Sirius Raising Harry

Me in the middle of the night waking up: wait... when did the tower of Nero come out?

Me checking google seeing it came out September the 24th and seeing Target has it: why did nobody tell me this?!

Me packing Alex in his booster seat at 12:00 at night: come on, I need this book!

#booksforlife #books #bored #idothisallthetime #pjo #percyjackson #annabethchase #lovebooks #trialsoofapollo #apollo #somemuchmore

apolloo

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Why the Greeks would have won during the Roman Invasion at Camp Half-Blood

From time to time I think about the worst case scenario in which the Greeks and Romans actually fight on Half-Blood Hill.

Throughout the series, the way they describe the legion is as an unstoppable force that would make the Greek demigods falter and be crushed in that they were out matched in every sense - sheer numbers, skills, and tactics, but I actually think that the Greeks would win, hear me out.

1. The Greeks live in a camp with a forest that comes stocked with monsters to fight and train against. They live in near constant danger.

2. Because all the Greeks are 1st generation demigods they are likely more in touch with their godly parentage. (There’s not a whole lot of evidence of this, but if Octavian is the Augur for the romans and he’s a distant descendent I’m inclined to believe that not many of them have much control over their parents domain/sphere of influence)

3. The Greeks - 30-40 strong defended Olympus: against hordes of monsters, titans, and turned gods and goddesses - ALONE. And since then the survivors have been training along side the newer campers, teaching them how to stay alive.

4. When Percy first arrived at Camp Jupiter and played in the legion’s war games, none of the Roman defenders knew how to defend or stop Percy’s fighting style - which is VERY much Greek. (Yes I know he had the help of a miniature hurricane, but mainly kept projectiles away from him. The romans utilize numbers while the Greeks utilize surroundings. 

5. Half-Blood Hill is where the Greeks are strongest. Literally a home field advantage. Almost every Greek demigod reaches Thalia’s Tree against the odds of a pursuing monster.

6. The Greeks have always been more attuned to other creatures in their world. They have more friends - both beast and human. Percy can call upon the Cyclopes in Poseidon’s Forge (because let’s be honest- you hurt Percy’s home Tyson will kill you dead), Grover can rally all the nature spirits in a 5 mile radius as a Lord of the Wild, Chiron could theoretically ask for the aid of the Party Ponies - which would really terrify the Romans as centaurs are seen as evil beings to them (also noted by Percy that evil centaurs felt wrong to him), worse comes to worse, Thalia and the Hunters of Artemis would likely lend a hand too, despite their grudge with the campers -which was eased during the battle of manhattan to a friendly rivalry (also, the hunters were very much a Greek tribe of warrior women) because CHB is their second home — basically what I’m saying is that the Greeks could easily rally enough supporters to triple or quadruple their numbers, enough to match those of the Roman camp

7. But Matt… what about the roman’s Eagles, their elephant, and the Amazons? Listen. The eagles are very good at scouting and recovering but they make easy targets for the Apollo cabin to shoot out of the sky. The Amazon’s have no stake in the squabble- it’s unlikely that they would come to the aid of a conquering force: the amazons have always been known as defenders - their own homelands, Coming to aid Troy - they always get something out of it. And I’m sorry but Hannibal would barely make it up Half-Blood Hill before Peleus ripped him apart.

8. This is definitely not the first time the Greeks have been ambushed at CHB. The will have tons of defenses laying in wait. Many, even they forgot we’re there. After Thalia’s Tree was posioned Monsters could break through the magical barrier protecting camp - showing how quickly the Greeks could respond to an attack, and how deadly they could be be even in pajamas and half armored up. Not to mention how rapidly they were able to establish a countermeasure for the Battle of the Labyrinth at Zeus’ Fist.

9. The way CHB is set up, gives each cabin a voice, a way to promote their strengths in times of need - the Athena and Ares cabin would easily dominate the warfront and strategy talks while the other campers race around thickening the brush in the forest, added more gadgets and automaton defenses, prepping weapons, laying distractions, setting up hunters perches in strategic places, fortifying camp and adding bunkers and hideouts to sneak around (we all know the Greeks are cunning- it how they survive when numbers are low - think Trojan War, Battle of Manhattan, All of Percabeths time in Tartarus is just showcasing the inherent trait they all share.)

10. The Roman legion is literally without proper leadership. Both acting Praetors are off field - yes Reyna is returning, but even she would likely not support the attack on CHB after learning everything she has and traveling with the the Statue of Athena and fighting alongside Greeks.

11. And let me say- I know we had more time with the Greeks but even the powers that some of the halfbloods at camp Jupiter have seen relatively unimpressive: the most spectacular being Jason who can control the winds - but the Greeks can bless and curse weaponry (Ares/Athena), necromancy and mist manipulation (via Hecate cabin), and the ability to put others to sleep and plague their dreams (Hypnos) to name a few. The connection to the gods was always stronger in Greece than in Rome.

12. The Greeks fight with no rules. Everything is about survival. And they (as a whole) always survive. The romans fight was a kind of respect, for a lack of a better word.

13. You better believe there would be some monstrous tag teams from the Hephaestus-Hermès co-op that would do some SERIOUS damage… and no one wants to be on the receiving end of a Hephaestus machine or a Hermès prank.

14. Culturally speaking, if the romans could even destroy the Greeks it would entirely decimate their own culture. Their gods only exist because they were adopted from their Greek forms - some were literally just pull straight over - ie Apollo (didn’t even get a name change smh). The Greeks could theoretically decimate the Roman camp and remain unaffected by the blow back as their pantheon would remain intact. (But that’s hypothetical)

What do you mean this didn’t happen in canon? Please Reblog

“The wind howling at my back, I command it. The sun blazing on the ground, it obeys me. And you, hellfire soul, will bow to me.”- PoeticInjustice

And if you guys know any other Fanfiction sites plz let me know!

Books, what’s that?

I only read Fanfiction now.

Sure I read books!

Then I go and find a fanfiction about the book.

It’s sort of satisfying, reading a fanfiction about the book.

I like it.

So if you ask me what book I’m reading as I scroll through my phone and I look up guiltily and stammer all over the damn place it’s because I’m trying to remember a book I can lie about reading!

Thank you, and a good day/night/evening/morning.

A SAVAGE PLACE

because I just re-read Prince Caspian and remembered how completely different it is to the movie, and because it says Aslan is good but not safe and I think so is Narnia and, as they become part of the fabric of it, so are the Pevensies

“You may find Narnia a more savage place than you remember.”

Trumpkin has never heard a silence so loud as this that follows his warning. The children glance at each other, crowding the air with a language he isn’t hearing. His skin prickles with it. He turns away from them, drawing his knife to begin skinning the wild bear.

Only a moment later, the smaller, darker boy is drawing his own knife and dropping to his knees. Trumpkin looks at him sidelong, uncertain.

“I’m a fair butcher,” King Edmund tells him mildly, and he plunges his arms in up to the elbows.

~

This is the story Trumpkin knows.

That once, Narnia was held in the grip of a terrible Winter brought upon it by a tyrant Witch, that four children were called by Aslan the Great Lion out of their own land to cast her down, and when they had done so the Lion crowned them himself at the shining castle of Cair Paravel, where the ruins now lie on the sea. That they governed so wisely and well that the folk of Narnia knew nothing of evil or hardship. That all was joy, when the trees danced and the animals spoke.

That the first of them held with equal steadiness the sceptre and the sword, that to him was given the crown above crowns, that every sovereign before or since stood but palely in the shadow of his glory. That the second of them surpassed all other beauties, that she was soft of hand and soft of heart. That the third of them had learned such wisdom on the path of darkness that his counsel was worth more than rubies, and the tongue in his mouth was as silver as his crown. That the fourth of them was the darling of the land, that laughter and lightness were her constant companions, that to see her smile was to be blessed.

In front of him now, the fourth is drying her eyes with dirty sleeves, and the third curses as he picks blood from under his fingernails, and the second scowls, tugging at her long hair, all straggly with salty air and sweat, and the first of them is building a thin fire with trembling hands, silent.

~

“Don’t say much, eh, that brother of yours?”

He is walking alongside Queen Lucy the Valiant, who is all of nine years old, wearing a grin and a dagger. They are following the tall one, whose steps are sure and make no sound.

“Well, of course not. He has to be careful what he says.”

“Don’t we all?”

He is chuckling, but she isn’t. Her face is young and pale and flecked with sunlight that shifts like a glamour.  There are moments when her teeth look too big for her mouth, when her eyes sit strangely, as though she has stolen them from another. Sometimes she is difficult to look at.

“Not like Peter does. When he speaks…”

Smiling, she spreads her arms wide, embracing the still trees and sleeping waters, the sky above them and the earth below.

“Narnia listens.”

They trudge on, and Trumpkin watches King Peter watching the clouds. He has never been so far as Narnia’s northern border, where the sky lies heavy and indomitable on the bleak, open land. He does not know what it would mean to be crowned for the blue mountains and distant thunder of the cold, still North; the terrible immensity of it. The carvings on the walls of Aslan’s How are flat and dead, fading under the dust of uncountable years. They do not show these things, and they do not show the High King’s lion-gold hair or his clear, calm predator’s eyes, or how at dusk in enemy lands it was once whispered that behind closed lips, his teeth were fangs and his breath smelled of iron.

The little girl skips ahead to catch her brother’s hand. The trees shiver around them, remembering the rhythm of her steps on the earth, the way she’d danced, mad and barefoot, her shrieking laughter in the night. The echo of it has hung in their leaves for a thousand years. Trumpkin sees them stirring, shakes his head, cannot help wondering if her voice, too, is threaded with this deep magic. It’s here in the very presence of these four living ghosts, in their fingertips and their footprints and the corners of their eyes. And though Trumpkin has never been a believer until now, he has heard enough to know that magic is not always sweet.

Behind him, the older girl is humming a tune that Trumpkin doesn’t quite recognise, though it catches in his ears like something familiar. There are no histories written of Queen Susan and the sly sirens, of how she would step from the sea like a drowned woman with her clinging hair, her deep-hued lips, to sing the music she had learned. The histories that remain crown her to the rich south, where the crops grow and the flowers open their delicate hearts for the indifferent eyes of the sun. As Trumpkin turns to look, pulled by that hypnotic song, she snaps a bloom from a bush of wild roses to slide into her hair.

She has not seen him glancing back, but the other one, the younger boy, has. Under his dark eyes, Trumpkin feels as pinned as if he were at the point of a dagger. Though they are far from the wild woods of the west, this is still King Edmund’s realm: the forest with all its shadows and its green secrets, laid bare when winter’s frozen hands come to strip them away. But now it is high summer and the leaves are thick, cloaking the woods in their mystery, and Trumpkin cannot see what is behind the boy-king’s sharp smile.

~

Time is long and wearing, and this is the story the Old Narnians have forgotten.

That Susan’s soft fingers had stung under the tautness of her bowstring, the first time she’d pulled it back to kill. That Peter had wept beside the corpse of the wolf. That Aslan’s maw had been red and sticky, dripping thick ropes of blood, and that the Witch had been beautiful, in her cold way.

~

“I have been told – I have learned about the Golden Age,” Caspian tells them later, shaky and fervent. “The legend. Of what Narnia was when you ruled it. It must seem like a sparse, savage place, compared with the one you knew.”

They watch him silently. Peter, whose eyes are bright and blank as a clear sky, and Susan with her full, unsmiling lips are already their own statues. After a moment, Edmund’s harsh laughter fills the darkness, and Lucy pinches him with fingers as sharp as any faery’s.

That night, Caspian puts the Horn where he cannot see it before he tries to sleep.  

draco will make one (1) exception to wearing gryffindor colors

a companion piece to this