the seven deadly sinners

i. hazel, greed

There aren't too many memories Hazel can look back on with a fond heart. It seems as if she's been in a constant limbo the entirety of her thirteen years, new obstacles littering every corner of her godly existence. She knows it comes with the territory, knows her misery comes a dime a dozen in her line of genus; no demigod ever claimed to have it easy.

But, frankly, she's getting kinda sick of it.

Every moment she could have longed for, any point in her life she could have wished to return to with any single piece of her being is tarnished. Long before camp or meeting the seven or her Alaskan cave death, Hazel's soul had been tied to a deadly curse. The one she was born with—the one that brought her into this world with no room for freedom.

And Hazel is tired. She's fed up babysitting others' greed, controlling their tendencies. If there weren't fatal gems and stones following her every waking footstep, maybe she could have had a shot at a halfway decent life, even as the demigod daughter of Pluto. But, of course, that's only wishful thinking and nowhere near accurate as to how it all pans out. No rest from surveillance, she's forced to remain watchful at all times, protecting her schoolmates, fellow campers, friends from a curse she's not done a thing to merit. Part of her resents her mother for releasing it onto her so recklessly, then lying about who was truly at fault. She resents her father for allowing the witch to get away with it in the first place.

At least she thought she could handle the curse. She thought she could take control of her life and stop living in fear. But that changes soon enough, because there's a girl from camp, and she sneaks up on Hazel, she really does. It's too late for her to notice the seven-year-old daughter of Ceres discovering a pea-sized ruby in the dust of Hazel's footprints, until she later learns of a mysterious accident causing the girl to run the camp amuck, wide-eyed and foaming at the mouth. A child with so much time, so much opportunity ahead of her is newly certified insane with a red gem pressed amateurly into the leather of her headband, and Hazel doesn't know how to handle herself. She can't keep handling the lasting greed of every living creature around her—not if she wants to stay sane, herself. And it's at this moment that she realizes it will never get easier. People will never appreciate rare stones and metals any less than they did in her first life, and then again in the second—how could she expect them to? She will never be able to control all the hunger that saturates the human race. Ultimately, Hazel is powerless against the threat of greed.

She wishes for a day, a time in the future, where the earth is devoid of its fatal desire for riches. She thinks she deserves more, she longs for the freedom each human born into this world is entitled to. And that's the kind of greed that will overwhelm her being. Because she wants more for herself. Craves it in each discovery gone wrong.

And she's afraid of what lengths she'd go to, to achieve her desires. To rid herself of her curse.

ii. jason, sloth

The world around him shouldn't leave a trail as his head moves. The trees should not follow each other's image like siblings in a game of tag. Percy should definitely not have more than three heads.

"Man, that pole really got you good, Jason." Piper is blotting his forehead with a cool paper towel, stained equal parts brown and red. His vision swims as he looks again to his left to find Percy, wrinkled brows and squinted eyes taking in the sight of him.

"Will he be okay enough to take his guard shift later tonight?" Percy asks, broadening his shoulders as he talks to Piper. The girl levels a glare at him that provides enough of an answer, at least by Jason's standards, but Percy seems defensive. "You know I wouldn't ask if Frank hadn't taken watch the last three nights, Piper."

"He needs to rest easy. Who knows if he's concussed? It's not like there're any doctors aboard this stupid ship, or gods forbid an Apollo kid."

"I was almost an Apollo kid," Frank says as he enters the med room, carrying worry on his expression like a second layer of skin. "It's alright, guys. I can take his guard shift tonight."

Percy immediately holds up a hand, hushing his friend. "No. Get some rest, Frank. I'll take it." Jason wants to protest, wants to say he's fine. Tell them to stop babying him. But his mouth won't move when he commands it to, and he knows his protests would all have been a lie, anyway.

He hates this—having his hands tied behind his back. He feels weak as his friends talk over him like he can't speak for himself—even if he can't. He hates that they have to in the first place, but only running through a thought process has answered him with enough confusion to almost forget the topic of conversation in the first place.

Annabeth must have arrived while Jason was internally gathering himself, because she leans against the doorjamb, frowning with her arms folded over her chest. "Percy you've been on watch all day. Someone else will take over."

Even with his muddled thoughts, Jason can gather from Percy's expression that he does not like the sound of that. Again, he is overcome with a feeling of incompetence and wants to argue that he is capable of carrying his own duties. He hates himself. Hates that he put his friends in a position necessary to pick up his slack. But as he tries to communicate this, his head lolls to the side and he can't get his tongue to feel normal in his mouth.

Obviously noticing his distress, Piper reaches over to rub his shoulder. Her expression is one of pity and Jason blinks heavily to erase the image. Percy and Annabeth leave the room in a flurry of curt whispers—arguing; Frank lingers only a few moments, looking like he wants to say something to assure Jason that they're apt to handle his absence, but ultimately draws up empty and follows the couple out.

All the reassurances in the world would fall on deaf ears; Jason is guilty of ineptitude. How is he supposed to save the world if he can't even keep his head unscathed on his shoulders? Fighting a cloud of remorse and self-doubt, he gently sends Piper for water so he can begin to settle his swirling thoughts enough to formulate a plan to get him back in commission as soon as possible.

iii. leo, gluttony

It's about time Leo took a break. He's spent all morning trying to stop Buford the Table from yelling out obscenities at Percy and Annabeth, but the stupid thing has given him nothing but trouble. Truthfully, he thinks Buford's maybe a little jealous of Annabeth. He always seemed to pick on Percy the most—Leo couldn't blame him. Percy was a pretty good-looking guy.

But that table had put up a fight and it really took the energy out of Leo. He wipes the sweat from his forehead, sinking down onto the floor of the control room. He only wants a few minutes to himself; is it really so much to ask for when sharing the tight quarters with six other demigods in love?

It makes him sick.

He reaches into the enchanted cooler, pulling out a bag of Cheetos. Man, he loves Cheetos. The sticky, orange powder coats his fingers, and he ignores the dirt and grime embedded under his nails as he sucks each digit clean. He knows he should be paying attention to the controls at least, but gods dammit, he just wanted a break. Turning in the other direction, he pulls a submarine sandwich from the cooler, along with a glass of milk.

Turkey and swiss. His go-to. He eats slowly, savoring the taste and maybe exercising a bit of spite. He can take breaks, okay? He's entitled to that much. Finishing off the sandwich and the Cheetos, he slurps the milk until the glass is drained. His eyes start to flutter, drowsy from exhaustion and a full stomach. How long had it been since he slept? Two days?

His eyes shut before he can tell himself it's a bad idea.

…

When he wakes, it's at the hand of the wickedly bleeping controls stationed behind him. He jumps to his feet, eyes squinting in attempt to clear the sleep from them as alarm shoots through his veins.

He immediately begins smashing buttons, running diagnostics tests and trying to figure out what the heck was going on with his ship. It's only then that he hears the shouts of his friends above him, and the screen lights up with flashing green codes. The oars on the starboard side of the vessel are not in functioning condition and if the mighty roar that's just sounded above him is any indication, he'd say he might know why.

Clumsily, he pulls the first weapon that comes to mind from his toolbelt—which, okay, a wrench is not exactly ideal or handy, but it'll do for the time being. He stumbles up the stairs, his knees weak from the nap he hasn't quite shaken off yet, and flies onto the deck to reveal the sight of a giant monster with snarling yellow teeth and acrid breath destroying the right side of his beautiful trireme.

Percy is overboard, riding waves and throwing them over the beast's head, but it isn't doing much as he avidly tries to avoid drowning his friends on board. Piper's shooting dramatically oversized onions and cloves of garlic into the monster's throat as he yowls, and Leo realizes where the awful odor is coming from.

"Leo!" he hears someone call, and looks to see Annabeth and Frank crouched behind an overturned table. "Stop gawking and go help them, would you!" Annabeth hisses. Frank's trembling hands cradle her head, smoothing a bandage over a nasty looking cut on her forehead. A furious fit of seawater slams into the table, and they both duck. "Fuck, Leo, now!"

He springs into action, throwing the wrench into the monster's yellow eye as he tries to swallow back the guilt that threatens to make him vomit. If he'd been awake, he would have seen the ugly thing come over the radar. He wills his hands to get hot, imagines red flames engulfing his palms and hopes to the gods that this thing's ugly leather skin isn't fireproof.

It's at least an hour before the beast disintegrates into a storm of sulfurous yellow dust. The cut on Annabeth's head is deep, and she lost a lot of blood throwing herself back into the fight after Frank patched her up to the best of his ability. Jason is limping and Percy's eyes are black moons of exhaustion. Hazel is unconscious. When the team retreats to rush her into the med room, carrying her limp body like it was made of glass and sending Piper to run for ambrosia and nectar, Leo lets the sour feeling of guilt overwhelm him.

His eyes water and his stomach clenches—he loses what lunch remained in him over the side of the ship.

iv. annabeth, pride

"Why can't you just let it go?"

Piper's eyes are tired, but her jaw is razor sharp. Annabeth thinks those swirling rainbow irises aren't exactly fair.

"I need to get back out there." Annabeth scrambles for an excuse. "—They need our help! We can't abandon them!"

Snorting, Piper rolls her eyes. "No," she says it like it's law. With her charmspeak, it just might be. "They about had the thing finished off before we ducked out. The others have it covered. And you almost got captured out there, Annabeth—what's going on with you?"

Piper helps Annabeth out of her ratty T-shirt, taking in red splotches of early bruising along her torso from where the monster had gripped her. "See?" Annabeth chirps, trying not to breathe in too much air, because it hurt when her lungs expanded. "I'm alright. So, I'll just—"

"Annabeth," Piper warns, reaching out to flick her bra strap against her shoulder. "You're not going anywhere. We're going to treat you and you are going to rest."

"I'm fine," Annabeth argues, knowing it's not true. She might have cracked a rib, but she's not about to tell Piper that. She needs to get back out there. Needs to prove herself.

Suddenly, the daughter of Aphrodite looks far too understanding for Annabeth's tastes, taking on a look of sympathy. "Hey" she says, when Annabeth tries to turn away from her. "Is this about what that thing said? Dude, you know—"

"It's not," she rejects quickly, skin heating up. "I just want to make sure our friends are okay."

"He called you a sidekick."

"I know."

Piper huffs. "What that monster said was bull, Annabeth. He was only goading you and it worked. He almost got you. We would have been devastated if something had happened out there—Percy would have lost it."

Annabeth and cyclopes never really got along before Tyson became a part of her life. After the incident with Luke and Thalia, she'd always had a specialized fear of them. But—she was past it, okay? Nothing but a childhood fear; she knew there were more important things to be afraid of.

Maybe she was embarrassed, and her pride was a little broken. Fine. It's just, as soon as it became apparent that the monster was indeed a cyclops, Percy's eyes had immediately snapped to her, like she was going to have a mental breakdown at the sight of it. Something that was not lost on the monster.

He'd mocked and taunted her, putting her down like he knew every last way how to get under her skin, down to her deadly flaw.

He had known exactly what to say to get her to lose focus. She was so bothered trying to prove herself as not just a sidekick, she'd gone and gotten herself almost captured. She remembered what it was like to have her face pressed into his smelly, damp chest as his arms locked tight around her body. His grip was so unrelenting, she could feel her bones trembling to stay in one piece.

Sighing, Annabeth lets her head drop into her hands. "Percy was worried about me before we even started fighting," she mumbles morosely.

The bed dips as Piper sits by her feet. "It's Percy," she says. "He worries about everyone at all times of everyday. He's a mama bear protecting his cubs. You know that."

Annabeth snorts, tries to let go of the pressing need inside of her that demands she storm back outside and show everyone exactly what she's made of—Athenian mind and matter. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Percy's a dork, but he's my dork."

"That's what I thought. Now let's ice this bruise—you looked like a badass warrior princess out there when you broke his hold, but you're gonna be sore for days."

v. frank, envy

Since he was a child, Frank Zhang felt insecure. From the mere beginnings of his life, not feeling Chinese enough for his strict grandmother, and not feeling western enough for his Canadian classmates, Frank's had enough.

His mother always used to tell him he was strong, the strongest cub she knew. And he felt proud in those moments; they were the times he had faith in himself. But after Emily Zhang's death, there was nothing to lead him on. No one willing to build his lacking ego or fuel his self esteem. From then on, Frank was caught a mere work in progress.

Then he arrived at an amazing Roman camp, with strong leaders and kick ass forces on his side, he only slightly felt whole. He knew he wanted it, wanted to be one of the impressionable praetors the little kids looked up to. But even his dad refused to claim him, and what was Frank supposed to take from that—bubbling self-confidence and an unyielding sense of pride? Not likely. Nobody wanted to stand for Frank, help him rise above probatio. Not even his own blood.

When he met Hazel, though, it was better—he felt better. More united with himself than he could ever remember being. She didn't make fun of the little pudge looming over his stomach region, or joke at his expense. She was patient, kind-hearted and seriously brave, and it was embarrassingly soon that Frank knew he liked her. More than just she-doesn't-bully-me-so-I-guess-she's-cool like, but like-like. And it scared the crap out of him.

He felt challenged, even when he knew he had nothing to worry about. When Leo Valdez came into the picture, he couldn't bite back the insecurity—he could hardly stand the guy. The smarmy Mexican was everything Frank wasn't: confident, laid-back, funny. Then there was Jason and Piper, who were kick-ass fighters with both camps rooting for them. Annabeth and Percy were outrageously clever and could outsmart any enemy they were faced with. And Frank...Frank could turn into a goldfish. Sometimes.

It wasn't that he doubted his power, he thought it was pretty useful more times than not. But without the knowledge or the bravery to use it, Frank was envious; he wanted to be more for not only his friends, but himself, too. He battled his insecurities daily, and he knew these people around him were his friends, but that didn't swallow the darkness inside of him that desired more for himself. He wanted to stand by his friends, equal in power and strength.

But he'll never be them. He will never be anyone other than Frank Zhang, no matter how much he wants it sometimes. And learning to live with that is one of the hardest things he'll face, he's beginning to understand.

vi . piper, lust

If she hears one more cat-call, she'll knock the kid so far into the future they'll show up in the next great prophecy. Although, knowing the track record for those things lately, that might not be so far away.

Piper can deal with the blushing, she realizes. Possibly even the drooling and the ogling. But one thing she will absolutely not stand for is amateur flirting as she's trying to train eleven-year-olds how to use their knives—tools that will keep them alive.

Whether it be those retched twin sons of Hermes or any other slew of teenaged demigod kids, she's beyond irritated with the attention. A wink is thrown in her direction—a semi-attractive son of Apollo—and Piper wants to pull her own teeth out. Funny, it might just work, because they probably wouldn't like her as much then.

"McLeeean!" He croons from the strawberry fields, where an irritated son of Demeter glares at him for stomping over the delicate vines. "I can show you how I use my sword!"

A flash of irritation heats her blood and she finds herself calling out a reply without stopping to think of the consequences. "Knives, Lloyd! We're working with knives. Smaller. Less impressive. I'm sure you're familiar with that feeling."

As his face begins to resemble a cherry with the awfully bright hue it's taken on and the eleven year olds cackle in juvenile mirth, Piper feels a trickle of guilt drip down her spine. The confident set of her shoulders crumbles for only a moment as she watches Lloyd stalk off, before she takes control of her group and helps them to refocus.

Sometimes she forgets how weak young kids can be, especially compared to her normally strong resolve. She doesn't notice the collar of Jason's smooth-worn flannel drooping off her shoulder, exposing a chunk of sweat-misted skin. Only after a painful squeak and the sight of gushing blood, she realizes something has gone wrong.

The children back off instinctively, forming a ring around the kid whose arm's just been slashed open by the blushing, bug-eyed girl standing next to him. He holds the wounded flesh tightly in his hand, though his eyes fixate in a glare at the girl beside him.

"Reese! What happened?" Piper yells when she approaches. His expression turns a little dopey as his eyes move to her, but he hasn't lost enough blood yet to merit that look—the one that kind of matches the young girl who scratched him—so she follows his gaze. Which lands directly at the uncovered strap of her bra.

Embarrassed, she quickly adjusts Jason's shirt on her, seeing a few other campers with eyes a little too wide, pupils a little too dilated. "Tyler!" she calls to a boy she knows is one of Reese's brothers. "Help Reese to the infirmary, please." Her posture droops with frustration and guilt once again as the boys begin to hobble down the hill. "We're done for today, guys," she tells the rest of them, an especially apologetic look directed at the girl she distracted with her accidental exposure.

She'd known Jason's shirt hadn't fit her just right, but she'd been unwilling to take it off this morning. A wicked part deep inside of her wanted to wear it as a reminder of the long night she'd spent with her boyfriend. Shame weighs down on her; her effort to last out her own lust has caused harm to another person.

Heading back to her cabin, she exchanges the green and navy flannel for a bright orange, unsexy Camp Half-Blood t-shirt. Even so, she walks around camp feeling like she has a secret, like she has to cover herself up for the good of everyone around her. And it feels something like a failure.

vii. percy, wrath

They'd been on a date.

The only thing he'd wanted out of the night was to watch a movie at one of the local theaters, eat his weight in popcorn and maybe shuck an arm around his girlfriend under the guise of a yawn like they always did on TV.

But he hadn't taken into consideration the arrival of two empousai.

The beasts cornered them in the alley just before they made it to the entrance of the cinema, immediately making good on their threats to attack with the intent to consume their rich demigod goodness. Percy takes on one and Annabeth fights the other.

It isn't long before he's got the upperhand, holding Riptide against the monster's throat. Panic swells in her pupils, but Percy feels no mercy as he turns her to dust. A shot of adrenaline spikes through him just as it always does when he wins a battle. Quickly, he spins around to join his girlfriend in her brawl.

He can only watch what happens next.

Horror strikes him in the most excruciating of ways, because by the time he's there, it's too late to stop what occurs. He can only watch powerlessly as the monster rakes her black claws over Annabeth's throat, down her chest, shredding her school uniform button-down and staining it red.

A sound of agony slips from her mouth as she crumbles to the ground, curling her body inward to protect her mangled skin. She chokes out a cry and a bubble of blood bursts from her mouth, splattering her lips a filthy maroon. The evil seductress laughs.

Something inexplicably ferocious and scorching rises inside of him, so powerful, he loses vision for a couple of seconds. When the world comes back to him, he forces his eyes off of Annabeth—because each second he has to endure the sight of the most important person to him helpless and lacerated on the grimy alleyway pavement, the white hot burn inside his chest and limbs threatens to overtake him before he can make sure the fate of the empousa is as ghastly and gruesome as his enraged mind can invent. Humanity seems to escape his mind, throwing a dirty salute over its shoulder as it slams the door shut on the way out.

Percy's hands are around the empousa's throat before he realizes he has moved. He shoves her up against the brick of the adjacent building, squeezing his hands until the monster's eyes begin to bulge. She kicks and struggles, but Percy's got the fury of a wronged lover behind his actions and nothing can rival the promise of revenge read in his eyes.

"Get your filthy hands off me," she wheezes out, aiming a particularly hard kick with her metal leg at his shin. He doesn't feel it, can't feel anything past the heat and wrath that consumes his entire godly being. He registers that Annabeth needs immediate attention, but he's got no way of bringing her to camp, without a car or a cell phone. They'd been walking. He does the only thing he can think to—he whistles high-pitched and loud, hoping Blackjack can get here sooner than at break-neck speeds.

Turning back to the empousa, his glare must broadcast something of the near maddening emotions pounding through his head because he sees her try to swallow—unsuccessfully, as his hands are still tight on her throat. He throws Riptide to the ground, a more fitting punishment coming to mind; something that'll last longer than a quick slash of his celestial bronze sword.

He imagines the extent of his powers. How far can he go? Memories of Tartarus blaze through his mind, and he remembers being able to manipulate poison to his bidding. Something inside of him jumps as it tries to warn him, tries to remind him of what Annabeth told him that very same day. "Some things aren't meant to be controlled," she'd said after begging him to show mercy.

But he can't.

Not now. Not when he sees blood-caked claws struggling to remove his hands, or the images of her bloodied on the ground behind him play out against his eyelids each time he blinks. An ugly, ugly feeling has control of him. He's given up the reigns to his emotions.

He hears Annabeth whimpering as she struggled to move her injured body. He wants to call for her to stay still, to wait for Blackjack to show up and take her back to camp, the infirmary, or a hospital. But he can't manage to say her name without losing the fight in him, and letting the stupid empousa put him out of commission, too. The fire inside of him surges, twisting his gut and filling him with a hatred so intense, the heat inside of him goes ice cold. Or, in fact, so hot, he's beginning to lose sense of feeling.

He imagines the monster's mind, sitting in her skull. He imagines the fluid cradling her most vital organ. In his imagination, he watches it bubble. Slowly. Then, sizzle, until it's boiling. He imagines it gets hotter and hotter until it's unbearable. The heat inside of him is transferred into her skull, until he can see that it has actually taken effect. Her skin heats up, her eyes water, blood leaks from her ears and nose.

Percy is melting her mind.

The terror in her eyes should horrify him, but he's sick. He's gratified to know she's suffering. He thinks again of Annabeth, of the flesh of her neck and chest being ripped open. Of her blood spilling onto the unworthy asphalt beneath her. His hands around the beast's throat pulse, gripping with everything he has. The image of her brain inside of his mind is repulsive and grisly and it only gets worse, until the empousa's body quakes in seizure-like fits.

"Percy, no!" Annabeth gurgles. He can hear her trying to get up, but she's too weak. She's losing blood, and if Blackjack doesn't get here soon, Percy thinks he might just lose his mind. "Stop... this—this isn't you!"

But it is, he thinks. Akhyls can attest to that. He stopped being himself the second he realized everything in this gods forsaken world was out to get him and everyone he loved. The empousa jerks in another spasm.

Her words are slurred. "Percy, you're good. D—Don't do this. Please, don't do this. Pick up Riptide..."

The wrath rocketing inside of him certainly doesn't feel good. It shoots up both of his arms, feeding off of the monster's suffering. It wells up in his chest, squeezing his lungs, knowing the excruciating pain Annabeth has to be in. How close she is to losing too much blood. But his grip slackens, because he turns his head, and now that he sees her, the look in her eyes drives rational thought back into his mind.

He can't do this to her again. She needs him right now, and he's a selfish, sorry excuse for a boyfriend to deem his revenge more important.

Quick as a gunshot, he drops to a crouch, lunging for his discarded sword. The empousa clumsily gasps for breath, but Percy doesn't give her a moment to recoup before he's slashing through her with his magical bronze.

She burst into a cloud of yellow.

Choking back the acrid stench, he wipes his blurring eyes as he falls to his knees beside Annabeth. The pavement digs into his kneecaps and rips holes into his jeans. Her breaths are fluttering, but she slides her arms around his neck as a different kind of sting takes over his eyes. "Y—you're better than your anger, Percy," she whispers into his neck, knowing exactly the kind of internal struggle he's faced since their walk through Hell, and the tears leak out of his eyes.

"I'm so sorry," he rasps, because how could he?

She hushes him, fingers trailing through his hair and gripping hard. Steady. The anger that purged from him is long gone, leaving chills and the ghost of a burning sensation tickling the inside of his skin. He shivers, again and again, teeth chattering. He's never felt this cold.

The sound of hooves clopping onto the street breaks through to them, and Percy calls for Blackjack. There's a fanny pack slung around the horse's thick neck, something Blackjack vehemently protested at first, before Percy could convince him how much it would mean for him to carry it around. Percy digs in immediately once he's close enough, fingers quickly locating a Ziploc baggy and tearing it out to bring to Annabeth's lips. He feeds the ambrosia into her mouth as Blackjack shoots off questions into his mind, rapid-fire.

"I'll explain everything after she's okay, please, let's just go."

Blackjack agrees immediately, and Percy helps Annabeth up onto the horse, trying not to disturb her inflamed wounds—this one will leave a scar, for sure. Knowing she's in disgusting amounts of pain absolutely rips him up inside, but she's strong. And he knows that if they can get her some medical attention or a healer, she'll pull through, because she always does for him.

He dusts a kiss over her forehead, trying not to fall apart before she's able to stitch him back together. Gods, he doesn't know who he'd become without her. "Hang in there, Wise Girl," he chokes out once they take off. "You're strong enough for both of us."

Yeah this was written for Rachel's (somethingmorecreative) birthday which was in JULY and I've just finished it now. I am so sorry if you've endured this mess. IOU.