#and in last olympian hestia takes the form of s young girl so

[findafight]

Thinking about a pjo au where Steve's been a permanent camper for...forever. idk I only have two vivid scenes of it in my mind.

First, Dustin is a son of Hephaestus and has been trailing after Steve since his first summer when he was ten and was stuck in the Hermes cabin while he was unclaimed. (The Hermes cabin is really split into Hermes kids and Unclaimed kids. It's big and warm but there's still that unspoken divide there. Hermes, it seems, despite being the patron of the unclaimed children of his godly peers, is always quick to claim his own. They'll be in the cabin together anyways but, well. He seems to see their pain of being unwanted more than others.) So whilst there Dustin, ten and fascinated by camp, imprinted on the oldest, snarkiest unclaimed kid there. The unofficial Head Camper of the unclaimed (as you cannot be a head camper if you are unclaimed), Steve.

Which is how Steve ended up going to Hawkins for the summer before camp three years later with Robin (daughter of Selene, who he met the year before and got on with like a house on fire) at his side, in the stupidest uniforms known to man.

And working at scoops is how they end up finding Eddie, who seems to be able to see through the Mist just fine, and who monsters are after. Which, shit. Means he's eighteen or nineteen and has lasted in the outside world without camp, a remarkable feat. But! They've got bigger fish to fry! Like getting to camp.

Dustin babbles as Steve drives, Robin in the passenger seat, all the way to long island. He tells Eddie about camp, about sword fighting and capture the flag and the banquets and campfires. He tells Eddie about the forge he spends so much time in, all his friends, the Party, the way he's wired the radios to work across the country so he can speak to Suzie (daughter of Athena, a secret kept from her adoptive mother who was told Suzie was her father's cousin's child) all the way in Utah in the fall. Robin pipes in, every now and again, offers information about the gods, how camp runs.

Steve focuses on the road. He talks about the kids, Dustin's friends mostly, and Robin, and the rest of camp. It irks Eddie, that this guy who took out a Chimera with a baseball bat studded with, apparently, magic nails, isn't really adding anything. Dustin's been at camp every summer since he was ten, Robin came two and a half years ago, and Eddie knows their godly parents too. So he leans on the driver's seat, close to Steve.

"so." He says. Casual-like. "Who's your" he wiggles his fingers "godly parent?"

Steve shrugs. "Unclaimed." He says. His hands grip the steering wheel.

Eddie hums. Notices Robin glancing at him and shaking her head. Ignores it. "Well. Bummer. How old were you when you found camp or whatever?"

Steve's knuckles turn white. He answers.

"six months."

Eddie doesn't get it.

"you've only been at camp six months? But-you talk like you've been there for longer. When you guys found out how old I was you were all surprised, wh-"

"you asked how old I was. As far as Chiron and Mr. D can tell, I was six months old when I was dropped off with a note that had just my first name on it at the edge of the woods. Dryads brought me to them when they found me. Been a full time camper ever since."

There's. Heaviness, in the silence that follows.

Eddie knows about abandonment and wanting more and knowing he deserves more. Knows how much it means to him that Uncle Wayne took him in and calls him son so affectionately it may as well be true. And. Steve said he was unclaimed. That he's been at camp since he was six months old. He's been a full time camper his entire goddamn life. Ain't that a kick in the pants.

Steve shrugs again. "Neither of my parents want me, my mortal parent couldn't get rid of me fast enough and my godly one hasn't made a peep. So. I look after the other unclaimed kids. It's how I met Dustin."

They don't talk about parents so much after that.

and idk plot things happen blah blah blah

THEN.

Steve sees a kid, maybe ten, on the edge of the woods. He pauses, concerned. Camp is safe for the most part, but there are still monsters in the woods. Drifting over, he sees the girl has a scarf loosely over her head, like a veil, letting dark curls fall in front of her eyes from how she's pulled her knees up to sit. He doesn't recognize her, but that doesn't really mean much.

"hey! You okay over here?" He says, hopes he comes off as friendly. His nerves have been frazled and he just wants to sit by the peer and watch the sunset with Robin and Eddie after dinner. Breathe easy for a little while.

The girl smiles at him, tilts her head to the side. He kneels in front of her, trying to make himself smaller so she's not afraid.

"I'm Steve. You doing okay here? It's not really safe to be alone in the woods..."

The girl reaches a hand out, her skin baby soft. She sighs. "I know exactly who you are, Steve Harrington." She says.

Her eyes, he realizes, are so much older than a ten year old's. He says nothing as they look at each other.

"do you remember," she starts, "when you first gave your offering to me, specifically?" And Steve knows, even though he already knew, who this is.

He nods. She brushes her thumb across his cheek, tenderly, motherly, for all she looks nearly half his age. "You were four. Barely old enough to really understand what the offerings of food you scraped into the fire were for. But you did it, and you did it for me. Very few ever do it just for me. But you were looking for a home, and I was the one you thought could help you find it. You kept doing it for me, giving up your best bite, every day after."

"yes." He says, because what else do you say to a goddess? To a goddess you have prayed to when you could think of no one else who would care to listen?

She releases his face and stands, slowly, before reaching out her hand for him to take as he gets up himself.

"I have a proposition for you." She says, swinging their hands between them, as children are wont to do.

"oh?"

She squeezes his hand. "Yes. I cannot tell you your godly parent, even if I knew who, as my siblings and peers have made it clear that sharing that type of secret is not allowed." She gazed up at him, big dark eyes surrounded by tight black curls escaping her veil. "And what a shame that is. Leaving you Unclaimed."

Steve squeezes her hand back. They slowly walk towards where they shall eat. "well. That is the gods' prerogative."

She hums. "They are a fool, whoever they are. But. Their foolishness is my reward. That brings me to my offering for you." She stops, they are near the amphitheatre, turning to face him fully and holding out her other hand for him to take. "I have heard your prayers to me at each meal, seen you care for your fellow campers. I have watched you grow and change into someone trustworthy, someone loyal and caring. I have seen how the children gather around you for comfort and how you freely give it, how you take comfort in your service to others." She breathes deeply, as though to steady herself. "I have seen my fellow gods look over you, an Unclaimed child of no-one, who never truly lived in the outside world before coming to the haven they made, and I have been angered by it. You are steadfast and loyal. You are brave and protective. You have worked hard to create not only a place that is safe, but a home that is welcoming."

She smiles widely now, giddy. Steve still does not speak. A lump caught in his throat.

"it is that last fact, that has led me here today. I offer you this, Steve. My cabin is yours to do with what you will, to give a home for those homeless. For so long as you tend my hearth and keep the home, should you accept it, I would give you my patronage." She releases his hands to reach up to cup his face between her small hands. She brushes away the tears that have gathered on his cheeks.

"I offer you the home you have given so many, the place to belong you have been building for others, Steve of Camp Half Blood. Will you accept this? The one gift I can give my most loyal knowing worshipper since the Vestal Virgins?" They both giggle, absurdly, at this.

Steve nods. "Yes." He whispers, "yes, Lady Hestia, I accept your patronage."

She pulls his face down, goes up on her tip toes, and places a gentle, loving kiss on his forehead. When she pulls back, her eyes reflect the bonfire that has been lit beside them.

"go, then. And tend to my hearth and your home." She says, and releases him fully at last.

He turns to the fire, to the tables laid out, to his fellow campers watching him and the goddess from their benches. He scratches the back of his neck. Smiles.

Dustin, as he so often does, breaks the silence. "Holy shit!"

Beside Steve, Hestia is gone.

#steve harrington #platonic stobin #robin Buckley #eddie munson #dustin henderson #steddie #only hinted at but eh #stranger things #fics #also Eddie's mum is Hecate because i think itd be funny #also. im emo about this. #finda writes stuff #finda's rambles #pjo stranger things #and in last olympian hestia takes the form of s young girl so

[aj-artjunkyard]

Trials Of Apollo Oneshot Series  CHAPTER TWO

It was my turn to keep watch. It was dark, though there was no way to accurately determine what time it was. Meg snored deeply from the rush-job tent just a few feet behind me. We’d had quite the close call a few nights ago, when a Pandos tracker from Caligula’s army had caught us off guard. From then on, we decided that at least one of us should be awake at all times. But now, sitting and shivering on an uncomfortable rock in the eerie darkness of the forest in the early morning, I decided I regretted every part of my and Meg’s little agreement. Not only was I cold and tired, I was also hyperaware of the fact that I was extremely vulnerable. I had been mortal for so long that I could hardly shoot a barn from point-blank range. I had trouble with the intricate fingering on my combat ukulele. My voice wavered at cracked when I sang even the simplest tune. I feared that if something were to happen, I wouldn’t be able to do anything except scream for help from a little girl in traffic-light coloured attire. Have I mentioned that being mortal sucks?

But… there was something else. When I was a god, I had the ability to keep an eye on mortal exploits from my throne on Olympus. I had observed with interest the quests of many heroes; Hercules, Theseus and Percy Jackson, to name a few. So I knew with certainty that the gods would be watching me. This was not new information. I had always known. What was bothering me was that the uncomfortable feeling of eyes on my back felt intensified. I was the entertainment of a large audience tonight. 

I could almost feel my image in the central hearth of Hestia in the Olympian throne room, where you could watch anyone in the world flicker through its flames like a blazing hologram. I’ve watched a few soppy family movies with Hestia and the others huddled around the warmth of the most gentle source of power in all of Olympus. When you were sat viewing ‘Beauty and the Beast’ in high definition, you simply forgot all sense of tension between you and your brethren. Even to lawless scamps like Hermes, it was simply improper to argue in front of Hestia's hearth. Demeter and I came to our uneasy truce over ‘The Secret Garden’. Artemis and I had forgotten countless arguments over ‘Robin Hood’ since 1973. (What? We’re archers. And we love the justice dealt to the greedy prince. Artie will tell you that Maid Marian shouldn't have gotten married. This isn’t true.) You catch my drift. It hurt that I was the one being peered at, ridiculed, from such a pure, sacred place.

And so, I knew something was going to happen. I stole a glance back at Meg, wondering if I should wake her. Then again, there was no telling what a cranky, sleep-deprived tween would order me to do if I were to wake her just because I was feeling a little skittish. I decided against disturbing her. 

But what I did next, I could not explain at the time. I thought perhaps the nerves got the better of me. Perhaps my fidgeting became too much. I stood. My keen ears picked up the faint squealing of an infant. Meg’s snores began to ebb away to the back of my mind, like the whole world was being submerged in Poseidon’s fury. The screams became more acute. I was drawn to go to it, to silence the scream. My peripheral vision darkened. I could only see straight ahead, to the source of the voice. The urge became as powerful as my master’s orders. I started to walk.

I had only gone a few steps forward in my trance when I gained back control of my lower body, and, with great force, willed myself to stop. I stood there, stuck in limbo, my mind violently hurling commands back and forth like the ball in an olympian volleyball game (Zeus and Poseidon are terrifyingly competitive).

‘Go!’ The first voice hissed. ‘You are needed! Save them!’

‘Not a chance!' The second sniped back. ‘You’d leave Meg vulnerable like that? You are no better than the gods and emperors you say you despise!’

‘Meg can defend herself. You need to be the useful one for a change. How many people have you disappointed? Do not let this be another.’

My legs felt detached from my body. I stepped another few paces. “No!” I muttered to myself. “I want to stay!” The pull did not lessen.

‘Trust me,’ said the first voice, morphing into that of a fierce woman’s. Her tone was a calm leader’s, pointing her soldiers into the battlefield. ‘No harm shall come to your companion. Now, go!’ Her last word spurred my legs against my will. I began to run towards the source of the screaming, my heart pumping faster and more desperately every second, without actually knowing why. My entire form went on autopilot. I saw myself jumping over fallen tree trunks, clawing up steep, muddy hills and wading through a shallow creeks. I felt every stone scraped my hands on, every branch that stung my face. But I could not control it. Down in the very depths of my mind I felt my fear of being trapped and guilt of leaving Meg, but it was quickly quenched by this new feeling of an unwelcome person sharing my Lester prison.

My subconscious thrashed to regain control. But I couldn’t. No matter how hard I fought, I could not make myself portray anything but this monotoned calm. I was forced to take a backseat and watch quietly as I let myself run and run until my lungs felt like Hephaestus had made them into his new forge. I wanted to wheeze, cough and splutter. I couldn’t. I tried to yell for help. I couldn’t.

Finally, after an eternity of sprinting through the damp, cold maze of trees, the presence left my mortal body. My knees buckled and my feet gave way. I lay face down in the dirt panting like Cerberus on a particularly dry day in the Underworld. My clothes were in tatters. My hands and knees were bleeding. Everything up to my mid-thighs was soaked, and the rest was caked with mud. I managed to push myself up, though I shook badly. I stayed like that for a while - on all fours, concentrating on breathing more than anything else. Breathing is good. I always recommend breathing. 

Then I heard the cries. They only sounded to be a few feet ahead of me. With all my mortal strength (which isn’t a lot, but I was tired) I used a nearby trunk to haul myself to my feet, still gasping at the air hungrily. When I looked up, my eyes connected with a strange sight. A wispy grey apparition floated silently next to a dark tree stump. On the stump lay a little bundle of writhing white sheets, wrapped tightly around a minuscule form. I stood there for a second - maybe out of shock - before I rushed over to the child, tripping and landing on my bleeding knees out of desperation to reach him. I took him up as gently as my shaking hands could, and clutched him tightly to my chest. You may be wondering why I did this. Firstly, please. I know I’m not a model father, but I’m no monster. Even in my godly state, I would have reacted as such. Just as my sister is the protector of young maidens, I am the protector of young men. I don’t quite understand how I knew, but this little child was a boy. Perhaps it’s my mother’s genes that spurs on this side of me. She is, after all, the titaness of motherhood (also, I know for certain that I don’t get any of my fatherly traits from my own father).

Secondly, this baby, barely a newborn, had obviously been abandoned by his parents. Left for dead with no skills or means to survive. He was utterly defenceless. I sympathised.

I felt the baby’s heartbeat and checked his temperature, all while hugging him as close as possible, trying to provide him with heat from my own body. I could tell he needed far more warmth than my shivering frame could give him. My teeth chattered. My numb fingers could just about keep an even grip on the baby.

“He won’t survive much longer.” The apparition’s voice made me jump. I had completely forgotten her presence. I scolded myself. You do not disregard a potential deity unless you want something sharp or white-hot to mutilate you on the spot. Stupid Apollo! This was basic hero knowledge! I looked up at her, already recognising her voice. The woman wore a full-length chiton, held a spear in one hand, and a shield in the other. Her head was adorned with a battle helm that sprouted smoky grey plumage as if someone had set her tightly woven hair bun on fire, though I guess that wasn’t the look she was going for. Over one shoulder, a small satchel was slung. Battle ready and stoic as ever, stood Athena, the goddess of wisdom.

“S-sister,” I greeted coldly (literally. I was shivering enough to cause concern.) “How nice of you to show. I would have thought you above interacting with human children.”

“You are four thousand years old. You are not a child, though your behaviour could fool most.”

“I didn’t mean me, I meant-”

“We have urgent matters to discuss.”

“But why did you-”

“There is limited time.” Ugh. Athena was and is the spitting image of Zeus. One track mind. It doesn’t matter if everyone was crying and screaming, they would still finish what they were saying or doing before giving a thought to anyone else’s feelings.

“I have information for you,” ghost-Athena continued. “You must-”

“Woah, woah, woah,” I interrupted (wow, Athena was right! Cutting people off was fun). Athena looked irritated, but allowed me to speak. “Why did you drag me to this kid? What’s he got to do with this?” Sighing deeply, she began to explain.

“It’s an excuse.” She looked down at me as if this should have been the most obvious thing in the world.  “My plan was to alert you to this child’s predicament, then appear and take him to safety. As the protector of young boys, his well-being is your responsibility. I told father how embarrassing it would be for him to look like he couldn’t handle your ‘simplistic’ jobs, and he allowed me take the child if you just so happened to find him,”- she waved her hands slightly for emphasis -“on the condition that I don’t talk to you.”

“So…why are you talking to me?”

“I am disregarding his condition as I trust his reliance on my wise judgement. He cannot hurt me.”

I grunted. “Right.” It must have felt good to be one of my father’s favourite children. I would not know. I was cursed to be in the same group as deities such as Ares and Dionysus. Sometimes even they got more attention than me! I was not some dumb war brute or a drunken demigod! I was Apollo! I (sometimes) knew the future! I sang songs of our (my) glory! Not to mention my (and my sister’s) skill with a bow! I was an intelligent medic! Have you ever been to medical school? Only the brightest survive (excuse my pun about being the frickin’ sun god).

Then again, my mortal mind had been kicking me recently. Ever since meeting Hermes on the way to Camp Jupiter, I had come to an awful realisation. Among the Olympians, I was always second best. An atrocity, I know! I do not suit silver. That’s my sister’s colour! I’m supposed to be gold! But I assure you kind readers, it is true, for I have thought this over. Anything I could do, someone else could also do. Healing? They had my son, Asclepius. Archery? My sister, Artemis. Music and poetry? The nine muses. The sun? They already had Hermes on that job. Sure, I could spread plague, but so could the Nosoi. I could be a deep thinker if I wanted to be, but so could Athena, and her ‘deep thoughts’ were usually to my father’s favour, unlike mine.

If I showed any disgust (and I’m sure I did,) Athena did not acknowledge it. Instead she ploughed on with her all-important speech.

“As I was saying, I have something important to share with you.” She started digging through her small satchel while she talked. “Both Artemis and Hermes have helped you, and both are now being watched by father. I will be more careful. I have only come to give you this.” From the petite bag, she drew a water bottle and a clear zip-lock bag with what looked like little squares of brownies inside. She placed the bottle on the tree stump next to her, and held up the bag. “These have been chemically synthesised by your son Asclepius and myself. They have the healing properties of ambrosia, but can be safely consumed by mortals, as long as you do not eat too much. The bag is not self-replenishing, so use them carefully. This is something Artemis whipped up. It’s-”

“-Moonwater,” I finished. The glinting silveriness of the liquid was too obvious to be anything else. I remembered Thalia Grace giving me some back in Indianapolis, before - well, before Caligula happened. I hated myself for reminding me. 

Athena seemed unbothered. “Yes. Now if you could hand over the child-” she started reaching her arms out the shivering baby in my arms. As soon as Athena’s hands were within an inch of him, he started screeching with renewed energy. The shrill sound echoed through the quiet woods, a few birds in nearby trees flapping off to escape the racket. I flinched and Athena covered her ears.  I rocked the baby and hummed a quiet lullaby until he calmed down. Athena sighed and put her hands on her hips. “Right. Let us try that again.” She picked up the baby and rocked him like I had, but the noise was no different. For a newborn, he definitely had a good pair of lungs. 

Seeing Athena struggle with something so simple was quite amusing, but I decided to be a good person (see? I am good. I am.) and help her out. With great difficulty, I stood and shuffled over to Athena’s smoke-self. She glared, but allowed me to adjust her hand positioning. 

“Babies don’t have much in the neck. You have to hold them like this.” Athena huffed. 

“I know that.” She snapped.

“Good. Now you’ll have to sing to him.”

Athena blanched (as much as a grey apparition can, anyway). “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You don’t have to sing the entire Les Misérables soundtrack. Just a little tune.” You’ll have to forgive me here. I knew there were other alternatives. But I also I knew Athena was self-conscious. I just wanted to get one of the Olympians to be as embarrassed as I constantly was for the last three months.

After some convincing, Athena agreed to hum, but nothing more. She chose ‘Für Elise’ by Beethoven. A good choice I suppose. I admit, it did please me that even in her semi-solid colourless state, I could almost feel her cheeks reddening. Too soon, the baby quietened down. 

“Not bad. Though your pace needs to slow down a bit to -”

“Hush up.” I held up my hands in surrender and flashed my old, cocky smile. It didn’t seem to fit naturally anymore. I ignored that.

“You’ve done better than I expected.”

“Gee, thanks.” Suddenly thunder rumbled in the distance. We both looked to the skies.

“I’ve exceeded my time limit. I must be off.” And with that, the embodiment of wisdom poofed and disappeared, leaving me coughing in her smoke. I arrived back at the campsite just as the sun’s first rays began to peek through the trees.

#writing #toa #toa oneshot #oneshot #fanfiction #fanfic #apollo #meg mccaffrey #athena #trials of apollo