet or phones half blood, NICO DI ANGELO know these references???)

The writings giving:

Bad alt representation. (This is my most out-of-pocket opinionated bullet point rant so if you don't agree that’s a-okay :D ) This could be a whole post in itself but although I know ppl joke about Nico as the Emo kid I would really like to get into how Nico is actually, or it would be cool, as having some goth subculture inclinations. And ppl probably think of Trad Goths with the whole makeup and teased hair look but it’s mainly a music-based subculture and/or it just has a different idealogy around the ideas of death and what is deemed beautiful while most ppl see it as ugly. (Like listen to “Gallows Dance” or the Bauhaus's “Bela Lugosi’s Dead” & “The Passion of Lovers”, to name songs off the top of my head) This bullet point is definitely MY OPINION and doesn’t contribute exactly to the book being bad but aren’t those songs the vibe of an underworld kid like Nico?? Embracing the darkness and dancing in graveyard vibes fr!! Anyways most alt subcultures and especially emo are seen as a phase in life that you grow out of and then become normal. This book just really gives the energy of being written by a normie who would be confused by the choices of alt ppl and just doesn’t get it because it’s not their personal interest, which isn’t exactly bad even tho I want more philosophy from Nico on the chillness and acceptance of death (all tho greek mythologies view on the afterlife sucks fr and THAT is a whole other post haha) So this isn’t exactly a problem BUT what gives me the ick is WILL NOT ACCEPTING THESE THINGS LIKE SIR STOP BASHING YOUR BOYFRIENDS LIFE!! Will asking Persephonee, “How do you love someone from the underworld” SHUT UP!! 😤

Will was useless and I know what they were trying to go for but if I had a girlfriend (oh I’m a lesbian btw just in case ppl think I’m going harder on this book more than the other books because I’m homophobic bruh I swear I’m not I’m only disappointed in the art itself, NOT the representation which I actually liked) and if I was super good at fighting and they weren’t, I’m sorry but I wouldn’t take them BECAUSE of my love for them. If they were going to be useless on a mission of such life-threatening danger and importance I WOULD NOT TAKE THEM OUT OF KINDNESS. Like skills in medicine and art and music are great and there’s of course nothing wrong w not being a badass fighter (lmao this is me and most readers) but then DONT GO TO SUPER HELL!!! Especially if you have something that makes you more pathetic than being a normal human in Tarturus, his suffering from no sunlight is out of pocket and just makes the story draggg and makes him seem boring and the story more boring. I know they were trying to go for a fish out of water storyline and roll reversal but I think it wasn’t done well enough and overall hurt the story

Also, I’ve heard ppl talk about how it would have been nice to have a book focus on their relationship while at Camp Half-Blood. Like maybe it takes place pre Jason's death and we can just see them living at camp. It’d be chill and we can actually see them as a couple & It would give the energy of readers wanting to go to camp half-blood again like how everyone wanted to go to Hogwarts. Cause we haven’t seen the camp as a fun home since the very early PJO books ;-; (this is just a fun idea I like and I think would have been more manageable for an author but this is FR my opinion on a fun book idea i’d like to read) ALSO this would have been so nostalgic for the older readers who have been here since middle school gobbling up this universe 😌

I know ppl get mad at ppl making fun of Will for being pathetic in tarturous. As saying he’s a child and no one can be happy and sunny and doing well 24/7 which is valid but that’s not really my argument. I like watching characters put in situations where we watch them bend against what we thought they were when put in a hard situation (the masochist in me lol jkjjk). But this I think didn’t work for me because as I’ve said before he’s mainly a background character at the end of one book thrown together with Nico and we as a fandom have mainly made him up. Also, Tarturus was just not as scary or adventure-filled as like any of the other missions from previous PJO books, It didn’t feel as trauma-inducing as everyone in the series tried to explain it as. (again show not tell from the book) Also, I would have liked to have seen Will cool at least once or one reason for me to like him with Nico but I saw him as pretty bland as a character

The writing style felt bad to me because of the show don’t tell part for example telling as “it made him sad and traumatized” when showing would be, you know, actually showing the scenes and this book just felt like 80% telling what they were feeling instead of letting the reader feel the emotions of the scene for themselves

I think that’s another thing I really didn’t like related to the Show Don't Tell. And another hallmark of bad writing was this book was really telling the audience how to feel instead of allowing the story to be powerful enough to do that for itself. This book follows a trend I’ve seen a lot in TV shows where everything kind of feels like detached irony from being on Twitter where you hear everyone’s opinions so the story is written as a wink and a nod like we know what we’re doing and we know what your thinking and how twitter will react to it. Like it’s hard to describe this trend I’ve mainly seen in TV shows and movies recently which always gives me the ick cause it doesn’t feel funny it feels like I’m in a response piece that is breaking the fourth wall and reminds me that I’m in reality watching or reading something instead of actually feeling like I’m in the story. It’s like pseudo-wittiness or something. Tell me if you guys feel this way about some modern tv shows or books, I can't be alone please 😭!!

The stupid toast scene at the end lol The book is like: Do you get it? Did you get it?? They’re opposites! And they attract!! We did the trope you guys!! Also, the stupid Darth Vader scene to start off the book 💀

This whole book made me cringe where I had to constantly get up walk around and lie on the floor before I could continue, only to constantly repeat the cycle 😅

Anyway, idk how to end this review/rant I just had such strong emotions I had to get out probably because I was so excited for this book to come out for like over a year and got back into PJO for a bit and read some of Mark Oshiro’s books and greek mythology and stuff, so I think it wasn’t just me reading any random bad book it disappointed me more that it was poor quality because I wanted to love it so much.

It did have some actually good parts, the troglodytes were cute … I can’t remember the other stuff but it was there I swear lol! If you enjoyed it I’m happy for you! Don’t let me ruin a book you like, you deserve to feel joy 😘💐

[sincerelyhannahx]

'once upon a broken heart', in quotes

If hope were a pair of wings, Evangeline's were stretching out behind her, eager to take flight again.

'I don't know if I can fix your broken heart, but you can take mine because it's already yours.'

Heroes don't get happy endings. They give them to other people.

In the North, fairytales and history were treated as one and the same because their stories and histories were all cursed.

'I believe there are far more possibilities than happily ever after or tragedy. Every story has the possibility for infinite endings'.

It was tremendously difficult to fully fall out of love with someone when you had no one else to love instead.

... not all loves happened at first; some took time to grow like seeds, or they might be like bulbs, dormant until the right season approached.

Evangeline saw symbols from countless Northern tales and ballads: star-shaped keys and broken books, knights in armour, a crowned wolf's head, winged horses, bits of castles, arrows and foxes, and twining vines of harlequin lilies.

But she was like the tide drawn by the tremendous force of the moon. It was no wonder the waves were always crashing; they must have hated the pull as much as she did.

Apollo burned like a fire that consumed instead of warmed. And yet there must have been a part of her that wanted to be scorched, or at the very least singed.

... murmurs were like villains at the end of a story. They just wouldn't die.

But Evangeline's doubt was like salt. There wasn't much of it, yet it seemed to alter the taste of her thoughts.

'I want you Evangline Fox. I want to write ballads for you on the walls of Wolf Hall and carve your name on my heart with swords. I want you to be my wife and my princess and my queen.'

'Did you ever play that game as a child - the one where there's a circle of chairs, and when the music stops playing you have to find a chair to sit in? But there's never enough chairs for everyone, so one person is always left without a seat in the circle. That's how I feel, as if I missed my chance at a chair and now I've been tossed out of the game.'

She sensed that she was living in an illusion and if she looked closely, she'd see that everything she'd thought was stardust was really just the burning embers of a wicked spell.

People called it falling out of love, but falling was easy. Letting go of Luc had been more like climbing the face of a rock. She'd clawed her way out, fighting to shake it off, to let it go, to find something else to hold on to.

LaLa was not a wilting maid pining away for lost love. She was the boldest girl at the party, the girl who was unafraid to dance by herself... She didn't make being alone seem lonely as Evangeline had always feared. She made it seem like an adventure, as if every moment were the start of a story with endless possibilities.

He looked part angel, part fallen star, and completely devastating.

[iwannascreameurekaa]

! Spoilers for trials of Apollo !

just had someone tell me that valgrace was stupid bc, and I quote, "um sorry but no they both are in different relationships" which I can't help but read in one of those 🤓🤓 voices or like Jeffery from class of 09'

lets deep dive because I want to talk about it

Starting with the (incorrect) point of "they both are in different relationship" firstly: Jason and Piper are not together anymore. This person obviously wants to go by canon since they hate on any non canon ship so also: JASONS DEAD??? I'm gonna ship him with whoever I want bc he didn't die for you to spew around about how no one can have a little fun and live a little!! Going back to the jiper/jasper thing. If you haven't read TOA, Piper breaks up with Jason because "Jason and me—we started out oddly. Hera kind of messed with our heads, made us think we shared a past we didn't share." (Page 123 of the grunting maze) Piper herself literally admits to knowing that her feelings were not valid because of the manipulation done by Hera. It's actually so incredInly stupdi that SOME people think that just because Jason and Piper WERE canon that it means they SHOULD STILL BE because they're relationship was actually toxic because in what world is relationship like theirs actually healthy? Imagine that you woke up on a bus with random people, specifically a girl who is a STRANGER to you and she tells you that she's your girlfriend even though you have ZERO memories of her. Now, fast forward a little bit and this girl was apparently BRAINWASHED into believing that she liked you and was in a relationship with you??? That's so fucked up how does anyone see that and just go "yeah seems healthy" HUH???

moving on, what about caleo? Now I know I've made posts and posts about this but it's seriously weird that people still think that's an actively healthy relationship. When Leo first gets onto the island (I don't remember the name I apologize) that calypso is cursed or banished to or whatever the hell it is, Calypso is not only rude to him BUT MAKES HIM SLEEP OUTSIDE FOR DAYS WITH LITTLE TO NO HELP

putting that in all caps cause that right there is not a healthy relationship I'm sorry I don't care if that was the "early days" of caleo this enemies to lovers thing wasn't it at all

that's not even mentioning the fact that calypso is 2000+ years older than Leo and I just know that's gonna get some caleo ass kissers mad bc "what about Nico" "what about Hazel" well first off all HAZEL WAS FREAKING DEAD she didn't live those (70?) years bc she. Was. DEAD. And Nico wasn't even aware that he was skipping centuries in the lotus casino meanwhile calyspo was aware that she was older than APOLLO HIMSELF. Weird.

there's also the little details of the way that caleo doesn't even seem openly romantic in the books and that sounds confusing cause idk hwo to really describe it but caleo seems like it's a failing relationship that's only been created because calypso has the problem of falling in love with every hero she meets and Leo has the problem of never being loved and technically speaking when these two types of problems collide (never being able to stop loving, never being loved) it makes a cute relationship.... for a little while and then it blows up into a huge mess

Thank you for reading my 4 a rants about caleo!! go to bed 🫶🫶

[whispersinthedawn]

House of Memories

“I wouldn't pick that if I were you,” a beloved voice commented.

Apollo’s heart faltered.

Stopped.

The voice echoed through his brain like a gong clanging right next to his ear.

He couldn’t hear anything but the hoarse tones quavering with apprehension, couldn’t focus on anything but the hint of steel as she bulldozed through all obstacles.

He’d heard this voice laugh, cry, choke, scream, whisper. He’d fallen asleep to this voice and woken up to this voice humming in his ear.

He’d never heard this voice in his life.  

Simultaneously shocked, elated, and horrified, Apollo whirled around.

Discombobulation threatened to overwhelm him.

What should have been a messy braid instead lay neatly pinned in place atop the young woman’s head.

The creases beneath her eyes from squinting at his phone and the laughter lines he’d delighted in etching across her skin had been wiped away by the brush of youth.

Instead of an overlarge sweatshirt (his, his, he’d begun wearing sweatshirts just so he could dress her in them and nothing else) and a pair of jeans faded from multiple washes, she wore a flower-print top expertly hand-stitched to her frame and a pair of cotton trousers so painfully new they still smelt of dye.

Her breasts should have been larger, his mind insisted. Her head should have come up beyond his collarbone, her hips should have been wider, and her body faintly translucent.

His vision flickered.

A stranger stared back at him with vibrant green eyes. “Leukaemia, you know,” she prompted.

With a jerk of his head, Apollo glanced back at the book in his hand. The white flower with its blood-drenched six petals looked back at him from the cover. The words Lost in your memory, emblazoned on the jacket in golden, spidery letter front, seemed to mock him.

“Really?” Apollo asked with a dry throat. “Must be contagious, the way it’s going around.”

“Love Story,” the woman said knowledgeably.

Nausea burbled up in his stomach – like the effervescent froth the one time he’d accidentally swallowed a bath bomb. (There was a reason Apollo entertained nothing but the strictest of hatreds for all soaps with aspirations towards appearing edible.)

“Eric Segal. Love Story,” the woman elaborated at Apollo’s continued silence. “Then there’s A Walk to Remember and the whole Nicholas Sparks epidemic. And suddenly, one of the leads dying after a suitably photogenic event is romantic.”

Death was neither pleasant nor attractive. The lead dying was …

Cracking, splintering, screaming Earth. Waters towering over an island that should never drown.

A determined face smiling at him for the last time before …

A tiny hand on his arm, the voice of knowledge filtering through Apollo’s panic, “If you go there, she'll burn.”

The horrified incomprehension as ichor lit up the body he'd traced with his hands and lips just that morning. The blank refusal to acknowledge the scene before his eyes as his wife glowed and glowed and failed to ascend.

As she flickered, and tottered, and collapsed, and …

Water.

Just … water.

Everywhere.

“That’s horrible,” Apollo muttered, unsure whether he was responding to the woman he’d one day marry and watch die or to the part of himself that sincerely believed he’d already lived through it.

The young woman made a face as she looked at the book in his hand. “I suppose it’s something about catharsis,” she allowed ungraciously. “Reading someone else undergo all the terror and pain of watching a loved one fade away, immersing yourself into the narrative until you’re shedding tears and – then to realise it didn't happen to you after all.”

“A purging of the emotions,” Apollo croaked, even though seeing the future play out as a particularly tragic play had never prepared him for the pain.

Sea green eyes gazed into his, a strange anticipation in them that faded the longer he remained silent.

She turned back to the shelf, a manic sort of energy filling her limbs as she reordered the books according to some criteria known only to herself.

“Of course,” she mocked, “only certain kinds of cancer are romantic. You get testicular cancer, and Disney will crop you off the frame altogether.”

“Princess Diaries?” Apollo guessed, inordinately thrilled to know this fact.

(Inordinately thrilled to focus on something, anything, other the puddle of water he couldn’t protect her from becoming.

He didn’t even know if he wanted to protect her.)

“Wonderful movies, but not the most faithful of renditions, you know?” she confided.

Apollo grinned back conspiratorially, even though he'd never seen any Princess Diaries. It seemed the type of thing one of his children would wax poetic over until he gave in and watched it just to know what all the fuss was about, but he'd yet to undergo that fate.

‘Anne Hathaway looked pretty. And the chemistry with Chris Pine,' Apollo’s foresight addled manifestation reminisced nostalgically.

“So, what would you recommend if not the book being launched today?” Apollo teased.

(The book launch she’d come to attend, for a book whose ending she already knew, while knowing exactly where Apollo stood like she’d put bugs on his clothes.)

She rocked on her heels while perusing the shelves. She raised a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, only to lower it in embarrassment as her fingers brushed against a hairpin.

“Well, not that one – it’s just too much confusing prose that glorifies stalking your person of interest,” she murmured while pointing at a book with a maroon cover.

Apollo chuckled.

She glanced at him shyly before turning back to a book with the word “Midnight” in its name and purple highlights against the cityscape forming the front cover.

“That one is supernatural too, but the main lead is just too … broody. And stuck in his neuroses. And also – it’s not her responsibility to be some breath of fresh air fixing up his life. Like, all he needed was love and hers was just pure enough while everyone else was just a one-night stand.”

By the end, her voice had risen in agitation.

“You don’t like love fixing people or broody leads?” Apollo inquired, uncertain why precisely her opinions on romance novels was important to him, but sure that it was.

She shrugged her shoulders. “It’s not … love can help,” she tried to explain. “But it’s not enough. Knowing someone loves you is good – but it can’t be everything.”

“It can be the foundation you build your life on,” Apollo pointed out.

“It shouldn’t be everything,” she insisted. “Because that just reduces you to a caricature of a person who only exists as long as someone loves you. You can’t define yourself by the person you’re in love with, because one day they’re going to be gone and you’re going to be left alone, and that day …” she choked off.   

“That day,” Apollo told her softly, “the memory of the love would still remain. And it would still be the foundation, still be a bracing strut, still be the frame you build your life around. And one day, you’ll find a new post to twine around, and that would still be okay.”

She stared at him, eyes wide with a confused hurt.

Apollo turned back to the shelf, trying to resist the shame curling around his gut. He’d reassured her – that she’d taken it as assurance that she was so insignificant that even the pain of parting wouldn’t be enough to stop him from enjoying the present was … not his problem.

‘Don’t,’ Other Apollo warned in a strained voice.

‘Don’t what?’ Apollo mocked, the despair growing ever stronger at this proof of his misstep.

But the woman he’d one day like enough to sign a few useless papers, that would hopefully not gain Hera’s attention, with was stronger. She rallied, even if the bright smile on her face seemed all too fragile to Apollo.

“You’ll like the next one then. It’s got immortal mummies in it,” she told him.

Apollo looked at the name of the author and experienced nothing but awkward incredulity. “Bram Stoker?”

“There’s a curse too,” she pointed out gleefully.

Was this a hint at his own tendency to curse people? Because she should really resist being quite this ecstatic while pointing out his flaws. What if he took it badly?

“It doesn’t seem like a romance,” he intoned dryly.

The woman stuck out her lower lip in a pout that sent a frisson of heat down Apollo’s abdomen. “Romance is just another word for fantasies dreamt by someone who’s never actually experienced love,” she told him. “If it were real, there would be a lot more blood, emotional gore, indifference, missed opportunities, and in case we forget – boredom.”

“The tragedy of happily ever-after,” Apollo concurred, “every day is the same. No highs and no lows with any stakes worth risking everything for.”

The woman blinked owlishly at him before breathing out in the tones of one arriving at a surprising realisation, “Honestly? That sounds really nice. I’d love to lead a perfectly banal life with zero danger, where every day is just … a house with a family that won’t ever leave.”

I can’t give you that.

He didn’t say it. He’d do his best to pretend, wouldn’t he? He’d create a mould of what she wanted and pour himself into it. He’d cut off the pieces that failed to fit, all in a bid to make her happy.

Because he’d fall so desperately for her, for the him she made him want to be, that he’d kill himself for her.

***

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