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Aphrodite hated butterflies. She was always one to appreciate beauty in life, especially delicate beauty, but butterflies had only her ire. Poets had always said butterflies were a symbol of beauty, of freedom. She wasn’t the goddess of art, much less poetry– but she was the goddess of beauty and she knew that the poets were mistaken. Any butterfly that dared to land on one of the precious roses in her garden was immediately crushed and the bush burned to cleanse the taint of the wretched insect.
“Disgusting,” the goddess muttered under her breath as she watched her beloved rose garden burn to the ground. There was no saving it, the garden had become overrun— infested— with butterflies. “Harmonia,” Aphrodite said tersely.
In a flash of soft light, the demure goddess appeared with her head bowed. “Yes mother?” The necklace about her throat was truly beautiful, but everyone on Olympus knew better than to inquire about it, they all knew of the strife that Hephaestus wrought into it.
“Organize with the nymphs to replant my garden. And this time, make sure there are no butterflies.”
“Yes mother,” Harmonia said softly, knowing all too well what her mother could get like when in a bad mood. Being the goddess of harmony and concord could only do so much when faced with the ilk of a primordial.
“Have them add in a pond this time and fill it with flowers—”
“Yes mother.”
“—and organize for a guard to be here at all times—”
“As you wish.”
“—and send your brother to me, we have a lot to discuss.”
Harmonia nodded, keeping her head low. “Which of my brothers?”
Aphrodite’s face twisted up as she turned to look at her daughter. “Eros. I thought that would be obvious considering butterflies are his whore’s symbol.”
Harmonia’s head sunk lower. “Yes, my Lady. I shall send brother Eros to speak with you.”
Aphrodite didn’t deign to respond. She waved a hand, knowing that her daughter would disappear without further prompting. The goddess stood still, looking like marble in one of her temples that had crumbled millennia ago. Time was a fickle thing in the face of eternity, just as a drop is to the ocean. Soot covered her feet and stained her dress, but she held not a single care.
“Mother… what’s happened to your garden?”
Aphrodite turned to greet her son, her sweet boy. Even though he never looked the same, she knew him by sight. She could see past the glamour that surrounded him, could see the blood red of his irises. “Oh, there were some pests. Nothing to worry about, darling.” She pulled her son to her side, pressing a kiss to his dark curls.
Eros nodded, seeming to believe it. “What did you need? Harmonia seemed rather frantic.”
She led the way out of the garden, nodding in approval as nymphs filed in to put it back to its glory. “I just wanted to commend you on your recent behavior,” she lied easily. Her lips were made of honey and sweetened every word. “You know how your sister is, always trying to placate everyone even when there is no need to fret.”
Eros followed his mother towards her palace, servants bowing out of their way or simply disappearing into the air. “My behavior?”
“You know I always appreciate the drama you cause with your little arrows, just make sure it’s not someone that darling Zeus has his eye on, it’ll save us both a lot of whining. It’s been a while since you’ve caused a true incident,” Aphrodite commented, reclining onto a chaise. With a flourish of her hand, a carafe of wine appeared.
Eros poured them both a glass and took a seat. “Well, there haven’t been as many opportunities and even I don’t want to start something in the middle of a war.”
The love goddess smiled into her glass, enjoying the way her son’s eyes started to glow. She had spent eons learning how to get her way and her son was no exception to her manipulation. “Well, now that it’s on your mind, do you have any ideas?”
Eros took a long sip of his wine, eyes narrowed in thought. “It’s been quite some time since I’ve given Apollo a tragedy.”
Aphrodite held her head up with a manicured hand, smiling coyly at her son. “Just be sure not to kill Perseus, Poseidon would be furious and I don’t want to deal with him.” And well… Perseus was an absolutely divine source of amusement. Those that she treasured were played with until they lost their sparkle and she would be sure to make full use of the young hero. It was a pity that Apollo got to him first.
“Who said anything about killing?” Eros asked with a mischievous smile. “I think I’ll make the hero mine, find out what all of the fuss is about.”
The goddess hid her delight well behind a well crafted façade of mild amusement. “Well, if he ends up not being quite your taste—” which she highly doubted, “—then save him for me.”
Eros feigned gagging at his mother, acting as if they hadn’t passed lovers from one to the other before. Eros was much like her, in that both were prone to jealousy at the slightest provocation. It was one thing to become bored of someone naturally, it was another thing for his mother to imply that he would become bored of the Perseus Jackson. But Perseus… even if he was boring under all of the scars, heroism, and impertinence— Eros would never tire of hurting Apollo.
“Back off, Mother, he’s mine. You’ll only get him if I so choose.”
And that… that was the sound of butterflies withering in their cocoons, never to return to paradise.
Percy smiled up at his lover, something gentle and relaxed like none had seen. He reached a hand up, gently caressing Apollo’s cheek. “How was the meeting?” he asked, moving his fingers to run through the god’s curls.
Apollo hummed softly, leaning heavily into Percy’s touch before taking his other hand and pressing a kiss to the hero’s palm. “Tiring, as usual.” He wrapped a muscled arm about Percy’s waist, drawing him close. “But you already knew that, there’s a reason why you skip every meeting you’re invited to.”
Percy grinned, lips curving up unevenly that painted a picture of pure mischief. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, I’m simply too busy to attend meetings if I’m not given prior notice or warning.”
Apollo shook his head in amusement. “You don’t have to pull that with me, I know you too well. Save that sweet talk for when my father finally decides to go after you for the disrespect.”
“It’s part of my personality.”
“We know.”
“I get it from my mother and don’t you dare blame her for it. If anything, blame my father, I got the audacity from him.”
Apollo laughed in response, pulling his lover away from the entrance of the sun palace to their bedroom. A gentle breeze filtered through their home, organza curtains billowing away from their windows. Everything was light and warm and felt like a safety that neither had ever known before.
“Can you put away the attitude for a moment and give me a kiss?”
Percy narrowed his eyes, playfully pushing the god back onto the bed. “No, attitude is part of the package.” Apollo— to no surprise— went along all too willingly. He pulled his lover along as he fell, capturing his lips in a kiss, swallowing Percy’s noise of surprise.
He parted with a smile, hands firm on Percy’s waist. “So… about that attitude…?”
Percy feigned consideration before nodding. “Alright, the attitude will be put away for 15 minutes.”
“Only 15?” Apollo asked with a raised eyebrow.
“If you want longer, you’ll have to earn it,” he said coyly. He laced his fingers through Apollo’s hair, tugging lightly before pecking his lover’s lips. “I’m sure you’ll be able to figure something out.”
“Mmm…” Apollo caught Percy’s bottom lip between his teeth, teasing. “Or maybe I’ll make sure you don’t have the energy to try something.” With a simple move, the god switched their positions, his knee pressed firmly between Percy’s thighs.
And Apollo did what Apollo does best, steal his lover into the throes of pleasure until not even their name remained.
Eros watched the happy couple from afar, spinning an arrow in his hands absentmindedly. He lounged in the clouds, kicking his feet lightly. He tilted his head— ever so slightly. Normally, watching a happy couple was something he enjoyed. There was something so sweet about the simple love between mortals— but the two he was watching were far from that. The two before him couldn’t be allowed to continue like this— no, Apollo didn’t deserve such happiness.
He had to wait.
Even he— no matter how much respect he lacked for the Olympians— would never dare to strike one in their own home. His own mother would be unable to protect him from the inevitable fallout.
And, there was also the fact that gods— especially Olympians— are strongest while in their domains. But it didn’t matter, not when he could alter the strings of their tapestry so easily— with just the twang of his bow.
He watched Apollo press a tender kiss to the back of his lover’s neck. The young hero turned in the warm embrace, capturing the god’s lips in a sweet kiss that quickly began to deepen. He pulled his eyes away, refusing to watch Apollo have such… happiness. It was clear to see that the two were very happy together— if the love bites and bruises covering them both meant anything.
He had planning to do. Messing with Apollo was always fun, but this time— Atlantis’ sweetheart was involved. If he played it wrong, he would be at the wrong end of Poseidon’s trident. This would be a story for the ages, and Eros would do everything in his power to make it count.
Percy wasn’t sure where he was. From horizon to horizon, the world was bathed in the gentle glow of a setting sun that was invisible to his eyes. A weak fog hung above the waves, blurring the line between sea and sky. His feet were partially submerged, cool waves lapping at his ankles. Every step he took sent ripples out in every direction.
A breeze pulled at his clothes, tangling around his legs. It would have made him stumble, but his father’s domain was steady beneath his feet. He turned, facing the wind boldly. Even though there was no indication of what direction was where, Percy had a strong suspicion that the wind was coming from the west.
“You know, this dream is pretty lame,” he said, walking into the wind. He looked to and fro, but everything was the same. The fog— ever weak— glowed softly and disappeared behind the crest of waves. “Is this supposed to be prophetic or some shit? I thought I was done with all of that.”
Seconds stretched to hours and days stretched to minutes. It was impossible to tell how time passed, especially with how the sun always hung just below the horizon.
Percy wasn’t sure when the world around him changed, but he could feel it. He turned around and saw Apollo. The sun stood before him, but was still hidden behind the vast horizon.
“It’s not often you make a visit to my dreams,” Percy remarked, walking towards his lover. He lifted a hand and stroked Apollo’s cheek.
The god reached an arm out, wrapping it around his waist. “I just couldn’t stand to be without you,” Apollo said, pressing a kiss to Percy’s cheekbone. His lips left trails of warmth, warming Percy from his core down to his toes.
Percy smiled, wrapping his arms around Apollo’s neck. Ever since his stint as a hero had mostly finished, the dreams had started to tone down. He still wasn’t used to the gentle monotony of dreams that existed for no point other than to exist. He pressed a kiss to Apollo’s jaw, trailing gentle pecks along his lover’s face.
Maybe he should have known better. Maybe he should have expected it. Life as a demigod had taught him to always be on guard— to always expect danger even when it seemed safe. He didn’t notice Apollo pull his arm away. He didn’t notice the arrow in his hand until it had already plunged through his chest.
Percy gasped— whether it was from the pain or the struggle to take a breath, he didn’t know. His blood burned as it spilled from the arrow in his chest. Percy’s hand shook as he reached a hand up to try and pull it out. “Wh-…” he struggled to find breath— to find his strength.
The god before him sobbed, tenderly catching him as Percy fell. Apollo gently lowered him until he rest in the gentle embrace of the sea. A firm hand held the back of his neck, the other pulling his hand away from the wound.
“Ap-pollo, why?” Percy asked weakly. He could taste the blood on his lips, but he was unable to wipe it away. A thick bead trailed down his jaw and down his neck.
His eyes closed. He tried to keep them open, but the glow of the cowardly sun— still hiding behind the horizon— burned into his very soul.
“Alas,” Apollo moaned, tears streaming down his face. “My beloved! It was the work of my own hand.” He pressed his face into where Percy’s shoulder met his neck. “May your soul be inscribed with letters of woe for my grief.”
Despite laying in his father’s brine, his wound did not heal. When the iron and ichor of his blood dripped into the sea, it transfigured into the dropped petals of some long-forgotten flower. He tilted his head back, leaning heavily into Apollo’s hand. He watched the god scream and curse into the west wind.
How did he know it was west?
Why did he curse the wind when it was an arrow that pierced his chest?
The fading hero turned his head once more to glance at the horizon that seemed to only get further and further away. The glow of the sun was beginning to fade and night would soon fall.
How did the sun disappear when the sun himself held him so tenderly?
Percy awoke with a start, ripping out of his lover’s embrace. His body was chilled, sweat dripping down his chest as he took in panicked breaths.
It wasn’t the first bad dream he’d ever had, and it was far from the last. It wasn’t even the first time he’d experienced death in a dream, but somehow, this was so much more unsettling than anything he’d experienced before. He pulled himself from bed, struggling against the sheets tangled about his body. He made his way out of the bedroom, uncaring of his own nudity.
The gentle breeze that always seemed to exist in the palace chilled him down the bone. He didn’t know where he was going, but he had to go somewhere.
“My love?” Apollo asked, appearing before him in a flash of warmth and cypress and spice. “What’s wrong?” He took a step forward, cradling Percy’s face so tenderly in his hands. His thumbs stroked his cheekbones, steady and warm.
Against his instincts, Percy leaned into the touch. It was so familiar and so comforting. He knew the god before him. “Just a bad dream.”
Apollo cooed softly before pressing a kiss to his forehead, letting his lips linger. “How about we have a slow morning then meet with Hermes for dinner? Would that make you feel better?”
He took a moment to consider before nodding. The adrenaline from his dream started to fade until his muscles were loose. “I would like that.” Percy leaned into Apollo’s chest, trusting his partner to support him.
A firm arm wrapped around his waist. “Alright,” Apollo said softly, pressing another kiss to Percy’s forehead. “Let’s get some breakfast into you.”
Percy didn’t fight as Apollo lifted him off of his feet. Yes, he was strong enough to walk on his own, but it was a comfort to not have to be strong. Being in his arms was comfort enough. He was set down onto the granite counter in the kitchen. He sat and watched as Apollo made his way through the kitchen.
His lover was a song. Every step was meaningful, measured. He moved through life— his existence as a god— in a symphony that was unheard but felt all the same. The soft, loving smile that he threw at his lover was the sweet, lilting notes of a piccolo, teasing and flirting in equal measures.
He was brought out of his reverie by a plate being placed in his hands. It was warm and filled with foods that he couldn’t name.
Percy and Apollo moved through the morning at their own pace. Leisurely. Bites of food were stolen between kisses far sweeter than any honeyed tea.
“As much as I love your outfit—” Apollo emphasized his words by dragging his eyes over Percy’s nude figure. “— I do think you should put something on, else we’ll both feel Triton’s wrath.”
Percy snorted, hopping down from the counter. “I wasn’t planning on going out naked, that’s our dads’ thing.” He grabbed his lover’s hand and led the way back to the bedroom. “Is there anything specific you want me to wear?”
Apollo hummed lowly, considering. “The restaurant we’re meeting Hermes at is rather strict with its dress code, so I think the chiton Amphitrite gifted you last year would be lovely.”
Percy nodded before beginning the arduous process of putting it on and adjusting the various folds. Normally, he would have refused to wear something that required so much fussing, but Apollo was very eager to “help,” which made everything much more pleasant. Apollo dressed himself with a snap, draped in gold as the god deserved to be.
“Lead the way,” Percy said, taking Apollo’s arm in his.
Aphrodite watched the happy couple with a feeling of confliction. She always loved a good romance, and Apollo and Percy were one for the ages. It had been a long time since Apollo had been so happy with a lover; after everything, the sun god deserved a moment of happiness. But, she had promised Percy an interesting love life, so what was to come couldn’t be described as “unexpected.”
She watched Apollo split away from Percy with the promise of grabbing them both a coffee. The young hero wandered into Demeter’s garden, brushing careful fingers over petals and leaves of every hue.
It was disgusting. The garden was so infested with butterflies that Aphrodite couldn’t stomach it.
Percy didn’t seem to notice. Butterflies landed on his hair and shoulders, but he just simply strolled on. The nymphs in the garden smiled at him— amusement and attraction, Aphrodite decided. But, there was no time to waste. She wasn’t supposed to know about her son’s plot, but the least she could do was distract Apollo for long enough for Eros to make his move.
She knew it would be worth it— Percy would look much better on her son’s arm that Psyche ever did. Percy was pretty, but unknowing of it. He was covered in scars which stood as proof as his life as a hero, but those scars did nothing to hide his father’s blood.
All she could do was hope that Apollo didn’t lose his mind and kill Percy for the disrespect of desiring another god.
Apollo appeared before him in the garden, black dahlias framing him on either side. He smiled and greeted Percy, opening his arms for an embrace.
Percy leaned into his touch, willingly. He didn’t even know anything was wrong until the arrow was plunged through his chest, between his ribs. The pain was the same, but Apollo shed no tears.
An impostor-god that stood before him– draped in fool’s gold. The straw colored curls that draped on either side of the god’s face was… too perfect. Apollo prided himself on his appearance, but he was prone to fidgeting and often pulled the coils apart. The eyes were the right shade of blue— cornflower— but there wasn’t any hint of gold, of a divinity that can barely be contained, much less hidden.
Percy’s hand weakly reached up and grasped the shaft of the arrow embedded in his chest. “E-Eros.” The burning he felt wasn’t just from pain, but he did his best to push it from his mind.
Not-Apollo smiled, there was no flirtation to soften the predatory look. “Well, look at you,” Eros purred, leaning in close. “Brawn and brains. You aren’t the prettiest lover Apollo has had, but there’s a certain ferocity that gives you an edge over the others.” Eros ran his fingers through Percy’s hair before tightening his grip and pulling the hero’s head back.
“Why?” Percy’s grip on the arrow caused the wood— laurel, if the smell was anything to go by— to crack and splinter.
Eros trailed kisses up Percy’s neck, ignoring the way the hero recoiled. “What better way to mess with Apollo than to take his precious lover?” He used his free hand to pull Percy’s hands away from the arrow. “Breaking the arrow like that will just lead to splinters going into your muscles and other delicate flesh— best to let the professional remove it.”
The god ignored Percy’s flinch of pain as he snapped the arrow head off and slid the shaft out of the wound— taking care to make sure no splinters remained. Once out, the hero’s skin began to knit itself back together. He tossed the shaft aside and raised the arrow head to his lips, slowly licking the blood from its edge.
Percy could barely hold back a wave of nausea that swept over him.
Eros shifted his grip on the hero, one arm wrapping around his body to hold him up and the other taking firm hold on his chin. “Tell me, what’s it like to be betrayed by a man with your lover’s face?”
He tried to ignore it, but the burning in his body was becoming too much to ignore. There was only so much willpower one could use when faced by the god that had started so many wars and broken so many relationships on a whim. He held the power of the very fates in his quiver. “I don’t love you, I never will.”
Eros just laughed. Before Percy, the god's body began to shift until great, white wings sprouted from his back and his eyes turned to a blood red. “Is that so?” He tilted his head, just as a predator examines its prey before the ambush. “I’ve never turned my arrows on someone with the intent of making them fall for me.”
Percy wanted to deny him, describe in vivid detail how the very thought of being with the god was repulsive… but, he couldn’t. No matter how much his mind screamed at him to run, to seek out his lover’s protective embrace, his legs refused to carry him away. The desire he felt for Eros was visceral, macabre at the very core. The god before him was just that, a god. No matter how monstrous or reprehensible, his beauty was undeniable and his aura was intoxicating in the worst of ways.
“Maybe you won’t love me, but you will desire me,” Eros said simply, matter of fact. He caressed Percy’s jaw almost teasingly. “Maybe not love, but you also can’t hate me. You want me. Just as much as Apollo— if not more.”
Percy wanted to deny him.
Eros had Apollo’s face. His aura was unfamiliar, but his soul called out to it all the same.
“But, I think you already know that,” Eros said, that same predatory smile growing on his face once more. “Well, I’ll let you… simmer for a bit, check in once you’re more sure.”
Percy wanted to beg him to stay, wanted to run him through with his blade. He was a fool to think that the gods would ever be done using him as a plaything— all he could do was hope that they would grow bored of him soon.
“Until next time, my love,” Eros said, but it somehow didn’t sound mocking.
He was filled with a writhing numbness as the god flashed away, disappearing amongst the curling vines and delicate blossoms. Percy was pulled back into himself by a tap on the shoulder. He turned and saw Apollo– the real Apollo– with coffees in hand and a smile on his face. “Here you are, my love.”
Percy took a sip. He knew that it was infused with nectar– everything on Olympus was. Despite the decadence, all he could taste was ash and iron. All he wanted was to fall back into the comforting love that Apollo offered, but he hesitated. Those blood red eyes burned him and he knew he wasn’t strong enough to douse the flames.
