I’ve noticed this revisionist Greek myth is common wherein Persephone loves Hades and eats the pomegranate seeds in order to evade her overbearing mother, and that’s all well and good. You know, sometimes I’m in the mood for it and sometimes I’m not. But hear this: as long as we’re doing this, why is no one wondering whether Aphrodite might really love Hephaestus?
Think about it. All the gods in their immortal splendor are lining up to marry her, doing everything in their power to impress her, the goddess of love and beauty, and she choses…that guy. A god in technical terms only, a social reject who’s ugly and malformed and um, no fun. Always slaving away in his workshop when everyone else is quaffing nectar and having their eternal beach party up on Mount Olympus. They can’t believe she’d give up all of them for that.
So, because the gods do not take rejection well (looking at you Apollo), eventually they start to say to each other, well, we all know Zeus made her do it anyway. He’s gotta feel guilty for throwing Hephaestus off Mount Olympus that one time. And it quickly becomes thatpoorgirl, stuck in that workshop full of sweat and dirt and cyclopses when she could have had one of us. Because of course they’ve got love all figured out; it’s entirely technical and dependent on who’s the most charming and good-looking and not at all variable and strange and notoriously unpredictable, right?
Meanwhile Ares, only the most arrogant and brainless of the crew, can’t take a hint and is still showing up wherever Aphrodite goes trying to hit on her, so eventually she and Hephaestus decide to rig up an elaborate mechanical trap for him, using her as bait. When all the gods have laughed at him for getting caught he huffily attempts to regain his dignity by telling them, whatever, guys, you want to know the truth, I was meeting her for an assignation. And they all kind of know he’s full of it but they just accept it as the unvarnished truth from thereon in, because they’d love to believe she’d cheat on Hephaestus with Ares. They’d love it. Come on, Aphrodite, get off your high horse and admit you’re just as shallow as the rest of us.
So they talk, but Aphrodite doesn’t really care about their collective jealousy because she dotes on her misshapen genius of a husband with his sooty hands and his sweaty brow who always takes her seriously and is always so hard at work inventing astonishing new things to make her happy, and she loves the volcano they live in with its internal pressures so conducive to the formation of precious stones and its passages lit with glowing lava that so gorgeously offsets her cheekbones, and all the cyclopses worship her because even with one eye apiece they’ve still got more depth perception than most men do where she’s concerned. True it is that as a couple the two develop a reputation for not getting out much, because all those Olympian parties bore them to death and they’d rather spend time with each other (poor Aphrodite, she’s such a vivacious young thing and her husband is so grasping and insecure that he won’t let her go out and have fun), but they do all right.
Hestia comforts the children of broken homes, she appears to
them as a school councilor that always has cookies. They cry in her arms, and
she lets them stay with her for as long as she can. She stopped calling home,
stopped making strongly worded comments to the parents. All there is left are
broken homes and suffering children.
Hera sits next to her sister, holds her hand and thinks
about the broken marriages that lead to broken homes. She listens to the
couples yelling at each other while she walks on the streets. She holds the
crying women, she listens to the hopeless men. All of the power that a goddess
of marriage possesses cannot help the people who were betrayed by their closest
After a long day, Demeter sits on the ground in her garden, holds
a cup of tea in hands that have dirt all over them. She wishes that more people
would remember what is under all of the concrete. She feels the dying of her
world, and curses those who do not care for it.
Zeus sits at the bar, he’ll buy a thousand and one drinks and the girls who he smiles at will raise their eyebrows and think of the pepper spray tucked into their sleeves.
Hera waits at home. She knows the numbers of all the girls and she has their facebooks open on the computer. Her hands hover over the keyboard., She wants to tell them that men will always lie. She wants to take her own advice. She never will.
Apollo and Artemis travel the world. They are chasing the sun. Chasing the moon. They will never catch up. Their hand are curled around each others hip bones. Never in public though. They look too similar for that now. Society has learned judgement and so they keep their caresses safe in the shadows.
Poseidon wanders the shore. He wears a plastic poncho and carries a bag of trash. His tears mix with the salt water. No one can tell the difference. A girl with hair that moves like serpents trails after him, retribution in her eyes.
Hades lies in bed, his wife curled around him. He smiles because people will always believe in death and finally, finally he has beaten his brothers at something.
Athena paces through college campuses, handing out pamphlets on architecture. She scoffs at professors who are simply going through the motions. She carries signs in her hands as she marches through the streets with the students, screaming about the newest problem. She laughs wild, these children, these fearless children are her people.
Hestia wants her family to come home. She waits in the doorway, arms outstretched and a smile like forgiveness waiting to embrace the siblings whom she knows will never return.
Demeter counts down the days until her daughter returns. She smiles when children cheer over the snow days she gives them. There was a time when she had a child like that.
Persephone kisses her husband and grins when people tremble. She is vengeful and wears flowers in her hair and she will make damn sure that the world will never forget her name.
Ares walks through the Middle East, picking his way around the ruins of an elementary school. He stopped understanding war a long time ago. This was not brave, this was not heroic. This was senseless.
Aphrodite narrows her eyes at boys in cars who yell obscene things. She’s long since stopped romanticizing love. She is gaunt and over worked but sometimes she sees a teenage girl handing her baby over to an older couple who had tried for years and she feels young again. Sometimes, she sees Ares from across the room as soldiers embrace their loved ones and they smile at each other.
Hephaestus limps through his shop, his hands are worn down, his back is still twisted but people don’t seem to notice anymore. He makes their furniture, their toys and trinkets and they thank him, they pay him.
Hermes runs through the streets of New York, Tokyo, London. He is young in this time, young and beautiful and slipping between business men, his hands finding their way into their pockets. He never stops laughing.
Dionysus mixes Zeus his drinks. He watches his family grin and cry and get sick in the back room of the bar. He holds back their hair and hands them another drink before they even ask. He’s been here a long time. He’s seen them drunk more often then he’s seen them sober. He is watching them flicker out and fade.
The gods are dying. The gods are dead. The gods are us.
*shyly whispers* do u think u could do another Greek Mythology story~
“Your tapestries are so
fine,” the merchant says in wonder, “that you must be blessed by the goddess
Arachne tosses her
head, braided hair falling over her shoulder like an obsidian waterfall,
“What’s Athena got to do with it? My hands wove these, not hers.”
The merchant blanches
and looks to the sky, as if expecting Zeus himself to smite them for blasphemy.
Personally, she thinks the king of the gods has better thing to do with his
time. “Ah,” he says weakly, “I suppose.”
He pays her for her
wares and she leaves, almost immediately bumping into a hunched old woman with
grey eyes. “Do you not owe Athena thanks for your talent?” she croaks, gnarled
hands curled over a cane.
Arachne is not stupid,
but she is foolish. They will tell tales of it. She looks into those grey eyes
and declares, “Athena should thank me,
since my talents earn her so much praise.”
She pushes past her and
keeps walking, ignoring the goddess in humans skin as she disappears into the
They will tell tales of
her hubris. They will all be true.
The next day she bumps
into the same old woman at the market. Everything goes downhill from there.
“Know your place,
mortal,” Athena says, grey eyes narrowed. There is a crowd around them, and
Arachne could save herself, could walk away unscathed, and all she has to do is
say her weaving is inferior to that of a goddess.
She will not lie.
“I do,” she says
coolly, “and in this matter, it is above you.”
She is not honest as a
virtue, but as a vice.
Athena challengers her
to a weaving contest. She accepts.
Gods are not so hard to
find, if you know where to look.
“It’s a volcano,” the
baker repeats, looking down at her coins, as if he feels guilty for taking
money from someone who’s clearly not all there.
She grabs her bag of
sweet breads and adds it to her pack before swinging it over her shoulders,
“Yes, I know. Half a day’s walk, you said?”
“A volcano,” he insists, as if she did not hear him perfectly well the
first dozen times.
“Thank you for your
help,” she says. He’s shaking his head at her, but she knows what she’s doing.
She walks. She grows
hungry, but does not touch the bread she paid for, and walks some more. The
sun’s begun to set by the time she makes it to the base of the volcano. It’s
tall, impossibly large, and for a moment the promise of defeat threatens to
But Arachne does not
believe in defeat, in loss. They will tell tales of her hubris. Those tales
will be true.
She ties a scarf around
her braids then hikes her skirt up and ties the material so it falls only to
her thighs. She fits work roughened hands into the divots of cooled magma and
begins her slow ascent.
The muscles in her legs
and arms shake, and her hunger pains are almost as distracting. Her once white
dress is dirt smeared and torn and sweat makes her itch as it covers her body
and drips down her back.
“What are you doing?”
Arachne turns her head
and bites back a scream, looking into one giant eye. The cyclops holds easily
to the volcano’s edges, even though her hands are torn and bleeding. She
swallows and says, “I heard you like honeyed bread. Is it true?”
The creature tilts his
head to the side, baring his long fanged teeth at her. She thinks he might be
smiling. “You’ve been climbing for hours. What do you want?”
“Is it true?” she
repeats, refusing to flinch.
“Yes,” he says, looking
at her the same way the baker had, “it’s true.”
“There’s some sweet
bread in my pack, baked this morning,” she says, “it should still be soft.”
His hands are big
enough and strong enough that it could probably squeeze her head like a grape. Instead
he gently undoes her pack and reaches inside. The honey buns look comically
small in his large hands, and he swallows half of them in one bite. He licks
his fingers clean when he’s done, and his smile is just as terrifying the
second time around. “I am Brontes. Why are you climbing my master’s volcano?”
“I’m the weaver
Arachne,” she takes a deep breath, “I need your master’s help.”
They tell tales of
They are not true.
He’s got a broad,
angular face and short brown hair. His eyes are like amber set into his face,
and his arms are huge, and he’s rippling muscle from the waist up. He has legs
only to his knees. From there down his legs are bronze gears and golden wire,
replacements for the legs destroyed when Hera threw him from Mount Olympus.
“Had your look, girl?”
he asks, voice rough like he’s always a moment away from breaking into a
“Yes,” she says, and
doesn’t turn away, keeps looking.
His lips quirk up at
the corners, so it was the right move. The heat is even more oppressive inside
the volcano, and all around him cyclopses work, forging oddly shaped metal that
she can’t hope to understand. “You’ve gone to an awful lot of trouble to find me,
girl. What do you want?”
She slides her pack off
her shoulders and holds it out to the god, “I have a gift for your wife. I have
woven her a cloak.”
He raises an eyebrow
and doesn’t reach for the bag, “You believe something made with mortal hands
could be worthy of the goddess of beauty?”
They will tell tales of
They will all be true.
With a gust of wind the
oppressive heat of the volcano is swept away, leaving her chilled. In its place
stands a woman – more than a woman. Aphrodite has skin like the copper of her
husband’s machines and hair dark and thick and long. Her eyes are deepest,
richest brown, piercing in their intelligence. People don’t tell tales of
Aphrodite’s cleverness. That is because people are stupid.
“Let’s see it then,”
she says, reaching inside the pack and pulling the cloak from its depths.
It unrolls beautifully.
It’s made from the finest silks, and it shimmers in the light from the forges.
The hem of the cloak is sea foam, speaking of Aphrodite’s beginning, and up
along the cloak is intricate patterns it tells of her life, of her marriage and
her worshippers and escapades, all with the detail of the most experienced
artist and the reverence of her most devoted followers.
Her lips part in
surprise and she slides it on, twirling like a child. “Gorgeous,” Hephaestus
says, though Arachne knows he does not speak of the cloak. She doesn’t take
The goddess smiles and
Arachne’s heart pounds in her chest. She does her best to ignore it – Aphrodite
is the goddess of love, after all. It is only expected. “Very well,” the
goddess says, “you have my attention.”
Aphrodite’s attention is a heavy thing. “I have offended Athena,” she says,
“She has challenged me to a weaving contest.”
Their faces somber.
Hephaestus rubs the edge of a sleeve between his fingers and says, “Athena will
lose such a contest, if judged fairly. She does not take loss well.”
“I know,” she says,
“you are friendly with Hades, are you not?”
There are no tales of
their friendship. But she’s staking her life on its existence, because why
wouldn’t it exist – both of them even tempered, both shunned by Olympus, both
Gods hate being made to
feel lesser. It is why they say Persephone was kidnapped, why they say
Aphrodite cheats with Ares. It is why Athena will crush her when Arachne wins
the weaving contest.
“Clever girl,” Hephaestus
Aphrodite stares at her
reflection in a convenient piece of polished silver. Arachne assumes Hephaestus
left if lying there for that express purpose. “Very well!” the goddess says,
not looking at her, “when Athena sends you to the underworld, we will entrench
upon our uncle for your release.” She turns on her heel and points a finger at
her. Arachne blushes for no reason she can think of. “In return, you will weave
me a gown, one equal to my own beauty.”
A gown as exquisite as
the goddess of beauty. An impossible task.
They will tell tales of
They will all be true.
The contest goes as
expected. Athena’s tapestry is lovely, but Arachne’s is lovelier.
The goddess’s face goes
red in rage, and her grey eyes narrow. Arachne stands tall, ready to accept the
death blow coming for her.
The blow comes.
Death does not.
She is an insect. Even if she can make it back to Hephaestus’s
volcano, even if they can help her, they will not know it is her. She has no
hope left, no course of action, she should just give up. But –
She doesn’t believe in
defeat, in loss.
It was a terribly long
journey on foot, that first time. It is even longer this time, although now she
has eight legs instead of two. She makes it to the volcano, and creeps in
between crevices, until she finds out a hollowed room, one with a sliver of
sunlight and plenty of bugs to keep her fed.
Athena’s cruel joke of
allowing her to weave will be her downfall. Her silk comes out a golden yellow
color – it will look exquisite against Aphrodite’s copper skin.
It takes seven years
for her to complete it. She hasn’t left this room in the volcano in all that
time, and as soon as it’s done she scurries out back toward the village. She’s
a large insect, but not that large.
She arrives just as the
sun begins to rise, and leaves before the first rays have even touched the
earth, her prize tied to her back with her own silk.
Arachne doesn’t return
to her room. Instead she goes to the more popular parts of the volcano, hurries
and runs around terrifying stomping feet until she finds who she’s looking for
and scurries up his leg and onto his shoulder.
“Huh,” Brontes looks
onto his shoulder and blinks. “What on earth are you?”
She cautiously skitters
down his arm, waiting. He bends closer and lightly touches her back. “Is – is that
a piece of a honey bun?”
She looks up at him,
waiting. It’s her only chance, if he doesn’t remember, if he doesn’t understand
His face slowly fills with
a cautious kind of wonder. “Arachne?” She
jumps in place, being unable to nod, and Brontes cautiously cradles her in his
massive hands, “We must find the Master immediately!”
She jumps down, landing
in front of him and running forward. “Wait!” he calls, and she makes sure he’s running
after her before skittering back to her corner of the cave. It’s almost too
small for him to enter but he squeezes inside and breathes, “Oh.” He stares for
several moments, and Arachne climbs her web and waits. Brontes shakes himself
out of his reverie and uses his powerful wings to bellow, “MISTRESS APHRODITE!”
There’s that same
breeze and she’s in the crevice with them, “What was so important, Brontes,
that you had to yell?”
Arachne sees the exact
moment that the goddess sees the gown, golden yellow and glimmering, made
entirely of spider silk. “Beautiful,” she says, reaching out a hand to brush
down the bodice. Her head then snaps up, “Brontes, where’s Arachne?”
She warms at that, that
Aphrodite knew it was her weaving even though she hasn’t been seen in seven
They’ve told tales of
They are all true.
Brontes points at the
web, and Aphrodite steps over and holds out her hands. Arachne crawls onto the
goddess’s palms. “Athena is more powerful than I am, I cannot undo her work,”
she says, “but I know someone who can.”
Then they are in front
of a river. A handsome young man stands there waiting with a boat. “Goddess
Aphrodite,” he says, “we weren’t expecting you.”
returns, “I need to see Persephone.”
The man’s face stays
cool, and for a moment Arachne fears they will be refused and she will be stuck
in this form forever. Then he smiles and says, “My lady is of course available
for her favored niece.” He holds out a hand to help her onto the boat, “Please
come with me.”
Arachne weaves a dress
for Hades’s wife as a thank you, and returns to her volcano.
“I can take you
somewhere else,” Aphrodite says, “you don’t have to hide here.”
Arachne pauses at her
loom. She has lived in this volcano for seven years. It’s her home. “Would you
like me to leave?” she asks instead.
Aphrodite scoffs, “Of
course not! How could I dress myself without you here?” She’s wearing the
spider silk dress Arachne spun for her, and she’s working on another for the
goddess now. Aphrodite runs a gentle finger down Arachne’s cheek and for a
moment she forgets to breathe. “You are the finest weaver to ever exist.”
She looks up at the
goddess, “Then as the god of crafts and goddess of beautiful things, where else
would I belong besides with you and Hephaestus?”
To declare your company
equal to that of gods is the height of arrogance and blasphemy.
They tell tales of her
“An excellent point,”
Aphrodite murmurs, and tucks a stray braid behind Arachne’s ear.
Whatever I say about Rick Riordan, he did give us meaningful messages. They are golden and hit you right in your heart.
“If my life is going to mean anything, I have to live it myself.” - The Lightning Thief
“Knowing too much of your future is never a good thing.” -The Lightning Thief
“Even strength must bow to wisdom sometimes.” -The Lightning Thief
“The real world is where the monsters are.” -The Lightning Thief
“Where’s the glory in repeating what others have done?” -The Lightning Thief
“Suspecting and knowing are not the same.” -The Lightning Thief
“Names have power.” -The Lightning Thief
“So few people did good in their lives. It was depressing.” -The Lightning Thief
“The dead aren’t scary. They are just sad.” -The Lightning Thief
“the best people have the rottenest luck” -The Lightning Thief
“If you were a god, how would you like being called a myth, an old story to explain lightning? What if I told you, Perseus Jackson, that someday people would call you a myth, just created to explain how little boys can get over losing their mothers?” -The Lightning Thief
“It was like looking at the ocean: some days, you could tell what mood it was in. Most days, though, it was unreadable, mysterious.” -The Lightning Thiel
“You may choose to believe or not, but the fact is that immortal means immortal. Can you imagine that for a moment, never dying? Never fading? Existing, just as you are, for all time?” -The Lightning Thief
“Does truth have a moral?” -The Sea Of Monsters
“Don’t you ever feel like, what if the world really IS messed up? What if we COULD Do it all over again from scratch? No more war. Nobody homeless. No more summer reading homework.
“ -The Sea Of Monsters
“Knowledge isn’t always good for you.” -The Sea Of Monsters
“This is the trouble with all happiness -all of it is built on top of something men want.” -The Sea Of Monsters
“there’s one thing I’ve learned over the eons, it’s that you can’t give up on your family, no matter how tempting they make it. It doesn’t matter if they hate you, or embarrass you, or simply don’t appreciate your genius” -The Sea Of Monsters
“But you, Percy - you are part god, part human. You live in both worlds. You can be harmed by both, and you can affect both. That’s what makes heroes so special. You carry the hopes of humanity into the realm of the eternal.” -The Sea Of Monsters
“There is always a way out for those clever enough to find it.” -The Titan’s Curse
So I took her hand, and I don’t know what everybody else heard, but to me it sounded like a slow dance: a little sad, but maybe a little hopeful, too.” -
The Titan’s Curse
“He might as well have stabbed me with a rusty dagger.It would’ve hurt less than reminding me of my promise.” -
The Titan’s Curse
“The most dangerous flaws are those which are good in moderation,“ she said. "Evil is easy to fight. Lack of wisdom… that is very hard indeed.” -
The Titan’s Curse
"You might as well ask an artist to explain his art, or ask a poet to explain his poem. It defeats the purpose. The meaning is only clear through the search.” -
The Titan’s Curse
“Be careful of love. It’ll twist your brain around and leave you thinking up is down and right is wrong.” -The Battle Of Labyrinth
“People are more difficult to work with than machines. And when you break a person, he can’t be fixed.” -The Battle Of Labyrinth
“Getting something and having the wits to use it…those are two different things.” -The Battle Of Labyrinth
“But remember, boy, that a kind act can sometimes be as powerful as a sword.” -The Battle Of Labyrinth
“You must carry on my spirit. It can no longer be carried by a god. It must be taken up by all of you. “-The Battle Of Labyrinth
“Don’t judge someone until you’ve stood at his forge and worked with his hammer, eh?” -The Battle Of Labyrinth
“I was glad to be with her, but it also kind of hurt, and it hurt when I wasn’t with her, too.” -The Battle Of Labyrinth
“Remake the wild, a little at a time, each in your own corner of the world. You cannot wait for anyone else, even a god, to do that for you.” -The Battle Of Labyrinth
“Genius does not excuse evil.” -The Battle Of Labyrinth
"But… I’m just… I mean, I’m just me.” “That is enough,” -The Battle Of Labyrinth
“A good artist must be good at many things.” -The Battle Of Labyrinth
“They said I would never amount to anything. Look at me now. Sometimes small things can become very large indeed.” -The Battle Of Labyrinth
“Maybe that’s why monsters fade. Maybe it’s not about what the mortals believe. Maybe it’s because you give up on yourself.” -The Battle Of Labyrinth
“It’s hard to enjoy practical jokes when your whole life feels like one.” -The Last Olympian
“Sometimes the hardest power to master is the power of yielding.” -The Lat Olympian
“No hero is above fear .”-The Last Olympian
"I am here because when all else fails, when all the other mighty gods have gone off to war, I am all that’s left. Home. Hearth. I am the last Olympian” -The Last Olympian
“Because Hope survives best at the Hearth.” -The Last Olympian
“Patterns repeat themselves in history” -The Last Olympian
“You must forge your own path for it to mean anything.” -The Lost Hero
“But beauty is about finding the right fit, the most natural fit, To be perfect, you have to feel perfect about yourself — avoid trying to be something you’re not. For a goddess, that’s especially hard. We can change so easily.
“-The Lost Hero
“Don’t stay in one place too long. It was the only way to stay ahead of the sadness.” -The Lost Hero
“My point is that love is the most powerful motivator in the world. It spurs mortals to greatness. Their noblest, bravest acts are done for love.” -The Lost Hero
“Nothing lasts forever, not even the best machines. And everything can be reused.
“-The Lost Hero
“Humor was a good way to hide the pain.” -The Lost Hero
“He was the class clown, the court jester, because he’d learn early that if you cracked jokes and pretended you weren’t scared, you usually didn’t get beat up. Even the baddest gangster kids would tolerate you, keep you around for laughs.”-The Lost Hero
“Maybe people with special gifts show up when bad things are happening because that’s when they’re needed most.” -The Lost Hero
“Life is only precious because it ends, kid.” -The Son Of Neptune
What mattered was listening. You didn’t need to say you were sorry. The only thing that helped was moving on—moving forward.” -The Son Of Neptune
“A real man’s weapon is his mind.” -The Son Of Neptune
“Death has more in common with Love than you might imagine.” -The Son Of Neptune
“Nobody welcomes a war - not if they’re smart. But war finds everyone sooner or later. It’s inevitable.” -The Son Of Neptune
“Strange things conspire when one tries to cheat fate” -The Son Of Neptune
“He warned me the greediest wishes cause the greatest sorrows.” -The Son Of Neptune
"As long as we’re together,” -The Mark Of Athena
“Being a hero doesn’t mean you’re invincible. It just means that you’re brave enough to stand up and do what’s needed.” -The Mark Of Athena
“I’m nobody’s sidekick” -The Mark Of Athena
“She had to go on this quest. The fate of the world might depend on it. But part of him wanted to say: Forget the world. He didn’t want to be without her.” -The Mark Of Athena
“Keep it simple.” -The Mark Of Athena
“But she wondered why beautiful things had to be wrapped up with evil history. Or was it the other way around? Maybe the evil history made it necessary to build beautiful things, to mask the darker aspects.” -The Mark Of Athena
“True success requires sacrifice.” -The Mark Of Athena
“Swords can’t solve every problem.” -The Mark Of Athena
“Many of the best traps are simple. You just have to think about it, and hope your victim doesn’t.” -The Mark Of Athena
“Gods forbid if she ever broke up with him. She’d never be able to visit the sea again without remembering her broken heart.”-The Mark Of Athena
Tell the sun and stars hello for me.” -The House Of Hades
But magic is neither good nor evil. It is a tool, like a knife. Is a knife evil? Only if the wielder is evil.” -The House Of Hades
“I figure the world is basically a machine. I don’t know who made it, if it was the Fates, or the gods, or the capital-G god or whatever. But it chugs along the way it’s supposed to most of the time. Sure, little pieces break off and stuff goes haywire once in a while, but mostly… things happen for a reason.” -The House Of Hades
“Yeah, well,” Nico said, “not giving people a second thought…that can be dangerous.” -The House Of Hades
“Oh, I wouldn’t say Love always makes you happy. Sometimes it makes you incredibly sad.” -The House Of Hades
“Love is no game! It is no flowery softness! It is hard work- It demands everything from you- especially the truth. Only then does it yield results.” -The House Of Hades
I am the god of love. I am never fair.” -The House Of Hades
“Love was the most savage monster of all.” -The House Of Hades
“Ask your friends, Cupid said. Frank, Hazel, and Percy met my counterpart, Thanatos. We are not so different. Except Death is sometimes kinder.” -The House Of Hades
“Bob says hello”-The House Of Hades
“Love is on every side, and no one’s side. Don’t ask what Love can do for you.” -The House Of Hades
“He didn’t think much of fates and prophecies, but he did believe in one thing: Annabeth and he were supposed to be together.” -The House Of Hades
I’m not choosing one of your paths. I’m making my own.” -The House Of Hades
“Must’ve been hard on your mom,” Frank said. “I guess we’ll do anything for someone we love.” -The House Of Hades
Mortals did superhuman feats in the name of love all the time.
“-The House Of Hades
“It is a costly thing, looking on the true face of Love.” -The House Of Hades
“It’s natural to feel fear. All great warriors are afraid. Only the stupid and the delusional are not…” -The House Of Hades
“The dead see what they believe they will see. So do the living. That is the secret.” -The House Of Hades
“She had to face the fact that she couldn’t protect everyone she loved. She couldn’t solve every problem.” -The House Of Hades
“Well, maybe you got the smoke, buddy, but I’ve got the fire.” -The House Of Hades
“I guess once in a while we all need a wake-up call from somebody who loves us.” -The House Of Hades
“No one can hate you with more intensity than someone who used to love you.” -The Blood Of Olympus
You should have to make someone`s heart whole; that was a much better test.” -The Blood Of Olympus
“Some pain shouldn’t be wished away so easily. It had to be dealt with, even embraced.” -The Blood Of Olympus
“You can’t choose your parentage. But you can choose your legacy.” -The Blood Of Olympus
“I don’t define myself by the boys who may or may not like me” -The Blood Of Olympus
“Our desires reveal us. They show us for who we really are.” -The Blood Of Olympus
‘Getting a second life is one thing. Making it a better life, that’s the trick.’ -The Blood Of Olympus
“Fear can’t be reasoned with. Neither can hate. They’re like love. They’re almost identical emotions. That’s why Ares and Aphrodite like each other. Their twin sons – Fear and Panic – were spawned from both war and love.” -The Blood Of Olympus
“A wind that blows aimlessly is no good to anyone.” -The Blood Of Olympus
“Keep moving. Don’t get bogged down. Don’t think about the bad stuff. Smile and joke even when you don’t feel like it. Especially when you don’t feel like it.” -The Blood Of Olympus
“Your voice is your identity.” -The Blood Of Olympus
“Dreams and death were old friends of his. He knew how to navigate their dark borderland.” -The Blood Of Olympus
“The most difficult kind of strength – restraint.” -The Blood Of Olympus
“You will not find love where you wish or where you hope.” -The Blood Of Olympus
“All aboard for one last trip.” -The Blood Of Olympus
The darkness is my birthright.” -The Blood Of Olympus
“Complaining of unfairness is like assigning blame, Percy Jackson. It does no one any good.” -The Blood Of Olympus
“It’s stupid what keeps people apart.” -The Blood Of Olympus
“Nico had once read a story from Plato, who claimed that in the ancient times, all humans had been a combination of male and female. Each person had two heads, four arms, four legs. Supposedly, these combo-humans had been so powerful they made the gods uneasy, so Zeus split them in half—man and woman. Ever since, humans had felt incomplete. They spent their lives searching for their other halves.” -The Blood Of Olympus
“But too much love is poison, especially when that love is not returned.” -The Blood Of Olympus
the bruises of love bites left by lovers on necks and thighs; smudged lipstick from hasty kisses; blood red roses with their sharp thorns still intact; the way you hug someone you love when you reunite after a lengthy separation
polished instruments gleaming, held like the most precious of jewels by their owners; a sunny day with a clear blue sky where there are no clouds in sight; the rough script of poems penned out on scraps of paper or napkins before they're forgotten; when music is so loud that you feel it reverberating in your bones; the pale lines of fading scars
the hands of a fighter, short finger nails and bloodied knuckles; split lips that have scabbed over; the smooth and intricate lines of old weapons you see mounted on museum walls; deep trenches dug out from the earth; the way barbed wire contrasts against whatever it surrounds
loose braids with wild flowers slipped in; the majesty of tall trees stretching up endlessly towards the heavens; the wide and captivating eyes of wild deer; cloudy nights where the moon is just barely peeking through; the colorful fletching of arrows drawn back to rest upon cheeks and along jaws
the straight and steady way a soldier stands at attention; fingertips smudged with ink; a stack of books to read piled on the floor or a nightstand; eyes gleaming with the glow of new ideas; the quiet and contemplative aura of museums and libraries
the way sunlight catches dust motes in the air through the gaps in the leaves of the trees; the feeling of life you get from standing in the middle of an orchard with bees buzzing around you; crocuses and snowdrops peeking through the last dredges of winter's snow
the bleached bones of animals in the forest when moss has begun to engulf them; the way that graveyard angels look like they're weeping in the rain; the solemn aura of old churches, citadels, synagogues, temples, and mosques
the pleasure of holding something you've created in your palms; the soft glow of heated metal; the intricate beauty of cogs and gears fitting together precisely and working in tandem; the smooth and polished surfaces of high-rise business buildings
the lacy white of flowing wedding gowns; the way a couple's hands look clasped together; pairs of old wedding rings that are scratched from years of use; the feeling of surrealism that comes from looking at old family portraits; getting used to sharing a space with someone else and then seeing the mannerisms you've unknowingly adopted from them
the way that the low beam headlights of a car touch the roads that stretch ever onwards at night; old maps yellowed at the corners from their age; the way that things rush past when you look out the window of a car or train; quick hands slipping deftly into pockets and taking what they find
the light and protection of street lights in an otherwise dark city; the warmth of your bed on cold winter mornings; the heat of a fire as you sit around it with people you love; the comfort of a home-cooked meal
the way light looks when you're seeing it shine down from deep underwater; the effervescent colors of cresting waves; the eery beauty of shipwrecks; the ripples created when you trail your fingertips through still waters; dust clouds kicked up by the passing of strong hooves
the way that storm clouds darken the edge of the horizon; silhouettes framed against the sky by flashes of lightning; the splay of feathers of a bird's outstretched wings; the polished and tarnished brass of old fashioned scales
Aries: Ares (we already knew this one come on now, loves to be center of attention, loud and feisty af???)
Taurus: Hephaestus (I know he’s got some fire shit going on, but he is stubborn as all hell and don’t take shit from no one)
Gemini: Hermes (the perfect gemini tbh, like he’s fast, a messenger, low key loves drama??)
Cancer: Apollo (light, creative, sensual and nosy, the best Apollo you’ll ever meet was definitely a cancer don’t quote me on this)
Leo: Zeus (if you think Leo you think Zeus. Leos are bossy af, they loooove being center of attention and love being the leader of everything)
Virgo: Hera (definitely virgo = hera bc hera loves being the boss lowkey, as do virgos and she can be plenty bossy, but she also always gets her way except with things she truly wants. virgos are the real boss of olympus tbh)
Libra: Aphrodite (libras loooove attention and looking absolute best, they love being the prettiest one in the room and are super persuasive)
Scorpio: Hades (moody, sassy, loves solitude??? am I talking about scorpios or hades???)
Sagittarius: Dionysus (PARTY ANIMALS every sag ive ever met were partiers who didn’t give a shit about nothing! real life of the party tbh)
Capricorn: Artemis (loves girl power, always for being the leader but super lowkey, probably the most agreeable nice one tbh)
Aquarius: Athena (smarty fucking pants tbh, always knows the plans, sassy af, and fixes all the shit that everyone else causes)
Pisces: Poseidon (smooth af, and deep af. is a charmer despite the stereotypes, but also thinks about some real deep shit and stands up for what’s right when needed)