#it puts mr. d's teeth on edge to see percy and diana high fiving in the training arena so percy makes sure to do it a l o t

[iridescentoracle]

#diana was everyone's baby sister for so long and then she gets to go play auntie for all these tiny children #she takes a particular liking to percy because she takes one look at his fighting style and goes #'hell yeah hell yeah hell yeah my beautiful reckless boy i'm gonna teach you how to get chucked off a shield' #it puts mr. d's teeth on edge to see percy and diana high fiving in the training arena so percy makes sure to do it a l o t #at some point diana meets thalia and thalia's like 'hey look we're sisters' #and diana's like 'i'm gonna teach you how to shoot someone with arrows while doing a backflip' #there are some mutterings about making diana a cabin but for the time being she just kind of couch surfs #guardian goddess of halfbloods #she didn't even know these people existed but now she does and she's putting them all in her pockets #every single one #also hello steve trevor is not dead he's a magical winter soldier #it's gonna be terrible #but also it's gonna answer a lot of questions that chb has about why diana doesn't have thirty billion children (via words-writ-in-starlight)

Is it wrong to ask what your feelings would be about a Percy Jackson/Wonder Woman crossover? I mean, I like to think that everyone would like to see Diana mother the traumatized child-soldiers that are the Greek Demi-Gods, while still respecting their own accomplishments and choices, all the while Reyna, Annabeth and Clarisse ask for autographs and "Shield Manuver" training and Percy and Aquaman tell jokes in dolphin-speak. But is that just me?

Diana doesn’t hear from the gods very much.  Her family.  It’s complicated.  Ares is…she’s not sure if Ares is dead, really, but it’s increasingly evident to her, these days, that the other gods are thoroughly alive.  Not in the ways she was raised to expect, centuries ago on Themyscira, but present nonetheless.  Sometimes when she curses aloud in her own tongue the sky rumbles with thunder.

Sometimes she dreams, and she dreams of a dark throne room with a man dressed in black, and he sighs over her unmarked hands and sends her away with no, no, he is not here and I cannot help you.  They are not dreams, and she wakes up with scorch patterns burned into her sheets and her skin more golden than flesh-toned.  Diana is afraid of what her blood might be, after those not-dreams of a not-uncle and his empty throne room.

It’s rare, that Diana has dreams.  She suspects that this is because she is a goddess–of what, she’s not quite certain, but she destroyed a god, even if Ares still lives he was destroyed at her hands–and her mind is inviolate, her own territory in the most ingrained sense.  Morpheus has no hold on her.  

So when she falls asleep and there is a man sitting there, waiting for her, she takes a polite seat across from him and folds her hands on the conference table and says, “Hello.”

“Diana of Themyscira,” the man says, rolling the words around in his mouth.  “The lost Olympian.”

“With respect,” Diana says, “I am not of Olympus, and I do not plan to be.”

He smiles at her, when she says that.  His hair is gold and his eyes are gold and his skin is gold and light spills from his lips.

“A good answer, little sister.  The wandering Amazon, then.”  She inclines her head, just a touch, and he says, “I apologize for accosting you like this, sister.  I wasn’t sure how else to get ahold of you.”

“I have a phone,” she says, and takes a moment to enjoy the grand hilarity of it.  “I’m sure Olympus can find one, as well.”

And then her visitor laughs like the sun rising, until tears dew at the corners of his eyes, and grins at her like a boy, and says, “I like you, Diana of Themyscira.”

Diana smiles a little too.  “I like you too, Lord Apollo.  May I ask what you needed from me?”

“Not Lord,” he says, flapping his hand at her.  “And I wanted to ask you a favor.”

“I didn’t know I was in the position to be doing favors for the gods.  But,” she says, slow and considering, “I will see what can be done.”

Apollo smiles at her again and offers her an open hand across the table between them, and she delicately rests her hand in his palm.  He turns it, so that her palm faces up, her fingers loosely curled inside his.

“You will have a visitor,” he says, his eyes locked on hers.  “You’ll know her when you meet her.  When you meet her, go with her.  You’ll understand when you reach the manor house.”  He releases her hand.  “That’s my favor.”

“I have a job, Apollo,” Diana says, and it’s easier than she had expected to turn a severe look on him.  “I can’t just leave with this woman.”

“You might be surprised,” Apollo says.  “Travel safe, little sister.  And say hello to my messenger and her guardians for me.”

Diana wakes up.

Diana sits up.

Diana walks onto her balcony, looks up at the sky, and says, very clear and loud in perfect Hellenic Greek, “Apollo, please use the phone next time.”

The sun peeks out from behind a cloud overhead and she thinks she hears him laugh.

***

Three days after Diana’s unplanned chat with a god of prophecy, she is poring over a book about Spartan metallurgy when there is a knock on her door.

She opens it to find three children looking a little lost.

“Hi, my name is Rachel,” says the girl in the lead, with a mop of red curls tied up in a bun.  She has a piercing stare and the air around her tastes like sunlight.  “This might sound strange, but we’re looking for a wandering goddess of truth.  Or possibly battle.  Does that sound familiar?”

Diana studies this girl–Rachel–for a moment.  She can’t be over the age of sixteen.  Her companions, a tall boy with broad shoulders and a grim looking face and a girl with steely eyes and a pencil stuck through her ponytail, can’t be much older, for all that they both have a streak of grey in their hair and a look in their eyes like they’ve seen combat.

“Listen,” the boy says, and he sounds exasperated, like he’s been dragged through more than one apartment building already.  “If we sound crazy, could you just tell us, and we can go?  I’m beat.”

He has a gaze as bright and green-blue as the sea under sun, and sword callouses on his palms.

They are children.  Diana had not thought that they would be children.  They look so tired.

“Be polite,” the grey-eyed girl says.  She looks at Diana and says, “Ma’am?”

“My name is Diana,” she says with a faint sigh.  “I suppose you would be the messenger, then.”

“Actually I’m an oracle, but yeah, that’s us.”

“Well,” Diana says, beckoning them inside.  “Make yourselves comfortable while I pack.  Apollo sends his regards.”

[words-writ-in-starlight]

Is it wrong to ask what your feelings would be about a Percy Jackson/Wonder Woman crossover? I mean, I like to think that everyone would like to see Diana mother the traumatized child-soldiers that are the Greek Demi-Gods, while still respecting their own accomplishments and choices, all the while Reyna, Annabeth and Clarisse ask for autographs and "Shield Manuver" training and Percy and Aquaman tell jokes in dolphin-speak. But is that just me?

Diana doesn’t hear from the gods very much.  Her family.  It’s complicated.  Ares is…she’s not sure if Ares is dead, really, but it’s increasingly evident to her, these days, that the other gods are thoroughly alive.  Not in the ways she was raised to expect, centuries ago on Themyscira, but present nonetheless.  Sometimes when she curses aloud in her own tongue the sky rumbles with thunder.

Sometimes she dreams, and she dreams of a dark throne room with a man dressed in black, and he sighs over her unmarked hands and sends her away with no, no, he is not here and I cannot help you.  They are not dreams, and she wakes up with scorch patterns burned into her sheets and her skin more golden than flesh-toned.  Diana is afraid of what her blood might be, after those not-dreams of a not-uncle and his empty throne room.

It’s rare, that Diana has dreams.  She suspects that this is because she is a goddess–of what, she’s not quite certain, but she destroyed a god, even if Ares still lives he was destroyed at her hands–and her mind is inviolate, her own territory in the most ingrained sense.  Morpheus has no hold on her.  

So when she falls asleep and there is a man sitting there, waiting for her, she takes a polite seat across from him and folds her hands on the conference table and says, “Hello.”

“Diana of Themyscira,” the man says, rolling the words around in his mouth.  “The lost Olympian.”

“With respect,” Diana says, “I am not of Olympus, and I do not plan to be.”

He smiles at her, when she says that.  His hair is gold and his eyes are gold and his skin is gold and light spills from his lips.

“A good answer, little sister.  The wandering Amazon, then.”  She inclines her head, just a touch, and he says, “I apologize for accosting you like this, sister.  I wasn’t sure how else to get ahold of you.”

“I have a phone,” she says, and takes a moment to enjoy the grand hilarity of it.  “I’m sure Olympus can find one, as well.”

And then her visitor laughs like the sun rising, until tears dew at the corners of his eyes, and grins at her like a boy, and says, “I like you, Diana of Themyscira.”

Diana smiles a little too.  “I like you too, Lord Apollo.  May I ask what you needed from me?”

“Not Lord,” he says, flapping his hand at her.  “And I wanted to ask you a favor.”

“I didn’t know I was in the position to be doing favors for the gods.  But,” she says, slow and considering, “I will see what can be done.”

Apollo smiles at her again and offers her an open hand across the table between them, and she delicately rests her hand in his palm.  He turns it, so that her palm faces up, her fingers loosely curled inside his.

“You will have a visitor,” he says, his eyes locked on hers.  “You’ll know her when you meet her.  When you meet her, go with her.  You’ll understand when you reach the manor house.”  He releases her hand.  “That’s my favor.”

“I have a job, Apollo,” Diana says, and it’s easier than she had expected to turn a severe look on him.  “I can’t just leave with this woman.”

“You might be surprised,” Apollo says.  “Travel safe, little sister.  And say hello to my messenger and her guardians for me.”

Diana wakes up.

Diana sits up.

Diana walks onto her balcony, looks up at the sky, and says, very clear and loud in perfect Hellenic Greek, “Apollo, please use the phone next time.”

The sun peeks out from behind a cloud overhead and she thinks she hears him laugh.

***

Three days after Diana’s unplanned chat with a god of prophecy, she is poring over a book about Spartan metallurgy when there is a knock on her door.

She opens it to find three children looking a little lost.

“Hi, my name is Rachel,” says the girl in the lead, with a mop of red curls tied up in a bun.  She has a piercing stare and the air around her tastes like sunlight.  “This might sound strange, but we’re looking for a wandering goddess of truth.  Or possibly battle.  Does that sound familiar?”

Diana studies this girl–Rachel–for a moment.  She can’t be over the age of sixteen.  Her companions, a tall boy with broad shoulders and a grim looking face and a girl with steely eyes and a pencil stuck through her ponytail, can’t be much older, for all that they both have a streak of grey in their hair and a look in their eyes like they’ve seen combat.

“Listen,” the boy says, and he sounds exasperated, like he’s been dragged through more than one apartment building already.  “If we sound crazy, could you just tell us, and we can go?  I’m beat.”

He has a gaze as bright and green-blue as the sea under sun, and sword callouses on his palms.

They are children.  Diana had not thought that they would be children.  They look so tired.

“Be polite,” the grey-eyed girl says.  She looks at Diana and says, “Ma’am?”

“My name is Diana,” she says with a faint sigh.  “I suppose you would be the messenger, then.”

“Actually I’m an oracle, but yeah, that’s us.”

“Well,” Diana says, beckoning them inside.  “Make yourselves comfortable while I pack.  Apollo sends his regards.”

[blue-ink-pearls]

#diana at camp halfblood au #hi hello diana would be a great teacher???? #diana goddess of truth justice and the human race #reporting for goddamn duty #i didn't actually get around to reading the second series because $$$$$ but please accept this offering #i love it #i'm love this idea #diana was everyone's baby sister for so long and then she gets to go play auntie for all these tiny children #she takes a particular liking to percy because she takes one look at his fighting style and goes #'hell yeah hell yeah hell yeah my beautiful reckless boy i'm gonna teach you how to get chucked off a shield' #it puts mr. d's teeth on edge to see percy and diana high fiving in the training arena so percy makes sure to do it a l o t #at some point diana meets thalia and thalia's like 'hey look we're sisters' #and diana's like 'i'm gonna teach you how to shoot someone with arrows while doing a backflip' #there are some mutterings about making diana a cabin but for the time being she just kind of couch surfs #guardian goddess of halfbloods #she didn't even know these people existed but now she does and she's putting them all in her pockets #every single one #also hello steve trevor is not dead he's a magical winter soldier #it's gonna be terrible #but also it's gonna answer a lot of questions that chb has about why diana doesn't have thirty billion children #sorry about this impromptu fic but like #i'm thrilled with it so i'm not that sorry (@words-writ-in-starlight )

Is it wrong to ask what your feelings would be about a Percy Jackson/Wonder Woman crossover? I mean, I like to think that everyone would like to see Diana mother the traumatized child-soldiers that are the Greek Demi-Gods, while still respecting their own accomplishments and choices, all the while Reyna, Annabeth and Clarisse ask for autographs and "Shield Manuver" training and Percy and Aquaman tell jokes in dolphin-speak. But is that just me?

Diana doesn’t hear from the gods very much.  Her family.  It’s complicated.  Ares is…she’s not sure if Ares is dead, really, but it’s increasingly evident to her, these days, that the other gods are thoroughly alive.  Not in the ways she was raised to expect, centuries ago on Themyscira, but present nonetheless.  Sometimes when she curses aloud in her own tongue the sky rumbles with thunder.

Sometimes she dreams, and she dreams of a dark throne room with a man dressed in black, and he sighs over her unmarked hands and sends her away with no, no, he is not here and I cannot help you.  They are not dreams, and she wakes up with scorch patterns burned into her sheets and her skin more golden than flesh-toned.  Diana is afraid of what her blood might be, after those not-dreams of a not-uncle and his empty throne room.

It’s rare, that Diana has dreams.  She suspects that this is because she is a goddess–of what, she’s not quite certain, but she destroyed a god, even if Ares still lives he was destroyed at her hands–and her mind is inviolate, her own territory in the most ingrained sense.  Morpheus has no hold on her.  

So when she falls asleep and there is a man sitting there, waiting for her, she takes a polite seat across from him and folds her hands on the conference table and says, “Hello.”

“Diana of Themyscira,” the man says, rolling the words around in his mouth.  “The lost Olympian.”

“With respect,” Diana says, “I am not of Olympus, and I do not plan to be.”

He smiles at her, when she says that.  His hair is gold and his eyes are gold and his skin is gold and light spills from his lips.

“A good answer, little sister.  The wandering Amazon, then.”  She inclines her head, just a touch, and he says, “I apologize for accosting you like this, sister.  I wasn’t sure how else to get ahold of you.”

“I have a phone,” she says, and takes a moment to enjoy the grand hilarity of it.  “I’m sure Olympus can find one, as well.”

And then her visitor laughs like the sun rising, until tears dew at the corners of his eyes, and grins at her like a boy, and says, “I like you, Diana of Themyscira.”

Diana smiles a little too.  “I like you too, Lord Apollo.  May I ask what you needed from me?”

“Not Lord,” he says, flapping his hand at her.  “And I wanted to ask you a favor.”

“I didn’t know I was in the position to be doing favors for the gods.  But,” she says, slow and considering, “I will see what can be done.”

Apollo smiles at her again and offers her an open hand across the table between them, and she delicately rests her hand in his palm.  He turns it, so that her palm faces up, her fingers loosely curled inside his.

“You will have a visitor,” he says, his eyes locked on hers.  “You’ll know her when you meet her.  When you meet her, go with her.  You’ll understand when you reach the manor house.”  He releases her hand.  “That’s my favor.”

“I have a job, Apollo,” Diana says, and it’s easier than she had expected to turn a severe look on him.  “I can’t just leave with this woman.”

“You might be surprised,” Apollo says.  “Travel safe, little sister.  And say hello to my messenger and her guardians for me.”

Diana wakes up.

Diana sits up.

Diana walks onto her balcony, looks up at the sky, and says, very clear and loud in perfect Hellenic Greek, “Apollo, please use the phone next time.”

The sun peeks out from behind a cloud overhead and she thinks she hears him laugh.

***

Three days after Diana’s unplanned chat with a god of prophecy, she is poring over a book about Spartan metallurgy when there is a knock on her door.

She opens it to find three children looking a little lost.

“Hi, my name is Rachel,” says the girl in the lead, with a mop of red curls tied up in a bun.  She has a piercing stare and the air around her tastes like sunlight.  “This might sound strange, but we’re looking for a wandering goddess of truth.  Or possibly battle.  Does that sound familiar?”

Diana studies this girl–Rachel–for a moment.  She can’t be over the age of sixteen.  Her companions, a tall boy with broad shoulders and a grim looking face and a girl with steely eyes and a pencil stuck through her ponytail, can’t be much older, for all that they both have a streak of grey in their hair and a look in their eyes like they’ve seen combat.

“Listen,” the boy says, and he sounds exasperated, like he’s been dragged through more than one apartment building already.  “If we sound crazy, could you just tell us, and we can go?  I’m beat.”

He has a gaze as bright and green-blue as the sea under sun, and sword callouses on his palms.

They are children.  Diana had not thought that they would be children.  They look so tired.

“Be polite,” the grey-eyed girl says.  She looks at Diana and says, “Ma’am?”

“My name is Diana,” she says with a faint sigh.  “I suppose you would be the messenger, then.”

“Actually I’m an oracle, but yeah, that’s us.”

“Well,” Diana says, beckoning them inside.  “Make yourselves comfortable while I pack.  Apollo sends his regards.”