Chapter Text
"Repeat after me; it's going to be fine."
The grip Apollo had around the phone tightened from frustration — Percy Jackson had been trying to goad these words out of him for the past twenty minutes they'd been speaking. From the other side of the phone, Apollo knew the boy was giving the best advice he could, and by all means, it was good advice, but it wasn't anything he hadn't heard before.
Be yourself. Smile. Compliment her.
He'd thought he knew exactly how to woo a woman, had been the one giving out the tips rather than taking them in. From a demigod, a college student.
Fuck's sake, he'd sunk so low.
"I can't say it."
"Yes, man, you can," Percy urged, though Apollo didn't miss the deep, irritated sigh let out in tandem with his words.
"It's not going to be fine, though!" The god argued. "I know it's not!"
"The girl you're taking out—"
"—Penny," Apollo finished for him. He was laid out on his back, staring up at the ceiling of his apartment bedroom, trying to find patterns in the popcorn ceiling to ease the nerves biting away at his gut.
He didn't need to live in an apartment, not when he had Olympus to go back to with his godhood back in store. But just because he could do something, didn't mean it was a good idea. Like riding a bike down a flight of stairs, or biting down with your front teeth on hard candy.
No one wanted him in Olympus.
And he couldn't blame them. Not when their beloved hero had fallen due to Apollo's own incompetence. Saving him.
Go. Remember.
The value of human life, he supposed.
So here he was, living like a human, even with his Godhood fully intact.
"Right, Penny. She's been kind enough over text, right?"
Dragging himself out of his mind, Apollo rolled over onto his side, propping himself up with his elbow on the mattress. Out of the corner of his eye, one of the members of the band posters he had pinned to his wall seemed to be following him with his gaze, and he allowed himself a brief moment to shudder before responding. "Well, yes, she's been nice. But most girls are."
"Really?" Percy sounded genuinely shocked. "Annabeth tends to curse me out through messages."
"She's a spitfire," Apollo hummed.
"She uses big words, dude. I don't know what half of them mean, but I think they're meant to be insults."
He snorted.
"Whatever," Percy declared. "Back to Penny. Your Tinder date. It's going to be fine."
He was silent.
"Apollo." A warning was clear in Percy's voice.
He could just hang up the phone, Apollo figured. It would offend Percy, and was surely self sabotage to end a conversation meant to hype him up, but the temptation lingered.
"Apollo, say it, or I'll give Annabeth your phone number and have her deal with you."
A genuine pang of terror slammed into him, stealing his breath away. "It's going to be fine."
"No, say it like you mean it."
"It's going to be fine."
"One more time."
"It's going to be fine!"
"Great!" A shuffling from the other end of the phone, indicating that the college freshman was moving around. "Just…be yourself. Smile. Compliment her."
Apollo rolled his eyes, adding a mental tally to the tracker.
"Wait a second…" Percy trailed off for a moment, then, "You're the god here, why am I giving you advice?"
"Because you're in a long term, committed relationship, and the last girl I went on a date with messaged me after saying I made her realize she's a lesbian! Fuck's sake, I'm floundering here, Percy! Floundering!"
"You've had like, thousands of years to perfect your woman-wooing."
"I know!" He cried, throwing his free hand in the air, as if Percy could witness his visible displays of frustration. "And whatever I'm doing isn't working anymore! Like that bastard Zeus sucked out all my charm when he made me human. It's not fair!"
"Yes, because what women love is to hear you whine about how unfair life is."
"I'm hanging up."
"No you're not." Percy was firm enough that Apollo knew there was no bother resisting — especially with the threat of Annabeth still looming. "Listen, dude, it's fine. You're fine. She's not a demigod, is she?"
He moved the phone to his other hand, bringing it back to his opposite ear. "Don't think so, but that didn't really come up in the icebreakers."
"Guess not." He clicked his tongue. "Well, assuming she's not a demigod, then she doesn't know about the whole, uh, punishment thing. So you're fine."
"Fine," Apollo repeated. "I'm fine."
"Fine!"
"Fine!"
"You got this, dude," Percy promised, in a way heartwarming enough that Apollo found himself actually believing it. "Just get her a nice gift or something, yeah? I got to run, I'm playing MarioKart with Grover. Let me know how it goes."
A gift?! That was a new development.
"Wait, Percy—" Apollo began, but it was too late. The call had already been cut off. Pulling his phone away from his ear and muttering curses beneath his breath, he laid back on his bed and returned to staring at the popcorn ceiling, mulling over what kind of gift he was meant to get a girl he'd never met.
Google was far more helpful than Percy's unanswered calls. After digging through various discussion forums, Apollo found a woman claiming the best gift she'd ever received was a painting of herself, commissioned from an art gallery. Not only that, but the comments were flooded with other ladies swooning, wishing their various lovers would've done something so thoughtful.
He couldn't pinpoint the art gallery itself, but he didn't need to — there was one on the Camp Half Blood grounds, run by a few of Aphrodite's children.
Maybe it was a bit overboard, commissioning art for her, considering he only had her profile photos to give as a reference. But according to DarthVaderMommy1954, if he wanted to win a woman's heart, this was the way to go. And fuck if he didn't want to win Penny's heart.
So, he made his way to Camp Half Blood by means of teleportation. Something he'd missed bitterly as a human, the ability to go wherever he pleased at the exact moment that he pleased. Landing at the edge of the camp with ease, he took in the surroundings he'd not bothered with in a longer time than he cared to admit. The summer meant there were more campers than usual, kids having sword fights a few yards away from Apollo, teenagers climbing the rock wall in what appeared to be some sort of race.
No one paid him any mind.
He had it in him to be offended. Of course, he knew why it was he'd become easy to ignore. His godhood was no longer anything special to the demigods, no longer a threat. If it could be taken away with the ease Zeus had, what reason did they have to revere him in the first place?
It was why he preferred going on dates with mortal woman, as opposed to demigods. At least he had a fighting chance with them.
They, unlike the demigods, simply didn't like him. And what could he go about that?
That was their problem, he had long ago decided, after rejection #13 from a pretty redhead who he had, until that moment, been convinced he would marry. He was handsome (when he put in effort), and smart (debatable), and had a nice smile (according to Percy). What else did he need to succeed in the world of matchmaking?
He had time, Apollo knew this. He was a god, after all — he could let it sit. He didn't need a girlfriend at that very moment. Waiting around for the right person to approach him might yield better results than searching them out and getting rejected time and time again. It was only hurting his confidence.
But he didn't have forever. If he'd learned anything from his time as a human, it was that godhood was a privilege. Knowing him, he'd find a way to piss off Zeus again and get him stuck right back into a mortal's skin.
A buzzing in his pocket diverted Apollo's attention from the trek he'd gone on, trying to hold his head up high to attract some sort of attention from the campers. The art gallery wasn't too far now, about fifty yards, the outside painted a bright yellow and standing out like a sore thumb among the trees.
He reached into his pocket, bracing himself for impact.
Penny: Rain check? I have to walk my pet rock.
Fuck's sake.
Fine then, he thought with a grumbled exhale of breath, tucking his phone back into the pocket of his jeans. He didn't need Penny. Sure, she was beautiful and made him smile when they texted, but he could find someone like that, who also happened to like him.
Right?
Or was this it for him? Was he destined to be alone forever? Had Zeus somehow stolen away his ability to find love when transforming him from god to human to god? Had that factor Apollo had that resulted in dozens of children wandering around been snatched away from him, some sort of divine punishment for Octavian?
As if Octavian was his fault. He wasn't even his kid — that boy was his great great grandson! A legacy. Nothing to do with him. And yet, he'd borne the brunt of Zeus's fury about the wars he had no control over!
Ugh, whatever. Not his problem anymore.
He just needed to get himself together. Clearly he'd lost his spark somewhere along the line — and while it was possible, he doubted Zeus actually cared enough to actually steal away his ability to attract people.
No, whatever was wrong was on Apollo to figure out.
He ran a hand through his hair, resisting the urge to tug at the strands, pull them out of his head. Of course, he couldn't do that — then he'd be bald and single. If he was struggling as it was, how would he fare without his golden locks?
Another deep breath, easing the jumble of hurt and anxiety his stomach had become. He just needed to get his spark back. Surely it was that, his confidence killed after accumulating so many rejections.
If Apollo could just get one woman — any woman, to give him attention, surely that would boost his ego.
The thought made his skin crawl. Had he truly fallen so far, he needed to resort to scavenging for validation?
Fuck it, he had.
Centering himself back towards the art studio, he knew he had no reason to go there anymore. But art — women liked art. He liked art — fuck, he was the god of it! Women would be there, surely, and he could find someone who would appreciate the fact that he was the god of art. Anyone. It didn't matter who. Just that she was there, and he needed a pick me up so desperately.
Standing in the grassy fields of Camp Half Blood, the god of music made a promise to himself; the first woman he saw, he'd do his best to hold onto for ten days.
Easy as pie.
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"No, no, no! That's all wrong!"
Drew's face had fallen in horror as Daisy stormed up to her half sister, ripping the canvas out of her hands. Through the dim lighting, she could see upon the younger demigod that she'd frightened her with the sudden shift in mood, but Daisy couldn't help it. She'd been on edge for the past week, as the deadline to her exhibit rapidly approached, and nothing could ease the mood she'd been sinking in.
It didn't help that her period cramps were currently devouring her from the inside out.
"That can't go there, Drew, are you insane? The pink from that piece," she nudged her chin towards the portrait currently hung on the wall, a foot from where Drew had been about to hang the current painting, "totally contrasts with the orange from this one."
"Fuck's sake, does it actually matter that much?"
"Yes!" Daisy ran a hand through her dark hair, trying her best not to scream. Everything felt wrong, the layout of the gallery, the pieces themselves and all the mistakes she'd tried (and failed) to paint over, the fact that she'd gone into art and not become a doctor or a lawyer or something actually worthwhile, and Drew couldn't get this right, why had she hired her in the first place, and fuck her abdomen hurt so fucking bad.
Her half sister gave her a knowing look. "Dude, chill."
"I can't chill! My gallery showing is in like, a week!"
"Eight days," Drew corrected, taking the portrait back out of Daisy's hands and maneuvering to an empty spot a few feet to the left. "And you'll be fine, Daze. It's all going to go great. You know that. You've prepared so much in advance — I doubt most people start setting up for their galleries until the night of."
"Yes, but I'm not most people. This isn't just any gallery. Jessica is coming."
Jessica, Drew and Daisy's much older half sister, had integrated herself with the mortal word. In spite of the upturned noses from other demigods for her choice to denounce her relation to Aphrodite, Daisy didn't care. All she cared about is that the Hollywood film director was looking for a piece for her upcoming movie, and would be stopping by at her exhibit.
A sisterly consideration, but Daisy knew it would only get her that far. She'd gotten the door open via her connection to Jessica, but it wouldn't push her through. Only her art being the best of the best would — and Daisy wouldn't have it any other way.
Hard work had gotten her this far, she wasn't going to cheat at the finish line.
"Who gives a shit about Jessica?" Drew, who'd finished hanging up the painting in the correct spot, folded her arms over her chest.
"Me!"
"You're just PMSing. You'll be fine once you have some chocolates." A hand fell on her bare shoulder, squeezing down. "Or get laid."
"I'm not fucking around on my period."
"Excuses." Drew rolled her eyes. "Come on. You're a twenty three year old virgin, that's embarrassing."
"It's not embarrassing!"
"Humiliating, then," she argued, stepping away to grab hold of one of the paintings currently scattered across the floor. Settling on one Daisy had done a few months ago, of a simple sunset on a lake, she went to place it in the bare spot Daisy had initially been opposed to. "Seriously, Daisy, you need to get some dick. For medicinal purposes."
"I don't want to," she lied.
In actuality, her virginity had been something she'd been wanting to lose since Drew first came to her, saying she'd fucked some child of Ares against a tree a few years back. Not that it was an easy feat — she had to find someone nice, for one, which was a rarity in it of itself. Someone who would be kind to her during it and care for her after.
And, the hardest box to check, someone who didn't piss her off. On the few dates she'd happened to go on, they always went sour — the man said the wrong thing, Daisy got riled up, and it blew up in both of their faces before she could calm herself down.
Drew rolled her dark eyes. "Liar."
Daisy stuck out her tongue, before shifting her attention back to the art lining the walls — years of her hard work, conglomerated into one place. "Do you think I should move the giraffe away from the cat? It feels weird to have two animal paintings in a row."
"Oh, who gives a shit? Listen." She whipped around to face the artist, expression gone serious, and Daisy knew she was about to get a younger sister scolding. "You're beautiful, Daze. And smart, and funny, and any guy would be lucky to have you. You just need…I don't know, a confidence boost."
"A confidence boost," she repeated, dumbfounded.
"Yes!" Drew clapped her hands together, grinning ear to ear. "Just find a guy and mess around with him for a bit — like a week or two. You don't need to fall in love with him or anything. You need a fling, though. You're so fucking tense all the time."
She shook her head, rubbing her hands against the apron she wore, dotted with paints. "You're ridiculous, Drew."
"No, Daisy, I'm a genius." A dinging, drawing both of their attention. Drew pulled her phone out of her pocket, face lighting up as she read the text that had come through. "Listen, I have to run. Carrie from Cabin Six — you know her — she's having a bit of a hair crisis. It looks bad. Anyways, I'll be back in a few hours, if you still need me. But think about what I said, hon. Next guy you see, whoever the hell it is, consider for a test run, okay? It doesn't need to be the real thing. Just something."
With that, she stepped out of the art gallery, leaving Daisy on her own, unsure if she was meant to be angry or grateful for the advice her half sister had thrown her way. Drew had always been that way — steadfast in what she believed in and unwilling to lose ground when she had an idea she wanted to put forth.
Too bad the idea this time was Daisy and a boy.
She'd been on dates. Disastrous ones. Enough so that she no longer wanted anything to do with the male species. They always found a way to piss her off, trigger that anger in her that the women in her life knew how to manage. She couldn't help it. It was like asking a baby to ride a bike — she simply couldn't do any different.
Bringing a hand to her shoulder, she rubbed at a spot of muscle that had tensed up in her conversation with Drew until she felt it melt beneath her touch. Not enough so to provide full relief, but so when she leaned back down to take hold of another canvas, she wasn't in pain.
Christ, maybe she did need to get laid.
Once she was off her period, anyways.
Ten days, she decided to herself. That was all she needed. The next guy she saw — good looking guy, anyways, she'd hang around with for ten days. Hell, she didn't even need to screw him, unless she really felt like it. Just to get herself ready for the real thing.
Daisy was balancing a canvas on a nail when the door pushed open, and she instantly perked up. Spinning around, forcing a charming smile, she greeted the man at the entrance with a polite, "How can I help you?"
It took a moment for her to recognize who it was in front of her, as he reached behind him to scratch the back of his neck, like the question she'd posed had been a difficult one. Golden hair, a cheeky sort of grin that didn't leave in spite of his obvious uncertainty, wearing jeans and a tight t-shirt with the word SMILE lettered on the white, emphasizing the toned muscles beneath the cloth, she felt her mouth become void of moisture for a brief moment as she took him in.
Then, realization set in. "Apollo?"
His grin expanded, but she didn't miss a slight wobble in his lips. Nerves — she would guess, if she didn't know better than to think a god capable of such mortal emotions. "Hello, there."
In hindsight, she shouldn't have been surprised that Apollo would show up here. He was the god of the arts, after all — if anything, Daisy should've been offended it took him this long. She'd had the gallery for almost a year now, and the closest she'd gotten to a god visiting was Zeus deciding to take out a bad day by striking a nearby tree with lightning and having a branch nearly break through the roof.
"How can I help you?" She repeated again, trying not to sound starstruck.
She wasn't starstruck, not really.
After the wars, the concept of gods as being anything but pains in her ass vanished. There wasn't enough energy within her to harbor anger, hate, not when she worked twelve hour days and spent the rest of her time painting, but she couldn't kid herself into revering them as she once had.
They just existed, and she had to put up with it.
Even so, a god in her little shop…
She almost had it in her to feel special, until she chased the sensation away with pitchforks and torches.
"Just…looking."
Her brow furrowed, but she held herself to the standard of a good saleswoman. Tapping her foot on the wood floor, she asked, "Anything in particular I can help you with? Any sales made will be delivered the first of August, if that's no mind. We have a showing in a few days."
"Ah." He didn't seem to know what to say. Rather, he appeared to be entranced by the art around him, hazel eyes flickering from piece to piece with a rapidly growing intensity. With a sudden shift, the god seemed struck by something, lips curving up and head jerking to the side. "Do you do commissions?"
"I do," Daisy said with a nod. "If you have references, you can send me them via email at—"
"I want to commission you."
She blinked, once, twice, not quite understanding what he meant. "Well, yes, I would be doing the artwork—"
Apollo shook his head, cutting her off with the sharp movement. "No, I want to commission you. A portrait of you."
Another blink, her confusion growing to a new height. This time, she didn't say anything in response, couldn't come up with anything.
Her silence prompted him into speech, head tilted to the side in what appeared to be genuine curiosity. "Is that a problem? I'll pay double — triple, actually."
"You'd pay triple price for a portrait of me?"
"You're pretty." He spoke with such confidence, it felt almost wrong to go against him. The benefits of godhood, Daisy supposed, he was so used to getting what he wanted that the rest of the world had to fall in line with this. "Beautiful, really."
"Thanks?" It felt like a trick, and she wasn't about to be fooled that easily.
"It'd be a nice picture to have in my bedroom. For sleeping, I mean. Not for anything else. Fuck, sorry. I'd just…sleep next to it. Not next to it, but like. In my room. Not in my bed. I'm not sharing a bed with a picture. Not that it's personal. I just…" He brought a hand to his face, dragging it down slowly. "I just wanted to flirt with you."
The admission might've turned off a different girl, but Daisy appreciated the honesty. "You're fine. But I'm not letting you pay over a thousand dollars for a picture of someone you just met."
She expected a protest. Instead, he simply shrugged. "I am a god. It's not like I can't afford it."
Right. In the process of making a fool out of himself, she'd forgotten that part.
She could take advantage of this. Her mind drifted to Piper, her half sister, who was sure enough about to drown in student debt with her first year at university. Being able to be the kind of older sister to lend a helping hand — like Jessica was, in a way, doing to Daisy, made her insides feel fuzzy.
"In that case, it'll be two grand."
His brows arched. "Two grand?"
A curt nod. "And it won't be done until after this week. I have to prepare for my exhibit."
"Exhibit?" Those brows moved even higher on his forehead, to the point where she thought they might reach his hairline. "What kind of exhibit?"
"This." She moved her arm around, showing off the chaos that her gallery had become. "I'm showing off my best works. See if anything sells." She intentionally left out the part about her older sister and the film that could possibly have one of her pieces it in. Something that could cause her career to skyrocket. Move her from the confines of Camp Half Blood, the only building she could afford, and into somewhere where mortals could buy her art as well. Madison, maybe, or Austin. Or Amsterdam, if she let her dreams spiral.
"Can I come?"
"You want to come to my exhibit?" Daisy confirmed, dumbfounded.
"Yes?"
She wasn't buying it. "You're Apollo, though. Don't you have…godly things to do?"
This had his lips curving. "The fun thing about being a god is that I can spend my time however it is I want."
She hummed to herself. More likely, he wasn't allowed into the important god business after that whole being cursed to become a human stuff. She doubted that, even with his godhood returned to him, Zeus and the others were eager to give back their trust.
Even if, in Daisy's opinion, it was a bit silly. She didn't know the full story, sure, but it didn't seem to be Apollo's fault that his legacy spiraled into insanity. That would be like blaming Daisy that Drew could be an asshole.
"Well, it's on the 19th. Starts at 7pm." She sauntered around the pile of canvases laying out on the floor and towards the front desk she typically manned. Reaching towards the stack of fliers, she handed him two, causing him to stare at her with an evident question.
"One for you, one for a friend."
"A friend?"
She dug her nails into her palms, patience running thin. "Do you not have friends?"
"I didn't say that." He looked as though he were about to say more, but without warning, posture stiffened, something in the corner of his eye snagging his gaze. "Oh, shit!"
Daisy followed his line of vision, towards the bright yellow door leading into the gallery, then screamed. A snake the size of her arm had wormed its way through the door and was approaching them at a slow yet menacing speed.
"Close your eyes!" Apollo demanded, panic taking hold of his voice.
Daisy whipped to him, even more confused than she had been before. "What?!" Was he insane?!
"It's a basilisk! Close your eyes!"
Heart falling into her ass, she obeyed, shutting her eyes and blinding herself from the sight before her. A basilisk, what the fuck was a basilisk doing in her studio?!
"Make sure it doesn't destroy anything!" She cried, not bothering to hide where her priorities lay.
Thudding followed, Apollo wielding god powers of sorts, or so she guessed, anyways. Daisy hadn't a clue what was going on, until something hard was pressing against her at such a fast pace, she was falling over her own feet and landing on the ground with a bang and a groan.
The thing that had knocked her over had fallen on top of her — which, upon further investigation via feeling at the form, was Apollo himself, having accidentally grabbed at his thigh. With a yelp, she pulled away, but was unable to fully climb out from under him, not when his weight was almost crushing.
"It's gone. I smited it," he told her from where he was still atop her, and Daisy opened her eyes.
The first thing she saw was hazel, his own eyes staring back at her. "Are you okay?"
She nodded. Fuck, he was so warm. And handsome, up close.
"I didn't mean to fall on you," he continued, an apology without a sorry.
This might've normally angered her, but her mind was racing so fast from the fright, she didn't have room for anything else. "It's fine."
Neither of them moved away from each other, like it hadn't even occurred to them to. In her chest, her heart rate picked up speed to move in tandem with her mind's spiraling thoughts.
"Did anything break?" Her breath came out hitched. "Of my art, I mean."
He shook his head. "No, no, everything's fine."
She let out a sigh, letting her head fall back until she was leaning back on the floor. "Thank God."
His eyes narrowed. "Thank me. I'm the one who banished the bastard." He still was on top of her, and fuck it if she didn't want him to get off.
It was in that moment that her sister's request came back to her, ringing about in her head. "Next guy you see, whoever the hell it is, consider for a test run."
A test run was certainly on her agenda, but with a god? Was that a good idea? When they were known for impregnating women and leaving them to deal with their bastards while they fucked off with someone else.
It didn't need to be long term, Daisy reminded herself with the tightening of her throat. She didn't need to commit to anything.
And yet…
Able to sense her inner turmoil, Apollo finally pushed himself back onto his feet, looking a bit flushed in the process. Extending out an arm in a silent offer, she took several seconds of consideration before accepting his help up.
"Thanks," she murmured as she steadied herself.
"No need for that." Apollo shook his head. "Do you have a name, or should I just refer to you in my mind as the girl a snake pushed me on top of?"
She snorted. "That's a mouthful."
"Hey, if a basilisk wants to play matchmaker, who am I to tell it what to do?"
Another laugh. Real, genuine, and rare when being prompted by a man. "Daisy will do."
"Daisy," he repeated, sounding out every letter. "Say, Daisy, how would you feel about a date?"