I think the fact they have this obscene amount of money allows me to believe they're still together. In spite of their crazy schedules that keep them continents apart, this does not mean they don't see eachother all the time. Traveling for them is not like us poor people. They don't have to arrive at the airport 3 hours before flight with layovers in random cities. They can get chauffeured direct to a private jet that in hours flys them to wherever the other one is.
About them not being photographed together, well we don't get pictures of what could be their actual relationships either. Unless you think Brad and Harry are a thing?
This is just BEGGING for a toilet shot, but I'm gonna let it slide for a quick sec because this is what I mean, this is where it all starts tilting into ao3 land, only from 10 years ago. For sure, they have a shit ton of money, they could fly anywhere, but is that what's really happening? Like, if you had to weigh the options of what's going on when you see one in one city, the other in another one, there's a five-hour-plus time difference or whatever, they're spotted with multiple people in whatever place they're meant to be in, but you're still clinging to the idea that private jets are whisking them into a city, 100000% unspotted/unnoticed, then back again xx hours later?? Like, constantly and consistently? Reminds me of the old days (well, I guess the current days for some) and the lack of object permanence, ooh, we haven't seen Harry in 24 hours, he's OBVIOUSLY in [insert name of city where Louis's on tour], waiting in a hotel room. Uh oh, turns out he was working on some other project we didn't know about because we aren't on his team or sharing his google calendar? Doesn't matter, he wasn't unspotted on main for an hour, ipso facto, he was with Louis!
Look, if everything else was lining up, all the other points that are spelling out in this precise moment that this isn't rock-solid #husbands, #theyneverbrokeup, maybe I could buy it, but it isn't! And since you asked, I think Brad's actually a symbol of something much, much sadder (at least in the story in my own mind), but rather than getting up in google's ass to track flights to prove that Harry's somehow magically teleporting into Boston or wherever, yeah, I sure would rather read someone's riDICKulous bradrry proof post, it beats the new spin on the ole airport trickeroo of yore
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anti-curse
pairing: percy jackson x daughter of apollo!reader
summary: whether he knew it or not, percy jackson made the world a better, brighter place — and you intend to protect him, no matter what path the fates leads you down. fuck prophetic dreams. the future wasn't written in stone.
warnings/disclaimers: mentions of typical demigod things (battles, weapons, etc.); this is set during the heroes of olympus series so roughly follows that plot + features the seven demigods; mainly inspired by book!percy (dark hair, sea green eyes) bc that's the one i fell in love w growing up; characters are aged up from the book (reader + percy are meant to be 21-22 y/o) bc i imagine there was more time between prophecies/series....anyways, please enjoy <3
when you first met percy jackson, he almost shot you through the chest with an arrow.
given that apollo is your godly parent, you often found yourself at the archery field, which happened to be one of the first stops on percy’s tour of camp half-blood. after that first mishap, your other half-siblings were, understandably, too scared to let percy try again — frankly chiron seemed a bit hesitant as well — and you could sense that percy felt disheartened. so, you flashed the boy a reassuring smile before giving him a few pointers and a second chance. when he smiled back at you, you felt a fluttering in your stomach that told you percy jackson would be more than a little important in your life.
archery still wasn't percy's strong suit, but your gut feeling turned out to be true. you and percy had dealt with a lot since then — a handful of quests, several prophecies, more than a few near-death experiences, a titan war, and, maybe worst of all, high school. you couldn't imagine getting through any of it without him by your side, and you knew the feeling was mutual.
so, you were entirely anticipating that percy would be hurt by your announcement during dinner.
“no way that’s happening.” percy laughs, as if he can’t believe you’d suggest something as ridiculous as not having him accompany you on your quest. he remains unfazed, takes a sip of his electric blue coke before gesturing to the empty seat next to him. “come on, sunshine. have something to eat.”
the nickname sends your heart into a frenzy as you sit next to him. you and percy had never been anything other than friends, but sometimes....sometimes you look at his dangerous ocean eyes and wind-swept dark hair and it makes you blush. sometimes you consider the way his laughter fills you with warmth and his smile holds a thousand memories, the way he teases and winks at you and you decide that he makes your world so much brighter. sometimes you remember how sarcastic and thoughtful and loyal and reckless he is, his heart of gold and unpredictability of the sea. and you start to think that maybe possibly you'd fallen in love with your best friend.
that was not the issue at hand, though. you summon your favourite food and drink, but don't particularly feel like having either. percy returns to his conversation with hazel about how the two of you would drive up to montauk after you finally got your license, any time either of you needed to escape your reality, even just for a night. you'd sit on the beach, stargazing and roasting stale marshmallows and wishing to stay there forever. hazel seems to think that sounds like a nice escape, and percy promises that once the eight of you fulfill this prophecy, you'll all go to the beach house together, which makes hazel break out into a grin.
you can't help but smile at percy who loves his friends, who has loved you for so long. that feeling is quickly replaced by a pang in your chest that reminds you what's at stake. from the corner of your eye, you notice annabeth across from you, who looks at you like you’re a puzzle she can’t quite solve. you're trying to hide it, but if anyone can read you better than percy, it's annabeth. she knows something is weighing on your mind. you briefly lock eyes with jason, who you had gone to earlier for help, from the other side of the room, where he sits between piper and frank.
if you weren’t so distracted, you would have been able to enjoy dinner. the eight of you — all demigods of the current great prophecy — hadn’t been all together in a while, and it was nice to share a meal aboard the argo ii despite the reality of why you’d all been traveling together. leo had equipped the ship with magic plates and cups, and with the lively jokes and stories filling the air, you could almost imagine it was an ordinary summer evening at camp. you could almost forget that tomorrow, you had to go on a quest to rescue apollo and artemis from python, a monster so powerful your father barely defeated him thousands of years ago. you could almost ignore the impending war with gaea and the giants, and the doomed fate of the world if you were to fail. the one thing you could no longer ignore, however, is the gut feeling you have about the fate of the boy sitting next to you if your quest is to unfold the way you had first planned it.
you clear your throat, an attempt to interrupt the group's conversations.
“i was serious earlier,” you declare. “you’re not coming with me, percy. jason is.”
the smile percy had on his face fades. his eyes are filled with concern and disbelief, as he glances at you. “i – i don’t understand.”
"percy,” jason jumps in carefully, aware that he’s treading through dangerous waters like you had warned him. “y/n and i were strategizing earlier and it seems to make the most sense, given our powers combined."
percy shakes his head. “but — but you can’t just make last minute changes. we’ve already got everything set. right, valdez?”
leo shrugs, swallowing a mouthful of chicken before responding. “i don’t know, man. i’m no expert in quests, but it seems like i’m not the one who should be deciding this.” leo looks at you, and you nod gratefully.
you've been on edge since last night, and to calm your nerves you fiddle with the gold chain around your neck. it was a gift from your father: a necklace with a music note charm that can transform into an electric guitar or a bow and quiver. thankfully, you hadn't had to need both at the same time.
“it's up to me. and i want leo and jason to come with me.”
“then i’ll come too,” percy's voice remains calm, but insistant.
“isn’t there that thing about quests usually being done in threes?”
“that is true, piper,” percy agrees. he tilts his head towards you, like he's calling on you to remember. "exceptions have been made, though. like that one time with zoe." that had been years ago, when demigods from camp half-blood and hunters of artemis joined forces. five had been sent out on a quest, but only three came back. you shiver at the thought.
"or my quest through the labyrinth," annabeth recalls.
"but won't that also change our other plans, though?" hazel asks.
"not necessarily," you pipe in, your voice more assertive. "if jason and percy just switch. no harm done."
"we're not interchangeable," percy grumbles.
"hera sure seemed to think so!" leo searches the room for positive responses to his joke, but the most he gets is a half-hearted laugh from frank. "too soon?"
you take a deep breath. "it's not a big deal, really."
"it kind of is," percy counters. "you've never gone on a quest without me."
"you've gone on quests without me," you point out.
"that's...that's different."
"why? because i'm so weak that i need the son of the sea god to protect me at all times?"
you're giving percy the coldest stare you ever have. he hesitates to hold your gaze.
"you know that's not what i meant," he sighs.
"then what did you mean?"
percy looks at you, his eyes and tone softer. “look, sunshine, let's just stick with the plan, alright? we can just —”
“gods, you never listen, do you?" you finally snap. "you're not coming! i don’t want you there, percy!”
percy stares at you, stunned. you look around the table, and everyone looks back at you, wide-eyed. they weren’t used to this side of you, your sudden outburst not fitting in with your usually sunny disposition.
“well, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” leo jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood, with less than ideal results.
“you saw something in your dreams, didn’t you?” annabeth realizes.
her conclusion makes you freeze.
demigod dreams are always significant, carrying vivid images of monsters, messages from friends or enemies. some children of apollo like you had visions of the future — pseudo prophecies that are supposedly set to unfold given the path you’re on. technically, you weren’t supposed to share your visions, something about messing with fate or destiny, but that didn’t mean you had to accept the way things were.
what you saw in your dreams last night, what might happen to percy, made your blood run cold.
you would defy all the laws of the universe and divine rules if it meant you could protect him. so fuck the path the fates are attempting to lead you down, and fuck prophetic dreams. you refuse to let percy die. no matter how frustrated you’re acting towards him in this moment, you know he would still do the same for you.
you figure that the future isn't written in stone, right?
either way, you're willing to challenge destiny for percy jackson.
without answering annabeth, you get up from the table and take a deep breath, carefully avoiding percy’s gaze.
“i go with leo and jason, or i go alone.” your voice is steady, fighting the heavy beating of your heart and tears caught in your throat. “either way, i leave in the morning.” you exit the mess hall before anyone — before percy — can protest.
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In world where there are two types of tower-dwellers, a Princess is locked in a tower.
There are two types of tower-people: A Princess, put there to remain pure until marriage or until rescued, and a Wizard, put there by choice to study and learn in isolation. Princesses are defined by their beautiful long hair, and Wizards are defined by their beards and impressive 'stache.
There is a Princess, and she lives in a tower. She was put there recently by her mother and father, to keep her pure and untouched until they can secure the marriage to another kingdom and a prince shes doesn't love. She has long, almost brown sandy-blonde hair, pale green eyes and a slim, tender build. She is not the fairest in the land, but she is tall and pretty. If compared to a rose, she would be the humble yet graceful willow tree, slender and long. She has wanted to be a wizard since a young age, but there is no way for a princess to become a wizard. Princesses are delicate girls to be protected and sold off until their either dead or Queens or have found True Love, unsuited to the life of experimentation and study of a wizard. That is what her mother tells her, in a quiet scolding that is far more forceful and cruel then it has any right to be. And the princess, terrified, believes her.
She used to run the castle halls, stick in hand, robe fashioned out of a delicate silk bedsheet, shouting fake spells at birds while her servants chased her. But as she grew older, her restraints became tighter, and more and more often, she was confined in her room to embroider in solitude with barely the comfort of a window or a maid. The life she is forced into makes her hang her head low, makes her hands be paper-soft, and demands her hair be long and beautiful and perfect like all other princesses. The world she longed to be a part of was a world of study and experimentation, and as the kingdoms princess and tool, she could not even dare to hint at her desires into adulthood. She could become a witch, she knew, flee the castle barefoot and sink into the loving embrace of the swamp. But witches don’t live in towers, and they make potions instead of spells, and they don’t grow the flowing whimsical beards that wizards do.
But that does not mean she has to be bored in her tower. Fascinated by magic as she always has been, she arranges with a long string of bribes for books on spells and forbidden potions to be smuggled along with her meals. She studies them while the clock ticks down for either a prince to arrive or her marriage to be finalized. Either one will doom her, and she wants to enjoy herself as much as possible until her marriage. She pours over the books long into the night by candlelight, and all day, she rests her pale, tired eyes. She experiments, and she reads, and she studies non-stop, barely stopping for meals and littering her books with an assortment of food stains. She cuts off her hair to use in bubbling gold potions, her skin becomes scarred with a rainbow of the consequences of failed experiments, and her dresses turn into makeshift cheesecloths and fire-fuel. She washes late into the night after she is done with her work for the day in the darkness, not glancing into the mirror that has become cracked and dusty. When her eyesight starts to fail from strain and working in darkness, she fashions for herself bottle-round glasses, blown by herself in the depths of her tower. Engrossed as she is in her studies, she does not notice the tower warp, and the meals stop rotting, and how she started out in one circular room but now has a loft and a second floor and the fact that the tower seems much much taller then it was originally.
What she DOES notice though, is when brushing crumbs from her face she feels facial hair on her upper lip.
She rushes to the bathroom and thrusts a candle into the holder as she looks at herself. In the dusty mirror, she sees the beginnings of a bushy mustache sit on her upper lip, much further along in growth then be logically possible without her noticing. It’s a pale blonde, like her hair, and she notices faintly that there are streaks of grey in it, a very familiar shade of classic wizard grey. She brings a trembling hand to her upper lip.
Much, much later, a prince rides up to the tower. It is tall, and warped, and very clearly belonging to a wizard, despite the royal family claiming their daughter lives here.
He shouts up, a bit nervous because of the thorny vines wrapping the beautiful stonework.
“Hey! Does a Princess live here?”
A young man with large bottle glasses and a rather impressive mustache leans out of the tower, his short, sandy-blonde hair spilling lightly in the wind. He starts to say something, then glances back into his house. A smile breaks out on his face as he seems to realize something.
“No!” He shouts back, after a moments hesitation. “But a wizard does!”
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