#i hope i made octavian justice
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Chapter 6: Best Friends
“We saw a pair of beautiful ladies in need of company and thought we should introduce ourselves.”
I turned to see that the suitors had moved to join us.
The Duke Leon Delmar had been speaking. He waited until we had both turned, and then continued, “As long as you’d like the company. You know, that is. We wouldn’t dream of disturbing you. Are we disturbing you? I hope not.”
Fiona gave Leon a flat smile, “Well that undercut all the confidence you presented. How did you do that?”
Leon smiled an off-balance smile, “It’s a gift.”
“So, ladies,” Vincent said, “Are we welcome, or should we move on?”
“You are, of course, most welcome to join us,” Lynn said, “I am Lady Carolynn Octavian. This is my cousin, Lady Karen Octavian. But please. Call us Lynn and Ren.”
Vincent dropped into a practiced bow, “I am Count Vincent Metternich. You may, of course, call me Vincent. This is your own Duke Leon Delmar- but you both know him. And the lovely lady beside me is Countess Fiona Myrddhin. “
Leon dropped into a crisp military bow. Fiona sighed and then curtsied.
“Call me Leon.”
“Call me Fiona.”
Aftershave and perfume mingled. Vanilla and musk, hyacinth and rose water. It was a heady mixture. And it overwhelmed my nasal passages for a moment. I almost put a hand on Vincent’s shoulder to steady myself.
“I noticed that you left me out.” Wulfric said.
“Oh, yes I did. My apologies to your royal highness. That was inexcusable of me. This is his royal highness Prince Wulfric Hardradasson. And this is his personal guard: Sir Ragnar Ulfson.”
“Thank you, Vincent. You got there, eventually.”
I got a better look at Ragnar and his tattoos this time. He was a short man, five foot five inches. But even shifting his weight, he radiated danger. Small or not, thin or not, this man could fight. And then I examined his skull tattoos. They were wolf heads, depicted in a stylized Celtic design. Although I assumed they wouldn’t call the design Celtic in nature. Hyperborean?
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Lynn said, clapping her hands together and beaming. “I would love to hear about you all. I know a little bit, but not enough.”
Wulfric nodded, “I am Prince Wulfric Hardradasson of House Ragnarson. I stand first in line for the throne of Hyperborea. And no woman can resist my charms.”
Fiona coughed and spoke, “We are neighbors of course. Our cities have grown so much that there is no space between them. And we have met at social gatherings many times. So, I am at a loss as to what you may not know. I am sure there are many things, but I apologize, as I am unable to think of anything at the moment. Oh, and I can resist any man’s charms.”
Wulfric stiffened, “I am a master swordsman. I have killed five opponents in duels and many more upon the battlefield.”
Leon smiled, “I’m proud to say that I’ve never been in a duel. And when the Verity hunts pirates and smugglers upon the high seas, I try to take my opponents alive. I find that trial in front of a judge is preferable to frontier justice. Slavers don’t get that courtesy. But everyone else does.”
Wulfric shook his head, “To think your duke is so weak minded. A ruler must be a warrior. And a warrior must be willing to cut down those who stand in the way of his goal.”
Vincent tapped his cheekbone with his index finger before speaking. “We’ve swung onto a dark subject. I’m sure the lady Lynn would prefer something lighter. You must know my family for its reputation as diplomats. People also know my family and House Metternich as a whole for our wineries. This is the advantage of living in Southern Karshvar. Here it is late autumn. In Agartha it is still the growing season.”
Wulfric grinned and crossed his arms, “We Hyperboreans are a strong people. We live in a land of cold and darkness. The cold forges us. The darkness makes us men. We stand above other nations for this reason.
I tried to avoid looking at Wulfric. I noticed and made eye contact with my aunt Theresa. Theresa looked like an older version of Lynn. She raised her eyebrows and then beckoned me over with her index finger. Intrigued, I sauntered over to my aunt. She wore a sunburst orange fascinator pinned into her hair. This matched her orange gown. The gown had pagoda sleeves and a dramatic bustle that extended behind her. She wore simple gold jewelry with no gems or cameos, and I couldn’t see her shoes at all. Her outfit looked more old fashioned. It almost looked historically accurate, compared to what us younger ladies wore.
“Aunt Theresa? You wanted something?”
“I wanted to chat, dear. You’re looking well. In fact, I’d say you look better than I’ve seen you look in years. You’re radiant this morning. And I know for a fact that you are not a morning person.”
“Thank you, Auntie,” I paused, “You’re looking beautiful as well.”
“Nice of you to lie to me dear. But I know how good all you young ones look. I can’t compare.”
She paused, “And doesn’t the countess look daring? You appreciate fashion dear.”
I nodded, “Yes, the dress looks amazing. I couldn’t get away with that color. I don’t look good in blues.”
“Can you keep a secret dear?” Theresa asked.
I thought about the rival in the game. She gossiped and spread terrible rumors about the heroine. Could the rival keep a secret? Would she keep a secret? No. I could keep a secret, but would Theresa believe that I would keep a secret? I doubted it very much.
“This is me. So, I’d say that’s a tall order. But you know that auntie. So why ask?”
“Let’s say that I have a good feeling this time. I see something new in you dear. Or rather, I see something that I haven’t seen in a very long time.”
“Um, thank you.” My mind raced. What did she mean? Did she know what I was?
“What do you think of his royal highness?” Theresa asked.
“Honestly?” I said. “I think he’s a nastier piece of work than I am.”
Theresa cackled, “Hah!” Then she paused, “He’s worse than that. We’ve all heard the stories about the prince. But I’ve heard more. I’ve heard that even the blood of the royal family is poisonous. I don’t want that man marrying my daughter. You’ve not been close recently. But as children, you were close. I am asking you to reach back, Ren. Remember that closeness, that loyalty. Please, protect her.”
This wasn’t part of the game. Theresa was right, the heroine and the rival hadn’t been close for years. So why was she asking me? What did she think she saw? Either way, it was an easy answer. I was going to protect Lynn. Even before she asked.
“Yes, auntie. I will. You have my word, for as much as it’s worth.”
“I’ll take it. As I said, I see something.”
I wandered back towards Lynn. As I did, I heard Wulfric speaking.
“Well, I’m afraid these other fools have wasted their time. They came here for nothing,” Wulfric said. “I have chosen you as my bride. So, all that remains is the formalities. Go ahead, tell these three that you are already my bride.”
I remembered this part from the game. I hated Wulfric as soon as he said this. And I hated him more when Lynn explained his response. No matter how the player answers, Wulfric gets mad and rescinds his proposal. If you say yes, he mocks you as desperate to join a royal house. If you say no, he becomes offended that a lower born noble would dare refuse him. So, the question was how Lynn would choose to get rejected. Saying yes would drop his respect for her but raise his interest. Saying no would drop his interest but raise his respect. Lynn preferred to say no. She had told me that gaining a suitor’s interest was much easier than gaining a suitor’s respect. And you needed both to bag a suitor.
“I must apologize to your royal highness. I could not accept such a proposal without any warning.”
Wulfric stepped back as though struck. I knew what was coming, but experiencing it was a lot different than watching on a monitor. I felt my anger rising as Wulfric’s face contorted. You moron, I wanted to say. You did this. But I said nothing.
“You bitch, how dare you! I am the crown prince. You are gutter nobility. You should be on your knees thanking me for my generosity!”
I ground my teeth, but said nothing.
“You wasted my time in having me come here. I do not like having my time wasted. And you, it turns out, are a waste of my time.”
I kept my mouth shut, and so did Lynn. But as I looked at Lynn, I saw a tear escape and roll down her cheek.
Wulfric was still ranting, insulting Lynn, but I couldn’t hear him anymore over the blood rushing in my ears. I stepped between Wulfric and Lynn.
“You are the waste of time, your royal highness. A thug in a nice suit who likes to bully women.”
I slapped him across his right cheek.
For a moment, nobody moved. Then Wulfric reached for his court sword. I tensed up. He drew the sword and leveled it at my throat. I froze.
“I should kill you for that.” Wulfric growled.
“But you will not do so.” Fiona said, stepping behind him. Wulfric shifted, about to turn towards Fiona, then he stopped. I heard a heavy metallic clank. Her sash drifted to the floor and landed on a hollow golden cylinder.
“Another bitch from this grubby little island.” Wulfric said.
“Oh yes. But this bitch has teeth,” Fiona said, her voice iron, “So you are going to take a walk, and cool off. Don’t come back today either. Now walk.”
Wulfric hesitated a moment and then sheathed his court sword. He turned and began to walk away, then stopped.
“Don’t think for a moment that I will forget this. Don’t think Hyperborea will forget this. In the end, you can’t stand against me, and Ys can’t stand against Hyperborea. You will regret this error.”
And then he stalked away into the crowd.
Lynn turned and stepped forward stopping inches from my face, “What the hell were you thinking? You’ve endangered everyone on Ys with that move. We can’t stand against Hyperborea, he’s right about that. And you had to go and piss him off!”
“I was thinking that I couldn’t let him say that to you.” I answered.
“Of course, he can say that to me! He’s the crown prince of the strongest nation on the Boro Sea! He can do whatever he wants! We can’t stop him. We mustn’t stop him. We must redirect him. You acted as a barrier, and Hyperborea breaks barriers. He would only have been mad at me! And now he’s mad at you too! And he’s mad at Ys itself! I had this in hand! And now I don’t know what will happen!”
“This isn’t a game!” I said.
“Yes, it is! It’s always been a game! And you went and flipped the board!”
“Agartha does not bow to Hyperborean aggression. I would hope that Ys would take the same view,” Count Vincent said stepping forward.
Lynn clenched her hands into fists, “But this puts all Yssians in danger. Lives are at risk. They aren’t puppets or chips on the board.”
“Well said,” Duke Leon said with a smile and a nod, “Nobility has a duty to the people, not to their own pride.”
I shook my head, “I don’t care about my own pride. I care about the safety of my best friend!”
“Wulfric is scum,” Fiona added. I noticed that she was holding a small roundel dagger with a golden hilt. And I realized her sash clasp concealed the dagger. That was how she had made Wulfric back off. “The slap was brave. And I respect your loyalty.”
“Ys deserves her loyalty as well,” Lynn said, “These are real people at risk now. We don’t get to think of our own interests. We are emissaries of our people, stewards of their safety.”
“Yes,” Leon said, “That slap was a terrible idea. But. But I am glad that somebody stood up for your honor. As Duke, I couldn’t do it without declaring war. If somebody was going to do that, Lady Karen was the best choice. She has no military rank, no martial training of which I am aware. He can't presume that she is acting on behalf of the kingdom. He can't say that she is acting on behalf of my duchy or even her uncle’s barony. When she acts, she acts only for herself.”
“But Wulfric may still declare war to satisfy his injured pride!” Lynn said.
“Indeed,” Fiona said, “But then it will be an act of aggression.”
“And Agartha will not side with Hyperborea in such a situation.” Vincent said.
Lynn flinched, “But that won’t prevent thousands from dying.”
“Indeed,” Fiona nodded. “I cannot say whether the slap was wise, regardless of how satisfying I found that. And I did find it very satisfying.”
Lynn shifted her shoulders, “Please my lords and ladies, would you give me a moment alone with my cousin?”
They nodded, and I cringed. This wouldn’t be good.
“Ren, if you would please?”
I sighed and nodded. She led me away from the group and we stepped behind a pillar.
“What were you thinking?” Lynn said, “You know he rejects the heroine either way at this point. Why would you do that?”
“I didn’t plan to do anything,” I admitted. “But I got so angry actually hearing his insults directed at you in person.”
Lynn smiled, “That is sweet. But you shouldn’t have done it. As long as we stick to the script, we can save all Ys.”
“At the cost of you marrying an abusive monster. You know what he is, what he’s like. He’s a monster. A literal monster.”
“It saves Ys!” She hissed.
“It doesn’t save Ys! It buys time. Nothing more.”
“This is the path that wins the game! No discussion!” Lynn said.
“But what if the game doesn’t end now? Then this won’t end when the credits roll.” I answered, “In fact, credits won’t roll. Things will keep going. You’ll have to deal with that monster if you marry him.”
“That doesn’t matter! This is the only way to save the people of Ys. End of story!”
“No, it isn’t! This isn’t the game anymore. We aren’t limited to the choices that the designers set for us.”
“But if I don’t follow the game path, I can’t guarantee that I’ll succeed!”
“You can’t guarantee you’ll succeed now! There are too many moving parts now. Use your knowledge to find a way to save the people- and yourself! Please.”
“No. I know I can do this. Any other way is a risk I’m not willing to take. I’m not willing to let thousands of people die.”
I felt tears bubbling up, “And I’m not willing to let you sacrifice yourself like this.”
A tear ran down Lynn’s face, “Then I guess you’re in the right body, because if you’re trying to stop me, then we are rivals.”
She turned and marched away. I saw the remaining suitors watching from a distance. Leon’s eyes glistened. Vincent had a hand over his mouth. Fiona appeared unmoved.
Amy appeared beside me, “That didn’t look like it went well.”
I shook my head, unable to speak lest I break into hiccupping sobs.
“Did you need another drink?”
I looked at the drinks tray she carried and ignored the wine in favor of a snifter of brandy. Then, after a moment’s consideration, I took a second snifter from the tray.
“Thank you.” I gasped between hiccups.
Amy nodded, “Now let’s find you a couch before you faint.”
- - -
By DD Ward and Margaret Lovelace
ddwardiswriting.blogspot.com
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Oky so i completed the first season of rome finally and i have a lots of feeling right now.first of all, why the fuck the creators added an incest scene when the real Octavian never had any such inclinations towards her sister.More so, incest was a thing common in Egyptian Royal Family but in Rome it was a big taboo .so,what was the purpose of it like it didn't affect the plot much cuz even without this whole incest thing, atia would have done the same to servillia if she had known that she was banging her daughter. Atia being creepy again,forcing his son to lose his virginity.And the whole Cleopatra introduction was so overtly sexualized. It was so bizarre. The real Cleopatra was never a beauty but her sharp mind and intelligence won the heart of powerful men. i will never understand this obsession of men to see such a strong headed lady only as a sex symbol.The entire Egyptian set looks cheap like a theater drama or something.it should be have been more grandiose like the way they made rome looked so real .they should have paid more attention on this too. My other dissatisfaction was with the war scenes, why did they glossed out the entire war parts in some blurry dizzy frames? I have heard that the creators had some good amount of budget to give us a good battle scenes. I hope if only they explored more about the way roman army actually battle strategies.the gladiator arena fight was the most underwhelming of all. There was no suspense. As if the brutes were not even trying.their movements and attacks were lousy and slow.actually,most of the raiding or fighting scene in this series have the same problem.it didn't look like the sudden zest and zeal of fighting. They should have hired better fight Co-ordinators for the series.but still the arena scene was fantastic due to pullo's shouting thirteen and the teary eyed vorenus. Pullo fucking Cleopatra was so unnecessary.And one more things,am I the only one who found vorenus's horse riding funny like why the hell he trotting like that.i couldn't stop my smile of everytime I see vorenus riding horse.ciaran hinds is an amazing actor and did a great justice to the character Cesar but i wish, if only they would have casted someone more slight with more angular and pointy grim commanding face cuz the statues represent his face as such.overall i am getting addicted to this show.And i am not ready to accept that now only 10 episodes are left🥲...fuck i love this show.
yeah, honestly i don't love how women are depicted in this show, and i do think they did cleopatra kind of dirty. the whole octavia/octavian thing is also deeply weird and i'm not really sure why they included it, especially since it does not seem to have much of an effect on their dynamic at all in season 2. i do wonder a little about the lack of battle scenes, especially since a large part of season 1 takes place during the civil war between pompey and caesar. however, if you haven't seen it yet, there is one scene in season 2 that sort of qualifies as a battle scene.
the whole pullo probably impregnating cleopatra thing was also kind of a strange choice, though honestly, i think that was done more to keep pullo + vorenus involved with the main "factual" storyline (and it does actually become relevant later on in season 2...)
and yeah, ciaran hinds does not look exactly like caesar but.......his performance is excellent and i love him so 🤷♀️
#despite all of this it is an excellent show#and i would sacrifice all of game of thrones for like 3 more seasons of it#anonymous#asks
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Octavian freaking out because Percy is praetor
@doctor-rat Unfortunetly I don't think this one made Octavian justice but I hope you can enjoy it:
Octavian was breathing heavily, there was so much energy on his body and he didn't know how to get it out. He was already crying, and it wasn't helping him a bit.
Looking to his surroudings, Octavian screamed. It was a scream full of rage and hatred. As soon as he finished he started screaming again. His throat was hurting, but he didn't care, he needed to get this out of him.
A graecus becoming praetor. And like this situation wasn't bad enough, the graecus had only been on camp for less than a week and showed no respect for roman culture!! How was he chosen to be praetor?! How that stupid guy managed to convince the entire legion to be praetor?!
Thinking of the moment Percy was lifted by the shields of the legion made Octavian be recharged of that bad energy again. He felt like he was going to explode.
Octavian took his dagger and started destroying stuffed animals. He didn't only cut the belly like he would while doing his job as an augur. He completely destroyed the teddy bears, he cut their heads, arms, legs, tails, everything. However it was like his mind wasn't in control of him, only the rage and hatred comanding his attack to the stuffed animals.
When Octavian finished he wasn't feeling any better, but now seeing the mess he did he felt empty. He curled himself and his crying got worse. Now he was sobbing, his nose was running and he felt so much pain.
Why wasn't he chosen to become praetor? He tried so hard to achieve his goal so why he failed? It hurt so much. The legion prefered a stranger, a graecus as a praetor than him.
He hated Percy so much. He hated Reyna so much. He hated the legion so much. He hated himself so much.
#octavian#hoo#octavian hoo#hoo critical#sad octavian#lonely octavian#percy jackson#since i didn't need to reread the books to write this one#i didn't procastinate that much#i also feel way more motivated when people show interest in my writing#it helps me not to procastinate
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You are so funny. You sent the asks in anonymous and then you sign your name...
I just think it is so funny.
Also what would you think if Octavian made a cameo in the Solangelo book?
(It is not gonna happen because Rick doesn't care at all about him, but could you pretend that is possible?)
Lmao that’s cuz we can’t send asks from different blogs and I have a secret main 😂😂 (zoid ain’t my main omg 👀)
OMG DUDE- THE MOMENT I FOUND OUT ABOUT THE STAND-ALONE I HAD THIS WEIRD GUT FEELING!!!!!
Well I always had this lil bit of hope that maybe Tav was actually a more relevant character than he was portrayed in the Hoo series and that Rick was like saving him for something (Rick’s unpredictable🤷🏻♀️) Cuz he’s one of the main antagonists but with no depth so I tried to pretend that maybe Tav will get his justice in a future book.
If this is possible I am pretty sure that Nico and Will might meet him in Asphodel or The Fields of Punishment. Like a small cameo where they see him wandering around aimlessly in asphodel, or him going through some hard punishment and maybe having a small interaction. Or like maybe using him as bait in Tarturas so he can keep the monsters occupied while Nico and Will can find Bob in peace.
10 points to Gryffindor if Tav manages to lead all the monsters towards them and it ends up as some big boss fight. And like maybe he did that to escape an stuff? You never know🤷🏻♀️
Also there’s a 30% chance the Cameo might happen since, if we refer to the part where Nico says that the trogs can tunnel to Tarturas, so there’s probably a chance that they go straight to Tarturas and not travel through the underworld.
But I’m just trying to…Ya know….believe…like the clown I am🥲🥲
#nemideia 🏷#🖤💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤💜#solangelo stand alone#octavian pjo#pjo headcanon#hoo headcanon#will solace#nico di angelo#reply post#pjo#hoo#heroes of olympus#toa#percy jackson#percy jackson and the olympians#trials of apollo#pjo fandom#rick riordan
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I started writing a post that said “The reason the Percy Jackson and the Olympians is better than Heroes of Olympus is because it understood simplicity and character development” and then accidentally wrote like 10 paragraphs.
The reason the Percy Jackson and the Olympians is better than Heroes of Olympus is because it understood simplicity and character development.
The PJO series was so effective was because of the simplicity of it. It was a well written and interwoven story that took place over the course of many years, but it was never too complicated. Each book was a quest and each quest had a prophecy and each book built up to the final battle in the Last Olympian. You never felt lost, you were completely engaged. Plot points and characters were set up a book and a half in advance. It was an incredibly well developed world and I will never get over how excellent the payoff was in The Last Olympian. The Annabeth & Luke stuff is to this day one of the best payoffs I’ve ever witnessed in a series. The way everyone came together in the final battle, everyone that we’d met over the course of four books? Impeccable. The Hestia plot line was set up from Percy’s first moment at Camp Half-Blood.The character arcs were stunning and realistic and truly a coming of age story.
The way the series itself developed from the happy go lucky cross country road trip in the Lightning Thief to the first death of the war with Bianca we witnessed in the Titan’s Curse to the serious tone and action picking up in the Battle of the Labyrinth to the fact that 75% of the Last Olympian was just the Battle of Manhattan and it worked. It payed off. Ten years after the final book was released and to this day I say it is one of the best written series ever and I will love it for the rest of my life.
And Heroes of Olympus kind of... fell flat. For me it was just too complicated. It had so many characters and plot lines that it was hard for me to keep track of it all. Specifically House of Hades and Blood of Olympus, every time we switched to a new perspective, I struggled to remember what had happened when last we left off. Things were kind of set up a couple books in advance but there was so much going on that they’d mention a character or an object and I’d be like “Wait, what’s that again?” ESPECIALLY with all the giants and their names that I couldn’t remember. Blood of Olympus had no payoff for me. Like, where was Percy’s sacrifice that was so heavily hyped up? How did the characters grow and develop? Rick was trying to do a lot over the course of the series with all the different perspectives and introducing new characters and I kind of think he lost sight of what made the original series good. Yeah there was a big plot and war or whatever but the original series was about the characters.
PJO was getting to watch Percy go from an idiot twelve year old to leading an army to save his home. Seeing Annabeth go from a stubborn little kid trying to prove herself to the Architect of Olympus. Grover went from a total dorky mess to the Lord of the Wild. Clarisse went from a bully to a drakon slaying hero. We got to see Luke’s whole journey in all of it’s ups and downs and understand his character better. PJO was always about the characters, no matter how cool the plot and action was. It was always about getting to grow up alongside them. Now one could make the argument that Heroes of Olympus wasn’t trying to be a coming of age story, it was trying to be a cool action adventure series, which is fair. But I think the characters suffered because of it.
Percy and Annabeth didn’t really change over the course of five books, they just got more trauma. Hazel and Piper got like, good at fighting and using their powers, which was kind of badass. Jason figured out his career, I guess. I refuse to acknowledge Leo’s arc because it’s dumb that it was tied to a girl and falling for her and not realizing how loved and valued by his friends. Frank got promoted and like, I don’t know, found his courage, which was nice. I really liked Reyna but we never properly got to know her. I know absolutely nothing about Octavian. The only character who got an ACTUAL arc and is, to be honest, the MAIN reason I’m glad this series was written at all was Nico. Nico got an ARC. Nico’s story of feeling like a hated outcast to a welcomed member of the family with a home and people who love and accept him is the BEST damn thing about Heroes of Olympus and you can quote me on that.
I really enjoyed Mark of Athena (because it plays directly into my found family lives together in a personalized home doing adventures and eating meals together niche interest thank u 2012) and there were good parts sprinkled throughout the series and I do like the new characters. I did! I thought they were neat. I just felt like they weren’t given proper justice. We didn’t see anyone long enough to actually get to know them. I missed the side characters of the original series. Like, where was Grover the whole fucking time? Clarisse? Rachel? The Stoll Brothers? Why didn’t we get to see more of Thalia? Honestly I didn’t really care about the Romans as much, where were the characters I grew up with?
I’m also not going to get into the whole “so many things that happened in the original series were swept aside for the sake of interesting plot development like the minor gods being important or whatever” because like we know and I don’t have the energy to be upset about that right now lmao.
Further, Percy Jackson and the Olympians was all building up to one moment specifically: Percy giving Pandora’s Jar to Hestia and the line “Hope survives best at the hearth.” It is the thesis of the series. I’ve posted about it at length before because it is what ties all the books together. The idea that we should place our hope in our loved ones, our friends and our family, and if we do that, we won’t be tempted to give up hope again. I’m crying just thinking about it! Literally! That one simple line is what made the series so powerful and it truly felt like every single line, every single moment was just building up to that specific moment and I will literally never get over it. I am not joking when I say I want that line tattooed on me. It’s iconic and i think about it daily.
Heroes of Olympus had uhhhhhhhh..... It had..... ummmm........
I shit you not, I finished reading the book for the second time less than 24 hours ago and I couldn’t tell you. What was that series about? What was the thesis? Did it have any iconic lines?What was it all building up to? A battle? Like, cool I guess? But how did the characters grow and develop? You know what even if they did, I’m not sure I kept up with it because there was so much going on all the time! and I got lost in it! I read the series when it first came out and then completely forgot everything that happened in it! It was too much!
The spirit of the original books was never in the action and the monsters and the gods. It was in the characters, and how they grew up. How they changed and developed and became better people. How they all loved each other. It was about the promise of family and of hope. And that’s why the original series will always be exponentially better and hold a special place in my heart.
#lesbianlaynie#participating in pjo discourse at 23#pjo#percy jackson#heroes of olympus#percy jackson and the olympians#laynies pjo essays
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FFXIVWrite Prompt #19: Where the Heart is
((Stars @high-and-away ‘s Victoria, and @snowbird-down ‘s Laelia and Brutus! I hope I did them justice and didn’t horribly mangle their characters.))
Maxima Pyr Sawyer has somewhat of a reputation, through different fronts and different groups.
Amongst the original III Squad, she was seen as a loud and unpleasant asshole. Which, to be fair, was the image she worked her arse off to cultivate and grow at the time. She thought it made her seem intimidating. (She was wrong.)
For the reformed III Squad, she became the terse leader. Thrust into the position by cruel circumstance and loss, forced to lead a group half-built of strangers as they tried to withstand the most intensely coordinated Alliance campaign since the XIVth was shattered. It didn’t go well.
To the Alliance, she was a terror. There are stories, from more than one platoon, of Gyr Abania being haunted. You hear your own voice echoing words you'd thought nobody had heard, bells after you said something. You hear whispers and distant screams, telling you to get out; telling you you're already dead. More than one platoon tells of a shrill wail sounding, of linkpearls ceasing to work as a woman cuts through an encampment, not a sound leaving her lips save for rough, bestial breathing while their world is consumed by fire and smoke. Of green eyes in the levin.
To those who guard Octavian Hostis, she was an attack dog. A feral beast barely held on a leash by him, and someone they would far rather have arrested.
To the Bellworks, she...shifts. From the villain who almost killed their Chief, to the woman who is trying so hard to do better, to the girl who stares with such unrestrained affection at those she cares for and would kill and die for them... to the menace who just steals food every day or two.
Right now, she looks like absolutely none of those, because she's rubbing Brutus's cheeks and making frankly ridiculous noises at the small dog before her. "Who's a good boy? You are! Yes you are! Yes you are!"
Across the hold of the Delphinus, Laelia snorts. "How many brownies has she had so far?" she asks, leaning over towards Victoria and picking out her second moko-laced chocolate delicacy from the tray between the three of them.
"Only one," Victoria says, then pauses. "...And a half." She levers off another small bite of her own with her fingers and pops it into her mouth, eating as neatly as she can manage despite the fact that she's in the midst of partaking of edibles with a group of terrible fucking misfits.
Max pauses in her doting on Brutus to flip both of her squadmates the bird. "I'm gonna miss the fucker! Got used to havin' him around, y'know?" She pauses. "You sure we can't keep him?"
Victoria gives Max a long-suffering look. This clearly isn't the first time she's asked that. Or the second. Or the fifth. "He's Laelia's dog, Max. You can't just steal another person's dog."
"Why not? There a law against it?"
"Yes."
Laelia raises her hand to add to the conversation. "Also, I'd shoot you."
Max points her brownie at Lee. "There's definitely a law against that."
Content that she's made her point, Max returns to doting upon the small pugnax before her. "SUCH a good boy, aren't you? Yeah y'are." She kisses the top of the happy runt's head, and he responds by quietly plopping down on to his rear and sticking his tongue out, panting happily at her.
Max sticks her tongue out and pants happily right back, distinctly more raspy than Brutus.
Fearsome Ghost of Gyr Abania indeed.
"Y'know. I don't think I've ever seen her like this," Laelia muses, leaning back and tilting her head. "Glad she finally got the stick out of her arse."
That earns another middle finger, but no retort this time.
Victoria grins, just a little. "You don't have to live with her. You should have seen her over the last few weeks."
Laelia concedes the point with a tip of her stetson, perched atop her head more out of habit than necessity given the current company. That and because Max put it on and started saying things about saving a chocobo about half a bell ago until Lee confiscated it. "How's that going, by the way?"
"Hm?" Victoria looks up from her now-finished brownie, the picture of innocence.
"That." Lee gestures between her and their former decurion. "You. Max. Your mutual cyclops."
"How're things going with you and Valeriaux?" Victoria counters, then immediately looks guilty. "I mean...sorry, that was rude. You don't...you don't have to talk about that, if you don't want to. Sorry, that--"
But Lee just smirks, wide and knowing. "Going good," she says, then leans over. "He's a terror in bed."
Max rejoins the conversation at the sound of a scandalised "LAELIA!" being shouted. There's a blush on Victoria's cheeks and she looks thoroughly embarrassed.
"How about Max?"
The blush intensifies, and Max looks confusedly between the pair of them. She might have had too many brownies, because she has absolutely NO idea what's being discussed. "I'm not sure if that's appropriate," Victoria murmurs.
Lee, to her credit, looks chagrined. "You're right, I'm sorry. Like you said, y'don't have to answer, I was just...teasing, y'know?"
Victoria nods. "Yeah. I know. Thanks."
Deciding that she isn't going to get an answer, Max sighs and goes back to giving Brutus more positive attention than she's paid to anything in her entire life. She ends up on the floor of the Delphinus, rubbing his belly as he kicks his adorable little legs. For some reason, she finds the visual really amusing, and finds herself starting to laugh uncontrollably. She's definitely had too many brownies.
"...But yeah, she's good."
Laelia whoops, clapping Victoria on the back and laughing, delighted.
Victoria seems to hesitate, all careful tension and high-strung anxiety. Until, after a moment, she allows herself to laugh as well.
Maybe Laelia isn't judging her.
Maybe Max isn't.
Maybe this is what it feels like to belong.
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The Vigil of the Nativity - December 24, 2020 (With Prayer)
Adapted from The Liturgical Year by Abbot Gueranger, The Vigil of the Nativity
Ascendit autem et Joseph . . . ut profittretur
cutit Maria desponsata sibi uxore pregnant.
“And Joseph also went up . . . to be enrolled with Mary
his espoused wife, who was with child.”–St. Luke, ii. 4.
“At length,” says St. Peter Damian in his sermon for this holy eve, “we have come from the stormy sea into the tranquil port; hitherto it was the promise, now it is the prize; hitherto labor, now rest; hitherto despair, now hope; hitherto the way, now our home. The heralds of the divine promise came to us; but they gave us nothing but rich promises. Hence our psalmist himself grew wearied and slept, and, with a seemingly reproachful tone, thus sings his lamentation to God: ‘But thou hast rejected and despised us; Thou hast deferred the coming of Thy Christ’ (Ps. 138). At another time he assumes a tone of command and thus prays: ‘O Thou that sittest upon the Cherubim, show Thyself!’ (Ps. 129) Seated on Thy high throne, with myriads of adoring angels around Thee, look down upon the children of men, who are victims of that sin, which was committed indeed by Adam, but permitted by Thy justice. Remember what my substance is (Ps. 138); Thou didst make it to the likeness of Thine own; for though every living man is vanity, yet inasmuch as he is made to Thy image, he is not a passing vanity (Ps. 38). Rend Thy heavens and come down, and turn the eyes of Thy mercy upon us Thy miserable supplicants, and forget us not unto the end!
“Isaias, also, in the vehemence of his desire, thus spoke: ‘For Sion’s sake I will not hold my peace, and for the sake of Jerusalem I will not rest, till her Just One come forth as brightness. Oh, that Thou wouldst rend the heavens and wouldst come down!’ So, too, all the prophets, tired of the long delay of the coming, have prayed to Thee, now with supplication, now with lamentation, and now with cries of impatience. We have listened to these their prayers; we have made use of them as our own, and now, nothing can give us joy or gladness, till our Savior come and say to us: ‘I have heard and granted your prayers.’
“But what is this that has been said to us: ‘Sanctify yourselves, O ye children of Israel, and be ready: for on the morrow the Lord will come down’? We are, then, but one half day and night from the grand visit, the admirable birth of the Infant God! Hurry on your course, ye fleeting hours, that we may the sooner see the Son of God in His crib, and pay our homage to this world-saving birth. You, brethren, are the children of Israel, that are sanctified, and cleansed from every defilement of soul and body; be ready, by your earnest devotion, for tomorrow’s mysteries. Such, indeed, you are, if I may judge from the manner in which you have spent these sacred days of preparation for the coming of your Savior.
“But if, notwithstanding all your care, some drops of the stream of this life’s frailties are still on your hearts, wipe them away and cover them with the snow-white robe of confession. This I can promise you from the mercy of the Divine Infant: he that shall confess his sins and be sorry for them, shall have born within him the Light of the world; the darkness that deceived him shall be dispelled; and he shall enjoy the brightness of the true Light. For how can mercy be denied to the miserable this night, in which the merciful and compassionate Lord is so mercifully born? Therefore, drive away from you all haughty looks, and idle words, and unjust works; let your loins be girt, and your feet walk in the right paths; and then come, and accuse the Lord, if this night He does not rend the heavens, and come down to you, and cast all your sins into the depths of the sea.”
This holy eve is, indeed, a day of grace and hope, and we ought to spend it in spiritual joy. The Church, contrary to Her general practice, prescribes that if Christmas Eve fall on a Sunday, the Office and the Mass of the Vigil should take precedence over the Office and Mass of the 4th Sunday of Advent. How solemn, then, in the eyes of the Church, are these few hours, which separate us from the great Feast! On all other Feasts, no matter how great they may be, the solemnity begins no earlier then First Vespers, and until then the Church restrains Her joy, and celebrates the Divine Office and Mass of most vigils according to the Lenten rite. Christmas, on the contrary, seems to begin with the Vigil; and one would suppose that this morning’s Lauds were the opening of the Feast; for the solemn intonation of this portion of the Office is that of a Double, and the antiphons are sung before and after each psalm or canticle. The violet vestments are used at the Mass, but the rubrics are less somber than on the Advent ferias.
Let us enter into the spirit of the Church, and prepare ourselves, in all the joy of our hearts, to meet the Savior Who is coming to us. Let us observe with strictness the fast which is prescribed; it will enable our bodies to aid the promptness of our spirit. Let us delight in the thought that, before we again lie down to rest, we shall have seen Him born, in the solemn midnight, Who comes to give light to every creature. For surely it is the duty of every faithful child of the Catholic Church to celebrate with Her this happy night, when, in spite of all the coldness of devotion, the whole universe keeps up its watch for the arrival of its Savior. It is one of the last vestiges of the piety of ancient days, and God forbid it should ever be effaced!
Let us, in a spirit of prayer, look at the principal portions of the Office of this beautiful Vigil. First then, the Church makes a mysterious announcement to Her children. It serves as the Invitatory of Matins, and as the Introit and Gradual of the Mass. They are the words which Moses addressed to the people of God when he told them of the heavenly manna, which they would receive on the morrow. We too are expecting our Manna, our Jesus, the Bread of Life, Who is to be born in Bethlehem, which translated means the “House of Bread”:
This day you shall know that the Lord will come, and in the morning you shall see His glory.
The Responsories are full of sublimity and sweetness. Nothing can be more affecting than their lyric melody, sung to us by our Mother the Church, on the very night which precedes the night of Jesus’ Birth:
R. Sanctify yourselves this day, and be ready: for on the morrow you shall see * the Majesty of God amongst you. V. This day you shall know that the Lord will come, and in the morning you shall see * the Majesty of God amongst you.
R. Be constant; you shall see the help of the Lord upon you: fear not, Judea and Jerusalem: * Tomorrow you shall go forth, and the Lord shall be with you: V. Sanctify yourselves, children of Israel, and be ready. * Tomorrow you shall go forth, and the Lord shall be with you.
R. Sanctify yourselves, children of Israel, saith the Lord: for on the morrow, the Lord shall come down: * And He shall take from you all that is languid. V. Tomorrow the iniquity of the earth shall be cancelled, and over us shall reign the Savior of the world. * And He shall take from you all that is languid.
At the Office of Prime, in cathedral chapters and monasteries, the announcement of tomorrow’s Feast is made with unusual solemnity. The lector, who frequently is one of the dignitaries of the choir, sings with a magnificent chant the following lesson from the Martyrology. All the assistants remain standing during it, until the lector comes to the word Bethlehem, at which all genuflect, and continue with bended knee until all the glad tidings are told:
The Eighth of the Calends of January. The year from the creation of the world, when in the beginning God created Heaven and earth, five thousand one hundred and ninety-nine: from the deluge, the year two thousand nine hundred and fifty-seven: from the birth of Abraham, the year two thousand and fifteen: from Moses and the going out of the people of Israel from Egypt, the year one thousand five hundred and ten: from David’s being anointed king, the year one thousand and thirty-two: in the sixty-fifth week according to the prophecy of Daniel: in the one hundred and ninety-fourth Olympiad: from the building of the city of Rome, the year seven hundred and fifty-two: in the forty-second year of the reign of Octavian Augustus: the whole world being in peace: in the sixth age of the world: Jesus Christ, the eternal God, and Son of the eternal Father, wishing to consecrate this world by His most merciful coming, being conceived of the Holy Ghost, and nine months since His conception having passed, in Bethelehem of Juda, is born of the Virgin Mary, being made Man: The Nativity of Our Lord Jesus Christ According to the Flesh!
Thus have passed before us, in succession, all the generations of the world. (It should be noted that on this one day alone, and on this single occasion, does the Church adopt the Septuagint chronology, according to which the Birth of our Savior took place five thousand years after the Creation; whereas the Vulgate version, and the Hebrew text, place only four thousand years between the two events. This shows us the liberty which the Church allows us on this question.) Each generation is asked if it may have seen Him Whom we are expecting, and each is silent; until the Name of Mary is pronounced, and then is proclaimed the Nativity of Jesus Christ, the Son of God made Man. St. Bernard, speaking of this announcement, says: “The voice of joy has gone forth in our land, the voice of rejoicing and of salvation is in the tabernacles of the just. There has been heard a good word, a word that gives consolation, a word that is full of gladsomeness, a word worthy of all acceptance. Resound with praise, ye mountains, and all ye trees of the forests clap your hands before the face of the Lord, for He is coming. Hearken, O ye heavens, and give ear, O earth! Be astounded and give praise, O all ye creatures! But thou, O man, more than all they! Jesus Christ the Son of God, is born in Bethlehem of Juda! O brief word of the Word abridged (Rom. 9: 28), and yet how full of heavenly beauty! The heart, charmed with the honeyed sweetness of the expression, would fain diffuse it and spread it out into more words; but no, it must be given just as it is, or you spoil it: Jesus Christ, the Son of God, is born in Bethlehem of Juda!” (Second Sermon for Christmas Eve)
The Gospel of today’s Mass is the passage which relates the trouble of St. Joseph and the visit he received from the Angel. This incident, which forms one of the preludes to the Birth of our Savior, could not be omitted from the Liturgy for Advent; and so far, there was no suitable occasion for its insertion. The Vigil of Christmas was the right day for the Gospel, for another reason: the Angel, in speaking to St. Joseph, tells him that the Name to be given to the Child of Mary is Jesus, which signifies that He will save His people from their sins.
Let us contemplate our Blessed Lady, and Her faithful Spouse St. Joseph, leaving the city of Jerusalem, and continuing their journey to Bethlehem, which they reach after a few hours. In obedience to the will of Heaven, they repair to the place where their names are to be enrolled, as the emperor’s edict requires. There is entered in the public register Joseph, a carpenter of Nazareth in Galilee. To his name, there is, doubtless, added that of Mary, Spouse of the above-named Joseph. Perhaps they enter Her as a young woman, in the ninth month of Her pregnancy. And this is all! O Incarnate Word! Thou art not yet counted by men! Thou art upon this earth of Thine, and men set Thee down as nothing! And yet, all this excitement of the enrollment of the world is to be for nothing else but this, that Mary, Thy august Mother, may come to Bethlehem, and there give Thee birth!
O ineffable mystery! How grand is this apparent littleness! How mighty this divine weakness! But God has still lower to descend than merely coming on our earth. He goes from house to house of His people: not one will receive Him. He must go and seek a crib in the stable of poor dumb beasts. There, until such time as the Angels sing to Him their hymn, and the shepherds and the Magi come with their offerings, He will meet “the ox that knoweth its Owner, and the ass that knoweth its Master’s crib!” (Is. 1: 3) O Savior of men, Emmanuel, Jesus! We too, will go to this stable of Bethlehem. Thy new birth, which is tonight, shall not be without loving and devoted hearts to bless it. At this very hour, Thou art knocking at the doors of Bethlehem, and who is there that will take Thee in? Thou sayest to my soul in the words of the Canticle: “Open to me, my sister, my beloved!” (Cant. 5: 2) Ah, sweet Jesus! Thou shalt not be refused here! I beseech Thee, enter my house. I have been watching and longing for Thee. Come, then, Lord Jesus, come! (Apoc. 22: 20)
Christmas Eve Prayer from the Liturgical Year, 1910
O Divine Infant! we, too, must needs join our voices with those of the Angels, and sing with them: Glory be to God! and Peace to men! We cannot restrain our tears at hearing this history of Thy Birth. We have followed Thee in Thy journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem; we have kept close to Mary and Joseph on the whole journey; we have kept sleepless watch during this holy Night, waiting Thy coming. Praise be to Thee, sweetest Jesus, for Thy mercy! and love from all hearts, for Thy tender love of us! Our eyes are riveted on that dear Crib, for our Salvation is there; and there we recognise Thee as the Messias foretold in those sublime Prophecies, which Thy Spouse the Church has been repeating to us, in her solemn prayers of this Night. Thou art the Mighty God–the Prince of Peace–the Spouse of our souls–our Peace–our Saviour–our Bread of Life. And now, what shall we offer thee? A good Will?
Ah! dear Lord! Thou must form it within us; Thou must increase it, if Thou hast already given it; that thus, we may become Thy Brethren by grace, as we already are by the human nature Thou hast assumed. But, O Incarnate Word! this Mystery of Thy becoming Man, works within us a still higher grace:–it makes us, as Thy Apostle tells us, partakers of that divine nature, which is inseparable with Thee in the midst of all Thy humiliations. Thou hast made us less than the Angels, in the scale of creation; but, in Thy Incarnation, Thou hast made us Heirs of God, and Joint-Heirs with Thine own divine Self! Never permit us, through our own weaknesses and sins, to degenerate from this wonderful gift, whereby Thy Incarnation exalted us, and oh! dear Jesus, to what a height! Amen
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A little bit of magic, a little bit of logic (and a whole lot of coincidence)
Summary: It’s not so bad growing up in Camp Jupiter. Sure, there’s little annoyances here and there: like, Octavian always glaring at him, him being stuck in the fifth cohort, his inability to learn Latin that well, his weird preferences for the Greek names over the Roman ones, and the most annoying of all, an itching, indescribable feeling that somebody is waiting for him. Somebody… which is ridiculous because he has nobody outside of Camp Jupiter.Or my self-indulgent AU where Connor grew up on Camp Jupiter while Travis is still on Camp Half Blood.
ao3 link
ffn link
aaaaaaaaaaand chapter 5 is finally done.
Chapter 5: I have to say, I am a pretty great friend.
Written for Writer’s Month Day 22: Summer
Connor climbs onto the ship not so gracefully and rolls over the rail onto the deck, sliding the grappling hook onto his belt. He surveys his surroundings. By the ballistas, Percy and a blonde are beside an unconscious body. In the middle of the deck is Jason, unmoving, — oh gods. Is he dead?! No, wait. His chest is rising. Jason’s okay. Jason’s fine — and another girl, conscious and tending to Jason.
Nobody notices him yet despite his rather loud landing. If he hurries, he can bring this down without fighting a single —
“Go! Get us out of here!” Percy yells and the blonde nods, standing up with speed and turning around. She freezes though when she sees him.
Their eyes meet.
Her eyes widen. She mouths a name. ( His name). A blast of icy cold wind chills his core (someone) (someone is waiting for him), but he pushes that thought away.
Camp Jupiter first. Everything else second. Prove your worth and all of your problems will be solved.
Connor uses the only asset he has, his slightly above-average speed, and takes off for the helm. The blonde follows after him unfortunately.
He doesn’t want to fight.
(You can still back out)
But there’s no other choice. There’s no backing out.
He reaches the helm seconds before the girl will. At first glimpse, it’s obvious everything at the helm is handcrafted. The navigation system is… unorthodox. No traditional steering wheel. Just a variety of game controllers plus a dubstep keyboard and an aviation throttle all linked to several big screens.
The girl is nearly here. Make a decision, Connor. And make it fast.
He lunges for the aviation throttle, but before he could push forward the girl screams that name again.
Travis.
Travis…
That name… that name sounds so familiar, even as it tears a hole in his chest. Travis… Travis… Travis is… Travis is someone important… someone he treasures. But that’s ridiculous. He never met a person named Travis before at all (Liar. Think harder.)
No. Stop it. Camp Jupiter. You’re going to prove Octavian wrong, remember? Don’t you want to rub it in Octavian’s face? Don’t you want to rub it in all their faces about his success? Then stop listening to the voice and just do it, you loser.
Connor grits his teeth, grips the throttle, and pushes it forward. The ship angles downward slowly. Not exactly what he wants to do. How does he lower the ship? Ah, whatever. He doesn’t have to bring the ship down. As long as he keeps it in place until the eagles could get here.
The dubstep keyboard probably controls the ship’s cannons, oars, and mast. He stabs his dagger into the keyboard, flinching from the resulting sparks. The Wii remote he doesn’t have a clue as to what it does, but he jabs it with his dagger too. As for the monitors, he cuts the wires on the back and watches the screens turn black.
Looks like they made a stop at McDonald’s before coming here. The soda cup sitting on the dashboard is half full and from the transparent lid, he can tell it’s definitely not water. Great!
He’s about to reach for the cup when the girl pushes him aside with enough force to knock him to his back.
“Crap. Crap. Crap. You couldn’t have made this simpler could you, Leo?” the blonde curses as she spends a second to stare at the controls in confusion before she finally spotted the throttle. That second cost her. Connor sweeps his foot on the back of her knees, watching her lose balance and hit her head on the dashboard.
She glares at him and oh man, her glare? It’s definitely enough to make him want to quiver in fear. But that’s something Octavian loves to poke fun at so he fires up whatever specks of courage he still has left and says, “You shouldn’t have attacked my home.”
“Your home?” Her eyebrows furrow. “Jason wasn’t lying. You’re really not Travis, are you?”
Connor clenches his eyes shut and wills the pain away with minimal success. Why does that name always do this? He doesn’t understand. His head… his whole body… it feels like he’s been shot and dunked in an ice bath. Fuck. He hates this. He hates everything right now.
“I’m not,” he starts to say, but the world spins dangerously. Don’t pass out again. Don’t pass out. Now’s not the time. “My name isn’t Travis. It’s Connor. I’m an only child.”
The girl hums. She probably doesn’t think he noticed her hand itching back up to the controls, but he sees it and he tackles her. Not that it did much. In seconds, he’s pinned on his back in a rear chokehold.
“Are you sure you’re an only child?” the girl grunts into his ears, tightening her hold. “We have someone who looks exactly like you back in my camp.”
“Sure you do,” Connor mutters and tries to roll around, failing spectacularly. But at least the girl is too occupied to reach the controls. If he can keep them this way for a while longer, then—
“Annabeth! We need to go!” Percy yells, running into view. “Terminus is firing up an attack and I don’t think this ship can withstand it.”
“Kinda busy, Percy,” the girl — Annabeth — yells back, “I’ll hold him down. You get us out of here. Pull the throttle all the way back.”
Connor sucks in a quick breath, pulls his grappling hook from his belt, stops himself from crying when Annabeth tightens her hold, and aims the hook at what he hopes is the dashboard. Annabeth attempts to snatch his weapon away. Or maybe she was trying to mess up his aim. Either way, the pressure on his throat lets up slightly and he elbows her hard in the side. She hisses in pain, pulling back more and Connor lets the back of his fist rocket back and hit her smack in the face.
As she curses and clenches her nose, Connor rolls back up to his feet and takes aim again, focusing on the dashboard and pressing the trigger. The hook shoots forward.
Amazingly enough, Percy notices the hook firing despite the barely noticeable gush of air released. He spins and swings Riptide down on the hook to knock it out of the way. But Connor kinda already knows Percy is that capable. He saw the guy fight.
The hook fell to the ground, right next to Percy’s shoes.
Did he feel any guilt when he retracts the hook, the hook snagging on the shoe, and watches the son of Poseidon fall flat on his face?
No. Not really. His favorite boba shop was blasted to pieces because of them. This is just penance.
Connor stands and dodges Annabeth’s lunge, tossing the gun on top of her head. He runs to the controls, leaping over Percy’s groaning body, and grabs the soda cup again. If he pours it over the controls, it should fry the mechanics, shouldn’t it? If it doesn’t… two versus one isn’t ideal but all he has to do is hold them here long enough for Terminus to attack then boom. Goodbye ship. Hello Justice.
“Connor.”
Now isn’t that a familiar voice? Connor bites his cheeks, but he doesn’t let go of the cup. Pour it.
“Connor, wait.”
“... why should I, Jason?” Connor says. Pour it. What are you doing?
Connor chances the second to glance up at Jason, standing with the help of a brunette and wearing an orange shirt. He’s not a friend. He let his Camp be attacked. He’s an enemy.
Even still...
“You’re hurt,” Connor states, watching blood trickle down Jason’s temple. “What happened? Did another brick get to you?”
Jason rolls his eyes as the brunette stares between them. “Yes, it was a brick just like two years ago. Funny, I know. Absolutely hilarious. We can laugh about this later but Connor, I need you to listen to me. Put down the cup.”
Connor raises it instead. “No.”
“Connor,” the brunette begins to say, voice calm. “Put down the cup. Let’s talk this out.”
For some reason, her voice just makes him all the more angrier.
“No.” He pops the lid.
“I know you’re angry,” Jason says, tone slightly hurried now, “I know you think if you stop us from leaving, they’ll accept you. But the truth is—”
“Angry is kind of an understatement, Jason,” Connor snaps.
Jason continues like he never talked. “Octavian and his lackeys were never going to accept you. You fought in the titan war. You defended it the same as any of us. That should have been enough. Doing this won’t change their opinion.”
(He’s right, you know.)
His vision swarms, hard blinking no longer working on curbing the nausea away. A hand grasps his shoulder and he knocks it aside. Somehow Jason stumbles to his side. More than anything in the world, Connor hates the concern on Jason’s face. It makes him feel incompetent. Worthless. Weak.
“I don’t care about being accepted. You attacked us. You need to face justice.” His voice breaks towards the end.
“It’s to save the world,” Jason states. His hand grips his wrist holding the cup.
(Let’s leave.)
“The… world? Come on. You’re exaggerating,” he snorts, but he could feel his resolve crumbling.
Jason shakes his head. “No, I’m not. This is to save the world.”
(Let’s go east)
The pounding in his head isn’t making understanding any of this easier. He blinks hard again, rubbing the heel of his hand over his eyes.
(And then you can finally find him.)
“The titans are rising.” (Leave)
Ah.
“Me, Piper, Leo, all of us. We are going to stop it.” (Go east)
It’s happening again.
“So please.” (Someone is waiting for you)
That dream. That woman with two kids in her arms. He can’t see their faces. He could never see their faces. But they’re important. He needs to see them again. He needs to find them. (East.)
“Connor? Hey? You okay? Are you still there?”
When Jason places a hand on his shoulder again, he doesn't bother knocking it aside. He looks down at the controls, not believing what he’s going to say next.
“It’s… really to save the world?” (Someone is in this world. Might as well let it be saved as you go east and find your—)
Jason nods and Connor’s chest tightens like a hand is squeezing over it.
“I really, really hate you,” Connor says, pouring the drink onto the deck and stepping back.
The three fates appear behind Jason, wrinkly, old faces judging him and judging him hard.
Yeah, yeah. My promise. I didn’t forget.
“Wipe that smile off your face, Jason.” Connor scowls, bumping his friend’s shoulder as he turns around and walks to the rail. “You destroyed my favorite boba shop. When this is all over, I’m making you buy me as many boba drinks I want forever.”
The stupid grin doesn’t drop from Jason’s face. “5 boba drinks a month. I can’t afford to spend hundreds of dollars for your boba addiction. Hey, Connor, where are you going?”
Connor didn’t answer as he stops by the rail. He can see Frank as a dragon distracting Terminus down below. He can see Hazel putting out the fires on the sails. He can see he’s thousands of feet above the ground. Everybody is just a dot. The giant eagles are finally here and racing towards the ship, but they’re probably not going make it.
“Connor?” Jason asks quizzically.
He steps atop the rail.
“Connor!?”
I can’t believe you gave up so easily .
“Connor, get dow—”
And jumps down back to Camp Jupiter.
Out of the four seasons, Connor has to say summer is his favorite. It’s warm. It’s bright. It’s full of life. Going out of camp with his friends and visiting the sea lions at Pier 39 is his favorite activity to do ever.
(And the summer atmosphere reminds him of someone. He likes summer too.)
Someone catches him as he’s falling, her cheerful voice telling him who saved his life. But Connor opens his eyes just a tad to double check, resting his head on the uncomfy armor.
“Thanks, Gwen,” he mumbles.
“You’re welcome, you idiot. Octavian was going to let you fall to your death, but I wasn’t about to let that happen.”
“Thanks.” It might have been better if he’d just fallen to his death though.
He listens to the eagles’ flap their wings, but they’re not going to reach the ship. Octavian’s cussing confirms Jason and the others are gone. He still opens his eyes though to see the tail end of the ship disappear into the clouds. The glares he gets from Octavian and the others are enough to make him squirm closer into Gwen’s arms.
“Don’t let them get to you,” she says to him with undeserved support. “They couldn’t even get on board the ship.”
“Gwen,” he murmurs, “I let them go.”
But she just says it's okay, smiling with her saccharine grin. “I kinda figured you will. Jason can make you do anything he wants. Don’t worry though. I’ll protect you from Octavian.”
Connor pouts. “No, he can’t.”
(Yes, he can.)
“Yes, he can,” Gwen says, her smile dropping in concern. “Connor, you should sleep. You look like you need it.”
(She's not wrong.)
Why don’t you just shut up?
But that annoying voice of his is right. And he hates it when that stupid voice is right. It makes it so much harder to question its validity.
#fanfiction#archive of our own#connor stoll#jason grace#pjo#hoo#au#ao3#it's been 5.5 months#i have to say#that's pretty good
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New Rome’s Swift, Bright Sword
[Word count: 1818. Warnings: blood, character death.]
It's oddly easy to picture Octavian in a scene like the opening of Disney’s Hunchback of Notre Dame, specifically The Bells of Notre Dame. Jupiter is the god of supplicants, and the power Octavian has as augur... He's the model of tradition and morality in his religious community. At least, he thinks he is. His self righteousness and abuse of power are defining characteristics, much like they are for Frollo.
Imagine it: Octavian riding through New Rome on some cliche white horse, a bit older and leaner and more confident in his authority. I don't know who he'd be chasing. Some Greek, perhaps. A troublemaker. A lawbreaker. Of course, he'd only do it for the good of Rome, because it's his duty.
Maybe that would make sense: a Greek demigod and what seems to be her younger sibling, trying to find safety in New Rome but suspected of spying, of conspiracy and plot. Of course they'd run. Octavian is Rome's swift, bright sword. (More a dagger slipped between unsuspecting ribs.)
The demigods tried to claim sanctuary, running for the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus. Even Greeks knew the sanctity of temples. But Octavian pursued, a legionnaire or two at hand to do as he said without hesitation. If someone half as cruel as Lawrence were there...
The older demigod ran, dragging the younger in tow, to safety -- and to judgement. She didn’t realize that Octavian had the final say as to their fates, whether they reached the temple or not.
Octavian had an excuse for everything, and when he jumped off his horse to take care of the problem before the gods were involved, he was already thinking of what to tell the Senate. They were spies. They were assassins. Ah, there: they were thieves. Simple enough with the ragged bags they carried.
The flat of his sword cracked the older one upside the head and she fell to the stone steps with a sickening crunch; a trickle of blood stained the marble. The little one cried out, releasing the other girl’s hand and backing away -- into the arms of one of Octavian's men, away from the safety of the temple. Octavian regarded the dead girl coldly, perhaps more familiar with the sight than he should have been. The girl’s grimy bag spilled out next to her, revealing only crumbs and a small stuffed animal. An old lion. An offering.
New Rome had a hesitant peace with her sister camp. A non-aggression pact, really. Initially, the discovery of the Greek camp had meant war, but negotiation changed that. Supposedly, they were now allies. Octavian sneered as he recalled the details. One detail in particular. The praetors had passed a law declaring that any Greek demigod who reached Camp Jupiter would receive a few days of peace while their petition to join the legion was evaluated by the Senate. However, if a demigod made it to Jupiter’s temple and had their augury read, Octavian was under honor to let them join, if that was the will of the gods. Only the truly desperate tried to bypass the Senate proceedings.
Octavian made sure that few Greeks ever reached camp to begin with, that Senate hearings were tedious and drawn out, that the bureaucracy turned as many away as possible. ‘Let them find their way to New York,’ he often thought, ‘They’re not wanted here.’ If any Greeks overstayed their welcome, while technically not a crime in itself, Octavian could pin them with any number of other accusations.
He looked up at the marble of the temple before him. While it was in many ways his source of power, he also hated it. Sanctuary. None of these barbarians deserved it.
Octavian’s thoughts were broken by a cry, and he narrowed his eyes as he registered one of the temple's priestesses running towards him. A child was still struggling in the arms of a soldier; a girl still lay dead at his feet.
"P- Pontifex, what happened? What have you done?" The priestess fell to the side of the girl on the steps -- checking for vital signs, finding none.
"She was an enemy of Rome. I merely did the job of my office."
The other child's whimpering was starting to get on his nerves.
The priestess gave a bitter laugh. Two of her fellows peaked out from the temple behind her. "This is not your duty."
He sneered, "What do you know of being Pontifex? I am guiltless. This was justice." He didn't sheathe his gladius.
The priestess stood, half cradling the girl’s body in her arms. To Octavian's surprise, thunder rumbled above them. Her voice was cold, "You may tell yourself that, but all the same you spilt blood -- innocent blood -- on the steps of this temple. A place where supplicants are promised safety. That's sacrilege, Pontifex." She spit his title at him; it stung. The sky grew dark with clouds and a chill wind whipped a strand of Octavian's hair out of place. Something felt...wrong.
Off to the side, his lackey barked a laugh as the girl struggled again. "Shut it, kid. You'll face Roman justice for what you and your friend did." The soldier shoved the child to his companion before glancing over to Octavian. "How uh, swift should that justice be, sir?" The soldier's grin was cruel, like a crude knife. The Pontifex looked on dispassionately.
Octavian mulled the thought over for a moment, analyzing. The child wasn't in the temple, had never reached it, though the whole hill was a kind of sacred ground... He could get around that. He glanced at the child: a girl, perhaps four or so. Covered in dirt, nearly wiped out from her struggles. Whimpering. Useless. Greek. Her dark hair fell haphazardly into her face and her nose quivered. Like a rabbit. How easy it'd be to handle this little problem right now-
Lightning cracked through the air and Octavian’s eyes widened. The priestess, turning to give the older girl's body to her companions, spoke again, "Lord Jupiter sees what happens here. You of all people know that he makes his will known. Will he approve of what you've done here? What you're about to do?"
Over her head, Octavian made eye contact with the blank white stare of Jupiter himself, everlasting in marble, looming over him, over his fate. For the first time in many years, Octavian felt afraid.
He cleared his throat, hoping not to show his sudden nerves. "I maintain my innocence. I've merely done what is demanded of any true Roman. But-" The priestess turned to face him from the top of the steps, curious. "If I were to appease Jupiter for my transgression," his voice was laced with sarcasm. The soldiers chuckled. "What would you suggest I do?"
"Spare the girl."
Octavian’s brow rocketed upwards, "What?"
The priestess stood above him, oddly illuminated by the torches of the temple, backed by the massive statue of the king of the gods. "Show her mercy. Let her join the legion."
The idea was ridiculous, and yet... "Who will take care of her? Sponsor her, when the time comes? You surely can't expect that I-"
Lightning cracked once more, silencing the Pontifex. His gaze hardened. Never before had the gods opposed him so. The priestess had the nerve to look smugly down at him, at his divine reprimand. His eyes flared and he turned to his men, who still held the little girl in their grasp.
She had stopped fighting, but she shrunk back when Octavian approached. He finally sheathed his gladius. His men looked at him with confusion, but he ignored them. They didn't matter. Octavian looked over the child and reached the same conclusion he had earlier: she was less than nothing to him. Now...a burden. He lowered himself to her level, tilting his head in a way that made the girl whimper again. His eyes were cold. Surprisingly, his voice was soft -- too soft -- when he spoke, "What's your name?"
She didn't say a word.
Octavian's nostrils flared, but he kept his composure. He forced his voice to be sweeter, friendlier. "Your godly parent, then? Hm, little one?"
She met his eyes with hers, terrified -- a navy blue that reminded him of the ocean. He hated it. She didn't speak.
Octavian had no patience for this. He should just order his men to throw her in the Tiber and-
"Fortuna. My mom's name is Fortuna." The Pontifex nearly recoiled in shock. The girl continued, "My name is Emma." She sniffed and wiped away some of her tears on her sleeve, smudging dirt across her face. That was when Octavian noticed that she was clinging to a stuffed animal of her own: a well worn teddy bear with a laurel crown stitched onto its chest where a heart might be.
"You claim to be Roman." He snatched the bear from her without a second's hesitation and stood, pulling a gold dagger from his belt. Before she could cry out, he'd ripped the plush open, spilling cotton into the wind.
Octavian’s mind was racing. A Roman? If the brat was lying, he'd gut her himself. But...if she was Roman, why would she be running for sanctuary with a Greek? Was the other girl- No. She couldn't be. He rifled through the stuffing for a moment before clutching the empty skin in his fist, knuckles white.
All good signs. She was telling the truth.
Perhaps she could be useful to him.
"Well, Emma, it is my sincere pleasure to welcome you to the Twelfth Legion of Rome."
His men looked at him like he'd grown a second head. The priestess hesitantly started down the steps, disbelief in her eyes. Octavian gave the child another once over, unsure of what her future might hold.
"Release her." The soldiers let go of the girl like she was on fire. Emma wobbled a little, standing on her own again. She looked up at the Pontifex with wide eyes as he addressed her. "You will go with the high priestess of this temple and she will watch you for the night. I will decide how best to care for you in the morning." He turned to leave, robes swirling as he mounted his horse once more. "And once you've proven yourself, I will sponsor you to join the legion proper."
His men mounted their own horses and the girl ran into the waiting arms of the priestess. Before riding back into the city, Octavian pinned the two girls with a final glare. His voice was icy as he bid his farewell to the lady of the temple. "You. Make sure no one hears of this. A single word gets out about what happened here, and I will hold you responsible."
A gust of wind blew as the Pontifex and his men rode away, sunset barely visible through the dissipating storm clouds.
#heroes of olympus#hoo#octavian#the hunchback of notre dame#disney#au#fanfiction#blood#character death#filodox!#so it's been like 3 months since I said I'd post this...#whoops
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Unexpected Dances
Octavian had searched around for his aunt a little while before huffing quietly to himself. Normally he could pick her out in the crowd or sense her, however, there were too many people around at the moment for that. As odd as it was for him, he did not let that deter him from his goal. So he reached out for her mentally to find out where she was, and explained that there was friend of his that he wanted her to meet.
Of course, the only catch was his friend did not know that she was actually his aunt. Octavian heard his aunt chuckle mentally and let him know where he and his friend could find her. “Hey, Idium follow me,” he said to his mage friend.
“What do you have in store for me now my friend,“ Idium asked with a brow raised. Octavian laughed and shook his head.
“Not telling. You have to wait and see,” he said and began to weave through the people. Idium chuckled a little but followed him anyway. The two excused themselves as the moved, trying not to bump into the other guest or disrupt their conversations. Soon however, they found a break in the crowd and could see the icy high queen staring off to a different part of the room, watching people, with a half glass of wine held carefully in her hand. Her eyes were lightly shimmering, but the meaning of that was lost to Octavian. “High Queen Crystalia...” Octavian began and bowed slightly.
A light laugh came from her as she turned towards them. “Dear nephew, it is wonderful to see you, but how many times must I tell you that it is fine not to be so formal with me,” she said, managing not to give her nephew a mischievous grin. Octavian went wide eyed and blushed slightly as Idium briefly raised a brow.
“A-auntie, please...“ Octavian stuttered slightly and glanced away while scratching his cheek. He had not expected her to reveal their connection anyway. He had to give her some credit for that, but not right now. “Not...not so loud. Anyway...I would like you to meet my friend Idium. He has wanted to meet you for some time now, and I figured this was a perfect chance for that.”
Idium bowed immediately as the Vosmus Queen looked his way. Nevermind the fact that Octavian had just put him on the spot, he was actually being introduced to the woman, nay the queen, he had wanted to meet the most. “It is my utmost honor to meet you, your majesty. Mere words do not do your grace, or presence enough justice.”
Queen Crystalia chuckled softly. “It Is pleasant to meet you Idium, I already know that you must be an interesting person if you are friends with my nephew,” she said softly. “And unless I am wrong in my guess, you are a mage, correct?”
Idium stood straight again and then nodded. “Yes, your majesty. It is true that I am a mage. I know that those like me are not...” he trailed off as she held up her free hand.
“Let us not concern ourselves with that aspect of our society right now, hm? As long as you do not give me reason to be suspicious, I will not think ill of you,“ she said with a gentle smile. She took one last sip of her wine before handing the glass to Octavian. “Octo, dear, would you do me a favor and properly dispose of that please?“ she asked. Octavian looked at his aunt and then nodded before leaving the two of them alone. He could not help but grin to himself and hope for the best now.
“Your majesty, I am glad that you will let my actions and words judge me rather than what I am,“ Idium said warmly once Octavian was gone. He was trying his best to keep his composure and not be left in awed speechlessness. Though it became harder when she reach out her hand to him.
“Please, use my name. Queen Crystalia is fine if you wish to retain formality. Not everyone says ‘High Queen‘ anyway,” she said first. “Also, would you like to join me in a dance? Normally I would ask one of my nephews to cure that desire for me, but I want to learn more about you as well.“
Idium took her hand and lightly kissed it first. “It would be my pleasure to dance with you Queen Crystalia. And I am humbled that you truly wish to get to know me,” he said and began to lead her in a dance where they were instead of trying to find space in the designated area for it.
--
It was a bit nostalgic after all for Lula, the former Spade Queen. Visiting the castle for the grand Winter Ball, it really was an event she had looked forward to every year. Sometimes getting to help Queen Crystalia with some of the decorating. And as much as she was enjoying her new life with her dear husband Silva and their newborn son Auberon, she did miss all of the people here. Maybe except for King Marcel. Maybe.
Everything here seemed to be wonderful and on point as usual. And there were things she just knew was Mazella’s handiwork. She laughed quietly to herself as her son cooed happily in her arms, there were a lot of things she had treasured that she did not make fully known to them while she had been here.
But first...of course she spotted High King Marcel and High Queen Darcia first. She carefully shifted her son so she could point that way. “Let’s say hello and take care of a ‘little matter’ first,” she said to her husband. Lula then cradled her son again as she could not help but march up to the royal pair. She stopped in front of them and stared somewhat intently at king Marcel. “Since a certain someone was cruel, you are only getting to meet him now Queen Darcia,” she said, not bothering to hide that she was miffed at the king, and turned towards the Richter Queen. Lula’s expression softened at her as she presented her son to her. “This is our little angel, Auberon Ursaris Reinhardt,” she introduced. He gave the older queen one of his precious smiles followed by a happy sound. “Silva and I would like your blessing for our child,” Lula said and then glanced at King Marcel again. “His too...I suppose...”
“Cruel?“ the high king questioned with a brow raised.
“You could have came with her you know. Like King Seff did with Queen Iona,“ she shot back with out raising her voice as she handed her son over to her husband so she could fully face the Richter king and point a finger at him. “I appreciated Gisela’s presence and help, don’t get me wrong but...I wanted queen Darcia there,” she said softly as she crossed her arms and then looked away. “And maybe, just maybe, you too if you weren’t so dense and overprotective and stupid...” she added more in a murmur.
--
It was an odd moment. Mazella had been making her rounds but stopped when she reached a group of people seemingly staring and gossiping about...’some weirdo’? She pushed her way through, somewhat politely, to see what was really going on. Her eyes fell upon the male who was dancing by himself in his dress. He seemed to be minding his own business and having a fun time. Nothing to for her to be too concerned about. If anything it was his ‘audience’ she needed to keep an eye on so they wouldn’t start do more than just gossiping among themselves.
However, Firis had done a little spin and noticed there was someone knew watching him now. Her presence made him pause in his dancing and stare at her a moment. He just adored the winter themed suit she was wearing and how nicely it fit on her. Then he remembered that she was the master of ceremonies. When their eyes truly met, he could not help but smile wide. He had caught her attention! How delightful! Maybe, just maybe, she could spare him a few minutes?
He walked over to her and curtsied before adopting a thinking pose. “Would it be possible for the dear master of ceremonies to spare some time for a dance?” he asked.
Mazella blinked, caught off guard by his approach and question. “Well...I-I suppose things are going smoothly enough that I could spare some time,” she began and rubbed the back of her neck. “But...I’m sorry...”
“Firis,“ he supplied.
“Firis, I...I’m not much of a dancer,” she finished. “Someone was trying to teach me once but, I’m a klutz when it comes to that,” she added with a bit of a nervous laugh.
“Mazella, right?“ he asked with a tilt of his head and she nodded. “Delightful~ It is quite alright if you are a...’klutz‘ as you say. I could help you! And even if I can’t, it is fun! Even the master of ceremonies should have some fun!” he said and chuckled. “So~ How about reconsidering?“ he asked and held out his hand to her.
“Well...I guess when you put it like that...“ she said with a short laugh and took his hand. The others would want her to have some fun as well. Especially with as hard as she had been training, and all her responsibilities leading up to the ball, among other things. “And I suppose it is hard to say no to someone so curious and beautifully dressed.“
“That’s the spirit, my wonderfully suited companion!”
#random prompt#Royal Suits au#queen crystalia#octavian#Idium#mazella#Firis T#Lula Reinhardt#auberon#demon king marcel#under a read more mainly because of lenght
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Octavian deserved better, so much better then what he got in cannon. Poor kid...
Hi nonnie!!
Yeah, I agree with you. Sometimes when I think about how he was treated in canon I feel the urge to hug my poor boy...
Tbh my main problem isnt that he was treated badly by other characters or that he died in the end in a a weird way, it is how he was written in such a biased and bad way. It is ridiculous the potential he had, and how he could have been such an interisting character, but in he ended up being that inconsistent shallow mess.
My boy deserved more effort in his characterization, and a better ending, and a better written story.
But the way the other characters treated him also bothers me. I got so sad some days ago because of the line: "Whatever made a chikd of Apollo special, Octavian didn't have it".
The good thing is that there are some people writing stories and making headcanons that do Octavian justice. (I hope I'm able to do that sometimes)
Best regards,
Me.
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Writer’s Month Day 22: Summer
Fandom: percy jackson and the olympians.
Cont of day 20 prompt.
Connor climbs onto the ship not so gracefully and rolls over the rail onto the deck. He surveys his surroundings. Percy and a blonde are standing over an unconscious body. Hazel, Frank, and Jason are nowhere to be seen. Nobody knows he is here yet despite the loud thumps he made when landing. Maybe if he hurries, he won’t have to hurt —
“Go! Get us out of here!” Percy yells and the blonde nods, standing and turning around.
Their eyes meet.
The girl’s eyes widen.
Connor took this opportunity to throw a smoke bomb.
“Wait, Connor!”
The helm is 15 feet northwest and most navigating gears are at the helm. He hopes whoever created this boat kept to the tradition. He runs towards it, groaning when he hears footsteps running in the same direction. He hates hand to hand combat. It sucks. Everybody is bigger than he is. If it’s Percy, he can’t win. If it’s the girl, he definitely can’t win. He got a glimpse of those biceps. She got to have trained as much as Jason does.
(You can still back out)
There’s no backing out.
He reaches the helm the same time — aw fuck — the girl did. The girl isn’t doing anything yet and he takes this time to look over the navigation. The controls are… unorthodox. No traditional steering wheel, but there’s a variety of game controllers are linked to several big screens. His guts are telling him to get the Wii remote.
“Hey.”
His fingers twitches.
“Are you—”
“Sorry! No time to talk.”
He dives for the remote and just like he suspected, the girl is fast and tackles him to the ground just as his fingers grazes the remote. The ship lurches a bit. The Wii remote is the wheel. Unfortunately, he hits the back of his head on the floor from the tackle and oh boy. That didn’t help the pounding headache from his passing out event earlier.
Those few seconds cost him. The girl has the wii remote in her hands and the ship is tilting upwards.
Connor kicks the girl’s feet out under her, wincing as her head hit the dashboard.
He stands the same time the girl is reaching for the controls again and he grabs her from behind in a chokehold. But the girl seems experienced in these types of situations, because she ducks down, step back from the side and out of his hold, and locks his arm behind his back. A kick to the back of his knees and he’s down. She rests her knees over his throat and presses in, the threat clear. Move and I’ll crush your windpipe. In three seconds she turn this whole situation around. Oh boy. His gut was right. There’s no way he can win against her.
“Annabeth! We need to go!” Percy yells, running into view. “Terminus is firing up an attack and I don’t think this ship can withstand it.”
Sure enough when he glances over, Terminus is gathering up magic. If he can keep the ship still, they can take it down.
“Kinda busy, Percy,” the girl — Annabeth — hisses, unrelenting her hold. “You go move the ship. The Wii Remote is the control. Shake it up and down to go up.”
Percy runs towards the control and all Connor can do is watch him.
Come on.
He’s almost there.
Move.
They’re going to escape.
Move!
Nobody is ever going to trust him again.
Move! (Please don’t.)
“Move!” and the knee retracts following his command. He rolls out from under Annabeth and shoves Percy aside. Standing back up to be between them and the controls.
Come on, come on, Terminus. How long does it take to charge up a beam?
Annabeth stares at him with her shrewd eyes, eyes roving over him up and down. “Are you a son of Aphrodite? You can charmspeak.” Her brows creases. “No, that wasn’t charmspeak.”
“I’m a son of H— Mercury.”
He didn’t like the way Annabeth is frowning, like she doesn’t believe him.
“Hey, can we save this for after we get the hell out of here?” Percy says, “I know he looks remarkable like Tra—”
Again. A punch to the gut. A stab to the head. Except it’s so, so, so much worse then the second time and he thinks he’s actually screaming. He could feel it at the edge of his consciousness, the promise of no pain, beckoning him, tugging him insistently to paradise.
No.
He can’t.
He’s going to prove himself. He’s going to show them. Forget it. Forget the someone. There’s no one. No one at all.
The pain dulls only for a moment, but enough for him to open his eyes — when did they close? — and pick up his head — when did it fall? — and pull out his dagger.
“I—” Oh god. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. Gods, it hurts. “I can’t let you leave. I’m sorry.”
His whole body burns. His knees feel like jelly. Everything is twirling. And he can barely feel the dagger in his hand. Is his hand even there?
“Connor.”
He blinks. Jason is standing beside Percy and Annabeth. He blinks again and Jason is right in front of him. Jason’s wearing an orange shirt. He’s not friend. But Connor can’t make himself raise his dagger.
“You’re hurt,” he mutters, watching blood trickle down Jason’s temple.
“Yeah, a brick got me just like it did two years ago. Funny, I know. Connor, I need you to listen to me.”
He bites his cheek. “I can’t let you leave.”
“I know you’re angry. I know a lot of people down there is angry. I know you think if you stop us from leaving, they’ll accept you. But, the truth is—”
“Shut up.” (Say it)
“Octavian and his lackeys were never going to accept you. You fought in the titan war. You defended it the same as any of us. That should have been enough. Doing this won’t change their opinion.”
His vision swarms and he closes his eyes for a bit, willing it to stop spinning. A hand grasps his shoulder and he knocks it aside. He forces his eyes back open and hates the concern he sees on Jason’s face. He hates the concern on all of their faces.
“I don’t care about being accepted. You attacked us. You need to face justice.” His voice breaks towards the end. Thankfully, Jason didn’t acknowledge it.
“It’s too save the world.”
(Leave)
“The… world? Come on. You’re exaggerating.”
Jason shakes his head. “No, I’m not. This is to save the world.”
(Go East)
The pounding in his head isn’t making understanding any of this easier. He blinks hard again, rubbing a heel over his eyes.
(Listen to him.)
“The titans are rising.” (Leave)
Ah.
“Me and Piper and Leo, all of us, are going to stop it.” (Go east)
It’s happening again.
“So please move aside.” (Someone is waiting for you)
The dream.
A woman with her two kids. He can’t see their faces. He could never see their faces. But they’re important. He needs to see them again. He needs to find them. East.
“Connor? Hey? Are you okay?”
When Jason places a hand on his shoulder again, he didn’t bother knocking it aside. He looks away and down, not believing what he’s going to say next.
“It’s… really to save the world?” (Someone is in this world.)
Jason nods and Connor’s chest tightens like a hand is squeezing over it.
The three fates appear behind Jason.
He didn’t flinch when he step aside and run full speed towards the rail. He sees Frank as a dragon distracting Terminus. He sees Hazel putting out the fires on the sails. He sees the ship is rising. He sees he’s 1000 feet above the ground. Everybody is just a dot. The giant eagles are finally here and racing towards the ship, but they’re not gonna make it.
“Connor, what are you doing?!”
He steps atop the rail.
“Connor!?”
He can’t believe he did this.
“Connor, get dow—”
And he spins around on one foot, falling backwards down to the ground. He sees Annabeth shaking the remote vigorously. He sees Percy shouting for Frank. He sees Jason’s horrified face.
And oh man.
Octavian and co are going to kill him for this.
Connor really loves summer. It’s warm. It’s bright. It’s full of life. Even if his friends are busy, he can hang with the birds and deer. He’s never alone.
(And summer feels like someone. He likes summer too.)
As he free falls head first, he catches the Redwood trees outside of San Francisco. Man, what he would do to climb a tree and sleep his pain away.
Someone catches him, cheering loudly when they did so. Connor opens his eyes just a tad before closing them and letting his head rests on uncomfy armor.
“Thanks, Gwen,” he mumbles.
“You’re welcome, you idiot.”
He listens to the eagles flap their wings, but they’re not going to reach the ship. Gwen cussing confirms Jason and the others are gone.
“Gwen,” he starts, “I’m sorry. I let them go. He said it was to save the world.”
But she justs laughs and says it's okay. “I kinda figured you will. Jason can make you do anything he wants. Don’t worry. I’ll protect you from Octavian.”
He nestles his head on the metal and finally succumbs to the voice begging him since waking up, falling asleep in milliseconds.
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