Work Text:
Percy Jackson slouched in his chair, glaring at the blinking curser on his laptop screen. The bustling sounds of New Rome drifted around him, muted only slightly by the cheerful clatter of cups and conversation from the café patrons nearby. He had chosen this spot near the University for its atmosphere, hoping the hum of activity might inspire some coherent thoughts. Instead, he had a half-written essay, a pounding headache, and a strong desire to hurl his laptop into the Tiber River.
“Can you stop taunting me?” Percy muttered under his breath at the screen.
“Excuse me, are you talking to your essay?” a voice said from behind him, rich with amusement. Percy froze. He knew that voice, knew it too well.
Turning slowly, Percy found himself face-to-face with none other than Apollo, god of music, poetry, the sun, and apparently, intrusive appearances. The god was dressed as casually as a Greek or maybe Roman deity could manage: golden sunglasses perched on his head, an obnoxiously bright white t shirt with some sort of tree printed across it, and jeans that probably cost more than Percy’s entire wardrobe and a leather jacket. Apollo’s signature self-satisfied smirk lit up his face as he sat down at Percy’s table uninvited.
“Oh, for the love of Poseidon,” Percy groaned. “What are you doing here, Apollo? I’m retired, remember? No quests. No prophecies. Nada.”
Apollo raised his hands in mock surrender. “Relax, Perseus. I’m not here to send you off on some grand, death-defying adventure.” He glanced at the open laptop screen. “Although from the looks of things, you’ve already embarked on one.”
Percy narrowed his eyes. “I’m writing an essay. Not exactly god-level drama. Can you leave me to fail in peace?”
Instead of leaving, Apollo leaned forward, peering at the text on Percy’s screen. Percy hurried to angle the laptop away, but Apollo was too quick. “‘The cultural significance of Roman aqueducts,’” the god read aloud. “Fascinating. Truly riveting stuff.”
“I’m sure you have better things to do,” Percy snapped. “Like running the sun across the sky or writing another haiku no one asked for.” Percy regretted mentioning haikus and hoped that Apollo wold not decide to ‘grace’ him with one.
“I’m wounded,” Apollo said, clutching his chest dramatically. “But actually, I’m here to help.”
“Help?” Percy repeated, incredulous. “With what? Unless you’ve got a degree in ancient engineering…”
Apollo’s grin widened. “You forget, my dear demigod, that I am the god of education, arts, and letters. Essays are well within my divine purview. Plus, I’m an excellent editor.”
Percy’s stare could’ve burned a hole through the table. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I never kid about education,” Apollo said solemnly. “Now, let me see what you’ve got so far.” Before Percy could protest, Apollo reached for the laptop. Percy groaned and sat back, clearly out of his depth against an immortal being with zero respect for boundaries. Hopefully Apollo would get bored and leave soon. Percy did not understand why the god was even here.
Apollo adjusted his sunglasses and skimmed the essay’s opening paragraph. He frowned. “Hmm, no. This won’t do. Your thesis is too vague, and your introduction lacks pizzazz.”
“It’s an essay, not a performance,” Percy said.
“Every piece of writing is a performance,” Apollo countered. “And right now, your audience is falling asleep in the orchestra pit. Don’t worry; I’ll help you breathe life into this dreck.”
Percy rolled his eyes so hard he thought they might fall out. “Fine. Do your god thing. But if you make it worse, I’m blaming you when my professor kicks me out.”
Apollo winked. “Trust me, kid. You’re in good hands.”
What followed was an absurd whirlwind of criticism, suggestions, and Apollo’s frequent interruptions to wax poetic about the grandeur of the Roman Empire—which, Percy noted, wasn’t helpful when he was on a deadline. Apollo insisted on adding “nuance” to Percy’s arguments and elaborating on points that Percy thought were perfectly fine left simple.
“You’re overthinking this,” Percy muttered after the fifth reworking of a single sentence.
“I’m giving your essay soul,” Apollo declared, flourishing his hands. “And frankly, Perseus, you should thank me for this priceless education.”
“You know,” Percy said, closing his laptop with a snap, “somehow, this was less painful when it was just me and the blinking cursor.”
Apollo laughed, a rich sound that made nearby patrons glance over curiously. He leaned back in his chair, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Face it, Perseus. You’d be lost without me.”
Percy looked at him, deadpan. “I’m literally getting lost because of you.”
Apollo shrugged, unapologetic. “That’s the price of greatness.”
Despite himself, Percy chuckled. It was impossible to stay mad at a god who was this ridiculous, even when he was actively driving Percy up the wall. If nothing else, at least his afternoon had gotten a little more interesting—though whether that was a blessing or a curse, he wasn’t sure. So far, Apollo had not spouted a single haiku, which Percy counted as a win.
“Fine,” Percy said, reopening the laptop. “Let’s give this another shot.”
Apollo leaned in, his golden aura brightening slightly. “Atta boy. Now, about that conclusion…”
After hours of back-and-forth, Percy finally typed the last sentence of his essay and leaned back, exhaling deeply. “Done. At last.”
Apollo clapped his hands together. “Magnificent! See? With my guidance, you’re practically a scholar. Your professor will be in tears.”
Percy groaned. “Let’s hope they’re good tears.” He stretched, closing the laptop once more. “So, are you done now? Or are you planning to start another unsolicited lecture?”
Apollo looked affronted. “Perseus, you wound me. But since you mention it, there is one topic I’ve been wanting to discuss since we started fixing your lacklustre essay.”
“Oh no,” Percy muttered.
Apollo leaned back, crossing his arms with a wistful look in his eyes. “The Roman Empire. What a time that was. The temples, the festivals, the honors they lavished upon me. Daily worship from countless devotees… Ah, I was truly at my peak.”
Percy frowned. “Yeah, about that. Those temples you’re so fond of were built with plunder taken from the bloody corpses subjugated nations. You know, all that glory came at the cost of destroyed cultures, untold human suffering, and, let’s not forget, it paved the way for the rise of Christianity, which sort of put you out of a job. Karma one would say.”
Apollo’s cheerful expression dimmed, his golden eyes sharpening as they locked onto Percy. “Interesting observation, Perseus. Tell me, is that part of the curriculum at New Rome University?”
Percy raised an eyebrow. He had actually learned this by listening to history channels in YouTube. Much easier for a dyslexic demigod than reading books.“I don’t think so. The University seems more into praising the Roman Empire than discussing its… less glamorous details.”
“Of course,” Apollo said, his tone dry. “New Rome is nothing if not a shrine to the glory days. Ever wonder what else they gloss over? Or outright censor?”
Percy blinked. He did not like the sound of this. As far as he was aware, he could find the information he needed on his computer. “You’re saying New Rome has censorship? Great, so on top of a child army and a very annoying Senate full of selfish, greedy backstabbers, now we’ve got that too? At least Octavian is still dead.”
Apollo smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Perhaps. And speaking of that Senate, Perseus, it occurs to me that maybe you shouldn’t have renounced your title as Praetor so quickly. You could’ve done something about all these… imperfections.”
Percy stared at him. “Are you kidding? Jason worked his entire life to become Praetor. He earned it. I wasn’t going to take that away from him.”
“Oh, Jason earned it, did he?” Apollo said, his voice silkier now. “And you? You managed to become Praetor merely a week after joining the Legion. Care to explain that?”
Percy’s jaw tightened. “It was a battlefield promotion. You know, dire circumstances? Fighting for our lives? Ring a bell?”
Apollo’s gaze bore into Percy, unyielding. “Dire circumstances indeed. I watched as you destroyed the Giant Polybotes singlehandedly, using Terminus as your weapon. No small feat. That kind of power—that kind of leadership—isn’t soomething you see every day.”
“And?” Percy said, his voice edged with frustration. At least one god had watched but had not bothered to drop down from their precious Olympus to help out for five minutes while children were being slaughtered. “What’s your point?”
Apollo leaned forward, his expression unreadable. “My point is, Perseus, that perhaps you’ve underestimated yourself. New Rome needed a leader who wasn’t afraid to challenge its flaws, to break the mold. Instead, you walked away.”
Percy’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. He didn’t have a rebuttal ready for that—and that annoyed him even more. He shot Apollo a glare. “You know what? I’m not doing this. I just finished a mind-numbing essay. I’m not diving into a philosophical debate with you.”
Apollo sighed, leaning back again. “As you wish, Perseus. But keep it in mind. You’ve accomplished more in a few years than most demigods do in a lifetime. Don’t waste that potential.”
Percy stood, grabbing his laptop. “And you, maybe stop crashing cafés and interfering in mortal affairs for fun.”
Apollo grinned. “No promises.”
Shaking his head, Percy walked away, leaving the god to his musings about a bygone era. The uneasy feeling in his chest lingered, though, and he knew—much as he hated to admit it—that Apollo’s words would stick with him for a long time.