#With hestia never being mentioned at all (as far as I remember)

[caduschka]

So I've been wondering and I'd really appreciate some other thoughts on that matter.

Are COTT Hera and Zeus only married or also related?

Hera never makes any reference to Cronus as her father or vice versa. I know it's probably done so that they don't have to confirm anything either way. But I haven't been able to stop thinking about it.

[merlinsbudgiesmugglers]

First (Take 2)

A dance, an Order mission gone wrong, and a kiss. --- This was written today and has not been beta'd, but I have another long fic to edit so going to post this one rough. The ending to this fic is actually a slightly edited version of the first Remadora I ever wrote. As I was writing this fic I realised that that scene was the only way for it to end.

I hope you enjoy! (The dance scene was inspired by this lovely work by @thecatisdrawing)

Read on AO3 - 2973 Words

Tonks checked her watch and resisted the urge to sigh. The Order meeting had been going on for well over an hour now, and the most interesting thing that had been discussed was a small scuffle between Hestia, Emmeline and some Death Eaters. Arthur was currently speaking about the more recent activity outside the Department of Mysteries, but it wasn’t anything new.

When Moody and Kingsley tapped her to join a secret organisation fighting You-Know-Who, she’d thought it might have included a bit more excitement.

Not that she was looking for danger. But sitting outside the Department of Mysteries under Moody’s invisibility cloak night after night got old real quick.

It didn’t help her attention span that Remus was sitting beside her, and she could smell his cologne. Which kept transporting her back to a night the week before when they’d been in the drawing room, just the two of them. Remus was reading, and she was finishing up a report for Moody, with a Fleetwood Mac record playing softly in the background. She’d brought it by, along with a number of others when they’d discovered Sirius’ old record player was miraculously still in working order.

She’d been humming along to the opening bars of the song that was playing when Remus’ hand appeared before her.

‘Want to dance?’ He’d asked softly, his eyes uncertain, a smile appearing when she placed her hand in his.

They’d swayed slowly to the music, standing far closer than appropriate for friends or colleagues. Tonks’ heart pounded in her chest the whole time, and her eyes slipped shut as she leaned her head against his shoulder. She thought that maybe this was it. Maybe this was the time that he would make a move.

But then Sirius had barged in, stopping abruptly in the doorway with a suggestive smile as she and Remus stepped apart quickly. Remus had left with barely a word, and Tonks had deliberately avoided her cousin's knowing gaze as she packed up her things.

‘Don’t.’ She said firmly as she squeezed past him to leave.

He held up his hands in surrender but still had a stupid smirk on his face. Merlin only knows what he said to Remus afterwards, but there’d been no dancing since then. He hadn’t even been alone with her in the same room. She’d been shocked when he appeared next to her earlier as they’d all taken their seats at the kitchen table for the meeting.

Arthur finished up his report, and Kingsley stood.

‘We have reason to believe that Narcissa Malfoy is in contact with her sister, Bellatrix Lestrange, and could possibly lead us to the location of the escaped Death Eaters.’ He began without any preamble.

Tonks turned her full attention to Kingsley, ignoring the not-so-subtle looks that were sent her way at the mention of her mother’s sisters.

Her mum had never hidden who her family was. She’d been honest with Tonks from quite early on about their beliefs. Tonks could still remember the day the news arrived about Frank and Alice Longbottom. She had been eight years old, sitting at the kitchen table and eating her breakfast when the Daily Prophet had been delivered as usual. She could clearly remember Mum paying the owl, and flipping open the paper when she turned white as a sheet.

Dad had been out of his seat and at her side in an instant, his face turning grim as he saw what had shocked Mum so much. Tonks could remember asking what was wrong and being told that Mum’s sister had done something very terrible and that she would go to Azkaban.

‘It’s where she belongs.’ Tonks would never forget those words, or the venom in her mother’s voice as she said them.

Kingsley continued on, ‘Narcissa Malfoy has been seen purchasing what could only be considered supplies. She always begins in Diagon Alley, purchasing robes that we have on good authority that are not in her size. Dung has heard from his contacts that Narcissa has also been making enquiries in Knockturn Alley for a discreet wandmaker.’

Though most eyes had left Tonks now, and were listening attentively to Kingsley, she could still feel Remus’ gaze on her. But she kept her focus forward, trying to breathe around the hot ball of anger that had settled behind her lungs.

‘We don’t believe the escaped Death Eaters are at Malfoy Manor. So we’ll need someone to stake out Diagon Alley to try and place a tracking spell on Narcissa the next time she’s there. It will need to be someone she won’t recognise–’

‘I’ll do it.’

The entire room turned as one at Tonks’ pronouncement. She saw the hesitation on Kingsley’s face, his eyes flicking to Moody who shook his head imperceptibly and she felt the ball of anger grow.

‘Tonks, I don’t think–’

‘Why not? I’ve never met her, and if you need someone she won’t recognise, then it’s got to be me.’

‘Nymphadora–’ Remus began.

‘Don’t call me that.’ She snapped, more harshly than she intended as she finally turned to glare at Remus. His soft eyes watched her steadily, and she felt the fury reduce, just enough for her to calmly make her case. She turned back to Kingsley, ‘I’m the right person for the job, you know it.’

‘Tonks is right, Kingsley,’ came Bill’s voice from the other end of the table, ‘we need something who can be completely unrecognisable, and Tonks is the witch for the job.’

The room was silent again, everyone turning back to Kingsley who finally sighed and nodded. ‘Fine, Narcissa visits Diagon Alley every Wednesday. See me after the meeting, Tonks, and we’ll discuss arrangements.’

Tonks sent Bill a smile of appreciation, which he returned with a wink as Kingsley wrapped up the meeting.

That’s how Tonks found herself sitting at Florean Fortescue’s the following Wednesday, disguised as a nondescript witch in the plainest black robes she owned, waiting for the appearance of Narcissa Malfoy.

She didn’t have to wait long. Narcissa arrived at eleven-forty-six, right in the time window Kingsley had given her. In the quiet Alley, Tonks was able to watch from her place at the parlour as Narcissa made her way in and out of stores. Despite the many stores she visited, she never carried any bags. Her purchases would be sent directly to her home.

But as Narcissa walked past the parlour, heading in the direction of Knockturn Alley, she turned and looked directly at Tonks, holding her gaze until she passed. Tonks casually bent her head over the paper in front of her, but it was no good. She wouldn’t be able to follow Narcissa with the same face. So she stood up, walking in the opposite direction as her aunt to duck into a small alcove and change her appearance.

After waiting as long as she dared, Tonks stepped back out into the footpath, just in time to see Narcissa turn into Knockturn Alley. Tonks moved quickly but calmly so as not to draw attention as she followed her.

Knockturn Alley was much dimmer than Diagon. The narrow, twisting streets and grime made it clear that outsiders were not welcome there.

Tonks followed Narcissa at a distance, never moving at the same time as her but always keeping her in sight. But then she turned a corner that she was sure she’d seen Narcissa turn, only to find an empty dead end. She whirled around and found herself staring at the point of a wand, Narcissa smirking from the other end. Tonks could hear people walking past in the main Alley, but no one concerned themselves with the confrontation between the two witches.

‘I’ve heard of your talents, Nymphadora, but I must say they are quite impressive to see for myself.’

Tonks let her disguise fade away. There was no point keeping it up now. ‘How did you know?’ She asked, her heart pounding hard in her chest.

Narcissa’s smirk didn’t drop, and she let her gaze drag over Tonks’ robes.

‘Next time you change your face, don’t wear such distinctive robes. I would recognise Andromeda’s handiwork anywhere.’ Narcissa said, her eyes lingering on the collar, where Tonks knew she could see the silver pattern her mother had embroidered there after insisting that plain black robes were for school children. Tonks steadied her breathing and resisted the sudden urge to cover her mother’s work from view.

Her wand was in her arm holster, ready to flick out and into her hand. Her fingers itched with the need to arm herself and curled slowly towards the release.

But Narcissa's eyes flicked to the movement. ‘Don’t even think about it,’ she warned sharply.

Tonks froze, ‘what are you going to do with me?’ She asked finally.

Narcissa contemplated the question, her eyes never leaving Tonks’ face, ‘I could kill you. Transfigure your body into a bone for the dogs that roam the street,’ she said calmly. As if it would be the easiest thing in the world, ‘or should I leave you as a message for that little gang you think will stop the Dark Lord? Which do you think would devastate your mother more? Never knowing what happened to her precious half-blood bastard? Or being forced to identify your body, seeing the proof of how you suffered?’

Tonks’ lip curled as she tried to contain the anger that filled her. ‘My mother has never said a bad word about you. She loved you.’

That seemed to break Narcissa’s cool and confident facade. Her eyes narrowed, and her voice was low as she replied, ‘she certainly had an interesting way of showing it.’

Tonks let out a sardonic laugh. ‘You’re so wound up in your bigoted beliefs that you think blood purity is more important than your own sister's happiness.’ She shook her head, ‘I feel sorry for you.’

It was the wrong thing to say. Narcissa took a step forward, her wand roughly pressing into Tonks’ neck as her back pressed against the rough stone of the wall behind her. ‘Remember who has the power here, little girl. With one small move I could slice your neck and leave you to bleed out onto the cobblestones,’ she hissed.

‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Narcissa.’ Relief flooded through Tonks as Remus’ familiar voice filled the small alleyway. The other witch's attention wavered just long enough for Tonks to flick her wand into her hand and take a step to the side as she held it up. With her view now clear she could see Remus blocking the exit, his wand held steadily at Narcissa’s heart.

Turning to look between the two of them, Narcissa’s lip curled. ‘Come to save the dirty half-blood, Remus? How sweet.’

‘Choose your next words very carefully.’ Remus’ voice was low and dangerous when he spoke, sending a shiver down Tonks’ spine. Narcissa looked between them again and seemed to recognise there was no way she could fight her way out, so she lowered her wand.

‘I think I’ll be on my way then.’

‘I think that’s best,’ Remus snapped, his wand held steady as he stepped aside.

Narcissa paused as she passed Remus. ‘You won’t always be there to save her.’ She snarled at him. Before Tonks could react, Remus had her up against the wall, his hand gripping the neck of her robes tightly.

‘Don’t ever threaten her again.’ He growled, anger radiating off him. But with a tiny flick of Narcissa’s wand, a deep cut appeared on his cheek, and he reeled back. Tonks was by his side instantly, her hand on his arm to stop him as he raised his wand.

‘Let her go.’ She said softly, her wand still held in Narcissa’s direction, who sniffed and looked down her nose at them both before sweeping out of the alleyway.

Tonks watched her go before turning her attention to Remus. She reached up to wipe away the blood on his cheek, but he caught her hand. ‘We need to get you home,’ he said roughly.

Before she could open her mouth in protest, he gripped her arm tightly and disapparated them both. They appeared in the park across from her flat, hidden by a small copse of trees. Remus took off, quickly crossing the road to her building, leaving Tonks to hurry to follow him.

He didn’t say a word as she unlocked the front door. He just followed her silently inside and up the stairs to her floor. He’d escorted her home before, after missions they’d been on together or nights out at the pub with the others, but he’d never come inside.

But here he was, standing beside her as she opened the door to her flat. As he went to cross the threshold, she suddenly came to her senses and stopped him with a hand against his chest. She had no proof that he was who he said he was.

‘What was the song we danced to last week?’ she asked.

Remus seemed confused for a moment before comprehension crossed his face. His face relaxed for the first time since he stepped into the alleyway. ‘Songbird.’ He said softly.

Tonks let out the breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding and stepped aside to let him in.

‘Do you want a drink?’ she asked him, leading the way to her small kitchen, trying not to worry about the mess of clean laundry, waiting to be folded, that was on her couch, or the dishes that were piled up in her sink, ‘I’ve got beer or water.’

Remus followed her and leaned back against the counter across from her fridge, ‘a beer would be great.’

Taking out two bottles, Tonks opened them both with her wand before handing him one and leaning against the counter next to the fridge.

‘Thank you,’ she said softly. He ducked his head as his cheeks tinged pink.

‘You would have found a way out.’ He said, his hands fiddling with the label on the beer bottle.

Tonks shrugged, watching him carefully. 'Maybe. But it was easier with you.’

He looked up at her again, not quite smiling, but the corners of his eyes crinkled as he took a long sip of his beer.

‘How did she know it was you?’ he asked after a long pause.

She sighed and filled him in on the full story. They kept to their sides of the kitchen as she spoke, Remus only interrupting with an occasional question.

Eventually, Tonks fell silent, and Remus drained the rest of his beer, resting the bottle gently on the counter.

'I should go.' He said, turning back and looking at her from across the kitchen.

Tonks watched him as she took another sip of her own beer, fingers loosely holding it by the neck, the condensation dripping to the kitchen floor. He still had the cut on his cheek from her aunt, but it wasn’t bleeding any more. He leaned back against the counter, watching her thoughtfully.

'I thought you were leaving,’ Tonks said. Remus blinked and stood up straight.

'I was, I am.' But he didn't move.

She sat her bottle down and slowly crossed the kitchen until she was in front of him, her eyes never leaving his. Remus’ hands grazed along her hip, before coming to rest on her waist. She reached up to run her thumb along the cut on his cheek. The kitchen was so quiet she was sure he would hear her heart pounding.

He stood still as a statue. The only evidence that he was a living being was the shuddering breath he let out and the grip on her waist tightening involuntarily when she touched him. His hair fell into his face, making him look younger than his age. Tonks quirked a smile and brushed it back. Her hand stilled in his hair, and the world seemed to stop for a moment as she drew on every ounce of courage in her body and stood on her toes to press her lips to his.

It was soft, gentle, a blink-and-you-miss-it moment. Tonks’ eyes had fluttered closed when their lips met, but he didn’t respond. So she pulled back quickly, her cheeks flaming red with embarrassment. 'I’m sorry, I–'

But she barely got the words out before his other arm was wrapped around her, pulling her flush against his body, and his mouth was on hers once more. Only this time there was nothing soft or gentle about the kiss. It was deep, possessive. Months of pent-up attraction finally, finally being released.

His hands burned trails along her body, soft touches on her neck, her hair, her breasts, making her gasp softly against his lips. He turned them, pressing her into the kitchen counter before lifting her onto it, stepping between her legs, which she wrapped around him, keeping him close. He was everywhere, all at once, and she couldn’t get enough.

Tonks groaned when he pulled his lips from hers and moved to her neck, teasing the sensitive skin with his teeth and soothing it with his lips. Her fingers found the buttons of his shirt, wanting to touch him, wanting to see him. But when she slipped the first button free, suddenly he was gone, standing on the other side of the kitchen, breathing heavily as she blinked at him. She felt off balance, her brain struggling to catch up with what was happening.

'I have to go.'

Before she could say or do anything he was gone, crossing her small living room and walking out her front door without another word. Tonks was left on the kitchen counter, still breathing heavily and not entirely sure what had happened. She ran a shaking hand through her hair as she tried to steady her racing heart.

'Fuck.'

[midnightstargazer]

Commentary from the following section of To Have Loved and Lost?

In a hazy blur of memory and dream mingled together, two women walked through Diagon Alley, one carrying a cauldron and potion ingredients in her arms, the other with her nose in a book.

A young twenty-something dressed like a Muggle sat at the Longbottoms’ bedside and sobbed, and the Healer trainee on duty watched with sympathetic eyes.

Two glasses of firewhiskey clinked together over a table in the Three Broomsticks.

An old, well-worn Quick Quotes Quill sat in the trash bin, and Emmeline leaned forward, very seriously, asking Hestia to take a leap of faith with her.

“Dumbledore is worth listening to,” she said. “I was in the Order of the Phoenix. Have I ever told you that?”

She hadn’t, but Hestia had guessed.

“He wouldn’t be saying You-Know-Who’s back if he wasn’t. He’s putting the Order together again. We could use a Healer on our side.”

Hestia didn’t remember what she had said. In the dream, she leaned forward and kissed Emmeline, soft and slow, savoring every moment. But in reality, she had probably just nodded and murmured a few words of agreement.

She woke up clinging to the memory of Emmeline’s lips on hers. The other woman’s ghostly kiss lingered long after the fragments of memory and dream had faded.

send me an excerpt of one of my fics, and I'll write you a commentary about it

thanks, @celestemagnoliathewriter!

There's a lot going on here. This is shortly after Emmeline Vance's death, from the POV of Hestia Jones, who she was in a long-term relationship with. Hestia is dreaming here, but the dreams are also memories, flashbacks to when Emmeline was alive.

The fic mainly centers around Hestia's grief, and I feel like the heartbreak wouldn't come across as strongly without a sense of what she lost. Since they're not a canon couple, and both are such minor background characters, that's not something I could lean on canon for. So I used this scene and a few others to show glimpses of their life together. Both the mundane everyday moments and the major turning points.

I have a lot of headcanons for these characters that are hinted at here. This is very much the same Emmeline from Midnight Rain, where her first love was the future Alice Longbottom, so there's a subtle nod to that as well as to her career as a Daily Prophet reporter - which is cut short in 1995 when she refuses to write propaganda discrediting Harry and Dumbledore. Hestia being a Healer is also a headcanon I've used repeatedly. It makes sense to me that some people in the Order would have specialties outside of combat, and the mythological reference in her name - the Greek goddess of the hearth - feels right for someone who works mainly behind the scenes/when the fighting is over.

One aspect of their relationship that I found really interesting to explore is that Emmeline was a member of the original Order of the Phoenix, but as far as we know, Hestia was not. Or at least she's never mentioned to be. I'm imagining that, going through Healer training at the end of the first war, she would definitely have witnessed the effects of it but didn't actively participate in it herself. That's hinted at here with the flashback to Emmeline asking her to join the Order, and also discussed elsewhere in the fic. She's doing what she believes is right, but this is all new for her. So not only is she grieving for Emmeline the way she would even if her death had been accidental or due to natural causes, she's also overwhelmed by the war suddenly becoming very personal in a way that it hadn't been before.

[4-horsemen-of-the-riordanverse]

Why The Percy Jackson Adaptation Should Be Animated

We can have Heroes of Olympus/Trials of Apollo/Magnus Chase series

Percy shows up in four of Rick’s five (at this time) mythology series, those four series have eighteen books spanning six years

Even if Disney could crank out say three in two years, that’s still twelve years, the actors playing Percy, and Annabeth, and Grover, and Thalia, and Clarisse, and many more will be in their twenties when all the books are covered and that’s on a sped up timeline that is unlikely to work in reality

The reality is, we probably won’t get a Heroes of Olympus television series and we definitely won’t get a Trials of Apollo or Magnus Chase series, which is sad as many favorite characters won’t be seen

Grover, Thalia Chiron, and the Gods won’t age

Yes, technically Grover does age, so that title is a bit of a misnomer, but he ages slower than the others, either the whole he’s actually twenty-eight, but satyrs age slower will need to be axed, or he will have to be played by an adult so that he doesn’t age, which will look strange since he’s suppose to look fourteen/fifteen for the entire series

Grover is only a small problem though, how are they going to deal with Artemis or Hestia, both of whom are portrayed as very young ages, the twelve year old playing Artemis will be fourteen, minimum (though, if we want good cgi, she’ll be more likely around sixteen) by the time the show reaches The Last Olympian

Plus, Thalia is suppose to stop aging at fifteen, again, I suppose an adult could play her, it isn’t unheard of for adults to play fifteen/sixteen year olds, but unless they get an actor with a serious baby face, she’ll stand out amongst the children and teens playing the other characters

It’ll be bearable to watch in ten years

Cgi is improving everyday, which is great....until you watch something that’s more that a few years old, when we have newer and better cgi, the monsters and action of Percy Jackson is going to look....well we’ll remember that it looked good once

That is, if they pay attention to details, skimming over detail, especially when making living things with cgi, you risk falling into the uncanny valley (I’m most of us have seen at least a clip of Lion King 2019), if something is off, we will notice, even if we can’t place why

We can have it sooner

Animation for animated series are easier to make than animation for live action series, they don’t have to worry about matching the lighting and shadows because they get to choose the lighting and shadows, no need to worry how the actors are interacting with the animated monster (ex. the Percy actor bumps into Mrs. O’Leary, then goes to pet her, but moves his hand too far forward and now that has to be accounted for)

The battles will probably cause the most delays, anyone watch Game of Thrones? remember how long the final season took to get out? that was because of the major battles spanning multiple episodes, which is exactly what The Last Olympian will be

They wouldn’t have to use child actors

This isn’t a bash on child actors, there are some good ones out there, what I’m concerned about is the children’s well being

Ever read or watch an interview from an ex child actor, especially Disney child actors, it’s brutal and takes a toll on their mental health, there’s even instances where the child doesn’t want to act, their parents are forcing them to

If on the extremely rare chance someone from the Percy Jackson crew is reading this please: let the kids play when they aren’t filming, don’t make them feel guilty for eating, shield them from the inevitable criticism that always comes with an adaption, take care of them, very few people do these things and kids get messed up from that

It’ll be easier to relate to the characters

Acting just doesn’t doesn’t have the same feel as animation, especially when the actors are new to acting

Acting is obvious, we ignore that it is because that’s how you watch live action, but rarely will it ever not feel like people repeating back lines they memorized, that the expressions are calculated and filmed 20 times over to get it right

Animation doesn’t have that, characters feel real, not like they’re acting because they aren’t, making it a lot easier to relate to them

None of the fight scenes will have to be cut

These are children playing these characters, obviously fights scenes are going to be cut and the ones kept are going to be simplified, these kids will probably have limited fighting experience and even if they don’t, they can’t hire children to play stunt doubles for safety reasons, so they won’t do anything too risky

Just imagine the fight scene between Ares and Percy in The Lightning Thief, they’ll probably hire a bigger guy to play Ares, comparing that to tiny Percy, the battle is probably going to look more like a dance number with every movement scripted as to keep Percy’s actor safe

It supports social distancing

Social distancing is still important and animation is easier to do social distanced

We could see every part of camp, not just the parts they built sets of

Camp is big and fantastical and probably will be barely shown, that’s a lot of set to build, so they probably won’t see it all

The big house, interior of the Poseidon, Athena, and Hermes cabins, and the mess hall will most likely be made, but the lava wall? the forge? doubtful

It’s easier to replace actors

Like I mentioned before, there are 18 books if they were willing to make them all, even if /magnus Chase and Kane Chronicles were made along side instead of in between, a lot of actors, especially child actors, don’t want to be stuck playing a character for that long

while no one shows up in ever book, some characters get dropped and brought back, which when being adapted causes actors to be replaced, the actor playing Will in The Last Olympian will probably not be the actor playing Will in Blood of Olympus (that is, if they even make Heroes of Olympus)

They won’t have to sacrifice the small details

Wouldn’t it be cool to have a Nico and Bianca cameo in the Lotus scene? won’t happen, what about characters slowly getting more scars after each battle to symbolize the trauma half-bloods carry with them? Luke will probably be the only character with a scar, see a background character that resembles minor characters like Drew or Kayla or Castor and Pollux? that’s not going to happen

Small details that make the story will be tossed to the side, mostly because it isn’t feasible in live action, I think the Lotus scene is the best example, seeing Nico and Bianca there in the background would be so cool, but they don’t age in the Lotus hotel, and it’ll take probably 14 to 18 months to make a season, let’s say 14 months for now, that’s over two years between their cameo and they’re actual appearance, a very obvious difference when discussing 10 and 12 year olds

All in all, this is just in my opinion and preference

Will I still watch if it’s live action, of course, it’s Percy Jackson

It won’t be as good as something animated and I’m sad I’ll never see some of my favorite characters on the big screen, but at least we’ll be getting a decent adaptation

[barbarianprncess]

of these rushing waves

(you’ll be the oxygen i breathe)

A week after the Titan War, Annabeth is drafting a temple to Hestia when the weight of being the only person in the world that knows Percy's weak spot hits her.

Like. Really hits her.

(or 2k words of annabeth discovering what she means to percy)

(the biggest of shout outs to @timelesslords for helping me make this coherent, and to @colorguardfreak97 for encouraging me every step of the way. enjoy <3)

read on ao3

A week after the Titan War, Annabeth is drafting a temple to Hestia when the weight of being the only person in the world that knows Percy's weak spot hits her.

Like. Really hits her.

And after about a day and a half freaking out about what it means and what she should do about it, she decides to go talk to him.

(Because not talking to him about what was bothering her led to the worst year of her life. Progress.)

They’re sitting on the beach, sharing Percy’s too small blanket- they both know he has bigger ones, but it’s an excuse to be almost on top of each other. She’s curled up resting on his chest, and he has one hand secured on her waist tracing patterns on her thigh, the other tangled in her curls. They watch the sunset and Annabeth is almost perfectly content.

Almost.

“How did you know?” The words tumble out of her without context.

He shifts to face her and raises an eyebrow. Annabeth finds it unfairly attractive.

“Know what?”

“When you told me your weak spot. How’d you know I could handle it?” The unspoken ‘because I don’t think I can handle it ’ must be apparent enough because Percy’s expression softens.

“Have you been worrying about this?”

Annabeth’s first impulse is to brush it off and change the subject. But then she hears Silena’s voice in her head: tell him how you feel. So she ducks her chin and forces the words out.

“Well yeah, I mean it kinda freaks me out that I just have this power over you. I don’t trust myself.”

Percy tilts her chin with featherlight fingers and an unadulterated fondness her seven year old self would kill to be on the receiving end of.

“I trust you enough for the both of us,” he said.

“How are you so sure about this?” ‘How are you so sure about me?’

He gives her a ‘duh’ look that she’s so used to giving him, it's a bit shocking to be on the opposite end of it. She decides immediately she doesn’t like it.

“You know why.”

“No, I don’t, hence me asking you why.”

She's watched Percy's face morph to pure amusement. He chuckles, and hesitates. “Well, because...”

He trails off clearly thinking about how to word his answer. As he thinks it over she allows herself to look at him properly.

He’s beautiful. Sharp jawline, defined cheekbones, devastatingly symmetrical features. His eyes are deep and content, looking out at the sea as if it has the answer he’s looking for. He can’t seem to find what he wants amongst the waves, but his eyes meet hers and the words seem to come to him.

“It’s you, Annabeth.”

He says it like it answers not only her question but thousands of others. It does neither.

“What’s me, Annabeth?” She attempts at light-hearted sarcasm despite her impatience.

He looks at her with a glint of mischief in his eyes and she knows that look. She hates that look. That look means she’s not getting an answer anytime soon.  

“Oh my gods, you really don't know?”

She glares daggers.

He smiles winningly. “Oh, this is going to be fun.” She bites at his shoulder in retaliation.

“You’re the smartest person I know-” Percy starts.

“True, but flattery will get you nowhere-” Annabeth cut him off.

“So figure-’ He presses a kiss to her temple.

“It-’ A kiss to her left cheek.

“Out.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but he kisses her before she can get out the words. And His knuckles are gentle under her chin, and he smells like ocean breeze, and his lips are chapped yet achingly soft, and he tastes like home. Annabeth resigns herself to find out what he means later, and allows herself to get lost in him and saltwater and home.

...

She digs up every legend about the curse of Achilles she can find. She scours Daedales’s laptop until it runs out of battery. She didn’t even know that was possible.

She researches.

And researches.

And nothing.

She has no idea what he means. Annabeth famously hates not knowing.

And. Percy. Won’t. Budge.

She has tried every trick in the book. She tried baking blue cookies (she burned them), refusing to kiss him till he tells (she caves), and asking Grover to get it out of him (something about the bro-code).

Everytime she asks him he just looks at her with his dopey, baby-seal love eyes and says those same two words.

“It’s you.”

She hates him.

...

It’s three more days before she figures it out.

Nico is looking at her skeptically. His all black get-up makes it so he almost blends in with shadows of the Big House’s basement.

“You need my help?” He deadpans, leaning against the wall looking almost bored.

“Sort-of,” Annabeth shifts on her feet,  “So, I know you were the one who took Percy to the River Styx, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Well he’s explained to me bits and pieces about how the curse works, and told me where his… you know… spot is.”

“Ok.”

“So my question is-” Annabeth stopped short. “Wait doesn’t that surprise you at all?”

He shrugs noncommittally, “Not really, no. You were saying?”

Annabeth clears her throat and soldiers on.

“Uh yeah. Right, well it sorta freaked me out how readily he told me about it and I asked how he knew I could handle it and he just said ‘it’s me’. And he refuses to elaborate, and it’s kind of killing me so, do you know what that means? And if you do, could you please explain?”

She’s been staring at her shoes while she rambles on and when she looks up she sees…

Is that humor in his eyes?  

“So, I'm guessing you've done your research on the curse?” She nods. “So you know that when Achilles mother dipped him in the Styx, she held him up by his ankle, which then became his mortal point.”

“Like a sort of anchor.”

“Exactly. Now what the legends don’t mention is that the mortal point wasn’t just the ankle. When his mother pulled him out she became part of his mortal point. Still with me?”

“Not really.”

“Perfect. Going in on your own is no different. You still need someone to help you out of the river, just not physically. You need to picture someone pulling you out, someone to motivate you, someone to bring you back to earth.”

He looks up at her, silently asking permission to continue. Annabeth nods with urgence.  

“It's not just someone who can keep you mortal, but the one person that makes you want to stay mortal. That person and your weak spot become intertwined.” He looks up at her and must still see traces of confusion.

“Your mortal point isn’t just the point of your body that’s unaffected by the River Styx, It’s the person in your life that you saw that gave you the strength to survive the Styx at all.”

Oh.

Oh.

“So when he says ‘it’s...He literally means…” She trails off and looks up at Nico. His smirk is patronizing, but she can’t bring herself to care.

“It’s you.”

…

She vaguely recalls thanking Nico for his help, but how she ended up in her bunk staring at the wall is a mystery. Annabeth has never truly understood the word dumbfounded until now.

...

It’s her.

...

By the time she comes to, it's dark out. Annabeth is already grabbing her invisibility cap and pulling on her shoes. She should probably change out of her pajamas, but her urgency to get to Percy outweighs the little vanity she has left in her. Percy has seen her in far worse conditions than messy hair and sleep wear.

Normally she would climb in through his window, but tonight is strictly business. Percy is still up waiting for her like he has been every night since the war ended. His face brightens when his eyes land on her face then immediately scrunch in concern when he sees what must be a manic look in her eye.

“You ok?”

“It’s me.” A whisper- she says it like she can't fully comprehend the words.

“It’s me?” A question- not necessarily for him just unsure.

“It’s me!” An accusation- this time it’s directed at Percy, who smiles with unnecessary pride.

He tugs at her hand and pulls her to sit on the bunk.“You figured it out.”

She’s briefly tempted to explain the whole visit with Nico, but she has other things on her mind.

“That’s how I knew on the bridge. That feeling that you were in danger, even though you hadn’t told me where the spot was, I knew.”

He shrugs, “It would make sense, but to be honest, I actually have no idea.”

She entwines their fingers and he lifts her hand up to press kisses to her knuckles.

“You saved me.” Percy says it soft and reverent, like a prayer.

“On the bridge?”

“No. Well yeah you saved me on the bridge, but I’m talking about the Styx. It was the worst pain I’ve ever felt. I was burning alive. It was like I was back at Mt. St. Helen’s all over again.”

She feels a swift wave of guilt that she quickly pushes down so she can pay attention to the rest of his words.

“Except instead of the lava being thrown at me, I was dunked in it. And it was ten times hotter. I was drowning.” He laughs mirthlessly, and she squeezes his hand. “I was in so much pain I couldn't remember who I was.”

She knocks her forehead against his, partly to bring him back to reality, partly to remind herself that he did in fact survive to tell her this story.

He looks up at her, green eyes wide with a wonder and reverence she doesn’t believe she deserves.

“Then I heard you. Your voice. I heard your voice and I saw your face and you held out your hand. You didn’t just pull me back. You put me back together. The thought of you put me back together. I took your hand and I survived because of you. You saved me Annabeth.”

Annabeth is stunned into silence.

She has no doubt in her mind that if it were her in the Styx, she would've seen Percy and he would’ve saved her in the same way she saved him. But, it's different hearing it from him. It’s a rare feeling to know that this full-bodied, utter devotion (the kind she feels for him), is mutual. To hear it spoken out loud is almost unheard of.

She doesn’t have the words to articulate the supernova of emotions exploding her chest, so she kisses him. She kisses him with everything she has. Percy kisses her back with the same intensity. Percy’s kisses are safety and contentment and light. He’s so good with words (better with them than she is), and she thinks it translated into the way he kissed. He kisses her like he’s trying to say something--typically some shy declaration of the love that they both know is between them but tiptoe around speaking into existence.

He kisses with his whole body. He clutches at her waist like he couldn’t bear to let go, and she arches her back because she doesn't think she could bear it either. He occupies all five of her senses, the only thing she knows is him. Her hands are buried in his hair. He’s the sun, and kissing him is sunshine personified.

When she finally pulls back, he removes one of the hands gripping at her waist to slip into the junction between her collarbone and her jaw to keep their foreheads together. He keeps pulling her in his orbit, freckles like constellations, breaths mingled like they could survive on kisses and shared oxygen alone.

She thinks she’d like that.

Percy ends up curled on top of her, his head resting in the crook of her neck. One of her hands in his hair, the other on the small of his back like she can protect him with force of will alone.  They fall asleep the way they survive- anchored to each other.

...

[celestiaphia]

My Ritual for Offerings and Prayers

Simple Version - Full Version

I got a lot of positive feedback when I mentioned writing a post about my own practices so here it is! Please keep in mind this is all about my own practice, this is not reconstructed, historically accurate, or required for anyone to do it like I do it. Hopefully this will inspire others to share their practices. If you have questions about anything, feel free to message me. 

How I Created my Ritual

Before I go over the specific ritual I follow I want to talk about how I created them. Some of it is influenced by reconstructed hellenic polytheism but the majority of it I created over time as I added things, took things away, and found what worked for me.

When I first tried creating a ritual to fit myself, I asked myself what giving an offering means to me. At the most basic level I decided an offering means inviting the Gods into my home as guests. With that in mind, I could use the idea of Xenia, hospitality, to shape my ritual. I don’t know if this is commonly how other people treat it, but it’ll be obvious how important it is in my ritual and it’s important enough to me that I wanted to specifically call it out.

Formality in ritual is incredibly important to me. I believe that formality and ritual is valuable for strictly defining a difference between the sacred and the profane. It allows for a deeper experience with the Gods. I typically do free form prayer along with my offerings, but with some Gods I do give more informal prayers without ritual or offering - it depends on my connection with the God. 

I also want to note - this process is pretty long and involved and I am hoping to make a quick and more minimalist version that both meets my requirements for ritual and doesn’t require so many steps. Even if this altogether takes only 10 minutes, it feels like a lot and I am hoping to find a ritual process that I can do quicker so I can do it more often. 

My Steps for Offering

1. Preparation - I get everything I need for the ritual. I don’t want to have to leave my altar in the middle because I forgot my lighter! I also make sure my altar is clean and I’ve set up any art I may be using. I currently use tarot cards or other art cards as a stand in for statues and a way to help me focus on a specific deity.

2. Ritual Cleansing - Ritual cleansing is important to me not necessarily because of a strong believe in lyma/miasma but because it’s a special process to tell myself this is a special time. It’s a way for me to focus  my attention on this moment, and mentally transition myself into the space for worship. Ritual cleansing for me could be a shower, washing my hands, or using khernips. I’ve done all of the above and sometimes one feels more necessary than the other. Lately I’ve been using khernips more since it’s ritual heavy and, I love ritual!

3. Put on a Veil - This is the newest step in my ritual and it’s in “beta” phase. After cleansing, I put on a full head veil. Thus far that means - putting up a hood on a jacket/hoodie. I haven’t invested in a unique veil yet but I do plan to. I’ll be making a detailed post about what veiling means to me in the future and if I remember I’ll link the post here. 

4. Light My Altar Candle - I can’t use incense, so instead I light a candle. This is a candle I only use when I am giving an offering or praying at my alter, never for any other purpose. This allows it to be another way of making this time/space sacred; lighting the candle signals this is a ritual, sacred space. This step originally came from the practice in Hellenic Polytheism of the hearth, and the first offering being given to Hestia, but I don’t always pray to/give first offering to Hestia. Nonetheless, in her own way she gets rep at my alter with the candle!

4.5. Grounding in the Moment - This is not a step I always do, it depends on how I feel but at this point I will sometimes pause to close my eyes and take a few breaths to ground me in the moment, to mentally focus before I speak. 

5. Invite the God(s) to My Altar - “(God’s name), I ask you to join me at my altar as I offer and pray to you,” or if I’m offering to more than one god, “Dear Gods, I ask you to join me...” - I may word this differently since though I have formal steps, my wording is all done on the fly. In the spirit of Xenia, viewing the Gods as my guests, my first real step in the offering is to invite them in. I believe this is a good way to get the God’s attention before I give my offering. 

6. Give the Offering - My most common offering by far is a libation of water. (Why Water is not a Lazy Offering) I will pour the water from whatever holding vessel I’ve used into my special libation glass. While giving the libation I say: “I offer to you this libation. May it please you and bring you joy.” If I’m offering something else, of course I won’t say “this libation” I’ll specify whatever I’m offering. If I’m giving multiple offerings like libation and food, then I’ll call out each one separately.  

7. Prayer - Give Thanks - I thank the God for anything they have recently done for me, or generally for their existence and what they’ve done in my life. It’s incredibly important to me to offer my thanks every time and especially before I have any requests to make in prayer. The prayer sections of my ritual are the most freeform, it will depend on the god I’m praying to. Some I will give a short prayer of thanks, and others I will go on for a while, listing the many things they have done for me, thanking them for what they have brought to me in my life. I am speaking from my heart when I do this - I do not give thanks because I have to but because it’s something I am truly thankful for. 

8. Prayer - Supplication/Request - This is an optional part of the prayer. If this is my first time praying to a specific deity I will almost never make a request of them, since I believe it’s rude to ask them for something when we have not built any kharis (built a relationship) between each other. An initial prayer to a God is to invite them in as my guest, give them an offering, thank them for coming - and that’s it. This may also be optional if I don’t have anything to ask the specific God for or if for some reason it doesn’t feel appropriate to me to ask for anything.

Just like giving thanks, this section will be mostly freeform, but there is one part of praying for things that I do very specifically. Before I ask for anything I say, “If it would pleases you” or “if the fates will it” or something to that effect - signaling that though I ask for this, I know that I am not guaranteed it and it ultimately is up to the god if they choose to do it for me. It’s important to me to signify that I know the Gods do not owe me anything, that I cannot expect anything from them - not that they are cruel and wouldn’t do that, but that they are not vending machines who I can give offerings to and get something from.

A request could be as simple as “If it would please you, I pray that you guide me to be more like you” (in prayer to Athena for wisdom) or it could be more complex, talking about a problem I’m going through, and praying for specific help and guidance through it. Since this is a freeform prayer, sometimes it does not always follow either the pattern of thanks then request - but I do generally try to give thanks first , then request, then I can speak as freely as I wish to the God. 

9. Repeat Steps 6 - 8 as Needed - If I am praying to multiple gods, then my offering/prayers are done uniquely for each God. Each step could be as long as short as I want it to be, but the most simple example of giving to multiple Gods would look like this:

“I pour this libation to Hermes” (Pour small amount of water) “Thank you Hermes for all that you do in my life.  If it pleases you I pray that you continue to help me with my job. Thank you. Now I pour this libation to Athena” (pour water again) “Thank you Athena for all you do in my life...” and so forth

Because of the amount of detail I put into my ritual, if I’m praying to more than 3 Gods I generally make the prayer sections very short. If there are Gods for whom I want to give longer prayers - then those are typically the ones I will offer and worship to exclusively, to give them special offerings and time all their own. Otherwise it gets to be too much. 

9.5 Meditation - Another optional step, I have some prayer beads I will use to meditate with at my alter and focus on the God/Gods and generally let myself experience whatever I am feeling  as I am in this sacred space. This may lead to me making more prayers as feelings come up or may be as simple as me taking a few breaths as I think on the Gods. I don’t always do this but just like grounding helps me enter the ritual, I think doing the same as the ritual is ending is helpful. 

10. Closing the Ritual - To close the ritual, I first thank the God(s) for joining me. I’ll say something like: “Thank you (God’s name)/Gods for joining me at my alter. I pray that the offerings pleased you and that you will join me again in my home.” After this I will snuff out my candle and remove my veil if I was wearing one. I don’t have any opinion on blowing out vs snuffing out a candle,  but I have a candle snuffer so I do use that. 

Minor Details

Where do I put my hands? As someone who was raised Christian, it’s almost instinct  for me to put my hands together in prayer. Sometimes I do pray this way. Sometimes I pray with my hands open and facing up for Olympic Gods, or facing down for Cthonic Gods. I try to use the second one more than the first - but I don’t judge myself if habit of putting my hands together kicks in. I try to remember that intention is what matters most of all. 

What does my altar look like?  Here is a recent post with pictures and details of my altar. Here is a picture of my altar after a ritual. (I chose to leave the candle lit for the picture.) This is a picture of my altar from 3 years ago, and an even earlier picture of my altar. This will hopefully help people see that altars don’t always start so full and pretty! Seriously, my first altar was a cardboard box I had covered in fabric. We do the best with what we have available to us. 

How long do I leave out my offerings? I used to remove my offerings immediately after giving them because otherwise I was afraid I would forget them. I’ve started leaving them for longer, but it does end up being an issue still if I do forget them. Ideally I would remove them 24 - 48 hours later, and no longer than that. I feel leaving them for some time afterwards helps to symbolize that I am continuing to honor the Gods even when I am away from my altar.

How often do I give offerings/prayers? Due to my current living situation, my adhd and other mental health issues, and because of how complicated my ritual process is, I don't give offerings and prayers formally with this ritual as often as I'd like. I aim for once a week, but a more realistic answer is every two week to once a month. I do set goals for myself, but loosely. If I miss a goal, I remind myself I can do it again the next day or week, and that it's not a failure. There's a lot going on in our lives (especially this past year 2020). I don't give up if I miss a week, and know I can always do it whenever I have time next.

This is why I hope to make a quicker and simpler version of my ritual in the future, and when I do I will make a post for it as well.

Where do you get items for your altar? When I am able, I do buy unique items from Etsy, and a few items on my altar were gifts, but for the most part a LOT of the items on my altar were gotten from Good Will and other thrift shops! i recommend thrifting because it’s affordable, environmentally friendly, and allows for creativity. For example, I made devotional jars to some Gods using tiny spice jars from the thrift store, glitter, and little items representative of the Gods. 

[kookie-doughs]

Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader

-Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything was now ruined.

CHAPTER 13: I Have Trust Issues But Okay

We spent two days on the Amtrak train, heading west through hills, over rivers, past amber waves of grain. We weren't attacked once, but I didn't relax. I felt that we were traveling around in a display case, being watched from above and maybe from below, that something was waiting for the right opportunity. We tried to keep a low profile because Percy and I's name and picture were splattered over the front pages of several East Coast newspapers. It seemed like when they saw me with Percy they realized me and my family are gone. The Trenton Register-News showed a photo taken by a tourist as we got off the Greyhound bus. Percy had a wild look in my eyes. His sword was a metallic blur in his hands. It might've been a baseball bat or a lacrosse stick. I was holding his hand with my knife on the other hand. The picture's caption read: Twelve-year-old Percy Jackson, wanted for questioning in the Long Island disappearance of his mother two weeks ago, is shown here fleeing from the bus where he accosted several elderly female passengers. The bus exploded on an east New Jersey roadside shortly after Jackson fled the scene. Based on eyewitness accounts, police believe the boy may be traveling with three teenage accomplices. It has been found out one of which is Y/N L/N, a twelve-year-old girl who went missing with her family during a trip. Percy Jackson's stepfather, Gabe Ugliano, has offered a cash reward for information leading to his capture.

"Don't worry," Annabeth told Percy. "Mortal police could never find us." But she didn't sound so sure. The rest of the day we spent alternately pacing the length of the train (because I had a really hard time sitting still) or looking out the windows. Calm Once, I spotted a family of centaurs galloping across a wheat field, bows at the ready, as they hunted lunch. The little boy centaur, who was the size of a second-grader on a pony, caught my eye and waved. I looked around the passenger car, the adult riders all had their faces buried in laptop computers or magazines, Percy and I saw an amazed look. Another time, toward evening, Percy said he saw something huge moving through the woods. He swore it was a lion, except that lions don't live wild in America, and it was the size of a Hummer, then it leaped through the trees and was gone. I told him he might have been seeing things and Annabeth agreed. Our reward money for returning Gladiola the poodle had only been enough to purchase tickets as far as Denver. We couldn't get berths in the sleeper car, so we dozed in our seats. My neck got stiff. I sat between Percy and Annabeth. Grover kept snoring and bleating and waking Percy up. Once, he shuffled around and his fake foot fell off. Annabeth and I had to stick it back on before any of the other passengers noticed. "So," Annabeth asked me, once we'd gotten Grover's sneaker readjusted. "Who wants Percy's help?" "What do you mean?" "You heard it too didn't you? When he was asleep just now, he mumbled, 'I won't help you.' Has he told you what he's dreaming about?" "Gossiping about me?" Percy yawned. "Pretty much everyone is. So I think we'll join." I said. "Annabeth wants to know about your dream. I could tell he was reluctant to say anything. It was the second time he'd dreamed about it. Then he finally told her. Annabeth was quiet for a long time. "If you think it's Hades, that doesn't sound like Hades. He always appears on a black throne, and he never laughs." She pointed out. "He offered my mother in trade. Who else could do that?" We could. If you bring us together we could trade. "What?" Percy and Annabeth looked at me in worry. "Something on my face? Is there something close?" "Y/N, you did it again." Percy said. "Did what?" "You... Talked. Differently. Like weirdly." "Your definition of weird doesn't describe me. I did nothing wrong. I haven't even given an in put on your topic. Which we should get back on." I don't know why I had no idea what they meant by me talking weirdly, but I felt like I should stay away from that topic. "I guess ... if he meant, 'Help me rise from the Underworld.' If he wants war with the Olympians. But why ask you to bring him the master bolt if he already has it?" She explained looking at me as if I was the one that needed convincing. I shook my head, wishing I knew the answer. I thought about what Grover had told me, that the Furies on the bus seemed to have been looking for something. Where is it? Where? Maybe Grover sensed my emotions. He snorted in his sleep, muttered something about vegetables, and turned his head. Percy readjusted Grover's cap so it covered his horns. "Percy, you can't barter with Hades. You know that, right? He's deceitful, heartless, and greedy. I don't care if his Kindly Ones weren't as aggressive this time-" "This time?" I asked. "You mean you've run into them before?" Her hand crept up to her necklace. She fingered a glazed white bead painted with the image of a pine tree, one of her clay end-of-summer tokens. "Let's just say I've got no love for the Lord of the Dead. You can't be tempted to make a deal for your mom." "What would you do if it was your dad?" "That's easy," she said. "I'd leave him to rot." "You're not serious?" Annabeth's gray eyes fixed on me. She wore the same expression she'd worn in the woods at camp, the moment she drew her sword against the hellhound. "My dad's resented me since the day I was born," she said. "He never wanted a baby. When he got me, he asked Athena to take me back and raise me on Olympus because he was too busy with his work. She wasn't happy about that. She told him heroes had to be raised by their mortal parent." "But how ... I mean, I guess you weren't born in a hospital...." "I appeared on my father's doorstep, in a golden cradle, carried down from Olympus by Zephyr the West Wind. You'd think my dad would remember that as a miracle, right? Like, maybe he'd take some digital photos or something. But he always talked about my arrival as if it were the most inconvenient thing that had ever happened to him. When I was five he got married and totally forgot about Athena. He got a 'regular' mortal wife, and had two 'regular' mortal kids, and tried to pretend I didn't exist." I stared out the train window. The lights of a sleeping town were drifting by. I wanted to make Annabeth feel better. I don't know but the only way I could think of was a hug. So I wrapped and arm around her shoulders. She stiffened unsure of what I'd done. "My parents, they loved me all the same. The closet I got to talking about Gods was when they thought me. Not a single hint was dropped about me being a halfblood. I mean if you count my grandma Hestia. Which I think is just named after the goddess. I mean yeah, you had a not so wonderful life... But at least you're who you are now." I smiled at her. Eying Percy I gave him a nod towards Annabeth telling him to comfort her since he'd started it anyway. "My mom married a really awful guy," he told her. "Grover said she did it to protect me, to hide me in the scent of a human family. Maybe that's what your dad was thinking." Annabeth kept worrying at her necklace. She was pinching the gold college ring that hung with the beads. It occurred to me that the ring must be her father's. I wondered why she wore it if she hated him so much. "He doesn't care about me," she said. "His wife-my stepmom-treated me like a freak. She wouldn't let me play with her children. My dad went along with her. Whenever something dangerous happened-you know, something with monsters-they would both look at me resentfully, like, 'How dare you put our family at risk.' Finally, I took the hint. I wasn't wanted. I ran away." "How old were you?" "Same age as when I started camp. Seven." "But ... you couldn't have gotten all the way to Half-Blood Hill by yourself." "Not alone, no. Athena watched over me, guided me toward help. I made a couple of unexpected friends who took care of me, for a short time, anyway." I wanted to ask what happened, but Annabeth seemed lost in sad memories. Luke had already told me some of these part where he went here with Annabeth and Thalia. So I gazed out the train windows as the dark fields of Ohio raced by. Toward the end of our second day on the train, June 13, eight days before the summer solstice, we passed through some golden hills and over the Mississippi River into St. Louis. Annabeth craned her neck to see the Gateway Arch, which looked to me like a huge shopping bag handle stuck on the city. "I want to do that," she sighed. "What?" I asked. "Build something like that. You ever see the Parthenon, Y/N?" "Only in pictures." "Someday, I'm going to see it in person. I'm going to build the greatest monument to the gods, ever. Something that'll last a thousand years." Percy laughed. "You? An architect?" Her cheeks flushed. "Yes, an architect. Athena expects her children to create things, not just tear them down, like a certain god of earthquakes I could mention." "Percy! I think she'll be incredible." I pinched his arm. We watched the churning brown water of the Mississippi below. I took Percy's hand in fear that the water would just grab me and drag me down. "Sorry," Annabeth said. "That was mean." I nudged Percy to apologize as well, "I didn't mean to make fun of you. I'm sorry." "Can't you two work together a little?" I pleaded. "I mean, didn't Athena and Poseidon ever cooperate?" Annabeth had to think about it. "I guess ... the chariot," she said tentatively. "My mom invented it, but Poseidon created horses out of the crests of waves. So they had to work together to make it complete." "Then you two can cooperate, too. Right?" We rode into the city, Annabeth watching as the Arch disappeared behind a hotel. "I suppose," she said at last. We pulled into the Amtrak station downtown. The intercom told us we'd have a three-hour layover before departing for Denver. Grover stretched. Before he was even fully awake, he said, "Food." "Come on, goat boy," Annabeth said. "Sightseeing." "Sightseeing?" "The Gateway Arch," she said. "This may be my only chance to ride to the top. Are you coming or not?" Grover, Percy and I exchanged looks. I wanted to say no, but seeing the stars in Annabeth's as she watched, she was too adorable to say no to. Grover shrugged. "As long as there's a snack bar without monsters." The Arch was about a mile from the train station. Late in the day the lines to get in weren't that long. We threaded our way through the underground museum, looking at covered wagons and other junk from the 1800s. It wasn't all that thrilling, but Annabeth kept telling us interesting facts about how the Arch was built, and Grover kept passing me jelly beans, so I was okay. I kept looking around, though, at the other people in line. "You smell anything?" Percy murmured to Grover. He took his nose out of the jelly-bean bag long enough to sniff. "Underground," he said distastefully. "Underground air always smells like monsters. Probably doesn't mean anything." I took a peek at my knife and saw there was a very weak glow, or maybe a sunlight reflection. Somewhere in between. "Guys," I said. "You know the gods' symbols of power?" Annabeth had been in the middle of reading about the construction equipment used to build the Arch, but she looked over. "Yeah?" "Well, Hade-" Grover cleared his throat. "We're in a public place.... You mean, our friend downstairs?" "Um, right," I said. "Our friend way downstairs. Doesn't he have a hat like Annabeth's?" "You mean the Helm of Darkness," Annabeth said. "Yeah, that's his symbol of power. I saw it next to his seat during the winter solstice council meeting." "He was there?" Percy asked. She nodded. "It's the only time he's allowed to visit Olympus-the darkest day of the year. But his helm is a lot more powerful than my invisibility hat, if what I've heard is true...." "It allows him to become darkness," Grover confirmed. "He can melt into shadow or pass through walls. He can't be touched, or seen, or heard. And he can radiate fear so intense it can drive you insane or stop your heart. Why do you think all rational creatures fear the dark?" "But then ... how do we know he's not here right now, watching us?" I asked. Annabeth and Grover exchanged looks. "We don't," Grover said. "Thanks, that makes me feel a lot better," Percy said. "Got any blue jelly beans left?" Someone else could be watching. Hades isn't the only one to blend in the shadow young vessel. But worry not, all in the darkness, shall be your ally. So Hades will also be my ally? As air and water refuse, land and all there is shall be your ally. Can't I be allies with all? Hades, Zeus, Poseidon. Everyone. The three of them looked at me in surprise. "Don't say their name!" Grover whispered loudly. "Whose name? I haven't said a name!" I could talk through you young vessel. Is this the first time this happened? How can you forget about our conversation? Talk through me? Who are you? I am one of which that'll make sure you become one with yourself. "Y/N!!" Percy yelled. "What? Geez, you're too loud." "We've been calling your name for three minutes." Annabeth said. "Are you... Okay?" "Yeah why wouldn't I be?" When the tiny elevator car came. We got shoehorned into the car with this big fat lady and her dog, a Chihuahua with a rhinestone collar. I figured maybe the dog was a seeing-eye Chihuahua, because none of the guards said a word about it. We started going up, inside the Arch. I'd never been in an elevator that went in a curve, and my stomach wasn't too happy about it. "No parents?" the fat lady asked us. She had beady eyes; pointy, coffee-stained teeth; a floppy denim hat, and a denim dress that bulged so much, she looked like a blue-jean blimp. "They're below," Annabeth told her. "Scared of heights." "Oh, the poor darlings." The Chihuahua growled. The woman said, "Now, now, sonny. Behave." The dog had beady eyes like its owner, intelligent and vicious. I said, "Sonny. Is that his name?" "No," the lady told me. She smiled, as if that cleared everything up. At the top of the Arch, the observation deck reminded me of a tin can with carpeting. Rows of tiny windows looked out over the city on one side and the river on the other. The view was okay, but if there's anything I like less than a confined space, it's a confined space six hundred feet in the air. I was ready to go pretty quick. I could see Percy was too. So I took his hand and gave him a reassuring squeeze to calm him down despite my breakdown. Annabeth kept talking about structural supports, and how she would've made the windows bigger, and designed a see-through floor. She probably could've stayed up there for hours, but the park ranger announced that the observation deck would be closing in a few minutes. I steered Annabeth while Percy with Grover, toward the exit, loaded them into the elevator, and we were about to get in myself when I realized there were already two other tourists inside. No room for me. The park ranger said, "Next car, sir." "We'll get out," Annabeth said. "We'll wait with you two." But that was going to mess everybody up and take even more time, so I said, "Naw, it's okay. We'll see you guys at the bottom. I'll keep an eye on him." Grover and Annabeth both looked nervous, but they let the elevator door slide shut. Their car disappeared down the ramp. Now the only people left on the observation deck were me, a little boy with his parents, the park ranger, and the fat lady with her Chihuahua. Percy and I smiled uneasily at the fat lady. She smiled back, her forked tongue flickering between her teeth. Wait a minute. Forked tongue? Before I could decide if I'd really seen that, her Chihuahua jumped down and started yapping at Percy. "Now, now, sonny," the lady said. "Does this look like a good time? We have all these nice people here." "Doggie!" said the little boy. "Look, a doggie!" His parents pulled him back. The Chihuahua bared his teeth at me, foam dripping from his black lips. "Well, son," the fat lady sighed. "If you insist." Ice started forming in my stomach. "Urn, did you just call that Chihuahua your son?" "Chimera, dear," the fat lady corrected. "Not a Chihuahua. It's an easy mistake to make." She rolled up her denim sleeves, revealing that the skin of her arms was scaly and green. When she smiled, I saw that her teeth were fangs. The pupils of her eyes were sideways slits, like a reptile's. The Chihuahua barked louder, and with each bark, it grew. First to the size of a Doberman, then to a lion. The bark became a roar. The little boy screamed. His parents pulled him back toward the exit, straight into the park ranger, who stood, paralyzed, gaping at the monster. The Chimera was now so tall its back rubbed against the roof. It had the head of a lion with a blood-caked mane, the body and hooves of a giant goat, and a serpent for a tail, a ten-foot-long diamondback growing right out of its shaggy behind. The rhinestone dog collar still hung around its neck, and the plate-sized dog tag was now easy to read: CHIMERA-RABID, FIRE-BREATHING, POISONOUS-IF FOUND, PLEASE CALL TARTARUS-EXT. 954. I immediately pulled out my knife. And waited for the moment to jump in front of Percy who was ten feet away from the Chimera's bloody maw, and I knew that as soon as I moved, the creature would lunge. The snake lady made a hissing noise that might've been laughter. "Be honored, Percy Jackson and Y/N L/N. Lord Zeus rarely allows me to test a hero with one of my brood. For I am the Mother of Monsters, the terrible Echidna!" Percy and I stared at each other for a second stared at her. All he could think to say was: "Isn't that a kind of anteater?" She howled, her reptilian face turning brown and green with rage. "I hate it when people say that! I hate Australia! Naming that ridiculous animal after me. For that, Percy Jackson, my son shall destroy you!" The Chimera charged, its lion teeth gnashing. I managed to take Percy's arm to pull him aside and dodge the bite. We ended up next to the family and the park ranger, who were all screaming now, trying to pry open the emergency exit doors. I couldn't let them get hurt. I positioned myself able to parry any oncoming attack. Percy uncapped his sword, ran to the other side of the deck, and yelled, "Hey, Chihuahua!" The Chimera turned faster than I would've thought possible. Before he could swing my sword, it opened its mouth, emitting a stench like the world's largest barbecue pit, and shot a column of flame straight at him. Percy dove through the explosion. The carpet burst into flames; the heat was so intense, I could feel it where I stand and it was like I was in a sauna. Where Percy had been standing a moment before was a ragged hole in the side of the Arch, with melted metal steaming around the edges. Great, I thought. We just blowtorched a national monument. As the Chimera turned, Percy slashed at its neck. That was a fatal mistake. The blade sparked harmlessly off the dog collar. I saw the serpent tail lifted it whipped around and with all I could I ran and raised my knife to block it. Percy tried to jab Riptide into the Chimera's mouth, but the serpent tail wrapped around his ankles and pulled him off balance, and my blade flew out of my hand, spinning out of the hole in the Arch and down toward the Mississippi River. I pulled a weaponless Percy behind me and raised my small one. We backed into the hole in the wall. The Chimera advanced, growling, smoke curling from its lips. The snake lady, Echidna, cackled. "They don't make heroes like they used to, eh, son?" The monster growled. It seemed in no hurry to finish us off now that we were beaten. I glanced at the park ranger and the family. The little boy was hiding behind his father's legs. I had to protect these people. I couldn't just ... die. I was facing a massive, fire-breathing monster and its mother. And I was scared. There was no place else to go, so I stepped to the edge of the hole. Trust our hero. Jump with him. He had sworn to save us. Far, far below, the river glittered. Percy and I shared a reluctant and fearful look. If we died, would the monsters go away? Would they leave the humans alone? "If you are the son of Poseidon," Echidna hissed, "you would not fear water. Jump, Percy Jackson. Show me that water will not harm you. Jump and retrieve your sword. Prove your bloodline. Maybe your small friend could survive with you." We both knew the water hated me. But I trusted Percy. I'd jump if he told me. The Chimera's mouth glowed red, heating up for another blast. "Either you have no faith," Echidna told me. "You do not trust the gods. I cannot blame you, little cowards. Better you die now. The gods are faithless." Percy took my hand and backed up, he looked down at the water. Percy looked at me and smiled. I knew what he wanted. Holding his hand tighter, I got closer to him. "Die, faithless one," Echidna rasped, and the Chimera sent a column of flame toward our faces. "Father, please," I heard Percy say. "Don't hurt her. Help us." We turned and jumped. Our clothes on fire, we plummeted toward the river.

Previous |Masterlist | Next

Taglist?

@gayer-than-the-gayest-gay @the-natureofme @booknerd-3000

[alatismeni-theitsa]

anti LO anon opinions

I am sorry for the delay. There were too many asks and too little time. 16 messages below the cut. Enjoy!

1) I like to mention that metis isn’t the mother Hera Demeter or Hestia rather she created them

2) Why is Metis being made into a fertility goddess? She's associated with wisdom and good counsel, she has no relation to fertility or agriculture. If RS wanted to be consistent with the fertility goddess=victory thing, then Hera fits that role just fine because she is literally a goddess of childbirth and motherhood!

3) The fertility plotline is already stupid by its own but also Metis who is the mother OF HERA DEMETER AND HESTIA( and not Athena because fuck it i guess) was already  very stupid and but nowZeus ATE the mother of Hera and Hera still  married  him in the comic?????!?!?!?!

Just whyyyyyyyy

Why rachel

Whyyyyyyyyyyy!!!???

4) Let me get this straight... Zeus ate Metis to help him overthrow Kronos because she's a "fertility" goddess? How does a goddess of wisdom suddenly become a fertility goddess?? Also, for a comic that preaches "feminine power" all the time, there is absolutely no power for women when they are being consumed just for the sole purpose of defeating a tyrant.

5) One of many things that bugs me about lo leto is that not only she looks identical to hera(besides of eyes) she dress in same colors as her and same clothes style. In episode that leto was in they give hera more blue collors but that doesnt change that hera dont wear blue so often.

6) Apparently, Metis isn't their ( Hera, Demeter and Hestia) mother in LO. Which doesn't make any sense because if she isn't their mom, then where did they come from? Just because they were created doesn't mean that's not their parent.

By this logic, Demeter and Persephone aren't related in LO. This just seems like a poor way of avoiding incest.

(The evidence is that Rachel changed the sisters to friends in episode 119 and said that they weren't related herself (can't find this one tho)).

7) I remember seeing a instagram post criticizing LO for making Apollo rape Persephone someone in the comments said “Well zeus rape persephone in the original mythology so It only makes sense that Rachel made Apollo do it” ???Like???Sis What???

8) Probably unpopular opinion : I don't like when people criticizes Lore olympus by saying " It is bad because in the original myth * insert female figure in Greek mythology*  is RAPED!!" because  most of the time, even if exception exist but the great majority of the examples used in these arguments came from ROMAN version!!

So if someone want to criticize Lore olympus its should at least use exemples/argurments based from GREEK mythology not from the Roman version(which cames much later) and it is pretty easy to do that.

9) Off topic but the fact that Hecate in LO looks so generic in recent chapters (a nod to the recent anti LO anon submission posts and one person says Hecate looks badly drawn(, that there's actually an instagram art account who plays art of withe fanart or original content, and their OC Nadia looks more like LO Hecate than LO Hecate. Link

10) Hekate in those panels (where she is talking with Demeter in ep. 145) looks like LEGO figurine.

11) Now in lo besides of all this unneeded plot about persephones trail, apollo trying to overthrown zeus now Smythe thought that this romance comic didnt have enough action so now she add Kronos coming back and possible another war with him! This supposed to be romance comic not some action one, and this bigger plots fell so much unnecessary and like some 14yearold fanfiction that wich each chapter self insert marysue have more unreal things to do Thats why pilot lo was better it was just romance

12) Why couldn't zeus be the villain of LO? In the myth, everything is very explicitly his fault. He tells hades to kidnap persephone and he never tells demeter that he married off her daughter until she starts going on an agricultural strike and blights the earth. No more of this evil demeter/apollo/thetis/thanatos/hestia bullshit! I want the mother/daughter duo to beat zeus to the ground dammit!

13) The age gap in LO is weird because persephone's age isn't specified in the myth, her supposed youth is a product of modern interpretation due to her kore epithet and status as demeter's daughter. She could've went the route of young hades if she wanted a young protagonist, but we could've also had old persephone, which has worked multiple times.

14) Oh god, lore olympus is gonna become the new twilight/50 shades of grey.

15) one thing i don't understand about metis in LO - wasn't she an oceanid?? why is she brown w wings? 

16) I personally don’t think RS has the majority of this planned, because if she did there wouldn’t be so much retconned stuff and these apparently major plot points wouldn’t be popped now, almost 150 episodes in! Like you said, they had to be built up and hinted at well before this to make sense. It’s either on the editor not helping her tighten up the story, or she, as she’s told us before, just writes it as it goes, and that seems far more likely. More so, let’s not forget the other plot lines that must be dealt with: Eros and Psyche, Semele and Dionysus, Leto now?, Persephone’s schooling (?), Minthe, Apollo, Thanatos, and Daphne (🙄), Hermes lying to hades, Zeus finding out about Hera/Hades, Persephone coming to justice, Thetis, Echo, Persephone even finding out about her powers (yes, almost 209 Eos in), HxP even getting together and married (+possible babies), and the ACTUAL myth with Demeter at a standoff! At current rate, it’ll need at least several more years to wrap up, unless most of those are dropped, in which case also proves she didn’t plan ahead, or else she wouldn’t have included them to begin with. How do you turn such a cut and dry story into such a convoluted mess. I’d be impressed if it wasn’t so aggravating.  

[sweeethinny]

2020 Creator Wrap: Favourite Works

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 (ish) favourite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

Thank you so much @lumos-solemn and @theroomofreq for tagging me! 

Hard to think of 5 fanfic, because I like several hahahahaha

1. HARRY IS THE BEST FATHER  -  I love to write about the relationship between James and Harry, and I already said here once about how I think James was an important key to forming Harry as a father.  James was his first son, the certainty that: yes, it was over and they were alive. Teddy lost his parents in the war, and Harry had to look after an orphaned boy who, like him, would never know what it was like to have a father or a mother. James didn't. Harry can give James - as well as others - what he and Teddy did not have; a father. He can take James to parties, listen to him talking about girls, see him getting into trouble, take care of him the way Harry always wanted someone to take care of him. Give him a father figure. And I think there are very few works by James / Harry or James / Ginny, that don't just show him being a smartass, or just a replica of James + Sirius. So just as I love my boy so much, I love this Harry and James fanfic over the years.

2. TEDDY IS DISCOVERED: That was SO fun to write, really. As much as I think it is a little .. old, the idea of 'father who gets angry with his daughter's courtship', I loved writing that. Write about Ginny defending Teddy from her brother, and then fighting with Teddy for being an idiot when she had alerted him of the times Bill was coming home. I love this idea that Bill always took care of Teddy as a son, when Ginny and Harry couldn't, and that he and Victorie were friends when they were kids, but now that they are dating, Bill is losing his mind because '' NO. WAY '' And I love even more that Ginny is all protective of Teddy (and that she delegates the role of "how to learn to sneak" to Harry, who was clearly never very good at it)

3.  LILY DENYING SHE FANCIES JAMES: This was by far the best thing I wrote at Jilytober - which I know, sorry, didn't last long. Writing about Lily denying I like James because, my God, I don't fit in with them, while we all know that James loves her ... I love it. I like the idea that Lily really thinks James' friends hate her for ignoring him, and all of her concern ... I love it. It was great to write this, mainly because there is a subject that I know well, it's about a broken heart. (At least every time I got bad for a boy, it was worth something)

4.  EVEN AFTER THE END: Wow, this one I cried. Writing about the 31st was something I always ran away from, even reading, but when I ventured into this one and wrote about James’s feelings, and he being a great father to Harry, I think I put everything I always I thought; James also sacrificed himself for those he loves. People usually see talking about how stupid James was to go up on Voldemort without a wand, but there was no chance, if he ran with Lily, Voldemort would catch her, and he would never see his wife and son die. He went on top of the greatest Dark Wizard, with nothing, only with the intention of dying and delaying a few seconds so that Lily had a chance. And if Harry's last thought before he died was Ginny, James's would be when he first met his son. And I know, it could very well be Lily, but Harry is part of Lily, it was something that Lily generated and brought to life. I love this fanfic, and honestly, my babies deserved to survive.

5.SIRIUS AND HESTIA: Sirius and Hestia ... I know, few people like it (thanks to @scriibble-fics , who introduced me to this amazing couple), and that's fine, but I sincerely LOVE them together. The idea of Sirius dating someone calm and quieter - i’m sorry but >my< Remus doesn't work right with Sirius ahahhaa - and the idea of being someone who has always been there, next to Lily ... I love. Writing about Sirius in love is perfect, and I remember that whenever the Voyeur chapter came out and they showed up together or there was some mention of them together, I went crazy. I love them. Only that.

BONUS TRACK!

A special part for my two WIPs, because they deserve it.

REPUTATION: When I thought about Reputation, I sent a message to my friend that said exactly ''do I hate myself to the point of making a fanfic where each chapter is a Reputation song?’' And hours later, when she replied: ''Yes, you hate yourself and I'm sure you're already writing'' I was already writing. Reputation is so fun to write and think, to fit the scenarios with the songs, to think of it as a movie where the soundtrack is and the scene runs in my mind ... It's like Ariana says, just like magic. I love this album, and I love this fanfic, and I love exploring the sides of Hinny even more than I usually wouldn't.

THE DUKE: I love romances that take place in aristocratic times. They are my favorites. And I always wanted to write one, and I even started, but I didn't go ahead. The Duke's idea was born mixed with other 8562150 books I had read, thinking of a rich girl falling in love with the employee, then I thought of her falling in love with the bodyguard, and finally, him being a missing child. When I put this inside Hinny, everything seemed to fit perfectly, and I admit, that I love writing this fanfic. I think about all the details, and sometimes I even think I'm going to go crazy, but I love this fanfic. Writing about soul mates has never been more fun than it is in this story, and even though I always feel a little bit afraid of writing this story - for various reasons - I keep writing. And as long as I have my 5 fans reading, I will continue ahahhha

I tag: @midnightelite @ginnympotter @jilyss @magic-girl-in-a-muggle-world @thedistantdusk and everyone who wants to do it too!

[thegoodgayshit]

Luz’s mother really doesn’t want to send Luz to camp. She knows once she leaves, there is no going back. But Luz has a knack for getting into trouble, and one day she stumbles into the same type of people her mother would have preferred she avoided. After helping Luz dissolve her high school bully into dust, Eda and Lilith know right away that this kid is just like them - a child of the gods. So Luz hops on a Pegasus and heads to Camp Half-blood, where she embarks on a dangerous quest that makes her both friends and enemies... and she might even save Olympus along the way.

Chapter Fifteen: Gus’s Mom Reminds us to Eat our Vegetables

That night, the four of them actually got sleep. Luz had another dream where she was back in the mountain, but once again the woman in the cage just regarded her with big eyes, encouraging her to have hope. When she was woken up by Gus for her turn at guard duty, she had the last shift before dawn and sat outside the tent watching the sun rise with a fairly optimistic outlook on the day to come.

She’d changed into her only set of fresh clothes but kept her hoodie and shorts over her leggings and white shirt, and she was feeling like today would be a fresh start. After all, if Hestia could be trapped in that cage for weeks, looking as terrible as she did and still remind Luz to have hope, then she would have to make sure she still had hope.

Around her neck, she shifted the dog whistle Eda had given her. They’d been in plenty of dangerous situations so far, but Luz was still very hesitant to blow the whistle. She didn’t want to use it unless she absolutely had to, and even if she did, she wasn’t sure it would even work. Luz had relied on a lot of chance so far on their quest, but this one seemed like too big of a stretch to rely on.

Eda had never let her down, but this strange bronze dog whistle might. Luz didn’t know what to think.

Amity woke up first, meeting her outside in the morning and sitting next to her on the grass outside the tent, splitting one of the last wraps silently with her. Luz took the half thankfully, and the two watched the rest of the sunrise together, Amity occasionally sipping little bits of nectar. There was one point where her skin was starting to look feverish, and Luz got nervous and pushed the canteen away from her.

“Maybe that’s enough for a little bit,” she said quickly, and Amity giggled, nodding her head.  

“That’s probably a good idea. There isn’t a lot of it left anyway.” She packed the canteen away and put it at her side, tucking her knees against her chest as she nibbled at the wrap.

“How are you feeling?” Luz asked, but she already knew the answer. She looked so much better. Amity’s skin had returned to a soft cream color instead of the sickly pale it had been yesterday. She’d lost the slight summer tan she’d had at camp, but Luz was certain she’d get it back after a bit of travel. The bruises had almost completely faded from her body, and she seemed to be back to most of her previous strength. Luz was happy to see her so energized.

“Good, much better than I was yesterday, I should find a change of clothes though.” Amity picked at the shirt she’d been wearing, which was definitely worse for wear. There was a slash mark right across the stomach. It was definitely going to make them look suspicious. When Amity lifted her arms, Luz could see her bellybutton through the tear. “I lost my backpack in the mountain, so I don’t have any of my stuff. I haven’t showered in so long, I’m starting to smell like a satyr.”

Luz laughed, almost choking on her wrap. “I think that can be arranged. We can stop before we get on the bus to Colorado and you can pick up some stuff.”

Amity’s smile wavered a little bit. Luz noticed it always did that when she mentioned Colorado. She was going to ask about it, but before she could Willow and Gus walked out of the tent, Willow looking ready to go with her backpack slung over her shoulder, and Gus yawning, blinking sleep out of his eyes.

“Good morning you two,” Willow said with a smile. “Are we ready to keep moving?”

Amity and Luz nodded, both of them getting to their feet. They offered to help break camp, but it didn’t involve much work. After pulling a string on the side of the tent, it popped back into the canister Gus had opened it with. Luz was seriously impressed.

“And you mocked me for being over-prepared,” Gus said with a teasing grin, and Luz laughed.

“Consider this my official apology.”

Gus produced a water bottle from his bag, and his toothbrush and toothpaste. Luz and Willow did the same, leaving Amity staring there wistfully. Willow smiled at her and reached into her bag, handing her an unopened toothbrush still in the packaging.

“I figured there was a chance you lost yours, so I packed on just in case,” she said shyly, and Amity offered her a grateful look.

“Thank you so much. This is more than I deserve.”

“You’re a part of the team now!” Willow just said with a smile. “If you need anything, just ask.”

After they brushed their teeth and did their best to “get ready” for their day on the go, Willow waved her sword and the thorn barrier fell. They walked out of the forest and back towards the main road.

“I don’t usually encourage this, but we don’t really have a choice,” Gus said slowly. “Luz, you should use your phone to call us a cab. It would be a couple of hours to walk back to downtown.”

Luz nodded, figuring if Gus gave her permission that was as good as she was going to get. When she turned on the phone, nervous notifications of messages from her Mami popped up, and she did her best to ignore those and call the cab company first. When she was assured a cab would be on the way, she ignored Willow’s disapproving look and went to her messages to look at her Mami’s texts.

“I can’t just ignore her,” she said quietly, and Willow sighed but turned her head away, giving her the go-ahead.

Luz looked down, reading the three messages carefully, each sent two days ago about twenty minutes apart.  

Ok, mija. Have fun on your field trip. Stay out of trouble, and if you ever need anything just give me a call.

Wait, I thought you weren’t supposed to have your phone at camp?

Some things never change with you. Te quiero mucho, carino xoxo.

Luz knew she shouldn’t risk it, but she typed back a quick response anyway.

Te quiero mucho, Mami <3

She turned off her phone and tucked it back into her backpack. When the cab did eventually roll up and the four of them piled in, Luz went to sit in the front. The cabbie was an older man who looked at the four of them and turned to Luz with a raised brow.

“You kids have money for the cab, right?”

Luz did her best not to get irritated with the cabbie for being so rude, especially since he was looking at Amity and her dirty clothes with unmasked suspicion. Luz thought that was pretty brave, especially since she had an actual sword on her belt. She remembered what Eda had said about the thing that stopped mortals from seeing their world. She wondered if the sword just looked like a weird belt. She doubted it helped them in this case. She was really missing the magic of Antheia’s flower crowns.

“We have money,” Luz said. “What’s the fair to downtown?”

“From here, probably forty.”

Luz felt like that number was high, and judging by the look on Gus’ face it was more than they could afford, but they didn’t have much of a choice. Nodding, Luz got in the passenger seat, and her friends got in the back.

While they drove, Luz noticed the odometer on the front of the cab. Her eyebrows raised. Like the map, the price on the reader was not what Luz’s gaze had fixated on. Above it, there was a floating yellow number, with a price a lot cheaper than the odometer. Luz grinned. She was starting to love the perks that came with being a Hermes kid.

Sure enough, when they pulled inside the city near the bus terminal, and Luz told the cab driver to pull over, he told Luz the price was going to be forty-three fifty. The number Luz saw said thirty-two sixty. When Luz told him this, that same mist appeared over his eyes, and he accepted their money without hesitation. The four of them got out, and as he drove away Amity blinked at Luz in awe.

“How did you do that?”

Luz shrugged, “the odometer said thirty-two sixty was the real price.”

Amity’s mouth opened to protest, and Gus nudged her with her shoulder. “Her dad’s the god of merchants and travelers, remember?”

Amity made a noise of understanding. “Right.”

Luz’s eyes however had shifted from her friends to the map station outside the bus terminal. When she opened it and saw her custom display of information, she gawked.

“Oh no! The bus leaves in twenty minutes. If we miss it, we won’t catch the next one until tomorrow.”

That urged her friends to move. They raced inside the station, and Luz pushed through the crowd to one of the open terminals. There was a lady waiting there who smiled as she approached.

“Hello, how can I help you?”

Being a child of Hermes was really benefiting Luz on this quest. Not only was she able to get a decently priced ticket for Amity to Denver, but she had also been informed that their three other tickets would suffice on this bus as well since they hadn’t been able to make the full trip to Denver. Luz had a feeling when she stamped their other tickets with approval she had been making a big exception, likely due to a little magic, and a little bit of Luz’s friendly smile.

They boarded the greyhound right on time. Making their way to the back, Luz sat between Willow and Amity, with Gus on Willow’s left.

“Well, that’s basically all the money we have left,” Willow said with a grimace, gesturing to their now significantly emptier change pockets. “We have about twelve dollars in change between us.”

“That’s not going to do much when we get to Denver, and we still have about a seven-hour bus ride ahead of us,” Amity added with a frown. “We’re going to need to find some more money. We don’t want to have to walk the whole way up the mountain. We’re be swarmed and surrounded in no time.”

“What do you mean swarmed?” Luz asked, turning to look the half-blood in the eyes. A light blush fell over her cheeks at the eye contact, and Amity’s gold eyes looked away nervously.

“Its… it’s just dangerous for half-bloods.” Amity stuttered, and Luz frowned, not understanding why Amity was acting so strange all of a sudden. Did she have something on her face? Luz wiped her face with her sleeve anxiously.

“It’s a translated Greek landmark,” Gus explained helpfully, and Luz turned her head to look at her friend instead. Gus was fidgeting with something in his backpack, and he pulled out a sheet of parchment that Luz peered over to look at.

It was a hand-drawn map, but unlike most of the maps, Luz had seen recently, there was nothing usual about this one. It showed North America, but where a lot of big landmarks were there were also hand-drawn additions. Luz’s ADHD brain went bonkers trying to take it all in at once, and while there were countless drawings, she only had time to look at a few. The first one Luz noticed was the Empire State Building, which had an addition to show Mount Olympus. Camp Half-blood had been outlined on Long Island Sound, but Luz also noticed another camp on the other side of the country near San Francisco labeled “Camp Jupiter” with the Roman SPQR above it. Not far from that, near Los Angeles, was an addition labeled “Entrance to the Underworld”. There was a castle in Quebec labeled “Boreas’ Palace”, and where the Bermuda triangle was had been labeled the “Sea of Monsters”.

Gus however, directed her to Colorado, where he pointed towards modern-day Mount Elbert. It had been relabeled “Mount Pelion” with a drawing of a group of Centaurs. Luz recognized them easily enough by the half-man, half-horse biology.

“This is why it’s dangerous,” Gus said grimly. Luz frowned, not understanding.

“I thought centaurs were friendly, didn’t that group of them come to Camp Half-Blood right before I arrived?”

“Most centaurs are friendly,” Willow assured her, but her eyes were also trained on the map. “But the ones who live in Mount Pelion are known to be dangerous.”

“In Greek times, Mount Pelion was a place where many famous demigods came to train,” Gus said, running his finger over the map. “Achilles and Jason were two really good examples. When the fire of Olympus moved to different empires, Mount Pelion kept its role as being a safe haven for new demigods to train. It always spouts out some of the best demigods of the era, like Nero, Ferdinand the Seventh, Lord Byron, and Lafayette who all trained under Chiron like Achilles and Jason. When North America became the new flame of Olympus, Mount Pelion moved, just like it did every time before then. But Chiron didn’t return to Mount Pelion. He left and founded Camp Half-Blood.”

Luz’s brain was hurting from processing everything Gus said. She was still trying to wrap her head around the idea of Lord Byron being a demigod. She was pretty sure her English teacher would heavily disagree with the idea of him being any kind of hero.

“Why did Chiron leave?” Luz asked, and Amity finally spoke up from next to Luz, the blush now faded from her cheeks. But Luz noticed that even though she was talking to her, she kept her eyes trained on her camp necklace, fiddling with the beads.

“Nobody knows. But he warned heroes against going to Mount Pelion. Before I left on my quest, Lilith told me to be careful. The Centaurs that live there are smart and ancient in their own way. It’s not that they don’t like heroes, but legend has it they can detect when a hero is lying, or misguiding their intentions. If they think you are doing that, they will tear you limb from limb.”

Luz gawked, dropping her mouth open. She suddenly was feeling a lot less confident. She wasn’t trying to deceive a Centaur, but she didn’t have the best track record with ancient heroes, and she worried a Centaur might notice that.

“How did you, Boscha, and Skara avoid them?” Luz asked with a frown, and Amity winced like she’d been hoping Luz wouldn’t ask that. She didn’t respond, and Luz was going to let it go before she sighed.

“I visited my parents in Cherry Hills Village. My father gave me a map to an alternate route up Mount Pelion that would be away from the Centaurs. He did warn me that I’d find monsters on the way, but we decided we’d rather take on a couple of hellhounds than a pack of Centaurs.”

“I don’t suppose you still have that map?” Willow tried, and Amity sighed, shaking her head.

“Achilles took my backpack. I don’t have it anymore.”

“I don’t suppose your dad would have extra copies of the map?” Gus asked, and Amity hesitated, biting the inside of her cheek.

“He might.” Luz could tell from the look on her face though that she didn’t really want to go back to see her parents. After what Luz had heard about them, she didn’t blame her.

“Ok, then it’s an option. Options are good.” Luz said carefully, trying not to rock the boat. Her three friends nodded in agreement, and the four of them settled into a comfortable silence.

Luz found herself staring out the window as they passed through the American south. She realized this was the first time she’d ever been out of state. Her Mami had always wanted to take her to Disney Land when she was little, but because of all the weird things that’d happened to Luz, and her Mami’s busy work schedule, they’d never gotten the chance. Maybe now that she knew how to defend herself, they could go sometime when Luz saw her again.

Before she’d even realized what had happened, she’d dozed off around midmorning, tired from having the latest guard duty. Unfortunately for her, her dreams this time were not as pleasant as they had been from the previous night.

Luz was standing in the mountain, in front of Hestia’s cage. She was kneeling, and dark smoke was curling around her feet, blocking her from being able to look at Hestia. Before she could process what was happening, she had cold sharp metal pointed against her back. Luz couldn’t help but gasp, and cold hands wrapped around her shoulder, steadying her.

“I see you’ve been watching me, little hero. If you have no problem eavesdropping, then perhaps I should give you a glimpse into what you are about to experience.”

Chills ran up Luz’s spine at the cold voice of the mountain man, and when she looked at the hand grasping her shoulder, she realized it was completely gloved in the dark fabric. She couldn’t see any exposed skin.

The man jerked Luz to her feet, and she bit her tongue to stop herself from crying out in fear. She didn’t want to look weak, but the mountain man seemed to pick it up because he laughed. There was nothing warm about the gesture. It was cold, just as cold and dead as his voice.

Hestia’s eyes flashed in the darkness, letting Luz know she was there, but the man didn’t let her look much longer. He turned her away from the cage and towards the back wall, and Luz couldn’t stop the gasp that left her mouth.

Against the wall was what Luz could only recognize as a massive portal. It was made of dark obsidian gemstone shards and chunks of mix-matched metals and bricks stacked against it. Next to it was a table, with a bronze goblet sitting on top of it. On the top of the portal’s edges, there was a hearth glowing with red fire. Luz’s eyes widened. Hestia’s fire. Inside the portal, what Luz saw made her want to shrink away and hide forever.

It was a dark and barren landscape, with a black river flowing in the distance. There was a line of ashen and despondent people – no, spirits – floating by, but they acted like the portal didn’t exist at all. Luz felt the ground shake beneath her feet when she heard a ferocious growl, and the shadow of a three-headed dog bigger than some of the apartments in Manhattan glowered in the distance.

The Underworld.

“Not an encouraging sight, I know.” The man said silkily into Luz’s ear. Luz shivered, she hated when he did that. “I myself was subjected to this torment for far too long. It took long, hard, work, but I freed myself, and I will free others who are so much like you. Heroes, cheated of their lives and forced to suffer in the dark. Why would you try and stop something so good? Something that will cleanse this world and stop cheating out demigods of their chance to truly live?”

Luz couldn’t tear her eyes away. Fear and panic were racing up inside her quicker than she could control. The man seemed to sense this again because he hummed removing the point from Luz’s back. Finally tearing her eyes away, Luz spun sideways away from the portal and the man, looking at him in the face for the first time.

His face was completely covered by a gold mask with horns protruding the top of it. He had the white cloak on she’d seen in her last dream, and his eyes glowed an eerie and unnatural blue. In his right hand, he had a pure celestial bronze staff, sharpened at the end. Luz was once again paralyzed, too terrified to move or speak.

“I’ve seen this prophecy, Luz Noceda,” he said, his voice somehow right in her ear like she hadn’t gotten away from him. “One of your friends will die in this mountain, and you will be unable to stop me. Which one will it be? The daughter of Demeter? The son of Athena? Or… will it be the daughter of the love goddess who thought herself worthy enough to stop me on her own?”

Luz finally found her voice at the mention of her friends, and she snarled, stepping forward. But she might as well have tried to walk with cement up to her knees. Something was holding her back, keeping her in place.

“Leave my friends out of this,” she said, glaring daggers into his eyes. “We will stop you and free Hestia, and none of them are going to die while we do it.”

The man chuckled, turning her back away from Luz to look into the portal. “You better hurry then. You’ve already met Theseus and Orpheus, and the other girl knows from experience how strong and mighty Achilles is. Do you think you could take on hundreds of demigods who are also going to rise from the grave? Hestia can only hold on for so long, daughter of Hermes. You better hurry.”

Luz was snapped out of her nightmare by someone shaking her arm. When she woke up, she saw Amity leaning over her, her gold eyes wide in concern.

“Luz! Are you alright? You were moving around in your sleep.”

“That’s an understatement,” Gus said from next to her, clearly happy he hadn’t been the one to wake Luz up after their head collision the last time he’d tried. “You were yelling. We were getting some looks from the other passengers. But we’re here, so you better get up.”

“We’re here?” Luz shot up, almost colliding her foreheads with Amity’s. The daughter of Aphrodite yelped like Luz had shocked her again, recoiling with such a fierce blush it ran all the way to the tips of her ears. “How are we here? There’s no way I slept that long.”

“You looked tired, so we just let you sleep,” Willow said from next to her, already collecting her things. “We have to move though, Gus said he thinks he knows where we can restock on supplies.”

Luz blinked. “You do?”

A grin split across Gus’ face and he nodded. “I do! Follow me.”

They walked off the bus and Luz came face to face with downtown Denver. As Gus lead them down the busy streets, Luz realized it was now Monday morning and three days since they’d left camp. Foot traffic was pretty heavy, which meant nobody spared them any glances, except maybe Amity, who’s face flushed in embarrassment whenever somebody looked at her clothes. Luz felt guilty remembering she’d said they would find her new clothes in Kansas City and that they just hadn’t had the time.

Gus cut left and right down streets, and if Luz wasn’t paying attention she would have lost him for sure. Eventually, they passed down a busy mall looking area and Luz caught sight of a street sign that read “16th Street Mall”. There were no cars on this street, so Gus speed-walked down the middle of the walkway, and Luz was quickly starting to lose patience.

“Gus, where are we even going?”

“It’s around here somewhere, trust me!” Gus said certainly before his eyes widened in delight. “Here it is!”

They dipped right along the side of one of the building corners of a department store Luz hadn’t had time to read the name of when Gus stopped right in his tracks and Luz had to jerk to a halt not to hit them. Amity wasn’t fast enough, and she cried out in surprise and crashed into the back of Luz. Luz stumbled but managed to catch Amity’s hand and keep them both steady.

“Thanks,” Amity said, and when her eyes locked onto their connects hands she blushed again. Behind them, she thought she heard Willow made a noise in the back of her throat that sounded like a mix between surprise and understanding. Luz turned with a raised brow, but Willow must have seen it coming because she just smiled simply at Luz, wiping any expression off of her face.

Deciding she must have imagined it, Luz let go of Amity’s hand and Amity immediately used it to clutch her arm. Gus hadn’t noticed anything at all and was busy examining a spray-painted graffiti on the wall with narrowed eyes.

Luz looked at it and blinked. It was an owl, that looked just like the one above the door to Cabin Six. The Mark of Athena.

“There’s no way that can be a coincidence,” Luz said aloud, and Gus shushed her, clearly trying to focus. Luz quieted, deciding to just watch him instead.

Eventually, Gus ran his hand over the beak of the owl, and it glowed up white. Stumbling back with a grin on his face, the brick began to shift until there was a door. Whooping in excitement, Gus pulled on the handle, and it swung inwards, leading them inside.

“One of the children of Athena’s many on-the-go workshops,” Gus said with an excited grin. “After you!”

Luz and her friends made their way inside, and when she saw the interior of the workshop she couldn’t help but gasp in delight. It had everything a demigod could ever need. There was a fridge, counter space, and a stove in the back of the room, and cabinets above it. There was a set of four bunk beds lining the back wall, and a linen closet behind it. There were three huge workshop desks, packed to the brim with notes, maps, charts, and a blackboard that still had written equations on the wall. There was a bookshelf literally lined with books, and upon further examination, Luz realized that it was filling itself as she and her friends walked in.

As a matter of fact, everything seemed to be adjusting as they walked in. Certain maps vanished, a microwave appeared on the counter (Luz was especially excited about that), and next to her Amity literally shriek in delight when a wardrobe appeared full of clothes. She ran right towards it, taking a fresh shirt off of a hanger.

“Gus, what is this place?” Luz exclaimed in glee, doing a full circle around the room. Even as Luz talked, the room seemed to be adjusting. The walls went from white to grey, with a light blue accent wall behind the bunks. A larger zoomed-in map of Colorado appeared pinned next to the blackboard over the formulas. Willow opened the door to the fridge and started shuffling through it, pulling out trays of food that looked so fresh it might as well have been picked off the vine right before she pulled it out.

Gus had made his way right over to the fridge as well, and Luz remembered neither he or Willow had eaten yet today. He grabbed a can of Spite and popped the tab, taking a swig before responding to Luz.

“Children of Athena have known about these for decades, they were originally workshops used by our mom but then she abandoned them and left the locations for some of her kids. One of my siblings told me that there was one rumored here ages ago. The room will give you whatever you need within reason, and we should be able to restock all our supplies here for our quest. If we need to plan, this is the place to do it. Monsters won’t be able to find us here either, it’s enchanted with Athena’s protection. But we won’t be able to stay long, it’s meant to be a rest spot, not a permanent residence.”

Luz’s eyes had locked on the blackboard, and she moved closer to take a look. One side was still stacked with chalk and equations, some notes, and other things Luz could barely read, let alone understand. But on the right side of the board were little signatures and notes left by other demigods to show they had been there. Some of them were funny, and Luz laughed while reading them.

“Spiders will not come into the workshop – this is fantastic news.”

“Malcolm, Julia, and Travis were here. Percy Jackson, unfortunately, was not.”

“The fridge will not speak to you like Siri, don’t try”

At the very bottom right corner were the initials P+A drawn in awful handwriting around a heart. An arrow pointed up to the line where Percy Jackson was mentioned, and in chalk, there was an arrow above the line which read “I am now” with a crudely drawn smiley face sticking out its tongue.

“Luz! Are you going to come to eat?”

Luz turned and saw her friends all sitting around a little table that definitely hadn’t been there before. There was a tray of foods on the table, and someone had even grabbed her a lime soda out of the fridge. Grinning, she joined them, sitting down and noticing something odd about all the foods.

“Uh, Gus. Why are half of these foods vegetables?”

It was impossible not to notice. While most of the food was arranged in a charcuterie kind of style, with various meats and cheeses and crackers, there was an enormous variety of vegetables and dip. Gus flushed.

“Look, she might be a goddess but she’s still my mom. Even godly mothers want their kids to be eating healthily.”

Around the table, everybody laughed, and that didn’t stop Luz from digging in. As she was eating, she eyed Amity from across the table and smiled.

“You finally got some new clothes!”

She was now dressed in a long black shirt with sleeves that came to about her forearms and magenta leggings. Her camp necklace sat right above the shirt, and the amethyst pendant was now clearly visible. Her mood had clearly gotten much better too because she was grinning at Luz, clearly happy.

“Yep! It feels great. And I just looked next to the wardrobe, there's a bathroom back there with a real shower!”

The reaction was instant. Luz and her friends all gasped in delight, and Gus slammed his fist down on the table.

“I call going after Amity!”

“Hey!” Luz squawked, turning to him with a playful glare. “I’m a quest leader, so I should go after Amity.”

“You’re not allowed to use that against me!” Gus complained, crossing his arms. “I’m younger, so I should go first.”

“We’ll all have plenty of time.” Willow reasoned though she was smiling at the pair of them bickering. “We’re going to need some time to collect ourselves and plan our next move.”

Luz’s smile faded, and she swallowed nervously. “Right, about that.”

She took a deep breath as her three friends turned to face her. While Willow and Gus were confused at the sudden tone change, Amity recognized the expression on Luz’s face right away because she paled.

“It’s about your dream, isn’t it?”

Luz nodded. “I saw the man in the mountain, Belos, and I know what his plan with Hestia is. He’s used her fire to create a portal to the Fields of Asphodel.”

[mythologyfolklore]

Ares and Athena through the years - Ch. 06

Chapter six: Grief and reconciliation

.

The Olympians had now got a new member: Dionysos, the new god of wine, madness, theatre, parties, vegetation and the afterlife.

But it wasn't celebrated as much as it would have normally. The young god didn't mind; he knew why and he understood, that this was no time for a party.

They would have been thirteen now, but Hestia had given up her place in favour of him, thus they stayed twelve. Athena found, that the round looked kind of … incomplete without Hestia.

But her chair wasn't the only empty one.

Two other deities, who were still here, but hardly showed their faces these days, were leaving their places at the table vacant. Yet, when they did show up, they often killed the mood in the room, just by looking like the Algea¹ themselves. Zeus tolerated it, as he could relate to their grief.

Ares and Aphrodite looked strange in mourning attire.

Crushed, far less alive, mere shadows of their former selves.

Clad in black from head to toe, no jewellery or armour, they even were wearing ashes.

Aphrodite's lovely hair had been shorn, the way mortal women did, when mourning. It was odd to see the bright love goddess wear nothing but black. Her duties no longer delighted her, nor did the other Olympians ever hear her bell-like laughter these days.

Ares was neglecting his job entirely and never looked anything but weary, broken and defeated. He had dark rims under his eyes and always seemed close to either tears or a fit of anger. And he had taken to wearing a brooch with Harmonia's face engraved on it.

Dear, blameless Harmonia, Ares' and Aphrodite's beloved daughter and sunshine, who was gone, gone forever, who would never come back, who had forsaken divinity … who was dead.

It was still so hard to believe for everyone.

Goddesses didn't die.

Only once had Athena seen a goddess die: her first friend, whose name she had adopted to honour her. Except that Pallas had simply become one with Pontos² again.

She was, in a way, still there.

Not so Harmonia; she was really, truly dead and nothing would ever bring her back.

.

Ares knew, that the rest of the family had trouble stomaching this too.

Even for him and Aphrodite it was hard to believe, and even harder, if not impossible, to bear.

My lovely daughter, my little sunshine, my joy and pride, my sweet child, she is gone, gone, she will never come back, she is dead, dead, dead-

Both parents had fallen silent.

They rarely spoke anymore and if they did, it was always about Harmonia. They didn't know how else to cope with their grief.

For their divine children it was the same.

Once they'd had a fight with their youngest sons Phobos and Deimos, who had confronted them and doubted, that if one of them would die, their parents would be remotely as affected. The fight had escalated into screaming, shattered earthenware and broken furniture, but had ended in tears and a group hug.

Ares could understand and relate to this, his children's worry, still he didn't want to hear such an accusation ever again.

There were moments, when the pain got too overwhelming, that Aphrodite would randomly burst into tears or wails and Ares would clench every muscle in his body, trying to suppress his emotions.

They both knew why things had come to this.

Ares had known before Aphrodite had.

The necklace … the necklace Hephaistos had once given Aphrodite (after their divorce, after the incident had happened), who in turn had given it to her daughter as a wedding gift.

That cursed piece of jewellery that, as Ares soon had found out, had been made with malicious intent.

Dionysos (this boy, who was both his half-brother, his nephew and his daughter's grandson, this god of madness, who had caused part of the trouble) had been the one to point it out.

And once Ares had actually taken a look at the necklace of Harmonia, it had dawned on him.

The necklace had been made by Hephaistos, obviously, but he had also recognised the handiwork of Eris, the baleful essence of her and her children. Whatever way the blacksmith had persuaded her and the Kakodaimones to help him was beyond Ares, but that wasn't the point. It was oozing with misfortune and woe.

And then he remembered overhearing a conversation between the smith and his new wife, Aglaia.

The thing was fucking cursed.

The maker had wanted her to suffer for her parents' crime.

My Harmonia, my child, he wanted her to suffer for something that was mine and Aphrodite's fault, he wanted to hurt her, because she reminded him of the incident.

The realisation had made Ares burst into dreadful laughter, terrifying every living being within a hundred mile radius.

Of course.

How could he ever have assumed, that his brother would possibly gift something to the daughter of Ares and Aphrodite, to the girl who had been conceived on that disgraceful day.

How could he ever have hoped that Hephaistos would forgive them?

.

Of course Hephaistos hadn't forgiven them.

He hadn't forgiven Ares and Aphrodite for betraying him, so how could he have forgiven their daughter to come from it?

At first he had wanted to take his wrath out on them directly, but had quickly noticed, that they themselves left no opening for the curse to work (then again, Ares was friends with Eris and her brood of evil, so he was probably completely immune to their vibes).

Aphrodite giving the accursed necklace to her daughter had just been a stroke of luck; Harmonia, a third generation goddess with a mortal husband and children, had been a lot more vulnerable to the baleful curse of her wedding gift.

Deep down, the smith had felt sorry for his niece, even though under his friendly facade he had always loathed her for being spawned under such circumstances. Still there had been no denying, that she had been sweet and innocent and hadn't deserved to suffer.

Yet, his pity had been drowned out by the grim satisfaction of seeing her parents heartbroken over their daughter's misfortune and subsequent death.

Maybe one day he would regret, what he had done, but that day was yet to come. For now his heart was flint.

.

As Athena followed Aglaia through the smithery, the Kharis seemed to be far more sober than usual.

“Approach him with care”, she warned the wisdom goddess, “He's in a really bad mood today.”

“I can imagine”, the taller woman muttered. “Don't worry. I can handle this, I know what to do.”

Aglaia nodded in acknowledgement, but whispered: “Alright. Just don't say their names. And don't mention the incident.”

She bowed courteously and saw herself out.

Athena took a deep breath, before going deeper into the workshop.

Don't say their names … that would be impossible, because she was here on their behalf.

“Hey, Athena. I know you and I hate each other, but can you do me a favour …?”

Once Ares had told her, she hadn't been able to refuse.

The blue-eyed goddess needed to look for a while, until she spied Hephaistos hunched over a desk, doing precision work. His face was stone and he was currently burning brightly, not bothering to keep his flames inside his body.

In a really bad mood, Aglaia had said – what an understatement! If the normally composed smith was on fire, that could only mean that he was on the verge of exploding!

It was only when his hands were free, that Athena knocked on the door frame to make herself known.

He turned his head.

Holy Khaos, if looks could kill even gods, she would have dropped dead on the spot!

“Your shield isn't done yet!”, he snapped at her and sparks fell out of his hair.

She swallowed her agitation and replied: “I'm not here because of that. I'm here, because someone asked me to give you a letter and didn't trust Hermes to do it.”

Hephaistos stared at her and his flames died down.

After muttering an apology for his rudeness, he pushed his wheelchair around the desk and offered her a stool.

“Do you want some nectar?”

“No, thank you. As I said, I'm only here because of the letter.”

The smith was obviously still extremely pissed off, but he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, before speaking.

“Athena, if this is a letter from Ares, give it back to him and tell him to shove it up his-”

“Listen to me!”, she interrupted him. “I didn't read this, but he came to me, even though he hates me, and asked me for help. So this has to be important!”

“… Fine.”

“When he gave me this, he mentioned another letter he sent you before.”

Hephaistos scowled and confirmed, that he had indeed received a letter – more than a millennium after the incident.

Athena lifted an eyebrow. “You didn't read it, did you? He suspected it too. Said, that this time he wants you to read it in my presence. I hate to admit it, but sometimes he does use the single-digit number of braincells he has.”

The smith snorted at the jab, but told her to wait here, rolled out of the room and came back with another, seemingly far older scroll of papyrus.

“You are both right, I didn't read it”, he admitted. “But for some reason I couldn't bring myself to burn it either.” A sigh. “After all, no one has ever gone through remotely as much trouble as to write me a letter.”

“Maybe you want to read that one first”, she proposed.

Hephaistos scowled down at the scroll in his lap. But after unrolling it, he blinked.

“Huh. The prick sure has clean handwriting.”

Oh. That really was unexpected. However, it didn't matter right now.

“What are you waiting for?”, Athena urged.

He puffed his cheeks. “I still don't see a point in reading it. It's probably something really offensive about me stealing his girl or some shit.”

She chuckled. Yes, that sounded like something Ares would have written after the incident.

“Well, can he make you any angrier than you already are at him?”

“I guess not.”

“Then read it anyway. And if it pisses you off, burn it. But at least you'll have read it.”

The blacksmith rolled his eyes, but gave in. “Alright.”

Clearing his throat, he began to read:

“Dear little brother,

since that golden net incident, you have never given me the chance to tell you, how I feel. And because you won't listen to me, I'm sending you this letter. I beg you, read all of it. When you've finished, you can burn it, if you want, just … hear me out …”

Athena looked over his shoulders, as he read it to her.

She was actually impressed.

Never ever would she have pinned Ares to write something even remotely as deep.

If she hadn't known better, she would have thought it was Aphrodite's hand – but it obviously wasn't; her writing was cursive and ornate, as opposed to Ares' clean, but plain hand.

Except that what he had written was so genuine and candid … alright, it was definitely Ares.

Hephaistos read everything, but his voice grew shakier with every paragraph.

By the end, he was full-on crying.

“Fucking arsehole!”, he choked and burned the letter in his hands, “First he gives me a lesson about love, rubs his relationship with Aphrodite in my face and then he tells me, that he loves me?! Of all the things he could have written, this …”

Gently Athena stroked his back, as he sobbed into his hands.

It took him a while to compose himself.

.

The goddess of wisdom had left, after reading the second letter to him, as he had asked.

Hephaistos just needed some time alone.

He … he didn't know how to deal with this.

Everything was way too much and too confusing and he needed distance.

The other gods could wait for their stuff. Or they could just ask his assistants to finish the crap.

He would go on a holiday trip.

Far away from Olympos.

Preferably even away from Hellas.

Sicilia?

That was the place.

He hadn't seen Vulcanus in a while.

.

“… And that's basically, what happened.”

“Hm …”

Vulcanus peeked at his Greek colleague from behind his cup.

“Let me check, if I got this right”, he spoke, “You avenged yourself on the adulterers by placing a curse on their innocent daughter. A girl, who never did anything to you aside from that one flaw she can't help – that she was conceived through adultery – which, as I just said, really isn't her fault, who was pretty much as pure as the rays of the sun above”, the Italian god commented. “Well, I'm not going to question your motives. But do tell me: are you proud of yourself and of what you have done to Harmonia?”

Hephaistos didn't answer immediately. He was just stubbornly staring into the fire.

Alone, Vulcanus already knew the answer, long before the older god spoke.

They didn't meet often, but knew each other oddly well – as if they were brothers.

Perhaps in a sense they were.

Finally Hephaistos admitted: “No, I'm not.”

The Italian god cleared his throat: “Y'know, I have found, that time can fix that kind of shit. Revenge isn't always needed. Besides, you already exposed and publicly embarrassed them and divorced Aphrodite, it was not necessary to get back at her. Why make a cruel and complicated revenge plan, when you can just … let it go? I know it's easy to say and hard to do, but it's true. Think about it; is she that important to you, that you cannot forgive their betrayal, even after thousands of years? Trust me. Revenge isn't always the right thing. It doesn't make you a good person in any way.”

The Greek god sighed in obvious frustration.

But his facial features gradually softened into a pensive expression.

Eventually his face became determined, he muttered a begrudging “Ugh, fine”, rolled his wheelchair around and bid his colleague goodbye.

“What will you do now?”, Vulcanus wanted to know, as he stepped aside to let his colleague out.

Hephaistos turned around and was (surprisingly) smiling.

“Travel to Illyria. I'm going to meet with an old friend.”

.

“Thank you for the ride, Helios”, Hephaistos thanked his driver.

The sun Titan laughed merrily: “Hey, anything for my best buddy! Besides, I understand what you're up to, man. You sort things out and if you need a ride back to Olympos, just call me up, 'kay?”

The blacksmith god smiled: “Sure.”

“Alright!”, the Titan exclaimed and jumped back onto his chariot, “I'll continue my trip across the sky, before your king gets the vapours.”

The younger deity could only giggle.

The Titan grinned, before spurring his horses and riding off.

With a fond smile Hephaistos looked after Helios. The gods could say about that guy what they wanted, but he was a really good and reliable friend.

But his smile faded immediately, as he turned to the temple that contained the petrified remains of his niece and her husband.

This would be incredibly hard and he wasn't sure, if he actually knew what to say.

But he wasn't a coward and he definitely was no quitter.

He wasn't sure, if Harmonia could hear him, but he definitely owed her an apology – even, if he had to give it to a rock, since her and Kadmos' remains had turned to stone through Zeus' will.

That's my fault … it's all my fault …  

“Alright”, he murmured to himself. “Time to finally man up and face the shit I've done.”

He entered the building and to his relief found, that it was empty.

Good.

It would be Tartaros to explain to a mortal priest or visitor, what a tan, young-looking man with long black hair and a wheelchair (it wasn't like the mortals knew those yet) was doing inside a funerary temple with an offering of incense, cinnamon, holy water and a bouquet of white roses. Bringing flowers was silly; the goddess turned mortal was now dwelling in Elysion, where the flowers grew fairest, but she would have been happy either way, he knew.

She was a real sweetheart … I have to give it to her parents, they raised her well.

He looked around the interior.

It was a plain, almost minimalistic temple and behind a simplistic altar, on an elevated pedestal stood a statue of two medium-sized Drakones³, entwined in eternal embrace. Thus the couple had passed on and thenceforth their petrified bodies had remained this way. It was both romantic and tragic.

He sighed: “Hello, Harmonia. It's been a while. The last time we saw each other was at your wedding, I believe?”

He set his offerings on the altar with some effort.

“I'm sorry I took so long. Well, for that and a lot of other things. This is kind of stupid, because I'm here talking to a rock, when I should be saying this to your face. But I can't, so this will have to do. I don't know, how much you knew. Or if you can hear me, for that matter. Still I owe you an explanation … and an apology.”

Suddenly he was startled by a gust of wind, but when he looked around, no one was there.

After looking around cautiously, he just assumed, that it had been the draft and turned back to the stone.

“Well, there really are no words to make up for what I have done to you to get back at your parents, but I will try anyway.”

He began with an explanation, then a confession, before attempting to apologise.

Eventually he said: “So … that's it. That's kinda how I ruined your entire family out of petty revenge. I know that a sorry won't cut it. But I'll try anyway. I'm sorry. I had no right to do what I did. Because of my grudge against your parents, I destroyed your every chance at happiness. Because of the circumstances you were conceived in, I hated you, even though you never did anything to warrant it. Back then I did it to make them suffer and didn't care about how you would handle all of this.  Today I know, that I was in the wrong. I should have just let it go and instead I made an innocent woman suffer out of selfish spite. What I have done is unforgivable and I do not ask for your forgiveness, that I don't deserve. Still I want you to know, that I regret what I did. So I hope that you can hear this. If you hate me now, that's fine (you have all reason to), but if you can find it in your heart to believe me, that would be more than I could already ask for. Please believe me, when I say … I'm sorry. I deeply, truly am.”

Finishing his apology, he took a deep breath.

There. It had been done.

Suddenly he felt a lot lighter, even though he had been talking to a rock.

For a moment the temple was quiet.

Then a voice made him almost yelp.

“That was a beautiful apology. Would've been better, if you had said it to her face, though.”

Hephaistos turned his wheelchair around as quickly as he could.

“How long have you been here?”, he gasped.

Ares shrugged: “I saw Helios drop you off here, when I came, so I think it's safe to say: the entire time.”

The smith frowned; so that had been the gust of wind from earlier!

The war god shook his head and approached.

He too was carrying offerings in his hands and arms; a giant, quite colourful bouquet of exquisite flowers, a bottle of perfume, a peplos, incense and a bowl with fruit.

Ares set his rich offerings down on the altar, next to the one Hephaistos had put there earlier.

Then he crouched down next to the younger god's wheelchair with a sigh.

For a few minutes, they sat in awkward silence, before Hephaistos cleared his throat.

“Ares, maybe you should fold your wings away, before-”

“May they see 'em”, the older cut him off. “They already have before. They know the father of their late queen.”

Hephaistos could see the other's wings tense up and the fingers claw at the stone floor, before Ares composed himself.

“You have some nerve, showing your face here.”

“I know.”

“Was about fucking time though.”

“Yes, it was.”

“I've read your letters.”

“Have you?”, Ares muttered.

“Yes. In Athena's presence, like you wanted.”

“Good.”

“I've burned them thereupon.”

The war god's mouth quirked upward. “Figured you would.”

“Those letters were crap.”

“Sure, whatever you say. And still you cried, before you burned them. Daddy's Owl told me. If you really had thought they were crap, you wouldn't have shed a tear.”

Hephaistos couldn't help but be surprised, that the red-eyed god knew him so well, but he didn't voice it.

Apprehensively he watched his older brother.

Ares was grinning lopsidedly, but his red wings rustled and twitched in irritation, giving away that he wasn't remotely as casual or amused as he was pretending to be.

To be fair, neither was the younger.

“I still think that you're a prick, Ares.”

“I know. And you're right. But I'm gonna level with you, brother – you've been an arse too.”

Hephaistos smiled bitterly: “Yes, there's no denying I was.”

“Ya know, when Aphrodite and I first realised it … that thing with the necklace … we were really mad at you, both of us.”

“I don't blame you.”

“Good.”

Ares craned his neck to look his brother directly in the eyes.

“Why did you do this to Harmonia? How could you? Why to her? She … she …”

His toneless voice wavered and he quickly looked away again.

“It wasn't my intention at first”, the smith whispered. “The necklace was meant for her mother.”

Ares didn't respond. He didn't have to.

Hephaistos knew, what he would have said, if he'd had the words to say it. He also knew why he still wouldn't have said anything, even if he could have.

“I'm sorry”, he finally whispered.

Ironic, really; never would he have imagined, that he would apologise to Ares of all gods.

The red-eyed god didn't answer beyond a heavy sigh.

The blacksmith god didn't know how long they sat in silence hereafter.

But at some point Ares placed his left hand onto the armrest of his brother's wheelchair – cautiously, as if to give the other the option to just slap it away, if he didn't want it there.

Hephaistos' brown eyes widened.

That was a rather tentative and gentle gesture from the abrasive, warlike madman that was Ares.

Then again, who was he to complain?

With a tiny smile he took the hesitant hand and gave it a firm squeeze.

.

---

.

1) Algea: the Greek Daimones (spirits) of pain, suffering and grief, bringers of weeping and tears, daughters of Eris, the goddess of strife. 2) Pontos: the primordial personification of the sea, a son of Gaia. 3) Drakones: serpentine dragons (mostly just enormous snakes)

[gatesofember]

The Privilla: Chapter 2

PJO Arranged Marriage/Royalty AU Part 2

Rating: G | Pairing: Solangelo

Prev | Next | AU directory | Read it on AO3 (Recommended) | Arranged Marriage AU Masterpage

Summary: Almost ten years after their first introduction, Will and Prince Nico meet again. But this time, they are no longer children. Will, the illegitimate third son of Duke Apollo, has had a few prospective suitors, but none of the offers have been as lucrative as his family has hoped. Prince Nico has had his fair share of suitors, as well; with the pressure of being heir to the throne of a kingdom in economic turmoil, Nico is expected to marry for profit and security. However, his icy personality has driven many impatient suitors away. The two young men may prove to be exactly what the other needs.

William sat completely frozen for a several minutes before his mind caught up with his aunt’s words.

“Prince Nico, Duke of Angelus,” Will repeated slowly, like his mouth was having trouble shaping the words.  He remained silent for a moment before smiling at his aunt and saying, “You should not tease me, Your Divinity.”

“I am not,” the Matestra told him.  “I have spoken to the King and written to your father.  The Prince has also agreed to meet you.”

Will could feel his body starting to buzz with restless energy as the truth of Artemis’ words sank in.  He drummed his fingers on his knees to relieve some of his agitation, trying to calm his racing heart.  When he glanced at Hestia, his aunt’s aide, she looked vaguely surprised, but she did little more than raise an eyebrow and she gathered a pen and piece of parchment from her bag to take notes on the Matestra’s meeting.  Thalia, on the other hand, did not look surprised at all.  She caught Will’s eye and gave him a smirk.

Will could remember meeting the Prince in his childhood, and he would not lie and say that his younger self never entertained fantasies of meeting him again.  To his six-year-old mind, the Duke of Angelus had seemed perfect in every way; clever, well-groomed, lively, and popular among older children.  It had taken nearly two years for Will to stop blushing at the mere mention of the Prince.  Even then, at sixteen years of age, he often felt his heart stutter when he thought of Prince Nico.

But when his aunt had stated that, beyond Will’s most absurd hopes and unrealistic fantasies, he had been granted a meeting with the Prince in the hopes of securing an engagement, he felt like he was six years old again, speechlessly sitting with Nico in Aether’s Square and listening as the Prince entertained him with stories.

Will was not quite marriageable age, but he had been old enough to see suitors for about a year.  Nico, as a member of a royal family, would have started earlier.  He had likely entertained more suitors than Will by that point, and they certainly would have been more respectable candidates than Will.  As a natural-born child, most of Will’s offers had been considerably older than him and fairly low in status—mostly earls and countesses, and he had entertained a knight for a while before she turned her attentions to a marquess in Mars.  Will was fully aware that he was not a desirable suitor.  He would never inherit his father’s duchy, and his best hope for his future was to inherit a small county in Diana—although Will preferred the idea of remaining in Venadica as a consor, or perhaps moving back to Diana to enter the service of one of his older brothers.  It was simply insensible for Will to marry a prince — a crown prince, at that.

“I...I am not sure that is entirely appropriate, your divinity,” Will stuttered. “His Highness is...well, he is heir to the Pluton throne, but I have very little to offer.”

“Your father can offer a substantial dowry,” Artemis replied.

“But surely I am unqualified—”

“You are more valuable than you think, Will,” Artemis said.  “Your father’s wealth makes you an attractive suitor, for one thing, and for another, you are a consor, which, I daresay, is exactly what the royal family needs.”

“But surely His Highness would prefer a wife,” Will objected.  Same sex-marriages tended to be less common in royal families because the conception of heirs was so important for succession.

“The Prince has no interest in taking a wife,” Artemis replied.  “Simply as a matter of personal preference, he has stated that he would marry a husband.  I am aware that it seems to be an unlikely pairing, but consider, William.  Think of what you have learned in your theories of government lessons.  What sorts of problems has the kingdom of Pluto faced this past decade?”

“The disease, of course,” Will answered, sparing another glance at Hestia, who was watching with silent interest.  “The Scarlet Delirium.”  Will had been starting his training in Venadica when the Scarlet Delirium was at its worst, training under the consor Asclepius, who was the leading authority on medicine in the City of Enlightenment.  The disease, for the most part, did not spread from Pluto, as Artemis’ scientists had the foresight to recommend that all transportation to and from the kingdom be restricted.  However, the effects had been devastating.  

Shortly after Artemis’ inauguration as Matestra, the Crown Princess of Pluto, Bianca, had fallen ill with the Scarlet Delirium.  Will recalled being outside the room where she spent the last days of her life.  Shortly after she contracted the disease, the King had ordered her to be sent to Venadica, where the best minds in the world were researching the disease in a desperate attempt to find a cure.  The Princess had not survived.  However, before the feverish delirium hit her in the third stage of the disease, the Princess had requested that she might see Artemis and take the Soror’s Oath, thereby relinquishing her place in the line of succession and making her brother heir to the throne of Pluto.  

Will recalled wishing he could see the Prince and help him in any way possible, but Nico had been far away in the Pluton countryside, where he was safe from the contagion.  Bianca had been without kin, out of her mind, and paralyzed in her last moments—only Artemis had remained with the Princess until she drew her last breath.

The loss of the Princess had devastated Pluto.  She had been popular among the people—clever and pretty, with the promise of one day making a fine queen.  With the heir to the throne gone, disease slaughtering Plutons in every town, and no way of engaging in trade with Jupiter or Neptune, the once-famed wealth of Pluto had been exhausted.  A consistently functional cure to Scarlet Delirium had never been discovered, but research had found that sanitation minimized the spread of disease, and it was contained until it became all but extinct.

What Pluto needed, more than anything else, was stability.  The Prince would need to marry someone wealthy who could bring relief to the kingdom quickly.  Diana, Will’s father’s duchy, was among the wealthiest in Jupiter.  Will could see the logic in forming a marriage bond.  As a consor, Will would also be able to provide advice to the royal family and its courts in Pluto’s time of need.

“The economy,” Will said, looking up at his aunt.  “My dowry could pay for some elements of reconstruction, and ties with Diana would open opportunities for trade with southern Jupiter.”

“Excellent work, Will,” Artemis answered.  “And do not underestimate the importance of morale.  Faith in the royal family has been low ever since the death of the Princess.  I suspect that the addition of a consor—a consor primarily studying medicine, at that—would greatly boost the people’s confidence, as well as their opinion of the Prince.”

Will nodded.  He didn’t understand why there seemed to be so many negative opinions of the Prince throughout Pluto, and he could only assume that it was the result of bitterness at the loss of Princess Bianca.  He did not fully believe that Nico’s character was to blame; Artemis liked the Prince, after all, and Hestia had attested to his kindness, as well.  Still, the idea of attempting to court the Prince was terrifying, for many reasons.  He could be wrong; perhaps the Prince was as cold as the rumors said.  Perhaps the Prince would reject him without bothering to give him a chance.  Perhaps if Will married the Prince, he would be unable to see his family again.

“I...I still am not sure that I would suit His Highness,” Will said uncertainly.

“It is one meeting, Will,” Artemis replied.  “If the Prince believes you to be a suitable partner, I have no doubt that the King will agree to enter in discussions of an arrangement.  All that is left is for you to woo His Highness.  You got along well the first time, did you not?”

Will flushed at his aunt’s reference to his first meeting with the Prince and looked at his feet when he caught Hestia and Thalia giving him sly smiles.  Yes, he had enjoyed himself immensely that evening; he had been enamored by His Highness.  For a long time, there was little that Will wouldn’t do for a chance to meet Prince Nico again.  Now, however, Will hesitated—not because he did not want to see the Prince, but because he was afraid.

But then, he’d been afraid the first time, too.

“I shall do my best, your divinity,” Will said.  “I do not know how you were able to arrange this meeting, but I am indebted to you.  And before we depart, I believe I require lessons on dancing the minuet and a partner to practice Acies with.”

Next

[shidoukanae]

I apologize if someone’s already made this post but, I was wondering that, since the second ending basically confirms that VRAINS’s myth of choice is Greek Mythology, if our main cast actually coincides as “representations” of the gods of Olympus and the titans of Greek Mythology.

If so, there would be quite a lot of parallels already between the VRAINS characters and the aforementioned deities of the Greek legends.

-Dr. Kogami, for example, would represent the titan of Prometheus. In episode 11, Revolver talks about a “god” who gave fire to humans and relates him to the man he calls his father. This mentioned "god” is referencing the titan of Prometheus who did, indeed, grant humanity the fire that he stole from the gods. Since I doubt Revolver would be around to give Ignis the “fire” that crafted free will and because Dr. Kogami created the Ignises, I feel it’s better fitting to relate Dr. Kogami to Prometheus. 

-Yusaku, as kind of foreshadowed in the ending, represents the titan of Atlas. He carries the burden of his world quite literally on his own shoulders, never relying on anyone but himself to carry out a mission throughly. Not to mention, but Atlas was also the leader of the titans. As Playmaker, Yusaku is likely going to follow in the titans footsteps and become leader to a certain group of individuals.

-Akira, a man of justice and wrath, best fits the Olympus god of Zeus (who is, also, the god of justice, law and order, and, at times, was very wrathful). We’ve seen Akira get angry, we’ve seen him command agents of SOL and we’ve seen him want to do his best to protect his family - his sister. Zeus was very similar to that in Greek Mythology, he was a wrathful entity at times like Akira was but he was also a ruler and wanted to carry out justice much like how Akira wanted to get justice for Playmaker’s sake.

-Ema, intriguingly enough, would represent both the Greek Gods Aphrodite and Hermes. Aphrodite represents beauty - which Ema has proclaimed herself to have as Ghost Girl - but she also represents desire - which Ema has in the form of greed. Aphrodite is also often symbolized by a rose which, if you watched episode 8, makes that rose that Ema throws out to trap Playmaker have a whole new connotation. However, despite this, the other normal representations of Aphrodite, though (namely, love, passion, pleasure), are things Ema has yet to represent fully. Sure, she’s had hints of being infatuated with Playmaker and there may or may not be some romantic history with her and Akira, but if you mesh all her scenes together the one trait that describes her is not love. It is self-interest. 

...Which brings me to Hermes. Hermes represents thievery, games and communication which, when you think about it, represents Ema perfectly. She’s a thief in that she steals information (look at the SOL’s data bank incident), she plays games on a more mental level (she mocks Akira and she offers Playmaker a risky gambit that will only end up in a win-win for her) but she also represents communication (her job requires to sniff out info and then report back and talk to her clients or even the people around her *cough*Aoi*cough*). 

-Revolver would likely associate with Ares, the god of war. Revolver has done nothing but waged war with Hanoi as his army, always seeking to fight other people (namely, Playmaker) or enact some form of battle be it through him in person or from his minions themselves. It’s also important to note that Ares is despised by the other Greek Gods which, because Revolver is considered as “Evil” in-show right now as a terrorist, is not very far off from how Revolver is perceived by almost everyone else in the show.

...Annnnd that’s all I have. I can’t really place Aoi, Go, Shoichi, Hayami, or anyone else of the main cast. Though, if I had to guess for the aforementioned characters I might say their parallels would coincide with: Athena, the goddess of wisdom/Artemis, the goddess of the hunt (Aoi), Hephaestus, the god of the forge (Go), Hades the god of the underworld (Shoichi), and Hera, the goddess of women and family/Hestia, the goddess of the hearth and domesticity (Hayami) although these are all speculations based on which characters seem to adhere to which gods/titans best without actually fully representing them in any way (yet). 

(Source for info on Olympus gods: Here. Titans are just the stuff I remember when I researched this topic back in my Percy Jackson fangirl days :D)

[camphalforacle]

Hi guys!!! So this is my story that I wrote for the pjobigbang! It’s not finished yet, but I’m posting what I have written so far!! Here is amazing art made by my good friend @glgrdsklechhh4 for this fic!! Also available on AO3

Word Count: 18k+

Trigger Warnings: Death, mentions of suicide, violence

Magic Mirror on the wall...

A poisoned apple, a vengeful princess, a wicked queen.

A runaway witch, a hidden merchant, a royal maid.

The kingdom of Olympia had deteriorated into a dilapidated state the moment Queen Hera married into the throne after the mysterious death of Queen Athena. Whispers circulated throughout the air about the new royalty. A murderer, they called the brown eyed beauty. An enchantress, they speculated.

She ruled in tyranny, invoking fear into all of her subjects. She banned all kinds of magic, persecuting anyone with the glimmer of treachery in a massive power grab. She was hated and most of all by Princess Annabeth. Annabeth calculated the death of her stepmother every day, leaving no margin for error in her vindictive plan.

Through a ragtag team of a handsome guard, an outlawed sorceress, a scam artist, and her personal maid Annabeth just might execute the queen, but could the force of Hera's occult beauty and power be too much?

In a world of gowns and jewels, murder and revenge Annabeth will need to use all of her gods given intelligence to restore the kingdom to its former glory, gain her rightful crown, and avenge her mother's death.

“Annabeth, you must listen to me.” There was an uncharacteristic tenderness in Athena’s voice. Her ordinarily cold, silver eyes held the warmth of molten mercury.

Annabeth looked to her mother where she knelt on the intricate rug to be eye-level with the youthful child.

The queen’s rouge gown billowed around her frame, blooming out like the most resplendent rose.

Annabeth mused about the rug beneath the pair, her mind already wandering off deep into unthought fantasies. She remembered it had been a gift from her father, King Frederick. He had bought it on an uncharted island off the coast of East Tangya from a furtive man, hidden beneath a dark cloak. The man had been living on the edges of a ferocious jungle in which a hidden treasure was supposed to lay.

The rug was woven from the fur of a mythological beast, the Lion of Hope, Frederick told Annabeth. That’s why it lusters with golden light despite the darkness around us, she recalled.

     The Lion of Hope had been one of Annabeth’s favorite fables, read to her by Hestia, her personal maid that had always smiled so benevolently and tucked her in when the thunderous storms rattled the glass windows in rancour.

     The elderly woman would be illuminated by the moon during twilight, glowing with the sheen of a goddess. Her melodic voice danced over the memorized words, reciting the tale of a beast existing only in spirit and granting the wishes of those pure of heart.

      Annabeth adored the way Hestia’s eyes crackled with effulgence as she recanted the audacious story of the mischievous, but joyous lion and the happenings he stirred.

Athena laid a pacifying hand on Annabeth’s shoulder, her brown hair drifting in her eyes, awakening the princess from her mind.  

“Please, darling, listen to me. I know it is hard for you, but you must.”

Annabeth was taken aback. Never before had her mother acknowledged the challenges Annabeth faced in focusing and learning; she had only ever told her to work harder, put in more effort, to stop being so weak. Annabeth had never witnessed so much as a hint of empathy from her mother. Yet, now her mother was being soft and caring.

Annabeth brought her eyes to her mother’s identical ones, skirmishing with the enticing dreams and thoughts that rambled in her head.

Athena sighed with relief.

“Thank you,” Athena said with a slight tremble wavering in her voice. The wobble made Annabeth quite curious as her mother was a composed woman, but she had no time to think on it more because just as soon Athena was taking a deep breath and directing a speech towards her daughter.

“Remember what I have taught you. Remember your strategy training, remember the ways to identify deceit. You may not have these classes anymore. Remember your upbringing and you will succeed in all that needs succeeding. And please, Annabeth, please remember me. You will be a great ruler one day.” She kissed the top of Annabeth’s head and exited the bedroom without a glimpse behind.

Annabeth was left with a million questions, all of which would be endlessly unanswered.

❈

The castle was hollow, devoid of all the mirth that once radiated in the halls and warmed the soulless stones. A spectral wind lingered in the sodden air, chilling anyone to the bone that dared cross its path.

Goosebumps began to rise across Annabeth’s covered arms, perking her awake from the droning afternoon. The throne room had always been the worst part of the castle. It wasn’t like the other parts that were merely cold, no the throne room was something more malicious; something more alive. Every crevice was its own black hole, mercilessly sucking the life and felicity from all that carried a glimmer of optimism and brightness.

Whenever she left the room Annabeth felt drained and weak, pale and sickly. The rosy glow in her cheeks would dim, a sway in her steps would appear.

The throne room was made to host those of lesser status, to hear out the words of strategy from fellow politicians or the pleas of fruitless peasants in critical need of nourishment. Every single detail of the disquieting space had meticulous purpose- to portray the most daunting interior possible so only the truth would be spoken and liars weeded out. Annabeth had to admit, the layout worked rather well.

Today, the Royals’ audience was requested by Jason Grace, the lord of Rome. Rome was a small land west of Olympia that had upheld a peace treaty with the large kingdom for several decades until Lord Jupiter, Jason’s father, had desired a gain of power.

Jupiter had been avaricious, seeking Olympia’s wealth, but not having the power to do so. The man had created unrest in both lands and caused battles that only shed innocent blood.

His so called ‘army’ was merely a hodgepodge of impoverished farmers with nothing to lose and brutish warriors with surplus amounts of doltish loyalty. The dozens of soldiers stood not a chance against the elite thousands Olympia trained pitilessly so only the most indurate of fighters ranked amongst the midst.

Jupiter had been too brash and impulsive to do much damage to Olympia or increase Rome’s power and jurisdiction, but the rebellion ultimately killed the aging man. The effects tainted the land, leaving it untrustworthy and causing Jupiter’s son to have to seek council with the Royals biannually.

Jason was a dashing young man and had been eligible as a suitor for Annabeth for many years until his father’s mutiny. It had been unofficially settled that the Grace bloodline would not emblaze the ominous castle for many generations.

Queen Hera lifted her chin augustly to conclude a conversation the princess had filtered out of her thoughts. She always seemed to be amiss in the remnants of the past. Her persistently restless mind could not succumb to such dry things as courtly communications.

“Thank you, Lord Jason, for your company here. I am glad you have sustained my wishes in our treaty thus far. Unlike your father, you show great loyalty and ethics.” She bedazzled him with a pearly smile.

Annabeth shivered. Hera’s voice contained a sinister message underneath the feigned politeness. Her silky words had been laced with a viciousness, threatening Jason that if he were to even put a toe out of line his head would be waiting on a silver platter.

Fortunately for the boy, he was not foolish and from the glint of intelligence in his electric blue eyes, Annabeth knew he’d be able to withstand her stepmother, at least for the time being.

Lord Jason graciously bowed, with an over exaggerated, sweeping hand motion. Hera grew pleased in the grand gesture.

“My deepest gratitude for your allowance of my presence, my queen.” His sturdy voice was docile, formal- the way one’s voice should be in front of a deadly weapon.

Hera gave a dismal wave of her gloved hand and the young man retreated out of the room.

Annabeth dared a glance at her stepmother, who now sat in somber silence, possibly ciphering her next political move. A slight pang of envy hit Annabeth in the gut. Despite Hera’s twisted, red lips and cruel, brown eyes she still looked to be the most regal thing to ever jewel the lands of Olympia. Every flicker of skin sparkled with elegance, every wisp of hair flowed handsomely down her back, every bat of her thick, thick eyelashes made someone swoon.

Annabeth despised Queen Hera, her insides churned with sickness every time she was forced to speak her name, look her in those too large eyes, remember the heinous act she had committed. Her ethereal beauty didn’t help to extinguish the burning ire streaming through Annabeth’s blood and yet, the princess couldn’t help admire the unnatural grace.

Annabeth sat in her own throne, though it was much smaller in size than the Queen’s golden one. Her’s was made of silver, matching the color of her always calculating eyes. She sat prim and proper, but it was not enough to project the entrancing fairness that the queen conjured. Her blonde curls swept over her shoulders smoothly enough, but did not cascade down like the chocolate locks of the queen.

Annabeth had always speculated sorcery was the truth behind Hera’s loveliness. No one that wretched could procure such a marvelous exterior naturally.

“Annabeth, dear, what did I tell you about staring? It’s horribly rude.” Hera turned her head towards her stepdaughter, a false motherly smile on her lips. She tried to put a sheath of kindness in her eyes, but Annabeth saw through the feeble mirage.

“My apologies, your highness.” Annabeth did nothing to conceal the steel in her voice as her teeth gritted together. Her emotions always wrangled to the surface when the particular ruler was involved.

“Tsk, tsk. I’d watch your tone, young princess. It’d be quite a shame if the Gods were to punish you for your reckless locution.”

Annabeth clenched her jaw. The phoney sympathy in the queen’s voice was enough for bile to rise in the princess’ throat.

“If I may say, I do not reckon it would be the Gods punishment. Such heavenly beings are never so vile or even respondent to the menial lines of us mortals. Now as for humans, especially those in positions of authority, they often turn to castigating ways.” Her smile dripped with spurious honey, a sickly sweet meant only for poisoning. Annabeth descended her seat and made her way to the skyscraping, arched oak doors, not wanting to risk Hera’s reaction to her insolent ways.

As the stoic guard began to open the passageway for the princess, Hera’s voice echoed through the chamber, much to Annabeth’s dread. An algid stone sank in her stomach.

“Oh, dear Annie, before you go I must reckon that I agree with you; it is often the majesties to be the executors.” Malevolence fluttered around the queen.

Annabeth remained silent in defiance and strode into the torch-lit hallway, not braving to turn around and look at her stepmother’s face. She suspected that the way Hera looked behind her was how she looked when she murdered Annabeth’s mother.

❈

“Annabeth you do understand I must remarry, don’t you? It is for the sake of our kingdom only, I can assure you. We need strong alliances and Skilana is an opulent one. Besides, Princess Hera is a divine woman.” King Frederick told his daughter in his gruff, burly voice from across the table.

The princess merely shrugged, pushing around the remnants of her supper on the porcelain plate. A jarring scratch sounded from the metal fork as roasted carrots and asparagus were shoved to the perimeters of the dish.

Annabeth focused on her scalp straining against the tightness of her bun, reminding herself to speak with her new maid that she’d need it much looser if she wanted to not pay attention to the agonizing tension her follicles felt.

Her heart mourned in longing for her beloved Hestia, the woman that had become as much as family as her parents were. Her passing on top of Annabeth’s mother created an elephantine weight that the juvenescent girl could not bear to lift.

The eight-year-old could not bolster anymore depressing matter or she would collapse under the stress of it all.

“Annabeth please, I am trying my best. You did not feel Helena suited this family with her twin boys, so I did not ask for her hand, but dare I say I am bewitched with Hera. Her kingdom can offer great things and create even more strength in ours. She will blend right into the family, a new piece to the puzzle.” His voice carried traces of desperation. Frederick needed approval from his daughter, he would not do anything involving their family without consulting the young girl.

The princess drew in a long breath, filling her lungs with sweetened summer air.

“If it is a gain to Olympia, it is a gain to me.” Annabeth’s voice sung in a lullaby. The innocence of it swelled in the prickly air.

Her father sighed. He had permission to advance the kingdom and be with a woman he loved.

Frederick knew he would not rue the decision, not until the day he died.

❈

Annabeth made her way down a sunlit corridor where vacant windows filtered bundles of light into the otherwise bleak castle. It was the only hallway that brought the sun’s aura into the palace in such splendorous ways, the only hallway that showed a nostalgic sliver of exuberance the palace once held.

It was only fitting that Annabeth’s rooms were located in the hall.

The corridor was near blank of any souls besides the princess and the guard that had been stationed at her door for years and years and years. The guard she had spent her life growing up with. He was the only one she could not best in sparring. They were equals in every way. For hours and hours and hours they would draw their preferred weapons, but never could either reign in victory of another. Once one tired enough, they’d declare a draw and set another match for another time.

It was a special feat reserved only for the duo.

“Percy.” Annabeth breathed almost in relief. The smell of the sea that always lingered on his skin infiltrated her being, washing a calm wave over her body.

In all honesty, Percy was only stationed at Annabeth’s door because she wanted him there. Because he was her friend. There was no actual need for a guard at the princess’ door, no one would be capable enough to break through the barriers surrounding the castle. No one would have the gall to do ill upon the girl.

No, everyone knew the unspoken truth that Annabeth’s was the queen’s to handle. If Hera did not kill her, no one would. No one would give Annabeth that kind of mercy when Hera was such a vindictive and ruthless spirit.

“Annabeth.” Percy dipped his head slightly in greeting. He was always so curt with his actions, never expressing too much. Spies, Annabeth supposed, even though the hall was always empty and private for the pair.

Oh, but how she ached for more of him than his short sentences and simple actions. Annabeth wanted more and more and more. She wanted him. She wanted to kiss him and love him without the slightest bit of fear that everything could come crashing down in shambles.

But that wasn’t how it worked in Hera’s kingdom. If Hera were to even see Annabeth lay a sultry eye on the man she loved so desperately and so ill fatedly, then there would be no time to stop the sword severing his head.

That’s why they were like this. Saying so little to each other, but meaning so much. They had expressed their feelings last year to each other in a fit of passion and years worth of longing. They had been reckless and stupid and thrilled and everything inbetween. To their surprising benefit no one knew of the secret romance between the pair, but that didn’t let either of them drop their guard.

Both Percy and Annabeth knew they could never do something like that ever again. Yet, Annabeth still knew everything about him and wanted it.

She knew the taste of his lips, how they rang with pastries from his mother’s bakery. She wanted them. She knew the groove of his back, how the freckles along aligned themselves in the greatest of constellations. She wanted them. She knew the feel of the scar running from his collar bone, how he got it that night he was almost arrested for murder of his stepfather. She wanted it.

Annabeth was the princess of the richest kingdom. She had everything she needed and more, but nothing she wanted. She wanted so much.

She knew she’d never have it.

Whether Percy knew it or not (and she suspected he did, he was much too clever to not know), he was a weapon in a war about to be waged. If Annabeth were to follow the plans she made so meticulously for so long, she would not bring Percy into it.

She walked to her door, hand resting on the brass doorknob and dared a glance behind her. Percy was looking too and pain flooded those swirling green eyes. Annabeth turned away, entering her chambers.

❈

Frederick laid on his bed, wheezing and coughing. Trickles of blood spewed onto the white bed sheets like drops of rain on the cobblestone roads outside of the castle. His breathing was labored, as though he had just run miles and miles rather than stayed immobilized in his bed the past five days.

Somewhere deep in her heart, Annabeth knew this was her father’s end, but still she naively held onto a whim of hope that he could make it through.

She was gripping his withered hand with all the strength and tenacity she held within her small body. His skin was so gray as though he were already a decaying corpse. He looked so drained of all the merriment and heftiness she loved and knew of him. He was now a thin, frail man. Annabeth couldn’t see anything that remained of the person once so strong.

It was amazing how someone could fall into such a threadbare state within only a matter of days.

Annabeth was glad it was only the two of them in the room when warm tears tumbled from her eyes. She lost her mother, she couldn’t lose her father. She didn’t want to be an orphan at eleven. She didn’t want another bout of pity that would be given by everyone to look her way. She didn’t want the reality she was living.

“Annabeth I must tell you something.” Frederick managed to say before having another fit of coughs. He was so sick, so irreversibly sick. Annabeth wept for him.

She pulled in closer, to lessen the strain on her father’s vocal cords.

He stroked his daughter’s hair, his fingers tangling in the curls.

Annabeth looked at him expectantly, waiting for the words he desired to tell.

“Poison did this to me and I think you are well aware of the administrator.” Another cough. “Your mother, she knew, I should have listened to her. She knew death awaited her and by what hands. She knew a person was after her and I did not listen. She faced her death so valiantly.” Two more coughs. “I wish to do the same. Things have been wrong here for a very long time and I am afraid. Afraid that horrible, vile actions have been performed under my rule without my acknowledgment.” Three coughs. “Please, Annabeth, for all that is touched by the sanguine rays of light on this earth, remember me. Please.”

Frederick drew in a final breath and shut his eyes.

He stopped. He stopped breathing. He stopped existing.

Annabeth’s father, the king, was gone, gone, gone.

Her hand still grasped his, but Frederick’s was limp, no longer filled with the stubbornness that kept him alive for just a little longer than possible.

Somber silence hugged Annabeth in meaningless comfort. Nothing could be right again. Not with all she lost.

She felt like stone. She felt so hardened by her hardships that she could not feel anymore.

And what her father had said before his passing…

It was so eerily similar to what her mother had said. Annabeth knew it was not a coincidence. She knew what she had to do, had possibly known it since her mother’s death.

She had to kill the queen.

❈

Annabeth’s maid, Rachel, was sitting in her wooden seat by the window mending a dress Annabeth had ripped while on a midnight trip to the gardens. She was exactly where she should be, a good and loyal servant.

Rachel had replaced Annabeth’s first maid after Hestia, she was an incredibly hard worker and an incredibly key pawn in her plan. A gift from the gods themselves, given right into Annabeth’s outstretched palm.

It was such a shame the other maid had to die first; not of Annabeth’s doing, but of common illness and a poor immune system. Regardless, it only helped to further Annabeth’s scheme that would very well be for the greater good (and personal pleasure). Yet… never had the princess’ heart wailed nor wept or showed any emotion towards the girl’s passing. Only a sadistic satisfaction remained and it scared Annabeth to the core.

She ignored the feeling.

Rachel was one of her truest friends, only a few years her senior. She was even more than that, something much more valuable and precious. Rachel was her spy.

No one ever suspected the girl to be as cunning as she was. Always she fabricated a meek demeanor, a girl too nervous to even speak with her superiors. At times she even had Annabeth fooled.

So much information had been gathered from the redhead. All the other maids loved their gossip, it was one of the few things they could control, and Rachel never failed to remember each and every detail that spilled from her coworkers’ mouths.

Rachel was one step in Annabeth’s plan. The plan to kill the queen.

Annabeth had never risked the chance of writing her plan down, but she could visualize it with pristine imagery. She knew every step, every outcome, everything about the plan had been made with perfection. Best of all, it was blissfully simple.

So, so impossibly simple. The strongest of armies could not take down the queen; her army was always stronger. She was something so untouchable, so powerful that no land could risk her wrath. Jupiter had only been an example.

Simple meant less mistakes could be made, less things could go wrong. Complex equaled failure and Annabeth never failed.

The first step was mostly upon Rachel. It was learning the queen’s schedule, every step of her despicable life.

That part was complete and one thing stood out to Annabeth as the easiest way to get to the queen. Every day, without fault, the queen ate an apple at breakfast. It was the only constant in her court life and the perfect way to end her reign.

Annabeth could bark out a laugh at how something so little and menial as a fruit could lead to the downfall of a ruler so puissant.

That was the starting point of everything. Annabeth knew exactly what she needed and how to obtain it.

“Milady.” Rachel stood up and curtsied, her emerald stare unwavering from Annabeth’s silver.

“Rachel, I have an errand for you to run today,” Annabeth said, a smug smirk bedecking her face, she already tasted sweet victory on her tongue.

“Yes, madam?” Rachel feigned innocence so well. It was a truly stunning work of art.

“The mysterious girl, the one you heard the maids whisper of, find her. Bring her to my quarters. Discreetly of course. I have an offer to make her.”

A dazzling sense of satisfaction coursed in Annabeth’s veins like the liquor of gods. She marveled in its beauty as Rachel nodded her head and made her way out the door. Annabeth thought she wouldn’t feel anything so satiating until the day she saw the queen’s motionless body.

❈

The front door creaked open and as if on command, Hazel’s heart started thundering with the instinct to run. She poised herself into a sprinter’s stance, positioned to haul ass out of the ramshackled house. A dagger was gripped in her dark hand so hard, it threatened to spill blood.

Hazel steadied herself, relaxing her shaky breath, quieting the restless motion that racked her body.

Every day was another in peril when she lived so close to the border of Olympia. She never understood her mother’s intentions of living in such proximity to a kingdom that banished magic and tortured its users as though they were the devil himself when they themselves were a family of witches.

Perhaps, Hazel mused, her mother enjoyed the thrill of toeing the line of death. Just as she was doing in that instance when the door creaked open.

The past three days had been bizarre, and that was on Hazel’s standards. Her mother had received a vision two days ago, not disclosing the information to Hazel on what it was about, but immediately set off to the kingdom of Inger after.

Rarely did her mother ever have enough power to use her gift of sight and even rarer did she act upon the prophecies she received.

It had done nothing to ease Hazel’s nerves as the past days she was left utterly alone.

The door swung fully open revealing two figures.

Hazel breathed a sigh of silent relief upon seeing her mother and sank onto the floor.

Her mother surveyed her daughter, allowing her face to contort into a look of repulsion.

“Get up, girl. You could never have taken an intruder, you have only made yourself a fool. Do not do that again.” Her mother spat, a fiery ire tracing the words.

Hazel stood, casting her eyes down to her bare feet, soiled from weeks without bathing. It was punishment for Hazel practicing magic outside of the house. That and a slap across the face. She could still feel the hateful, phantom sting.

Her mother kept her eyes on the girl, the same eyes Hazel herself bore.

After many moments of silence, her mother spoke.

She motioned towards the other figure, now standing behind her. She was a girl of fire hair, only some years older than Hazel.

“This is Princess Rachel of Inger. You will clean her and then we will leave to travel. You will stay here and keep quiet. Do not disappoint me.” Her mother commanded.

All Hazel could muster was a feeble nod before getting to work on the young princess who was ever so quiet.

❈

Piper moved through the bustling market furtively, concealed beneath a beaten, brown cloak. The hood darkened shadows on her tanned skin and hid the distinctive marks that labeled her birthplace of Melana. She damned that abhorrent island. Growing up on it made everything about her a source of taboo from her kaleidoscope eyes to the stark white tattoos crawling on her face.

Melana had once been a place of wonder and wanderlust, a myth out of the next story book. Adventurers came seeking its legendary treasures. It was filled with a secluded glory only few were fortunate enough to witness. But that had been the past. Queen Hera of Olympia had ruin all of Melana’s mysterious reputation.

Witches.

Whores.

Savages.

All things the wicked woman named the inhabitants of the small island off of East Tangya. Piper had once been of a noble family, high in respect among her fellow villagers. Her father had been famous for finding the Lion of Hope, the true treasure of the island, though no islander would ever reveal that to a foreigner. For all anyone knew, besides the Melanians, the Lion of Hope was a children’s tale drifting the youngsters into a deep cavern of nothingness during fitful nights.

Her father had bargained with the beast to bring Piper into the world. His biggest wish had been a family and he had received it, of course at a cost. That cost being her mother’s life.

One could not receive without first giving, the eldest of women on Melana forewarned all seeking the assistance of the magical.

Piper’s mother had been the belle of the land before passing in the horrible tragedy. Men and women fawned over her supernatural appeal. She had died in childbirth, but Piper’s father never failed to describe the woman’s charm and love.

“Her skin was deeper in color than the depths of the most abyssal cave. Her hair flowed down near to the ground, tickling her ankles with each step. The silver locks carried their own luminescence, bringing a bit of light wherever she went, as if she were the main beacon of man instead of the moon. But it was her eyes that were the most beautiful part about her. She had violet irises, more vibrant than even the flowers. You could not even envy her for them even though they rivaled everyone else as they never failed to gush over with love for every good thing in existence. No matter where she went, passion followed.”

Her father’s deep, cadenced voice ricocheted through her head. Piper could imagine his wishful, reminiscent smile that was unique to the memory of her mother. His broad shoulders and even broader smile filled the capacity of her mind in lustful, selfish want to go back to simpler times like those.

All of that had diminished rapidly once Piper turned ten.

Olympian soldiers had raided the land without ever stating an eloquent cause. They took the natives captive, burned their houses down, and conquered her homeland like the barbarians they were raised to be. Her own father had been taken as a slave. She was orphaned and heartbroken, irrevocably saddened by the lost of all that she cherished.

The horror of the invaders flooded the surviving natives veins. Unspeakable acts were done to her people in the weeks of the raid, but by some blessing or fluke Piper had been left untouched. She had not been decimated or enslaved or violated as others had. She had been left to wither in heart shatter, to grow up on her own and wonder why all the virtue had to be destroyed.

Once the nefarious men left, a cloud of hatred fell on the survivors as though a hex was cursed onto Melana. Corruption hit the once near sacred land hard. People became nasty and spiteful, denouncing the traditions that had been upheld for generations. The white tattoos that bedizened faces in hallowed meaning became a source of mockery and obloquy. One was expected to cover them up if they were to appear meritorious.

Everyone turned against each other, looking for the most vicious way to tear the next person apart.

By the time Piper turned thirteen she was labeled a temptress. She sought refuge in families that had once had boundless relations with her and her father. They turned their cheeks away from her in repugnance, insulted she would even speak to them.

Never in her life had she felt so alone and terrified. Not when her father was taken, not when she wandered forgotten pathways in the dead of night. Not even when the only sound that accompanied her was the faint chirp of cricket wings.

With an increasing chasm festering in her heart from years of solitude and negligence, she knew she had to escape the maritime prison that was once proudly her home.

By the time Piper was fifteen she had traveled to Olympia itself and found tarnished sanctum in its capital, Athenisia. She lived feral in darkened, putrid alleyways, scavenging for any morsel of food. Barely did she get by, everyday was another day focusing on persevering. Each minute that whizzed by brought her another inch closer to death.

On a particularly polar night during the dead of winter when Piper’s stomach howled in starvation and her bones weeped in fatigue from a day’s worth of hunting, but nothing to profit from she laid on the freezing cobblestone and broke down in tears for the first time in five years.

That was her breaking point, when she realized she had to do more, live her life better instead of scrounging for aliment like the flea bitten strays that trotted through the city.

She taught herself the mastery of swindling.

As the venders set up their stands, laid out trinkets from far off lands Piper would brush by, carefully cloaking her loot beneath her dark ball gown. Yes, she had to admit, the dress was a little lavish for her business, but a dramatic flair was always needed in the art of thievery and hers just happened to show in the form of attire. A trait, perhaps passed down from her mother, the beauty of her land.

Piper’s slender fingers were swift, her face neutral and congenial. She orchestrated pleasant conversations with her victims, none of them ever suspecting she had stolen goods from them.

It wasn’t honest business and she wasn’t entirely proud of it, but a larger part than Piper would admit to thrived off the thrill of the experience. The act of carrying out an illegal process sent exhilaration and adrenaline coursing through her blood.

After her ravished spirit was satiated she’d hide in a darkened alleyway, away from the revealing sunlight. A notorious figure she was, her reputation was whispered in baleful circles, in filthy pubs and draggled bars. Only the shiftiest of souls made appearance with the cloaked figure, seller of cursed objects and priceless gems.

Every piece she sold received a new identity of innumerable value. She fabricated stories with fluid words, detailing extravagant tales on how she acquired the product. Never had she failed to receive the payment she wanted, her voice had an enthralling effect on all her patrons. The slight rasp gave interest to their ears, her choice of words flowed delicately into the landscape.

Piper exited the market she had most recently looted and made her way to her favorite alley, the one with the unwonted chill; the one that caused the faint of heart to barrel away on legs faster than those of a cheetah. It was perfect for the clientele Piper attracted.

She bestowed the broken ground with dingy trinkets. She knelt in a way specifically to shield her face with carefully crafted shadows. If anyone were to lay eyes on her distinctive white markings her whole infamy would vaporize from the world far faster than she built it.

Her first customer came walking down only a few moments after setting up. Already Piper tingled with anticipation in hoodwinking the next client.

The person was a girl, her hair a flame in the opaque darkness. Her shoulders were pushed back in the air of purpose. Brilliance sparked from too large eyes.

A challenge.

Piper smirked, the best satisfaction was rewarded when she hoodwinked someone so vainglorious. Those type, with their head held high and thoughts warped around themselves, the ones that thought they’d never be fooled or tricked. Never dreamed something so low would become of them.

Those people had yet to meet Piper McLean.

The customer approached,the patter of her leather shoes echoing in the void space.

She stopped inches away from Piper, who was hiding under her cloak and in the billows of her skirt. The redhead studied the unorthodox merchant, eyeing her with the ferocity of a predator on its prey.

“Hello, Piper McLean.” The redhead grew a sinister, smug smile, knowing she had won an unfought battle.

Piper sat, frozen in terror.

❈

Rachel was silenced by shock, allowing the smoke to fill her lungs, wanting to destroy her insides as her home had been. Flames licked at the hem of her dress, but she could not feel their heat. Her body was too pathetic to even muster a cough.

Gone was any trepidation that once might have coated her head and set off a bout of lifesaving adrenaline.

Her whole being was devoid of any and all emotions.

She was paralyzed at the sight before her.

The castle she had grown up in was in ruins. The stones were crumbled around the courtyard, fire roared within, merciless to anyone inside. Her family had been in there.

Her family…

Her mother and father were dead.  

Her cousins were dead.

Here aunts and uncles were dead.

Everyone she ever grew to love- dead.

Her whole life evanesced into the air as though it never existed.

She waited to feel a beast inside her, to let out a primitive howl in mourning. But it didn’t come. She stood there just staring. Staring at the dilapidating ruins of her life that could never be built again.

It was a miracle her life had not been taken too. A phenomenon that she had been spared, that she had decided to take a walk through the still standing garden at the hour the castle was demolished.

Rachel would have to thank fate later.

Time passed and night turned to dawn, Rachel remaining motionless. The bottom of her dress was in ashes around her, her skin was melted and burnt on her legs. Still she registered none of this.

She had heard of Queen Hera’s cruelty before, but never imagined that she’d face it firsthand. Never had she thought her own kingdom of Inger would be conquered or marred. It had always been a utopia in her mind.

Inger had never been overtly powerful and was not one to mindlessly conquer lands in the pursuit of some bestial lust for mastery, but it had been lavishly wealthy. Rachel herself never much cared for the riches and halls of gowns that accompanied her rooms, but she did love the stashes of paints her mother would bring her in apology for forcing a mannerism class upon the child. She loved the way she could fling out gold coins into streets of the homeless and helpless and feel as though she were making a difference.

She had loved her kingdom.

The kingdom that was now gone, lost to the wind and forever held in her memory.

She was not asinine enough to think that her attackers left the streets of Inger’s cities unharmed. If the castle was gone, Inger was gone.

Finally, her heart sang in pain- not for herself, but for all of the families butchered by the evil creature posing as a fair human. Tears rolled down her cheek, cleansing them of the soot that had piled upon her freckles.

Not even time could heal the remnants of Hera’s actions.

The earth would always cry out in lamentation for the inhumane death of its children.

The wind rustled through Rachel’s red curls. She felt a tendril wisp by her ear, tickling the skin there. It was the first physical feeling she felt since the castle was bombarded and her life vanished.

Her legs were in agony, her second and third degree burns crawling up to her knees. She’d need a doctor soon if she wanted to withstand infection or any other further complications.

For the second time that day a wave of shock washed through the girl. A hand had been laid on her shoulder.

A woman stood next to her, a fierce determination in molten gold eyes, contrasting her dark skin. Her brown hair swooshed breathtakingly in the morning breeze, the rising sunlight illuminating her skin. It glittered as though she were a creature of mythical being.

The woman wore an odd ensemble of patterned skirts and golden bangles. Rachel swore she could be a witch, with the intelligence and reclusiveness in her eyes and the whimsical ambiance surrounding her.

The woman spoke in a deep, husky voice, “Come with me child if you wish to live.”

Without anywhere or anyone to find solace with, Rachel followed the woman, walking towards a new life just as harrowing as the one she left.

❈

Piper, Rachel decided, was an enigma. The girl wore a cloak to disguise herself, to keep her true identity as a Melana native a deep, deep secret. And yet, she wore a florid ballgown of the deepest chestnuts and richest blacks that was sure to draw any eye to it. It was as though she wanted the attention, but knew she could not have it.

The girl still wore a look of horror and surprise on her face, evidently she was not accustomed to outsiders knowing of who she truly was.

Rachel quirked an eyebrow in challenge, enticing Piper to say something.

Piper cleared her mind of all the shock that had overcome it, surveying the woman in front of her. She took note of her dress, her posture, her everything. This was just another game of hunter and prey, a game Piper always won.

“Identify yourself right now, maid.” Piper snarled to Rachel.

Rachel did not immediately reply, but instead cocked her head, again analysing the dishonest merchant.

It was a battle of wits, who could figure out who first. Each girl was prodding the next, rooting out each other's strengths and weaknesses. Trying to find where to stab the knife for a fatal blow.

Rachel found just the weak spot, it was almost too obvious not to notice.

She cleared her throat with a dainty hand, creating a ladylike facade.

“I’m afraid that is not necessary. Your audience is requested with the royals of Olympia as soon as possible. If you deem yourself too worthy to bestow your presence within the palace, your identity will be posted for all the kingdom to see. I’m not sure how well that’ll settle within the stomachs of your clients. I know I wouldn’t want business with a whore.” Rachel gave a smarmy smile.

Piper growled, an animalistic sound with almost no trace of humanity within its vibrations. No one was allowed to show her disrespect, especially on her own turf.

“Firecracker, I see. Perhaps the red hair was gifted to the wrong person.” Rachel mused.

Piper sent a viper’s glare her way, before speaking.

“You do not deserve my words, my breath, my time, my anything. Yet, I will give it to you for now. Only to have a civilized discussion, to clarify. If I choose to go to the palace, what is in it for me? I will not be used or sought out for nothing. And how do I not know this is a scam? That I will not be thrown into the gallows the minute I lay a toe within the palace walls.” Piper challenged.

Rachel resisted rolling her eyes.

“Well for the latter, you are the queen of this wretched place filled with all sorts of tricks of the trade. I’ll let yourself answer the question. Now, as to a profit, I think you’ll find yourself benefitting greatly.” Rachel flicked a golden coin towards Piper, who caught it with ease.

She studied it, stifling a gasp.

It was a royal crest coin, alone worth more than triple the fortune she had accumulated over the years.

Rachel leaned in close, her breath mingling with Piper’s.

“A whole bag full of these for your audience and service.” Her tone not even hiding the fact she already reigned victorious.

Piper clutched the coin.

“Do not think you have won.” She said as she stood and followed the redhead.  

❈

The air shifted into a deep chill as dusk fell onto the rolling, green hills now tinged with the slightest of burnt oranges. Rachel’s eyelids felt droopy, threatening to stay closed for hours upon hours with each blink.

Her muscles ached from the horse beneath her. Her and the woman had been riding nearly nonstop the past three days. Rachel wished desperately that her unknown destination would appear soon, if only to grant the young girl the sleep she yearned for.

The woman, Marie, sat tall and strong on her beautiful steed as though the relentless travel had not hindered her mentality or exhausted her to oblivion as it had done to Rachel. In fact, in the fading light Marie appeared almost regal.

A quiet blanket draped over the pair as they rode, Rachel always slightly behind. The silence became a burden in itself as minutes slowly passed, each longer and longer. Rachel had always had an affinity for speaking and telling story after story; a creative streak sparked inside her being and did not like to be caged within the quietness.

At the beginning Rachel had been subdued by the recent trauma and with it her voice had fled, lost in a world of decay, but as the time wore on she pined to feel the familiar vibrations in her throat. Unfortunately for the young girl, Marie had showed no initial inclination to Rachel’s talking and had even bristled at the girl’s voice. She wasn’t even shrill, the girl thought bitterly.

And Marie certainly would not bless Rachel with any information on where they were going or why. Marie was a secretive woman and Rachel was a nosy girl. The pair clashed, even within the plains of nothingness.

Rachel was starting to resent her offbeat savior.

As dusk was pushed away and night came into view, Rachel decided she had enough of the silence and tested her luck with a question.

“Miss Marie,” Rachel began, her voice dry and hoarse from disuse. “If it is not troublesome, may I please ask again where we are going? I do not mean to be bothersome, but would be very pleased if you gave me the knowledge.”

“You will see soon, child. I would keep practicing that laconicness if I were you, fore we are nearing our destination.” There was warning in her voice, alerting Rachel she was just a little too close to a line that was best not crossed.

Rachel shut her lips in a pout, but did not go against Marie’s words.

Another hour ticked by and the duo reached a hill. Marie’s posture seemed to straighten more and more as they elevated. It had to be nearing midnight, Rachel thought, they must be resting soon.

It wasn’t until they crested a hill did the pair finally stop. Marie stretched her long arm, her bracelets with strange pendants jangled with the movement. She pointed her finger out across the horizon to a city. Within the city a mighty palace stood tall and proud, twinkling beneath the moonlight.

Rachel instantly recognized the place from descriptions in her studies, it was the famed capital of Olympia, Athenisia.

“That,” Marie said gesturing to the grand palace, “Is your destination.”

Rachel’s stomach curled, she felt all the blood leak from her body. Her tongue dried into a desert.

“The- the queen butchered my family. I can’t go there.” Rachel voiced her concerns in a mere whimper.

Her face became wan as she gulped down air, trying to steady her anxious nerves with the sacred oxygen.

Marie snarled, something animalistic overtaking the woman in a fit of rage.

“You will go there and you will thank me for aiding you. You will work as a maid in the castle and you will be thankful for my service.” Marie hissed with such a viciousness that she nearly lunged from her horse to get in Rachel’s face.

Fear coated Rachel’s inside and the girl meekly nodded. She would not risk her safety over arguing with Marie, the woman was clearly unstable if she could snap so easily and without much warning.

Empathy pooled in the redhead’s heart for Marie’s daughter who had so kindly cleaned her up. Rachel prayed to the gods the girl would be kept safe from the woman that claimed to be her rescuer.

Marie launched herself from her mare and immediately began to set up her sleeping arrangements, wordlessly Rachel followed.

Perhaps the castle would have to serve as a haven for now, Rachel thought as she laid down on her blanket and awaited sleep to take her.

❈

Hera had always loved the throne room from the instant her foot touched the castle grounds of Athenisia. Her palace in Skilana had been much more demure compared to the grand expanse of the one she now called home. The dark corners of the room, the ominous drapings of light, the perturbing set of her own throne were all things she fell deeply and endlessly in love with. It was the only kind of affection that she allowed to grasp and tug at her heartstrings. She thrived off of the constant looming threat that radiated in the throne room; the fear it invoked was always such a pleasure. It made such good use in watching its occupants squirm.

She sat in that same throne that caused such anguish, feeling the chill of its gold through the layers of fabric that encapsulated her body. Her purple plumage did little to protect her body from the iciness that drew from the metal. Despite the slight discomfort it brought, Hera still reveled in the bitterness. It aroused her body, zapping it awake through the coldness that mirrored her own.

Shimmering light spotlighted her in a hazy halo just above her waterfalling locks. She was an angel of death incarnate, but the aureole did not bestow benevolence upon the cruel queen, it merely fed her image as a being with the dominion of a god.

A sense of tranquility washed over her as she sat, sending shivers up her arms- her skin began to dot with goosebumps. Her mind was always liberated in the presence of the throne room. It was as though a gust of wind blew through her head, sweeping up any confusion or distractions and left only the utmost clarity. In those moments she was open to the entire universe, awaiting a surge of information to rush in and fill an achingly empty gap that still lay within her.

Having such power as hers took great mentality. It had its costs and Hera was no fool to that. Her selfish gains could not revoke the fundamental principles that lied within creation. It would garner people upset, it would hurt, and it would murder, but Hera had done away with any guilt and worry a long, long time ago. All that remained was her eagerness and ambition. She would take whatever means to succeed in her goals and if that meant suffering or dislike against her, then so be it. She had established enough power to know that no one stood a chance in defeating her- and that did not just mean military force.

Hera would never be so featherheaded to rest all her power in only one space- to rule was all about strategy and that would be a horrible, self demising one.

However, there was one small, tiny, miniscule thing, or rather person, that could ever possess a thread of threat against the queen. It was a certain girl with curls of blonde hair (that frankly resembled noodles in Hera's personal opinion) and a mind that was much too curious and clever for her own good. Princess Annabeth.

Hera did not doubt that the princess had conspiracies against her. She did not doubt for even a moment that the girl was aware her parents' deaths were not mere whims of fate. Hera did not doubt that the girl knew of the core of Hera's powers. Most of all, Hera certainly did not doubt that Annabeth wished to end the life of her step-mother.

It'd inevitably prove harrowing if the princess was to ever construct an actual plan against the queen and Hera knew it would never take physical form. It'd be such a nasty thing to deal with, tangles and tangles and tangles of whatever ballyhoo Annabeth concocted in which Hera's spies would have to sort through. Even so, Annabeth did not possess the ability to raise an army against her even if it was a raging desire and she most definitely didn't have the magical ability to take the queen.

Still, Hera did not like that even a speck of threat remained in her kingdom. She knew it was best to cross your t's and dot your i's, especially when one was of such high standing and consequence. So, Hera formed her own plan. She knew just how to cleanly remove the dreadful princess from her heavenly empire and who she would hire to do so. Of course, she could always commit the murder herself, after all she did possess magic, but she did not have time for such trivial matters. Besides, Hera already used her magic as a constant in near everything- her military, her looks, that she did not have the energy to spare to make a killing through it. She was awfully weary from the draining usage.

Fortunately, she knew just how to squash the embers of rebellion that flickered behind those grey eyes every time the princess was in the queen's presence. She couldn't let those embers sweep into a full blown fire. Hera had an awful hatred to messes, and that would surely be one- still manageable, but still a mess.

After all, Hera wasn't merely cutting off the head of the hydra, no, she was stopping more from growing.  

❈

Athena knew she would soon perish. She had always been praised for her wit ever since she had begun her studies as a tot and rivaled anyone of great intellect. While she may not have been the most loved queen to grace the lands of Olympia, she was certainly the quickest. Her role was to benefit the kingdom and she did just that with her intellect. The same intellect that assured her that her premature death was inevitable.

Though she would not grant her assassin the satisfaction of committing the deed; if Athena were to die it would be by her own hand and no one else's.

Perhaps the worst part of her death was that it would not be caused by a total stranger, but the heir to a throne that had close ties with Olympia. Athena understood now with a moment of clarity that should have come long ago why those ties were so close, especially as of late. She had always had her suspicions... but nothing like this. She had thought the kingdom simply wanted to leech off of Olympia's wealth; it was her own fault that she'd reach such an early demise.

Athena had known Princess Hera since they were young. Athena was four years her senior and had never taken a liking to the beast in silken dresses. When Athena's father had taken her on diplomacy missions to the kingdom of Skilana she was always charged with the task to entertain the young girl. Her father had promised her she would not want to stay in the dull and dreadfully dry meetings that only talked politics and would instead love to play with the young girl and heir to the Skilana throne. Athena would remark that they were just using her as a babysitter.

The girl always had something festering inside of her, even as a young child. There was something rotten and not quite right. The girl appeared without mercy or remorse, only in the rarest of moments would she hint at a glimmer of guilt when doing something immoral.

Athena should have never let that wrongness manifest into an adult, she should've stopped it when she had a chance. And now it was too late.

Hera possessed an ability that Athena could not match- magic. If Athena too were a magic wielder, than she would not have to bid life a farewell, but alas she was not so instead she had to greet death.

Ever since their last meeting with the Skilanian royals a month ago Athena knew Hera planned to kill her. She had ventured into the princess' room, not aimlessly, trying to seek information on how to best handle Skilana. She had excused herself to the gardens, a maze of hedges that would take anyone hours to find her, during a lull in their dinner claiming she needed fresh air. The royals had always appeared under a guise of loyalty, but pure instinct told Athena there were far more malicious intentions underlying that unwavering trust, motivating her to investigate into the matter. It wasn't often the Queen of Olympia acted on instinct instead of logic, so truly this case was one to marvel at.

Inside the chambers Athena had found absolutely nothing. There were no indicators that Hera or her father and mother had ulterior motives for their alliance with Olympia. There was purely nothing in existence to contribute to her instinct that something was dutifully off. The fact should have relaxed the queen; it should have put her into a state of tranquility knowing she did not have such a close enemy. Still, an unease had settled in the pit of Athena's stomach and she would not let it brew there for long. She knew just how clever people could be when they had strong ambitions.

She was leaving the room when she stumbled into Princess Hera, awaiting Athena just outside the door. The princess stood with an ethereal grace, her posture was appraisive, her face was wrought with a too amiable smile.

“Your highness, have you found what you need? I'm afraid I've been mistaken, but I thought you were off to the gardens for some fresh air? If you are lost I can have one of my servants assist you there. It will be no trouble at all,” Hera had said with a sweet inclination of her head. Her hands were folded passively in front of her.

Athena would not allow Hera to dumbfound her despite the flimsy facade. She merely mimicked the princess' position.

“No, you are entirely right, Princess. I was going out for a stroll when I passed by your room. My deepest condolences for intruding on your privacy. I saw your bookshelf as the door was ajar and only wished to glean what titles you had.” It was complete and utter bullshit and both of them knew it.

Princess Hera waved her hand dismissively, clearing the air.

“It's truly no worry. I have quite the curiosity myself, so understand where you are coming from. I take no offence.”

Athena smiled gratefully, though relief did not flood her; this was all a game, all an act of playing the violin. They both needed the right notes to stay in tune.

Hera opened her mouth to say something, closed it, then opened it again, “You have quite a reputation for your brilliance.” She said matter of fact.

Athena, unsure of what Hera's move was said, “Yes?”

“I am sure you have heard of Hereweald Everett then. He was quite the mastermind and author during his century.” Hera's voice bounced with interest, the rise and fall making it seem more genuine than it had before.

Athena nodded, analyzing the situation. It was such an odd and unexpected thing to say, with apparently little relevance to the matter that was previously discussed. Her mind whirred with the possibilities of Hera’s ulterior motives.

“He once remarked something that struck a chord within me. It'll be a line I will forever remember. He had once said, well, written, 'All peace is preparation for war; the one who believes it to be prevention is the one who parishes in battle.' Quite striking isn't it?” Hera's face was marked with a serpent's grin, as she flicked a bit of fire out of the palm of her hand. The glowing ball burned bright near her dress, illuminating the area around. As quick as she conjured it, Hera extinguished the flame. Her magic was a powerful thing.

It was in that moment that Athena's fears were validated. Hera was proud, as was Athena herself, but Hera was akin to a peacock. She wanted to flaunt and gloat. She wanted to show that she had the upperhand and in that case she did.

“Shall we get back to dinner then? Or do you still need that fresh air?” Hera had chirped, as if the past minutes vanished into oblivion.

Athena shuddered as she remembered that fateful day. She had had no doubt then that Hera had plans to kill her and with magic coursing through her blood there was little Athena could do to prevent it. Magic was a tricky thing to people who were not users- it was a raw power whose concept could not be fully grasped unless that person was a wielder. An unfair advantage, yes, but that was life. Athena and her kingdom had rose above it until Hera appeared. Finally, her intellect would have to bow to something.

Now, she looked upon her daughter, who was fast asleep in bed. Her blonde tendrils were strewn everywhere in a hurricane of a mess. Athena did not want to leave her Annabeth. She had not been the proper mother to her in a sense and now she did not have the time to make it up.

She strode over to her heir, who was folded into herself, snuggled in a pile of blankets. She gently shook the child's shoulder. Annabeth was not a heavy sleeper so awoke almost instantly.

“Mother?” Annabeth said confused, exhaustion burdening her voice.

“Come child, let's get you out of bed.” Athena said tenderly, carrying Annabeth to the carpet in the middle of her room.

Annabeth stood, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Athena's heart sank as she thought of how this would be the last time she saw her daughter. After she left that room she would be taking what was left of her life. She would die in her home at her own hand. Yes, she'd play into Hera's plan, only because she had no choice, but she would at least make her own rules. She only hoped she could prepare Annabeth to finalize Athena's own plan, to end the reign of terror Hera would soon instill.

Athena sighed slightly and looked to her daughter.

“Annabeth, you must listen to me.”

❈

Hera sat in her throne feeling absolutely divine as the young huntress knelt before her on the marble floors. The girl’s dark braid swept forward with the downward movement in a courtliness that the queen was sure the girl did not recognize she had.

Zoe Nightshade was a famed huntress, trained by Artemis herself. Artemis, the Queen of the Hunt, was what commonfolk called the skilled and near legendary woman. In reality, she was just a rogue princess, desperate to shine from her sister Athena’s shadow.

Artemis had abandoned her title and wealth in favor of a wild life questing after mythical beasts. She had a legion of archers behind her too, all young girls trained in the art. It had always baffled Hera a little bit as to why the ex-princess never enlisted men into her crew of warriors, but the queen did not ponder it much. Hera didn’t delve into people that were not a threat to her.

That was until now.

Hera rose her chin, a subtle action to show her imperium among all else.

“Rise.” She told Zoe with full intensity. The queen always established dominance in every way possible and as fast as possible. She didn’t leave even an inch for error.

Zoe rose, her posture as proper as that of royalty. Hera filed that information away for later.

The girl appeared unphased by the daunting quality of the room. A bored air washed over her as she stood in her rippling cloak that bounced light off of it as though it were made in another world.

“You summoned me, your majesty.” Zoe stated blandly, daring to look into Hera’s eyes, the same eyes that had watched countless execution and numerous torture. She held her gaze.

Oh, she would be perfect.

Hera suppressed a nasty smirk.

“Do not speak to me without my consent.” Hera rattled, icing her expression.

Zoe broke her stare, but the defiance held. She was not one to bow to anyone.

“I have a task for you,” Hera stated with underlying malignancy. She rolled her shoulders back, making her appear even more queenly if that was possible.

“As you know under my rule Olympia has flourished. We have expanded our borders, our military has grown immensely powerful, and there is more gold in the royal vaults than ever in history.” Hera let a real smile slip through her cruel mask, glowing with pride at her accomplishments.  “I would like to keep it this way, but unfortunately I fear my step daughter, Annabeth may tarnish this,” Hera continued.

“She has a certain, ah, rebellious streak in her and with my deepest sorrows we don’t always see eye-to-eye. Now this would normally not be so troubling, but one ink splotch and the dress is unwearable, if you understand what I mean.” Hera plastered a phony smile on her deceivingly delicate face; she batted her lush lashes to keep up the innocent facade.

Zoe rose a bushy eyebrow in response, clearly not buying into the queen’s theatrics.

“I’m hiring you to kill her. I will be sending her on a diplomacy trip through the mountains, see to it she does not return. You will receive a generous payment. If you breathe any word of this agreement you will die in agony.” Hera said bluntly, daring Zoe to disagree with a serpentine stare.

Zoe waited moments to reply, relishing in the control over the silence.

“It’s a good thing I have gotten new arrows.” Zoe said in a way of agreement, slightly pleased with the brutal honesty Hera had laid before her.

“Then you are dismissed.” Hera told the girl pleasantly, relaxing into her cushioned throne.

Zoe turned to exit, but abruptly stopped the motion and said, “Oh, your majesty, next time cut it with the bullshit. It’s sickening.”

She strutted toward the massive doors before receiving one last order from the queen, payment for the huntress’ jab.

“Oh, Zoe. I also request her heart presented to me at the end of this ordeal I hope that won’t be of too much trouble for you, darling.” Another pearly smirk flashed her way with evil leaking in every direction.

Zoe didn’t waste a heartbeat to leave the throne room.

Hera allowed a small laugh to escape from her blood red lips, a devilishly wondrous noise. How foolish of Annabeth to believe she did not see through her paper thin veil the day Frederick had died. Hera knew from the beginning Annabeth wouldn’t waste anytime in assassinating her.

But the girl was just a minor pest in the scheme of things. A girl could not belittle a queen in such a fashion, no amount of fate or luck would allow such an uproarious event. In fact it took just the briefest of meetings to be enough to undo the woefully ignorant and naive child.

Hera was perfectly and effortlessly safe, as she’d always be.

❈

      “We’re going to have a future together. We’ll be married and living in a mansion with crystal chandeliers in every hall.” Zoë smiled brightly up to Hercules, a youthful whimsy taking hold of her voice.

      The fifteen year old could picture it all, the perfect life with the man she loved. She imagined her flowing gowns trailing down the marble stairs, her shoes echoing within that vast expanse of her fantastical home. She imagined Hercules, dapper in a lord’s uniform, showing the worth he was truly deserving of. She imagined her life as a wife, her life as mother to his children. She hoped they’d have his beautiful features, the ones that were so effortlessly flawless. The ones she drew in with her final breath before devoting herself to him in a lover’s kiss, ever so tender and ever so hungry.

It would all be perfect.

Hercules gave a smile to her- a small serene one, lacking all of the bravado he wore in the presence of his soldiers and fellow nobility. A smile saved for secret moments only with her, Zoe Nightshade.

He wrapped his muscled arms around her waist, drawing her into the same allure she first fell in love with. He was so close, and yet Zoe wanted him closer. She wished desperately for one of his kisses that made her heart sing in love, made her head woozy from the delight of it all. She wanted his kiss that made her feel loved.

“Yes, we’ll have it. We’ll have everything you can dream of and more. All we need for that life is one of your father’s golden apples.” Hercules’ breath was hot on her lips, teasing her.

“Tomorrow. Tomorrow I will have it for you, and we can start our world together. I will not fail, I promise you.”

Hercules barely let the girl finish her oath to him before swooping her into a kiss of all her fantasies; she drank in the taste of possibility, burning bright and far for all to see.

❈

The secret passageway inside of the castle to Princess Annabeth’s chambers was not one for the feint of heart, Piper decided. Dead rats littered the area in various states of decay, spiders sat in their mass of webs waiting to catch their prey, and there was dust upon dust upon dust. It was dreadfully dark except for the small flicker of flame from Rachel’s guiding candle. A flame big enough to lead the way, but small enough to not ignite the debris practically suffocating the pair.

The princess was clearly not empty of cleverness as royalty so often was; quarantined in their illusion of a perfect, spoiled world often left such people desolate of the wit one obtained from hardship.

The maid, who had yet to properly introduce herself, was not dull either. Carefully, she covered their tracks through the thick layers of dust, a result of years worth of disuse. Or that was what it was supposed to convey. It was apparent Rachel was familiar in the task as she did it with a swiftness only an expert could carry.

Rachel turned around towards Piper, stopping dead in her tracks. Her face was haunting in the illumination from the candle, shadows smearing across the plane of freckles. A wall laid behind her- the end of their route.

“I will speak before you when we enter Princess Annabeth’s chambers. You will not speak of this encounter ever. No matter the amount of torture you go through if you are dumb enough to be revealed and captured, no matter how much money you are given- You. Will. Not. Speak. Of. This.” Rachel snarled, near feral in the prospect of being discovered.

Piper, of course, knew that what Rachel had offered was clandestine, something secret from the queen. And Piper had accepted. She was a greater fool than one could imagine and she scolded herself with every step she took.

Piper merely stared into Rachel’s green eyes, darkened in the black environment.

Rachel took it as acceptance and pushed on the wall, shedding blinding light onto the girls. Piper squinted her swirling eyes in response, stumbling a little into a room larger than most houses near her favorite selling spots.

Rachel tugged the merchant forwards as if unaffected by such a blaring light. Piper stumbled on her feet, lurching forwards. Her hands caught her body before making impact on the marble ground, pain shot up her bones. She barely had enough time to school a wince.

Rachel made no move to aid the fallen girl. Instead she strode over to another figure in the room- Princess Annabeth.

Piper’s mouth fell agape at the sight of Her Highness. She was much shorter than Piper expected, but despite the lack of bulk and height and presumed delicacy, the princess’ presence was domineering. Her posture was impeccable, demanding respect. Her beauty was indefinable, demanding admiration. Queen was a far more fitting title.

Piper heard the actual queen surpassed the princess in all these areas, but she could not imagine so. Only something preternatural could ever amount to that much.

Piper’s train of thought was broken as Rachel strode towards the princess and broke the silence piling in the room.

“This is the merchant I have heard so much about. She has agreed to listen to our bargain, and I believe she will comply with our requests.” Rachel said bluntly, never taking time to elaborate or fill her speech with useless, floral words.

Annabeth nodded towards her, turned to Piper, and bowed as though Piper was of a noble bloodline.

“Piper McLean, it is an honor to meet you. I am sorry it must be done with such furtiveness, but I can assure you it is only for the sake of our well being.” The princess did not sound fully sincere.

“I was told you were to offer me something. What may it be?” Piper rasped.

Annabeth nodded demurely, as if in compliance to Piper and not her own chess game.

“You are a native of Melana, an island my father once visited. I am aware of the grievances your home has suffered, the injustice in what the queen has made you partake in. I trust that as a result, you loathe her.” Annabeth paused, waiting for Piper to confirm her.

Silence followed.

“What I am offering you is a chance to take back your land and extract the revenge you deserve. What I am offering you is a chance to kill the queen.” A spark of something unreadable, flashed in Annabeth’s eyes.

The last sentence riveted through Piper, stroking a hatred buried deep within her bones, so achingly potent that it wanted to scream and rejoice at that sentence. The shock of the situation was immense. Piper had not assumed something so drastic and dangerous would be offered to her. At most she expected to be requested as a spy, but this…

This was an opportunity Piper would risk her sanity for.

“Continue on,” Piper finally spoke.

A champion’s grin painted Annabeth’s face.

❈

Hazel marveled at the wondrous sights bestowed before her, row after row after row of buildings flooded the streets in blazing colors. Floral shops spilled over in vibrant flowers of all kinds from all states far and wide; a piece of an exotic paradise among the artificial city.

She saw women walking together in bustling day dresses, heavy overcoats blooming their frames outwards, giggling as they continued on to their midday tea. The clomp of horse hooves danced its way to her ears as a carriage strolled past, carrying occupants unknown.

Everything was so new and exciting, so dazzling and sparkling for the girl’s five-year-old mind.

Athenisia was an overwhelming picture of what the land could truly hold. It seemed that not a single soul could be unhappy with their lives in the monumental city; certainly not with the scent of freshly baked bread wafting through her nose and the pristine presentation for all to see.

Hazel had never experienced something so delightful having grown up poor in a small village. Her mother proclaimed prophecy, but the residents of their home were wary to magic possessors and shunned the pair, leaving Hazel in isolation from all the good in the world.

Hazel had been trained from an even younger age to conceal her gifts. Her mother taught her control, how to use them and when to use them. Hazel would have been a harbinger of disaster had she not had her mother’s lessons; so much power often overwhelmed such a small thing, spiraling out of control.

The impromptu visit to the capital rejoiced Hazel’s spirits, reinforced the fantasies that grew and grew in her mind- of a day she’d be loved by all in a sterling city such as the one right below her feet. Athenisia gave her hope that her loneliness would vanish along with the nasty glares she couldn’t comprehend given to her by her fellow townspeople.

She imagined herself as a sophisticated princess, strolling a palace in a liquid gold gown and a skyscraping tiara on her head. The girl smiled, brighter than any star in all of the universe.

In the midst of her day dreaming, Hazel felt a sharp tug on her hand- the hand that was holding her mother’s.

Marie Levesque turned to her daughter and said, “Listen, Hazel. I am off to do very important business. You are to stay here. Do not move from this spot. This city is far larger than our village, do not stray or I may not find you when I return. See what is around us.” Marie pointed to a flower shop behind the pair, then a bookstore to the right, and finally a dress shop to the left.

“You are not to go beyond any of these places. Do you understand?” Marie’s voice was steel, all business. She stared into her young daughter’s eyes, thankful for the small mercy that she had inherited her own, and not her father’s.

Hazel gave a small nod, her mind already wandering to the scenery before her. Marie delivered a silent prayer her daughter would not wander like her mind, that would be a whole other fiasco if that were to happen. She released the girl’s hand and made way to her destination without any goodbyes.

Hazel stared at her mother’s back as she abandoned her for however long, Hazel did not know. She continued to watch her mother’s voluminous cloak sway in each step. The constellations embroidered on it were stark against the dark material, filling Hazel with even more whimsy than the architecture around her.

Once Marie was out of sight Hazel barely even bothered to think where her mother was headed as she reviewed her restrictions and waltzed into the stores within them.

Hazel followed her nose to the chocolate maker’s, eyeing a decadent truffle on display, naively wishing the confectioner would offer her a free one. She really, really hoped the confectioner did.

❈

The only word Piper could use to describe how she felt after Princess Annabeth revealed her plan was shocked. Shocked at the audacity of it. Shocked at the simplicity of it. Shocked at Piper’s role in it.

The princess stared at her, her eyes beating down on the thief like the hungriest of hawks.

“Would you like me to repeat myself? Or will you not understand that too?” Annabeth said, something snide and childish in her voice. It was so juxtaposed to the cunning, but always sinisterly polite princess, that once again Piper was taken aback.

Yes, Annabeth appeared a bit haughty, but she didn’t stray outside of the lines of composed. Piper evaluated the small scenario that could really mean much more.

Finally, Piper had seen the masks worn upon masks worn upon masks in just those simple sentences. The Annabeth of this story wasn’t the original. The girl that stood before her wasn’t the girl that was truly created. In some ways she was that girl- the one who made the childish comments, but distorted and twisted and bent. The masks seemed to slip on so easily for the princess. Piper wondered if the princess even knew what lay underneath anymore.

Lies so often morphed into truth.

As if knowing her masks had went astray, if only for a second, Annabeth quickly crafted herself back into the fauxly diplomatic princess.

“What I meant was, would you like me to put it more concisely for you so there are no margins for misunderstanding?” Annabeth said once more, with a silkier tone in her voice. It was still a dig at her, but with lessened mockery.

Piper, nodded, if only to allow the information to sink further into her skin. If only for her to relieve herself of the worry that she had turned insane and fallen down, down, down into an alternate reality.

“It’s really quite simple. Everyday Hera makes the same foolish mistake of eating an apple as her breakfast; it’s a constant among the royal court that is so often filled with changes. So, we’re going to replace it with a poisoned one.

“Now, as you’d imagine Hera does not tread about her life lightly so all food is tasted before she is able to eat it, in order to ensure her safety. But, what they can’t taste or drop dead at is magic. Specifically, magic that reacts only to one person. Rachel and I are proud to say we know a person who can perform such talents on the apple of our desires. It is your job to go under guise as a maid in the castle. I will hire you within this week and in the next two or three weeks you will switch her usual apple with our enchanted one while performing your duties. You are a thief so I expect this task of swindling will not be challenging.” Annabeth finished with a small intake of breath, awaiting Piper’s response once again at the plan.

Piper felt a wave of dizziness wash over her. Hearing the plan a second time only reinforced the idea she was hallucinating everything that had happened in the past hour or so. She tried to ground herself with facts that were truer than true. She was Piper McLean. She was born in Melana. Her father was Tristan McLean. Her mother was Aphrodite McLean. She stole for a living and created an empire of false jewels.

“And my payment again?” Piper felt winded, she felt as though she had just sprinted miles and miles and miles.

“An astronomical wealth in royal crest coins. Security. Luxury. You name it.” Annabeth said, the trace of a challenge on the tip of her tongue.

Off to the side of the room Rachel jangled the bag of coins that had brought Piper here in the first place.

“And if I don’t accept?” Piper swallowed a lump in her throat as she asked the question, knowing with every fiber of her being what would happen if she refused.

“The loss of all of your achievements. You will fall into oblivion without any hope of returning. Any trying times you may have faced would have been for nothing. You would become nothing. Along with your race. You’d ruin the last shred of hope there was for something somewhat pure among the Melanians.” Piper hated how flat Annabeth’s voice was, how lazy her words were said. It was as though Annabeth was not playing with the lines of another’s life, but instead merely discussing the tales of a book or some fleeting gossip from the streets.

Piper wished her blood did not boil so much at the inconsideration.

Piper breathed, “I do not care of those people. They shunned me from my home and don't deserve my legacy in any sense.”

Annabeth tilted her head innocently, “How many times a day do you tell yourself that lie?,” she said.

Instead of pulling at her indignation and whipping out a lash of harsh words, Piper schooled herself and weighed her options. Praying to the gods above for a moment of clarity- just enough time to decide the path her life would turn, she took in a deep breath.

It was a suicide mission to kill the queen.

It was a massacre to refuse the task.

Piper bore her gaze into Annabeth’s wishing the princess would flinch, but was not granted even that satisfaction.

“Fine, I'll take the offer, but I am rearranging the terms. You’ll pay me the gold. You’ll offer me protection. And then, you’ll aid Melana. You will send resources to the island. You will correct the horrors that happened there. You will root out the corruption that plagues my home. I don’t care how long this takes or how much it drains the kingdom. You will do it. Or you will have to find another person to perform your job. If it comes to that, I wish you luck in finding someone like me. Someone with compassion and baggage to use for your advantage. Someone that is not succumbed by greed. Someone who will not betray you.” Piper found her own fierceness. She found her fuel to combat the princess.

Annabeth stood still for a moment. Piper’s words bounced in her skull; she analyzed them as she did everything else in her life.

“This can be met.” Her voice was the steel of a sword.

Piper shuddered a breath, believing the ordeal done. She wanted to retreat back to her flimsy home, lie in her lumpy bed, and sleep until the earth fell into a fiery apocalypse.

Annabeth had other ideas.

From her bosom she pulled out a rolled and crumpled piece of parchment. She smoothed the parchment on her nightstand beside the lavish bed. On it words were scrawled in a fine, loopy manuscript. There were two lines on the bottom of the sheet. One held Annabeth’s own shaky signature. The other was blank.

“Sign this and we will be done. It solidifies any verbal contract we have just made on the account that we had a witness present.” Annabeth inclined her chin towards the maid, verifying the deal is within it's correct restrictions.

Within seconds Rachel had made her way to Piper’s side with a quill and ink pot in her pale, freckled hands.

Piper reached for the pair, trying to steady the tremor rising in her nerves.

They could easily betray her. Rachel could put a knife in her back and change the story she witnessed. Princess Annabeth would probably feel no guilt or shame at it. She'd be just like Hera in that way; only Annabeth’s mercilessness came for the greater good supposedly.

     She didn't want to put her trust in them. She didn't want the duo to have such control on the sacred thing, but… it was the only way to help Melana.

Her signature was rigid and methodic on the parchment.

When she lifted the quill from the final letter, leaving a streak of black along with it, Piper couldn’t shake the feeling that she had just sold her soul to the devil.

❈

“Hazel, you must follow these instructions precisely. I need you to listen carefully to me or else you will face dire consequences. Dabbling in the act of witchcraft is not done for forgiveness. We have had these gifts bestowed upon us, but not without risks. There will always remain a system of checks and balances within this cruel universe, so I warn you child- do not make mistakes within this potion.”

Hazel nodded in response, resisting to let a tremor run its course through her small body.

Marie sighed, knowing she needed to use another tactic in order to convey the significance of the magic about to be performed to the young girl. Gently, she kneeled on the dirt ground; the thin purple fabric of her skirt smudged with brown. In a rare moment of warmth, Marie rested her hand on Hazel’s shoulder and looked her daughter in the eye. For a wisp of a moment, Hazel believed she saw sincerity.

“Hazel,” Marie began softer, her voice filled with tepid honey. “You know the beauty in witchcraft? It grants meaning and power to words. So often people without our gifts take advantage of language, but not us. We honor it and grant each of our words the significance they need to perform their duties. So much more power is granted this way to names, too. Hazel, I named you for luck and wishes. Let this magic bring you this. Let your words bring you this. Your wishes will command your powers, but you must do it precisely or you may not get what you want.”

Hazel breathed in just for that moment. Her strained gaze still beheld her mother’s that did shine with genuine pride.

Again, Hazel nodded, but this time Marie did not continue her speech.

❈

Annabeth hardly waited a moment for Piper’s signature to dry when she snatched away the contract and once again stashed it into the bodice of her elegant dress.

“Expect to be beckoned here within the week. Rachel will escort you out.” Annabeth’s eyes quickly flitted towards the redhead, Rachel nodding in an understanding that Piper could not comprehend.

Just as Rachel began to take Piper’s elbow, a loud, thudding knock came from the princess’ door. Bursting in without awaiting an answer was Percy, his guard uniform slightly disheveled and his face flushed with red. His breath seemed to be coming in short spurts as his chest heaved over and over.

Piper was not oblivious to the way Annabeth’s back straightened and her eyes sparked with the iridescence of a burning star.

“Percy,” Annabeth brought her attention towards the guard. Her throat bobbed in and out- her original excitement dissipated into something far more pained and restrained.

“Queen Hera requests your presence immediately, milady.” Percy said through short gasps of breaths.

A flash of fear crossed Annabeth’s metallic eyes. Percy had ran to her. The situation was urgent and she knew it. A sickening weight settled into her gut, sitting there as a premonition to an unknown doom to come.

Annabeth didn’t waste time to compose the anxiety trilling in her ear.

“Well, we have a change of plans. Rachel bring Piper to the servants quarters instantly. She is now a scullery maid. Have her train under Anna.” Her voice was steelier than that of the sword hanging from the side of Percy’s hip. She turned herself away from the pair and towards him- her Percy.

“Off we go then. No time to waste with the Queen.” Her words were clipped and strained as she sauntered past Percy towards her doorway. The parchment crinkling against her skin seemed to weigh more than the mounds of gold and treasure residing in the palace vaults just below her feet. Annabeth did not let her mind dwell on that too much.

Within the second Percy was at her heel.

The pair walked down the long corridors towards the throne room, the sounds of their shoes the only noise echoing around them.

The door approached far quicker than either desired.

They soon stood outside the wooden monstrosity, unsaid words teetering on their tongues, ready to tip and spill over in a mess too big to clean.

Percy’s gaze flitted away from Annabeth’s.

“I’m not sure what she wants.” He confessed in an ashamed whisper.

“You wouldn’t have gone to the throne room and back in such a frenzy if it wasn’t jeopardizing.” Annabeth said, trying to keep her voice flat.

The notion that the queen sat only feet away was entirely oppressive, making any conversation all the more furtive.

Percy let out another shaky breath. Occasions like these were rare- when Annabeth was called with urgency by the queen. The last time this occurred was years ago and resulted in Hera nearly disowning Annabeth and revoking her rights as heir.

The gap between the pair filled with a leaden silence.

Finally, Percy broke through the fragile thing.

“Annabeth, you know I will cut the queen’s head off before she even has a chance to lay a hand on you. I will protect you. Even if that means sacrificing myself so Hera cannot use me against you.” Percy said with deadly calm, his voice as steady as an anchor in the ever thrashing sea. His eyes held strong, a warrior’s determination riveting form them.

The power of that voice awoke something inside of Annabeth, something that had been caged for far too long again. A surge of helpless emotion washed over the princess, enough to make her want to fall to the ground and weep. Weep for her mother who had been ruthlessly executed only for power. Weep for her father who fell ill from malice. Weep for herself who endured trial after trial among the court she had to call home. Weep for Percy, the guard with the most unwavering loyalty, so strong it was nearly a fault.

Most of all she wanted to weep for the universe. For the unfairness of everything, for the dark and evil. For the people that tried their hardest to no avail.

She held her head back, trying to retract the few tears that managed to escape in an act of rebellion.

“Percy,” Her voice was watery. “Please do not say such things. You will not die for me. You must not. And… and if you were ever to kill the queen. You know what would lie in front of you. I would become the next queen and I would have to execute you. Everyone knows I am weaker than Hera and if the people find me inept because I spared the life of the queen’s assassin… the whole country risks rebellion. Our world risks destruction. Please, Percy, do not make me do such things.” Her throat felt choked by an invisible hand, clogging her airways of anything life saving.

It was a rare moment for Annabeth to admit fear, to admit weakness. She played her role with pride, always having a plan for action, always showing that she could do anything she set her mind to. Always portraying herself without fault. She used wit and banter, only leaking the most minor of true emotion. But this conversation… it showed something more vulnerable, something that wasn’t cloaked by irrevocable flaws.

“Annabeth,” Percy leaned into the princess, her name a prayer on his lips. “I will go to the ends of the universe to make sure you sit on that throne and show the benevolence the people need. I will go to whatever means to protect you. But I will not go against your wishes. I would never want you in a position like that. I could never hurt you like that.” Percy’s own voice grew misty.

Percy wiped away the trailing tears on Annabeth’s rosy cheeks, preparing her for her audience with Queen Hera. She shuddered under his touch, still craving more.

“I love you,” was all Annabeth said, hardly audible, before striding into the foreboding room, a poker face now displayed.

The chill of the change in demeanor lingered in the hall even after the echoing of the doors ceased.

In the emptiness that followed, Percy wished he had had the time to say those words back.

❈

“What do you think Frederick will say when he finds his wife dangling from the ceiling with less dignity than a recently hunted rabbit?” A shrill voice washed over the thick, sodden air.

A long, sharp chill swept through the room. The moon’s vibrancy dimmed as the words rattled off the bearer’s tongue. A new darkness crept in, suffocating its victims without the savior of light. Trills of rain splattered on the window, the first signs of a storm to come. The droplets were too clear for the murky world around.

“You are not welcome here.” A hoarse voice replied. The words were strained as though it was taking the person all their strength to muster them together.

“I choose where I am welcomed, darling.”

Athena turned around to face Hera. Athena’s normally pristine, porcelain face was colored in with splotches of red. Her eyes were swollen and scarlet from salty tears still carving their path down the queen’s face. Yet, her gaze still stood stronger than any sword that could be foraged in the lands of Olympia. Her defiance still riveted throughout her body, even as the coarse ropes of a noose hung in her hand. She did not look weak in that moment. She looked like a martyr with the blaze of bravery haloing her body.

“No. You are not welcomed here.” Athena’s voice was not raised, she did not shout the words as so many would do to exert their power. Instead they were soft. Soft with a greater force than the typhoons that so often ravaged the seaside cities.

Hera merely rolled her eyes as if the situation at hand was nothing more than a silly tribulation. She gazed at her nails, distractedly, not even devoting her full attention to the shaken queen.

“Really, Athena. I thought you would have lasted longer than this. The subjects of the land so often rave about their queen. They talk of your strength and kindness- the way you can strategize the conquering of a land, but manage to leave the opposing soldiers unscaffed, if not a little rattled. A queen of war and mercy.

“But oh how wrong they truly are. For you are not a queen of mercy. You do not bow down to life’s limitations. You are not a queen of war. You are afraid of the fight. Where they see benevolence, I see weakness and cowardice. Look at you. Already surrendering to death before sacrificing to life.” Hera practically spat out the last words with a despicable cackle. Her odd anger at Athena ceding to her plans was only as crazed as the orator.

Athena set her jaw firmly in place, tightening her facial muscles. She did not entertain the blind hatred that seeped into her bones, nor did she let it go to waste.

“I know this fight would be a losing battle. I have no sorcerers nor do I possess the ability to control such magic. I am not special to the forces of Mother Nature. To die now is to die at my hand. To die now is to die with the dignity that I wish to be remembered in. To die now is to preserve the resources of a future war. I will not fight a losing battle for it would be only a fool’s wish. To die now is to let you lose your very first battle

“And do not say that I have not sacrificed to life. I am giving my kingdom a chance to thrive and live. I am giving my daughter a chance to rule even when I know you will find some way to turn this land into Hell. I am giving her the time to learn you and defeat you. I will die for my kingdom in this way. I will fall so it may rise.”

Hera slowly clapped her hands in mockery. A look of pure disgust graced her face in a slightly scrunched nose and disheartening eyes.

“How very noble of you. Unfortunately, your pretty speech doesn’t save you or your kingdom, no matter how much you wish it.”

“Your pride has blinded you, Hera. We both know that is our shared downfall, but whereas I have learned to nourish this flaw and keep it at bay, you let it become you. You are so absorbed in believing that there’s not a chance someone can win against you that you can’t even entertain the threat set before your eyes. I will pity you in my death.”

Hera’s eyes set ablaze in unchained rage; the sheer disrespect Athena held for her infuriated every inch of Hera’s being. The mightiness in Athena’s tone sent fiery pin pricks down Hera’s spine, making her itch to establish dominance. Her mind could not comprehend that Athena held no fear for her, no respect, and only pity despite the power coursing through Hera’s body that Athena was barren of. She would not stand for this. Hera was a force to be given attention to; she had built up her image and her magic for greater than a sniveling queen droning on about morals and character with the hopeless optimism of a child.

It only took a blink of an eye for Hera to ignite her internal flames, to bring them into reality. It took only a moment to burn the atmosphere surrounding the pair, and even less time to spring the burning ball onto the queen of Olympia. Though, it was much more than a wink for Athena to actually parish.

Athena clutched at her chest, startled by the smell of burning flesh and the impact of Hera’s magic. Desperate shock painted her face, the last look to ever do so.

Hera glided over to her foe, feeling giddy at the loss of such an unfavorable person. She clutched Athena’s smoking collar between her polished manicure, light enough to not chip away the paint, but strong enough that the queen could struggle little. She drew her face in close, grazing their noses over each other.

“You never deserved the death you wanted. Such vermin may only receive a death that reflects their vileness and corruption to this earth.” Hera snarled in Athena’s ear, concealing the slight lilt in her voice brought upon the demise in front of her.

Athena simply leaned in even closer, using all her strength to do so. She felt no fear under Hera’s growling figure; only those lacking in true power needed to hide under such foreboding masks. Instead she took the jab in stride, not allowing herself to fall with distasteful feelings clogging her mind. Finally, Athena brought her mouth to the other’s ear to utter out one last line of combat.

“Then I can’t wait to see what fate doles out for you.” Athena coughed out before succumbing to her injuries, releasing her spirit from Hera’s wretched grasp.

❈

Annabeth’s back was moist as beads of cold, clammy sweat crawled their way down her skin, leaving shivers in their wake. Her breath was shallower than before, as if preparing her body for a snap of oxygen loss- gradually weaning itself away from the necessity. Annabeth never quivered under the power of the queen. She always carried that childish willfulness within her heart that set her on a course of bravery to be outspoken. That lividity had now been whisked away into the wind.

She stood just before the queen, not even within her throne. She was no greater than the insignificant lords and barons that so often marked the very spot her feet laid. Finally, in that moment she truly understood just how foreboding the position was. She was inferior. Nothing more and nothing less. It was so painstakingly obvious as the gold of Hera’s throne glistened around her in heavenly light. The irony only brought a twist of morbid humor to the princess’ gut.

An immediate call by the queen was always a portentous thing.

Annabeth now just had to figure out precisely what the queen wanted.

In an act of feigned politeness, Annabeth curtsied. She drooped low to the floor, feeling the cool tang of the stone washing on her bare skin underneath the folds of fabric.

Her eyes never once left Hera’s. She would not surrender the bare of her neck to the execrable creature.

As she dipped lower and lower, asserting her own power in the overembellished and satirical nicety, the dark walls started to creep in on her. The longer she gazed at Hera, the closer they got. Two more seconds and they’d be upon her, leaving her to a long and painful death of asphyxiation.

Annabeth stood without request from the queen. Perhaps too bold, but Annabeth had to declare her power in any way she could and if that was a shortened, sarcastic curtsey, then so be it.

Hera’s dress of white and gold shimmered in shakiness as Annabeth grounded her feet firmer to the floor. A viper in bridal clothing. Hera made even the most basic foundations of purity into something vile and sinful.

“You have requested my presence, my queen.” Annabeth broke through the miles of meticulous stillness building between them. She pushed impatience into her vocals, trying to sound as though her heart was not thumping in her ears. She whispered a mantra to herself that her blood wasn’t pounding through her body and sparking with electricity.

The smile Hera wore was so tight, her lips nearly disappeared into the milky white of the perfectly smooth skin surrounding it.

“Yes, I have. How very observant of you.” Her words were much more refined, without the eloquence that so often accompanied her hellacious attitude.

Despite the excessively prominent fear coursing through her body, Annabeth still barely managed to suppress a snarl. Being belittled was not an act she took lightly, especially if it patronized Annabeth as a dumb, airy princess. She was so much more than that. Her court never even possessed the need for a vizier, if that was any indication of the brilliance passed down through her royal bloodline.

Her mother had always seen that great capacity in her and took every stride necessary to unlock all of it. Hera let her hubris puppet her. Athena had at least reigned her’s in, only letting it run wild in the rarest and weakest of moments.

Hera glanced idly at her manicure, her seamless face a slate of boredom and indifference. She drew in a long, theatrical sigh that nearly echoed within the cavernous space, as though each second in the throne room was one wasted to the worst kind of fate.

Hera began, “It seems as though troubles are arising in the northern region of Chancia. Normally, as you know, I would send one of my trained diplomats to mollify the situation, but it seems as though Lady Nike simply won’t comply. I thought maybe a visit from someone of higher ranking will do the trick. It’ll be a few weeks journey and I expect you to leave by tomorrow. Your travelling companions will fill you in on the details during your trek there. I unfortunately do not have the time to explain such matters in the lengthy detail needed to comprehend the situation.” Hera finished, clasping her hands together in her lap. Some of her prose and poetry had returned to her tongue.

Her brown stare bore into Annabeth, waiting for resistence.

Annabeth nodded her head. There was nothing soft in her iron scrutiny.

“I’ll set my maid to packing, then. I wish for the greatest welfare on both parties.” And just like that she was being escorted out of the perdition.

Annabeth’s mind was whirring, a non stop flutter of thoughts scurrying through her brain as she strode back to her room. Annabeth heard of no such disturbances within Chancia, and the gossip network of the commoners had never failed her before. If the maids did not have the scuttlebutt on Chancia, then there was simply no action to even speak of in the region. It was plainly a trap and Hera hadn’t even enough humility to hide the fact. It was almost as though she wished Annabeth to recognize this and crash under an overwhelming force of powerlessness.

Even if it wasn’t a trap, the entire situation would still be incredibly bizarre. Chancia had no real value and a ruler that was too wrapped up in her own victories in sporting contests than actually ruling the land. And the land itself- it lied just outside the Yeden Forest, away from the river that made the forest flourish with vibrant green lushness. Instead, Chancia was hardly more than a barren wasteland with sparse oases that served humanity.

Annabeth could not imagine the underlying threat Hera had put in the situation even though how crystal clear it was that this was most likely a death sentence for the princess. A diplomatic mission to a desert. Perhaps, Hera just wished to see Annabeth die of dehydration. Maybe she told her escorts to steer Annabeth off course and leave her to die, lost in the woods or drowned in the sand.

Or perhaps, maybe she didn’t mean to have Annabeth ever set foot in Chancia. If this truly was a spider’s web for Annabeth to fly into and Chancia was not in uprising or disarray, then it’d be awfully awkward for the princess and her royal party to show up and start conversing for a peace settlement. It would be far too peculiar on Chancia for Hera to allow. So that only meant…

Hera aimed to kill Annabeth during the journey.

Of course, it all made sense. Annabeth felt the pieces of the puzzle click together and saw the picture as it truly was. The Yeden Forest was a remote place, even for travel. There was hardly ever a soul within it as it could be rather hostile in the wrong conditions, so it was perfectly feasible for Annabeth to parish on a trip within it. No one would bat an eye or exclaim foul play, not even if they had the courage to do so.

Hera could easily chalk her death up to a wild beast or a slip and fall down one of the many hidden cliffsides. It was so utterly simple. Hera had given Annabeth the bait and she took it.

Now, only the question as to the how.

Annabeth suspected Hera would not enlist one of the escorts into assassinating her. That would cause too many liabilities, too many holes for destruction. The murder of her own stepdaughter could be enough to push the people of Olympia over the edge and rile against Hera, whether or not they had the chance of winning, and Hera did not currently need a martyr.

So it had to be an outsider. Someone aloof to society that put little risk in exposure of Hera’s plans.

And once again that day something inside Annabeth clicked with the audibility of a lion’s roar.

Annabeth’s eyes widened comically as she came to the rushed realization of the course of her soon to be death.

Of course. It was the Yeden Forest after all.

She was nearly at her room when this all dawned on her. She quickly turned on her heel and began to briskly walk toward a spiraling staircase, readying for the ominous voyage. Her body shook with the need to run, run, run. Her adrenaline was screaming in near pain for a drastic increase of speed. She needed to move.

But instead her mind kept her composure. She could not afford to make a scene in that instance. Not with the place she was set to go. Not when there were such high risks in what she was about to do. More risks than ever before. Truly, she had to thank the maids’ gossip, or the lack of, for the ability to draw her conclusions on Hera’s plan.

When Annabeth began to descend down the stairs and her shoes began to plop! plop! plop! with each step, it was then that she realized Percy had once again been stationed at her door. And once again he wore a face of etched anxioussness. His freckles had been hunched over each other in groups of fascinating constellations.

But it was too late to go back and offer her hand of comfort. Too late to show what love she could for the guard. Too late to really talk about her final statement. She was set on a strict path to the castles vaults and could not falter. She needed the myriad of wealth it offered. The  gold it offered.

And the gods knew how much she needed that gold.

[wariskind-rpg]

Charity Burbage

Age/Year: 21; Hufflepuff, 1976 Affiliation: Civilian Blood Status: Half-blood Occupation: St. Mungo’s Welcome Witch FC: Lily James

TRAITS

+ excitable; humble; optimistic – delusional; emotional; obsessive

BIOGRAPHY

At the age of five, Charity Burbage decided to climb the largest crab apple tree in her garden. The adventure unsurprisingly ended with a large thud and two broken arms. Despite the setback, she remained optimistic that one day, when she grew much taller, she would reach the top. Although seldom does Charity climb trees anymore (except perhaps once or twice during the warm summer months), her optimistic nature has not faltered. She sees the world as an opportunity for endless possibilities, and Charity breathes in every new day with a bright smile and sunny disposition. Despite the burgeoning terrors suffocating the Wizarding world, Charity’s kind heart perpetually seeks positivity. While some believe it’s silly and immature to view the world through rose-colored glasses, she remains steadfast that the war’s harshness will not destroy her belief that humanity is good.

Nevertheless, Charity isn’t unfamiliar to the devastation of this war. In late 1965, an attack from the Knights of Walpurgis claimed her muggleborn father’s life. The incident left Charity and her mother beside themselves. Laura Fawcett-Burbage felt ill-equipped to raise a child on her own, much less a rambunctious youngster such as Charity. As a rather sensible and pragmatic woman herself, her daughter’s idealistic curiosity and optimism resembled her late husband, Richard, far more. Laura felt it her to duty to honor Richard’s memory, and thus she never shielded Charity from her father’s Muggle heritage. As she aged, Charity grew curious about the seemingly endless and intoxicating Muggle world. Everything seemed so, well, different. Different, but exciting. Things such as bicycles and automobiles, telephones, postmen instead of owls, and spatulas. Each new tidbit of information Charity discovered launched her deeper into uncovering everything there was to know about Muggles and their lives.

Eventually, Charity’s curiosity transitioned into an education, and she excelled in all Muggle Studies courses she took while at Hogwarts. She carried her passion through graduation, and currently tosses around the idea of teaching interested witches and wizards about Muggles— albeit not formally, such as professorial work, but a relaxed setting where she would rave about all the amazing aspects of Muggle culture.  While Charity’s obsession can dabble towards a little fanatical at times, her curiosity holds good intentions. Each new detail she learns about Muggles means something else she knows about her father—the man so important in her life, who she hardly knew. In turn, it also means another piece of Charity’s heritage she finally uncovers.  

While Charity aspires to have a career in Muggle Studies, her options are few and far between for a witch of her age and experience. Not to mention the severe safety concern of this field, considering You-Know-Who and his terrible followers. For now, Charity currently works at St. Mungo’s. As the Welcome Witch, Charity attempts to provide happiness and optimism to even the most sullen of patients. She decorates her desk with fresh flowers, candy-filled jars, and plaques with cheesy, motivational quotes (her favorite being, “Broken crayons still color!”). If Charity can bring smiles to patients’ faces, and provide easy-to-understand directions, she considers it a job well done. While it’s not her ultimate dream, she finds herself content with the work.

PLOT POINTS

I. A few weeks ago, Charity ran into an old friend from her days at Hogwarts. After exchanging pleasantries and catching up, she informed Charity that the travel agency she worked for, Globus Mundi, has a unique immersion experience in the works where witches and wizards could live for six months to a year as a Muggle. No magic, no Wizarding world, and all things Muggle. Current events considered, Globus Mundi can’t properly advertise the immersion, but Charity’s friend provided all the details. Despite feeling overwhelmed, Charity’s interest remains high. However, she knows she ought to be sensible about this all. It’s a big ordeal. Could the opportunity be too good to be true? Before she gives the friend an answer, Charity wants to have a proper conversation with her dear friend Algernon flint. After all, if anyone could give her authentic advice about living in the Muggle world while being from the Wizarding world, it’s a Squib.

II. Charity maintains a close friendship with the Gideon and Fabian Prewett, as they grew up within minutes of one another. She considers both to be her closest confidants, and she trusts the pair undoubtedly—a fact tested last year when the brothers knocked on her door in the dead of night. Disheveled attire and wan faces plagued the pair, along with Gideon’s shoulder visibly disjointed. Charity quickly ushered the Prewetts into her flat, and immediately tended to the wound. She insisted Gideon visit a proper healer, or at least wait until her flatmate, Miriam Strout, arrived home from a night shift at St. Mungo’s, but the pair refused. They asked her to never tell anyone of the incident. Despite worrying for their safety (and her aching curiosity), Charity didn’t pry for details. She continues to honor their wishes, and vows to never utter a word. This makes Charity feel guilty, as if she’s lying about a situation she hardly knows anything about. While she hates to admit it, she worries that the secrecy has damaged their bond. She can count on hand how many times she’s spent time with Gideon and Fabian in the past year. While she adores the Prewetts and doesn’t believe their relationship has been damaged beyond repair, bearing such a cross has affected her life in more ways than she realizes.

OTHER CONNECTIONS

Amelia Bones & Hestia Jones: With Amelia’s boldness, Hestia’s charm, and Charity’s sprightly energy, the three couldn’t be more different. Naturally, it’s their dissimilarities that forged an unexpected yet solid bond. The trio shared a dorm for seven years, and they filled their time at Hogwarts together with memories of night-long chit-chats, tequila, giggles, mending broken hearts (wizards can be such pricks!), and braiding hair, to name some. Charity admires Amelia’s tenacity and fearlessness, and adores Hestia’s empathy and kindness. She knows both witches look out for her, and Charity remains grateful for the constant, protective presences in her life. 

Miriam Strout: Not soon after St. Mungo’s hired Charity, she met Miriam. She vaguely remembered from their days at Hogwarts, as they’re close in age and both Hufflepuffs. The pair hit it off immediately, and it was clear to Charity that she had found a lifelong friend—nay, sister—in Miriam. After a year of dealing with particularly difficult flatmates (albeit Charity truly wishes them well), she quickly jumped on Miriam’s offer to live together. They found an adorable, small, and incredibly comfy cottage in Ilkley (perfect for hosting parties, too). After a year together at the cottage, the pair decided to move into Hestia Jones's town home in Dorset. Charity couldn't be more elated to have two of her closest friends near. Now that the girls have moved in with Hestia in Puddlemere, not much has changed, except that they now have all the more places to go on new adventures. Chatter, groovy music, Muggle trinkets, and yummy food are still always found in their home.

FATE

Charity SURVIVES the FIRST WIZARDING WAR.

Charity Burbage is TAKEN.

[torattlethestars]

The Weaver’s Song and it’s Implications for the Future (Part 3 of 3)

The song that the weaver of the woods sings in acomaf is an old English folk song. In this post I’m going to use my two previous post on this particular folk song (part one looked only at the version it was definitely based off of, a version of The Miller and the King’s Daughter from 1656, and part two looked at other versions of the same folk song) and I am going to speculate about what this might mean for acowar.

As I said in the last one of these posts, this song has lots of different versions, as is typical for folk music, and things don’t always remain the same across all versions, so take all this with a grain of salt.

So how can all this relate to acotar/acomaf/acowar?

I’m not entirely sure yet, but I have a few theories on this. For it to get mentioned by SJM, it needs to have some relevance to the characters and their journeys or the plot, so it’s got to tie in somehow.

This already happened. The weaver is singing about events in the past.

This will happen. The weaver (who we know very little about other than she is powerful and old) has some way of seeing into the future. Perhaps that’s what she weaves - the future. Perhaps it is another kind of magic.

Both of the above. This has happened before and will happen again. Time is stuck in some kind of loop - it’s cyclical. There are a couple of hints towards this, like how that theory that Feyre used the cauldron to make Prythian arose from the mural in the spring court of female hands pouring out the cauldron to make the world. (There are some better post examining that quote, so I’m not going to here.) And then there’s the whole “Unmade and Made; Made and Unmade- that is the cycle” quote. That could be interpreted as time being cyclical. Feyre makes the world and is then, years later, born into it to make it again. We know little about what her name means and the fact that Feyre’s name is in an old fae dialect and she has a namesake, as in a person who lived before her with her name, and those facts are often used as evidence to support this theory. And in the song here, there’s the line “sometimes she sank, and sometimes she swam” which just seems odd to me. Like this happened a few times and in some of those times, the youngest sister died and sometimes she didn’t. Which doesn’t make any sense unless this happened to lots of girls or to the same girl in several lifetimes. (I did look for historical for not only this line, but also to see if the sisters were real people. I couldn’t find any. I don’t really know if this was what the other versions with this line in were implying but I did think that maybe it was just the body sometimes floating on top of the water and sometimes beneath, but that doesn’t match up literally. So I’m not going to interpret that line in that way...)

I have to say, number three is my favourite.

Then the next problem is who the sisters are.

We could go through the sets of sisters we already have: the three Archeron sisters, Nuala and Cerridwen, Alis and her sister and Amarantha and her sister. I don’t believe we have any more sets of sisters. Nuala and Cerridwen don’t seem like likely candidates to me. I don’t have any real reasons - it just doesn’t feel right. We know Alis’ sister was killed by Amarantha when she invade the summer court, so I don’t think this could be about them. Unless of course, Alis lied to Feyre, but that also doesn’t feel right. We know Amarantha cared for her sister because she killed Jurian for what he did to her, so I don’t think it could be them either.

The other clue we have is the sister’s parents are king and queen. Going as far as literal kings and queens, we have Amarantha and the King of Hybern and the six mortal queens. We don’t know if any of these ever had any children. It may not be so literal, though. The High Lords have a status that is a lot like royalty, and again we know of no daughters from any of these, except Rhys’ sister. I don’t think that this would apply to her, given what we know about her. The last option we have is the two women that have been referred to as queens metaphorically; Mor and Nesta. Neither of these have children yet.

I’ve seen lots of theories about how Feyre’s mother (and usually also the mother of the other Archeron girls too) could be the missing mortal queen who we never met. Similarly, I’ve also seen a couple of theories about how the King of Hybern could have somehow sired Feyre (and usually not the other Archerons, making them not true sisters), but this is a lot less common and with a lot less evidence. If either of these are true, this would mean that the Archeron sisters could be the sisters in the song. 

Otherwise it could be sisters not born yet (I remember SJM saying something about babies being part of acowar, and the fact that the sisters were “playing” feels a little juvenile and childish, so this would fit young children) or someone we already know but that we don’t know has a sister or has another sister. Does Amren have a sister? Does Ianthe? We don’t know. And we don’t know enough about either of them to rule out the possibility. (There are more characters like this, too, these are just the first two that came to mind.) It could be that the weaver is singing about her own sister’s death.

The other way of finding out who the sisters might be is from the phrase repeated several times in many versions (although not in the acomaf version) about the youngest sister having “long yellow hair” or “golden hair”. The Archeron sisters are described a few times as having “brown-gold hair”, which kind of fits, but both Ianthe, Mor and the mortal queen who gave Rhys the mortal half of the Book of Breathings were all described as having “golden hair” (as well as Tamlin and a few people from the court of nightmares). I’m certainly not saying that Mor or the queen killed their sisters, but maybe their children will, and I definitely wouldn’t put it passed Ianthe.

The last line I have of interest is probably only interesting in the context of acotar. This is usually found in versions of The Bonny Bows of London, and goes “And he made a fiddle out of her breastbone//Sound would pierce the heart of stone”. (It appears that the line used to be “heart of a stone” but the extra “a” is often dropped when sung, and sometimes when written. Given this is folk tradition, that doesn’t matter so much.) (The version of The Bows of London by Martin Carthy seems to be the most common version with the line.)

And who do we know that has a literal heart of stone? Tamlin. 

If this applies (although not from the right version), Tamlin could be the miller who builds the viol, although not literally. And then his heart will be melted, and he’ll get his fae heart back or this is him metaphorically falling in love.

I definitely think that it’s worth pointing out again that in lots of versions it’s a fiddle (which is kind of similar to a viol, and the size that the viol’s going to be would make it more fiddle sized anyway) that is made from her dead body. In some it’s not a miller that builds the instrument, but a fiddler. Tamlin plays the fiddle. You see where I’m going? (Then sometimes it’s only her hair used as strings or as bow hair, so she could still be alive  after this ordeal.)

If falling in love with Feyre could be the melting of his heart, then we can metaphorically interpret the building of the viol as Tamlin trying to shape Feyre into a thing of his making. We know Tamlin wants Feyre to be a docile little doll to do nothing more than sit around and look pretty - and what is a musical instrument for unless sounding pretty? And then when Tamlin thinks Feyre is just how he wants her, Feyre tells him the truth - she sings her story (because often that’s all the musical instrument can play or what it plays during the song). And somewhere in there his stone heart melts - perhaps as a symbol of his redemption that SJM told us was coming in acowar.

(This does bring in the literal making a viol out of Feyre into question. And also the theory that Tamlin kept the wings of Rhys’ mother and sister and then what he did with them. But I don’t know what to do with either of those thoughts.)

So, if the Archeron sisters are the sisters of the song, what does it mean for them?

From what I’ve already said, it would seem like I’m condemning Feyre by Nesta’s hands, and Nesta may try to drown Feyre.

This may be metaphorical drowning, not the literal. You could probably interpret the fact that Nesta didn’t help Feyre hunt and chop wood as drowning Feyre in the work she struggle to keep up with in order to keep her family alive. Nesta didn’t literally push Feyre in but Feyre pushed herself, though you could argue that in their inaction Nesta and Elain pushed Feyre. But (not relating to the acomaf version, but to others where this happened) Feyre did beg Nesta to help her, to pull her from the metaphorical water and save her from her metaphorical drowning by helping her (with things like chopping the wood for the fire), and Nesta outright refused. 

Then you’ve got that line where Feyre tells Tamlin that he is “drowning” her. Maybe in the same kind of vein, you can blame that on Nesta too. But that one’s more indirect, and it takes a few more steps to get there. 

Also Elain was the sister who liked her mortal life, so maybe her new life will metaphorically drown her. And we can also blame Feyre for that a little too...

The other thing to remember is that all three Archerons have now been made. Feyre was made first, then Elain, then Nesta. By some counts this would make Feyre the oldest. (I don’t know if this is a folklore trope but the example that comes to mind is the ages of the six “original” Ancient Greek gods, before and after Cronus ate them. Zeus was born last, but Cronus didn’t eat him, so he is usually considered the eldest and Hestia who was born first but regurgitated last is usually considered youngest.) This would make Nesta the youngest and Feyre the eldest. Either way, it doesn’t look like Elain will have much to do with this. However both Nesta and Elain could be described as having drowned in the cauldron, which could be blamed, albeit indirectly, on Feyre who is now their older sister.

I don’t think that any of the Archeron sisters will actually try to kill one another. This could all be a plan two of them come up with - a rouse of sorts to fool someone. The two of them together could be scheming, trying to draw attention elsewhere or to distract someone. (Don’t you think that Tamlin would just love to play hero and save Feyre from her evil sister, corrupted by the night court?)

Remember that line from the original where the youngest sister asked for her sister to save her? The one omitted from the version in acomaf? This could have been removed because the sister who gets “drowned” is in on the scheme and knows what’s going on. She doesn’t need to beg for her life because, at least as far as she is aware, she’s going to be fine, or she has agreed to put herself in danger to make this work. She perhaps doesn’t want to beg for help because she knows her sister might actually save her and this plan is the best chance they’ve got at this war.

And either the death and instrument is all part of the plan, or the plan goes horribly wrong, or it’s all metaphorical. Anything could happen yet.

If you have any thoughts on any of this, I would love to hear them!