Prompt #029 – Birth
A Mother’s Love
Time Frame: Just after Zeus’s Birth
Pairing: Vague Kronos/Rhea
POV: Rhea (Kronos’s Wife)
A/n: This one requires some mythology knowledge of how Kronos ate all his kids when they were born because there was a prophecy that one of them would overthrow Kronos. But Rhea gave Kronos a rock and Kronos thought he ate Zeus but Rhea hid Zeus where he grew up and later came back and chopped up Kronos and rescued his siblings that were growing up unharmed (since they’re immortal) in Kronos’s stomach. Ta-da!
**
“A father may turn his back on his child, brothers and sisters may become inveterate enemies, husbands may desert their wives, wives their husbands. But a mother's love endures through all.”
-Washington Irving
**
I am paralyzed with fear.
Not another of my children, not another of my children. It is a mantra in my head.
I clutch my newborn child closer to my chest, turning away from his gaze. I can feel him take a step closer to me. The ground shivers and quakes and I seem to shrink in his presence. I can feel my new son wriggle in my arms, as if he knows something is coming.
“Rhea...” My eyes are squeezed shut, my muscles tense as a bowstring, “Give him to me.” No, no, no, not another of my children.
“It’s just a prophecy…” I whisper. There was no way he could have heard me, but the whispers pour from my lips, regardless. “Please…no….”
All of my other sons and daughters, gone because of what might happen. Not again, not again.
“Rhea,” his voice seems to make the very air around us tremble. Amongst the terror I acknowledge that my baby isn’t crying. Strong, brave little Zeus. He was just born to this world moments ago. Please, no… “Give him here.”
I will not let my husband take away another of my children.
Not again.
My son will grow tall and strong; he will save his siblings. He will become the king he was born to be.
Not another of my children, I think as I stoop to grab a rock, never again.
~fin~
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Prompt #028 - Children
Prompt #028 - Children
Beside Still Waters
Time Frame:Camp Half-Blood
Pairing: None
POV: Poseidon
**
“A day's light told me of my son's fate
Pulled under the raging waters, my child
Sank in the drowning currents, my son
Guardian of the shore will sleep in your warmth
Lull the folk of cold water
Banish the serpents of the dark
To the river let me go and fetch my son away
Untouched I shall walk by the river of the night
My child
My son”
-Silent Waters by: Amorphis
**
It is at moments like these that I cannot stand being a god.
What is the point, I wonder, of controlling the entire might of the oceans if there is nothing I can do for my son? I see him, I watch him from high up in the clouds on my throne and I can do nothing.
I watched him grow. My little boy having to face the evils of the world alone, not knowing how special he was, how important he was. That killed me. To see him sitting in class or in his room, thinking he was stupid and a loser and a nobody—for him to have to go through it alone.
I should have been there to tell him the ancient stories as he fell asleep at night. I should have been the one to teach him how to hold a sword. I should have been there, telling him how vital he was, how strong he would become.
I should have been there to be his father.
But I wasn’t.
And now my son is growing older everyday, and each day the powers of evil and chaos grow steadily closer to him. From up on Olympus I can see as he cannot on the ground. And I watch in anguish as a tangible dark cloud slowly closes in on my son.
And there is nothing I can do but watch.
I yearn to be down there, to help him, to fight for him—to show him his father is strong and powerful and there for him.
But the time for protecting him is long over. My chance for that has slipped through my fingers like water through a sieve.
I lost my chance to be there for my son.
And now he must face his trials alone, regardless of how much it kills me to watch him hurt and cry and feel lost and abandoned.
There is nothing I can do now but watch as my pride and joy—my Percy—attempts to navigate the rushing, violent currents of his life.
There is nothing I can do now but hope with every fiber of my being that calm waters await him further downstream.
~fin~
Beside Still Waters
Time Frame:
Pairing: None
POV: Poseidon
**
“A day's light told me of my son's fate
Pulled under the raging waters, my child
Sank in the drowning currents, my son
Guardian of the shore will sleep in your warmth
Lull the folk of cold water
Banish the serpents of the dark
To the river let me go and fetch my son away
Untouched I shall walk by the river of the night
My child
My son”
-Silent Waters by: Amorphis
**
It is at moments like these that I cannot stand being a god.
What is the point, I wonder, of controlling the entire might of the oceans if there is nothing I can do for my son? I see him, I watch him from high up in the clouds on my throne and I can do nothing.
I watched him grow. My little boy having to face the evils of the world alone, not knowing how special he was, how important he was. That killed me. To see him sitting in class or in his room, thinking he was stupid and a loser and a nobody—for him to have to go through it alone.
I should have been there to tell him the ancient stories as he fell asleep at night. I should have been the one to teach him how to hold a sword. I should have been there, telling him how vital he was, how strong he would become.
I should have been there to be his father.
But I wasn’t.
And now my son is growing older everyday, and each day the powers of evil and chaos grow steadily closer to him. From up on Olympus I can see as he cannot on the ground. And I watch in anguish as a tangible dark cloud slowly closes in on my son.
And there is nothing I can do but watch.
I yearn to be down there, to help him, to fight for him—to show him his father is strong and powerful and there for him.
But the time for protecting him is long over. My chance for that has slipped through my fingers like water through a sieve.
I lost my chance to be there for my son.
And now he must face his trials alone, regardless of how much it kills me to watch him hurt and cry and feel lost and abandoned.
There is nothing I can do now but watch as my pride and joy—my Percy—attempts to navigate the rushing, violent currents of his life.
There is nothing I can do now but hope with every fiber of my being that calm waters await him further downstream.
~fin~
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Prompt #027 - Parents
Prompt #027 - Parents
Carry On, My Wayward Son
Time Frame: Anytime after Luke’s quest
Pairing: None
**
“You hate someone whom you really wish to love…”
-Sri Chinmoy
**
I hate him, Luke decides. I absolutely hate him.
What a stupid quest. What a stupid way to prove himself. What a waste of time.
Luke doesn’t understand. Why did Hermes send him on Hercules’ old quest? Luke bets they were pals back in the day.
He bets Hermes would rather have Hercules for a son.
He goes on a stupid quest, to get a stupid apple, and all he gets is that stupid scar. A forever reminder of all the times he’s been blown off and almost died, and only escaped by the skin of his teeth because he is strong and knows how to survive. Not because his father cares enough to help.
It’s as if nothing Luke ever does is good enough for him. Even though Hermes is his father, Luke has only met his father once. And during that meeting, every time he looked at Luke, his eyes held and expression of pity.
Sorry?
Luke clenches his teeth. Luke has trained and trained and trained to be the fastest, the strongest, the best swordsman for so many years, and his father looks at him, not with pride…but with pity.
Hermes. Stupid god of thieves. He stole Luke’s childhood from him. Stole his mother’s sanity.
Stole his only chance of a normal life.
But none of that matters now. Nothing matters now.
~fin~
Carry On, My Wayward Son
Time Frame: Anytime after Luke’s quest
Pairing: None
**
“You hate someone whom you really wish to love…”
-Sri Chinmoy
**
I hate him, Luke decides. I absolutely hate him.
What a stupid quest. What a stupid way to prove himself. What a waste of time.
Luke doesn’t understand. Why did Hermes send him on Hercules’ old quest? Luke bets they were pals back in the day.
He bets Hermes would rather have Hercules for a son.
He goes on a stupid quest, to get a stupid apple, and all he gets is that stupid scar. A forever reminder of all the times he’s been blown off and almost died, and only escaped by the skin of his teeth because he is strong and knows how to survive. Not because his father cares enough to help.
It’s as if nothing Luke ever does is good enough for him. Even though Hermes is his father, Luke has only met his father once. And during that meeting, every time he looked at Luke, his eyes held and expression of pity.
Sorry?
Luke clenches his teeth. Luke has trained and trained and trained to be the fastest, the strongest, the best swordsman for so many years, and his father looks at him, not with pride…but with pity.
Hermes. Stupid god of thieves. He stole Luke’s childhood from him. Stole his mother’s sanity.
Stole his only chance of a normal life.
But none of that matters now. Nothing matters now.
~fin~
Prompt #026 - Teammates
Prompt # 026 - Teammates
Common Denominator
Time Frame: The Titan’s Curse – Chapter Six
Pairing: None
POV: None
**
“We need a common enemy to unite us.”
-Condoleezza Rice
**
There is an electricity in the air tonight at Camp Half-Blood. As the camper strap on their armor, anxiously anticipating the coming game, it is somehow more intense than other game’s they’ve fought.
Because this time, it is not cabin versus cabin, camper versus camper. This time, they are all playing against one foe—the Hunters.
For this one evening, small feuds are forgotten in the shadow of larger quarrels. There is no petty bickering between the Stoll brothers and the Ares kids. There is no nasally complaining from Silena and her siblings. There is only focused intensity on the coming battle.
Fifty-six times the campers of Half-Blood Hill lost. And among the varying lineage and characteristics, they are all thinking today, the fifty-seventh game will turn the tide, and the children of the gods will reign triumphant once more.
For a moment—for this brief, sharp, intense moment—there are no cabins, there are no grudges, there are no divides.
There is an “us”, and there is a “them”.
The world is black and white for once as they grab their swords and shields and bows and spears.
And with a common enemy, they march into battle.
~fin~
Common Denominator
Time Frame: The Titan’s Curse – Chapter Six
Pairing: None
POV: None
**
“We need a common enemy to unite us.”
-Condoleezza Rice
**
There is an electricity in the air tonight at Camp Half-Blood. As the camper strap on their armor, anxiously anticipating the coming game, it is somehow more intense than other game’s they’ve fought.
Because this time, it is not cabin versus cabin, camper versus camper. This time, they are all playing against one foe—the Hunters.
For this one evening, small feuds are forgotten in the shadow of larger quarrels. There is no petty bickering between the Stoll brothers and the Ares kids. There is no nasally complaining from Silena and her siblings. There is only focused intensity on the coming battle.
Fifty-six times the campers of Half-Blood Hill lost. And among the varying lineage and characteristics, they are all thinking today, the fifty-seventh game will turn the tide, and the children of the gods will reign triumphant once more.
For a moment—for this brief, sharp, intense moment—there are no cabins, there are no grudges, there are no divides.
There is an “us”, and there is a “them”.
The world is black and white for once as they grab their swords and shields and bows and spears.
And with a common enemy, they march into battle.
~fin~
Friday, July 16, 2010
Prompt #025 - Strangers
Prompt # 025 - Strangers
To Wander
Time Frame: Anytime before the end of The Lightning Thief
Pairing: None
POV: None
**
“Because they’re sharing a drink they call loneliness
But it’s better than drinking alone.”
-Pianoman by: Billy Joel
**
Being a half-blood, constants in your life aren’t something you can take for granted.
Especially if you’re a son of Hermes.
Luke sits in his bunk—that a luxury in itself since the rest of the cabin is stuffed full of unclaimed kids—and stares at all the new faces. He’s leader of the Hermes cabin, yeah, but some of the kids are in and out so quick he doesn’t even learn their names—traveling, just as Hermes does.
If you’re a child of Hermes, it’s kind of your destiny to be forever drifting.
So Luke is okay with not having a really place he feels comfortable calling home. Because home is where the people you love are. And there are too many variables in the Hermes cabin for that to happen. Kids constantly going in and out, finding out who they are, moving on, getting killed by some monster.
Luke is a traveler on the roads of life, he likes to think. His home is not a stationary place.
But for the rest of them in Hermes cabin—those who are perpetually unclaimed, they are the ones who are forever wandering.
Sure, they are stuck in the Hermes cabin, but they are the ones who are the true travelers…they are the children who are still searching for who they are.
Forever surrounded by a sea of strangers, those who are still searching, but on a different path, or those who have already found where they belong.
And forever strangers to themselves, forever wondering who and where they come from, longing for the past to reassure their future.
Luke guesses for the time being, though, they’re found a place here among the perpetually lost.
They’ve found a home on the road for a while.
And perhaps made some friends among strangers.
~fin~
To Wander
Time Frame: Anytime before the end of The Lightning Thief
Pairing: None
POV: None
**
“Because they’re sharing a drink they call loneliness
But it’s better than drinking alone.”
-Pianoman by: Billy Joel
**
Being a half-blood, constants in your life aren’t something you can take for granted.
Especially if you’re a son of Hermes.
Luke sits in his bunk—that a luxury in itself since the rest of the cabin is stuffed full of unclaimed kids—and stares at all the new faces. He’s leader of the Hermes cabin, yeah, but some of the kids are in and out so quick he doesn’t even learn their names—traveling, just as Hermes does.
If you’re a child of Hermes, it’s kind of your destiny to be forever drifting.
So Luke is okay with not having a really place he feels comfortable calling home. Because home is where the people you love are. And there are too many variables in the Hermes cabin for that to happen. Kids constantly going in and out, finding out who they are, moving on, getting killed by some monster.
Luke is a traveler on the roads of life, he likes to think. His home is not a stationary place.
But for the rest of them in Hermes cabin—those who are perpetually unclaimed, they are the ones who are forever wandering.
Sure, they are stuck in the Hermes cabin, but they are the ones who are the true travelers…they are the children who are still searching for who they are.
Forever surrounded by a sea of strangers, those who are still searching, but on a different path, or those who have already found where they belong.
And forever strangers to themselves, forever wondering who and where they come from, longing for the past to reassure their future.
Luke guesses for the time being, though, they’re found a place here among the perpetually lost.
They’ve found a home on the road for a while.
And perhaps made some friends among strangers.
~fin~
Prompt #024 - Family
Prompt # 024 - Family
Tales From Another Broken Home
Time Frame: Pre-Lightning Thief
Pairing: None
POV: Percy
**
“According to you
I’m stupid, I’m useless,
I can’t do anything right.”
-According to You by: Orianthi
**
It’s just another day in the life of little nobody, Percy Jackson. Percy clenches his fists. His mom hangs up the phone, her face looking more tired than usual—which is saying something.
“They reject you again, kid? Surprise, surprise.” Gabe’s sarcastic drawl from the living room makes Percy’s blood boil. That’s all he is to this idiot. Stupid, retarded, mentally-disabled Percy. He hears the slob take a drink of beer and switch the channel. Percy wishes he’d turn down the damn volume. “God, can’t even make it into sixth grade,” he hears Gabe chuckle sadistically and Percy can also make out the sound of a chip bag crinkling. “I vote we kick him out Sally. Looks like he’s not amount to anything anyway. Might as well cut your loses while you’re ahead.” Percy’s pretty sure the guys not really kidding.
His arms are trembling with rage, wanting to hit and kick and break and shatter anything he can get his hands on. Who does this guy think he is? Percy takes an unconscious step towards the living room but a thin hand on his shoulder stops him.
“Its okay, Percy,” the calm manner of his mother’s voice is not only a reassurance, but a warning. Don’t, it implies. “We’ll just have to find another school to apply for this year.”
“If you can find one that hasn’t kicked him out yet,” Gabe’s raspy tones interject from the other room.
“Percy…” the whisper in his ear is the only thing that stops him from sprinting to the living room and shoving Gabe’s face through the TV.
“Why do you do it, Mom? What could you possibly see in that creep?” He is still roiling and writing inside—rage and injustice and hate fighting to the death inside him.
Sally doesn’t look at him. Only lets her long, unkempt hair slide forward to cover her face as she mutters:
“He’s part of the family now.”
“He’s not my family,” Percy spits. “It’s bad enough I have to live with him. If I was related to him I might just go jump off the roof.”
“Then why don’t you, kid? Might save your mother some trouble!”
This time Sally literally has to hold him around the waist to keep Percy in the hallway and away from Gabe.
“Percy! Percy, stop!”
“All right, Mom, all right!” Percy exclaims and twists out of her grasp, stomping loudly towards his room. As he passes the living room he calls without turning his head, “Stay the hell away from me!”
He slams his door, shutting out whatever Gabe’s stupid comeback would have been. Half-blind with rage, Percy’s fist slams into the drywall. Over and over until it there is a decent sized hole in the middle of his wall.
Finally, left with only an aching hand and a hole in both his wall and heart, he sits down on his bed and simply stares.
“He’s part of the family now.”
Yah, right. This dismal little apartment with that awful, pathetic excuse for a father-figure, and his sweet amazing mother run down to a fraction of what she used to be…this is not a family.
A family is people who are there for you, who you love and miss when you’re apart. They feel like part of you, even if you don’t like them all that much. They support you and love you no matter what.
What Percy Jackson has isn’t a family.
It’s a broken, shattered home.
~fin~
Tales From Another Broken Home
Time Frame: Pre-Lightning Thief
Pairing: None
POV: Percy
**
“According to you
I’m stupid, I’m useless,
I can’t do anything right.”
-According to You by: Orianthi
**
It’s just another day in the life of little nobody, Percy Jackson. Percy clenches his fists. His mom hangs up the phone, her face looking more tired than usual—which is saying something.
“They reject you again, kid? Surprise, surprise.” Gabe’s sarcastic drawl from the living room makes Percy’s blood boil. That’s all he is to this idiot. Stupid, retarded, mentally-disabled Percy. He hears the slob take a drink of beer and switch the channel. Percy wishes he’d turn down the damn volume. “God, can’t even make it into sixth grade,” he hears Gabe chuckle sadistically and Percy can also make out the sound of a chip bag crinkling. “I vote we kick him out Sally. Looks like he’s not amount to anything anyway. Might as well cut your loses while you’re ahead.” Percy’s pretty sure the guys not really kidding.
His arms are trembling with rage, wanting to hit and kick and break and shatter anything he can get his hands on. Who does this guy think he is? Percy takes an unconscious step towards the living room but a thin hand on his shoulder stops him.
“Its okay, Percy,” the calm manner of his mother’s voice is not only a reassurance, but a warning. Don’t, it implies. “We’ll just have to find another school to apply for this year.”
“If you can find one that hasn’t kicked him out yet,” Gabe’s raspy tones interject from the other room.
“Percy…” the whisper in his ear is the only thing that stops him from sprinting to the living room and shoving Gabe’s face through the TV.
“Why do you do it, Mom? What could you possibly see in that creep?” He is still roiling and writing inside—rage and injustice and hate fighting to the death inside him.
Sally doesn’t look at him. Only lets her long, unkempt hair slide forward to cover her face as she mutters:
“He’s part of the family now.”
“He’s not my family,” Percy spits. “It’s bad enough I have to live with him. If I was related to him I might just go jump off the roof.”
“Then why don’t you, kid? Might save your mother some trouble!”
This time Sally literally has to hold him around the waist to keep Percy in the hallway and away from Gabe.
“Percy! Percy, stop!”
“All right, Mom, all right!” Percy exclaims and twists out of her grasp, stomping loudly towards his room. As he passes the living room he calls without turning his head, “Stay the hell away from me!”
He slams his door, shutting out whatever Gabe’s stupid comeback would have been. Half-blind with rage, Percy’s fist slams into the drywall. Over and over until it there is a decent sized hole in the middle of his wall.
Finally, left with only an aching hand and a hole in both his wall and heart, he sits down on his bed and simply stares.
“He’s part of the family now.”
Yah, right. This dismal little apartment with that awful, pathetic excuse for a father-figure, and his sweet amazing mother run down to a fraction of what she used to be…this is not a family.
A family is people who are there for you, who you love and miss when you’re apart. They feel like part of you, even if you don’t like them all that much. They support you and love you no matter what.
What Percy Jackson has isn’t a family.
It’s a broken, shattered home.
~fin~
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Prompt #023 - Lovers
Prompt # 023 - Lovers
Out to Sea
Time Frame: Nine Months Before Percy was Born ;P
Pairing: Poseidon/Sally
POV: None
A/n: Rating is upped a little more. Not graphic or anything. Just slightly mature themes. The prompt is Lovers after all…
**
“I want to swim away but don’t know how
Sometimes it feels just like I’m falling in the ocean
Let the waves up: take me down
Let the hurricane set in motion…yeah
Let the rain of what I feel right now come down.”
-Into the Ocean by Blue October
**
His eyes and his hands and his lips...they are like water pouring over her. She is submerged in the silky currents as sheets and hands alike slide along her skin. The blood pounding in her ears sounds like the waves crashing on the beach, and when she lays her head against his chest, she can hear his heartbeat…a small, simple, yet profound sound that lets her know there is something real and tangible they have in common: a heartbeat.
“I love you.”
Back and forth, love and energy and heat passed between them, back and forth. It crashes upon Sally’s shore, the water desperate to touch the sand, to caress and kiss its warm solid earth. And then the undertow drags the water and sand back out to sea, pulling some of the land back into the cool waters, embracing it.
“I love you.”
It sounds like a sea breeze whipping through Sally’s hair. Like the soft roar of the distant water. Powerful and mysterious and wonderful.
“I love you.”
A soft caress—water surging about her ankles as she wades deeper. Step by step the waves reach up the shore, desperate for contact with that it can never truly have. Step by step, sea and earth and rock is whisked into the water, swirling about it, merging together.
“I love you.”
Step by step…
“I love you.”
…land and sea become one.
~fin~
Out to Sea
Time Frame: Nine Months Before Percy was Born ;P
Pairing: Poseidon/Sally
POV: None
A/n: Rating is upped a little more. Not graphic or anything. Just slightly mature themes. The prompt is Lovers after all…
**
“I want to swim away but don’t know how
Sometimes it feels just like I’m falling in the ocean
Let the waves up: take me down
Let the hurricane set in motion…yeah
Let the rain of what I feel right now come down.”
-Into the Ocean by Blue October
**
His eyes and his hands and his lips...they are like water pouring over her. She is submerged in the silky currents as sheets and hands alike slide along her skin. The blood pounding in her ears sounds like the waves crashing on the beach, and when she lays her head against his chest, she can hear his heartbeat…a small, simple, yet profound sound that lets her know there is something real and tangible they have in common: a heartbeat.
“I love you.”
Back and forth, love and energy and heat passed between them, back and forth. It crashes upon Sally’s shore, the water desperate to touch the sand, to caress and kiss its warm solid earth. And then the undertow drags the water and sand back out to sea, pulling some of the land back into the cool waters, embracing it.
“I love you.”
It sounds like a sea breeze whipping through Sally’s hair. Like the soft roar of the distant water. Powerful and mysterious and wonderful.
“I love you.”
A soft caress—water surging about her ankles as she wades deeper. Step by step the waves reach up the shore, desperate for contact with that it can never truly have. Step by step, sea and earth and rock is whisked into the water, swirling about it, merging together.
“I love you.”
Step by step…
“I love you.”
…land and sea become one.
~fin~
Prompt #022 - Enemies
Prompt # 022 - Enemies
My Own Worst Enemy
Time Frame: Post-Battle of the Labyrinth
Pairing: None
POV: Luke
**
“The face of the enemy frightens me only when I see how much it resembles me.”
-Anonymous
**
Luke is drifting now—no longer here, nor there. Drifting, he is, in the shadowed world between living and dead, sane and crazy, waking and sleep.
Since the moment it happened, he realized it was a mistake. He had been wrong about everything. Wrong about the gods, wrong about the Titans, wrong about his father and his mother and Percy and Annabeth and Thalia and Grover and the camp and his old life.
Was it so bad, Luke wonders, to be in a place where everyone had something to fight for? Was it really that awful he never knew his father? Was it so bad to have brothers and cousins and a place to stay and train? Was it so bad to have a teacher and friends and a place to call home?
No.
And now because he so focused on what was missing instead of what was there, everything has been taken from him. And now Luke is merely a memory.
Still, for brief moments he can surface, pushing for his new-found allegiance to the first and only family that ever really took care of Luke.
His enemy used to be his past—his father and his family that rule distantly from the clouds. Fueled by hate and spite and vengeance and a broken heart, Luke joined the Titan army and fought for Kronos.
But now his enemy is within him—the ancient evil his father fought against to free the human race. Now he is fueled by love for those he left behind and heroism that would rival heroes of ages past.
Is Luke scared? Yes. Terrified? Certainly. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows he won’t make it out of this alive. But he knew from the get-go his life would be short and messy and miserable. That’s not the part that bothers Luke now. It is the fact that the enemy he is fighting now is inside him—and Luke was the one who let him in.
And now it’s Luke’s job to take him out once and for all.
He is essentially now fighting himself. Ever pushing back the darkness in his mind, ever climbing upwards towards the light and all those he abandoned and betrayed.
Struggling to regain all that he took for granted so readily growing up.
Fighting to simply be Luke Castellan once more.
~fin~
Monday, July 5, 2010
Prompt #021 - Friends
Prompt # 021 - Friends
With My Friends
Time Frame:Eternal City
Pairing: Annabeth/Percy, friendship Annabeth/Percy/Grover
POV: Percy
A/n: I was going to rewrite this as after Thalia was incapacitated, so it would just be the trio, but I’m too lazy, and I got Percabeth in there, so I’m happy.
**
“I'm glad to be with you... here, at the end of all things.”
-The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King (2003)
**
“I won’t go down by myself, but I’ll go down with my friends,”
-I Never Told You What I Do For a Living
By: My Chemical Romance
**
The world is whirling and desperate. My ears have long since given up comprehending each sound it hears—each scream of agony, each clang of swords and armor, each crumbling building. Thalia is with us too, but her presence is not so pronounced to me. It is my trio—me, Annabeth, and Grover that is important to me now.
Annabeth is on my left, Grover is on my right, and together we are making our way towards the center of Olympus.
It started out as us three, from the very beginning.
It only makes sense that at the end of it all, it would be us three together again.
The ground is literally falling out from under our feet as we spring from rock to rock, the stones falling as soon as our weight has shifted off them. The bridge between the gods and mortals is now, literally, disintegrating behind us.
But, then I hear her clear voice ring out behind me.
“Percy!” I dive and snatch her hand, my fingers gripping her forearm. And for a terrifying moment, I felt us tilting, felt Annabeth dragging me over the edge, felt as if we would plummet together to the ground. Her hand, slick with sweat from fighting and adrenaline and fear, began to slip until only our intertwined fingers were connected. And for a moment I could imagine myself, our all too mortal blood painting the streets of my beloved, devastated city.
We’re going to fall, I thought for a dizzying second. I’m going to die without ever kissing her again.
But then, I felt strong hands around my ankles, slowly dragging me up, back onto the solid stone. We lay, gasping, our limbs intertwined, not worrying for a liberating second about apocalypses or complications…simply reveling in the fact that she is here and solid and alive in my arms and silently celebrating the fact that we will live to breathe another breath.
“Um, thanks.” Her voice whispers, breaking me out of my reverie and the gravity of our situation comes crashing down like the stones around us. Grover urges us to keep moving, and we follow, stumbling once again towards the end…of us? of Kronos? The end of something at least.
Finally, after today, it is all going to end.
And here, with my friends, I can think of no better way to end it.
~fin~
With My Friends
Time Frame:
Pairing: Annabeth/Percy, friendship Annabeth/Percy/Grover
POV: Percy
A/n: I was going to rewrite this as after Thalia was incapacitated, so it would just be the trio, but I’m too lazy, and I got Percabeth in there, so I’m happy.
**
“I'm glad to be with you... here, at the end of all things.”
-The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King (2003)
**
“I won’t go down by myself, but I’ll go down with my friends,”
-I Never Told You What I Do For a Living
By: My Chemical Romance
**
The world is whirling and desperate. My ears have long since given up comprehending each sound it hears—each scream of agony, each clang of swords and armor, each crumbling building. Thalia is with us too, but her presence is not so pronounced to me. It is my trio—me, Annabeth, and Grover that is important to me now.
Annabeth is on my left, Grover is on my right, and together we are making our way towards the center of Olympus.
It started out as us three, from the very beginning.
It only makes sense that at the end of it all, it would be us three together again.
The ground is literally falling out from under our feet as we spring from rock to rock, the stones falling as soon as our weight has shifted off them. The bridge between the gods and mortals is now, literally, disintegrating behind us.
But, then I hear her clear voice ring out behind me.
“Percy!” I dive and snatch her hand, my fingers gripping her forearm. And for a terrifying moment, I felt us tilting, felt Annabeth dragging me over the edge, felt as if we would plummet together to the ground. Her hand, slick with sweat from fighting and adrenaline and fear, began to slip until only our intertwined fingers were connected. And for a moment I could imagine myself, our all too mortal blood painting the streets of my beloved, devastated city.
We’re going to fall, I thought for a dizzying second. I’m going to die without ever kissing her again.
But then, I felt strong hands around my ankles, slowly dragging me up, back onto the solid stone. We lay, gasping, our limbs intertwined, not worrying for a liberating second about apocalypses or complications…simply reveling in the fact that she is here and solid and alive in my arms and silently celebrating the fact that we will live to breathe another breath.
“Um, thanks.” Her voice whispers, breaking me out of my reverie and the gravity of our situation comes crashing down like the stones around us. Grover urges us to keep moving, and we follow, stumbling once again towards the end…of us? of Kronos? The end of something at least.
Finally, after today, it is all going to end.
And here, with my friends, I can think of no better way to end it.
~fin~
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Prompt #020 - Colorless
Prompt # 020 - Colorless
Fade
Time Frame: Winter
Pairing: None
POV: Persephone
**
“I see a lily on thy brow
With anguish moist and fever dew;
And on thy cheek a fading rose
Fast withereth too.”
-John Keats
**
The fabric of my skirt whispers almost inaudibly across the dry, cracked ground of my garden as I walk.
It is winter. I serve no purpose to the world above for another few months, so I am exiled back to my husband’s realm for I have none of my own. I touch the non-flowers, the hard, cold rocks that glitter dimly—like half remembered glimpses of the glory that is my springtime.
In spring I am radiant. I know I am.
As I walk through the forests and the fields and simply am with my season, I can feel the energy radiating off me to the sleeping earth, urging it to wake up and feel the sun. And I can feel the flowers: the bright gorgeous flowers giving some of their strength back to me. My dress explodes in every color known to nature, my eyes shifting, constantly straining to reflect the myriad of colors they see. My hair is bright and brilliant and luminous.
I am brilliant as the sun itself, the colors bursting from me.
But now it is winter, and I am but a ghost. Not even the soft white of daisies or Queen Ann’s lace colors my dress or eyes. I am colorless—devoid of all that makes springtime wonderful. Dull and transparent and frail—looking as if I might disperse like fog at any moment.
My winters are spent in this place—this palace with no sky to look up to, no plants to water except that cursed pomegranate tree.
There are only dead gems in my garden. Just like me now—sad remembrances of what they once were: alive and full of color.
~fin~
Prompt #019 - White
Prompt # 019 - White
Frozen
Time Frame: Post-Titan’s Curse, Pre-The Last Olympian: Winter
Pairing: Vague Thalia/Luke
POV: Thalia
**
“Oh…the snow is burying this town.”
-Godric’s Hollow
By: Romilda Vane and the Chocolate Cauldrons
**
The world around me is white. White sky, white ground, white everything in between. White snowflakes dance and float gently to the ground—blanketing the silent, sleeping earth.
I sprint through the frozen forest, my bow secured comfortingly on my back. Among the whirling flakes and crystallized trees, I see more hoof prints and pick up the trail once more. My senses are sharpened and focused due to the frigid air—there is nothing like the thrill of the hunt in winter. I love hunting in the winter far more than any other season. There is just something about the whiteness and the cold and the silence.
I can think out here…far away from the others. I can finally just think.
My tracking goes on auto-pilot as my mind drifts like the silent snow. Drifts stirring up other drifts—revealing distant memories I had not allowed myself to think of in forever.
It was a day like this, I remember. A frozen, beautiful Christmas day: just us three. Just me and Luke and Annabeth, huddled under a frosted pine, warming our hands by the fire, exchanging joking gifts of pine cones and snowballs having nothing substantial to give.
We were cold and hungry and lost and alone but we were happy—forever not knowing what tomorrow would bring, constantly wondering and worrying but together. We lived each day as if it might be our last.
Now, as I flit between the trees, they seem less beautiful to me without my Luke and my Annabeth here. I miss living so strongly and fiercely.
Don’t misunderstand, I love being a hunter. I am free of my duty and responsibility of being a child of the big three. I serve my goddess and lead the hunts. I get to track and stalk and shoot with my sisters.
But I miss the feeling of waking up, not knowing what to expect—of always anticipating the far distant future...how our lives will turn out: me and Luke and Annabeth
I skid to a halt in the powdery snow as it suddenly strikes me that Annabeth will have to be as old as me by now. I remember taking care of her as a little girl. We will look the same age now. My heart grows heavy, suddenly, as I think of how much taller she will grow, how she will become a woman—full of power and grace. I will forever been a fifteen-year-old girl—still slightly awkward, despite my added reflexes, not quite yet grown into my body and, I realize, I never will.
And Luke…ah, my Luke. He is further gone than any I used to know. Luke will never surpass me the way Annabeth will. He will die soon—is already dead for all intents and purposes. Hot tears sting my eyes all of a sudden as I realize I will never get to lay an escape route, or stand back to back in a fight with him ever again. I will never get to whisper my fears to him after Annabeth has fallen asleep, or feel him hold me as I wake from a nightmare in the dark, sobbing like a child.
How far they have come since then.
Annabeth…then—a tiny yet determined child, now—a strong fighter, strong leader, strong girl.
Luke…then—a protector, a wing man, now—a traitor, a puppet, a corpse.
And me…then—a sacrificial martyr, rebellious teenager, now…well, I’m still the same, and forever will be.
As I watch the snow swirl around me, dotting my black hair with specks of white, I can see how I belong in this frozen landscape: I am frozen where I am—solid like a frozen pine needle or fallen twig. If I try to bend, I break. But when spring comes to these woods, the snow will melt and flowers will bloom and Persephone will breathe new life into everything. But unlike this forest, I will not melt when spring comes, I will not change or move or bloom or breathe new life.
I will remain forever frozen as the world progresses without me. A frozen winter just like now—white and still.
I take off running again, if only for the sake of moving my legs and arms again, trying to pump adrenaline into my immortal veins—simply trying to feel alive.
~fin~
Friday, July 2, 2010
Prompt #018 - Black
Prompt # 018 - Black
In Shadow
Time Frame: After Maria Di Angelo’s Death
Pairing: Vague Hades/Marie
POV: Hades
**
“Without black, no color has any depth. But if you mix black with everything, suddenly there's shadow - no, not just shadow, but fullness. You've got to be willing to mix black into your palette if you want to create something that's real.”
-Amy Grant
**
He hasn’t seen the sky for six months—not since the last council. Not since her. Upon his throne of shadows and death, Hades sits, having ordered Persephone away—wanting only to be alone in this blackness this is his and his alone.
She is dead, and it isn’t fair. Sweet, kind Maria.
He glances upwards towards the shadowed semblance of a sky. He is simultaneously furious and empty—Zeus had no right to kill his Maria, attempt to murder his children. If the places had been reversed: a prophecy made about a child of Zeus overthrowing Hades, Hades’ actions would have been shocking: out of line. To kill a son or daughter of Zeus would have been unacceptable.
But because the situations are not reversed, Maria is dead, his children forced to hide, and he is once again trapped in the underworld while Zeus remains no worse-for-the-wear.
Rage floods him, and his pale, thin fingers grip the obsidian armrests of his throne. Just because drew the short straw in the beginning, he is destined to eternity of forever being below his brothers, forever underground while they reign in the world above.
Unfair, he thinks, unfair that Zeus should get the wide open skies as his domain: clear and vast and beautiful. Unfair, he thinks, that Poseidon should rule the immense oceans: blue and open and endless. Unfair, he thinks, that he is forced to remain in this dark black abyss beneath the world of the living,
But it is a necessary job. The death is more important that the sea and the sky, he realizes. For it is their people, their subjects that matter. And it is only death that is a true part of them. When humans fade from the earth, the sea and sky will remain, but death will be a distant memory. And without humans, the gods will fade with them: forever tied to their initiative and ingenuity.
As god of the dead, Hades is more in tune with the human world than his brothers that rule among them.
He is needed, he is necessary…but no one sees.
He is an outcast—the shadow of the gods. He is exiled from
He is cursed to live the rest of eternity in shadow—gazing longingly upward at a black sky.
~fin~
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Prompt #017 - Brown
Prompt # 017 - Brown
Burial
Time Frame: Post-Titan’s Curse, Pre-Battle of the Labyrinth
Pairing: None
POV: Nico Di Angelo
**
“The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone.”
-Harriet Beecher Stowe
**
Nico stands and Nico stares.
His chest is heaving, his eyes stinging, his nails digging into his palms. He’s finally stopped running. Somewhere in the woods outside Camp Half-Blood, he is surrounded by trees and boulders and the occasional babble of the creek far off in the distance. He doesn’t know where he is, and he really doesn’t care. It doesn’t make much of a difference, now does it, he reasons.
Bianca is gone, how could anything else matter. Through the tears brimming in his eyes, the dark packed earth beneath him swims and swirls like a kaleidoscope of grief. His sister, his mother for all intents-and-purposes, his only attainable family left…now she was gone too.
Gone because of a stupid quest to find some stupid boy’s stupid girlfriend and some stupid goddess he hadn’t even believed in three weeks ago. None of it had been worth his sister’s life. Nothing could have been worth that.
How ironic, he thinks. A child of Hades having to embrace death so early in life.
He is ten years old and completely alone in the world.
He could go back to camp, but that idea is shot down as soon as it enters his mind. No way in Hades is Nico going back to that camp with that lying, murdering Percy Jackson. No where to go, no food, no money, and no knowledge of this new, advanced world he had been thrust into.
Bianca would have known what to do. She had always known. She was the leader. She would have taken care of him.
But she’s dead, he reminds himself. Dead and gone. She can’t help you now.
And that thought is what brings him to his knees on the forest floor, sobbing and clutching his hair, his arms, his clothes, grasping for something, something real to hold onto as the hot tears pour down his face and his breaths come short and quick. His exhaustion and worry and fear all come crashing down on him and he finally just lays on his back on the cool dirt and stares up at the sky through the trees, letting his sobs rip unhindered from his chest, his arms wrapped around himself, clutching his sleeves as if trying to keep himself from falling apart.
He is alone and scared and regardless of whatever powers or parents he might have, he is still only a child.
Finally, his tears slow and stop all together. His breathing evens until he is lying on the forest floor, feeling completely empty. The brown earth is cool and loose at the base of this tree, his abused hands finding relief as he lays them against it.
How peaceful it is here, he thinks. Bianca would have liked it here.
After a moment, he drags himself to his knees, brushing the bits of grass and earth clinging to his jacket off. He digs in his pocket a MythoMagic keychain Bianca had once bought him. He slowly drags himself to the tree and, using one of the sharp corners, slowly and painfully carves a small cross into the bark, and under it, the letters B. D. A.
In the loose dirt near the tree’s roots, he covers the little keychain with rich brown soil—the same color as his eyes—and presses, feeling the dirt compact around the little charm.
“I’ll bring you back,” Nico whispers. “Somehow. I promise.”
~fin~
Burial
Time Frame: Post-Titan’s Curse, Pre-Battle of the Labyrinth
Pairing: None
POV: Nico Di Angelo
**
“The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone.”
-Harriet Beecher Stowe
**
Nico stands and Nico stares.
His chest is heaving, his eyes stinging, his nails digging into his palms. He’s finally stopped running. Somewhere in the woods outside Camp Half-Blood, he is surrounded by trees and boulders and the occasional babble of the creek far off in the distance. He doesn’t know where he is, and he really doesn’t care. It doesn’t make much of a difference, now does it, he reasons.
Bianca is gone, how could anything else matter. Through the tears brimming in his eyes, the dark packed earth beneath him swims and swirls like a kaleidoscope of grief. His sister, his mother for all intents-and-purposes, his only attainable family left…now she was gone too.
Gone because of a stupid quest to find some stupid boy’s stupid girlfriend and some stupid goddess he hadn’t even believed in three weeks ago. None of it had been worth his sister’s life. Nothing could have been worth that.
How ironic, he thinks. A child of Hades having to embrace death so early in life.
He is ten years old and completely alone in the world.
He could go back to camp, but that idea is shot down as soon as it enters his mind. No way in Hades is Nico going back to that camp with that lying, murdering Percy Jackson. No where to go, no food, no money, and no knowledge of this new, advanced world he had been thrust into.
Bianca would have known what to do. She had always known. She was the leader. She would have taken care of him.
But she’s dead, he reminds himself. Dead and gone. She can’t help you now.
And that thought is what brings him to his knees on the forest floor, sobbing and clutching his hair, his arms, his clothes, grasping for something, something real to hold onto as the hot tears pour down his face and his breaths come short and quick. His exhaustion and worry and fear all come crashing down on him and he finally just lays on his back on the cool dirt and stares up at the sky through the trees, letting his sobs rip unhindered from his chest, his arms wrapped around himself, clutching his sleeves as if trying to keep himself from falling apart.
He is alone and scared and regardless of whatever powers or parents he might have, he is still only a child.
Finally, his tears slow and stop all together. His breathing evens until he is lying on the forest floor, feeling completely empty. The brown earth is cool and loose at the base of this tree, his abused hands finding relief as he lays them against it.
How peaceful it is here, he thinks. Bianca would have liked it here.
After a moment, he drags himself to his knees, brushing the bits of grass and earth clinging to his jacket off. He digs in his pocket a MythoMagic keychain Bianca had once bought him. He slowly drags himself to the tree and, using one of the sharp corners, slowly and painfully carves a small cross into the bark, and under it, the letters B. D. A.
In the loose dirt near the tree’s roots, he covers the little keychain with rich brown soil—the same color as his eyes—and presses, feeling the dirt compact around the little charm.
“I’ll bring you back,” Nico whispers. “Somehow. I promise.”
~fin~
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Prompt #016 - Purple
Prompt # 016 - Purple
Writer’s Block
Time Frame: None
Pairing: None
POV: Apollo
**
“Allison grunted in frustration. Nothing rhymed with purple.”
-Wayside School Gets a Little Stranger
By: Louis Sachar
**
Damn English, I curse.
What kind of language has words that don’t rhyme with one another? How completely absurd!
Language is a moving, liquid being: the words should be able to bend and wrap around each other smoothly—naturally, the syllables all lining up, cadences clicking together…and above all: rhyming when needed!
I hate the word, I decide. Just like orange. Purple.
Maybe in the next hundred years or so, another of my children will be just as gifted in the art as my son, Shakespeare. Ah, William.
Now there was a son someone could be proud of.
Not only did his poetry inspire others for generations to come, not only did he use the language, worship and adore it, but he gave back. He picked the fruits, used it to nourish his work, and then planted the seeds—introducing over 1700 words the English language had never seen which are now a part of everyday speech.
And I mean, honestly. A great deal of things rhyme with “lonely” and “bump.”
Maybe my next premiere poet will invent a word to rhyme with this wretched “purple.”
I will make sure whoever does is plastered across the history books for all eternity.
Damn English.
~fin~
Writer’s Block
Time Frame: None
Pairing: None
POV: Apollo
**
“Allison grunted in frustration. Nothing rhymed with purple.”
-Wayside School Gets a Little Stranger
By: Louis Sachar
**
Damn English, I curse.
What kind of language has words that don’t rhyme with one another? How completely absurd!
Language is a moving, liquid being: the words should be able to bend and wrap around each other smoothly—naturally, the syllables all lining up, cadences clicking together…and above all: rhyming when needed!
I hate the word, I decide. Just like orange. Purple.
Maybe in the next hundred years or so, another of my children will be just as gifted in the art as my son, Shakespeare. Ah, William.
Now there was a son someone could be proud of.
Not only did his poetry inspire others for generations to come, not only did he use the language, worship and adore it, but he gave back. He picked the fruits, used it to nourish his work, and then planted the seeds—introducing over 1700 words the English language had never seen which are now a part of everyday speech.
And I mean, honestly. A great deal of things rhyme with “lonely” and “bump.”
Maybe my next premiere poet will invent a word to rhyme with this wretched “purple.”
I will make sure whoever does is plastered across the history books for all eternity.
Damn English.
~fin~
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