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thewidowsghost · 3 years ago

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The Daughter of the Sea - Chapter 8

(Y/n)'s POV

I know someone at camp resents Percy and me because one night, I come into the cabin alone and find a mortal newspaper dropped inside the doorway, a copy of the New York Daily News, opened to the Metro page. The article takes me almost an hour to read, because the angrier I get, the more the words float around on the page.

GIRL, BOY, AND MOTHER STILL MISSING AFTER FREAK CAR ACCIDENT

By Eileen Smythe

Sally Jackson, son Percy, and daughter (Y/n) are still missing one week after their mysterious disappearance. The family's badly burned '78 Camaro was discovered last Saturday on a north Long Island road with the roof ripped off and the front axle broken. The car had flipped and skidded for several hundred feet before exploding.

Mother, daughter, and son had gone for a weekend vacation to Montauk, but left hastily, under mysterious circumstances. Small traces of blood were found in the car and near the scene of the wreck, but there were no other signs of the missing Jacksons. Residents in the rural area reported seeing nothing unusual around the time of the accident.

Ms. Jackson's husband, Gabe Ugliano, claims that his stepson, Percy Jackson, is a troubled child who has been kicked out of numerous boarding schools and has expressed violent tendencies in the past.

Police would not say whether son Percy is a suspect in his sister's and his mother's disappearance, but they have not ruled out foul play. Below are recent pictures of Sally Jackson, (Y/n), Percy. Police urge anyone with information to call the following toll-free Crimestoppers hotline.

The phone number is circled in black marker.

I wad up the paper and throw it away, flopping down on my bunk on the far edge of the cabin under the window facing the sea.

I remain silent as Percy walks into the cabin, flopping down onto his bunk as well.

That night, I have the worst dream yet.

I was running along the beach in a storm. This time, there was a city behind me. Not New York. The sprawl was different: buildings spread farther apart, palm trees and low hills in the distance.

About a hundred yards down the surf, two men were fighting. They looked like TV wrestlers, muscular, with beards and long hair. Both wore flowing Greek tunics, one trimmed in blue, the other in green. They grappled with each other, wrestled, kicked, and head-butted, and every time they connected, lightning flashed, the sky grew darker, and the wind rose.

I had to stop them. I didn't know why. But the harder I ran, the more the wind blew me back until I was running in place, my heels digging uselessly in the sand.

Over the roar of the storm, I could hear the blue-robed one yelling at the green-robed one, Give it back! Give it back! Like a kindergartner fighting over a toy.

The waves got bigger, crashing into the beach, spraying me with salt.

I yelled, Stop it! Stop fighting!

The ground shook. Laughter came from somewhere under the earth, and a voice so deep and evil it turned my blood to ice.

Come down, little hero, the voice crooned. Come down!

The sand split beneath me, opening up a crevice straight down to the center of the earth. My feet slipped, and darkness swallowed me.

I wake up, sure I'm falling.

I am still in bed in Cabin Three. My body tells me it's morning, but it's dark outside, and thunder rolls over the hills.

A storm is brewing.

I hadn't dreamed that . . .

I hear a clopping sound at the door, a hoof knocking on the threshold.

"Come in?" Percy asks, sounding uncertain.

Grover trots inside, looking worried. "Mr. D wants to see the two of you."

"Why?" I ask, peeking through the curtain separating mine and Percy's side of the cabin.

'He wants to kill . . . I mean, I'd better let him tell you."

Nervously, Percy and I get dressed and follow, sure we were in huge trouble.

For days, Percy and I'd been half expecting a summons to the Big House. Now that we were declared children of Poseidon, one of the Big Three gods who weren't supposed to have kids, I figure it's just a crime for us to be alive. The other gods had probably been debating on the best way to punish us for existing, and now Mr. D is ready to deliver their verdict.

Over Long Island Sound, the sky looks like ink soup coming to a boil. A hazy curtain of rain is coming in our direction. I ask Grover if we'd need an umbrella.

"No," Grover says. "It never rains here unless we want it to."

Percy points at the storm, 'What the heck is that, then?"

Grover glances uneasily at the sky. "It'll pass around us. Bad weather always does."

I realize that he's right. In the week I'd been here, it had never even been overcast. The few rain clouds I'd seen had skirted right around the edges of the valley.

But this storm . . .

This one's huge.

At the volleyball pit, the kids from Apollo's cabin are playing a morning game against the satyrs. Dionysius's twins - Castor and Pollux - are walking around in the strawberry fields, making the plants grow. Everyone is going about their normal business, but they look tense; they keep their eyes on the storm.

Grover, Percy, and I walk up the front porch of the Big House. Dionysus sits at the pinochle table in his tiger-striped Hawaiian shirt with his Diet Coke, just as he had on my first day. Chiron sits across the table in his fake wheelchair. They are playing against invisible opponents - two sets of cards hovering in the air.

"Well, well," Mr. D says without looking up. "Our little celebrities."

I wait.

"Come closer," Mr. D says. "And don't expect me to kowtow to you, mortals, just because old Barnacle-Beard is your father."

A net of lightning flashes across the clouds; thunder shakes the windows of the house.

"Blah, blah, blah," Dionysus grumbles.

Chiron faints interest in his pinochle cards and Grover cowers by the railing, his hooves clopping back and forth.

"If I had my way," Dionysus says, "I would cause your molecules to erupt in flames. We'd sweep up the ashes and be done with a lot of trouble. But Chiron seems to feel this would be against my mission at this cursed camp: to keep you little brats safe from harm."

"Spontaneous combustion is a form of harm, Mr. D," Chiron puts in.

"Nonsense," Dionysus says. "Boy wouldn't feel a thing. Nevertheless, I've agreed to restrain myself. I'm thinking of turning you into a dolphin instead, sending you back to your father."

"Mr. D - " Chiron warns.

"Oh, all right," Dionysus relents. "There's one more option. But it's deadly foolishness." Dionysus rises, and the invisible players' cards drop onto the table. "I'm off to Olympus for the emergency meeting. If the boy is still here when I get back, I'll turn him into an Atlantic bottlenose. Do you understand? And Perseus Jackson, if you're at all smart, you'll see that's a much more sensible choice than what Chiron feels you two must do."

Dionysus picks up a playing card, twists it, and it becomes a plastic rectangle. A security pass. He snaps his fingers. The air seems to fold and bend around him. He becomes a hologram, a wind, then he is gone, leaving only the smell of fresh-pressed grapes lingering behind.

Chiron smiles at me and Percy, but he looks tired and strained. "Sit, Percy,(Y/n), please. And Grover."

We do.

Chiron lays his cards on the table, a winning hand he hadn't gotten to use.

"Tell me, (Y/n)," he says. "What did you make of the hellhound?"

Just hearing the name makes me shudder.

Chiron probably wants me to say, Heck, it was nothing. I eat hellhounds for breakfast. But I don't feel like lying.

"It scared me," I admit. "If you hadn't shot it, I'd be dead."

"You two will meet worse. Far worse, before you're done."

"Done?" Percy asks. "With what?"

"You're quest, of course," Chiron says. "Will you accept it?"

I glance at Grover, who is crossing his fingers.

"Sir," I say, "you haven't told us what it is yet."

Chiron grimaces. "Well, that's the hard part, the details."

Thunder rumbles across the valley. The storm clouds had now reached the edge of the beach. As far as I can see, the sky and the sea were boiling together.

"Poseidon and Zeus," I guess. "They're fighting over something valuable . . . something that was stolen, aren't they?"

Chiron and Grover exchange looks.

Chiron shoots forward in his wheelchair. "How did you know that?"

"The weather since Christmas has been weird, like the sea and the sky are fighting. Then I talked to Annabeth, and she'd overheard something about a theft. And...I've also been having these dreams."

"I knew it," Grover says, his eyes bright.

"Hush, satyr," Chiron orders.

"But it is his quest!" Grover's eyes sparkle with excitement. "It must be!"

"Only the Oracle can determine," Chiron strokes his bristly beard. "Nevertheless, (Y/n), you are correct. Your father and Zeus are having their worst quarrel in centuries. They are fighting over something valuable that was stolen. To be precise: a lightning bolt."

Percy laughs, looking nervous, "A what?"

"Do not take this lightly," Chiron warns. "I'm not talking about some tinfoil-covered zigzag you'd see in a second-grade play. I'm talking about a two-foot-long cylinder of high-grade celestial bronze, capped on both ends with god-level explosives."

"Oh."

"Zeus's master bolt," Chiron says, getting worked up now. "The symbol of his power, from which all other lightning bolts are patterned. The first weapon made by the Cyclopes for the war against the Titans, the bolt that sheered the top off Mount Etna and hurled Kronos from his throne; the master bolt, which packs enough power to make mortal hydrogen bombs look like firecrackers."

"And it's missing?" I guess.

"Stolen," Chiron corrects.

"By whom?" I ask though I guessed what he was going to say.

"By you two," Chiron says and Percy's jaw drops.

"At least"—Chiron holds up a hand—"that's what Zeus thinks. During the winter solstice, at the last council of the gods, Zeus and Poseidon argued. The usual nonsense: 'Mother Rhea always liked you best,' 'Air disasters are more spectacular than sea disasters,' et cetera. Afterward, Zeus realized his master bolt was missing, taken from the throne room under his very nose. He immediately blamed Poseidon. Now, a god cannot usurp another god's symbol of power directly—that is forbidden by the most ancient of divine laws. But Zeus believes your father convinced a human hero to take it."

"But I didn't - We didn't -" Percy goes to say.

"Patience and listen, child," Chiron says. "Zeus has good reason to be suspicious. The forges of the Cyclopes are under the ocean, which gives Poseidon some influence over the makers of his brother's lightning. Zeus believes Poseidon has taken the master bolt and is now secretly having the Cyclopes build an arsenal of illegal copies, which might be used to topple Zeus from his throne. The only thing Zeus wasn't sure about was which hero Poseidon used to steal the bolt. Now Poseidon has openly claimed you two as his children. You were in New York over the winter holidays. You could easily have snuck into Olympus. Zeus believes he has found his thief.

"But we've never even been to Olympus! Zeus is crazy!"

Chiron and Grover glance nervously at the sky. The clouds don't seem to be parting around us, as Grover had promised. They are rolling straight over the valley, sealing us in like a coffin lid.

"Er, Percy . . . ?" Grover says. "We don't use the c-word to describe the Lord of the Sky."

"Perhaps paranoid," Chiron suggests. "Then again, Poseidon has tried to unseat Zeus before. I believe that was question thirty-eight on your final exam...." He looked at Percy.

"The Golden Net?" I guess again. "Poseidon and Hera and a few other gods trapped Zeus in it and wouldn't let him out until he promised to be a better ruler?"

"Correct," Chiron says. "And Zeus has never trusted Poseidon since. Of course, Poseidon denies stealing the master bolt. He took great offense at the accusation. The two have been arguing back and forth for months, threatening war. And now, you two have come along—the proverbial last straw."

"But we're just kids!" Percy protests.

"Percy," Grover cuts in, "if you were Zeus, and you already thought your brother was plotting to overthrow you, then your brother suddenly admitted he had broken the sacred oath he took after World War II, and that he's father, not one, but two mortal heroes who might be used as a weapon against you . . . Wouldn't that put a twist in your toga?"

"But I - we didn't do anything, Poseidon - our dad - he didn't really have this master bolt stolen, did he?" Percy asks, and I remain silent in thought.

Chiron sighs. "Most thinking observers would agree that thievery is not Poseidon's style. But the Sea God is too proud to try convincing Zeus of that. Zeus has demanded that Poseidon return the bolt by the summer solstice. That's June twenty-first, ten days from now. Poseidon wants an apology for being called a thief by the same date. I hoped that diplomacy might prevail, that Hera or Demeter or Hestia would make the two brothers see sense. But your arrival has inflamed Zeus's temper. Now neither god will back down. Unless someone intervenes, unless the master bolt is found and returned to Zeus before the solstice, there will be war. And do you know what a fullfledged war would look like, Percy? (Y/n)?"

"Bad?" Percy guesses.

"I'd guess that it would be like nature at war with itself," I say and Chiron nods.

"Olympians forced to choose sides between Zeus and Poseidon. Destruction. Carnage. Millions dead. Western civilization turned into a battleground so big it will make the Trojan War look like a water-balloon fight," Chiron adds to (Y/n)'s statement.

"Bad," Percy repeats.

"And you, Percy and (Y/n) Jackson, would be the first to feel Zeus's wrath."

And then, it starts to rain. Volleyball players stop their game and start in stunned silence at the sky.

We had brought this storm to Half-Blood Hill. Zeus was punishing the whole camp because of us.

"So we have to find that bolt," I say. "And return it to Zeus."

"What better peace offering," Chiron says, "than to have the son and daughter of Poseidon return Zeus's property.

"If Poseidon doesn't have it, where is the thing?" Percy asks.

"I believe I know." Chiron's expression is grim. "Part of a prophecy I had years ago...well, some of the lines make sense to me, now. But before I can say more, you must officially take up the quest. You must seek the counsel of the Oracle."

"Why can't you tell us where the bolt is beforehand?" Percy asks.

"Because if I did, you would be too afraid to accept the challenge."

I swallow thickly. "Good reason."

"You agree then?" Chiron asks.

I exchange a glance with Percy, then Grover, who nods encouragingly.

Easy for him, I think. We're the ones Zeus wants to kill.

"All right," Percy says. "It's better than being turned into a dolphin."

"Then it's time you consulted the Oracle," Chiron says. "Go upstairs, Percy and (Y/n) Jackson, to the attic. When you come back down, assuming you're still sane, we will talk more."

. . .

"Well?" Chiron asks us.

We slump into our chairs at the pinochle table. "She said we would retrieve what was stolen.

Grover sits forward, chewing excitedly on the remains of a Diet Coke can. "That's great!

"What did the Oracle say exactly?" Chiron presses. "This is important."

My ears are still tingling from the reptilian voice. "She said we would go west and face a god who had turned. We would retrieve what was stolen and see it safely returned."

"I knew it," Grover says.

Chiron doesn't look satisfied. "Anything else?"

"No," Percy says. "That's about it."

He studies Percy's face, then meets my green gaze. "Very well. But know this: the Oracle's words often have double meanings. Don't dwell on them too much. The truth is not always clear until events come to pass."

I get the feeling he knows we're holding something back, and he's trying to make us feel better.

"Okay," Percy says, looking anxious to change topics. "So where do we go? Who's this god in the west?"

"Ah, think, Percy," Chiron says."if Zeus and Poseidon weaken each other in a war, who stands to gain."

"Someone else who wants to take over?" I guess.

"Yes, quite. Someone who harbors a grudge, who has been unhappy with his lot since the world was divided eons ago, whose kingdom would grow powerful with the deaths of millions. Someone who hates his brothers for forcing him into an oath to have no more children, an oath that both of them have now broken."

"Hades," I say, raising an eyebrow.

Chiron nods. "The Lord of the Dead is the only possibility."

A scrap of aluminum dribbles out of Grover's mouth. "Whoa, wait. Wh - what?"

"A Fury came after Percy," Chiron reminds him. "She watched the young man until she was sure of his identity, then tried to kill him. Furies obey only one lord: Hades."

"Yes, but - but Hades hates all heroes," Grover protests. "Especially if he has found out Percy and (Y/n) are children of Poseidon . . ."

"A hellhound got into the forest," Chiron continues. "Those can only be summoned from the Fields of Punishment, and it had to be summoned by someone within the camp. Hades must have a spy here. He must suspect Poseidon will try to use Percy and (Y/n) to clear his name. Hades would very much like to kill these young half-bloods before he can take on the quest."

"Great," I mutter. "That's two major gods who want to kill us."

"But a quest to . . ." Grover swallows. "I mean, couldn't the master bolt be in someplace like Maine? Maine's very nice this time of year."

"Hades sent a minion to steal the master bolt," Chiron insisted. "He hid it in the Underworld, knowing full well that Zeus would blame Poseidon. I don't pretend to understand the Lord of the Dead's motives perfectly, or why he chose this time to start a war, but one thing is certain. Percy and (Y/n) must go to the Underworld, find the master bolt, and reveal the truth."

A strange fire burns in my stomach. The weirdest thing is, it isn't fear. It's anticipation. The desire for revenger. Hades had tried to kill me two times so far with the Minotaur, and the hellhound. It is his fault my mother had disappeared in a flash of light. Now he is trying to frame me, my dad, and my brother for a theft we hadn't committed.

Grover is trembling now; he'd started eating pinochle cards like potato chips.

The poor guy had to complete a quest with me and Percy so he could get his searcher's license, whatever that is, but how can I ask him to do this quest, especially when the Oracle said we were destined to fail?" This is a suicide mission.

"Look, if we know it's Hades," Percy tells Chiron, "why can't we just tell the other gods? Zeus and Poseidon could go down to the Underworld and bust some heads."

"Suspecting and knowing are not the same," Chiron says. "Besides, even if the other gods suspect Hades—and I imagine Poseidon does—they couldn't retrieve the bolt themselves. Gods cannot cross each other's territories except by invitation. That is another ancient rule. Heroes, on the other hand, have certain privileges. They can go anywhere, challenge anyone, as long as they're bold enough and strong enough to do it. No god can be held responsible for a hero's actions. Why do you think the gods always operate through humans?"

"You're saying I'm being used," Percy says.

"I'm saying it's no accident Poseidon had claimed you and (Y/n) now. It's a very risky gamble, but he's in a desperate situation. He needs the two of you."

My dad needs us.

Emotions roll around inside me like bits of glass in a kaleidoscope. I don't know whether to feel resentful or grateful or happy or angry. Poseidon had ignored me for twelve years. Now suddenly he needed me.

3rd Person POV

Percy looks at Chiron. "You've known I was Poseidon's son all along, haven't you?"

"I had my suspicions. As I said . . . I've spoken to the Oracle, too."

(Y/n) gets the feeling that there is a lot he wasn't telling them about the prophecy, but she decides that she couldn't worry about that at the moment. After all, she and Percy were hiding back information too."

"So let me get this straight," Percy says. "We're supposed to go to the Underworld and confront the Lord of the Dead."

"Check," Chiron says.

"Find the most powerful weapon in the universe."

"Check."

"And get it back to Olympus before the summer solstice, in ten days."

"That's about right."

(Y/n) looks over at Grover, who gulps down the ace of hearts.

"But I mention that Maine is very nice this time of year?" he asks weakly.

"You don't have to go," Percy tells him. "I can't ask that of you."

"Oh . . ." He shifts his hooves. "No . . . it's just that satyrs and underground places . . . well . . ." He takes a deep breath, then stands, brushing the shredded cards and aluminum bits off his t-shirts. "You saved my life, (Y/n), Percy. If . . . if you're serious about wanting me along, I won't let the two of you down."

Percy feels so relieved that he wanted to cry, though he didn't think that would be very heroic. Grover is the only friend she'd ever had for longer than a few months. Percy isn't sure what a satyr can do against the forces of the dead but he feels better knowing he'd be with them.

"All the way, G-man," Percy turns to Chiron. "The Oracle just said to go west."

"The entrance to the Underworld is always in the west. It moves from age to age, just like Olympus. Right now, of course, it's in America."

"Where?"

Chiron looks surprised. "I thought that would be obvious enough. The entrance to the Underworld is in Los Angeles."

Percy's POV

"Oh," I said. "Naturally. So we just get on a plane -"

"No!" Grover shrieks. "Percy, what are you thinking? Have you ever been on a plane in your life?"

I shake my head, feeling embarrassed. My mom had never taken me and (Y/n) anywhere by plane. She'd always said we didn't have the money. Besides, her parents had died in a plane crash.

"Percy, think," Chiron says. "You are the son of the Sea God. Your father's bitterest rival is Zeus, Lord of the Sky. Your mother knew better than to trust you in an airplane. You would be in Zeus's domain. You would never come down again alive."

Overhead, lightning crackles and thunder booms.

"Okay," (Y/n) says, not looking up at the storm. "So, we'll travel overland."

"That's right," Chiron says. "Two companions may accompany you. Grover is one. The other has already volunteered if you will accept her help."

(Y/n)'s POV

"Gee," I say, feigning surprise. "Who else would be stupid enough to volunteer for a suicide quest like this?"

The air shimmers behind Chiron.

Annabeth Chase becomes visible, stuffing her Yankees cap into her back pocket.

"I've been waiting a long time for a quest, Seaweed Brain," she says. "Athena is no fan of Poseidon, but if you're going to save the world, I'm the best person to keep you from messing up."

"If you do say so yourself," I say. "I suppose you have a plan, wise girl?"

Her cheeks flush. "Do you want my help or not?"

The truth is, I do. I need all the help I can get.

"A quartet," I say. "That'll work."

"Excellent," Chiron says. "This afternoon, we can take you as far as the bus terminal in Manhattan. After that, you are on your own."

Lightning flashes. Rain pours down on the meadows that were never supposed to have violent weather.

"No time to waste," Chiron says. "I think you should all get packing."

Word Count: 4018 words

#percy jackson x sister reader #percy jackson and the olympians reader insert #female reader #reader insert #fem reader

31 notes · View notes

sunny-sings-sooth · 3 years ago

Note

OOOO Here's yo asks <3

Goodluck answerin all of em btw 😭

Amy-

👀 What is the first physical feature people notice when they see your OC? Why?

Sera-

🪞 How does your OC perceive themself? Do they believe themself to be attractive, unattractive, or average? Does their view of themself affect their self-esteem, or are they unbothered by their physical appearance? (If your OC does have things they’re confident or insecure about, what are they?)

Hermes-

✋ Are your OC’s hands smooth, rough, or average? Why? How do they keep their nails? Do they bite them, paint them, neatly trim them, et cetera?

Dionysus-

👄 What is your OC’s smile like? Is it bright and wide, or thin and reserved? Does your OC wear any lipgloss or lipstick? Do they chew their lips?

Apollo-

👖 What type of clothing does your OC generally wear? Why? Do they have any “signature” accessories?

Rezar-

💇 What is your OC’s hairstyle? How do they maintain their hair? Do they wash it and/or cut it regularly? Have they ever dyed their hair?

Amy

I think Amy’s eyes. They’re not extra pretty or anything; just a pair of normal dark brown, kinda round and big, eyes. it’s the expressions in them that draws attention. The anger, the fire, like a blaze barely contained in her at all times. Like she could burn evil with her very gaze.

Sera

Part of Sera’s arc is about her body image issues. Totally projecting here but Sera is quite chubby and embarrassed about it. It negatively affects her self esteem and confidence so she tries to hide the shape of her body much as she can. Over time though she learns so appreciate her body and find herself beautiful

Hermes

Hermes’ hands are maybe a tad on the rougher side, not too much though. He doesn’t give them any special treatment or attention. When he’s very anxious or going through a stressful time he bites them and they get jagged from that

Dionysus

Dio has a really big, warm smile. it’s almost impossible not to return it. He def wears lipstick and lip gloss a lot. He doesn’t chew his lips, no.

Apollo

Apollo wears all sorts of things. He doesn’t really have a specific style, it really depends on his mood. He does prefer dresses over everything else and wears a lot of jewelry. He tends to wear more femme clothing

Rezar

I guess a ponytail? I don’t think he cares much to maintain or dye it really.

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toyota-s · 3 years ago

Text

As almighty god of love, pleasure, passion, beauty, and desire (et cetera et cetera, you can google him), Keigo’s accustomed to the adoring crowds of gods and mortals nipping at his heels as he emerges from a clamshell or crashes a party or buys his dinosaur chicken nuggets at the grocery store. He’s never in his life been short of a date for a party or a response to “u up?”.

That’s what makes this conundrum so frustrating.

Aphrodite is the fairest. Ares takes him down a peg. Dionysus is just happy to be invited.

A Modern Greek Gods AU (oneshot, 7k words)

Read on AO3 (ideal format) or below:

Keigo is already sick of the chase.

Is this how mortals feel with their piddly iPhone dating apps, swiping back and forth for the duration of their meaningless lives? Is that his fault for casting arrows through them willy-nilly from his perch atop a floating cloud? From his position in the sky, they all look like mingling ants anyway.

As almighty god of love, pleasure, passion, beauty, and desire (et cetera et cetera, you can Google him), Keigo’s accustomed to the adoring crowds of gods and mortals nipping at his heels as he emerges from a clamshell or crashes a party or buys his dinosaur chicken nuggets at the grocery store. He’s never in his life been short of a date for a party or a response to “u up?”.

That’s what makes this conundrum so frustrating.

He hasn’t yearned for something this hard since Paris and the golden apple and that whole snit with the Trojans that he may or may not have incited. Whoops. Mortals be damned, he got what he wanted. That apple sits nice and pretty on a shelf in the confirmed fairest’s one-bedroom apartment. He likes to shine it extra in case the other Olympians ever drop by, because he’s petty that way.

This particular hyperfixation has a wiry stature, a perpetual scowl, and propane-fire-blue eyes. It’s Ares, god of war and Zeus’s black sheep, but these days his mortal form goes by Dabi. He’s particularly insufferable in this mortal epoch. When Dabi skips meetings on Olympus, they go great; when he shows his face, they end in screaming matches between himself and his estranged father. Keigo is happy to be included in the moment either way.

Something about Dabi ropes Keigo in like he’s been pricked by a gold-tipped arrow of his own making. Maybe it’s the scandal of a potential affair with another seated Olympian. Maybe it’s the danger, the unadulterated adrenaline, of being around someone so demonstrably unhinged. Or maybe it’s the chiseled abs he spotted when he watched Dabi reassemble his askew toga after a wrestling match with Apollo.

Maybe it’s all of the above.

No matter the reason, his daddy issues or his bone structure, Keigo has stared at Dabi with an unrequited thirst for a couple hundred years now. Seconds, for an immortal, but Keigo is an exceptionally impatient being. He’s even spent more consecutive time than ever before living among the mortals, because that’s mostly where Dabi lives, probably to avoid his relations. All this effort, yet the most desirable god of them all gets nothing but cold, apathetic stares from the object of his affection?

It will simply not do.

When his natural charisma, overwhelming allure, and winning personality fail to charm the pants off of his latest target, he has to call in the big guns. Luckily, the big guns are on speed dial.

—

“Step into my office, Aphrodite!” Dionysus says, goofily waving her arms like one of those inflatable tube man humans love setting in front of used car lots. “I’m so glad to see you. Haven’t seen you off the mountain in centuries! How’s your mortal skin suit treatin’ ya? Almost didn’t recognize you.”

She gulps her beer and burps contentedly. Arcade machines whirr in the background, the 8-bit jingle of Ms. Pac Man, the rumble and click of pinball cabinets, the staccato, animated announcement of “game over.”

“I go by Keigo in the mortal realm these days,” Keigo replies evenly, checking his manicured nails. “It reflects my worldliness and it’s easy to shout. And you’re looking...” he searches his vocabulary for the right flattering word to describe the brash feminine figure kicking his shins under the table, “...healthy. Have you been working out?”

Dionysus winks. “I’m goin’ by Rumi for these next couple turns of the sun myself. Like ‘rum’ and ‘I.’ Heh, goddess of alcohol. Aren’t I cute?” She punches his shoulder with a loose fit and he recoils at the force. He nods graciously, rubbing at the impending bruise. “You don’t call me unless you need something, so what can I do ya for?”

“I seem to have hit my mid-life crisis. I’ve outlived my usefulness. What is my life really? What was I born for?” He sighs theatrically. “Like Sisiphus, I am bound to my boulder, my endless labor, my personal hell—”

“Such a drama queen! Grow a pair already and get over it!” Rumi exclaims, slamming her empty pint glass on the table and knocking over an expired bottle of ketchup. “Did some pretty boy turn you down?”

“Y—no. Yes. No. Maybe. It wasn’t exactly a rejection so much as a, uh, failure to launch,” Keigo divulges.

“Aren’t you the god of Viag—”

“Not that kind of launch! He doesn’t even look at me. What a pitiful existence! Is this what Hera feels like? And this bar is out of chicken strips, which is simply unacceptable. Chicken is the only food that outranks ambrosia. Why couldn’t they have made the gastronomic vehicle of immortality work with bleu cheese dip? Missed opportunity.”

“I hear you, buddy,” Rumi says with a grin. After she flags down the waiter for another beer and a basket of potato skins, she turns back to him. “So what does your dumbass crush have to do with me?”

“I’m looking for a wingman. Wingwoman? Wingperson? Wingbeing?” Keigo says, eyes flashing. “I’m not a god who gives up easily, so it’s time to try a different approach.”

“Alright!” Rumi cheers, sloshing beer down her wrist. “It’s been millennia since our last nonsense! Where do I sign?”

“I had some good shower thoughts this morning. I’ll fill you in on what I’m thinking. It starts with my delivery boy idea...”

—

Plan I: “Special Delivery”

In this particular human existence, Keigo works as a model to pass the time.

It’s an occupation that’s existed since Prometheus crafted mankind from mud, so it’s easy to beam himself down the mortal realm and find work on the spot with a smoldering smile and a dash of magic. They say you should do what you love, and Keigo loves incessant praise and shiny objects.

Over lifetimes, he’s posed for paintings, sketches, and sculptures that have decorated the halls of museums across cultures. And now, in this moment, he brings his artistic legacy to the hallowed halls of—he squints at the photographer’s t-shirt—StockPhotoSource.com.

After a massively successful past hour of different poses with a bowl of salad, Keigo wipes his glistening brow with a microfiber cloth and clocks out for the day with a crisp envelope of cash (he’s the god of desire, not tax accounting) and a bag full of costumes he swiped from the back inventory room.

He buys a bouquet of two dozen roses from the flower stand in the train station. In the dingy bathroom by the subway tunnels, he changes into a too-small delivery company uniform, a collared shirt that stretches over the definition of his chest, shorts that reveal the expanse of his thighs, and a thick black belt that cinches in his waist.

He stops briefly in the cafe to down a quick cup of coffee and drop the duffel bag with a waiting Rumi, who is busy arm-wrestling with a passerby. She undoes his top button, hands him an address scrawled onto a crumpled napkin, and slaps his ass in encouragement just a little harder than he’d prefer.

“Go get ‘em, tiger!” she shouts after him, as he embarks on his first mission.

Finding the door with the address Rumi handed him (she received it because of an owed favor from the messenger god Hermes), he steals his courage, smiles his most dazzling smile around the rose stem in his mouth, and knocks melodiously upon Dabi’s apartment door.

“Special delivery for Are—oh no.”

Eris of all people opens the door. The discord god’s jaw drops to the ground.

“Oh. My. Fucking gods,” Eris swears, nearly dropping his XBox controller. He whips his head back into the apartment and yells, “Dabi, Dabi, hurry, you have to see this shit.”

Keigo’s face goes violet, nearly swallowing the thorny rose stem he has fixed between his teeth. His crushing grip around the bouquet presses spines into his hands as his heart rate spikes through the roof. Goosebumps rise on his forearms — has January always been so cold in Japan?

“What could have possibly been important enough for you to interrupt my weekly stream, Shigaraki?” Dabi barks, finally stomping over to where Shigaraki waits by the front door.

But before he can cross the threshold, Keigo sprints down the hall, flushing furiously and leaving a trail of withering rose petals in his wake. He turns the corner and books it out of sight.

—

Rumi hands a shivering Keigo a cup of sencha. He tugs the teabag up and down in the mug and huddles deeper into a cocoon of blankets Rumi built for him.

“So… A couple of quick notes for ya,” she says. “Just things I observed, so don’t get all offended okay? Okay. First, maybe you should plan to wear more clothes in the winter months, seein’ as you’re no fire god.”

“Noted,” Keigo replies, teeth chattering. His sip of tea scalds the inside of his mouth. He gulps it down painfully and sticks out his swelling tongue. “Fuck.”

“Shoulda told you I just took that off the stove. Of course you’d try to suck it down as fast you could, you greedy bastard. That’s my bad,” Rumi says, apologetically, fishing an ice tray out of his freezer and cracking it over a glass bowl in the kitchen sink. She hands him a fresh cube, before dumping the rest into a highball glass and pouring herself a drink.

“Anyway, number two: you didn’t know he roomed with Shigaraki? Even I know that, and I’m not up on all the gossip. You know they forget to include me in the pantheon of Olympic gods sometimes?”

“Hm,” Keigo replies, sucking pitifully on his ice cube.

“They’re just roommates, so you don’t have competition. But! Shigaraki’s gonna get in your way like it’s his job, because he’s essentially the god of cockblocks,” Rumi continues. “So you’re gonna have to find a way around him and get Dabi alone. What’s he do for a mortal living? Invade countries? Wage cyber war?”

“Shhtreem,” Keigo garbles with his mouth full.

“What.”

Keigo swallows despite his numb tongue. “I heard him mention streaming when I was running away.”

“Streaming?” Rumi raises an eyebrow.

Google does them a solid. One quick search reveals Dabi to be the prolific video game streamer sects_and_violence, known for his expletive-laden rants and proclivity for game-breakingly brutal tactics in military strategy games.

They find an email address on his Youtube profile, labeled ‘for professional inquiries only.’

“I’m a professional,” Keigo insists, opening his email client. “And I’m inquiring.”

—

Plan II: “gg ez”

So Dabi doesn’t like meeting strangers IRL? No problem. Ego still bruised from his unfortunate encounter with Shigaraki, Keigo is happy to keep their next meeting online-only, figuring it’ll only blossom into something more when Dabi succumbs to the handsomeness of his profile avatar.

Keigo gets Dabi’s personal chat address when he dazzles Dabi’s unsuspecting talent manager. The man was going through a divorce, so it was almost too easy. Keigo sets up his own account with the gamer tag cupids_chokehold#4444 and signs on, adding a friend request to sects_and_violence#666 which is almost immediately met with rejection. Indignant, Keigo re-sends it and is rejected again. What gives? He sends it one more time.

This time it goes through, followed directly by a notification which he clicks with a jolt of excitement.

sects_and_violence#666: who the fuck is this and how did you get my @?

Not exactly the greeting he was hoping for, but it certainly sounds on brand. Keigo shrugs and composes a reply.

cupids_chokehold#4444: a fellow god interested in gaming!

sects_and_violence#666: …

sects_and_violence#666: you think i fuck w gods?

“That’s what I’m going for,” Keigo whispers defiantly to himself.

sects_and_violence#666: who. are. you.

sects_and_violence#666: answer or i’m blocking u

cupids_chokehold#4444: aphrodite

cupids_chokehold#4444: but you can call me keigo~

sects_and_violence#666: wtf

Incoming call from Dabi. Keigo’s stomach twists in happy butterflies.

“Dabi!” he greets.

“Tell me how the fuck you got my private account,” Dabi snarls.

“Oh, I just went to visit your manager. Lovely man, by the way. Did you know his wife is taking the house? Should have signed the pre-nup.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Dabi groans. “Useless mortals.”

“I’m irresistible by design,” Keigo says, dismissively. “You can’t get too mad at him.”

“Whatever. Why are you here?” Dabi demands.

“I’m here to learn how to play,” Keigo squints at his notes, “Ultraviolent Death Journey, uh, Five. The graphics are cool and I am very invested in building this skill.” Yup, convincing. Academy Award-worthy. Keigo pats himself on the back.

“You want to learn the competitive murder game,” Dabi says flatly. “You. Aphrodite.”

“Hey, even I have a violent streak! You remember Lemnos? Good times. Well, not for the men...”

Dabi doesn’t reply, but Keigo gets a message invite notification, which loads him into Dabi’s queued-up party.

“Alright, Keigo, let’s see what you’re made of.” Keigo’s heart sings—

For about five seconds, before he’s thrust into a baffling world of flashing lights and rapidfire messages and rotating camera angles. There’s what appears to be blood splattering across the inside of his screen?

He flinches, shaking the mouse around as if it’ll help. He hears a loud moan. Is that… his character? He experimentally presses a button or two, which moves his point of view of the digital battlefield and randomly shoots the gun in his virtual, battle-worn hand. When he finally figures out exactly which button shoots the gun, it stops working, because his character falls dead, sprawled on the cyber stage.

Keigo sinks in his chair as “Defeat” floats across his screen.

“Wow, you’re so fucking bad at this game. I’ve never seen anyone lose so fast. Are you sure you’re a god?” Keigo can feel the force of Dabi’s cold sneer into the microphone. “My stream is demanding I drop you and queue up with someone who could actually hit a button if his life depended on it.”

A river of “gg ez” floods the chat at the corner of his screen. Keigo’s not sure what it means, but he has enough context to know it can’t be good.

Keigo chokes out a noise of frustration and logs off.

—

“Okay, I admit, that one may have been too on-the-nose,” Keigo says, drawing on the chalkboard he’s set up in his apartment living room. He draws a Venn diagram, two overlapping circles, for Rumi, who’s pounding back a Monster energy drink on his sofa and taking messy notes on a legal pad. “You see where we went wrong here?”

He labels one circle “Work” and another “Leisure.” Rumi crushes the can against her skull and reaches for another.

“See, the problem here is separating the spheres. No man wants to play where he does his business. That was my mistake.” He points his chalk to the intersection of the circles. “Our last plan was here, because Dabi’s hobby and full-time job is sowing discord on the internet.”

“Right. And you can’t handle being bad at something!” Keigo twitches involuntarily before collecting himself. Rumi chews on the end of her pen. “So what does that leave?”

Keigo smiles and pokes his chalk outside the circles entirely. “We need to ask ourselves, what if we strayed away from his interests entirely?”

He writes a single word “FEAR” in big bubble letters and circles it.

“What if we pushed him way out of his comfort zone? Humans do rash things when we activate their fight or flight reflexes and get their blood pumping. Maybe gods do too?” Keigo says thoughtfully. “Ares is used to being the agent of chaos, but what will he do when we do something even wilder?”

“So… we’re gonna threaten him?” Rumi cracks her knuckles. He reaches into the tote bag and tosses her a maintenance worker uniform.

“No! I’m not dumb enough to pick a fight with the god of violence,” Keigo says, waving her off. “Nah, I’m gonna give him severe claustrophobia instead! It’ll be fun.”

—

Plan III: “Hold me, I’m scared”

The elevator doors shut. Dabi presses the button for floor 6 and settles back, leaning his weight on the wall and fiddling with a gacha game on his phone. Keigo hits 4 with a knuckle, heart in his throat. It speaks highly of his dedicated research that he knew Dabi would be in the elevator at this particular time. That and a well-crafted message that Rumi drafted and Keigo promoted, requiring Dabi’s attendance at a fake streamer meetup in that very building.

Keigo’s become highly-skilled at forgery over the past few schemes. He’ll have to find a way to better apply that to his day job.

The carriage slowly begins to rise toward the second floor before stuttering and finally slowing to a stop. The lights inside shut off, including the red light for emergency service.

“That can’t be good,” Keigo says pleasantly, watching the fluorescent light in the ceiling fade to darkness.

Dabi looks up from his phone confusedly, eyes darting around to process the situation before his mouth opens in shock.

“Did the elevator just—?”

“Looks like it shut down, yeah. Call button is broken too.”

“What the fuck!” Dabi curses, shoving Keigo aside and examining the button panel for himself. Keigo’s heart jumps at the contact. Dabi examines the panel carefully, reading the emergency plan in depth and peering at the buttons before giving up all semblance of understanding and punching at the different functions with the desperation of a starving castaway.

“Looks like we’re stuck in here together!” Keigo lilts.

“What the fuck,” Dabi repeats. “I don’t even have cell service here. We could be trapped together for ages. Me and you, an enthusiastic Olympian.”

“Me and you,” Keigo responds brightly. Behind Dabi’s back, Keigo clasps his hands in a prayer motion and mouths thank you to the ceiling.

Dabi fake-retches and pokes again violently at the dead rows of buttons, as if he could will them back to usefulness. Keigo knows Rumi’s done a thorough job though; more than likely, she’s ripped a handful of wires from the master control panel with her bare hands.

“We don’t have food or water,” Dabi says grimly. “We don’t know what the air circulation is, if any. We don’t know if the carriage is stable, so it could drop at any moment and kill us.”

“Yes, yes. We could totally die here,” Keigo says, faux-terrified. He’s seen mortals do wild things when faced with the explicit possibility of their own demise? He encourages the feeling. Adrenaline leads to passion, passion leads to a certain companion pushing him up against the carriage wall and—

“I’m not dying in a fucking elevator, absolutely not,” Dabi says, shedding his jacket and cracking his knuckles. “I don’t die until my old man dies! Not in this goddamn metal tube, no way.”

Keigo backtracks, starting to realize the error of trapping a wild animal in a cage and expecting an outcome in the trapper’s favor. “Oh, someone will certainly notice we’re missing, so we won’t die necessarily; maybe just a few hours at most.”

“I have a tight schedule of inciting foreign political troll farms and making twelve year olds cry on the internet,” Dabi says through clenched teeth. “I don’t have time for this shit. I’m out of here.”

And with that, he gathers a ball of ripping-hot blue fire in the palm of his hand and directs it upward, blasting a concentrated force of heat that knocks the elevator’s escape hatch aside and singes the baby hairs off Keigo’s human face. Keigo coughs through the dust that rains from above in the aftermath.

Satisfied with the destruction, Dabi ties his discarded jacket around his waist with the hand that isn’t exuding steam, gives Keigo a two-fingered salute, jumps up, and pulls himself through the hole and into the elevator shaft in one motion so swift and adroit, Keigo scarcely has time to process the lovely lines of his revealed biceps. He hears the echo through the shaft as Dabi wrenches open the second floor outer doors and exits entirely.

Seconds later, the residual smoke from Dabi’s blast triggers the sprinkler system, which soaks a miserable Keigo to the bone.

He leaves the building sopping wet, with an invoice in hand for the damage to the elevator system and a growing chip on his shoulder.

—

“Man, I really thought that one was going to work,” Rumi says, handing him a towel and plugging in the hair dryer. They crowd together in her tiny bathroom, hips pressed against the bowl of the sink. “Fucking around with the elevator control panel was really fun too. I felt like I was in The Matrix.”

Keigo squeezes out the water from the tendrils of his hair and wrings the towel over the sink. “I think I overestimated his desire to spend time with me.”

She points the stream of hot air at his scalp and fluffs him up

“Isn’t that, like, a crucial part of this working at all? Him liking you? Call me crazy but that feels foundational.”

“Oh, not necessarily!”

“You’re the expert,” she says, flicking on the overhead exhaust fan for the humidity.

“Yeah, so, new plan,” he says, running a comb through his bangs. “I think the issue is that we’ve made things too complicated. I’m gonna go as simple as possible. Old school. Dinner and a movie.”

“Give me your phone,” she says, wrapping up the hair dryer. “I’m a god of theater, I’ll tell you what’s worth watching.”

He hands it over. “The goal here is to not watch the movie. Help a guy out.”

“You know it,” she grins, swiping away. “Oh, you didn’t tell me your birthday is next week!”

“Stop creeping on my personal calendar!”

—

Plan IV: “as simple as possible”

Rumi had suggested an action movie with a romance subplot, and Keigo acquiesced and bought the tickets online, selecting seats in the back row of the theater because he’s, if nothing else, an optimist.

Keigo messages him online, unwilling to let Dabi’s front door swing shut in his face and risk shattering his pride yet again. He makes a new account, since cupids_chokehold#4444 is still being flamed by persistent fans.

lovebird#6969: yo dabi

lovebird#6969: hello

lovebird#6969: this is keigo from a new acct

lovebird#6969: how you doin

lovebird#6969: ;)

sects_and_violence#666: what

lovebird#6969: i have serendipitously stumbled into having an extra seat at dinner and an extra ticket to see Agent Improbable 7.

lovebird#6969: would you like to join me???

lovebird#6969: yes or yes?

sects_and_violence#666: so it’s free

lovebird#6969: yes i am paying for it

sects_and_violence#666: but i have to spend time with you

lovebird#6969: yes that’s the idea

sects_and_violence#666: agh, what a nerf

sects_and_violence#666: fine

sects_and_violence#666: i like free shit

sects_and_violence#666: just not fish

Keigo crosses “sushi” and “oysters” from his list of aphrodisiacs with a sigh, makes a new reservation, and sends over the information.

On the day of the date, he struts out of his apartment in his best set of clothing, the kind of fit to make the mortals weep, and waltzes over to the restaurant where Dabi begrudgingly agrees to meet him. Dabi arrives wearing a mask and dark glasses, his sweatshirt hood shrouds his hair and the studs all over his ears.

“My fans are nuts,” Dabi explains, pulling off the accessories once they’re seated. “They either want to kiss me or kill me when they see me in person, no in between. It’s all the worst parts of the internet. My agent keeps telling me to put out merch with memes from the stream, but there is absolutely fucking nothing that comes out of my mouth that should be on a twelve-year-olds t-shirt.”

Keigo nods, leaning in and observing the way the candlelight cradles the contours of Dabi’s scarred and chiseled face. “That’s a surprisingly mature take.”

“I’m not a monster, despite whatever shit my family says about me,” he says defensively with a sour expression. “People get mad at me for doing the stuff that’s literally my job. Humans pick fights with one another over the dumbest shit. I get called in and I let them fight it out. It’s a dirty job, sure, but someone has to do it. Zeus created me thinking war was going to be some noble cause; look around, old man. No one wins if everybody dies! I know that’s a radical concept. So he was like ‘Ares, stop letting Achilles rampage!’ I’m doing the job you gave me, buddy. And he has the nerve to tell my sister to stab me for it, like it wasn’t his fault in the first place—”

Keigo attempts to cover Dabi’s gnarled hand with one of his own, but Dabi quickly retracts his fingers to play anxiously with one of the triplet studs on his nose. Keigo fake coughs and pretends he was moving to cover his mouth instead. Smooth as ever.

The waiter brings their drinks and explains the prix-fixe menu. Keigo waves him away with a smile.

“Anyway, I switched to video games so I would stop embarrassing my mother,” he says, ducking his mouth under the top seam of his hoodie collar.

“A momma’s boy!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Dabi snaps. “I’m not anyone’s—ugh. I shouldn’t be hanging with an Olympian like you. You’re probably a Zeus sympathizer. Did he put you up to all this contact with me? Is he spying?”

“Of course not,” Keigo says pleasantly, twirling his straw in his drink, staring intently into Dabi’s shifting eyes. “I don’t pay much attention to the politics at the summit. When I do attend meetings, I spend them scarfing down dolmas and putting as many stray feathers in Tsunagu’s hair as I can until he notices. I do my work as I please — I don't need gods of other domains telling me how to do my job.”

“Please,” Dabi says. “How hard could your job possibly be?”

Keigo grins. “It’s not all rainbows and heart emojis, hot stuff. The world of love gets mighty messy. Crimes of passion, love affairs, bad dates, chlamydia…”

Dabi bristles.

“And you should see the mad rush around Valentine’s Day. What a nightmare! I’d really prefer if humans spread their ostentatious displays of affection across the calendar year so I wouldn’t have to bring on so many lesser gods as interns but what can you do. Even better if they’d live their lives without need for divine intervention. Wouldn’t it be nice to be a god without an occupation? But I don’t want to talk about my work so much on the first date! Tell me more about you?” Keigo with a bat of eyelashes.

Dabi nearly sprays his drink. “Date? What the hell are you talking about?”

Keigo blinks, tensing. “This is a date,” he insists.

“I’m not on a date with an Olympian.”

“It’s dinner and a movie,” Keigo says evenly. His temple pulses. “What did you think this was?”

The waiter, plates of food on the tray, senses the dramatic shift in atmosphere and wisely makes a u-turn from their table. Keigo narrows his eyes at Dabi.

“Not a date. I don’t date people casually. Violent lunatic, remember?”

“Fine — then it’s a get-together among friends.”

“I’m not your friend!”

“My acquaintance!”

“I’m not your acq—”

“My colleague!”

Dabi scoffs. “You’re really gonna lump me in with the other g—”

“Fellow immortal in the astral plane—”

“Against my will!” Dabi vociferates, eyes aflame. “Believe me, I’ve looked into alternatives, but here we are.”

Keigo’s face falls and his blood runs as cold as the River Styx. There’s a ringing in his ears.

“You really do hate me that much,” he murmurs quietly, staring at the bottom of his glass.

“I—you’re an Olympian, of course I—”

“You know what? I give up!” Keigo cries in exasperation, jostling the contents of the table as he stands and wrests his peacoat from the hanger behind him. “This is too much, and I can’t keep doing this! Nothing works! I’m done trying to get you. I’ll take the goddamn L on this. I’m leaving.”

“Trying to get me?” Dabi repeats slowly.

Keigo can’t take the humiliation. Throwing down money and tip on the tablecloth, he turns on his heel and through the revolving door of the restaurant. He’s halfway down the street, before Dabi’s gnarled hand grabs his shoulder. Curse the war god’s longer legs.

“I can’t just let you run off and scheme. You’re trying to get me. Why? Who put you up to this?”

Keigo rolls his eyes and brushes off the hand. “Yeah, get you, dumbass. Like, into your pants. And other places. Nothing put me up to this save for my lamentable romantic taste, I guess? But you’re clearly not interested, and I’ve already wasted centuries on this pining from afar nonsense, so it’s fine. Universe: one, Aphrodite: zero. I’ve finally found a game I can’t win. Whatever!”

“You’re that into me?” Dabi says incredulously, corners of his ruined lips tugging upward.

Keigo sputters, flushing scarlet. “I—yes, of course, but—”

“Like, no cap? I thought you were fucking with me, like you lost some bet. Like I’m something you’re gonna cross off your personal bingo card. You wanna bone the least popular god on Olympus? Or take me on more dates? You really know what you’re getting into?”

Keigo’s face meets his palm. Dabi takes that as affirmation and his evil grin widens.

“So… The delivery, the video games, the elevator, and this. This was you trying to seduce me?” he inquires, backing Keigo into an alleyway off the main drag.

“Yes,” Keigo grits, slowly regretting his entire life. “How the hell did you know about the delivery?”

“Shigaraki isn’t stupid,” Dabi drawls. “You’re a god and your face is all over the Green Leaf Cafe billboards across town. I can’t take the fucking subway without you winking at me.”

Keigo shrinks. Curse the salad stock photo shoot.

“Let me just ask you one follow-up question real quick, dearest Aphrodite, and answer honestly,” Dabi says in an overly sweet voice dripping like honey syrup. “Did you consider—and I’m not a god of love or dating or anything of that mushy shit, but hear me out—did you consider just fucking telling me straight about this.”

Keigo opens his mouth like a goldfish before biting his knuckle.

“Hear me out,” he strains. “I did not.”

Dabi laughs hysterically, bent over and clutching his stomach. Keigo frowns indignantly at the embarrassment, before he softens.

He’s never seen such a pure expression of joy on the war god’s face. Where the lines of his mouth are normally etched in a grim line, they now pull taut against his lips as he chortles, pulling at the scars along the contours of his face.

He’s actually really beautiful, Keigo thinks. And Keigo would be the judge of that, of course. It’s on his business card.

“Alright, alright, yeah, laugh it up,” Keigo says finally. “Pining after someone is a bit unfamiliar. I’m used to the other way around.”

Dabi wipes a tear from the corner of his eye, straightening out. “Uh huh.”

“I’ve laid my cards on the table now. What do you think?”

“Are you willing to draw the ire of every god on the mountain, including but certainly not limited to my shit father and the rest of my dysfunctional progenitors?”

“Maybe,” Keigo admits, before dropping his voice a register. “I was hoping we would skip to all the good parts before dealing with the convoluted family nonsense.”

Dabi’s eyes on his face are positively scorching. His rough hand finds Keigo’s waist.

“Good part works for me.”

They don’t make it to the movies.

—

Things progress more smoothly after their talk.

Keigo knows it’s going better, if only because they aren’t talking anymore. And they’ve relocated. Did he tip the cab driver? The whole thing was a blur of limbs and lips.

Dabi backs him into the cold metal of his apartment front door, pressing searing open-mouthed kisses down the length of his throat, while he fumbles for the keys in his jacket pocket. The light filters in under the threshold of the door to cast shadows across their woven feet; he must have left the lights on before he left for dinner. Surely, he can sweet talk Bia into lowering his electricity bill for the month.

But it doesn’t matter right now; what matters is kicking open the apartment door and manhandling rage personified between the sheets of his California king-sized bed before his neighbors rat him out to the landlord for inappropriate public conduct (again).

He bends his wrist awkwardly, shakily fitting the key into the deadbolt as Dabi assertively grinds the top of his quadriceps into the fly of Keigo’s jeans. Dabi’s teeth meet the curve of his collar bone, biting a bruise, and flicking the sensitive spot with the bead of his pierced tongue.

“Protection?” Dabi husks into the shell of his ear.

“You’re talking to the god of fornication and venereal disease, babe. I’ve got it all under control,” he purrs, turning the key in his clammy fingers.

The lock catches and Keigo frowns, turning it more aggressively.

“Sorry, shitty construction. It always does this,” he mumbles, throwing more weight into the door until the lock finally clicks and they both go tumbling through the threshold and onto the linoleum floor of Keigo’s cluttered apartment with a crash. Dabi lands on top of Keigo, knocking foreheads when Keigo’s back hits the ground.

“SURPRISE! Happy birthday, Kei—oh!”

They both look up, clothes askew, lips swollen, bruises blooming along necks and shoulders at an audience of their shocked peers, hanging streamers, and a handful of helium balloons.

Tsunagu nearly drops the birthday cake. Rumi, dressed in a conic birthday hat and matching foil lei, blows into an unfurling birthday kazoo with a bleating ta-dah!

“He shoots! He scores!” she cheers, ear-splitting. Shouto blows into a kazoo. The downstairs neighbor bangs the ceiling with the back of a broom handle with a muffled “keep it down up there!”

“Fuck my fucking life,” Dabi groans, clunking his head on the floor tiles.

“You guys remembered!” Keigo gushes.

—

After the Keigo collects himself and Dabi threatens every witness with murder should word of their entrance leave the apartment, the party kicks off. Rumi throws the best parties — celebrations are her domain. She spares no expense celebrating the rekindling of her friendship with the god of love and beauty. There are party games set up in all corners, speakers bumping music, bottles arranged into a full bar in his kitchen, decorations stuck on every surface.

“I tried to get a moonbounce, but the mortals said it wouldn’t fit in a one-bedroom apartment and Hestia here,” she stabs a thumb at Tsunagu, “insisted that supernatural powers altering the fabric of space in a multi-unit building would lower neighboring home values.”

“I have a vested interest in maintaining the fabric of society,” Tsunagu says, folding his arms over his chest. “No home means no hearth.”

“Fuck moonbounces,” Keigo replies, snapping his camera phone at a rapid-fire pace and all angles. “The cake has my face on it, Rumi! My face! I’m taking a picture for posterity.”

“It already was a picture,” Shinya, the messenger god, observes. “They just printed it on a cake.”

“But never with icing as a medium! This is avant-garde.”

“You only turn one million eight hundred thousand three hundred three once!” Rumi says. “We had to go all out.”

“It’s rude to divulge a lady’s age,” Keigo says, pouting.

“If it’s any consolation, you don’t look a single day over one million eight hundred thousand three hundred two,” Tsunagu offers.

Rumi swipes a finger full of icing off the corner and smears it across Keigo’s upturned nose, roaring with laughter.

—

Dabi, not one to hang around Olympians voluntarily, lounges on the couch, engaged in quiet conversation with his estranged sister Fuyumi, goddess of wisdom. His bloodthirsty scowl had softened to anxiety and finally to mild contentment over the course of the past hour. He leans toward his sister, engaged in what she’s saying to him — perhaps a discussion of the students she’s mentoring or the quilt she’s been throwing together with her newly purchased sewing machine.

“We’ve come a long way from the loom,” she says brightly. “I get so much done now without having to break a sweat or sacrifice the craftsmanship. I normally patronize heroes exclusively, but I made an exception back in the day for Elias Howe...”

Fuyumi’s so wholesome, Keigo thinks from across the room, watching their interaction fondly. It’s hard to remember that she’s so closely related to someone as chaotic as Dabi. Where Dabi is raw and unhinged, Fuyumi is conservative and stoic. Dabi is layered in chains and spikes; Fuyumi wears a pencil skirt with a matching blazer.

She tilts her phone toward Dabi and he squints at the blurry thumbnail.

“And the squares are?” he inquires.

“Ah, great question!” she answers. “Different places. These squares I got from the bloodstained robes of my enemies. That’s from Arachne after I turned her into a spider at the loom, that’s from Tiresias… And I got that fabric from the craft store down the street. Aren’t the little owls just adorable?”

Keigo nods. Siblings indeed.

—

Keigo’s free throw circles the rim of the lone red solo cup across the table, before the ping pong ball lands in the water with a plunk.

“Let’s go!” he cheers.

Rumi chest-bumps him, nearly knocking him off his feet and into the corner of the table. Shinya growns and Shinji reluctantly hands Rumi a 2000 yen note. Yuu clutches her torso laughing.

“I told you we weren’t going to win,” Shinji hisses at Shinya. “She’s literally the god of beer pong. And Aphrodite kept charming us mid-throw. Hardly fair! What did you want me to do? Throw some seeds at them? You better Venmo me that money.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Shinya replies, twiddling his staff.

“Hermes and Demeter fall!” Rumi exclaims. “I’m offering a bet on the next match! Loser ding-dong-ditches the gates of the underworld.”

—

The party starts to thin out after midnight. The stragglers perch on makeshift surfaces in the living room, a yoga mat on the floor, the coffee table, the side of the console a little closer than he’d prefer to his television set.

It’s the truth-telling hour of the party. Dionysus’s pride. The golden moment in time when alcohol removes the inhibitions and lays the groundwork for honest conversations but doesn’t incite aggression or depression. Talking is so easy, and it feels good to get it all out there.

Isn’t everyone talking? Maybe it’s just Keigo running his mouth again, standing in the middle of a crowd, the center of attention whether he intends it or not.

“...And I was so touched by that man Pygmalion’s deep and devoted affection for his hand-crafted fake wife figurine, I simply had to bring it to life.” Dabi rolls his eyes and returns to his phone game. Ryuko coughs politely. “And they lived happily ever after. It was a great time; you had to be there. Any questions?”

“Nope,” Shinya says.

“Not me,” confirms Shinji, “in fact, we should be going—”

“Oh, yeah, I got one,” Yuu interrupts. “So you were born of seaweed—”

“Seafoam,” Keigo corrects.

“Seafoam from your dad’s dick!” Dabi calls from the shabby couch. Keigo whips his head around and glares. Dabi shrugs, tapping at his phone. “Just providing facts the masses deserve to know.”

“I promise you it was very beautiful and magnificent and everyone clapped,” Keigo says, shoving Dabi over and perching himself on the arm of the sofa with his legs crossed. “Was I talking to you, hot stuff?” He flicks Dabi’s shoulder. “This bozo’s dad forgot to attend his birth.”

“My daddy issues are well-documented and beside the point,” Dabi sneers. “Remind me again, Keigo, are you the god of the sea? Of marine life? Of the waves?”

“No? I’m the god of love, beauty, pleasu—”

“Dicks! You’re the god of dicks.”

Keigo smacks him in the face with a throw pillow, sending Dabi’s phone flying between the couch cushions.

—

“Aaaalright!”

Keigo flings open the front door at 4 in the morning, letting in a chilly night-time breeze that cuts through the stale air inside. The wind rustles the askew decorations, flipping a stray party hat off a table and to the floor next to a puddle of Sapporo.

“Rumi, you know I will be grateful to you for all of your wing-person-ship for the next eon, but you’re a little too drunk and I still have unfinished business with a special guest over there in my living room, so if you’d kindly remove yourself from the premises post-haste, I swear by Zeus’s hand I will send you all the saucy details tomorrow when I wake up and get over the hangover. Okay? Okay! Now GTFO. Bye-bye!”

He shoves her out of his front door before she can fight him and slides the security chain shut for good measure. Then he straightens out his shirt, runs fingers through his hair, shoots finger guns at his reflection in the brass deadlock, and turns back to the living room, ready to pounce.

Dabi snores on his couch, curled into a fetal position and breathing softly and evenly into the frilly tassel of a throw pillow. Keigo sighs in disappointment but admires the sleeping form of his fellow god, marveling at how the god of brutal violence can be so peaceful in slumber. He retrieves a blanket from his hall closet and drapes it over Dabi, planting a chaste kiss on his war-scarred forehead.

He’s already yearned over centuries for his shot. He can pace his life of debauchery throughout the course of the infinite strands that weave the fabric of time and the ongoing roulette of faces he’ll wear and lives he’ll live.

Or at least he can wait until the chariot drags the sun through the sky come morning.

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thegrapeandthefig · 4 years ago

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Spiritual protection in the Greco-Roman world

This was this week's hot topic, so I'm using the opportunity to make some things clear from a purely hellenic and historical perspective. Needless to say I am tired of seeing modern magical concepts being slapped on ancient beliefs and I am not writing this post unbiased.

Amulets Etymologically, the word amulet probably means "something that can be carried". It's, personally speaking, my favorite type of protection. Technically speaking, an amulet could, therefore, be a lot of different things as long as they serve two main purposes: tutelage (protection) and prophylaxis (preventive).

Let's go through some of the most common types:

Bulla: typically given to male roman children 9 days after birth. It is worn like a locket where other amulets are placed (typically phalluses).

Lunula: a crescent moon pendant worn by little and young roman girls until their mariage.

Fascinum, tintinnabula and other phalli: the symbol of protection par excellence, found in many shapes and forms. The tintinnabula is more potent, as it also has bells, which are considered apotropaic as well. Bells could also be put around children's and animal's neck for a similar protective effect.

The Eye (mati): still widely in use, it appears as soon as the 6th century BC on Greek cups. Sometimes added on the phallus for a double protective effect (also true for wings).

Gorgoneion: Often worn simply as a pendant and easily found a bit everywhere, from house thresholds to carved on bullae.

Hercules' Club: late Antiquity amulets shaped like wooden clubs and most common in Roman Germany between the 2nd and 3rd centuries AD. An examplary speciment bears the inscription "Deo Herculi", thus confirming its link to Hercules hero worship.

Amulet strings: Mostly seen for Athenian children. It is a cord with several amulets attached to it that is worn diagonally (or on the chest) instead of around the neck so the child can't choke on it.

Garter and waist amulet strings: Mostly worn by Greek women. Their function is debated, but it seems that amulets that were worn this way might have had something to do with easing childbirth, menstruation and sexuality in general (eg. to avoid miscarriages or, the opposite, as a contraceptive).

Coiled snake ring/bracelet: Common protection for young Roman women.

Depiction of gods on medaillons and other objects: quite a straightforward way to put yourself under the protection of a deity. Helios and Semele together seem to both have been a popular choice.

Coins: Especially old reused coins, sometimes pierced in the middle but not always. This is especially the case for coins which have the image of a deity or hero (Alexander the Great got very popular for this function). Other notable examples include Fortuna, Nike or Helios. The image on the coin matters more than the coin itself.

This is not even an extensive list, but it's worth noting that when we're talking about the ancients, we're talking about people who have been put under some kind of magical protection since their first days of life. I personally have used 2 types of amulet cited above so far, a silver coiled snake ring which I worn until it broke, which I replaced by a fascinum. This one travels with me, as I keep it with my apartment keys but I have 2 consecrated phalli in my apartment that also serve a purpose: one to Dionysus and one to Priapus. The latter being by definition, a protective deity.

Protection starts at the threshold

I know this can be hard to pull off, but in ideal conditions, you’d want to have a small altar or shrine by the main door of your place. Amulets are meant to follow you around, but protecting your space is just as important. In one of the ridiculous arguments I’ve witnessed this week, someone said, and I paraphrase, that “you could have negative entity living in your house and fucking your life up” when trying to honor the gods, which is “why you should banish". The problem here is banish against what? If the answer here is "negative spirits", then, by hellenic standards, this is a whole other process that:

1) Doesn't happen at the altar 2) Protects the household on the long term instead of a one shot thing

This, alongside other elements of ancient greek theology, is why you don't need to "protect yourself when you approach the gods" and other ridiculous claims I've seen. If you need to protect yourself in such manner, it means you never either 1) developped kharis with a deity to protect you or 2) took care of protecting your place.

The first protection for a typical greek door would be an aniconic pillar dedicated to Apollo Agyieus aka "of the street" because that pillar was outside of the house. This Apollo, protector of entrances is also called Thyraios in later sources:

Apud Graecos Apollo colitur qui Θυραῖος vocatur, eiusque aras ante fores suas celebrant, ipsum exitus et introitus demonstrantes potentem. The Greeks worship Apollo under the name Thyraios and tend his altars in front of their doors, thereby showing that entrances and exits are under his power.

-Macrobius, Saturnalia 1.9.6

It's important to note that the same epithet is attested for Hermes, which makes total sense since he and Hekate are also traditionally linked to the protection of thresholds (represented by hekataia and herms).

Why am I insisting so much on doors? To quote Johnston:

"Divinities who guard the entrances to cities or private dwellings would be expected to avert all sorts of dangers that might threaten those dwelling within, from burglars to mice, but in ancient Greece (like many other places), they were particularly expected to ward off unhappy souls and other demonic creatures, who were believed to congregate at entrances for two reasons. First, because inhabitants vigilantly used protective devices to keep them out, these creatures were imagined to lurk near entrances, patiently awaiting those rare moments of laxity when they might dart back inside."

It's important to note that the protection granted by threshold deities, whether it is Hecate, Hermes or Apollo is that it concerns both the mundane and the spiritual, restless spirits are one thing but it seems to extend to general ills.

Conclusion

I should add, before wrapping this up, that there is an evolution in time with how the Ancients considered their protection to work. As such, between the 8th and 5th centuries BC, amulets weren’t so prevalent. The gods were considered the only ones who had the ability to protect. After the end of the 5th century onwards, there is a gradual shift towards a more “DIY” approach to protection, where human action is considered impactful, thus making the use of atropopaic amulets relevant.

Further reading:

Faraone C., The Transformation of Greek Amulets in Roman Imperial Times, 2018

Habib R. R., Protective Magic in Ancient Greece: Patterns in the Material Culture of Apotropaia from the Archaic to Hellenistic Periods, 2017

Johnston I. S., Restless Dead: Encounters between the Living and the Dead in Ancient Greece, 1999

Kerr M. D., Gods, Ghosts and Newlyweds: exploring the uses of the threshold in Greek and Roman superstition and folklore, 2018

Porto C, V., Material Culture as Amulets: Magical Elements and the Apotropaic in Ancient Roman World in: Philosophy Study, 2020

#hellenic polytheism #hellenic paganism #hellenic religion #hellenic polytheistic #hellenismos #ancient magic #greek magic #hekatedeity #apollodeity #hermesdeity #witchcraft #witchy #i can't believe yall made me write this

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kookie-doughs · 4 years ago

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Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader -Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything was now ruined.

CHAPTER 9: Percy Forces Me To Join A Quest

The next morning, Percy moved to cabin three. Luke was the only one I could hang out with from my cabin. He was also the one who took care of my wounds after the thing happened. Nobody mentioned the hellhound, but I got the feeling they were all talking about it behind my back. The attack had scared everybody. It sent two messages: one, that I managed to command a hellhound; and two, I came with the son of Poseidon. They all assume I would be as great as Percy. The other campers steered clear of me as much as possible. Only Luke struck around. Yes, even Percy started ignoring me. I figured it had something to do with water and stuffs. Cabin eleven was too nervous to have sword class with him after what happened in the woods, so he had one-on-one with Luke. I usually sit in to watch them in hopes of Percy talking to me again. But nada. "You're going to need all the training you can get," Luke promised, as they were working with swords and flaming torches. "Now let's try that viper-beheading strike again. Fifty more repetitions." Annabeth still taught Percy and I Greek but on different times I had mine in the mornings. Even Clarisse kept her distance, though her venomous looks made it clear she wanted to kill me. I wished she would just yell or punch me or something. I'd rather get into fights every day than be ignored. I stayed with Luke most of my time. We'd gotten close that talking about gods wasn't such a touchy subject. He also told me stuffs about himself, like how he got his scar and small stuffs. I was still in bed in cabin eleven. My body told me it was morning, but it was dark outside, and thunder rolled across the hills. A storm was brewing. I hadn't dreamed that. It was so early that most of the campers were still asleep. "Good morning?" I saw Luke standing near the door. "Eh... good enough I guess." I said sitting on my bed. "It's really boring since I don't do anything." "Not sure if I'm bringing you good news or bad," He smiled taking the seat beside me. "But Mr. D wants to see you." "Really? Will I finally get to do something fun?" "I feel like I should be offended." He gasped dramatically. "Why? Am I not fun?" I laughed, "Pretty much yeah." "Ouch. Anyways, I'd better let him tell you what's up." "Walk with me?" I asked with an UwU face. "I would, but commitment and all that." He joked. "Aight then. I'll get ready, wait for me outside." "I said I won't!" "Geez don't need to be in a hurry. I won't take long." I got dressed and went out to see him with an exaggerated frown. "You better walk fast. I'll leave as soon as you get there." For days, I'd been half expecting a summons to the Big House. Now that Percy was declared a son of Poseidon, one of the Big Three gods who weren't supposed to have kids, I figured it was a crime for him just to be alive. They're probably suspicious of me now as well with Percy and I's relation. The other gods had probably been debating the best way to punish me for existing, and now Mr. D was ready to deliver their verdict. "So... with Percy being a big three material. What would that make me?" "Well, putting aside the fact that you suck, you drown at every body of water that's at least a foot deep, you don't smell like a half-blood. I'd say you're... one of the big three's. Maybe Zeus's." "Har har. I'm just really worried you know? With Percy getting claimed as Poseidon's... and I came with him. And water just loves me so much. I'd assume I'm somewhere along the lines of Zeus and... Zeus. Is there someone stronger than Zeus?" "Depends on who you asked." "If I asked Zeus he'd definitely answer Zeus." I heard a loud thunder echoed. "Someone's brave." Luke laughed. Over Long Island Sound, the sky looked like ink soup coming to a boil. A hazy curtain of rain was coming in our direction. I asked Luke if we needed an umbrella. "No," he said. "It never rains here unless we want it to." "So my kiss under the rain fantasy is a no?" "If it has to be here... probably." I pointed at the storm. "What the heck is that, then?" "Bad news. But don't worry, it'll pass by us." I realized he was right. In the week I'd been here, it had never even been overcast. The few rain clouds I'd seen had skirted right around the edges of the valley. But this storm... this one was huge. At the volleyball pit, the kids from Apollo's cabin were playing a morning game against the satyrs. Dionysus's twins were walking around in the strawberry fields, making the plants grow. Everybody was going about their normal business, but they looked tense. They kept their eyes on the storm. When Luke saw the front porch of the Big House. "Whatever they say. Don't choose the option where you'll die." "Half a promise. Depends on the other option." "Well I'll give you an easier promise. Don't die." "Not really easier but okay."

After he ruffled my hair, I walked up to the front porch of the Big House. Dionysus sat at the pinochle table in his tiger-striped Hawaiian shirt with his Diet Coke, just as he had on my first day. Chiron sat across the table in his fake wheelchair. They were playing against invisible opponents--two sets of cards hovering in the air. "Y/N!" Grover greeted. "Well, well," Mr. D said without looking up. "Our little celebrity finally got his request." I turned to see Percy who was looking at me and then moved away. I waited for him to greet... "Come closer, both of you," Mr. D said. "And don't expect me to kowtow to you, mortal, just because old Barnacle-Beard is your father." A net of lightning flashed across the clouds. Thunder shook the windows of the house. "Blah, blah, blah," Dionysus said. Chiron feigned interest in his pinochle cards. Grover cowered by the railing, his hooves clopping back and forth. "If I had my way," Dionysus said, "I would cause your molecules to erupt in flames. We'd sweep up the ashes and be done with a lot of trouble. But Chiron seems to feel this would be against my mission at this cursed camp: to keep you little brats safe from harm." "Spontaneous combustion is a form of harm, Mr. D," Chiron put in. "Nonsense," Dionysus said. "Boy wouldn't feel a thing. Nevertheless, I've agreed to restrain myself I'm thinking of turning you into a dolphin instead, sending you back to your father." "Mr. D—" Chiron warned. "Oh, all right," Dionysus relented. "There's one more option. But it's deadly foolishness." Dionysus rose, and the invisible players' cards dropped to the table. "I'm off to Olympus for the emergency meeting. If the boy is still here when I get back, I'll turn him into an Atlantic bottlenose. Do you understand? And Perseus Jackson, if you're at all smart, you'll see that's a much more sensible choice than what Chiron feels you must do." Dionysus picked up a playing card, twisted it, and it became a plastic rectangle. A credit card? No. A security pass. He snapped his fingers. The air seemed to fold and bend around him. He became a hologram, then a wind, then he was gone, leaving only the smell of fresh-pressed grapes lingering behind. Chiron smiled at me, but he looked tired and strained. "Sit, Percy, please. You too Y/N and Grover." We did. Grover sat between us. Chiron laid his cards on the table, a winning hand he hadn't gotten to use. "Tell me, Percy," he said. "What did you make of the hellhound?" "It scared me," I said. "If Y/N hadn't told it to stand down, I'd be dead." I saw Percy turn to my direction, which made me roll my eyes. "You'll meet worse, Percy. Far worse, before you're done." "Done... with what?" "Your quest, of course. Will you accept it?" I glanced at Grover, who was crossing his fingers. "Um, sir," I said, "you haven't told me what it is yet." Chiron grimaced. "Well, that's the hard part, the details." Thunder rumbled across the valley. The storm clouds had now reached the edge of the beach. As far as I could see, the sky and the sea were boiling together. "Poseidon and Zeus," Percy said. "They're fighting over something valuable... something that was stolen, aren't they?". Chiron and Grover exchanged looks. Chiron sat forward in his wheelchair. "How did you know that?" "The weather since Christmas has been weird, like the sea and the sky are fighting. Then I talked to Annabeth, and she'd overheard something about a theft. And... I've also been having these dreams." "I knew it," Grover said. "Hush, satyr," Chiron ordered. "But it is his quest!" Grover's eyes were bright with excitement. "It must be!" "Only the Oracle can determine." Chiron stroked his bristly beard. "Nevertheless, Percy, you are correct. Your father and Zeus are having their worst quarrel in centuries. They are fighting over something valuable that was stolen. To be precise: a lightning bolt." I laughed. "A what?" "Do not take this lightly," Chiron warned. "I'm not talking about some tinfoil-covered zigzag you'd see in a second-grade play. I'm talking about a two-foot-long cylinder of high-grade celestial bronze, capped on both ends with god-level explosives." "Oh." "Zeus's master bolt," Chiron said, getting worked up now. "The symbol of his power, from which all other lightning bolts are patterned. The first weapon made by the Cyclopes for the war against the Titans, the bolt that sheered the top off Mount Etna and hurled Kronos from his throne; the master bolt, which packs enough power to make mortal hydrogen bombs look like firecrackers." "And it's missing?" "Stolen," Chiron said. "By who?" "By whom," Chiron corrected. Once a teacher, always a teacher. "By you." "At least"—Chiron held up a hand—"that's what Zeus thinks. During the winter solstice, at the last council of the gods, Zeus and Poseidon had an argument. The usual nonsense: 'Mother Rhea always liked you best', 'Air disasters are more spectacular than sea disasters,' et cetera. Afterward, Zeus realized his master bolt was missing, taken from the throne room under his very nose. He immediately blamed Poseidon. Now, a god cannot usurp another god's symbol of power directly—that is forbidden by the most ancient of divine laws. But Zeus believes your father convinced a human hero to take it." "But I didn't—" "Patience and listen, child," Chiron said. "Zeus has good reason to be suspicious. The forges of the Cyclopes are under the ocean, which gives Poseidon some influence over the makers of his brother's lightning. Zeus believes Poseidon has taken the master bolt, and is now secretly having the Cyclopes build an arsenal of illegal copies, which might be used to topple Zeus from his throne. The only thing Zeus wasn't sure about was which hero Poseidon used to steal the bolt. Now Poseidon has openly claimed you as his son. You were in New York over the winter holidays. You could easily have snuck into Olympus. Zeus believes he has found his thief." "But I've never even been to Olympus! Zeus is crazy!" Chiron and Grover glanced nervously at the sky. The clouds didn't seem to be parting around us, as Luke had promised. They were rolling straight over our valley, sealing us in like a coffin lid. "Er, Percy...?" Grover said. "We don't use the c-word to describe the Lord of the Sky." "Perhaps paranoid," Chiron suggested. "Then again, Poseidon has tried to unseat Zeus before. I believe that was question thirty-eight on your final exam...." He looked at Percy. Chiron was waiting for an answer. "Something about a golden net?" He answered. "Poseidon and Hera and a few other gods... they, like, trapped Zeus and wouldn't let him out until he promised to be a better ruler, right?" "Correct," Chiron said. "And Zeus has never trusted Poseidon since. Of course, Poseidon denies stealing the master bolt. He took great offense at the accusation. The two have been arguing back and forth for months, threatening war. And now, you've come along—the proverbial last straw." "But I'm just a kid!" "Percy," Grover cut in, "if you were Zeus, and you already thought your brother was plotting to overthrow you, then your brother suddenly admitted he had broken the sacred oath he took after World War II, that he's fathered a new mortal hero who might be used as a weapon against you.... Wouldn't that put a twist in your toga?" "But I didn't do anything. Poseidon—my dad—he didn't really have this master bolt stolen, did he?" Chiron sighed. "Most thinking observers would agree that thievery is not Poseidon's style. But the Sea God is too proud to try convincing Zeus of that. Zeus has demanded that Poseidon return the bolt by the summer solstice. That's June twenty-first, ten days from now. Poseidon wants an apology for being called a thief by the same date. I hoped that diplomacy might prevail, that Hera or Demeter or Hestia would make the two brothers see sense. But your arrival has inflamed Zeus's temper. Now neither god will back down. Unless someone intervenes, unless the master bolt is found and returned to Zeus before the solstice, there will be war. And do you know what a full-fledged war would look like, Percy?" "Bad?" "Imagine the world in chaos. Nature at war with itself. Olympians forced to choose sides between Zeus and Poseidon. Destruction. Carnage. Millions dead. Western civilization turned into a battleground so big it will make the Trojan War look like a water-balloon fight." "Bad," I repeated. "And you, Percy Jackson, would be the first to feel Zeus's wrath." It started to rain. Volleyball players stopped their game and stared in stunned silence at the sky. I had brought this storm to Half-Blood Hill. Zeus was punishing the whole camp because of Percy. I was furious. "So he has to find the stupid bolt," I said. "And return it to Zeus." "What better peace offering," Chiron said, "than to have the son of Poseidon return Zeus's property?" "If Poseidon doesn't have it, where is the thing?" "I believe I know." Chiron's expression was grim. "Part of a prophecy I had years ago... well, some of the lines make sense to me, now. But before I can say more, you must officially take up the quest. You must seek the counsel of the Oracle." "Why can't you tell me where the bolt is beforehand?" "Because if I did, you would be too afraid to accept the challenge." "Good reason." "You agree then?" He looked at Grover, who nodded encouragingly. Easy for him. He wasn't the one Zeus wanted to kill. Percy then turned to me, "All right," he said. "But, I'll go when Y/N comes with." "Woah there! I am not going anywhere." I hissed. You ignore me for days and now you want me to die with you now? "Why do I have to go with you?" "Percy---" "I don't want to leave without her." He looked down. I felt guilty about turning him down. Which was stupid since he's the one at fault. I gave a sigh, I hope Luke won't get mad at me. "It's better than you being turned into a dolphin." I mumbled. "I'll go." "Then it's time you consulted the Oracle," Chiron said. "Go upstairs, Percy Jackson, to the attic. When you come back down, assuming you're still sane, we will talk more." Before Percy came up he took my arm and pulled me in a hug. "I wanted you there, so we could save our parents together. After this quest, you me your mom and dad and my mom, will stay together." I hugged him back and nodded. "Thank you." Four flights up, the stairs ended under a green trapdoor. Percy pulled the cord. The door swung down, and a wooden ladder clattered into place. After he went up. Chiron turned to me. "Hmm? Something to say?" I asked in a hopefully not rude tone. "I've had enough of people staring at me thinking, I summoned that hellhound." "Y/N, I assure you I don't think you'd do that. I am just confused as to why it followed your command." "Did you maybe forget to tell us something? I really can't seem to find out who you are." "Well... I don't think I forgot to mention anything. Maybe the fact that water hates me, I've never been on a plane, and I am low-key kinda scared of the dark depending on the situation." "Water hates you?" Grover asked. "First time swimming, beach, I was 5. I drowned at a supposedly 3 feet deep water. I haven't been near any bodies of water ever since. Until I met Percy, I drowned at the beach again. If I wasn't mistaken I was few meters away from the water and it pulled me and I almost drowned." "It would seem, Poseidon hates you. Why would he?" "My parents must've realized that fish god hates me and didn't take chances on the others." I could tell Chiron wanted to continue but Percy came down, "Well?" Chiron asked. He slumped into a chair at the pinochle table. I could see he wasn't happy. "Are you okay?" I asked him. He looked at me warily and nodded. "She said I would retrieve what was stolen." Grover sat forward, chewing excitedly on the remains of a Diet Coke can. "That's great!" "What did the Oracle say exactly?" Chiron pressed. "This is important." "She . .. she said I would go west and face a god who had turned. I would retrieve what was stolen and see it safely returned." "I knew it," Grover said... Chiron didn't look satisfied. "Anything else?" "No," He said. "That's about it." I took a hold of Percy's hand. And he gave me a look that said, 'I'll tell you later.' "Very well, Percy. But know this: the Oracle's words often have double meanings. Don't dwell on them too much. The truth is not always clear until events come to pass." "Okay," I said, anxious to change topics. "So where do we go? Who's this god in the west?" "Ah, think, Percy," Chiron said. "If Zeus and Poseidon weaken each other in a war, who stands to gain?" "Somebody else who wants to take over?" he guessed. "Yes, quite. Someone who harbors a grudge, who has been unhappy with his lot since the world was divided eons ago, whose kingdom would grow powerful with the deaths of millions. Someone who hates his brothers for forcing him into an oath to have no more children, an oath that both of them have now broken." I thought about my dreams, the evil voice that had spoken from under the ground. "Hades." Chiron nodded. "The Lord of the Dead is the only possibility." A scrap of aluminum dribbled out of Grover's mouth. "Whoa, wait. Wh-what?" "A Fury came after Percy," Chiron reminded him. "She watched the young man until she was sure of his identity, then tried to kill him. Furies obey only one lord: Hades." "Yes, but—but Hades hates all heroes," Grover protested. "Especially if he has found out Percy is a son of Poseidon... ." "A hellhound got into the forest," Chiron continued. "Those can only be summoned from the Fields of Punishment, and it had to be summoned by someone within the camp. Hades must have a spy here. He must suspect Poseidon will try to use Percy to clear his name. Hades would very much like to kill this young half-blood before he can take on the quest." "Great," Percy muttered. "That's two major gods who want to kill me." "Hey, I beat you, I got all of them." I smirked. I was trying to lighten up the mood and Percy finally cracked a smile. "But a quest to..." Grover swallowed. "I mean, couldn't the master bolt be in some place like Maine? Maine's very nice this time of year." "Hades sent a minion to steal the master bolt," Chiron insisted. "He hid it in the Underworld, knowing full well that Zeus would blame Poseidon. I don't pretend to understand the Lord of the Dead's motives perfectly, or why he chose this time to start a war, but one thing is certain. Percy must go to the Underworld, find the master bolt, and reveal the truth." A strange fire burned in my stomach. The weirdest thing was: it wasn't fear. It was anticipation. I wasn't feeling scared of anything right now. I felt like I could face anything. I was ready to take him on. Anyone in a matter of fact. Besides, if my mom and dad might be in the Underworld... which would be unlikely. Who knows maybe I could bribe him and talk him into reviving them. Or what if he's misunderstood? What if there's a plot twist somewhere here, and it actually wasn't Hades's fault? Grover was trembling. He'd started eating pinochle cards like potato chips. The poor guy needed to complete a quest with us so he could get his searcher's license, whatever that was. This was suicide. "Look, if we know it's Hades," Percy told Chiron, "why can't we just tell the other gods? Zeus or Poseidon could go down to the Underworld and bust some heads." "It might not be him you know." I added. "She's right, suspecting and knowing are not the same," Chiron said. "Besides, even if the other gods suspect Hades—and I imagine Poseidon does—they couldn't retrieve the bolt themselves. Gods cannot cross each other's territories except by invitation. That is another ancient rule. Heroes, on the other hand, have certain privileges. They can go anywhere, challenge anyone, as long as they're bold enough and strong enough to do it. No god can be held responsible for a hero's actions. Why do you think the gods always operate through humans?" "You're saying I'm being used." "I'm saying it's no accident Poseidon has claimed you now. It's a very risky gamble, but he's in a desperate situation. He needs you." "Damn, my parent doesn't? I'm going on a deadly quest thanks to Arthur Curry right here. Least they could do is support me and let me know They'll be proud of me saving the world." I huffed. "You've known I was Poseidon's son all along, haven't you?" "I had my suspicions. As I said... I've spoken to the Oracle, too." I got the feeling there was a lot he wasn't telling us about his prophecy, but I decided I couldn't worry about that right now. After all, I was holding back information too. "So let me get this straight," I said. "We're supposed go to the Underworld and confront the Lord of the Dead." "Check," Chiron said. "Find the most powerful weapon in the universe." "Check." "And get it back to Olympus before the summer solstice, in ten days." "That's about right." Percy and I looked at each other then we looked over at Grover, who gulped down the ace of hearts. "Did I mention that Maine is very nice this time of year?" he asked weakly. "You don't have to go," Percy told him. "I can't ask that of you. "Oh..." He shifted his hooves. "No... it's just that satyrs and underground places... well..." He took a deep breath, then stood, brushing the shredded cards and aluminum bits off his T-shirt. "You saved my life, Percy. Both of you did. If... if you're serious about wanting me along, I won't let you down." I felt so relieved I wanted to cry, though I didn't think that would be very heroic. I wasn't sure what good a satyr could do against the forces of the dead, but I felt better knowing he'd be with us. "All the way, G-man." Percy turned to Chiron. "So where do we go? The Oracle just said to go west." "The entrance to the Underworld is always in the west. It moves from age to age, just like Olympus. Right now, of course, it's in America." "Where?" Chiron looked surprised. "I thought that would be obvious enough. The entrance to the Underworld is in Los Angeles." "Oh," I said. "Naturally. So we just get on a plane—" "No!" Grover shrieked. "Percy, what are you thinking? Have you ever been on a plane in your life?" I shook my head, feeling embarrassed. My mom had never taken me anywhere by plane. She'd always said we didn't have the money. Besides, her parents had died in a plane crash. "We're not allowed to fly because Zeus is a stuck up who doesn't want others touching his stuff without permission." "Y/N!" Grover panicked when loud thunder echoed above us. I wanted to yell, 'Oh shut up thunder boy.' But I still wanted try fulfilling my promise to Luke with all I can. "Percy, think," Chiron said. "You are the son of the Sea God. Your father's bitterest rival is Zeus, Lord of the Sky. Your mother knew better than to trust you in an airplane. You would be in Zeus's domain. You would never come down again alive." Overhead, lightning crackled. Thunder boomed. "Okay," I said, determined not to look at the storm. "So, I'll travel overland." "That's right," Chiron said. "Two companions may accompany you. Grover is one. The other is Y/N. But someone else has already volunteered, if you will accept her help." "Gee," I said, feigning surprise. "Who else would be stupid enough to volunteer for a quest like this?" The air shimmered behind Chiron. Annabeth became visible, stuffing her Yankees cap into her back pocket. "I've been waiting a long time for a quest, seaweed brain," she said. "Athena is no fan of Poseidon, but if you're going to save the world, I'm the best person to keep you from messing up." "I'll gladly give you my spot and all but... Percy and I are a duo." I lifted my fist which he bumped. "But she's right, we can't leave the world at the hands of two idiots and a scaredy-cat." "Can't we have four people on a quest?" "You can also pick more than two people to join, but this is considered dangerous as three is a sacred number. Any more than three on a quest could result in a catastrophe, including a member of the quest going missing, dying, or the quest failing." "Willing to risk it Peabody?" She gave me a glare. No. I assure you no one shall be lost in this quest. They were all looking at me weirdly. "What did you say?" "I asked if you were willing to risk it...?" I was confused. "Y/N you're doing it again." "Doing what? I am literally not doing anything wrong. Wanna fite me? I will back out of this quest." I gave an exaggerated glare. Annabeth turned to Chiron, who was looking down on me. "I suppose... if Percy is willing to risk it and all parties approve. I could allow this as a four person quest." "Well, I call not it to the dying person." I raised my hand. "But you can come Peabody. We need a not so stupid guy." "Well, if she say yes..." "I-I... don't really..." "I want to come." "I suppose you have a plan, wise girl?" Her cheeks colored. "Do you want my help or not?" "A quartet," I said. "Hopefully it works." "Excellent," Chiron said. "This afternoon, we can take you as far as the bus terminal in Manhattan. After that, you are on your own." Lightning flashed. Rain poured down on the meadows that were never supposed to have violent weather. "No time to waste," Chiron said. "I think you should all get packing." I took Percy's hand and gave him a look to remind him about his quest. "I'll tell you later."

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UwU Haha I'm better now :) I am sorry for being on haitus And for some parts that I might've forgotten to erase UwU -kookie-doughs

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