Let’s face it though. If you don’t think Nico already knows about every other god in the PJO universe, you’re insane. Of course, he knows magicians exist. His dad and Osiris/Julius literally play cards once every week. Persephone’s been showing Anubis her flowers all the time because the Underworld can be hella boring in either place and sometimes Anubis just wants to be surrounded by calm pretty stuff vs graves.
Yeah, he knows about the Norse gods. He accidentally stumbled into one of the realms when he was shadow travelling and still has no idea how he got there. I mean, Nico di Angelo fucking met God in an alleyway after ten cups of coffee and two hours of sleep and he’s only like 5% sure it was a hallucination.
He literally just straight-faced ask Thanatos if other gods existed one time and the man just went “where else would mortals come up with these myths, y’all aren’t that smart” before pushing Nico onto some other deity of the dead so the kid would leave him alone.
Ya boy’s met fucking Kali and thinks she’s awesome and has her damn card. If you ask any god out there about him, chances are they’ve met him or heard of him through conversation with a god who has met him. “Sweet kid,” they’ll say. “Kinda quiet but nice. Real helpful if you need it.”
Nico’s been known all this bullshit. The first time he meets Magnus, he’s not confused or shocked. He just looks him over and then just plainly asks “so how’d you escape?” and literally everyone else in the room is completely shocked he knows, when of course he knows.
He just can’t be bothered to talk about it if it’s not important to anything at stake or doesn’t require his assistance. The world ending’s because some wolf is gonna do something stupid apparently? Great, not his mythology, not his problem. If they need his help, they’ll ask.
after dying god informs you that hell is a myth, and “everyone sins, its ok”. instead the dead are sorted into six “houses of heaven” based on the sins they chose.
We arrived first at the House of Lust. “House” is a misleading term. It was more of a camp, spread over acres and acres of lush forest. There was a white sandy beach (nude, of course) full of copulating couples. There were little cabins sprinkled all along the path, from which orgasmic moans regularly came belting out. Men with six pack abs and women with perky breasts strolled by without even noticing me and God. They only had eyes for each other, tickling and pinching each other with flirtatious giggles.
“What do you think?” God asked as we passed a nineteen-way taking place in a pool of champagne. Little cherubs flitted overhead armed with mops and cleaning supplies, thankfully. “Lust is our most popular sin.” I eyed the supermodel-like figures of a couple passing nearby, and could easily see why. “You can look however you want. Hell, you can be whatever gender you want. No fetish is too taboo, and no desire can be denied here.”
It was quite tempting, but I wasn’t ready to make a permanent decision here. “Let’s see the others,” I told God.
We carried on to Greed. We passed rows and rows of mansions, each more opulent than the next. Some of them were so large that they would have had enough bed rooms to fit my entire hometown. And so many different styles: one second, we were in a beautiful French vineyard in front of a gorgeous chateau with the Alps in the background. The next second, a warm tropical beach with a modern mansion atop breathtaking cliffs. After that, a ski chalet in Colorado with a roaring fire in a hearth large enough to fit an ox. Each one had various Italian sports cars and Rolls Royces parked in front, with the occasional smattering of boats, helicopters, etc.
“Any material desire you ever wanted,” God explained. “Your own world, where you can have everything. You want the Hope Diamond? You can fly to Washington DC in your own solid gold helicopter and buy it from the Smithsonian. Hell, you can just buy the Smithsonian.”
Also tempting, but I decided to keep looking.
Gluttony was next up. Tables and tables of the very finest foods: beautiful steaks cooked medium rare; butter-poached lobster tail; fresh oysters on a half shell; exotic wines in dusty bottles that had been hiding in the cellars of the world’s finest restaurants. Everyone had a glass of champagne in hand and simply lounged on couches and chairs near the tables, eating endlessly. As soon as the inhabitants took a bite, the food just instantly came back. My mouth watered even watching them.
“In every other House, the food is practically sawdust compared to Gluttony,” God explained. “You haven’t truly experienced heaven until you’ve been to Gluttony.”
I shook my head, and we kept moving.
Sloth was as you’d expect. An endless sea of the softest mattresses, stacked with cushions and pillows that made the story of the princess and the pea seem minimalist. Little angels visited each resident, giving them massages that made them all melt into their blankets.
Wrath was… well, a lot like what I’d expect Hell to be like. Fire, brimstone, whips, torture.. you know, the works. Except here, you weren’t the one being tortured. Every enemy you’d ever made in your real life was now under your thumb. “Lots of people choose their fathers,” God explained. “Lots of grudges against parents in general, you know. But you’re not limited to that. Someone beat you out for a big promotion back on Earth? Take your pound of flesh here.”
Then we arrived at Envy. It looked… well, a lot like home.
“Go on in,” God said, gesturing toward the door. I turned the knob and walked in… and found Emily waiting inside. She ran forward, wrapped her arms around my neck, and planted a kiss right on my lips. “Welcome home, honey.”
I looked back toward God. “Oh, don’t be coy,” he said. “You have no secrets from me. We all know that you were in love with your best friend’s wife.” She didn’t seem to hear him at all; she went back into the hall. “We all know that you just settled for your own wife while secretly pining after her. Well, this is your chance to live happily ever after.”
I peered into the kitchen. Emily was baking something, wearing nothing but an apron. Her curly black hair fell softly over her shoulder as she whisked ingredients. She turned back, noticed I was observing her, and an enthusiastic smile spread across her face.
“It’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?” God whispered in my ear.
I wanted to take it. God damn did I want to take it. But I shook my head.
God seemed puzzled. “You need to make a decision,” he told me.
“I haven’t seen Pride yet.”
He scoffed. “No one ever wants Pride, trust me.”
“Well, I want to see it.”
_________________________
Pride was boring. Just a row of workbenches in a bare white room.
“I don’t get it,” I told God.
“Yeah, no one does,” he answered. “That’s why no one ever chooses it. Doesn’t cavorting in Lust sound better than sitting here building little trinkets for the rest of eternity? Wouldn’t you rather gorge yourself in Gluttony? Or spend time with Emily in Envy?”
I considered the options again. “I pick Pride,” I finally told him.
He narrowed his eyes. “What? Look at it!” He gestured around the room again. There wasn’t much to look at. “Why would you choose this for the rest of time?”
“Because you don’t want me to pick it,” I told him. If he was really God, he’d know what a contrarian I can be. And I knew he was hiding something, trying to pretend like Pride didn’t exist. There was something special about it.
God scowled back. “Fine.” He led me over to one of the workbenches. In the center, there was a black space. A blank, empty void that went on forever. “Here’s your universe,” he said. “You’ve got seven days to get started.” He took his seat at the bench next to me and went back to tinkering in his own world. After a long pause, he finally spoke again: “You know, it might be nice for me to actually have some company for once.”
one of the houses on the end of my street is home to the members of a local irish folk band so some mornings i’ll be walking out to my bus stop to a rollicking accordion and mandolin like i’m finally setting out to seek my fortune on the high seas or some days i’ll come home to a weary aching lament that is so sweet and so yearning that i’ll miss the drowned lover i never had
I have seen people say that one of the tragedies of “The World Was Wide Enough” is that Hamilton and Burr both break with their natures–Burr doesn’t wait and Hamilton throws away his shot. This is perfectly, literally true, as well as excellent wordplay in the second instance, but I’ve been thinking that one of the really beautiful things about the musical is that it’s not completely true.
Hamilton throws away his (gun)shot, but that’s never–in his own mind or in the play itself–been what the metaphorical shot really is, at least not consistently. “Not throwing away your shot” is about not wasting your opportunities; it’s about making the deliberate choice. Hamilton throws away his more active military career when he signs on as Washington’s aide, but he views this–at least in the moment–as seizing his shot, because Washington has persuaded him that it’s harder and more honorable to try to live. He and his men take the bullets out of their guns at Yorktown to better secure their victory.
And it’s not only Hamilton who wins by losing, or at least by forfeiting the showier and more conventional route to victory: it’s Washington, too. LMM is explicit about this in the notes on “One Last Time”: that the song highlights Washington’s “most radical act/lasting legacy,” which is his decision to walk away from power and not seek it again. He throws away the most obvious form of power, but he doesn’t throw away his chance for meaningful action: he just redefines what meaningful action looks like. Even though Hamilton says it will make him look weak, Washington pushes through, because “they will see we’re strong.” He turns down one shot for another: he teaches a country, and a succession of presidents, and Hamilton himself, to say goodbye.
And that’s what Hamilton learns from him, and from Eliza, who chooses–consciously and actively–to forgive. He says, “If I throw away my shot, is this how you’ll remember me? What if this bullet is my legacy?” And it is, and he knows that, and he chooses this chance, this idea of meaningful action: to aim at the sky. To not kill, or even feign to kill, “[his] first friend, [his] enemy.” And we don’t say he’s weak for that; we see he’s strong.
Because kindness, in Hamilton, is always deserving of our awe and respect. Hamilton’s “non-stop” series of accomplishments is wonderful to behold, but the one thing we’re really asked if we can even imagine is Eliza offering him forgiveness. When Hamilton chooses to aim for the sky, he doesn’t throw away his shot, he takes stock of everyone he’s loved, and everyone he’s lost, and everything he’s done, and seizes the opportunity–to be kind. To make peace.
And for us, at least, that’s a substantial part of his legacy. So part of what makes Hamilton so awesome, for me, is that it recognizes that sometimes deliberately refraining from action is the most powerful action you can take, and it defines its characters by those active refusals, those conscious choices to not go after more. Hamilton throws away his shot, Eliza throws away her anger, Angelica throws away her chance, Washington throws away his reelection. Principle is sometimes most meaningfully expressed by where we draw the line and what we refuse to do, which is why Hamilton cannot back Burr after hearing that there’s “nothing [he] wouldn’t do.”
Hamilton never really gives up. As Burr says in “Wait for It,” all he does is “change the game.”
These things, too, are part of taking your shot: you take the opportunity to be better, smarter, kinder. Hey, sometimes you “take the bullets out your gun” and that’s part of how you win the war.
This is the greatest progression of events I have ever read, where’s my historical gay romance novel about this
KING JAMES, CAN YOU CHILL?
Local King Cannot Stop Promoting His Boyfriend
where’s the lush period drama about this series of events?
fun thing about king James, this guy was fairly public about his bf (more public than what was acceptable). He threw lots of extravagant parties with his man on his arm. It pissed off the church obviously so to get them off his back, he’s the one that ordered the third translation of the Bible from Hebrew to English (the King James Version aka the Authorized Version) so the Bible every hot blooded all American Christian reads today was literally just written so a very gay king could fuck his boyfriend in peace.
oh my god this is hilarious
“guys, guys. I know this looks kinda gay, and i promise i have a good explanation for all this, but have you considered… that jesus… is also gay? checkmate, heteros.”
what i do is not up to you 