apollo bot .ᐟ

admin.⠀ currently rereading trials of apollo and felt morally obliged to share its genius with the world. spoilers ahead and will keep adding quotes as i read (pjo + hoo included). enjoy!

I had no great desire to be here in Olympus, my home that was not a home. I wanted to see Meg again. I wanted to sit by the fire at Camp Half-blood and sing ridiculous songs, or joke with the Roman demigods in the Camp Jupiter mess hall.

“You know how it is. Gods don’t fight demigod battles. Present company excepted.” “I’m an exception!” I kissed the top of Nico’s head in delight. “Please don’t do that.”

𝘐 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘗𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘪𝘧𝘦

Meg sprinkled seeds into the scum patches next to her, causing luminous mushrooms to pop into existence like tiny umbrellas. When life gives you scum, make mushrooms, I suppose.

“May we pass?” I asked. “Any weapons to declare?” In better times, I would have answered, 𝘖𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘺 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺.

“Meg,” I chided, “we can’t arrange the gods by 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘭𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴. That would lead to too many fights.” 𝘉𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘴, I thought, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦.

We’d have to trust in the gods for some good luck. (Insert HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA here.)

The best I could hope for was to emerge from Delphi with my godhood restored, which was what I had wanted and dreamed about for the past half a year. So why did I feel so reluctant about leaving behind the broken, battered form of Lester Papadopoulos?

I may have yelled a few choice words, but the sphere of silence censored them, so you will have to use your imagination.

“C’mon, guys!” said Lavinia. “Apollo might know stuff!” This was how I knew I had hit rock bottom: the highest praise I could receive from a mortal was that I “might know stuff.”

Below me, Meg yelled, “REALLY, Apollo? You water hyacinths thoroughly UNLESS you are transplanting them!” “How was I supposed to know that?” I protested. “You CREATED hyacinths!” Ugh. Mortal logic.

“Hasn’t he proved himself already?" Artemis demanded. My heart ached, seeing my sister again. “He’s suffered more in these last few months than even 𝘺𝘰𝘶 could have expected! Whatever lesson you were trying to teach him, dear Father, he’s learned it!”

Why was this so hard? I had spoken of love to women before. And men. And gods. And nymphs. And the occasional attractive statue before I realized it was a statue.

I was between states, morphing as rapidly as Python himself. I was no god. I would never be the same old Apollo again. But in this moment, I had the chance to decide what I would become, even if that new existence only lasted a few seconds.

That reminded me of another reason I liked Frank Zhang. He, too, was a member of the 𝘐 𝘏𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘏𝘦𝘳𝘢 club.

I studied my smooth tan arms, wishing again that I had retained a few scars. Lester Papadopoulos had earned his cuts, bruises, broken ribs, blistered feet, acne... Well, perhaps not the acne. No one deserves that.

“Austin,” Kayla said with relief. “I need to lure this bull outside. Can you—?" She pointed at me. “We playing pass-the-Apollo?" Austin grinned. “Sure. C’mon, Dad. I got you.”

Fun fact from a former god who knows acoustics: If you fire a gun in an enclosed space, you have just deafened everyone in that room.

My sister—surely, I could never forget my twin! But even her features floated indistinctly in my mind. She had silvery eyes. She smelled of honeysuckle. What else? I panicked. I couldn’t remember her name. I couldn’t remember my 𝘰𝘸𝘯 name.

I set the wreath on the edge of the railing, then ran my hand across the hyacinth that grew along the lattice—another reminder of tragic love. My poor Hyacinthus. Had I 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 created these flowers to commemorate him, or just to wallow in my own grief and guilt?