#being able to beat one of the big three without being some sort of demigod of one of them or without other gods help just don’t feel right

[accursedvoid]

While the Six hundred Strike song is a banger I can’t help but feel out of sorts with how the conclusion of the vengeance saga went, Poseidon, who May I remind you is one of the Big Three being able to be defeated and then beaten?? By a mortal??? It makes no sense - I would have at least been mollified if he’d had help from another god but he doesn’t.

The gods - especially the big three - are supposed to be massive presences and in the previous songs this was shown well and when it came to the big three they were shown to be unable to be surpassed, they were the immovable object, which is why it’s always cunning and guile to get by them or having to make concessions/pay the price (thunderbringer comes to mind) point being it’s never a straight fight because you can’t fight a god on that level and expect to win.

For Odysseus to somehow get an eleventh hour GoW/anime style ability to defeat a god of that calibre feels SO sudden and out of place where before everytime he tries to go up against the big guns of the gods, he can’t - he ALWAYS loses, always has to pay a price - so this sudden turn feels so strange? That it took me right out of it, I don’t think this is how Poseidon’s conclusion should have been handled at all.

Cause I mean look at God Games, Athena is up against her father and his games, she wins, Zeus throws a fit, she basically nearly dies and has to PLEAD with Zeus to let Ody go - and this was a god! And Poseidon is on the same type of level as zeus! - and in this song Zeus gets ‘defeated’ in a way but in a way that makes sense! That doesn’t disrespect his power or his status as king of the gods, that leaves his reputation intact and keeps consistent with what we saw earlier.

And yet Poseidon gets defeated and beat down in a way that feels really contrived? It feels like it doesn’t fit right with the story and how it’s gone so far, if anything it feels like it breaks it - at least in my view.

And it’s REALLY unfortunate because I do like the song (I can’t stress that enough, it would go GREAT with some OCs of mine) but now I can’t listen to it without being taken out by knowing this.

[max-is-tired]

Absolutely Smitten (PJO AU)

Pairing: Moxiety

Characters: Patton Sanders, Virgil Sanders, Logan Sanders, Roman Sanders

Words: 2.584

Warnings: someone gets stabbed, fainting, swearing, tell me if I need to tag more!

Notes: Holy fucking shit this is finally done. I’ve had this in the works since early December I believe? It was meant to be a short thing and then it became... this *wild Italian gesticulating* 

Nonetheless, I’m very proud of how it turned out!! This is heavily inspired by @really-sleep-deprived-nerd ‘s and @moon-scribs pjo AU, which you can find here!! Go take a look, it’s really good and the whole gang is included!

Hit me up if you want to be added to the taglist and let me know if you liked this, reblogs, comments and asks are always very welcome and much appreciated!

Read on AO3!!   Buy me a Coffee!!

Between the two, Patton is the first one to fall.

Surprisingly, it takes him a while to notice. It’s no love at first sight, this one. There are no fireworks, no lightning strike, no metaphorical angels singing in Patton’s head the first time he meets Virgil.

There’s just something quiet, something soft, a want to protect and cherish the son of Hades is very familiar with.

Because Virgil looks so sad, lonely, so uncomfortable between his own siblings and the other campers.

Patton takes one look at the son of Aphrodite and decides, come hell or high water, that he’s going to become his best friend.

Patton barrels into Virgil’s life like an overexcited puppy, dutifully following him everywhere and always coming back when Virgil tries to get him to leave him alone -never with harsh words because, as much as the son of Hades’ behavior may baffle Virgil, he can’t find it in himself to actually make an effort to hurt him.

Virgil is very annoyed, very confused and mildly afraid. But that doesn’t stop him from begrudgingly following Patton when asked -in his defense, the boy’s puppy dog eyes are very difficult to say no to.

While it is true that “love at first sight” may not be the best expression to describe their relationship, the realization itself surely hits Patton like a ton of bricks.

It happens suddenly, in the blink of an eye. One moment they’re talking, enjoying some relaxing time in Hades’ cabin. Then Patton throws in a pun, without even thinking about it, and suddenly Virgil is giggling merrily on the bed, eyes twinkling in amusement as he tries -and fails- to hide his smile behind his hand.

Oh, is the only coherent thing Patton’s mind is able to formulate, all of his other thoughts drowned by the thunderous beating of his heart and the blood rushing in his veins.

Because Virgil is so, so beautiful, messy and fluffy dark locks falling over his eyes and that shy smile has absolutely no business making Patton’s insides flip like that-

Oh, gods. He’s screwed.

For Virgil, there’s no big realization, no sudden “oh shit I’m gay-” moment. One day, he simply looks at Patton -Patton, his best friend. Patton, the first to ever believe in him. Patton, with his endless enthusiasm and a smile that easily outshines the morning sun- and just thinks “yeah, I wouldn’t mind spending my whole life with him”, something warm and fuzzy blooming in his chest.

Somehow, that line of thought doesn’t scare him as much as one would think. There’s no sudden anxiety, no rush of what-ifs cluttering his brain until he can’t think straight anymore -pun absolutely not intended. On the contrary, it makes him smile, a quiet sort of happiness dancing in his heart.

Because it’s Patton, and for Virgil falling for him feels like the most natural thing in the world.

The whole camp knows, of course. It’s clear as a day for them, how much those two care for each other. They see it in stolen glances, in fingers brushing not-so-casually, in friendly touches and pats in the back lingering even when there’s no reason to.

Everyone sees it but those two, of course. There are bets going on all around camp, about who will break first and finally make the first move.

Also Logan may or may not be three seconds away from slapping some sense into Patton next time he comes gushing to him about Virgil’s stunning smile or cute laugh -it amuses Roman to no end, to see the usually calm and collected child of Athena completely lose it as soon as the son of Hades is out of earshot.

“I might not understand feelings but -pardon my crude language- those two are dense as fuck hOW IN THE NAME OF ATHENA HAVEN’T THEY FIGURED IT OUT YET I SWEAR I AM GOING TO HIT THEM BOTH WITH A BOOK IF THEY DON’T WORK THEIR SHIT OUT SOON-”

Roman has never laughed as much as when Logan went on an hour-long rant about their two friends’ foolishness, to be honest.

If you went and asked anyone on camp how they thought Virgil and Patton would finally get together, they’d probably answer with some cute, fluffy scenario, something so adorable your teeth would probably start rotting -aside from Logan, who would go on a very long, very detailed rant about his masterplan to trap the two in a closet until they figure shit out and stop making him lose his mind with their obliviousness.

Nobody could have predicted, however, how it really happened.

Nobody could have predicted the camp being attacked by a horde of monsters.

Nobody could have predicted the screams, the fear, blood and golden dust alike covering the ground as the battle wears on.

But most of all, nobody could have predicted Virgil frantically pushing Patton away, a dagger piercing into his stomach instead of the son of Hades’ back. For a moment -a single, fleeting moment in the chaos of the battle- time seems to stop completely, silence falling as Virgil’s trembling hands move to brush over the growing red stain on his shirt.

Then, he crumbles to the ground, Patton desperately screaming his name from the top of his lungs.

Something old and powerful rushes through his veins, and under the feet of every monster the earth. Opens. Wide.

The first thing Virgil sees when he comes to is the ceiling of the infirmary, before immediately shutting his eyes because ouch someone turn down the lights right the fuck now-

He tries to cover his face with his hand, only to discover something is keeping it down. Virgil moves to sit up as much as he can and turns his head a little to the side, vision still a little fuzzy, his gaze immediately falling on a familiar figure curled on a chair beside his bed, fingers interlocked with his even in his sleep.

“He never left your side, you know,” a voice murmurs from behind the two, startling Virgil. The son of Aphrodite turns around, eyes falling on Roman’s figure approaching the bed.

“Princey, please stop trying to give me a heart attack,” he groans, flopping back onto the mattress with a huff.

“Only when you stop giving us a heart attack every chance you get,” the son of Apollo counters, sitting on another empty chair, “you scared us a lot, V. Patton was inconsolable for days.”

Virgil sighs, turning around to look at his friend, still curled up to his side and sleeping soundly. Looking more closely, Virgil can easily spot the other’s disheveled appearance, from his crumpled clothes and messy hair to the dark bags under his eyes and the tear tracks on his cheeks. He looks like an exhausted, grieving mess. But Patton’s alive, chest moving steadily up and down as he rests, and Virgil knows that, if given the choice, he would jump into that dagger’s path all over again.

Then, Roman’s words register properly into his mind. “Wait, what do you mean days?” he asks, moving to sit up again, “how much time has passed exactly?”

“Stop moving so much, Surly Temple,” Roman chides, gently pushing the other back down on the bed, “you were unconscious for a week. Your injuries were really bad, you almost didn’t make it.”

“Oh,” is all Virgil manages to say, mind reeling as he tries to come to terms with his all-too-near encounter with death, “I’m… sorry?”

“No, you aren’t,” Roman counters, shaking his head, “and don’t even try to deny it, you’re so gone for that boy you would fight all the gods themselves for him.”

Virgil opens his mouth to retort, more than ready to defend his honor, but promptly closes it again when he realizes he would, in fact, challenge Zeus himself to a fistfight for Patton’s safety and happiness.

“I hate it when you’re right,” he grumbles instead, lips scrunching into a pout.

“I know,” Roman grins, clearly smug, “now, I’d love to stay and hear more about how right I am-”

“Yeah, you wish,” Virgil scoffs, chuckling.

“-but I think that’ll have to wait,” Roman finishes, completely ignoring Virgil’s interruption, “our sleeping beauty is waking up, and I believe you two hopeless gays have some things to talk about.”

“Wha-” Virgil starts, confused, before a movement to his left stops him right on his tracks. Gaze shifting automatically to the curled figure on his side, Virgil’s eyes widen as he watches Patton start to stir, eyes scrunching and mouth settling into a little frown. It’s quite adorable, actually- goddamnit Virgil this is not the time to be a useless gay.

“Princey wait, you can’t-” the son of Aphrodite hisses, turning back towards Roman only to realize -to his dismay- that while he was busy having a mini gay crisis, the son of Apollo had merrily strolled out of the infirmary, leaving the poor demigod to fend for himself.

Quietly panicking on the inside, Virgil can’t do anything more but stare as Patton slowly wakes up, chocolate brown eyes still fuzzy with sleep. The boy lets out a huge yawn, clearly still half asleep with his glasses sitting crookedly on his nose, and stretches his arms over his head, letting out a satisfied groan when he hears a quiet but distinct pop.

That’s, of course, when Patton’s gaze falls on Virgil, very much awake and looking at him like a deer caught in the headlights. Dumbfounded, he stares, blinking owlishly at the other as his brain tries to register what exactly he’s seeing.

Then Patton lets out a sudden shout, throwing himself onto Virgil to drag him into the biggest hug the son of Aphrodite has ever received.

“Virgil!” Patton wails, tears already streaming down his face, “Gods above, you’re awake! You’re okay!”

“Hey Pat,” Virgil says, a faint smile appearing on his face as he returns the hugs as much as he can -he may have slept for a whole ass week, but he still feels exhausted as fuck.

“Don’t you dare do that ever again!” Patton exclaims, hands grabbing onto Virgil’s shoulders as he moves back to look at him, “Never again, got it?!”

“Pat,” Virgil sighs, looking away, “Pat, I- you know I can’t promise that.”

“But why?!” Patton asks, distraught, “I don’t want you to die, V! I just- I can’t even think about it, it just-” sobbing, the son of Hades crumbles into Virgil’s arms, forehead onto the other’s chest, “every- every time I close my eyes I see you on the ground, covered in all that blood- I don’t want to see that ever again!”

“Patton,” Virgil calls, voice soft and gentle as he cradles the other to his chest, “Patton, I can’t promise you that I'll never do it again because I know all too well I would never be able to keep that vow, most of all if it means you’ll be safe from harm’s way.”

Patton shakes his head and lets out a strangled sob at Virgil’s words, his grip on the son of Aphrodite’s shirt tightening even more.

“But,” Virgil keeps going, hand softly stroking his friend’s back in comfort, “what I can promise you is that, doesn’t matter what happens or how desperate the situation is, I’ll always, always come back to you.”

Sniffling, Patton looks up at him, eyes red and puffy as he searches Virgil’s face for any hint of lie or deception.

“Do you… do you really mean it?” he asks, voice small but hopeful. Virgil smiles, nodding his head, and that’s all the confirmation Patton seems to need before his hands are of the other’s cheeks, something akin to determination suddenly burning in his gaze.

“Pat? What’s-” Virgil tries to ask, blushing slightly under the other's scrutiny, but gets interrupted halfway through by a pair of lips suddenly covering his.

Patton is kissing him.

Patton -Patton Medina, son of Hades, his best friend, his fucking crush- is kissing him.

Virgil's brain -as soon as he realizes what is actually happening- short-circuits on the spot, eyes wide as dinner plates as his thoughts become an absolute mess of oh my gods oh my gods ohmygodswhat- and general gay panic.

The kiss is very short, Patton drawing away a few seconds later, but Virgil feels like an eternity has passed. He keeps staring at Patton, blinking owlishly at him with his mouth slightly open in surprise, mind drawing a complete, absolute blank -which is, of course, a totally normal reaction for a child of the goddess of fucking Love to have when their crush kisses them, goddamnit Virgil get a fucking grip for once-

“Sorry, I-” Patton mumbles, looking away, “I acted on impulse, I didn’t want- I mean, I wanted to but- I should have asked-”

“Pat, no-!” Virgil exclaims when the other starts to move away, grabbing onto his arm on instinct, “I mean- it’s okay, really.”

“It- It is?” Patton asks, looking at him with careful hope in his eyes. Virgil gulps, heart beating wildly in his chest as he forces himself to maintain eye contact.

“Y- Yeah, I-” he takes in a slow, steadying breath, trying to will his cheeks to stop burning so much and failing miserably, “I really liked it, actually.”

Patton blinks at him words registering into his head as a smile starts to spread onto his face. “Really?”

Virgil nods, his lips curling into a little, shy smile and that’s all the confirmation Patton needs, his expression breaking into a wide grin as he tackles the other into a hug, a bewildered laugh escaping his lips.

Virgil immediately returns the hug, finding himself laughing alongside Patton, giddy with happiness.

“So, can I call you my boyfriend now?” Patton asks, eyes sparkling with delight as he looks up at Virgil -and gods if that vision doesn’t make Virgil’s heart do funny things in his chest, something so warm and fond seeping into his expression without him even noticing.

“Sounds pretty cool,” he says, his face muscles aching from how much he’s smiling. Patton laughs, a sound so beautiful Virgil is pretty sure not even the Muses themselves would be able to replicate, and shuffles until he’s basically sitting on Virgil’s lap, eyes locking onto the other’s.

“I really want to kiss you again right now,” he murmurs, eyes half closed as he starts to slowly lean in.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to that,” Virgil answers, closing the distance between them.

They kiss for what feels like ages, giggling like school children and sharing sweet smiles and totally smitten looks, the world around them vanishing until there’s just them, and nothing else matters.

Enveloped as they are in themselves, none of them notices the barely muffled squeal coming from the doorway, Roman standing there bouncing on his toes as he takes in the two lovebirds cuddling on the bed.

Trying to be as silent as he can -which is probably an unnecessary caution since he’s pretty sure Zeus himself could make lightning fall from the sky and the two would be none the wiser, but it’s still of a child of the Big Three and a charm speak user we’re talking about so Roman is not about to take any chances here, thank you very much- the son of Apollo slowly closes the door, before throwing his hands in the air in silent cheer and merrily strolling towards Athena’s cabin.

Looks like Logan owes him twenty dollars.

[howtohero]

#208 The Cavalry

Sometimes superheroes enter into situations where they are clearly in over their head. They go in without a plan, without backup, without even fully comprehending the immense power of the threat they’re up against. (Remember when Charlie the Fish Whisperer “killed” the prime minister of Finland and renamed himself Chuck the Fish Whisperer and some heroes foolishly thought he’d still be easy to beat? We’re talking times like that.) In times like this, those heroes are going to be at the end of their ropes, their backs are gonna be all sweaty and also backed up against a wall, and they’re going to silently resign themselves to failure. It’s then, in those final desperate moments, that the music will swell, some wall’s gonna get blown open, and the cavalry will arrive.

Traditionally, the cavalry were armed soldiers on horseback. Nowadays though, they’re the heroes who come in when all hope is lost, no horses required. Of course, if you wanted to ride in on a horse while taking out enemy combatants with your laser blasts, I don’t think anybody would have a problem with that. It would certainly make for a cool image. Especially if the horse had wings! Or was on fire! Or was also shooting lasers. Ok, you and a horse show up, both of you have laser rifles, you’re standing back to back, surrounded by supervillains and henchmen, and you spin around and slow motion taking out every single on of them (non-lethally, horses and superheroes don’t just murder people). That would be awesome. That’s the new plan. 

If you want to be the cavalry then you’ll have to not be part of the initial mission. If you’re part of the initial mission then you’re going to need that last minute bailing out yourself. Or you’ll just end up saving everybody during the initial fight, and where’s the drama in that?!

Not being part of a mission is actually much easier than you’d think. As it turns out -and trust me nobody was more surprised to learn this than I was- you’re not actually very well liked. People do not want to include you in things. Far be from me to speculate as to why that might be but our crack team of behavioral psychologists/interns have actually put together a quick thing:

You keep calling the bananas in the break room “nanners” and that makes people not want to buy bananas in the first place but everybody really likes bananas.

You play your music too loud and it’s all bad covers of popular children’s songs. Like if it had just been the original versions that would be more than fine. Who doesn’t like a little Disney in the workplace. But it’s only objectively inferior versions. What’s your deal man?

You keep flipping over heavy furniture to make a point. Like we get it, you’re super strong. So’s my grandma, but you don’t see her flipping over the printer every time she wants to emphasize something. I’m trying to print stuff. Stop it.

You keep purposely getting yourself taken off missions just so you can swoop in at the last second to save everybody and that’s very annoying so now nobody wants you anywhere near their adventures! (This is so selfish of them and also shortsighted. Now you’ll definitely be able to swoop in and save them at the last second again. You’ll be sure to teach them a well-earned lesson in humility when you save all of their petty lives.)

All in all, there are dozens of reasons why you might not be included or invited on any particular mission. Perhaps your skills just aren’t applicable to this particular mission. (Which will make it all the more amazing when you end up saving the day in the end.) Maybe your rival is leading the team and purposely excluding you. (Which will make your eventual victory all the more delicious.) Maybe everyone kind of just forgot you were on the team, and can you blame them? There are 150 people on your superhero team. That’s way too many! (But they surely will never forget you again when you save all of their unmemorable lives!)

Alternatively, if you feel like you could deal with a threat single-handedly, you can always opt out of a mission just so you can make a heroic save later. I don’t recommend doing this, since you’re definitely playing with fire there and people could die. The only really morally pure way to do this is to just stumble across some other heroes in need of a last minute save. To this end I recommend hijacking the frequencies of every hero’s communications devices. This way you’ll hear if anybody is transmitting out any last goodbyes or desperate pleas for help or some real passive aggressive “we’re in imminent danger of being sucked into a blackhole, do not, I repeat, do not save us, just save yourselves. It’s too late for us. There’s a blackhole, it’s pretty large. Did you hear that? Nobody come save us!” nonsense. 

Once you’ve found some heroes in need you need to make sure that you’re actually equipped to save them. If you fail at pulling off a last minute save then you’re going to look like a massive fool. You’re gonna be some fool who makes dramatic entrances, fails at accomplishing things, and calls bananas “nanners.” They’re gonna put all that stuff on your tombstone. So you need to be more than prepared for whatever threat is terrorizing your fellow heroes. You can even call in some other powerful heroes to help you in this bid to save the others. Don’t worry about sharing the glory, as long as you swoop/burst/drop/poof in first and say something cool, you’ll be the one everyone remembers as the hero of the day. For a full breakdown on how to make an incredible entrance see here. But to use our example of a blackhole, all you need to do is get a starship with engines big enough to outrun a blackhole, rocket off to the blackhole and be like “Oh hey, need a ride?” That sheer casualness in the face of the collapse of space will cement you as the coolest cucumber in the superhero world and that’s a story that will go down in history books for centuries until you’re eventually mythologized as some sort of demigod that stared down a blackhole and saved millions of lives. You don’t even need to own the starship or design the faster than light quantum engines or anything! You literally just have to be standing in the bridge when your rescued colleagues come aboard your super ship. 

Being the cavalry is a coveted position in any superhero team. If you make just one epic last minute save, you can go down as a legend amongst your colleagues. Especially if you’ve overcome great odds and saved many lives. If you do it twice? Oh boy, you better start working on your reserved smile, you’re about to be put on currency. Three times? That’s it, you can basically retire because you’re going to be raking in mad cash from all of the movie adaptions of your amazing career that the studios are going to start cranking out for years to come. Of course you won’t retire, because then you might get a fourth awesome save. At which point I’m pretty sure you get automatic sainthood. So what are you waiting for? Well, except for the very last second of course.

[queenofcats17]

Speaking of Death

I already wrote my version of Hel meeting @insane-control-room‘s Demigod Bertram, but I wanted to write her meeting @randomwriteronline‘s cryptid Eska. So here we go.

Featuring Control’s Bertram briefly.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The creature now known as Eska knew death. The Spirit of Violent Deaths was a friend to him, after all. And he wasn’t scared of death. Not like other people were. It would hurt, yes, but it provided a sort of peaceful relief at the end of a troubled life. Like his. It was the inevitable end to all things. Eventually, everything was going to die. Die and return to the Earth.

He had seen the woman Bertram said was the goddess Hel come and go. He’d seen her appear from the ground and disappear the same way. Sometimes she brought a dog with her. The dog had an incredibly powerful aura around it, but Eska still wanted to pet it. It was so small and fluffy. Most of the time she came to see Bertram and/or Lacie. She seemed softer when around them.

Today, though, it seemed she was here for Eska. When Bertram arrived in his office, she was waiting with Garm in her arms. Bertram wasn’t even surprised anymore. She just tended to show up. 

“I wish to speak to the boy in the skull mask.” She said. 

The one with the two different eyes. Garm clarified, as if there was another boy in a skull mask in the studio.

“I don’t believe I’m the one you should ask about that.” Bertram sat down at his desk, shuffling some papers. “If you wish to speak with him, you should go and speak with him.”

“Is he not a friend of yours?” Hel asked. 

“Not...particularly,” Bertram replied slowly. “I’m not terribly close to him.”

“Ah, alright.” Hel’s face fell a bit. She’d come to the studio a lot, but she hadn’t ventured outside of Bertram’s work area too often. She didn’t know where anything was or where anyone would be. 

“If you want to find him, I’d look in the Heavenly Toys area on level P,” Bertram suggested, sensing her disorientation. “He often stays near to Kim and Niamh.”

Who are those people? Garm demanded. Their names mean nothing to us. 

“Kim is the small dark-skinned toymaker and Niamh is the one with the octopus tattoo on her back,” Bertram said. “I can assure you, you will know Niamh is around long before you see her.”

“Alright.” Hel stood up, clutching Garm a bit tighter. “Thank you. I may or may not be back.”

“Best of luck!”  Bertram called after her. 

It took a bit for her to find the Heavenly Toys area. After a little bit of aimless wandering, an employee politely asked if she was lost. Once she told them where she was going, they were able to point her in the right direction. She was halfway to the area when she suddenly felt a presence to her right. She turned to the vent beside her to find a pair of orange and blue eyes staring at her from a vent. 

“Hello, Eska.” 

Eska didn’t reply, continuing to watch her from the vent. The vent wasn’t all that dark, and Hel could see even in the pitch black, but only his eyes were visible. The rest of his body was just gone.

“Could I speak with you?” She asked. “If you wouldn’t mind. I sense you’re connected with death, and I must admit, it has been a bit since I spoke with another death entity.” There was a beat of silence before Eska replied. 

“...Okay.” He slithered out of the vent, falling to the ground like a ragdoll before standing up. He started to walk away and Hel followed. 

He led her to a secluded room that didn’t look like it got much use. There were a table and some chairs, so it seemed that this was some sort of secret hideout. Eska turned to say something but stopped. His eyes were fixed now on Garm, still nestled in Hel’s arms. 

“Is something wrong?” Hel asked. 

“I pet him.” Eska pointed at Garm, eyes wide. Hel looked down at Garm, who made a very human grumbling sound. 

Very well. He may pet me. Garm braced himself to be manhandled, but Eska’s touch was gentle. His long, deft fingers carded through Garm’s fur, finding just the right places to scratch. Garm’s eyes almost rolled back in his head from sheer bliss. 

Oooh. Oh yes. Yes, that is the spot. Up. Up! Oooooh. He started to excitedly pant as Eska settled down in a chair.

“Impressive.” Hel laughed softly, sitting down beside him. “He doesn’t normally enjoy being petted like that.” Eska made what she assumed to be a happy noise. 

“Do you know the Spirit of Violent Deaths?” He asked after a moment.

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of making their acquaintance.” Hel smiled apologetically. “How would you describe them?” Eska paused in his petting. 

"Very big. Very dark blue. With stars all over. Body like a soft velvet jello. Skeletal hands. Head is the skull of a ram." He made gestures with his hands as he spoke as if he were trying to strengthen the description.

“They sound beautiful.” Hel’s smile was wistful. “Are they kind?”

Eska nodded. “Gentle. Kind. Warm.”

“I’m glad.” She turned her gaze away from him, down to her lap. “So few think of death as kind.” 

Eska frowned, tilting his head to the side as his eyes found her again. “Why?”

“Hm?”

“Why?” Eska repeated. 

“Are you asking why many don’t think of death as kind?”

“Yes.”

“Well...” Hel sighed heavily, folding her hands in her lap. “Death is difficult for the living who remain. They lose people they care about. And so they see death deities as greedy individuals who steal away their family, never to return them.”

“Everything dies eventually,” Eska said. “Can’t escape it.”

“Yes, that is true.” Hel agreed with a weary smile. “Death comes for all things. Even the gods.”

“Are you kind?” Eska asked. His gaze had returned to Garm, who had flipped over onto his back, allowing Eska access to his fluffy belly. Eska was seconds away from burying his face in the fluff.

“I like to think I am.” Hel laughed. “But, well, I suppose personal opinion doesn’t count.” She sighed again. “I try to take care of my wards the best I can.”

“Wards?”

“The souls sent to my domain. I’m in charge of the ‘dishonorable’ dead.” She snorted derisively. “As if only those who die in battle are honorable.” Eska looked over at her. It was hard to tell with his mask, but she was pretty sure he was confused.

“I’m sorry. Did I confuse you?”

He nodded. 

“I should probably explain.” Her expression grew solemn. “In my pantheon, we have three places that take souls. Odin’s Valhalla, my Helheim, and Freyja’s  Fólkvangr. Freyja and Odin choose the souls of warriors they deem worthy to join their afterlives. I receive the rest. They call my wards the dishonorable dead. The old, the sick, the wicked. I take all who are unwanted. Because they are not brave warriors who die in battle, the other gods call them dishonorable.”

Eska’s face screwed up in distaste. “That’s stupid.”

“Yes. It is.” She turned her gaze back to her lap, where her hands were worrying with her skirt. “The majority of them have done nothing wrong. Their only crime is that their deaths were deemed...‘wrong’. They’re good people.” A smile crossed her features. “A good portion of them helped to raise me. Odin confined me to Niflheim when I was very young. I hardly ever saw my parents. The dead were all I had.” She paused, seeming to realize where she was. 

“My apologies.” She laughed weakly. “I didn’t mean to burden you with that. I tend to...forget myself sometimes.” Eska shrugged, shoving his face into Garm’s belly fluff. Hel stifled a laugh. A genuine one this time. The children in her domain rather enjoyed doing that as well. Although they usually did it when Garm was the size of a truck. 

“Thank you for listening.” She said. “Most don’t wish to speak with me, given who I am. What I am.” Eska stopped rubbing his face in Garm’s fluff, lifting his eyes to meet hers. He had an intense way of looking at someone as if he could see through to your soul.

“You are kind.” He nodded definitively before returning his attention to Garm. 

Hel stared into space for a moment, trying to fight back tears. She was a great and terrible goddess who controlled the balance of life and death, who had power beyond what a normal mortal could imagine. But she was also still the scared little girl who’d been ripped away from her father and cast into a realm she neither knew nor understood. She’d been given a role to play and she’d played it. The heartless queen of the underworld who took and took and let nothing go. She had played that role well, to the point where there were precious few she could talk to honestly anymore. Almost no one looked upon her without fear. But Bertram had not been afraid of her, and neither was this boy. This boy had called her kind. 

“Thank you.” She managed to whisper once she had herself under control.

“Everyone dies,” Eska said again. “It’s not bad. It’s an end.”

“A good end?”

“An end,” Eska said. “Peaceful end.” 

Hel smiled softly. “What a remarkable creature you are.”

Eska beamed behind his mask. 

Is it over? Garm looked disappointed that the petting had stopped. He was still panting excitedly. 

“Yes, I think it’s about time we go.” Hel gently took him from Eska. “I very much enjoyed talking with you, Eska. I think I’d like to talk with you again.”

“Okay.” Eska nodded. 

“I’ll bring Garm again the next time I come. And perhaps a skull.”

Eska’s eyes lit up at the prospect of receiving a skull, which elicited another laugh from Hel.

“I’ll see you again.” She then disappeared into the floor, leaving Eska alone.

[prince-caleb-d]

So you can throw me to the wolves. Tomorrow I will come back, leader of the whole pack. Beat me black and blue. Every wound will shape me, every scar will build my throne.

His eyes were still red, the tears burning without remorse, but his steps were quick and steady. Camp Half-Blood was getting smaller way behind Caleb’s back, his knuckles whiter by the second from the gripping of his quickly packed bag. Everything just escalated too quickly for him, he could barely manage to stay focused on his path. The danger surrounding Camp, the fight with Maxwell, his mother’s abduction... It was just too much already. He was able to survive every sort of physical pain, ready to process every single heartbreak, but the Gods were his witnesses... Caleb Dawson couldn’t bear to see his family hurt in any way. The sky was raging on right from the moment his foot stepped outside the camp borders. And he didn’t really pay attention to it, blinded by his emotions. But it wasn’t caused by his powers, no, it was a warning. A sign from his father. This was probably a trap, a way for whoever kidnapped Cal’s mother to lure him outside the only safe place in the World for him and his kind. But he was driven by his feelings, by the pain tearing him from inside, to even consider the possible dangers ahead of a twenty years old son of Zeus.

“Stay at Camp and don’t do anything irrational.”

His mother’s warning right before the connection broke wouldn’t stop ringing in his head over and over again too. It was like the perfect scenario to lure someone and set him a trap. But Caleb didn’t care, he just couldn’t let his mother out there. Couldn’t bear to lose another part of him, another member of his family. When they lost TJ, he promised her, he promised his mother that he’d protect her no matter what; won’t let anything happen to her. And now... Now he realized it was another promise he couldn’t keep. Another one he broke, just like he promised he would never hurt Max...

“Whatever happens you stay safe, baby, promise me!” “M- Mom?! Mother!!”

“Oh, mother...” he whispered, the words freezing in his throat, choking him as he was starting to run through the woods, cloaked with lots of mist. But it surely wouldn’t be enough to fully keep him safe from the monsters. His scent was way too strong even with all the mist in the world. Every step he made was leaving the sweet breath of a demigod, descendant of one of the Big Three. Even the tears that were dropping hard on the moist soil. He knew it would be way too obvious to find her in a well known place. Whoever abducted her would have hid his mother well. The hope of her still being alive was the only thing giving him strength right now, but he needed help. “Where is she? Point me the way...” he looked up to the sky once he reached the road. A deafening and horrific thunder send a freezing chill down his spine. “Please, father! I need to save her!” Caleb was aware that the god wasn’t approving of that spontaneous and dangerous trip he was having, but he knew Zeus loved her once and probably still had some feelings for here buried somewhere. “Please...” he nearly cried out in hope of a sign. He was about to give up and continue on his own, following his instincts, when his gaze pinned into a specific single cloud in the night sky that was periodically turning almost white from a soft lightning. It was moving slow and separate from all the others. And that was the moment he realized what it was - a tracing cloud. It was going to lead him to his mother. “Thank you...”

Caleb was standing in front of a big abandoned factory covered almost entirely by rust. There was this specific metal scent in the air, mixed with the humidity. Caleb’s nose furrowed, before he ripped off his necklace, turning it into the well known lightning shaped sword. The building looked abandoned, but the tracing cloud stopped right above it, so this must have been the place. But when the son of Zeus went inside there was nothing but darkness. No sounds, not even a scent of any presence. “The roof...” he concluded and quickly climbed the dusty stairs.

When he stepped outside on the roof of the factory he found himself against a dozen of men waiting with their weapons pointed at him. Behind them Caleb saw his mother - tied to a chair and barely conscious. His eyes turned icy blue as he snarled before the armed human looking creatures. It was well known that monsters were good with covering their true ugly, revolting selves from others. But when Caleb cut his cheekbone, letting his hot blood drip down slowly, their eyes turned brighter, almost glowing, their pupils widened drastically. “Come and get me, bitches!”

The sky was still storming along side with Caleb’s rage, there was no doubt this time that his emotions caused the lightning show above and around them. The bloodthirsty freaks didn’t wait for a second invitation and three of them dashed towards the son of Zeus like the fresh meat they really took him for. “Who are you working for?!” he yelled, ducking and rolling to avoid their strikes. He wanted to get the sense of their rhythm. He was way outnumbered and just rough force wouldn’t be of any help. He needed to carefully calculate and measure his moves. “Who wants me?!”

But there was no answer, just animalistic noises - roaring, growling and howling. “Okay then!” Caleb saw an opportunity and countered, dashing forward to break off the three-way party. He disarmed the ones on the sides and concentrated on the one in the middle that was acting like a leader. Dawson swiftly fought off his strikes and managed to finish him, pinning his sword deep right in the bastard’s stomach. The other two tried to come back, but Caleb had already gained momentum and quickly slit their throats with a couple of moves he learned from Calla and Diala. When he noticed that the others were forming a circle around him that was slowly getting smaller, he rushed to the one standing right in front of his mother.

But when he got too close it, fire burst out of it’s mouth, causing Caleb to instinctively slide down, between it’s legs, ending up behind it. Quickly before the creature could take hold of the situation, the son of Zeus kicked it right in the knee cap, breaking one of it’s legs which gave him the opportunity to freely slide his sword through it, nearly cutting it in two. He took a step back, closer to his mother and started to move his eyes from one man to another, but they were not moving at all, just staring at him. Though Caleb could swear it was as if they were looking right through him. A second later they just kneeled before him, causing the confusion to distract him long enough for something to hit him hard in the nape of his neck. Dull pain spread across his head, causing him to lose balance and roughly fall on the ground. He was taken by surprise, but what was more surprising - when he rolled over to see who hit him, Caleb saw his own mother looking down at him like he was the biggest disappointment; a piece of garbage. “M- Mother?!” he stuttered, shock was written in his eyes. But the woman beside him had a stone faced expression and not a single drop of motherly love - the same one Caleb knew too well - in her eyes. She only huffed and a second after that kicked him hard in the head, leaving him unconscious.

Caleb woke up from the freezing water that was thrown at him like he was some kind of an animal. He yelled loudly, his body stiffened, the pain came back along side his consciousness. He spit a small amount of blood and looked around, seeing nothing but a tall man in front of him.

“Who are you?!” he screamed after being punched several times in the face. The freak smiled, showing his ugly yellow teeth. “What have you done to my mother?!” “Oh, but don’t you recognize your own mommy?” the man asked, but his voice was exactly like the demigod’s mother.  “Whatever happens you stay safe, baby, promise me!” The man laughed loudly a moment after that. “You really should listen to your mother, boy.” he roared in his own thick and deep voice. “Or you’ll get into a lot of trouble... Like right now.”

“Where’s my mother?” “Oh, don’t worry. She was indeed at the factory. But instead of the basement you chose the roof. Eeh, wrong!” the man laughed again and threw a few more punches. “Well... wrong for you that is. My plan worked perfectly fine.” “Where is she?!” “You never shut up, huh? She’s somewhere far away, probably dead.”

Caleb clenched his teeth, trying to fight off the thought of his mother dead and all of this completely pointless. No. He shook his head and spit in the freak’s ugly face. “Why don’t you kill me already?” “Kill you? Oh, no... I need you alive. I need to break you. Having a child of Zeus as a weapon is a dream come true, you know. A little birdy told me you might be the easiest one to lure out of that damned camp for mongrels of yours. And they were right!” The man finished with a victorious exclamation and snapped his fingers for one of his subjects to continue with the treatment.