#literally just a demigod space wizard

[sol-insidious]

Luke meditating with Grogu: "Take a deep breath and focus, little one. Feel the Force surround you and feel it deep within yourself. The Force is what binds together everything in this universe, and is what connects us to everything in turn — from the tadpoles swimming in the ponds around us, to the trillions of stars burning brightly in the night sky. The Force is life itself on the grandest and most minute of scales, and while its true nature will always remain out of our reach, the Force is with us just the same. So remember, though there will be times you will feel alone and afraid, so long as the twin suns will rise on Tatooine and the breeze will whisper through the bamboo forests on Ossus, the Force will always be with you, Grogu."

literally all that din hears: "SHADOW WIZARD MONEY GANG-"

[autumnslance]

This is a very silly ask (and feel free to ignore it completely), but do you think any of your OCs would be friends with characters from other franchises? (Fun fact, this was inspired by a piece of fanart that made me believe that Thancred and Leon Kennedy of Resident Evil fame would absolutely be friends. Or at least drinking buddies.)

Hrm, I don't often think in terms of crossovers and mashups anymore--which is funny, as one of my earliest online RP experiences was a multiverse setting where OCs from any and all settings--franchise, gaming, original, etc--could co-exist. Normal mortals teaming up with demigods from novel series and mega-damage users from RIFTS and an array of fantasy and sci-fi and horror characters in between.

I sometimes think about how my OCs in various settings would interact together; how my WoW OCs would get along, or not, with the FF14 crew, or the FF14 OCs with my D&D characters. I tend to lean into certain archetypes (bards and paladins/clerics/priests are favorites), so there'd be some overlap and things in common, and also some frustrations at similarities that grate and clash.

So I don't think too much about how they'd interact with canon figures from other settings, but any OCs I'd have in that realm instead.

Well, the adventuring parties of Actual Play shows like Critical Role (and its animated series spinoffs) is pretty easy; Vox Machina, the Mighty Nein, and Bells Hells are all as chaotic and as helpful as adventurers tend to be, for good or bad. So there'd be eye rolling and irritation, but also understanding and diving in alongside, forming friendships with the weirdos cuz well, adventurers are Like That. They're RP characters too though so might be cheating, or at least easier to figure out for me.

Vax has that sort of noble rogue energy that'd make Aeryn fond of him, while Vex would initially drive her up a wall until they reached an understanding. Scanlan's annoy the heck out of her until they got to sit down and talk for real and she saw under the vulgar exterior. Percy'd be tolerated as Insufferable Noble Trying Too Hard. She'd be patient with Grog and enjoy his overlarge childish glee at everything. And who doesn't love Pike? Literal angel with a chaotic bent herself, she adds a bit of calm when not engaging in sibling shenanigans with Grog. I think Aeryn'd relate most to Keyleth, funnily, and they'd get along decently. Tary, too, would get a lot of sympathy concerning expectations, and also nerding around with his crafts, and may make dealing with Percy a tad easier.

Of the Nein, Caduceus is a spot of calm, aroace energy. Not as right as he thinks he is about many things, but he means well and tries, and that counts for a lot. Aeryn'd have tea with him any day. She'd also be drawn to Beau's bravado and brashness and they'd get into trouble together. Same with Fjord and Caleb, really; there's a level of familiarity in how they approach things with 'let's poke it and see what happens' but also the care they have for others in general. Same with Yasha. Jester's a bright light ball of energy and oh gods her and C'oretta in the same space would be exhausting. Nott/Veth is a bit more complicated; probably depends on when in the campaign, is it before or after Veth's reunited with her family, as she undergoes a shift emotionally once she has her original self back as well as her husband and son. Molly would aggravate and charm Aeryn by turns; Kingsley she'd be sympathetic to and understand too well that living in another's shadow aspect. Essek is fine; he's a wizard to talk shop with, learn from, mess around with spellwork. Luc is a brat also in the shadow of his accomplished mom and adventuring family, and needs mentoring and guidance and a lot of patience oh gosh.

A lot of the Hells would honestly be irritating, especially Imogen's propensity to just use telepathy intrusively; girl needs a lesson in why you don't want to poke around uninvited or casually to get your answers, and a WoL's head is wilder than most. FCG needs mentoring and guidance like whoa. Fearne's also an agent of energetic chaos; fun in doses. Laudna's not so scary, very sweet and fun and sad and likely needs help she doesn't know how to ask for. Ashton's grating in his arrogance and rebelliousness for rebellion's sake (though that may shift given recent things...). Chetney's surface attitude would be annoying, but soon enough he'd be a safe and calming point, given his perceptions. Orym's also just calming and reasonable; maybe a little too much sometimes, and needs to be reminded to cut loose now and then, it's good for you (and your friends).

Dark rolls with it all; she's very easy to get along with. Iyna wouldn't be able to stand most of them. C'oretta would get along well with most everyone but lord her and Jester and/or Fearne in the same place...Terrifying!

That's one off the top of my head, after a long holiday weekend thinking about it off and on, anyway!

[queenpiranhadon]

😭

Grief is when your Alexa plays Change from Steven Universe and then immediately played the full We Are the Crystal Gems intro that Steven writes when he's 14.

spoilers below the cut!

Just think about it. Please.

Now, I know this conversation has been brought up amongst many different fandoms when it comes to leaving it to freaking CHILDREN to save the world, but just think about it from Steven's perspective.

The kid's 13 when the series starts, THIRTEEN. And to so many people including myself that's normal.

But Steven is far from normal, even more than typical coming of age/fantasy protagonists. Most of these characters, whether it be Percy Jackson, or Harry Potter, or even Sophie Foster, have had some mentor and a large group of friends to support them every step of the way.

Now obviously, no one is exactly like these people, at the time, Percy and everyone around him figured him to be the child of the Great Prophecy, and had to come to terms with dying at the tender age of 15. But Percy had the entirety of Camp Halfblood with him.

Harry was the literal Chosen One, having to fight against Voldemort, ACTUALLY DIE, and make decisions that even his predecessors couldn't do. But Harry had all of Hogwarts to back him up.

Sophie's the freaking moonlark, she's got to save the world with her funky genetics and highly powerful abilities even though she's still figuring everything out. But Sophie had all her friends, their families (sans Keefe), the Council on occasion and the entire Black Swan to aid her when she needed it.

But in Steven's universe (haha get it?) he's the only one just like him. Sure Sophie's ultra powerful, but she's not the only elf. Sure Harry's the chosen one, but he's not the only wizard. Percy's not the only demigod either.

But Steven?

He's so uniquely different, so enigmatic that absolutely no one could possibly relate to him whatsoever because his situation is so tragic and yet so intricate that he's really all alone. Sure, he has the Crystal gems, his dad, Connie, Onion, and whoever else you want to say.

But are any of them anything like him?

The gems lack human genetics, therefore he feels more vulnerable around them, not quite these celestial all mighty beings that was really never die if their gem is never shattered.

Greg, Connie, Onion, all his human friends, they experience humanity to the fullest, being able to experience aging, change, just the sheer ability to live, something Steven can do, but yet, it's still different, he's still left out, because of his gem DNA.

The diamonds? All they see is Pink Diamond, and all Steven is, is a little boy who's sick and tired of playing janitor for matters way above his own.

A fourteen year old, playing diplomat for three ultra powerful beings with attachment issues and the ability to warp their own kind??

These days, all fourteen year olds worry about are their finals, and whether or not their crush likes them (though to be fair, Steven has his own fair share of that).

But the real kicker is that everyone else had a chance at a normal life.

Harry lived without the knowledge of magic for eleven years, Percy and Sophie around the same age.

Steven was introduced to this crazy world of gems since he was born, and he loved it.

He didn't feel the stress or the burden of being who he was, he just was happy being who we was.

He never faced the struggle of just fitting in and finding out who he was in a world of chaos, he was really just…Steven

So you can imagine the horror he must’ve went through went his whole world, his space, his bubble, turns into knives the moment the lies start unraveling into one giant conspiracy.

Any other protagonist knew the dangers of their world and knew the risks they would have to face. A world of loneliness turned into one of belonging

Steven?

He had to face a world of belonging finally turning into one of loneliness.

To me, the world form of torture is to give someone happiness and then take it away.

[ahsokasupremacy]

being anakin is so funny in like the worst most awful way. he’s a literal chosen one demigod child of a prophecy but the reason the jedi council has never found him before is because he lives on a hot ass dry ass sucky ass desert planet in buttfuck nowhere on the outer rim. when qui gon meets him as a nine year old, he’s just casually like yes my mom and me are unpaid laborers yes this normal. also we have bombs in us and if you try to leave your body goes kaboom :)) then you think maybe qui gon is gonna do the right thing and free him but actually anakin, the NINE YEAR OLD is the one who saves them. and it’s by fucking podracing his hyperfixation literally comes in clutch and saves his own life. and then qui gon’s immediate reaction is “oh shit, someone should enroll this demigod kid in space wizard first grade.”

when he’s nineteen he literally jumps straight out of a window to chase down padme’s killer. he tells obi-wan that he always wanted him to be his father (to which he gets rejected and brother-zoned). literally padme even rejects him too like both of the most important figures in his life are like ew anakin no. also if you really think about it he’s the third wheel here because padme and obi-wan are actually good friends and much closer in age whereas anakin was like an annoying little brother to them. all this is despite the fact he is supposed to be THE MAIN CHARACTER in HIS MOVIE!! and then, he somehow manages to hunt down a SHAPESHIFTER. you would think that, the shapeshifter being able to change and hide their form and anakin being unable to disguise his very obvious jedi robes, this would be an easy win for the shapeshifter. oh yeah also all of this all happens literally in the same night. then like, a week later boom he’s married to padme.

later in life when he’s in the suit, everything is literally his own personal living hell. he can’t sleep or eat and the only times when he falls asleep, all his dreams are garbled nonsense overstimulating noise and a supercut of his worst moments. and then he just wakes up from that bone-chilling soul-wrenching horrifying nightmare and is like “oh well time to go to work at my dead-end job 😒 another day another slay time to kill some younglings 😐” as if it’s nothing

[unemploymentoverheaven]

apply for a job in heaven now!

hi my names alex! this is a side blog for @csharpdestroyer 

while my main is for lotf stuff this account will be for oc shenanigans, for the time being it will mostly be characters from my story Heaven is Hiring (you can read it on ao3 here)

the tag for Heaven is Hiring stuff is #heaven is hiring

if you’d like to ask any of the characters questions, you can do so via the ask tab on this profile! please do not submit asks for the heaven is hiring characters to my main, thank you

characters:

Azan (a-zan) (he/him) - a talented wizard who can’t seem to find a job. feels like a disappointment to his family. a little bit annoying but endearing.

Maumau (mao-mao) (they/them) - god of the sky and heaven’s advisor. the sort of assistant ruler of the universe. optimistic and friendly.

Heaven (heh-vin) (he/him) - the afterlife incarnate and the universal overseer. is literally the clouds that compose heaven (the place) and speaks as a disembodied voice of a 40 year old man. critical, brutally honest and mean. comic relief character

Dogowa’tt (doe-goe-waht) (he/they) - god of the sea and the moon. tries to be nice but has beef with a lot of people. owner of four cats that correspond to the four seas

Yuedoro (you-door-oh) (she/he) - god of fire/heat and the sun. rivals with Dogowa’tt. very energetic and jumps into things too quickly.

Sadoenair (sah-doe-nair) (they/he) - god of the unknown. dark, brooding and violent. often makes threats and destroys things on impulse.

Baarronnii (bar-ah-nee) (he/him) - god of the wilderness. usually agreeable but very easy to set off. very good archer and an animal lover. since he has so many double letters in his name, the other gods joke about him being the god of double letters, which he hates.

F’jan (fyan) (she/her) - god of space. curious and determined. fights with Dogowa’tt over which one of their domains should be explored more by the humans.

Non (nahn) (they/them) - god of heights. lives in a mountain and has multiple mountain goats as pets. often comments on how dense the air is at sea level, as they almost never venture down there

Iossar (eye-oh-sar) (he/they/she) - god of death. oxymoronically happily pessimistic. seems to have no soul in his eyes.

I’i (eye-eye) (they/she) - demigod of flight. just kind of appeared one day, is rumored to have been born from the Great Bird of the Outward Sea. talks a lot and has a lot of pretty stupid ideas.

Asobo (uh-soe-boe) (he/him) - former god of magic. quit because he didn’t like heaven’s policies. his shoes are what Azan is trying to fill.

relationships:

Maumau and Dogowa’tt are married.

Sadoenair and Iossar are best friends and have dubbed their duo “Mystery Demise”.

Non and I’i are dating.

F’jan and Dogowa’tt are rivals.

Yuedoro and Dogowa’tt are rivals.

Maumau and F’jan are rivals.

[docholligay]

Please rant/rave (well, we already know which one it will be here) about Harry Potter!

GEE I HOPE THIS WAS WORTH WAITING FOR

OH MY GOD. The level of hatred I have for Harry Fucking Goddamn Potter, the culture around Harry Fucking Potter, extending its poisonous tentacles even to the concept of young adult fiction, fantasy, and the United Kingdom as a country and people. 

When you being on this, you may think, “Oh, Doc will explain that Harry Potter sucks because JKR hates trans women” and I will say, oh no, dear reader, that is a fantastic reason to hate the author, and I really suggest we all continue to hate her, and perhaps not purchase the QUEEN’S TONNES of officially licensed merchandise and movies and theme parks that give her stupid little fucking hands all that cash, but no, that is not why I hate the work. There are a number of great works done by terrible people, and the further out the lens of history gets the truer this is. 

I hate Harry Potter because it fucking sucks, and mentally stifled an entire fucking generation. 

���Well, Doc, Harry Potter was really there for me when--” Oh my god I could not fucking care LESS about your personal emotion connection to “orphan wizard boy turns out to be a rich aristocrat yet somehow less woke than Cinderella though” I have personally emotional connections to hot fucking garbage pails of media properties, and if someone came barreling through talking about the myriad ways in which they were horrible, I would be like, “Oh, you aren’t fucking wrong, pal” 

Harry Potter gained wild ass popularity in part due to its magnificent sorting system of Smart, Brave, Evil, and Other, because there’s nothing liberals like more than being able to put everyone’s personality into an easily labeled box, which is why astrology is so popular, or for the intellectuals, Myers-Briggs, which is just as fake but with the veneer of science. This allowed people to give into the tribalism they so desperately liked to pretend they did not possess, and also allow them to write thinkpieces about “The misunderstood Hufflepuff” or “Slytherins aren’t all bad!” or really anything that allows them to write a very real piece about their very imagined oppression for being a part of a totally fake house in a children’s book. Excellent use of your sociology degree, Kai, I thought the addition of phrases like, ‘Content of socialization” and “axes of oppression” really spoke to the struggles you face when wearing a green and silver scarf. 

The other reason it became popular is that it’s essentially wallpaper paste formed into characters. I have read all of the books, and I could not tell you even remotely what Harry’s defining personality traits are other than “protagonist”. In American, at least, a large part of it was the fascination with all things British, with the idea of boarding school and prefects and uniforms that aren’t inexplicably chinos and polo shirts for nine year olds. It allowed children to project onto something so bland that it could be anything. And for children, THAT’S FINE. There is a great deal of bland media made for children, but what I’m speaking to is the fandom, which is largely well over the age of 18. 

Because if we look at the books, are they...actually good? Was it good, or did I experience it as a child? I mean, honestly, on a literary level, are they, or was it just like we all watched Friends, we did it because everyone else was doing it, because I have a distinct memory of a series that involves such greats as “magical geegaws with poorly defined rules that are quickly forgotten despite being able to solve later problems quickly” or “Everyone loves Harry or is a bad guy, or secretly loved Harry all along” 

Oh, speaking of, man, if this was an actual well-written book, wouldn’t it have been wild to have Snape’s whole thing be to teach us that sometimes people do good things for the wrong reasons? Instead of naming your fucking child after the guy who ‘protected you’ because he still wanted to bone your mom? “After all this time” “Always.” 

While all this could have been explained, we have Quidditch added into the mix instead because 20 pages of the goddamn Puppy Bowl is exactly what I was looking for while I was waiting for JK to move the goddamn ball on literally any of these actual magical concepts. 

Harry Potter is a fucking trust fund baby, star quarterback, who grows up to be a cop and marries his high school sweetheart. (Speaking of, why were we shocked that JKR turned out to be a piece of shit when this was and always has been the conclusion of Harry Potter? Why are liberals so fucking into this series that upholds structures like it ain’t no one’s business? It’s a series that opines that those beneath us “Muggles” should be kept in the dark from us) Literally, he finds out he is a wizard and has a dragon-guarded fucking VAULT OF CASH. At 11. It’s such a series for little tyrants, you are special from birth and need do nothing to prove it, here is a letter certifying as such. Oh, not only are you rich and the greatest seeker and have excellent quips, but also your parents were not only rebels, but the best of rebels, and so deeply involved that your parents were killed by the big bad personally, again, because you are so special. His mother’s love literally saves his ass over and over again, because he was SO SPECIAL. He fought Voldemort FROM THE BEGINNING, and WON.  It’s literally the most privilege baby fantasy in the world. 

“But Doooooooooooc, it’s for chiiiiiiiiiiiiiiildren” 

A) Yeah, and you’re 32, you’re making my fucking point about Harry Potter setting an entire generation up for intellectual failure to launch. 

B) Okay, and? I can think of a bunch of kids’ books off the top of my head that in no way require specialness to be given by birth so as to roll out the red carpet for master protagonist. The Hunger Games. Watership Down. A Series of Unfortunate Events. The Chronicles of FUCKING NARNIA, about which I have only a small handful of particularly kind things to say. I’ve never read Percy Jackson, but it’s my understanding that despite his being a literal demigod, the attitudes of the supporting cast are allowed to fall between the extremes of “Appreciates Percy” and “naughty or will learn” Harry does nothing to improve himself even after knowing that he is HUNTED BY THE BIG BAD! “I won’t do this because I don’t like Snape”. So There” which, again, if this series were written with the slightest bit of care or know-how, could be a humbling fucking plot point! BUT NO THAT WOULD BE NAUGHTY. 

But the real reason I hate Harry Potter so much has everything to do with the fandom surrounding it, and how it intellectually stunted a generation of adults. The promise of Harry Potter was that it was supposed to make a new generation of readers, and so the popularity of them was pushed, and so there was discussion of teaching them in schools, but I tell you fucking what, I know a whole lot more folks who grew up reading Harry Potter that never advanced beyond reading YA, or even just rereading the entire series every year and that’s pretty much them done and dusted. 

In the attempt to recapture whatever it was about Harry Potter that attracted children (A lot of it was your peers doing it. I read them all as they came out, and it was literally the equivalent of watching the game so you could talk at the water cooler. That was never going to be recaptured) people, who by this time were likely in their teens, kept getting recommended stuff at the same and same level. No one ever felt pushed to read things that are challenging, to read things that have some of the concepts or themes of Harry Potter but maybe complicate. I know FAR more adults who read adult books that aren’t into Harry Potter, even if they were as children, than the reverse. 

But Doc, why is reading only books meant for 14 year olds a problem??? I mean I suppose I can’t convince you that comfort is not the job of literature or of life, it is the job of an easy chair, because Americans especially are decadent as fuck about being comfy cozy all the time and if anything causes them distress or pain it should be immediately avoided. But Maybe I can convince you that you’re fucking up these books for actual ass children who deserve to have their own writing section without adults bringing their fucking asses into it. They deserve their own spaces. There’s a number of YA editors who have talked about the difficult space YA now occupies because since Potter’s blowup, it’s no longer a niche category, but basically “adult easy reads” and so they have been buying books that are more about the tastes of adult buyers than of literal 14 year olds. 

Is that not...sad? To anyone else? Honestly, and this is not part of the essay because it’s a broader reaching problem, but CHILDREN’S MEDIA IS NOT FOR US. CHILDREN’S MEDIA IS NOT FOR US. CHILDREN’S MEDIA IS FOR FUCKING CHILDREN. The fucking 40-23 set really needs to get their shit together and grow up a little bit and engage in some fucking adult media, and maybe, if we support what we’re actually looking for FOR ADULTS, it will come to us. No one is saying you can’t read Harry Potter or watch some Cartoon Network show, but like, search your heart and come the fuck on. Engage in something more complex. If not for yourselves, for the kids getting shoved into simplified adult stories. It should not be about us. 

ANYWAY, my larger point is that it was Harry Potter, a badly written series about a magical boy who was chosen and magic and also rich and also a favorite of the headmaster and also more clever than most adults and also spoke the same magical snake language as the big bad and was also star quarterback, but at least there was a system in which you could buy a scarf in block colors and feel like you belonged to a team. 

(But not a sports team! lol handegg! I’m cool I don’t get into sports! Except Quidditch.) 

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 25

first time reader click here

TWs/SUMMARY: Drugs and alcohol. Vague reference to Britishguy Funnyname being Smaug. Gen-Z humor. Reader throwing it back. You can pry my headcanon of Sam being a good dancer from my cold, dead hands.

I literally have a playlist titled "party in Stark tower but a Gen-Z is the DJ". It's good for house parties & dancing. Throw it back my ladies theybies and gentlemen ✌🏻😔

As soon as we heard the muted cheering coming from the spot we'd last seen our friends, my and Loki's head minutely turned in that direction, and only centuries of practice on his end prevented us from colliding with another couple dancing nearby.

Stephen Strange was a... Vision. He was something else, for sure, tight black suit with a sophisticated scale pattern shining silver in the candlelight; the same pattern decorating parts of his face and head, convoluting in a set of small, raised grey-white horns. And his eyes - his eyes glowed like the molten embers of an unholy fire, yellow and gold. He looked terrifying and dangerous and delicious.

And he was looking at us, a cocky smirk on his pale lips and a glass of scotch idly held in a black, gloved hand.

Loki cleared his throat.

I averted my gaze, briefly locking my eyes with Loki's - red and wide. So I wasn't the only one that felt an indescribable sort of animalistic magnetism when looking at the Sorcerer Supreme. "Magic?" I asked, to take my mind off the awkwardness.

"Indeed," Loki replied curtly, stepping slightly closer to me. "Simplistic, but powerful magic. It seems like you had struck a sensitive spot within the Sorcerer," With a great deal of teasing, Loki grinned his trademark 'I-am-trouble' grin.

I chewed on my lip in thought. Low confidence much, Stephen? "We can both agree he is hot as fuck, a gorgeous piece of man, and continue with our party," I spoke after a brief moment, raising an eyebrow towards Loki, hoping to cut the shit at its roots. The trickster couldn't pretend he was unaffected, I had seen his brain stutter.

"Let's shall," He smiled, for real this time, and led us back to our friends. "Strange," Loki's voice was, perhaps, a tad more breathy than usual. I wouldn't blame him for shooting his shot if Stephen actually swung that way.

"Doctor Wizard," Game face: ON, I made my biggest, most innocent eyes and fluttered my wings for the dramatic effect as I made my way back to Bruce. Tony was gone and so was his glass of whiskey - I assumed he had went to schmooze. Bruce patted his lap and I obediently sat down, placing myself nearly face-to-face with the sorcerer.

"Good evening," It took my brain a moment to register that the deep, guttural voice was coming indeed from Stephen himself. "Forgive my tardiness, I was held up at the Sanctum." He stared right at me, flashing those unbelievable eyes in what seemed like amusement. I couldn't tell.

"Smaug," My brain blurted out for some reason. I mean, the eyes, the scales, the voice...

"Touchè," He nodded, saluting me with his glass and taking a hefty swig. "I can't say I'm very trendy," The way he said the word was obviously meant to insult current fashions, "But for an old man like me, I clean up nicely." The little shit-eating grin just about killed me on the spot. Bruce chuckled behind me.

"I won't disagree," I twirled the straw of a drink Bruce had passed me, faking coyness and trying to gather my thoughts in some resemblance of an order. "The eyes are impressive."

"Thank you," Stephen chuckled. "That, and the voice, took some time and patience."

So, he noticed. I was fucked. So, so fucked. I needed more alcohol. "Where's Wanda?" I asked nobody in particular.

"She's dancing with Natasha," Bruce answered, watching me and Stephen with a knowing smirk. The green in his eyes didn't intensify and I took the brief moment to softly touch my lips to his, so quickly it might have been mistaken for a trick of the eye by any peeping stranger. Stephen's close vicinity did something to me. "Wanna go dance with the girls, Princess?" Bruce leaned away slightly, the brown of his irises flashing a glowing green. Oh, he was affected, too.

Stephen Strange, you sly, sly bastard.

"Yes, daddy," I whispered into his ear - just to watch him shudder all over and the hand on my bare thigh briefly turn green, grabbing my flesh possessively... As well as hear Stephen's sharp inhale, the brightening of his eyes. I sashayed off, satisfied with my small act of revenge.

I approached Natasha and Wanda carefully, taking care not to startle them.

"Finally," The witch sighed, moving slowly and precisely to the music with Natasha by her side. "I thought I would find you and Loki in the supply closet." She sounded... Slightly jealous, to be honest.

"Nah, we were thirsting over Strange," I rebuffed the implications firmly.

Natasha whistled. "I can see why."

"I know, right? Almost got Brucie to drag me out of here caveman style with that voodoo shit," I laughed soundly, looking around for the DJ booth. The music was... Nice, but definitely not for solo or group dancing. "You wanna go with me or stay here? I'll bribe the DJ into playing something more... Dancy," I said, reaching into my bra to pull out a fat roll of cash.

"Oh, I want to see that," Natasha proclaimed, pulling me towards our destination by the hand. Wanda followed obediently and curiously. In ten minutes I spent making puppy eyes, Natasha was giving DJ her best murder face and Wanda blankly stared at the array of electronics, I became $300 poorer but the tunes playing overhead slowly turned away from dark rock and into club bass territory.

When a particular song began playing, I pulled out my two girls behind me without a twitch, snagging and downing two shots from a tray standing on the bar. "Tuesday on mind, think about you all the time..." I sang along, body falling into the familiar rhythm of bopping to house music. Natasha joined quickly whereas Wanda was a little confused... But still, she had the spirit.

Few more songs and few more shots in, I was feeling myself. Wanda was tipsy, too, as she had followed in my footsteps upon Natasha's amused urging. Slowly but surely, we danced and drank our way back to our table.

Tony and Stephen were engaged in a staring contest - which was quite funny to me in my state. Tony didn't flinch, didn't blink, just traced his thumb along his jawline just like every time he was deep in thought.

"Loki!" Wanda happily exclaimed, disrupting the tense silence with a fit of drunken giggling. "She bribed the DJ, that was so cool!" The witch snorted as me and Natasha let out slightly embarrassed laughs. Technically, Wanda was still underage and - unsurprisingly - a total lightweight.

"Let's get some fresh air, darling," Loki approached the situation courteously, holding the girl steady and gently steering her towards the patio.

I took the empty chair immediately, plopping with little grace, throwing a leg over the other and leaning back in my chair, exposing the sparkling skin of my legs.

"You're responsible for this noise?" Stephen gestured to the people dancing, now much more closely and loosely, all over the room.

"Baby girl, if you keep dancing like that, I won't mind the terrible noise," Tony winked at me salaciously, evidently having seen me throwing it back like a pro despite my heels and fancy dress. "Where'd you learn that?"

"I just had lots of practice... " I trailed off insinuatingly, eyeing each man for a moment longer than necessary. The darkness in their eyes answered all my questions, the alcohol on my blood making me much bolder in my leering towards them both. I wasn't hiding my eyes as they lazily ran over Stephen's and then Tony's form. The latter knew what it meant, usually his pants were undone in mere minutes after I looked at him like that.

Today, I was a Fae. I was supposed to be playful and I was going to play. My eyes averted before they reached Tony's, focusing instead on Natasha and being all but thrown around by an overly excited Thor. The spy took it like a champ, I doubt I could survive the space-lambada or whatever the fuck it was that the inebriated Asgardian was doing.

A somber silence hung over us, each person eyeing the others with secretive looks. Despite the situation having the full potential to be hot, it was starting to get a little bit unsettling. If I was honest with myself I had completely no idea how to party with old people. Bruce didn't seem to be the dancing kind, Strange looked way too unapproachable and Tony was well on his way to getting shitfaced. I hid behind my drink as I scouted the dance floor for Clint or Sam figuring that they probably wouldn't refuse me a dance or three.

Bingo. Sam caught my eyes quickly and made way to our table in response to the dejected look I gave him. "Sup, baby?" The Falcon-turned-Greek-demigod asked me as he promptly downed a glass of water. The sheen of sweat covering his face indicated he wasn't the one to sit around with a phat beat in the background. "Wanna bust some moves?'

"Sure do," I replied, taking hold of his outstretched hand. "Tony and Stephen are way too busy flirting to dance with me." I pouted, ignoring Tony's indignant shrieking and Sam's laughter. We found ourselves a cozy little spot between all the grinding, writhing sweaty bodies, just barely in direct eyesight of the pouting men we'd left at the table.

"Are you making moves on me now?" Sam laughed as our bodies slid close and moved to the rhythm in perfect sync. The man met all my expectations, he had all the prerequisites for being a good dancer and he did not disappoint.

"Nah, Bird, you've been friend zoned," I snarked, alcohol loosening my lips. "I already have my hands full with my geniuses, sorry man." I was twirled and spun, my hands promptly landing back on his chest. It wasn't that much different than dancing dirty during one of the house parties I used to frequent. Just a lot less pelvic thrusting...

Sam threw his head back, baring his pearly whites in mirth. "At least spare this man a good dance?" The bass dipped lower and I found myself turned around, facing Tony, Bruce and Stephen. Their smirks were dark and nearly identical as they watched me slot and sway my hips in rhythm with the man behind me. "I know you got some moves, baby, don't be shy," Sam teased me.

Who was I to deny such a polite request?Alcohol was fueling my bravery and all but evaporating my sense of shame. Aw, yiss. In short, I was throwing ass like crazy and Sam - Sam was catching it, expertly. My dress wasn't deterring me in the slightest bit, adding an extra flair to my movements. In a moment, my worries were forgotten and replaced by a rush of endorphins coming from the pure joy brought on by dancing.

We danced until my feet hurt. At some point Sam was swished away by a tall, beautiful woman and I traded places with some other girl, landing in the arms of a bulky blonde man dressed as Aquaman. In my drunken haze, Jason Momoa had nothing on him. I threw it back like there was no tomorrow, downing a drink that was given to me with little regard.

Tony's eyes met mine. He was watching me like a hawk, taking tantalising little sips of his whiskey and licking his lips every now and then, diverting his attention only to absentmindedly nod in Strange's direction or smile at a person who wanted a piece of his spotlight. I consumed all of Tony's free attention span. It made me feel powerful, invincible.

I danced a bit more before the booze got to me, making me feel a little too woozy for comfort. Eyes on the table, I stumbled my way to Tony, noisily plopping down in his lap.

His mouth was set in a firm line. "Having fun, Princess?"

"Yeah," I moaned, hugging him around the neck. My body was heating up rapidly, my heart raced. Wait a minute... "Shit," I came to a conclusion as quickly as Stephen's eyebrows rose when he took a look at my face.

"Are you high?" The sorcerer asked me with a deal of concern.

"Prolly," I spoke, sighing. Did I pop X at some point? My memory was hazy. "I'm good tho. Give me some water and I'll be good," I knew my drugs, okay? A little bit of extasy didn't hurt anybody now and then. I had stayed mostly clean ever since my and Tony's and Bruce's relationship started.

To my surprise, Tony chuckled. "I really have no place to judge, Princess, but a warning would have been nice. I hope you had the common sense to get that shit tested, at least." He spoke, slowly stroking my damp hair and allowing me to all but rub myself on him. He smelled so good.

"Tony, please," Stephen rolled his eyes, evidently preparing for a lecture.

I stopped him in his tracks. "Don't act like you're a saint, seventy percent of college students I know do Adderall and coke just to keep up with the curriculum. I call bullshit."

Tony snorted as Stephen rolled his eyes, looking away. Predictable. For all that Strange wanted to appear high and mighty, he wasn't shit. I'd googled him and asked around about him shortly after we'd first met. The sorcerer was no stranger to the lifestyles of the rich and famous. He had more than a few invitation-only parties behind his back. I couldn't wait to tear the self-satisfied, smug smirk off the bastard's face.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit ​ @littlegasps ​ @pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​ @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie

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fire and ice {Draco Malfoy x Reader}{pjo x hp crossover}

Words: 21k {:))))}

Summary: Wizards and demigods don’t get along. So what happens when the Malfoys are forced to stay at Camp Half-Blood?

Genre: angst - pjo crossover!!!

Notes: ask me about commissions! - masterlist - AM I SORRY? ABSOLUTELY NOT. this has been brewing in my brain for literal ages and i’ve finally snapped and just done it. might do more. who knows? certainly not me. 

----

Lucius Malfoy hates demigods.

   Everyone knows it. He doesn't make it a secret. He doesn't listen to the people who tell him – time and time again – that demigods and wizards aren't even meant to mingle, that him bringing their name into every press conference, every public appearance, every meeting, is doing nothing but spurring a fire that should never have been lit in the first place.

   He's at it again, though, because of course he is. That man never knows when to leave well enough alone, especially concerning business that has nothing to do with him.

    Today, his words are just as harsh as they were yesterday. The newspaper quotes him saying demigods are nothing but scum, mistakes upon the world. He has claimed plenty of times that not a single demigod was a planned child, that no god in their right mind would ever conceive with a Muggle.

   “What the fuck is a Muggle?” Percy asks.

  You shake your head, eyes narrowed at the black and white words. They jumble together, as they always have done, but you're still capable of making out the bare bones.

  Lucius Malfoy really, really hates demigods.

  “This guy is on drugs,” Percy continues. “Who's gonna be the one to tell him we're all literally just vibing over here in camp?”

  “I think it all comes down to jealousy,” says Annabeth.

   “Jealous about what? He's a fully grown wizard – he could wipe us out with one flick of his wrist if he wanted to.”

  “You underestimate us.”

  Percy scoffs. “I saw Will nearly fall into the fire the other day; there's absolutely nothing here Lucius Malfoy needs to be afraid of.”

  And you see his point. Of course you do. Being a demigod yourself, you have the utmost confidence in the fact that Lucius Malfoy could, indeed, probably wipe you out with nothing more than a brief thought. Gods only know he's wanted to for as long as you've heard his name.

  Nonetheless, this acceptance doesn't stop you from thinking about what it would be like to really stumble across the man who seems to be all talk and no action. Never once have you heard a story of wizards attacking demigods, nor vise versa. The two clans stay far apart from one another for reasons that have been made abundantly clear in the newspapers; they will just never get along. Two clashes of power like that will leave the world rumbled, and many people hurt, and it's better off to avoid that when you can.

  “We should track this Malfoy bloke down.”

   The words have fallen from your mouth before you've even fully registered they are what you wanted to say. Both Percy and Annabeth pause mid-argument, Annabeth nearly snapping her spine with how fast she twists in her seat to look at you. You flick your eyes up from your plate of roast beef and give a tiny, timid smile, as if shy that you even made such a suggestion.

  “You're joking,” says Percy, before turning to Annabeth. “They're joking, right?”

  “They're definitely joking.”

   “I'm not.”

   “Well, you need to start joking before I bring Will over here to make sure you're not running a fever or something-”

   “I'm serious!” You gesture towards the fire, where the newspaper can still be seen curling amongst the flames. “Have you guys not been reading the amount of threats he sends us every time he gets a chance? What if he's serious?”   “I doubt he's being serious,” Annabeth says, though there's a wobble in her voice that tells you she perhaps doesn't fully believe her own assurances. “Isn't it a crime in the wizard world to – like – murder innocent things?”

  “I'm pretty sure there was an entire space of time over there where people were just murdering each other,” Percy responds.

  Annabeth pales.

  “See what I mean?” you continue. “Besides, it's getting boring here.”

   Percy blinks. “Boring?”

   “I'm bored. I just want something to do, for Gods sake. Chiron's keeping such a tight leash on us-”

   Percy throws his hands up. “Oh! I wonder why!”

   “You two even said a few days ago that you miss being out and about, doing stuff, saving lives-”

   “I never said that,” Percy argues. “In my opinion, I've had enough saving lives to last me a lifetime.”

  “Weak.”

   “Coming from-”

  “Okay!” Annabeth snaps. “Enough. This conversation is officially over.”

  You pout, folding your arms over your chest like a child having a tantrum. Percy laughs at your expression, giving your nose a playful tap that does nothing but infuriate you further. It's been like this for weeks now – short tempers, boredom, an unease that can only be put to rest when you're out and about, doing what you do best.

   Maybe it's the ADHD. Maybe it's the godly blood running through your veins. Maybe you're just too curious for your own good, but you want to find Lucius Malfoy and just talk to him. You want to see if he's as tough in person as he makes himself out to be on paper. You know you're not much to look at, nothing more than a teenager with interesting parentage, but maybe that will be enough to get your questions answered – why do wizards hate demigods so much?

  Annabeth cuts the conversation short any time you try bringing it to life again. She's a master at changing the subject, sometimes deciding to just talk over you about a completely different topic. Eventually, Percy's laughter and Annabeth's avoidance is enough to make you shut up, and soon you're just sitting there, listening to Annabeth talk about the recent Athena cabin shenanigans she bore witness to a few nights previous.

  Dinner finishes, and the tables split back into their cabins. Annabeth gets lost amongst her sea of siblings, giving you and Percy a wave before she disappears for the night. You and Percy walk in silence for a little while, before you split off to your own respected cabins.

  Alone.

  Sleeping on your own has never bothered you before. It's all you've ever known. You were born an only child, your mother having lost her mind shortly after giving birth to you, your father never being around due to the complicated fact he was a god.

  Is a god.

  Sometimes it shakes you to think your own father will undoubtedly outlive you. Hades is sat on his throne somewhere, watching you do all these things in his honour, knowing full well he will one day have to watch you die. He might be by your bedside as your heart beat gradually comes to a halt in your sleep.

  More likely, he will be sat amongst his godly brothers and sisters, watching you fight on the battle field, catching the very moment a sword pierces your chest and you bleed out with no one to help you, no one by your side, no one caring.

  You shake the thought from your head as you reach your cabin, a large, black painted building with a skull and crossbones over the door. It's a lonely place, but demigods are lonely kids, so it kind of fits, and you've never seen any problem with facing the truth.

  As soon as the door closes behind you, you grab your notebook and pen from beneath your pillow. It's been a long time since you wrote anything, considering you've been too tired to even properly function these days, but tonight, your thoughts are heavy, and you need to find some way to let them loose. You sit cross-legged on the uncomfortable camp bed Chiron provided you with all those years ago, and start scribbling.

  Just random sentences, things that probably won't even make sense when you wake up tomorrow morning, words that don't even go together, but are just popping in your mind every few seconds. You've always called it poetry, but it's on thin ice. You let nobody read it, considering you know how bad it is, how weird it is. You can honestly imagine someone reading it and immediately expressing concerns for your mental stability.

  But it distinguishes that weight in your brain. It makes you see sense for a bit, pouring these words onto paper before closing the notebook and stuffing it beneath your pillow. You won't have to read them again if you don't want to, and that's the best part; it offers a moment of bliss, but there are no strings attached. All is well. All can be ignored if you want it to be.

  ----

  It takes weeks for the subject of Lucius Malfoy to arise at the dinner table again.

   Annabeth has been fighting it off. The demigod has known you for far too long; at this point, all she needs to do is take a glimpse of your face, and immediately she knows exactly what is going through your brain. It's like a sixth sense to her, and it gives her the perfect opportunity to change the subject before you can so much as utter the word Wizard.

   Percy notices the tension, and finally snaps.

  “Are you still thinking about what Lucius Malfoy said?”

   Annabeth groans, slapping Percy on the arm. “I told you not to bring it up!”    But your attention has already been grabbed. You straighten up in your seat, grinning from ear to ear as you say, “So can we go?”

   “Give me a break,” Annabeth grumbles, dropping her head into her hand. “We're not going to visit Lucius Malfoy. We don't know the guy.”

  “He doesn't know us.”

   “Good.”

  You lean across the table to flick Annabeth's forehead. “But he still insists on talking about us to whatever freaky wizard press he has special ties to; I just want to see him, Annabeth! I just want to – like – mess with him a little bit!”

  Percy laughs, nudging Annabeth's elbow. When he speaks, it's through a mouthful of noodles. “I actually think our Y/N is on to something.”

   “Thank you, Percy.”

  Annabeth's head shoots up, a pale spot in the centre of her forehead where you flicked her. “No! No, this isn't even up for debate. Chiron will kill us if he knows we're even talking about it.”

   “No he won't,” you reply. “Chiron trusts us. He's seen us do all sorts, and it's not like I'm asking you guys to go and risk your lives for me. We'll go and talk to him, get his side of the story, and then we'll-”

  “It's honestly like you think I'm stupid.”

  You freeze, fork hovering halfway to your mouth. “Come again?”

   Percy laughs, failing to stifle it behind his hand. “You've only gone and woken the beast, Y/N.”

  “Shut up.”

  Annabeth sighs, running a hand over her ponytail. “I've known you since we were seven years old, Y/N – I know what you're up to. You'll never just talk to Lucius Malfoy. You'll get there, and you'll have to taunt him, and jeer at him, and put a stink bomb in his bathroom-”

   “That's the oldest trick in the book – I'm better than that.”

  “But you know what I mean!” Annabeth shakes her head. “You'll get carried away, and we know what happens when you get carried away.”

  Your stomach dips. Even Percy's bright smile falls, replaced with a grimace the two of you share. It's a low blow, and Annabeth knows that, but she also knows better than to make it out like you and Percy aren't two of the most unpredictable demigods to walk on Camp Half-Blood soil.

  When Annabeth next speaks, her voice is softer. “It's just too risky.”

  “Since when did you start being scared of a little confrontation?”

  Percy's voice startles you from your momentary reverie. Both you and Annabeth snap to attention, turning to look at your friend with raised brows; suddenly, he doesn't look like the happy-go-lucky, always bantering kid he usually is. His expression has darkened, jaw set and eyebrows lowered so his blue eyes look darker than normal. He can't even bring himself to look you both in the eye, instead choosing to keep a firm glare on the noodles and rice in front of him.

  “What do you mean?” Annabeth asks. “I'm not afraid of confrontation. My scars can vouch for that.”

   “Right, so why is Y/N's suggestion so scary to you?”

   You blink; this was certainly not the direction you were expecting the conversation to go. Annabeth and Percy bicker like cat and dog, but there's never been any malice in it. Now, listening to Percy, you can hear the genuine hurt in his voice, and you know her previous comments about getting carried away have actually struck a chord in him.

  Annabeth stares with her mouth agape, clearly unsure how to respond. She must sense the tension, too, must realise she has said the wrong thing.

   Still without looking up, Percy says, “I agree with Y/N; we need out of this camp for a little while. We need to do something. So why not have a little road trip to visit the man himself, huh? Why not get our questions answered?”

  “Percy....” Annabeth flicks a desperate glance in your direction, but you're not inclined to intervene when Percy is like this. As someone who has experienced the difficulty of controlling powers that you have been forced to ignore for a grand number of years, the last thing you want to do is provoke Percy any further than Annabeth has already managed to do.

   “I'm bored, too,” he continues. “And, to be honest, I'm getting pretty tired of them wizards thinking they can say whatever they want about us. It's about time we let them know they're not better than anyone just 'cause they wear them stupid robes and have a council.”

  “So what are you saying?” you pipe up, excitedly. “You'll go with me?”

   Percy shrugs. “I don't see why not. It'll be a bit of fun, won't it?”

   You cheer, throwing your hands in the air before catching a glimpse of Annabeth's angered expression. Your cheer immediately drifts away, and you let your hands fall to your sides before mumbling, “You sure? 'Cause, I mean, we don't have to.”

  “No, we're going,” says Percy, staring right at Annabeth. He has a death wish. That is the only explanation you can come up with right now. “It'll be fun, as you said.”

  Annabeth's nostrils flare. She says nothing else, simply sends one final glare to Percy – as if you're not even present – and stands up, marching away before dinner has finished.

   Percy huffs, slumping back in his chair. “Where does she get off telling us we get carried away?”

  “I mean, she isn't wrong, Percy.”

  Percy scowls. “I don't think that's very fair.”

  “You're in denial.” You plunge your fork into his noodles, using his distraction to steal some food for yourself. “But we're going to visit Lucius Malfoy! That'll be fun!”

   “I only said that to make Annabeth angry.”

  “I know, but a promise is a promise. We're going, and we're gonna have a fantastic time.”

  “I highly doubt that.”

  Not even two seconds later, Percy squeals and jumps from his seat. “Hey! Don't do that!”

  You grin, willing the skeletons hand to let go of Percy's ankle and sink back into the dirt.

  -----

  You and Percy remember this so well.

  It's muscle memory at this point, standing in the Hades cabin in the dark of night, Percy having tip-toed over to your domain to indulge in some illegal shenanigans. When you were younger, this used to be a nightly occurrence, which is one of the main reasons you both share such dramatic memories; neither of you are capable of staying out of trouble for very long, and maybe this is the very reason why.

  It's so easy for you to go wherever you want. You could shadow travel out of Camp Half Blood without a second thought, exhaustion be damned, but you never do. You respect Chiron too much to go out of your way to disobey him, but tonight is an exception. Percy stands by your side, hands tucked into an oversized hoodie. He's pulled the hood on over his dark hair, shoving the tangled strands into his eyes, though he does little to fix this. Instead, he keeps his blue gaze on you and says, “How long do you think we'll be?”

   “Not long,” you reply. “A few hours. Maybe a little longer if you fancy a stroll around London before we head back.”

  Percy scowls, glancing over his shoulder at the window. Nobody is awake. Camp Half Blood has never been so quiet.

  “Stop worrying.” You grab the sleeve of his hoodie, ushering his attention back to you. “I know what I'm doing, Perce – you've been with me a thousand times before. You know I can do it.”

  “Last time you shadow travelled this far, you nearly died.”

  “I was younger then. I've had more practise.”

  “Enough to travel to London?”

  You grab his hand, the motion so familiar now it's almost second nature. “Let's find out, shall we?”

   You don't give life the chance to throw another distraction your way; you inhale in that way you always do before a lengthy jump, and then you let your mind empty of all rational thought. Your mind does not go blank, nor does it settle; for a brief spell, you feel insane. You feel utterly and completely unhinged as the dead cackle in your head, thrashing through your brain like dogs trying to leap a wire fence. Your thoughts are no longer your own, replaced instead by the thoughts of people who are angry at death, angry at their own fate, people who blame your father and all of his offspring for the way their lives turned out.

  It hurts. You're forced to watch their faces as they twist into expressions of pure agony, begging for a help you cannot give them, because they are hundreds of years too late.

  It stops once your feet hit the ground.

  You try to steady yourself just to give off the illusion that you're perfectly fine, but your legs give out and you fall to your knees. Percy grabs your arm, but your body is limp as it slowly restores from the hectic ride that is shadow travel.

  “Never gets any better,” Percy grumbles; even he is a little uneasy on his feet, swaying to and fro. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine,” you belch. “Are we in London?”

  Percy looks up. You follow his gaze, warmth immediately flooding your stomach at the sight of a job well done, because the two of you are amongst the unmistakeable sights of London.

  It's a bit disappointing, you won't lie. Pictures in newspapers always perceive England to be this sophisticated, well-lit place, bustling with people dressed in suits and expensive clothes. Instead, you're greeted by a dark city street, broken street lights flickering overhead, people bustling by with their heads down, wearing track suits.

  In the distance, someone yells, “Come on, mate!” and it echoes off the cobbled stone walls.

  You and Percy share a glance.

  “Maybe we just expected too much,” he says.

  “Probably.”

  He hauls you to your feet, keeping a hand on your arm just in case you end up toppling over again. Through the darkness, you are just able to make out the peak of a large house in the distance. It's straight from a horror movie in your opinion, made up of dark cobbles, a golden fence adorned with spikes to keep the Muggles from entering; the word itself is nearly enough to make you laugh, though the sight of the house keeps you quiet.

  You and Percy approach the gates timidly, his hand still on your arm. “Is this the Malfoy house?”

  “I think so,” you whisper. “It looks like the pictures we always see. It's what I was aiming for, anyway.”

   “Good job, soldier.”

  “Thanks, boss.” You pause, craning your neck to get a better look at the house. “How do we actually get through the gate?”

  There are lights on in at least four of the rooms, a shadow passing by a curtain that looks tall and slim, gliding more than walking. You grab Percy's arm and point, whispering urgently, “That must be him! Lucius!”

   Percy ducks his head down and laughs. “Okay, okay. Let's just climb the fucking gate and get everything set up.” He glances at you. “You're sure you're up for this?”

  “I've never been more prepared for anything in my life.”

  Together, the two of you scale the metal gate, using the upper body strength you have gathered from years of training at Camp Half Blood. You're over and in this strangers garden in a number of seconds, sprinting through the grand garden before suspicions can be roused. Around you, white peacocks look up from their grazing, though none of them make a sound to give away the presence of two strangers.

  You reach the fountain and duck beneath it; this is where Percy needs to be if he wants to succeed in his part of the plan. He crouches beside you and hovers his hands over the water, not even giving you a warning before he uses his powers to pull the water from the concrete fountain. It sprays across the garden, and that's when the peacocks start to scream.

  Water splashes against their feathers, startling them. You can barely hide your laughter at the sight of them springing up from whatever peaceful graze they were involved in beforehand, now darting around the garden like someone has plucked a feather from their flesh.

  Percy shoves your arm. “Stop laughing and get on with it before they come out!”

   You push past the distractions and focus your energy on your own powers. Your exhaustion makes it all a little bit more difficult, but the image of the final product is enough to have you pushing the exhaustion aside just to reap the benefits of this. Inside yourself, something pulls, and it's familiar, uncomfortable, but it has the effect you want. Almost immediately, a skeletal hand darts from the ground. Just one for now, but you wait patiently before making the next one erupt.

  The front door of the Malfoy house bursts open, and standing there is no other than-

  “That's not Lucius,” Percy says.

  “It definitely is not.”

   The person standing in the doorway cannot be much older than you, with snow white hair and a sharp face. His eyes, blue and cold, are wide as they take in the sight before him, his wand clutched in a trembling hand.

  “You said you saw Lucius in the window!” Percy hisses, struggling to reel the spray of water back into himself.

  “I thought it was!”

  “For Gods sake.” Percy grabs your arm and drags you up, no longer caring about being seen. However, you stumble as he runs, dragging you along behind him, because the sight of the boy is distracting; he looks terrified, like he was expecting something completely different, like he thought someone was finally coming to take him away.

  You recognise the expression only because you've worn it yourself so many times; growing up as the child of Hades leaves a lot of scars and a lot of fear on a person, considering your father certainly isn't the most liked individual upon the Olympians.

  As Percy attempts to drag you back to the gate, you glance over your shoulder. The boys blue eyes glare into your own. He has seen you.

  And nothing can really prepare you for what happens next. You don't know enough about the wizarding world to expect this, but the feeling is unlike anything you have ever felt before. Someone yells in your direction, and then something is crashing into your spine, slithering along your neck, giving you not a single chance to react before the world goes still and you drop to the floor, no longer processing a single thing happening around you.

  ----

  “Would you just wake up?”

  The voice is posh and annoying. It makes you want to laugh.

  The pain in your spine stops you from doing such a thing, however. Instead, you slowly rouse from sleep, met by the blinding lights of a room unfamiliar. You lay on a bed fit for a king, soft pillows engulfing your sore head, thick mattress swaddling your body like a newborn baby.

  And standing above you is a boy you remember seeing only vaguely; pale skin, snow white hair, a grimace that shows he perhaps isn't too happy about having you in his home.

  You stare at him a moment, willing him to make the first move. Maybe if he starts the conversation, you won't have to go into too much detail about why you're actually here, because despite the glitches in your memory, that is something you remember very, very well.

  Running across his lawn, thinking you were clever because you and Percy were finally going to give Lucius Malfoy a piece of his own medicine.

  And now Percy is gone, and you're trapped in a strangers house.

  The boy stood above you, however, says nothing. He looks almost nervous, eyes flashing between you and the door, like he's planning the easiest way to flee if things reach that point.

  Finally, you snap. “Hello.”

  He jerks away, nearly stumbling over a stool by the bedside as he does. “Oh,Christ. Hello.”

  “I didn't mean to scare you.”

  “You didn't – I'm not scared. I just thought you were still Stunned.”

  You blink. “Stunned?”

  “I Stunned you.” He pauses, biting his lower lip. “It was the only way I could think to get you to stop running.”

  “Is that some kind of spell?”

   The boy waves a dismissive hand. “The point is, you were in my garden earlier. If my father had been the one to see you, he wouldn't have hesitated to curse you and call it self defence.”

  His father.

  Something rushes through your stomach, an excitement that doesn't really make sense. All has failed. You're going to go back to Camp Half Blood and be chastised, probably brutally punished, for the choices you made tonight, and yet here you are, overjoyed at the mere mention of Lucius Malfoy, because that's the only person this boy must be talking about.

  “You look a lot like him,” you say.

  The boy narrows his eyes. “My father?”

  “Lucius,” you clarify. “He lives here, doesn't he? He's the one Percy and I came to see.”

  The boy slowly leans back in his chair; it's quite cute, actually, that he dragged a chair into this room just so he could sit over your Stunned body. Maybe he was making sure you didn't die. Maybe he just didn't trust leaving you on your own.

  “What business could you possibly want with my father?” he asks. “You must be my age. What year are you in at Hogwarts? What House?”

 You smile. “I don't go to Hogwarts.”

  He reels back. “Really? Are you from a foreign school? Beuxbatons?”

  “I don't go to your fancy magic schools. I'm not a wizard.”

  The boy blinks. It never ceases to baffle you the pure ignorance of these people – how they can grow up in a world completely detached from everything and everyone, and yet are still unable to fathom the idea of anybody being different.

  “If you're not a wizard, how did you make the water fountain do that?”

   “I didn't. Percy did that.”

  “Who is this Percy bloke you keep going on about?”

   “He's my friend, the one you apparently let get away.”

  The boy raises a brow, glancing over at the window as if expecting to see Percy just standing there; honestly, you wouldn't even be surprised.

  He turns back and says, “So your friend is a wizard? Are you a Muggle?”

   He's taking an awfully long time to catch on.

  “No,” you reply, exasperated. “Neither of us are wizards. We're from New York – a little place called Camp Half Blood.”

   And for a second, the revelation doesn't land. The boy continues staring at you like you have three heads, mouth slightly agape, eyebrows furrowed. But then the ball drops, and he jerks back, the chair dragging in the carpet with the speed at which he jumps to his feet. He looks almost horrified.

  “Alright,” you mumble. “I'm not going to bring Zeus down here personally. He's a bit busy-”

  “How did you even get here?” he hisses. “Are you an assassin? Is that why you were looking for my father – so you could kill him?”

  “Oh, don't be so dramatic. I'm a demigod, not a murderer.”

  The boy looks at you like he doesn't think there's much difference between the two.

  This angers you. Something in your stomach burns, and suddenly, the only thing you want to do is to get away from him. You want to go back home. You want to find Annabeth and hug her, tell her she was right, just as she always is. You don't like being in the company of wizards. You don't like being away from the people who understand you best.

  “Look, this was fun,” you say, pushing yourself up from the bed. “But I need to get going. I'm sorry about your fountain-”

  “Where are you going?” he demands.

  You pause, raising a brow.  “Why do you care?”

  “Because – Because what if you come back to finish my father off? I can't just let you go!”

  He must be completely oblivious. You have fought monsters taken directly out of storybooks, have argued and debated with Gods about things such as ice cream flavours and which way is the right direction to go on a road trip – the last person you have any interest in fighting with is some posh, uptight wizard.

  “Look,” you say, “all I wanted to do was mess with the guy. He's been saying some pretty harsh things about demigods lately, and Percy and I just wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine. I don't want to murder your father.”

  The boy stares at you. He's powerful, too. You know he is. You can see his wand sticking out of a deep pocket in his emerald green robes. One flick of that and you're a goner, and yet he chooses to just stand over you, eyes burning holes into your head.

  “What's your name, anyway?” you ask.

  He tenses. “Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.”

   “Sounds evil.”

  “It's a strong name.”

  “Right.” You flick your eyes to the clock hung upon the wall. “Can I go now?”

  He sighs and backs away from the bed. “My father would kill me if he found out I was letting you go.”

  You stand up, knees trembling from the aftershocks of having a wizards spell slam directly into your spine, but you manage to catch yourself before crumbling completely; Draco does nothing to help stabilise you, instead watching you with a thoughtful gaze, like he's preparing to attack at any moment.

  And it's weird. You know it's weird. You should not just be able to walk out of his house without a single consequence to your name. He should be holding you hostage, keeping you pinned to this bed until his grand old father gets home, and he can tell you off for trespassing, scaring the life out of his precious white peacocks.

  But Draco doesn't say another word as you slip out the door and barrel downstairs, suddenly desperate to be away from a world like this. It's weird. It's unnatural. They care about blood status, and they learn spells, and it's all just a little bit too weird for your taste.

  Even weirder is the fact that Draco is letting you go so easily.

  ---

  You arrive back at Camp Half Blood when it's light outside, and you know you've been caught.

  Wherever Percy may be, you do not envy the treatment he must be getting. You clamber up to the pine tree and look down at the camp you call home, not surprised to see people bustling back and forth already, Chiron included. He looks miffed, digging his front hoof into the dirt like a rabid animal ready to charge.

  That's kind of what he is.

  You hollow out your cheeks and stroll directly into camp, ignoring the startled gasps of the Half-Bloods. You'll deal with Chiron before you deal with them – that seems like the best way forward.

  Chiron spots you seconds before you reach him. He turns, dust billowing up around him before he says, “And where do you think you've been?”

  Chiron has always been a father-figure to you, Hades be damned. He saw you as a junior demigod, just growing into who you are, unable to fully process the fact that the man you always hated, the man you once believed to be a no good excuse of a father, was actually a Greek God who has spent his time watching you grow – just from the sky instead of on the ground.

  He treats you and Percy differently than everybody else. You're both feared for no reason. People shy away from you like you've been on some blood-lust streak your entire life, even though that's far from the case. When you can, you avoid using your powers, purely because you know how much people dislike them. They see them as unnatural. They think it's weird, despite them having abilities, too.

  “Hello, Chiron,” you mumble. “I'm very tired, so if you could just-”

  “We've had word from the Ministry of Magic.”

   You freeze, stomach dropping, certain you heard him wrong. The only wizard you actually made contact with was Draco, and surely he didn't go to the Ministry after letting you run free just like that?

  Chiron shakes his head. His disappointed look is more than you can bare. “What were you two thinking, Y/N? What did you think would happen?”

  “I – I – I don't know.” You look around desperately. “Is Percy here? Did he make it back safely?”

   “Percy's resting. He wanted to go after you, but Grover wouldn't let him, and thankfully so-”

  “I was fine. The boy I met – Draco -”

  “Draco Malfoy?”

  You falter. “Well, yeah. He spotted us and ended up Stunning me-”

 “Oh my gods.” Chiron runs a hand through his hair, looking up at the sky, saying whatever prayers he thinks will help right now, like the Gods have ever listened to any of you before. “You do realise that's Lucius Malfoy's son, don't you? The son of the man who wants our kind terminated.”

  “Draco wasn't like that,” you reply, even though you don't know why. “He let me go. He didn't even hurt me-”

  “You've just said he Stunned you!”

  “For, like, an hour! I was fine when I woke up! And look me in the eyes and tell me you wouldn't do the exact same thing if you could.”

    Chiron groans, turning back to the Big House. He starts walking without another word, forcing you to sprint after him.

  “Don't be mad,” you say. “It was stupid. I'm sorry. Chiron, I'm sorry. We just got bored-”

  “If children put their family's in danger every time they were bored, Y/N, the human race wouldn't exist.”

  He really is angry, angrier than you've ever seen him. It takes you back to your childhood when he used to tell you off for staying up too late, or getting out of bed in the middle of the night.

  You stumble after him, thankful that he isn't telling you to go away and leave him alone; that's one thing Chiron has always promised he will never do to you or Percy – he'll never just leave you alone.

  You walk into the Big House, side-by-side, and it's a mildly unpleasant surprise for you to see Annabeth already sat by Chiron's desk, her head in her hands, blonde curls framing her face. As soon as the door shuts behind you, she jerks up, whirls around and throws a pen in your direction.

  You catch it. “I am safe, thank you for asking.”

  “You're so stupid!” She groans, picks up another pen and throws it. Chiron is the one to interject this time, snatching the pen from thin air and tucking it into the little pouch hooked to his side.

  “Enough, Annabeth. We haven't got time to chastise them.”

  “I beg to differ,” Annabeth growls, not once taking her eyes off you.

  The guilt claws to the surface; she only wanted to protect you, only wanted to give you some decent advice, and neither you nor Percy had listened, both too absorbed in your own boredom to use the common sense Annabeth seems so prone to.

  Chiron, however, does not give you a chance to ponder over this gruesome feeling. Instead, he pulls a seat out and gestures for you to sit down, which you do without question; at this point, you know you'd be stupid to disobey him, would only be digging yourself into a deeper hole, one you're not too sure you'll be able to crawl out of.

  He takes a seat in front of you as Annabeth hovers by your shoulder, arms folded over her chest, eyes trained dead ahead. You awkwardly shift in your seat, waiting for the scolding to begin.

  But instead, Chiron grabs a golden button from a drawer in his desk and presses it without saying anything at all. The room immediately brightens up in all different colours – red, green, blue, strobe lights dancing across the room, taking shape in the centre of the carpet. You have to squint to fully understand the form taking shape, but when it does, your stomach drops.

  Made entirely of lights, standing in the middle of the room, is Cornelius Fudge, the jittery little minister of the wizard world.

  You've only seen him a few times, and never in person; a few times, he came to meet with Chiron in regards to escaped prisoners, wizards who wanted to harm demigods who were on the run. You never thought too much of him, but he looks angry now, his grubbly little face twisted into an expression of anger and loathing. When he speaks, his voice is loud and harsh, making you flinch with each syllable.

  “Chiron!” he exclaims. “I hope this message finds you well; I'm still trying to figure out the communication device you gave to me in our last meeting. It's all very confusing, and every time I press something wrong, thunder and lightening nearly wipe me out.” He coughs into a handkerchief before continuing. “Anyway, I'm here to inform you of a mishap which took place in the Malfoy Manor only a few short hours ago. I've been given word that one of your people tried breaking into Lucius's home to do God only knows what. It's only pure luck that Malfoy's son, Draco, was awake and was able to stop the wicked thing from getting through the door.”

   “Wicked thing?” you burst. Chiron raises a silencing hand, still refusing to look at you.

  “We as a nation are becoming very paranoid by the loose grip with which you have upon your own people; they are starting to become wild, careless, and I can truly see a murder from one of you in our future, which, as the Minister, I must put a stop to as soon as possible. Therefore, I demand the culprit be punished for his or her crimes, and I will be popping in soon with my witness to go over the details of the night to help you further understand where our fear is coming from.” Again, he coughs into a handkerchief. “Thank you. I hope the camp is well – the strawberries you sent were wonderful, as always! Good day to you, sir!”

  The lights blink out. The room is doused in silence. Inside your head, a scream echoes.

  You don't even know what to say. Would an apology even suffice? Would an explanation even be worth it? Years it has taken for the wizarding world and the demigod world to live in peace, and by the sounds of it, you've just annihilated all of that for the sake of a prank. You let Lucius Malfoy's hateful words burrow themselves into your head, which is probably exactly what he planned.

  Chiron puts the golden button back in his desk. The soft click it makes as it hits the wood echoes off the walls, so loud and gentle, so mocking. Slowly, he lifts his eyes to meet your own and says, “Now you can understand why we're all a little bit angry.”

  “A little bit?” You close your eyes, letting Annabeth's outburst ring throughout the room. “Chiron, I warned them! I warned them both! I said – what did I say Y/N? - I said-”

  “You said it was stupid, and that we shouldn't do it,” you mumble. “And we didn't listen.”

  “No, you didn't, and now you've given the wizard council a reason to think we're out to get them, which gives them a reason to announce open fucking warfare on us-”

  “Okay, Annabeth, calm down,” Chiron says. “We're taking this one step at a time. There's no point jumping ahead to things like that.”

  “Chiron, this is bad. This is so, so bad. The wizards are going to think we did this on purpose-”

  “Why are you saying we?” you ask. “Percy and I did this on our own. We'll take the consequences. We've done it before.” You turn to Chiron, who stands solemnly in the corner, head bowed as if deep in thought. “What are the consequences, may I ask?”

  He sighs, nostrils flaring. “We've decided that keeping you in camp for the rest of the summer will suffice for now. The Minister and his witness will be arriving in a few days and I want you to be on your best behaviour.”

  You scowl; the punishment is weak. You got off lucky, and you're aware of that, but it doesn't make it any more bearable. You hate being trapped, hate sitting in the Hades cabin with nothing but your own thoughts keeping you company. That's the hardest part about being a child of one of the Big Three – you're alone. It doesn't matter how many campers surround you, you are alone.

  But you take the punishment on the chin, giving Chiron a respectful nod before walking from the Big House to continue with the rest of your day. You'll find Percy and talk to him about everything, maybe apologise for dragging him into something so stupid, something so avoidable. If either of you had any flicker of common sense, none of this would have happened.

  It's only when you're halfway down the hill do you question anything Chiron has just told you.

  You falter, one word lingering in your mind. Witness.

  The only witness you can possibly think of is Draco Malfoy.

  ---

  He arrives in the afternoon, already looking so madly out of place.

  You spot his white hair, blowing so majestically in the wind Chiron has picked out for the day. His robes billow out around him, his sharp face stuck in an expression of anxiety. His eyebrows are furrowed, eyes darting to and fro as he strolls through the centre of Camp Half-Blood with his father at his side and the stout Minister, Cornelius Fudge, strolling behind them.

  He looks so out of place. It would almost be humorous if you weren't burning with misplaced anger at the mere sight of him; he told on you. He ran to his father and touted on you, even after making it seem like he was going to let you go with no consequences, and now you're stuck in camp for the rest of the summer with absolutely nothing to do and barely anyone to talk to.

  “Dickhead.”

  “Is that him?”

  You jump at the sound of Annabeth's voice, very nearly dropping the spear you were working with before your distraction walked through the barriers.

  “That's him,” you reply. “Draco Malfoy.”

   “I meant the other guy. The one you went after.”

  “Oh, Lucius. Yeah. He's there, too.”

  Annabeth narrows her grey eyes, following the movements of the Malfoy boys. “You know, I can kind of understand why you wanted to put them in their place.”

  You open your mouth to respond, but the words collapse when Draco's head snaps in your direction, like he somehow sensed your presence. His eyes find yours, his face draining of what little colour it has; something inside you stirs, fingers curling impossibly tighter around the spear.

  You remember those eyes so well, shockingly well, strangely well. Waking up to them burning holes into your skull was an experience you don't think you'll forget, considering the shock that coursed through you at the mere sight of him. He was so calm, so curious, not even yelling the slurs his father seems so keen on.

  And you might have made it up. You might have just been imagining it, but you're almost certain he flicks his head in the direction of the bandstand set up on the far side of camp, nearly hidden beneath the canopy of trees. You continue to stare at him, too bewildered by the miniscule movement to respond before he disappears over the hill.

  “Come on,” Annabeth urges, nudging your arm. “Let's get back to training.”

  But you're too distracted now. Knowing that Lucius Malfoy and his son – Draco – are walking around Camp Half-Blood makes your moves sloppy. And then there's the matter of Draco's little signal, like he wants you to meet him somewhere, like he wants to talk to you.

  You have nothing to say to him, but that doesn't stop you being curious about what he wants to tell you.

  Annabeth swings her sword, very nearly clipping the side of your ear. You yelp, stumbling back. Your foot catches on a rock sticking up from the ground, and before you can react, you're sprawled across the grass with your spear laying in a heap at your side.

  Annabeth sighs, kicking the weapon away from your outstretched fingers. “What the hell was that, L/N?”

  You prop yourself up on an elbow. “You could have given me some warning.”

  “Oh yes, because the monsters will be so generous as to give you some warning.”

   You scowl, shoving up from the ground. “Look, I'm just gonna get some water before the next round, okay?”

  Annabeth falters, narrowing her eyes. “Just some water?”

  “Just some water.” You give her a dazzling smile, hoping to the gods that this is enough to convince her you are telling the truth. You know it's a long shot – Annabeth knows you better than anybody else, but she's learned from her mistakes. Trying to boss you around and tell you what to do will only ever end in disaster, and so she says nothing else as you set your gear back on the rack and head up the hill towards the bandstand, out of sight of Annabeth's suspicious glare.

  Draco isn't there when you arrive. The bandstand is deserted, the only sign of life being the tree nymphs poking their heads out of the canopy to see who has arrived on their territory. You shoo them away before slumping down on the bench set in the middle of the stand, gazing around with your heart beating wildly in your chest, and for no reason at all.

  He probably won't even show up. He probably hates you. He's probably too scared to face you after what he did, and honestly, you wouldn't even blame him.

  After ten minutes, you start losing hope. Chiron will be looking for you shortly, most likely tipped off by Annabeth that you disappeared for no reason instead of finishing your training session. It won't be long for them to add two and two together and realise exactly what you have gone to do-

  “I didn't think you'd actually show up. Thought you might have been banned from seeing me.”

  Your head snaps up. “Jesus, Draco. You scared the shit out of me!”

   There he is, all tall and lanky, white hair blowing away from his forehead, his weird robes billowing out around him. It's weird how a person can make such odd attire look nice, almost like an outfit you'd wear yourself.

  “Sorry,” he says, though he doesn't sound apologetic in the slightest; he sounds tired. “I thought you demigods were meant to have superhuman senses or something.”

  You raise a brow. “Our parents are gods, not superheroes.”

  “Same difference.”

  “I'm flattered.”

  He sits down beside you, shoulder bumping yours. “Don't be. It wasn't a compliment.”

   You fall into silence then, unsure of what to say, how to start the conversation you both know needs to be had. You had so much anger built up inside you only moments before, but the second you looked up and saw his face, it dispelled. You were reminded of them blue eyes gazing down at you when you awoke from your Stunning spell, how soft and worried they were for a complete stranger.

  Finally, he inhales deeply and says, “I didn't mean for this to get as big as it did.”

  “Everyone's mad at Percy and I. Me especially.”

  He tilts his head back, glaring up at the sky. “How badly did they punish you?”

   “I can't leave this place for the rest of the summer.”

  “Not too bad, then.”

  You glare at him. He cracks open an eye, catches your expression and raises a brow.

  “It is bad?” Lifting his head, he gestures towards the open stretch of grass in front of you. “This place looks amazing, Y/N. You've got everything you could possibly need, plus you're safe from all those crazy monsters we always get word about.”

  “The monsters don't bother me. I'm meant to go out and fight them; that's my purpose.”

   Draco glances at you. You feel his blue eyes burning holes into the side of your head, can feel the judgement radiating off him as he takes in what you've just said. You never realise just how strange other people must find statements like that, how backwards it truly is to crave the feel of battle.

  “You know, I'd kill to have a place like this.”

  You look at him. “Really? Is your mansion not enough?”

  He scowls, barrelling on like you haven't said anything. “A place where you feel like you belong.” He glances over. “You may hate being here sometimes, but look me in the eyes and tell me you don't feel like this place is home.”

   You can't do that. Despite your desire to be free sometimes, your desire to head out on the streets where you don't belong, you know Camp Half Blood will always be home. It will always be the place you turn to when you need comfort, because it is the only place in the world that has ever accepted you and your weird abilities with open arms.

  Draco hums. “Exactly. I don't have that. I don't fit in anywhere; I'm not evil enough for my family, not good enough for everyone else. I'm on my own.”

    The silence that follows is a heavy one; you're not used to this kind of talk. You relate so strongly to his feelings, but you very rarely express them in quite the same way. At Camp Half-Blood, everyone is in the same boat. It's rude to think you have it worse than somebody else. Every single person here was abandoned by a parent, maybe even both.

  But Draco isn't a demigod, so maybe he won't mind.

  “I get that.”

  He narrows his eyes. “Really?”

  “Yeah.” You tug at your sleeve, pulling the material over your curled fingers. “I don't exactly come from the most well-loved bloodline in this place. Even other Half-Bloods take one look at me and cower.”

  “That blonde girl I saw you with-”

  You wave a dismissive hand. “That's Annabeth; she's more like a sister to me, but even she's wary of my powers.”

  Draco pauses. “What powers?”

  You open your mouth to respond, to go through the long list of the terrifying things you are capable of, but your words are cut short by the sound of a bark in the distance. Your head snaps up immediately, senses sparking to life before you've even fully processed where the noise is coming from. Around you, the tension in the camp is amplified as the other Half-Bloods spring to the same level of alertness.

  Draco straightens up, reaching into his back pocket for a wand that you can almost guarantee will be completely useless within the boundaries of Camp Half-Blood. You place a hand on his shoulder as you stand, pushing him back down onto the bench.

  “Stay here.”

  “Where are you going?” he asks, head darting left and right. “What was that?”

  “I don't know, but it didn't sound good.”

   “So call someone!”

  You raise a brow, shooting him a glance over your shoulder. He looks like a scared little boy, hands balled against his chest, eyes darting to and fro. They join with yours eventually, softening almost immediately.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “We don't just call someone at Camp Half-Blood. We deal with this stuff on our own.”

  Draco falters. His eyes narrow, though the expression doesn't last long; suddenly, he cries out and lurches forward, pointing madly to a space just over your shoulder. You spin just in time, yanking your sword from your belt and swinging blindly. Your shoulder smashes against the dirt, giving you a view of the beast that has just tried ripping you to shreds.

  A chimera.

  You recognise it. Of course you do. The lion head and snake tail are kind of difficult to forget.

  “What the hell is that?”

  “Draco, go!” you yell, rolling onto your knees and swinging your sword yet again. The chimera dives, talons outstretched, mouth open in a roar.

It's massive paws slam into your shoulders, shoving you back yet again. You cry out, struggling to lift your sword with the weight pressing against your chest, the blood now seeping from two wounds in your shoulders. Over the chimera's massive shoulders, you can see Draco jumping from foot to foot, clearly unsure what to do.

  “Why are you still stood there?” you scream.

  Your yelling triggers something within the chimera. You watch the gears turn in its head, its red eyes gleaming before it spins, it's tail snapping out and wrapping around your wrist. You cry out, sword clattering to the floor before you're yanked to your feet and thrown carelessly against the bench you were previously sat on.

  Draco spins. “Y/N!”

  You groan, looking up through bleary eyes; your sword isn't like Percy's. It won't just reappear in your pocket any time you lose connection with it. Where it lies in the grass, feet away from you, it will stay.

  That means you only have one way to get this beast away from you and Draco.

  It takes all of your strength, and it's never easy, but you push through the pain and the exhaustion and pull on that little trigger within your body. Something surges inside you, a feeling so familiar it almost feels like second nature. The floor rumbles. Draco yelps, clinging desperately to the back of the bench, but you keep your eyes on the chimera. It digs its foot into the dirt, growls low in its throat, and then it dives.

  The skeleton's hand bursts from the ground, wraps around the chimera's ankle and pulls it back.

  As soon as the chimera's chin hits the dirt, you bounce to your feet and sprint towards your sword. You snatch it from the ground, spin and slash through the air, no longer caring what part of the beast you hit, just as long as you injure it somehow.

  It strikes through the goats head that protrudes from the chimera's back.

  Black blood oozes from the monsters back end. It splatters up your arms, tiny dots sprinkling your face, but you don't have the time to ponder on that. You swing again, this time going for the neck. The chimera screams, but as soon as your sword makes contact with it's bushy mane, the scream disappears. The chimera bursts into golden powder in front of you, blowing away in the wind.

  A pair of hands wraps around your waist, tugging you up before you can fall to your knees.

  “Holy shit,” you whisper against Draco's collar. “Are you okay?”

Draco can't speak. Looking up, you see his lower jaw rattling, words fighting to the surface but being unable to push past his wall of fear. He looks everywhere but your face, as if trying to figure out where on earth the chimera disappeared to.

  “It's gone for now,” you say, throat dry. “You're safe, Magic Boy.”

  “How did that get in here?”

  Annabeth's voice echoes up the hill. Glancing over your shoulder, you see her marching in your direction, Chiron and Percy walking by her side. At the bottom of the hill, the other Half-Bloods look up, shocked at the sight in front of them. Your disgruntled form being held up by a wizard is certainly not a normal sight at Camp Half-Blood.

  “Y/N,” Percy exclaims. “Are you alright?”

  “Just peachy,” you croak out. “I think I might be bleeding out, though.”

  “Someone get some ambrosia,” Chiron demands, and it's with gentle hands that he extracts you from Draco's grip and lowers you to the floor. He looks up at Draco and says, “Are you alright, boy?”

  “T-the skeletons,” Draco stammers. “They just – they just came out of the floor!”

  Chiron smiles gently. “So I see you've been witness to our Y/N's miraculous abilities, hm?”

  Draco's eyes widen. “Y/N did that?”

  “Yes, you idiot,” Annabeth hisses, shouldering Draco out of the way so she can kneel beside you. She dabs a wet cloth against your shoulder, and you hiss at the contact.

  Percy arrives shortly after with an air tight bag of ambrosia, which you eat in about two seconds flat.

  “How did that get in here?” Percy asks.

  “The barriers were open already,” Chiron replies. “We needed to let the Minister and his men inside the camp, so we had to weaken them a little bit. We must have weakened them too much, and the chimera found a way in.”

   “Or this is the gods playing some sick trick on us,” says Annabeth. “Remember when Percy first arrived and they thought it would be funny to let the Minotaur roam free?”

  “This isn't the gods,” you mumble. “I haven't done anything to make them mad.”

  “So it's the wizards, then.” Annabeth whirls on Draco, folding her arms over her chest. You close your eyes, listening to Percy chuckle lightheartedly at your side. Both of you have given up trying to calm her down at this point. “You and your people just have to come in and ruin everything, don't you?”

  Draco blinks. He's barely spoken the entire time, clearly still trying to figure out what the hell he has just witnessed.

  Annabeth laughs coldly. “When will you and your people get the hint that we don't want you here. We don't want anything to do with you! It's you lot who have so much to say about us, and the minute we retaliate, you take a little hissy fit and have to get the bloody council involved! Well, goodbye to you. Get out of our camp and stay out or else the next monster to attack you won't be killed by us – you can deal with it on your own with your fancy magic spells.”

  She turns back, flicking her curls in Draco's face.

  You shyly glance up and mumble, “Sorry about her.”

   “And although that speech held a lot of passion,” Chiron cuts in, placing a hand on Annabeth's shoulder, “I'm afraid Mr Malfoy and his people cannot leave the camp until the barriers have been sorted.”

    Silence.

  Even you're too stunned to speak, staring up at Chiron as if waiting for the punchline of some joke. He simply looks around, examining the invisible barriers surrounding you, most likely seeing every single gap and crack held within them.

  Percy is the first to break the silence. “Uh. . . Why not?”

  “Well,” Chiron says, “the barriers have been split. If we were to open them any further to let these men out, I fear they might be unsalvageable. We can't risk it.”

  “So we're just gonna let them stay here?” Annabeth hisses.

  “I can't do that!” Draco exclaims, stumbling forward with wide eyes. “I have school, and my mother-”

  “This isn't up for debate,” Chiron says. “I must keep the safety of my people in mind at all times, and this is the only solution that will keep them safe.”

  Annabeth scoffs. “I wouldn't say letting the Malfoy's in our space is keeping us safe.”

  “That is because you're blinded by your ignorance.”

   You and Percy take sharp breaths through your teeth, watching Annabeth's face drop. It would almost be sad if you weren't in agreement with the centaur.

  And it's weird because you used to have the exact same thought process as Annabeth; all you read about wizards was how much they despised your kind, how they saw you as unnatural, a mistake, because gods aren't meant to have children with mortals. Mortals – or Muggles – aren't meant to carry such powerful beings.

  And yet here you are, looking at Draco and feeling even the tiniest glimmer of excitement at the idea of having him stay with you for a little while.

  Chiron turns back to Draco and says, “You can stay in cabin eleven with the Hermes kids. That's where all the newcomers go.”

  Draco pales. “I really don't think this is a good idea...”

  “It's the only idea we have,” Chiron says. “Now, get ready for the feast. You must be starving.”

  ---

  Draco doesn't go to the feast. Apparently, he isn't as starved as Chiron made him out to be.

  Instead, he follows you to the infirmary, despite having no injuries himself. Will Solace feeds you chunks of ambrosia, keeping a narrowed gaze on Draco as he sits by your bedside, saying nothing. He looks thoughtful, head ducked down, hands perched between his legs; he hasn't spoken a single word since the two of you arrived, and his skin is yet to find colour again.

  You glance at Will and whisper, “Is he looking okay to you?”

  “Absolutely not,” Will replies, pressing a damp cloth to your shoulder blade. “But I'm not one hundred percent sure how wizards are supposed to look in the first place, so I can't really say.”

  “Have you got any juice or anything like that you can give him?”

  Will hollows out his cheeks, clearly not appreciating the idea of using up resources on a wizard. Nonetheless, the son of Apollo is too kind for his own good and heads into the back room to grab a juice box. He hands it to Draco with a soft smile, one Draco does not return, before Will says he's going to go check on the other campers. He leaves you alone after that, the room empty besides you and Draco.

  Draco doesn't look up. He doesn't really need to; even without seeing his face, you know what expression he will be wearing, as it is the same expression so many people have worn after watching you bring the dead up from the ground.

  You bite your lip and say, “The food is good here. Are you sure you don't want to go and get some dinner?”

  Draco slowly looks up. His eyes are bloodshot, strained, glinting light blue beneath the yellow lights. “Who is your godly parent?”

  You pause. “Why do you care?”

  “Because what I just saw you do-”

    “Hades,” you blurt out, unable to bear hearing him go into detail again, unable to bear the disgust that will surely ring through his voice. “Hades is my father. I'm the kid he was never supposed to have.”

  Draco stares at you, waiting for you to continue, but what else is there to say? There's no relationship to describe, no happy memories with your dad you can share. All there is to it, is that you are not meant to be here, and you are.

  “And you . . . you have no brothers or sisters? You're all alone?”

  Your eyes snap up. “I'm not alone. I have Percy, and Annabeth, and. . . and everyone else. Plus, I have a little brother – Nico.”

  Draco perks up, like the idea of you having a little brother is something to be excited about. “Really? Where is he?”

  “He's floating around somewhere,” you reply. “He doesn't really like staying in one place for too long; I only really see him when he comes to visit me or his boyfriend.”

   Draco withers. “Oh.”

  “Why do you care anyway?”

  He scowls. “I don't care. I'm just curious. If I'm to stay here for the next few days, I might as well get to know you a little better.”

  “It works both ways, Magic Man. Tell me, why is your father such a little bitch?”

  “I could ask the same thing about yours.”

  “My dad is the god of death. What's your dad's excuse?”

  Draco glares. You grin, slowly leaning back on the hospital bed as you wait for his response, because you genuinely want to know. You've spent years reading articles orchestrated by Lucius Malfoy that go into great detail about why he hates demigods so much, why he thinks they're the scum of the earth; now, you have his son at your disposal, and you're determined to find out where these violent opinions have stemmed from.

  Draco sighs, folding his arms over his chest. “My father just doesn't like people who are different.”

  You pause. “Different?”

   “People who aren't pure-blood wizards are basically bottom tier to him. That includes Muggle borns, Squibs, Muggles, demigods.”

  “But he doesn't even know anything about demigods.”

  Draco shrugs heavily. “He knows you're different. That's all he cares about.”

  It makes sense, you suppose. Lucius has never kept his ignorance a secret. It's not just demigods he speaks badly about. You've read it all – his hatred for Muggles, for people who disagree with him, for good people.

  People who aren't like him.

  “And what about you?” you ask.

  Draco flicks his eyes up, still messing with his fingers. “What about me?”

  “How do you feel about demigods?” You gesture around the room. “Now that you've seen us in action; what are your thoughts?”

  Draco shrugs, looking back down at his intertwined hands. He has nice hands. Muscled, long fingers, expensive rings. “I think it's all quite odd, but I'll get used to it. I'm gonna be stuck here with you for a while, so I don't really have a choice, do I?”

  You smile. “No, I don't think so.”

  ---

  The dreams are worse that night.

  They always are after you have been injured. Already restless, you aren't strong enough to fight off the nightmares that swarm your mind, and tonight they come for you in full force.

  You always call them nightmares, even though they really aren't. More like visions, people visiting you when you least expect it. You've had Poseidon visit your dreams, Athena, even Ares, but tonight, someone new is making an appearance.

  You recognise him immediately. He has the same eyes as you.

  “Dad.”

  He stands waist deep in black mist. Curly black hair frames a chiselled face, dark eyes gazing at you with a look close enough to love that you get a little emotional. By his side is a three-headed dog, and in his hand is a skull, held so casually. Neither of you mention it. Neither of you need to.

  The room is dark. Looking down, you see black mist crawling towards you, hiding your legs from view. You should probably be panicking, but something is holding you back.

  “Dad,” you repeat. “Where's Nico?”

  “Safe,” he responds, voice too calm for a man whose son has been missing for weeks. Voice too calm for a man who is standing in front of the child he abandoned so many years ago. “And how are you, child?”

  “Good. Better than ever, actually.”

  “Even with the company you have been keeping recently?”

  You pause, certain you misheard. Hades raises a brow, tilting his head as if to say Are you going to try and tell me otherwise?

  Swallowing, you say, “So this is about Draco.”

   “This is about the wizards in general,” Hades corrects. “Don't think I didn't notice you getting comfortable with that boy.”

  “I wouldn't exactly say comfortable-”

  “He held you up when you fell.”

   “And that was very nice of him.”

  “That was inappropriate.”

  You fall silent, cheeks heating up. You truly cannot believe your dad – your real life father – is stood in front of you giving dating advice. He needs to take one look at his own history with women and sort himself out before he comes running to you.

  “Wizards aren't safe around our people, Y/N,” Hades continues. “You aren't meant to mingle with people like him.”

  “I think that's a little harsh.”

  “His father wants you dead.”

  “My father wants everyone dead! You're the god of the underworld, for crying out loud!”

  Hades's eyes widen for a moment, clearly shocked at your outburst, but you don't even have the strength to reel it back in. You have felt frustration towards many of the Olympians, all of whom seem to believe they have some sort of control over you, but the one Olympian who makes you angriest the quickest, is the one stood right in front of you, the one who shares your blood, the one who hooked up with your mum one day before abandoning her, along with the kid he always claimed he was never going to have.

  You don't even care that he's a god. You don't care that he could kill you in two seconds flat if he so desired.

  “Chiron did not raise you to have such a sour attitude,” Hades says after a moment.

  You deflate, eyes slipping closed. “There's really no point in trying to get through to you, is there?”

  “It is my job as a father-”

  You scoff.

  “-to keep my kids safe. That's what I'm doing.”

   Your eyes pop open. “Keep us safe? Bianca's dead, Dad. Nico's gone rogue. The only reason I haven't been slaughtered is because I never expected you to keep an eye on me – I do everything on my own.”

  “That's not true,” Hades growls. “You know that's not true.”

  “No? So where's my little brother then, huh? Where's Bianca? Where were you yesterday when a fucking chimera nearly ripped me to shreds, huh? Where were you then?”

  “I'm a busy man, Y/N, but I'm serious when I say that wizards are not the kinds of-”

  “This isn't about the wizards!” you yell, throwing your hands up. The ground rumbles, but neither you nor Hades acknowledge it. “This is about you coming into my dreams, thinking you can just lay down some fatherly rules after nearly eighteen years of not giving a shit about me!”

  His eyes flash. Within the dark irises, you catch a glimpse of a screaming face, and you know exactly what he must be hearing in the back of his mind right now. You hear it sometimes, too, only he must be much more used to it than you are.

  “I have always cared for you,” he says. “Even when my brothers and sisters were punishing me for having another demigod child, I cared for you. I kept them from harming you. I made sure you reached Camp Half-Blood safely so that you could be under the protection of people who knew where you came from.”

  “And they've been more like family to me than you have ever been.”

  Hades closes his eyes. A god dejected. A god not getting what he wants. It's a rare but pleasant sight.

  “I'd like to wake up now,” you mumble. “I appreciate you stopping in, but please never do it again.”

  Hade's looks at you, and you hate the resemblance. You hate that pull, so mortal and familial. You can't even help it. It's like the genes you got from this man are desperate for you to just make up with him, to just see him as the dad he is.

  But you can't.

  He argues no further, clicking his fingers to send you out of your sleep. You awake, startled, eyes snapping open to the sight of your dark room, the smell of ash heavy in the air. You flick your eyes over to see your bedside table gone – yet again, you incinerated it in your sleep.

  “Fuck sake,” you whisper.

  “I put it out.”

  You yelp, very nearly falling out of bed in your shock. Your head snaps up, hands grappling for your sword, only to pause when you look over and see Draco standing in the doorway wearing a white dress shirt and black trousers.

  He looks exceptionally smart.

  Exceptionally smart.

  Your heart jumps as you push yourself up, running a self conscious hand through your bed head. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

  “Chiron asked me to wake you. He said you have training today.”

  You groan, flopping back into your pillows. Draco chuckles, and before you can tell him to stop, he strolls right over to your window and pulls the black out curtains open.

  “Noooo,” you moan, rolling onto your stomach and stuffing your head in the pillows.

  Draco chuckles. “Come on. It's already nine am. The climbing wall is gonna be packed if you don't wake up now.”

  You peek an eye out of your pillow and glare at him. “How do you even know about the climbing wall?”

  “Poseidon's son gave me a little tour after I left the infirmary yesterday; quite a nice little place you've got here, I must say. I'm quite fond of it all.”

  “Oh, happy days. As long as you're happy.”

  He grins, sharp as knives. “I feel like I'm on holiday.”

  You swing your legs out of bed. “You're digging yourself into a deeper hole, Malfoy.”

   “I can just sit back, kick my feet up, watch you lot fight a bunch of mythical creatures-”

  You lob a sock at him. “Get out while I get changed.”

   Draco grins before bowing out of the room, slamming the door closed behind him.

  And so you get ready for the day, getting dressed in your usual Camp Half-Blood shirt and a pair of comfortable jogging bottoms. The sun is bright this morning, a clear indicator that Chiron and the gods are in a bit of a better mood than they were yesterday, when rain was breaking through the already damaged seals of the camps barriers.

  As promised, the climbing wall is set up and booming with Half-Bloods. People from all the different cabins take turns going up against one another, clambering up one side of the wall, racing each other to the top as lava pours down from nowhere, lightening strikes zap through the centre of the wooden beam, as random hands appear out of nowhere and make swipes for legs and arms and faces.

  You spot Draco sat by himself in the stands, wand twirling in his fingers. It could very well be an intimidation tactic, but you stroll up beside him anyway, taking a seat to watch the scene before you unfold; someone from the Ares cabin has gone up against someone from the Athena cabin, a deadly pairing when put together.

  Draco doesn't budge when you sit down. Instead, he points and says, “I think the one with the spear is going to win.”

  “Clarisse?” you say. “Yeah, probably. She's a stubborn bitch.”

  “Daughter of...”

  “Ares.”

 “God of...”

  You roll your eyes. “Have you ever actually looked into the Greek myths?”

   Draco shrugs, leaning back in his seat. He stretches his long limbs out in front and says, “I was educated more in the ways of Dark Magic than Greek myths.”

  “Boring.”

  “Necessary, I think.”

   “Tell me how that all works.”

  Draco glances over. “Magic?”

  “The world of magic. It sounds. . . confusing.”

  Draco pauses for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully. As he ponders, the two of you watch Clarisse make her way to the top of the climbing wall, where she pulls the ring loose of it's confines and holds it up to the sound of applause and cheers from the people on the ground. She hops off, landing in a crouch on the ground; her brothers and sisters swarm her, all but lifting her off her feet in celebration.

  Finally, Draco speaks. “It really is just a whole different world. Different to. . . any other world, I guess. We dress differently-”

  “Yes.”

  “The structure of the whole thing is different. You get used to it after a while, but I guess being here is making me realise just how weird the way things are run back home really are.”

  “But it's what you're used to, isn't it?” you say. “You must have thought the way we did things was weird when you first arrived.”

  Draco scoffs. “Skeletons coming up from the floor? Definitely weird.”

  Your cheeks heat up, despite the lack of malice in his voice. Your powers are still – and forever will be – a sensitive topic for you; you've had far too many bad experiences with them to ever be comfortable flaunting them around like the other Half-Bloods are capable of doing. Even now, you watch the Hephaestus kids make fire sprout from their fingertips without so much as a flicker of hesitation – you've never been able to do that, because people take one look at what you're capable of and immediately think you're some kind of devil spawn, there just to drag them into the pits of hell or something.

  Draco nudges you, pulling you from your trance. When you look over, he gestures towards the climbing wall. You follow his gaze to see Percy standing in the centre, waving up at you, arms wild above his head, that goofy grin on his stupid face.

  “I think he wants you to join him,” Draco mumbles.

  You glance over. “You don't mind?”

  “I'll stay here and cheer you on. How about that?”

   You stare at him a second longer, the wand twirling between his nimble fingers; oh, it would be so easy to hate him. That cocky smirk, the subtle hostility to everything he says. You weren't made to like wizards, but Draco Malfoy is starting to grow on you.

  You give him a smile before hopping from your seat and jogging down into the grounds. People cheer at your arrival, because this is the match they have all been waiting for; scared as they may be to face your powers on their own, they would never give up the opportunity to watch two kids of the Big Three go head to head against one another. This is truly the only time you feel comfortable using your powers.

  Percy shakes your hand when you reach him, dragging you close so he can whisper in your ear. “You and Dynamo getting a little close up there?”

   You shove him away, not even giving him an answer before you hop up onto the first ring of the climbing wall. “You coming, Seaweed Brain?”

  Percy rolls his eyes, taking position on the other side of the climbing wall. In the stands, a whistle blows, and immediately the two of you start.

  Percy's quick. Percy has always been quick. From the day he strolled into camp, dragging Grover along with him, he has proven how powerful he is.

  But you're also pretty quick, pretty lithe, just as capable as him.

  You don't even fully process where he is, much too focused on avoiding the downfall of lava dribbling down the side of the climbing wall. The heat singes your hand as you pull yourself up, and you have to grit your teeth to stop the cry of panic that always wants to make it's way to the surface when this happens.

  Percy has the advantage, of course; he just summons some water from thin air, and the lava is immediately overpowered. He laughs at your scowl, pulling himself further along the climbing wall.

  “Okay, Mr Jackson,” you mutter. “If that's really how you want to play it.”

  You pull on something within your stomach, a trick your sister Hazel was able to teach you when you visited her in the Roman camp all those months ago. You reach a hand out, grabbing the iron ore before it soars above your head after being ripped from the ground by your powers. It's not much – you're much better with a sword – but you throw it, using your powers to push it away from your body, straight towards Percy's face. It smacks him in the nose, making him cry and stumble. He slips from the ring he is hanging onto, dropping a few feet before finally latching onto another; blood oozes from his nose, and he glares up at you as you quicken your pace, hoping to put as much distance between you both as humanly possible.

  “That wasn't very fair, you know!” Percy yells up.

  “Gotta do what you gotta do!” you yell back, which of course prompts Percy to shoot a blast of water straight at your legs. You yelp, grip loosening on the ring you have grip on.

  But then you're falling, because the thing about water is that it makes surfaces extremely slippery, and not even a child of Hades can overpower that. You desperately try latching onto something – anything – that can soften your fall, but your moving too quick, and the rings are zooming past, out of reach, and you know this is it. You're going to fall to the floor and break some bones and be out of commission for weeks, because that's what always happens when Percy gets competitive. You're starting to get real-

  “Wingardium Leviosa!”

  Another yelp is ripped from your throat, this one more a yelp of surprise as you suddenly become light as a feather. The wind stops whistling in your ears, replaced now by the gasps coming from the ground, and the sound of Percy yelling, “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” over and over again.

  Ever so gently, you are lowered onto the floor. As soon as your feet hit solid ground, you are engulfed by a crowd of Half-Bloods, all coming to make sure you're okay, have not been harmed despite that being the way of things in this place.

  Percy clambers off the climbing wall and dashes to your side, wrapping you in a brotherly hug as soon as he reaches you. “Fuck, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hit you that hard-”

  “'Course you didn't.”

  “You had it coming!” He points to his nose, still dripping blood. “Look what you did to me!”

  You roll your eyes before craning your neck to get a better view over the heads of your fellow campers. You catch sight of him immediately, leaning against the stands with his wand still twirling in his fingers, the tiniest of smirks present on his pale face.

  Your stomach turns; he had used his magic, cast some sort of spell to stop you from hitting the floor.

  You probably need to thank him for that.

  However, as soon as he meets your eyes, he does nothing but wink and turn on his heel, strolling oh-so-casually towards cabin eleven.

  ----

  “So are you going to tell me what that was?”

  You scream. Your hands fly above your head, knocking the low hung lamp shade dangling from the roof of the Hades cabin.

  Spinning, you catch sight of your father stood in the corner of your room, shrunken down to the size of a normal human being. He likes playing pretend, apparently, but you see right through it. His dark eyes are narrowed, and leaning against the wall beside him is the scythe he so often carries around with him.

  “That's an intimidation tactic,” you pant, motioning to the scythe. “It's not gonna work me on, Big Guy.”

  “Don't ignore my question,” he snaps. “What did that boy do to you when you were falling?”

  You slowly straighten up. “You saw that?”

  “Answer the question.”

   “Why do you think I have an answer?” you exclaim. “I know just as much about the wizarding world as you do! I don't know what he did, but I'm not dead, so I'm not gonna bother questioning it.” You grab a pomegranate seed from the bowl beside your bed, popping it into your mouth before you point a stern finger at the god standing in your room. “And you shouldn't either; he saved your child's life.”

  “My children are capable of protecting themselves. That's how you were raised.”

  You roll your eyes, flopping down on your bed. “This again? Where do you get off talking about raising kids?”

  For a brief second, Hades pauses. You savour it, the moment his face twists into one of uncertainty, as if only just then realising where he has messed up; he can talk all he wants about his children and how you're all just like him, but he can never claim to have made you into the people you are today.

  You hum, smirking. “That's what I thought.”

   Hades snatches the bowl of seeds out of your hand and slams them back onto the bedside table. The room rattles much more than necessary, but you spare the trembling walls only a single glance before turning your attention back on your father. He glares down at you, no longer justifying your attitude with words. He's waiting patiently for you to just open up and tell him exactly what happened, waiting for you to just admit that what happened out there was messed up, and unnatural, and you will never see Draco ever again if you can help it-

  “He saved my life.”

  You believe it, even though it takes every fibre of your willpower to admit such a thing. Demigods don't just get saved. They do the saving. They live their lives getting trained to protect themselves, because they know nobody else will. Today, all those years of training disappeared, and you should have died. You should have fallen to the ground as punishment for your lack of concentration, but Draco had stepped in and given you a second chance.

  And maybe that's dramatic. Maybe looking at it as a second chance was taking it a step too far, but he had done something, and you can't just sit back and pretend otherwise.

  Hades straightens up. In mortal form, his full height is only around five foot nine, but he still manages to look intimidating. It's the eyes. You wonder if people think the same thing about you when you look at them.

  “My brothers and sisters have been voicing their concerns about you getting too close to the Malfoys,” he says, voice softer now. “I told them not to worry, that no child of mine would ever fraternise with people like them. And yet here we are.”

  You pause. “Here we are, yeah.”

   “Lucius won't be happy to hear his son has helped save the life of a Half-Blood.”

  “Lucius Malfoy won't be happy, period. Plus, I haven't even spoken to him the entire time he's been here.”You push yourself up into a sitting position. “Draco isn't like Lucius, Dad. They are two separate people, just like me and you.”

  Hades clenches his jaw. You've hit a nerve. You always do when you bring up just how desperately you want to be separated from your father, just how much you despise being told you look like him, or you do something like him.

  He looks at you with those dark eyes and says, “You're stubborn, you know. That's a trait you get from me, not your mother.”

  “You're grasping at straws now.”

  “You're more like me than you'll ever be willing to admit, but everyone sees it. Nico and Bianca. . . they had little traits of me within them, but not as much as you. You really are my child.”

   Your stomach clenches, and it's confusing. It's so, so confusing, and so painful, because there's a part of you that basks in these comments. He's your dad. No matter how much you try denying it, there has always been a part of you that wants to know you're a little bit like your dad, and yet there's that hostility that begs and clambers for any excuse you can use to go against such a thing.

  You look away, fighting the urge to cry that always seems to rise to the surface when Hades is in your vicinity. “Can you just leave, please? I'm not going to stop talking to Draco just because you lot upstairs have a grudge against his family.”

   Hades sighs. “I know you won't. But you can't say I didn't warn you.”

  “Get out, Dad!”

  When you next look up, the room is empty. Nico and Bianca's beds are desolate, pushed against the wall, suffering from years of neglect. Once again, you are alone. Outside, Draco's shadow passes the window, accompanied by Lucius.

  ----

  Draco seems to be getting comfortable in camp.

  Your father doesn't like this.

  You see, Hades has a very annoying way of making his anger obvious, especially when the anger is pointed towards his children. You will be sat talking to Draco, having a seemingly normal conversation about whatever the days endeavours are holding, when suddenly a scream will plunge right through the centre of your brain, impossible to ignore.

  It's painful sometimes. The headaches that often follow are the kind that leaves you sweating, unable to look into any form of light lest you make it worse. Hades doesn't take this into consideration, however, as he continues giving you these flashes throughout the next week and a half.

  It's another one of his stupid fear tactics. You know it is. He wants to make you suffer so you'll be on his side through intimidation, and you're not willing to give in to him like that. Gods don't always get what they want. That's something they need to learn.

  And so, you continue talking to Draco, and honestly, he's starting to become a friend. He's still a little drawn back, and you can only imagine the reasoning behind that is because Lucius is breathing down his neck every two seconds. Whilst Draco is taking the moral high ground and getting used to life at Camp Half-Blood, Lucius refuses to do such a thing. He spends his days brooding away in the Big House, getting angry when Chiron or any of the other Half-Bloods step foot in what he has now claimed as his domain. The Big House has basically become Out of Bounds whilst the Malfoys are in your presence, because Lucius throws a tantrum any time anyone besides him and his fellow wizards step foot inside of it.

  It's on day twelve that you and Draco sit together in the grass upon the hill. In your lap is a colouring book that Percy stole for you a few years back, one you haven't touched because you very rarely have the time to just sit down and colour something in. He said it got rid of stress or something like that. You wonder if it works.

  Draco lays down beside you, gazing up at the baby blue sky. He has one hand cupped across his forehead, the other resting on his stomach. His ice blue eyes are a little lighter when the sun hits them, and you can see some golden streaks in his silver hair.

  You colour in a picture of Poseidon, already excited to show Percy the final product.

  “Look at this picture a second,” you say after too many minutes of silence. “Tell me if that guy looks like Percy.”

   Draco flicks his gaze over, lifting his head just slightly to get a better view. “Percy?”

  “The son of Poseidon,” you confirm. “The annoying one who blew up your fountain.”

  “Oh, him.” Draco scowls, dropping his head back to the grass. “I suppose it looks a little bit like him, yes. Why?”

  You tilt the colouring book back and forth, humming as you inspect the drawing; it's badly done, of course, with the image probably taken from Google Images, drawn by some human who didn't know any better. For example, they drew him wearing some fancy toga-looking thing instead of his usual khaki shorts and Hawaiian button-up. You've also known Poseidon to enjoy getting his hair permed, but his hair is dead straight in the colouring book.

  “I just think Percy looks a lot like his dad,” you reply. “Not in this picture, obviously – Poseidon wouldn't be caught dead with his eyebrows looking like that. But in real life, I swear, they're the picture of each other.”

   Draco grunts. Not exactly the response you were looking for.

  You glance down at him, raising a brow. “Not gonna add anything helpful to the conversation?”

   “What could I possibly add? I don't know the Greek gods personally.”

  “Really?”

  Draco glares at you. “Forgive me for not fraternising with mythological gods, Y/N. I don't have quite the same relationship with them as you do.”

  You hold up your hands in faux surrender, recognising his angry tone. “Alright, fair enough. No need to get grumpy.”

  “You and Percy are really close.”

   It isn't a question, and you suppose it doesn't have to be. Anyone who has known you for more than two seconds will be able to see that you and Percy are close, having been through so much together. “Yeah, we are. What's wrong with that?”

   Draco slips his hand from his forehead over his eyes and mumbles, “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” But his heart isn't in it, and you're not exactly convinced he's telling the truth. You haven't known Draco all that long, but you're pretty confident now in your abilities to pick up when he's angry, or frustrated, as you have seen it more often than any other emotion.

  You glance at him, raising a brow. “You sure about that?”

  “Yes. Why would I think there was something wrong with you having a friend?” He pauses a moment before adding, “He is just a friend, isn't he?”

   It clicks.

  Your cheeks heat up with the realisation. You're thankful that Draco is covering his eyes, because otherwise he would have surely been able to see your shocked expression, and that isn't the look you want to give off right now; you need to remain calm and collected, make sure you're reading this right before you go and lose your cool.

  Awkwardly, you push the colouring book onto the grass and turn your attention fully on Draco. He stiffens when he feels you move, though he doesn't look at you. He doesn't even move his hand away from his face. You wonder if perhaps he doesn't want to show you his true expression, either.

  “Yes,” you say. “Percy is just a friend. He's never been anything more than that.”

  “Oh right. Nice.”

  “Would...” You inhale, glancing down into camp. You're not used to this. Actual emotions, they're scary things. You've never been able to properly handle them. “Would that be an issue if he was?”

  This time, Draco is unable to hide his embarrassment. Beneath his hands, his pale cheeks flush red, his Adams apple bobbing as he swallows and says, “No. It's none of my business.”

  “Well, it's just 'cause, like, you asked, and I just thought-”

  “Thought what?” Finally he looks at you, eyes narrowed. “Thought I cared about what you got up to when I'm not around?”

  You reel back at his tone. “What? No! Well – yeah, I guess, because clearly some part of you cares-”

  “You and Percy can do whatever you want.” He stands, wiping the grass from the elbows of his fancy black blazer. “I honestly couldn't care less. It's not like I'm sticking around much longer, anyway.”

  You raise a brow. “Are you mad? How the hell did that happen? I didn't even say anything!”

   “I'm not bloody mad.” He groans, spinning on his heel as he runs his hands through his hair. You don't even go after him, too stunned to even move. Instead, you just watch his retreating form, only for him to stop a few feet away, turn back and say, “Do you just forget the fact that he was about to let you fall to your death?”

  You freeze. This was not the turn you were expecting the conversation to make. “Come again?”

  “On that climbing wall,” Draco exclaims. “He watched you fall, Y/N! He didn't do anything to stop it from happening, and I refuse to believe he wasn't able to, because from what I've heard, he's one of the most powerful things in this bloody camp!”

   “Things?”

  “Oh, you know what I meant!”

  You shoot up then, anger flooding your system. This is happening too often. You're losing your grip on the control you have trained so hard to gather, and it's all Draco's fault. “No, Draco, I don't actually know what you mean. In case you've forgotten, you're in our home, so don't you dare come in here claiming to know what we see is right and wrong. Percy might be one of the stronger demigods, but so am I. I can handle myself, and Percy knows that! That's the only reason he didn't do anything-”

   “That's his excuse, is it?” Draco laughs, a bitter noise that makes your blood boil. “I wonder how long it took for him to brainwash you into believing that.”

  That's what does it.

  You remember all those times Percy has saved your life. You remember spending weeks by his side, on the run from the worlds most terrifying monsters. You remember crying with your belief that he was dead, imagining a life without your best friend, your companion.

  And here Draco is, acting like he knows Percy better than you, deeming him a bad person just because of a single mishap he happened to witness, a mishap he doesn't even fully understand.

  Behind you, the black cloud arises from the ground. Without even looking, you know it's there, consuming you in tendrils of darkness. Draco's eyes widen, a cry of surprise escaping him before he stumbles back.

  The cloud follows him.

  In your head, you listen to the screams of the souls that make up that cloud, the souls you can control with nothing more than a brief thought nowadays. Draco cries out, nearly falling over his feet. Soon, you can no longer see him as he disappears behind the black curtain.

  You stay exactly where you are, watching him run down the hill, being chased by this power you have total control over. It's fuelled by anger, and you know you're going to get in trouble for doing it, but in this moment, you don't even care. You'll deal with the repercussions later, so long as Draco learns his lesson now.

  It's once the young wizard has disappeared round the corner that you let the souls drop. They sink back into the floor, a rush of energy slamming back into your body now that the strenuous work is over. The hill you are standing on goes silent bar the sound of the snickering tree nymphs.

  And then, just by your left ear, your fathers voice whispers, “Good job, Y/N. Definitely my child.”

  ----

   Percy always knows when something is wrong with you.

  There's something in the air, he says, a buzzing that he recognises as something he too possesses when he's angry. It's like the children of the Big Three communicate their anger through this weird little hum that only the other mistakes can hear.

  He must notice it now.

  He sits across from you at the lake, his toes dipping in the water as you keep your knees drawn to your chest, fingers sunk in the dirt. You keep your eyes on the tide as it sways in and out, but Percy keeps his eyes on you, waiting for the moment you will turn and look at him.

  But you don't.

  You don't want to answer his questions right now. You don't want to go into detail about what Draco said, about what you did to him, about how guilty you feel even though you know you shouldn't. You have used that scare tactic on so many people in the past, and it's always been for good reason – not once have you ever felt guilty about it.

  Not until now.

  Finally, Percy sighs and says, “So you're just gonna sit there and not tell me what's up?”

  Leave it to him to be blunt.

  You glance over and shrug, unsure where to even begin. You want to tell him the truth, of course; he's like a brother to you. The world always feels a little off when you're not telling him every little detail of your life. But gods, how do you explain this without sounding crazy?

  “Do you want me to guess?” Percy continues, shuffling a little closer to you. “'Cause I'm good at that. Especially with you.”

  “Try it.”

  He hums, leaning back. “It definitely has something to do with the wizard boy.”

  Your eyes snap up. “How did you know?”

   “It's always about the wizard boy; you two have been joined at the hip since Chiron declared his residency here.” Again, he hums, continuing his analysis. His sea green eyes are narrowed, his lower lip protruding in a pout. “Did you two get into an argument?”

  “Kind of.”

  “Was he taking his fathers side?”

  “No.”

  “Was he insulting one of us?”

  “...Kind of.”

  Percy raises a brow. “So I'm getting warmer.”

  You sigh, closing your eyes in exasperation. “He thought you and I were a couple.”

 Percy pauses. It's now an awkward pause, especially considering he bursts into laughter not three seconds after. His shoulders jolt, eyes widening as he claps a hand to leg as if to stabalise himself. “You're kidding.”

  “Alright, Seaweed Brain, hands off.” You push him away and fold your arms over your chest. “But yes, he thought you and I were a couple.”

  “And that bothered you so much that you got into an argument with him and now you're huffing?”

   You glare. “You're really enjoying this, huh?”

  Percy nudges your shoulder light-heartedly. “I'm just messing. Tell me what happened.”

  And so, as Percy gets comfortable, you begin your retelling, going into the details about Draco's little tantrum, and your retaliation to said tantrum. Percy interjects with a little “Aww” when you talk about defending him, to which you push his arm to get him to pipe down.

  You feel even worse once the story has been spilled and you are able to see everything in hindsight; should you still be mad? Did Draco deserve that kind of torment?

  Percy is silent for a moment once the story has been told. He looks off into the sea, as if calling to the waves for an answer, a piece of advice he can give you.

  Finally, his wise mind comes up with, “That sounds shitty.”

  “Yeah,” you grumble. “It was.”

  “Sounds like he fancies you.”

  Your cheeks heat up. “I don't think so. Not any more, anyway.”

  “And you're disappointed about that?”

  You shrug, because you really don't know. It would be much less hassle if you weren't disappointed about it, but you can't deny that you don't enjoy the feeling of Draco being mad at you. It feels off. It feels like you've done something wrong, even though you don't think you have.

  “You know,” Percy continues, “I feel a little guilty being the reason you two have fallen out. I wasn't even there and I'm still causing trouble.”

   You scoff. “Yeah. You have a habit of doing that, don't you?”

  “I can't help it.” He leans forward, nudging your arm. “What if I have a little chat with Draco?”

  You perk up, stomach turning at the mere suggestion. “Oh Percy, no. . .”

  “What do you think I'm gonna do?”

  “Bully him. Make him hate me even more.”

  “The fact that that thought bothers you so much just proves to me how much I need to step in and offer my expertise. Annabeth didn't fall in love with me for no reason, and you know that.”

   You open your mouth to object, but the words fall short, because he has a point; out of everyone you've ever known, Percy is the one who has been able to keep up a healthy relationship the longest. He and Annabeth argue like cat and dog, yet they still give off the aura of two young people who are truly in love with another.

  That's rare.

  You slump back against a tree. “Just don't say anything stupid to him. Please.”

  He's already standing up, brushing dirt off the seat of his trousers. “Of course not. Give me ten minutes. I'll have him seeing sense in no time.”    ----

  Draco tries his best to stop the panic.

  It's an old habit, one he hasn't been able to kick. He sees a demigod, and immediately his heart starts beating really fast, and his stomach drops, and his fingers twitch in the direction of his wand. It's a self defence reflex, one that has been built into him from day one, but he's amongst them now, and he needs to stop it.

  But seeing Percy Jackson walking towards him is never going to be a sight he's going to get used to.

  Draco remembers that picture you were colouring in the grass the day previous. You said Percy looked just like his father, and Draco can see the resemblance now. From what little he knows about the true Greek god of the sea, he can tell just where that analysis came from; Percy's black hair, his sea green eyes, even the way he carries himself like he owns the place.

  It screams My dad is a god.

  Draco pulls his shoulders back and gives Percy his best game face, trying desperately to look like he knows what he's doing, like he hasn't been lost in his own thoughts from the moment you looked at him with that anger on your face. He hates that it affected him so much, that he can't get the image out of his head, that he wants nothing more than to storm over to the Hades cabin and apologise for ever upsetting you.

  “Draco, my man!” Percy exclaims, though his heart clearly isn't in it. “How are you? Good?”

  “Fine.”

  Percy clicks his fingers, giving awkward finger guns. “That's good. So good.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks around. Then, out of nowhere, he snaps his gaze down to Draco's and says, “So, I've been told there's a bit of trouble in paradise.”

  Draco pauses. “Paradise? I'd hardly call this place paradise, Jackson.”

  Percy raises a brow; it infuriates Draco, who is so used to his comments making people angry. Percy just seems amused. “Your accent really doesn't do my last name justice when you say it like that.”

  Draco scowls. “What do you want from me, Percy? I've got nothing to say to you.”

  “Well, no. You don't. Technically, I have nothing to say to you, either, but I'm a nosy little shit head, so here we are.”

  “What makes you think I'll tell you anything?”

  Percy grins and takes an abrupt seat next to Draco, shoving his shoulder like they've been best friends for years. “If you tell me what I want to know, I'll tell you what you-” He prods a finger into Draco's chest. “-want to know.”

   Draco's heart hammers. He stares at the grinning demigod, debating whether or not to just jinx him here and now rather than let this absurd conversation go any further.

  But then the options come into his head.

  He has questions about you. Of course he does. You're just. . . a force to be reckoned with. You're such an individual, unlike any Draco has ever encountered in his life, and he wants to know more. Percy could be the key to having those questions answered.

  He coughs into his hand before saying, “I suppose I can talk a little bit.”

  Percy perks up. “Oh, really? Great! So what makes you think Y/N and I are a couple?”

  Draco's cheeks heat up. “Y/N told you about that?”

  “Y/N tells me everything. It's part of the whole being best friends thing.”

  Draco shrugs, awkwardly glancing down at his hands knotted upon his knees. “It was a stupid assumption to make. I know that now. Just. . . at the time, with how close you both are, it seemed the most plausible thing to think.”

  “Well, it was stupid.”

  “Yes-”

 “And did this assumption-” He says this with a snooty British accent that makes Draco glare even harder. “-piss you off?”

  Draco pauses; here is where he could very easily trip up. He needs to choose his words carefully.

  “Yes.”

  Percy tilts his head. “Because you. . . love Y/N?”

  “Love?”

  Percy raises his hands in faux surrender, though there is a grin flashing across his face. “Sorry, sorry. Do you fancy Y/N?”

  Draco swallows the golf ball sized lump in his throat; he wants to die. He literally wants to throw himself into the lake and never resurface. How has Percy managed to butter him up in less than fifteen minutes?

  “I suppose,” Draco mutters. “They are very – um – attractive.”

  “Big brain,” Percy says, nodding. “I get it, man. Smart people are hot.”

  “Uh, yes. Yes, they are also very smart-”

  “And scary.” Percy hollows out his cheeks, shaking his head at nothing. Draco is starting to get annoyed. “Y/N is terrifying, and let me tell you, when a person can intimidate me? Wow. Marry me on the spot, is what I say.”

   “Why don't you just ask Y/N out then?”

  The words come out harsher than Draco planned, but he can't help it. Percy is sat there, basically drooling over you, and it's driving him mad. It's been driving him mad from the instant he got that stupid thought stuck in his brain that maybe – just maybe – you and Percy were something a little more than just the best of friends.

  Percy is grinning, though.

  Draco scowls. “What's so funny?”

  “You really like them, don't you?”

  “I never said-”

  “Personally, I wouldn't touch Y/N with a six foot pole,” Percy continues, which just makes Draco even angrier, and he no longer knows just what he wants. “I'm talking about my girlfriend, Annabeth. The blonde girl. Daughter of Athena.”

  It takes a moment for Draco to remember who Annabeth is. But then it dawns on him, and suddenly everything is making sense.

  His cheeks warm again. “Oh. Right.”

  “Yep. So that's that.”

  “I'm sorry.”

  “Nah, don't be. It's not me you need to apologise to.”

  Draco bites his lower lip, understanding that Percy is right; he said some awful things, and he put you on the spot when you really didn't deserve it. You were doing nothing more than talking about your best friend, and Draco let his own jealousy push to the forefront.

  He looks over at Percy to see the demigod grinning again, an expression he often seems to have. Draco wonders why you don't like him, why you decided to spend all those hours with him instead of Percy.

  And as if Percy can read his mind, he says, “Y/N likes you too, you know. Like, properly likes you.”

  Draco pushes up from the grass, gives Percy a grateful smile before heading out on his mission – to apologise.

  ----

  You run into Lucius Malfoy shortly after Percy storms off.

  It's quite a chance meeting, though part of you can't help but feel that maybe Lucius had it all planned out from the beginning. He holds himself like a man who knows exactly what he wants, like a man who doesn't understand what a chance meeting is.

  You pause in the grass, watching him wade towards you. In your hand, you hold your sword, but that clearly isn't enough of an intimidation tactic against the tall, pale wizard. He stops only when he's feet in front of you, and with his posh accent, he says, “Y/N.”

  “Mr Malfoy.”

  “Where is Draco?”

  “Beats me. He isn't my son.”

  Lucius's nostrils flare. “Can you put that sword down whilst talking to me, please? It's disrespectful.”

  You look at the celestial bronze blade and tilt it back and forth. The sun hits off the hilt, illuminating the Greek words inscribed upon it. “No. I quite like it in my hand.” You look back at Lucius and smile pleasantly. “Is there something I can help you with, Mr Malfoy? Are you lost?”

  Lucius grits his teeth. Something throbs in his jaw, and honestly, you wouldn't be surprised if he were to draw back now and punch you square in the face.

  Or he could just cast a spell, or whatever it is wizards do.

  “You know, Y/N, Draco has told me an awful lot about you,” he growls.

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. And quite frankly, the details he has given me only further prove my theory that your kind are just unnatural.”

  He's only trying to wind you up. You keep that in mind as you stand before him, listening to him spew such hatred; you could so easily just chop him to pieces right now. You could end this for everybody, but you think of Draco and how he would react and that thought alone is enough to silence the violent thoughts before you lose grip on your powers.

  “I'm sorry you think that,” you mumble. “Hopefully you'll be out of camp soon enough and won't have to bother with my kind for much longer.”

   Lucius laughs. There's no humour in it. It makes you ill just listening to it. “He told me about your little parlour trick – raising the dead, is it?”

  “Controlling the dead.”

  “That's Dark Magic, dear. That's the devils work if I've ever heard of it.”

  You open your mouth to respond, but the chance is ripped away by the sound of someone else's voice ringing in your ear.

  “I don't really enjoy being called the devil. He and I are two very different legends.”

   You close your eyes. “Dad, go home.”

  He doesn't listen to you. Of course he doesn't. Instead, he steps up to your side and places a warm hand on your shoulder. When you look up, he's smiling at Lucius with the same pleasant smile you gave him only seconds before – the pleasant smile that hides the fact you're on the verge of murdering someone.

  “Is there a problem here?” Hades asks.

  “Who are you?” Lucius demands, and you very nearly laugh at his stupidity.

  Hades actually does laugh at his stupidity as he motions between you. “Surely you notice the family resemblance?”

  Lucius stares, and then it all clicks into place. His eyes widen, mouth dropping open in a look you can only label horror. He stumbles back and says, “Hades?”

  “A god,” you pipe up. “So watch what you say. I can't hold this one back.” You turn to Hades with an exasperated look. “Who let you crawl out of Tartarus again?”

  “Nobody lets me do anything, dear,” Hades replies, keeping his eyes on the horrified Lucius Malfoy. “I just heard what our little friend here was saying to you, and I thought I'd come and put him in his place. Can't have someone insulting my dear child, can I?”

  “You've never intervened before.”

  Hades pushes you backwards, ignoring what you've just said. “So, Lucius; would you like a little duel beforehand, or are you just going to let me end your life, plain and simple?” He pauses, and when Lucius doesn't reply, he adds, “There's no shame in taking the easy way out.”

  “Dad-”

  “Stay out of this, Y/N. This is between me and-”

  “Dad? What's wrong?”

  Your head snaps up. Draco is stumbling down the hill, eyebrows raised as he glances between Hades and his father. Your heart jumps at the sight of him.

  “Draco, pack up your things,” Lucius demands, staring at Hades as if afraid to look away lest your dad make any sudden movements. “We're leaving.”

  “Oh, happy days!” You rush forward and grab your fathers elbow, dragging him back as much as you can. “Did you hear that, Dad? They're leaving!”

  “I'm not going anywhere.”

  You whirl on Draco. “What do you mean you're not going anywhere? Can't you see the predicament we're in right now?”

  Draco raises his brow, clearly still confused as to what the hell he has just walked in on. “Who is this?”

  “This is my dad.”

  Draco's skin pales even more, if that is even possible. Hades turns, gives the young boy a pleasant little wave before he starts rolling up his sleeves, eyeing Lucius up again.

  “Oh, right,” Draco squeaks.

  You turn your attention back to Hades, latching onto his arm yet again. “Come on, Dad. This is pointless. They're leaving camp-”

  “Y/N, I'm not going anywhere before we talk.”

  “Draco, this really isn't the time-”

  “Make up your mind, Lucius. . .” Hades sing-songs. “Quick and easy, or slow and painful? I can do both.”

  Your heart hammers in your chest; this is not how you wanted things to go, not at all. You wish to every other god listening that Draco will just agree to go with his father, that he will leave and never return.

  But you don't really want that, do you?

  “Curse you, Zeus, you mind-reading bitch,” you hiss beneath your breath.

  Draco glances at you. “What?”

  “Never mind.” You grab Draco's shoulders and shove him back. “Just go, Draco, please. My dad is going to-”

  But you never get to tell Draco what your dad is going to do, not before Lucius Malfoy cries out, “Avada Kadavra!”

  You don't understand what's happened; the words just yelled by the Malfoy man are unfamiliar to you, jibberish if you've ever heard it, but Draco cries out and dashes forward. A blinding flash of light slams makes you stumble before Draco's arms wrap around your waist, throwing you to the ground with him hovering over you. When you open your eyes, his face is inches from your own, but neither of you get to bask in each others closeness, because all hell has suddenly broken loose.

  Hades is so powerful. Sometimes you forget that. You've read the stories, and you know he's a god, but sometimes, all he is to you is your annoying dad who shows up every now and then to be annoying, and then he leaves. Sometimes you forget he can literally raise the dead in two point six seconds.

  And judging by the corpses now stumbling around you, that's exactly what he has done.

  “Oh my god,” Draco mumbles.

  You push him away and clamber to your feet. “Dad, stop!”

  The wind is billowing, however, and your words fall on deaf ears. Lucius has fallen to the floor, staring up at your father with a look of pure, unfiltered horror. Hades stands over him, now in full god form, and the sight is breathtaking. He's at his full height now, standing over everyone with his arms outstretched. Dirt billows around him, and a black light emanates from his body, blinding if you weren't his child. Draco has fallen to the floor, covering his head with his arms, and you are so, so happy he has the common sense to look away.

  You stumble forward, latching onto your fathers clothes. “Dad, stop this now! Please!”

  “How dare you?” Hades's voice shakes the trees. His eyes are pitch black. He is a god. “How dare you use your filthy wizard spells against my child?”

  “I'm fine!” you cry. “Dad, I'm fine! Draco saved me! Look!” You helplessly wave your arms over your head. Beside you, a corpse laughs a high pitched laugh. You glare at it and say, “Shut up.”

  The wind only grows stronger as Hades continues to bellow his threats and his curses. Lucius is too stunned to even move. Behind you, Draco cries out your name, tries reaching for your sleeve, but you pull away and continue yelling up at your father, trying to make him see sense.

  “Dad, I'm fine! If you kill him, I'll never forgive you!” You grapple for something else, some other excuse you can use. “I'll – I'll never come back to Camp Half-Blood! I'll stay in the mortal world forever and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it!”

   Hades falters. He glances down at you with those dark, sunken eyes and he says, “You know you're not safe there, Y/N. Don't joke about such things.”

  “Then let him go,” you beg. “Please, Dad. I never ask you for anything, but I'm asking – begging – you for this. Just let him go.”

   Hades tilts his head. “You're standing up for this piece of dirt?”

  “Draco,” you pant, as if that is enough explanation. “Draco just saved my life, Dad. The least you can do is spare his fathers life.”

  The wind dies down. Dirt topples back to the floor. The walking corpses drop to their knees before the soil reaches around them and drags them back into their graves, where hopefully they will remain for another few years. Slowly, your father shrinks back down to his usual five seven stature, his eyes gaining their normal dark colouring again. He continues staring.

  You stare back for only a second before you spin on your heel and march towards Draco. You yank him up by his collar and shove him back, hissing, “Go grab your stuff and get out of here. This is the shit you're gonna get wound up in if you stay. You don't deserve that.”

 Draco, flustered, grabs your shoulders and pushes back, keeping himself rooted to the ground. You want to cry. You need him to leave. You need him to be safe. You can't let him witness something like that ever again.

  “Please, Draco,” you croak out. “Save yourself the bother-”

  “You're crying.”

   You groan, quickly swiping beneath your eyes to rid yourself of the tears you didn't even realise were falling. “No, I'm not.”

   Draco wraps his arms around you and drags you into his shoulder. You don't really know why you melt into him in the way you do; it just kind of happens. Feeling the fabric of his shirt against your cheek, his arms around your shoulders, his body against yours – it's as if all the stresses of the evening flood out of you in a single swoop, replaced by a relief you didn't even know you were in such dire need of.

  It's like Hades and Lucius don't even exist any more. It's just you and Draco, swaying back and forth in the darkness, saying nothing and that being enough.

  “I'm not going anywhere,” he whispers. “Not until you know.”

  You pause, but don't pull away. “Until I know what?”

  “That – That you're special.”

  You look up, raising a brow. “Is that a demigod joke?”

  Draco groans, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “No. That's not what I meant. I meant – like – you're special to me.”

  “Okay...”

 He squeezes his eyes closed. “What I'm saying is, I don't want to leave you. I don't want to go back to the wizarding world and pretend I never met you. I want this – whatever this is – to last a long, long time.”

  Your heart thunders in your chest. Beneath you, the ground rumbles, like the floor is hungry. “Draco...”

  “I don't care what my father thinks of it,” he says, voice lower now. “I haven't been this happy in forever. I haven't met anyone like you before, and I'm so, so grateful you don't hate me.” He blinks. “Percy told me that, by the way – that you don't hate me. He wasn't lying, was he?”

  You laugh. “No, he wasn't lying.”

  “Oh, great.” He pulls you closer. “So, as I was saying-”

  “Oh, for the love of me!” Hades claps his hands impatiently. “Just kiss them already, you idiot! Why do mortals take so long to get to the point?”

  Draco looks over your shoulder, face going red. “Are you giving me permission to kiss Y/N?”

  Hades rolls his eyes, waving a dismissive hand. “Yes, yes. Just get on with it. I'm ageing.”

  “You're immortal, old man.”

  “Watch your mouth, little one, or you're grounded.”

  Your laugh is broken by Draco's kiss.

  In the background, Lucius yells in frustration, but he quietens as soon as he looks at Hades. You don't even care, though, because once again, it's like neither of them are really there. It's just you and Draco. There is no world separating you, there is no problems, you are the same. His hands trail along your jawline before crawling over the back of your neck, holding you in place, as if you would ever willingly pull away.

  Beneath you, the ground continues to growl. You imagine it's the dead people giving you a round of applause.

---

“Lumos.”

  You crack an eye open. Beside you, Draco shifts, lifting the covers further over his head. Through the thin material of the quilt, you can make out a dim yellow glow coming from Draco's wand.

  You roll onto your back, nudging his arm with your elbow. He pauses, taking a few seconds before he pulls the covers back down, revealing his messy bed head and bare torso. He gives you a grin and says, “What are you doing awake?”

   “You woke me,” you reply, before nodding towards the book resting on his lap. “What's that?”

  “Oh, this? Nothing. Just a little book I picked up from the library the last time I was at Hogwarts.”

  You raise a brow; you haven't seen Draco casually read in quite a while. Any time he has his head stuck in a book, it's usually to learn some new potion, or some new spell that he can show the harpies to impress them when they ask for a magic show. However, looking down at the book currently perched on his knees, you can see this isn't just some simple recipe book for wizards – the pages are filled with text, with very little pictures to accompany them.

  “Can I read it with you?” you ask.

  Draco's cheeks light up. “Maybe you should just go back to sleep. It's pretty late-”

  He goes quiet when you rest your drowsy head on his chest, tugging the quilt up to your chin. You hear him sigh, a noise of content before he looks down at the page and places his wand beneath the words. In bold at the top is the title Hades and Persephone.

  “Oh, my mum hated her,” you say.

  Draco chuckles. “I can imagine.”

   You trace your eyes over the words. You can't really make them out with your dyslexia, but Draco reads them for you, because he knows. He reads the story of your father and his true wife, pausing to ask you your opinions, or if you know anything about any of it. You tell him you don't, but you want him to keep reading, so he does, and together you learn about your father and his ways.

  Finally, when Draco reaches the end of that particular story, you look up at him and say, “Why are you reading this?”

   He shrugs. You don't buy it, though, and continue waiting for his response. He rolls his eyes at your patient silence and says, “Remember when you asked me if I'd ever read any of the Greek myths?”

  You raise a brow. “Yes...”

  “I hadn't read any of them. But I realised it's kind of part of your history, isn't it? These myths, the people and things you talk about. If I really want to understand you, I have to get familiar with a few of these terms, don't I?”

   A lump forms in your throat. “You're reading these for me?”

  “Of course.” He slams the book closed and says, “Quiz me. I can tell you who Demeter is right now.”

  You stare at him a moment longer, overwhelmed beyond words. Instead of giving Draco a pop quiz on all things Greece, you reach up and press your lips to his own, whispering the unknown words of “I love you,” against his mouth.

  Draco chuckles, the sound like music to your ears. “I love you, too.”

[storyunrelated]

NaNo 2020 - Conclusions

So I didn’t finish this year. Whatever. Any time I have quote-unquote ‘finished’ it’s been a steaming pile of shit anyway, so did I really lose anything? Did I? Really?

No, the answer is no.

But did I learn anything?

No, the answer is no. Again.

What ideas bloomed this month though? Ideas that might charitably described as having sprung from NaNo in some way, shape or form? 

Everywhere Be Dragons

The original idea that I abandoned. Schlock, standard sci-fi. Lasers and shit. A retired man and his electronic friend who is presently in the robotic body of a bird go off to try and find out who injured his nephew. Turns out its some guy from some podunk evil space empire with a sword that can some summon chrome space dragons that can fly through space or some shit. Whatever. Garbage garbage garbage

Here’s a bit. The first lines, in fact:

Alarmingly naked, David Bellamy strode up to the largest of his windows and flung back the curtains to let what he hoped was the glorious sunshine of another sedate, mellow day flow in and bathe his more personal regions. 

Being a man of leisure now he had the time available to do this sort of thing.

Awful. 

Anyway, next.

And now for something completely different

Some admin schlub who works for a nebulous evil organisation ala SPECTRE is tasked with sourcing twenty-five red, plastic wallets by next week. It should be easy. It is not easy.

This was a very threadbare idea based on something I actually had to do, leading rather naturally to the thought “Wouldn’t this mind-numbing task be funnier if it was happening in an evil organisation?”. High-concept stuff.

Here’s a bit:

“Why am I doing this? This isn’t anything to do with me?”

“It’s nothing to do with me, either, but they passed it to me and I’m passing it to you. I’m higher up than you so now it has something to do with you. It is, in fact, now your problem.”

“What happened to Bill anyway?”

“Dead.”

“Dead?”

“Yeah, him and a bunch of others. Whole chunk of procurement, in fact. Super agents, last month.”

“What had procurement ever done to them?”

“I don’t think they were aiming for there specifically, they just got in the way. Think they were trying to hit the weather control department - they’re underneath them.”

“Oh yeah, yeah. Poor bastards.”

“Yes, well, now you’re here to carry on their fine work. Next week. Red. Sort it out.”

“But-”

“You’re a resourceful man, I’m sure you can manage.”

That’s literally all I did before I got bored.

Next!

Bad Wizards

I was reading about The Sword of Truth and I was reading about how Confessors worked in The Sword of Truth and it was this super-weird combination of an absolutely terrifying sounding power being the implications of which were ignored in a super-weird way.

Basically a whole class of women can ENSLAVED ANYONE THEY TOUCH FOREVER and this ability isn’t something they use it’s something they have to concentrate NOT TO USE and the purpose of this class of women is to...

...basically go around and brainwash/murder anyone they deem isn’t being honest and good. Oh, and they decide who’s honest and good. And there’s no question that they’re honest and good.

Oh and there’s no men with this power. Why? Because any male infants born with this power are murdered by their brainwashed loveslaves ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS.

Very odd. Very very odd. But easy fodder for villains, so I just thought “What about people being charged with coming up with ways of trying to fix this or go against it?”.

Then I did a bit where two guys are visiting a dead guy in a dead city. I don’t know why.

Much to his displeasure Percival was once again accompanying First to the city of Erhart, home to the court of Baldric the Everliving. Percival did not like the court of Baldric the Everliving. He didn’t much like Erhart, either.

He did not like the silence, the utter and complete silence. He did not like that, despite all of the citizens having died, there were no bodies anywhere, nor even a hint of violence or struggle to mark their passing. 

(Not that heaps of corpses would have made him feel better, obviously, but knowing that they had died it was eerie not seeing so much as an upset teacup to indicate that this might have been the case. It just didn’t seem fair to them, somehow. Like they’d passed on without a fuss, without so much as a whimper.) 

He did not like the way the empty windows seemed to stare at him. He did not like the way the streets were so dusty. A dirty street he might have been able to understand, but to have such a layer of dust, lying as thick as snow, untouched by the elements, undisturbed by any living footfall other than their own periodic visits - it just made him uncomfortable.

Everything about Erhart made him uncomfortable, frankly, from the mere thought of it, up through the physical reality of it all the way to the ruler of it, who he was going to have to go and talk to. Again. Nothing about this day was good for Percival.

BORING! NEXT!

Worse wizards

Uh, another idea, less related to anything else I was reading - I think? - but more, uh, what if there was a horrific ruling class of magical people who were for all intents and purposes utterly untouchable. 

Can kill you soon as look as you, mess around with your brain and your body just for kicks, come back from death easy as anything and only get more powerful as the years go on. One of them has a huge tower held up solely by their willpower, whatever. They’re a horrible, immovable fixed point in society.

Then one day mechanisms and techniques start showing up that can kill them and ignore their powers. Just out of nowhere. And these methods are super-simple to do and also start to spread.

What happens?

Lame lame lame lame lame.

“Did all of you miss what I told you at the start? The nature of what was used to kill Dennis?”

Blank looks. They had listened, but they had promptly forgot. It hadn’t seemed important.

That it was important and that this should have been obvious had passed them by. John gritted his teeth and straightened up, reaching around to a nearby trolley and - carefully - picked up a kidney-shaped dish resting on it and bringing it around so they could all see its contents. In the dish rattled several small, dark, sharp bits of what sounded to be metal. These the wizards peered at.

“He was killed by something that not only ignored his magical protections and ignored them completely, might I add, but which also then drained his body of even the merest trace of magic and severed whatever connection there might have been between his mortal shell here and anything beyond the material. Did you listen that time? Would you like me to say it again? Would you like me to go slower?”

More blank looks, though some were starting to get less blank. Some were getting confused. Some were getting worried. They’d actually paid attention this time.

What was I THINKING?!

Indulgence

This was me just doing a re-write of one of my secret, shameful pieces of fanfiction, with the fanfiction elements removed. Because why not?

[REDACTED]

Nope, not even a little bit.

Stupid! Next!

N/A

Some random thing in first person about following some rambling lady across some bridges and getting some weird book I don’t fucking know.

Where did all this water come from, anyway? And where did it go? I could see the vast lakes below us, of course, stretching off as they did towards wherever these caverns terminated, but did those lakes drain anywhere? The flow of water from above never ceased, and yet the levels below never rose. What maintained this equilibrium? Or was the scale involved simply so great that no change could ever or would ever be observed?

I do wonder why I wonder about these things sometimes. The answers to these questions wouldn’t benefit me in any way. 

Yet still I wonder.

Who ccaaaaaarrreeeessss? Next!

Delicious Godmeat

A long, long time ago in some faraway land in another universe or whatever there was some vague, vaguely benevolent overgod. They had of children and they looked after all the normal people and blah blah all was well.

One day those children decided to devour their parent and split up their power between them, so they could care out their own little demenses and rule things the way they thought they should. So that happened.

However, the biggest, juicest bit of godly meat went missing somehow, much to their chagrin. They looked and looked but they never found it. Because it fell through time and space in a way that’ll never be explained, and ended up here. And now, by accident, some random young lady touched it.

Whoops! You’ve got a chunk of a dead god stuck inside you now! Better go free the land of those rapaciously evil children, absorb their power and try to bring some goodness back to this land! Whatever that means! Figure it out! You’re basically a demigod now!

Have fun battling the alien feelings of a dead deity and an ever-increasing level of godlike power! 

“Sooner or later you’re going to have to make a choice knowing that whatever choice it is you end up making it is going to make a lot of people very, very upset with you.”

“Can I just do nothing?”

“Sadly, no. Someone in your position chooses not to decide, that’s still making a choice.”

“Gah! I can’t win!”

CONCLUSIONS

Awful. Awful awful awful awful. They’re all awful. They’re all terribly. Sweet Jesus what a waste of time, every last one of these is a stinking, rancid turd now fouling my Google Docs with their stench. Awful awful awful.

Know what’s missing in all of these? Well, lots of things, but you know what crucial element hobbles each and every one of them from right out of the gate?

No fucking characters! Just a half-baked idea shoved out and left to die in the sun! No-one involved I give even the merest whiff of a shit about! Not a one! And no situation I care about either! None of these do anything for me! They leave me cold! And everyone in them leaves me colder! Frozen!

A setting isn’t worth shit if you’ve got no-one to do anything with it! Settings just sit there, inert, characters make it happen! Characters make the story! AND YOU’VE GOT NO CHARACTERS YOU WORTHLESS SHITHEAD! YOU’VE GOT NOTHING! JUST THE SAME WORDY BASTARDS OVER AND OVER AGAIN! JUST A THOUSAND COPIES OF YOU! I HATE ME! THAT’S USELESS!

I’m dead inside now!

Well, deader than I was before!

Awful! Awful awful! Eurgh!

Oh well! Same time next year!

[mind-writing0]

Chapter 16

Dear Virgil,

Everything is okay, though we have guards in the house now. Unfortunately, they didn't bring any food. They are pretty nice though, a few of them bought some of my paintings. Mom has been trying to flirt with them, and you can imagine how much of a nightmare that is. Eww, right? Anyway, I miss you. I miss your songs in the house and the way you would always protect me against mom. I know it's cheesy, but it's true. I hope you're having fun, so everything is good on both ends. Please write soon,

Virgil read over the note again, his smile was something of complete surprise to him and others of the Men's Room.

"Love note?" Lance asked from the loveseat they sat in, plucking the note from his hands. "From the prince?" Ever since realizing he'd been to more than one outing with the prince, instead of being petty like the others, he teased him. It was odd, why would someone who liked someone else be so openly okay with them being with someone else? It was all complex and weird.

Lance scanned the note, and, realizing it was Valerie, opened his mouth to say something. Before he could speak, though, a maid dashed in and tapped Virgil's shoulder. "The prince would like to see you, Sir Virgil." She whispered, smiling politely.

"Alright. Later, Lance." Virgil waved, putting the book that was in his lap down. He went out, immediately spotting Roman leaning against the wall, trying to look nonchalant. The sight made Virgil snicker, and Roman immediately went back to his trained rigid posture.

"I received a letter from Valerie this morning." Roman started.

Virgil heart immediately plummeted. "Oh, no. What did she say? I'm sure if she offended you at all, she didn't mean it. It was probably really bad, if you came all the way here—"

"No, no, Virgil. It's quite alright. She was perfectly polite and curious in her letter, and I must say that she is the best pen pal I've ever had." Roman smiled, and Virgil buried his hot face in his hands.

"Isn't that, like, sabotage or something? I mean, she could persuade you to like me..." Virgil raised his head to see Roman's smug expression, and that just made him want to wipe the smirk off his face.

"I can assure you, Sir Virgil, any feelings towards you that I posses have not been influenced by anything but you. You and your..." he seemed close to laughter, "your undeniable charm." Roman's words sounded assuring, yet they worried Virgil. Sure, Roman may be just flirting, but what if he began having feelings Virgil couldn't return?

"Wow, thanks." Virgil jokingly pouted.

"You're welcome. But why I really came here was...I missed you. It's ridiculous, considering I have a lot of boring desk work and you're just down the hall. Not to mention you probably didn't miss me, but...I don't know, I just did. Would you like to talk?" Roman asked, blushing a little as he sat on a nearby bench with blue and gold designs.

Virgil nodded and joined him. "So, what do you think is harder: my lessons work, or your palace work?"

"Oh, my palace work, definitely! It's like running an entire business, but no one listens to you! No offense, darling, but it is much harder running a country than your schoolwork."

Virgil playfully pouted again, though he felt like smiling by just being in Roman's presence. It was probably because Roman was his only friend besides Lance, and he would probably yell at anyone who had belittled him like that. "Fine. I probably couldn't run a country that well anyway."

"What would you do?" Roman asked, "If you were to marry me?" He hadn't said if you were prince, which Virgil might have preferred.

Virgil mocked puking, then laughed a little and hoped he didn't hurt Roman's feelings or anything. When the prince just rolled his eyes, Virgil settled and frowned. "I...I think I would fix some of the poverty."

"The poverty? What do you mean?" Prince Roman asked, seeming genuinely confused.

"Don't you know?" Virgil asked incredulously, "About all the Sixes, Sevens and Eights? I mean, yeah, Eights are obviously homeless, but don't you get the steps it takes to get there? Sixes and Sevens literally work with dirt, and if they don't work hard enough to see death, they'll die. And sometimes, when you're in the lower castes, you go without stuff. You go with electricity. And water. And food—" he looked up suddenly, as if he'd just realized who he was talking to. Not just that, what exactly he was talking about. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Roman."

"No," Roman whispered. His eyes were wide, shocked, and he was shaking. His voice was empty, yet so full all at once. "No, there is no need to apologize for what you are not guilty of. This is all my fault. You've gone with the things you need, and it's all my doing."

"No, it's not!" Virgil argued, though Roman was already standing.

"Yes, it is, but it's alright, darling. I'll fix everything. In the meantime, feel free to take any necessities you need. God knows you've already taken my heart." Then, without another word, Prince Roman quickly left Virgil in his own stunned silence.

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[littlemissgeek8]

Okay I just wanted to say I love your dnd art like so much!! It’s amazing!!! If you don’t mind me asking, can you summarize what you’ve done in your campaign with Jemima Appleblossom so far? She’s so cute and I would literally die for your PC

Aww!! Thanks! It’s always a joy to run into people who likemy characters! :3 I can totally give you a summary of our campaign thoughunfortunately it is 30 episodes atthe time of writing, with 31 going up later today, and I was unable to shrinkit to a reasonable size. I’ll put it under a cut to save on people’s dashspace, and I’ll also put links here for the youtube playlists in case there’sanyone who’d like to watch it instead of just reading about it. XD And for anyone interested in the series, this recap will catch you up in time for today’s episode to go out!

For those not wanting to read through all 8,930 words ofthis, TL;DR: “Ragtag group of adventurers get pulled into another world wherethey find themselves rubbing elbows with gods, fighting monsters, makingfriends, reviving demigods and unwittingly unleashing some massively dangerousthings onto the planet. In between accidentally dying a few times.”

[Ghostwolf] [EscoNitz] [CriticalHat]

Well, we started off in Parnast, sent by our individualfactions to investigate a missing wizard. My halfling bard Jemima is a Harper,same as our other bard, the human Gineye. Our other party members included Lei,the Tortle Paladin, Zuradar the Tiefling ranger, Lilystra the half-orcbarbarian and Zareem, the Aasimar warlock (who works for the Zhentarim, theonly other faction I remember.) On our way to find the missing wizard, we raninto a bunch of Kobolds who attacked us, but one Kobold --with distinctivewooden legs and one arm-- was trapped inside a cart by his own people and gaveus some assistance. When we finally found the wizard he was in the process ofsummoning something that turned out to be a Water Weird, which subsequently atethe whole party, ending the first session.

We woke up a week later inside an infirmary, which we soondiscovered was in an underwater city—the water weird didn’t just eat us, ittransported us basically to another dimension far away from Faerun. Seeing usas adventurers, one of the triton soldiers from the town we woke up in took us upto the surface to the port town of Audio Bay. (I might be spelling it wrong,sorry, I don’t have good notes this far back.) There, a dwarven merchant namedJonah gave us a quest to track down some missing gear that was stolen from him,a quest which lead us to a well with a Zhentarim symbol on it (surprisingly,since none of our factions exist in this dimension) and inside said well, weencountered a “dungeon” of a dubious nature filled with hobgoblins and bugbearsin leather armor and chain shirts. (Yes it was a kink dungeon, no I don’t wantto remember much about it. XD) After thoroughly stomping everyone involved, aminiscule orc calling himself “Bob” entered the room, shouting at us forhurting his people (whom he then revived with no effort at all.) We told him ofour mission and he agreed to let us take the stolen weapons back, along withgifting us a mysterious box filled with magic coins and a magical shield to ourpaladin. It wasn’t until later that we discovered that “Bob” was actually thegod of slaughter, not until after Zareem managed to roll a natural 100 and hithim with an eldritch blast.

As we left the dungeon, we were greeted by a pack of strangelooking wolves and a tall, blond man in a black coat who asked us to give himthe weapons we’d retrieved. He wouldn’t accept “no” for an answer, nor did wehave much time to try convincing him that we’d been assigned to collect thembefore our hair-trigger warlock decided to cast Charm Person on this newcomer.Unfortunately, the man was carrying a Staff of Charming and nullified the spellbefore it could affect him, before wildshaping into an earth elemental andproceeding to do his best to squash us. It wasn’t until Zareem and Zuradarmanaged to capture one of the “wolves” who turned out to be another druid thatthe man relented, changing back and calling off his friends. He admitted hisactions were hasty and together we traveled back to Jonah’s store with thestolen weapons, where it was revealed that the weapons were a special orderfrom the druid himself, Edan. In return for the weapons, Edan financed someupgrades for our group through the organization he works for (including a sweetring for Jemima which changes her vicious mockery from a d4 to a d6.)

The next day saw Edan taking us to an open air market on thedocks to shop around for supplies, before taking us to a tavern and treating usto lunch. (It was a pretty low-key session though there was a lot ofnon-story-important horseplay.) At the tavern we ran into the druids we’dfought the day before as well as a familiar face: Hanzi, the Kobold with thewooden limbs. While we ate, Edan mentioned that the druids, Hanzi and himselfwere all from Faerun originally and offered to let us join the organizationthey were working with when they went back to their base at the end of themonth. Shortly afterwards (after Jemima spent some time performing for thetavern patrons) Edan left the tavern, citing a “call” from his celestial parent(which Jemima immediately recognized, due to her own bardic master having beenan Aasimar as well.) Before they could pursue, the party was given a quest toinvestigate something in the tavern’s cellar, which turned out to be a wholeton of giant spiders (and a lot of screaming from Jemima) as well as a mimicwhich had taken the place of a box intended for Jonah.

As we returned to Jonah’s shop with his shipment, a heavystorm had started rolling in off the ocean, and after checking in with Jonah(and asking him if anyone would have been trying to kill him by sending him amimic) we headed out to the courtyard to find Edan standing by a scorched areawhere several lightning strikes had taken place. One of the lightning strikesleft behind a glowing orb that turned into a box which he quickly pocketed andrefused to tell us what it was, but we learned some troubling information aboutthe how though the portal we’d come through was a common occurrence, somethinghad interfered with it and kept his organization from closing it on time. Afterthings nearly came to blows between him, Zareem, Zuradar and Gineye, we allheaded off to prepare for whatever the next day would bring and eventuallysleep.

The next day was stormy again, but we set out with Edan anda few others to the docks, hoping to stave off whatever horrible thing wasapproaching the town from the portal in the ocean. Almost immediately, Edanflew off towards a monster out in the ocean, leaving us to deal with a largenumber of minor water elementals who did a good deal of damage before welearned we could destroy them by damaging the summoning circles they came from.Meanwhile, Gineye (with his Special Eyes) noticed “Bob” and several cloakedfigures watching the proceedings from the air nearby. As we defeated theelementals, a massive bolt of lighting shot from the storm over the ocean,right into the monster Edan was fighting, killing it and throwing Edan’slifeless body onto the docks nearby. Jemima tried in vain to use Healing Wordto revive him, only to be shut down by someone sending her a clear mentalmessage that she was wasting her time. Soon afterwards we found ourselvesfacing the same Wizard we’d been sent to find, who had merged himself with thewater weird. The battle was short and fairly one-sided as we all charged himbefore he could do much, eventually leading him to attack Lei one-on-one.Nobody’s entirely sure what happened but the wizard disappeared and Lei learnedhe could shoot a beam of radiant energy from his mouth.

That concluded, the realization of what happened to Edan hithome as a few of us tried to go over to him, only to be stopped by two of thecloaked figures Gineye had seen. One, a massive bugbear went to solemnlycollect the body, while the other (a skeletal form we couldn’t see well) tooksome glowing orb from Edan’s head before leaving. We’d managed to save thecity, but we’d lost a friend in the process. The next week was spent helpingthe city rebuild from the attack, though for Jemima it was a week of privatemourning and a grim realization that the fairy tale heroics she’d dreamed ofwere only a fantasy in the face of harsh reality. Then, we were called in toJonah’s again, only to find “Bob” sitting there, along with a large box and thedruids we’d met earlier. He gave us a mission we couldn’t really reject—travelwith Jonah and the druids to take the mysterious box to a town calledSylvenstand, checking in with a few towns along the way. When asked why hechose our group to do this, he admitted that we’d been specially requested, orrather Jemima had been requested for this job and it followed that everyoneelse would come too. In addition, Jemima was given three gifts—the owl-headedStaff of Charming that Edan had used, his bag of holding, and Bob’s holy symbolon her wrist as a sign of protection. And so, the group set off cross-countryto Sylvenstand in an enchanted cart with a box they weren’t allowed to touch(or let anyone else touch either, save for one contact they were told to meet.)

Their first destination was Flatol, where they were sent toinvestigate some reports of some strange goings on. This lead the party toinvestigate a crypt, one decorated with symbols and writing praising Orcus, andinside we found the necromancer that we’d been sent to find who almostimmediately trapped us into seeing our worst fears, but before anyone couldreally dwell on them, the Necromancer himself was murdered by the thingconjured up by Hanzi’s fear: a terrifying shadowy cleric. The battle thatensued was brutal, with us trying to defend against the cleric’s powerfulattacks or healing each other as best we could, but in the end the nightmarecleric was defeated. However, the cost of fighting him turned out to be Lei’slife, for the killing blow on the cleric sent our unconscious paladin into hisfinal death saves (Thanks, Zareem for not moving your Shatter spell somewhereelse.) However, instead of outright dying, a glow surrounded him, bringing himback but without his hard shell and with a much longer tail. The coins we’dreceived from “Bob” on our first meeting with him had each bonded with one ofus and this was the first time they’d revealed their powers: saving the bearerfrom death but bringing them back with a change or two.

We ushered our now semi-naked Tortle back to the cart andprepared to move on (though not until after a horrifying lunch in which ourTiefling nearly petrified several people with some of the dishes he’d made and did actually petrify himself for a shorttime.) Then, we moved on to Glens, the next town on our journey. TheNecromancer we’d run into had gone to Flatol from Glens and we were informedthat another necromancer had been in town as well, along with a frighteningbounty hunter who was hunting him down. Our search for clues turned up little,but as we all went to meet up in the town square, a huge hulking barbarianleaped down into our midst, wielding a massive axe. We weren’t much of a matchfor him, until Lei managed to grapple him, giving Gineye a chance to use a boltof petrification he’d picked up earlier. The Barbarian failed his save hard,turning to stone before our eyes, but as Gineye removed his hood, a familiarface stared back—Edan’s, thoughframed by dark hair instead of blond. Needless to say, Jemima didn’t take itwell, and we carefully moved the petrified man back to the cart to be restored.Before we left, however, the axe the barbarian had been using decided to attachitself to Gineye, revealing itself to be not only cursed but sentient as well.

A cleric who was currently traveling with us managed torestore the barbarian, and a conversation later revealed that he was not, infact, Edan. He introduced himself as Ivan the Lucky, a bounty hunter who hadbeen chasing down the necromancers we had run into, and he’d been working longenough to have a solid reputation, so the chances of him being Edan withamnesia or something was extremely low. However, we couldn’t let him leave asone of the jobs in our contracts was to investigate the grisly murders in Glensand there was a good likelihood he was involved somehow. So, with Ivan in towwe headed off to the next town, Crance, which was currently embroiled in arebellion of some kind. However, we had to stop there to meet up with acontact, and since we weren’t given a description of the contact we had tocross our fingers and hope we found him. A couple of men in a tavern claimed tobe the people we were looking for and agreed to come back to the wagon inexchange for some help with a situation they were in. It was only after givingthem the information we had and letting them inspect the box (which thankfullythey didn’t tamper with) that we found out they were not, in fact, our contact,but a mysterious half-orc in town might be. They were with the resistanceagainst the tyrannical government in the area and they directed us to a guardshack where the half-orc and some of their own people were being held.

Our group headed over there and found the guards to besurprisingly easy to defeat, and in the cells were a group of heavily injuredresistance fighters and one massive, angry owlbear. The half-orc however wasnowhere to be seen, until we headed to a room in the back. There, we found himstanding over the corpse of the head guard, pulling a knife out of thestill-warm body. The distinctive red teardrop tattoo on his face marked him asthe person we were searching for, since it matched the mark Jemima had receivedfrom “Bob” at the start of our quest. The half-orc, Grug, followed us back tothe cart to properly inspect the box and pay us for the tasks we’d alreadycompleted, but took an immediate dislike to the currently sleeping Ivan. Heexplained that Ivan was Edan’s Alternate—somewhat but not quite the same personborn in another dimension, though many differences in environment and home lifecan lead to wildly different characteristics, jobs and lives. He then warned usto keep Ivan away from the box, stating that it was dangerous to have himaround when Edan was in such a “weakened state.” Yet again, Jemima freaked out,demanding to know what he meant by that before Zareem completely stopped theconversation by boasting about how Bob approved of him b/c Zareem had managedto hit him. In a fit of rage, Grug dragged Ivan’s sleeping body away andunleashed a bunch of monsters on us, since pissing off a paladin by boastingthat you’d hit his god is probably the worst idea ever.

Once the monsters were defeated we raced outside after Grugand Ivan, finding Ivan yet again possessed by Gineye’s axe as he’d been thefirst time we fought him. After getting the axe back from Ivan (which sent thelarge barbarian back to sleep) we turned our attention to Grug and the animatedswords he was currently attacking our cart with. A few near deaths later, ourfight was interrupted by Grug vanishing and “Bob” appearing in his place,demanding to know what was going on. Thankfully we were in our rights to defendourselves and “Bob” admitted that Grug was overzealous and a huge problem forhim, but he was obligated to keep the half-orc around due to Grug’s familyconnections. Still, Bob fixed our wagon for us and decided to travel with us toSylvenstand, stating that he couldn’t just teleport there due to the nature ofthe place. A few days of travel later, we reached the woods surroundingSylvenstand, a dark frightening forest that seemed to twist and move around,confusing travelers who dared venture into it.

Which is when we ran into the dinosaurs. About halfway intothe forest we were stopped by a dead end and a voice demanding to know why wewere there. When we explained our mission, the voice told us we could only passafter it had “tested our mettle” upon which an allosaurus and a swarm ofdeinonychus showed up. The battle was surprisingly long, made worse by thearrows being shot from an unknown source deep in the woods. However, thedinosaurs eventually backed down, but not until after Jemima heard a veryfamiliar male voice saying the phrase “You can do better” before their woundswere healed. The fight over, we trooped back inside the cart, following theAllosaurus (named Sharp) to the secret town of Sylvenstand.

When we arrived, Jonah took the mysterious box away, whileour group accompanied by “Bob” went to a building built into the massive treein the center of town. Before we could turn in our quest, we checked in with aman at the front desk by the name of Eldon. It was he who finally explainedwhat exactly it was we had been transporting all this time—Edan’s body,magically preserved and warded to prevent decay so that a reviving ritual couldbe performed once his soul was reclaimed. Then, we were ushered upstairs intothe massive tree to an enormous room where a humanoid figure seemingly made ofwood or possibly completely encased in wooden armor sat. Seeing as it wastechnically her quest, Jemima was chosen to speak for the party, turning in theletter they were sent with as well as being given a bag of coin to be dividedamongst the team later. Lei’s divine sense however, picked up the massive amounts of divine energy comingfrom the figure in front of them, as well as noticing the oak leaf symbol onthe man’s chest. Though the contract said we’d been sent to report in to a mannamed Tay’rados, there was little question that the true originator of thequest was none other than Silvanus, the god of nature and druids himself.

After some impromptu shopping at a small bazaar in town, weheaded off to the temple district to meet with one Captain Taylor who wassupposed to be able to help Zareem with a mysterious mark he bore on his chest.Captain Taylor agreed to help on the condition that we spar with him, anexperience none of us were quite prepared for, as he turned out to be anextremely high-level paladin who was pulling his punches. Midway through thefight, having taken a decent amount of damage, Taylor grabbed Jemima beforereaching an arm into her bag of holding, coming up with a purple coin that she’dnever seen before (she’d been getting small trinkets including a bag of dragonbone from Edan’s bag over time, but never seen that coin in all her searching.)Again, Edan’s voice chimed in with the phrase “You can do better” as Taylor’swounds began to heal. In an almost uncharacteristic display of kindness, Zareemhelped her get the coin back and to keep Taylor from taking it again, Jemimadropped it down the front of her shirt with a glare. Then, taking the staff ofcharming she’d inherited from Edan, she stormed over and slapped him deadbetween the eyes, shouting at him “How dareyou touch my things?” only for Taylor to shout back “How dare you take mybrother’s things?” When the fight finally ended, she confronted him about thosewords, discovering that Taylor (who is, in fact, the real Tay’rados and thenext in line to take over for Silvanus) wasn’t kidding about Edan being hisbrother, and the coin he’d taken was an Ioun stone that Edan had obtainedduring one of his many travels. The voice she’d been hearing was simply theHealing Word spell he’d kept inside it being activated.

After our sparring match ended, Tay invited us to join himat the local tavern for drinks to celebrate Edan’s approaching revival, thoughnot before we returned to the large tree building to answer a few questionsabout the wizard we’d fought back in Audio Bay. That was where, after the armorthe wizard had worn attached itself to Lei, that the wizard hadn’t justdisappeared that day, he’d been stowing along in Lei’s brain the whole timewithout anyone knowing. He hasn’t shown his hand yet, but the eventual effectsof this are unknown. Then we trooped off to the tavern, Lei and Zareemintending to party and have a good time, Zuradar and Gineye picking a fightwith a time-manipulating satyr who’d magic’d away some of our gear earlier (wegot it back thankfully) and Jemima meeting a nice man who gave her a book oncreating a Guard Drake from dragonscale (which she conveniently had thanks tothe bag of bones and scales in Edan’s bag of holding.) The party lasted allnight, though most were passed out before it got too late, particularly Zuradarwho was the first out after he failed to seduce an elf lady two times in a rowand left to drink until he couldn’t remember anything.

The next few days were less eventful, mostly everyone havinga bit of downtime and resting up, preparing for the next phase of the revivaloperation: retrieving Edan’s soul from wherever it had ended up. The owlbearthat we’d encountered in Crance had been put into a crystal by Grug fortransport, and thanks to Eldon, it was healed (though it had to be magicallyde-aged to save it) and given to Zuradar as a companion under the name Pip.When the time came for the expedition to set out, Jemima made sure our team wasinvited, since she desperately wanted to be able to save Edan. The expeditionwould leave Sylvenstand through a portal that had been set up over the last fewdays, though the endpoint was unknown until the portal was actually opened,bringing with it a group of dimensional “police” who wanted to know why we hadopened a portal onto a plane known as “Lunacy.” Tay seemed visibly distressedat the mention of that location, but in the end we were permitted to pass,providing he didn’t come with us (astipulation he didn’t challenge at all.) Armed with a glass jar with a locatingspell cast on it, we headed off into Lunacy.

The jar lead us through marshy woods until we came upon ascene of grisly carnage. Two hags had been torn apart along with a shambling moundor two, and as we approached we saw the one who had caused such destruction: acreature seemingly formed of wood with a featureless wooden mask. Immediatelythe jar Jemima was holding began to glow and vibrate, but just as quickly thecreature melted away into the ground, causing the jar to go dark again. Afterwe were set upon by another hag (and discovered that the damaged Weave on thisplane made casting spells a risky chance that often triggered wild magic tohappen) we continued on, the trail having been picked up again by the jar.After some walking we came upon a small tavern, the inside of which was emptysave for a lone barkeep in fancy eveningwear. He offered to give us informationor magic trinkets, and explained that the creature we had encountered, the“Beastmaster” was keeping him trapped. Our whole party was sure it was a trap,with the notable exception of Zareem, who made an agreement to smuggle a blackshard out of the plane in exchange for a magic sword and an axe.

Thoroughly disgusted at our companion, we continued on untilwe came to another clearing. As Zareem dashed across the grass towards a gate,the ground turned into more shambling mounds which proceeded to attack theparty. Midway through the fight, a large bear with a wooden mask lumbered in,attacking the mounds with us. However, once the mounds were destroyed, the bearturned towards us instead. Jemima had already put together that the jarresponding to both the Beastmaster (whose mask looked shockingly likeSilvanus’s) and the Bear (one of Edan’s common wildshape forms) were somehowconnected to Edan’s soul and she was reluctant to fight until being remindedthat druids change back from their wildshape forms after losing all their HP.When the bear finally fell, it morphed back into Edan, before dissolving intodust with a cry of distress, causing part of the jar to light up. This spurredthe party forward, towards the next location. There they ran across Eldonagain, who had followed them into the plane. He was badly wounded butsurrounded by corpses, including one giant spider wearing a wooden mask.Another piece of the jar lit up as Jemima approached it.

Then, Gineye managed to spot something across a nearbylake—on an island in the center, strapped to a cross-like structure, was Edan,or at least his soul. Coming from his body were five tendrils, two of whichwere rapidly dissolving. Using the teleportation that he had gotten from a wildmagic surge, Gineye teleported over to the island and summoned his axe, usingthe soul-collecting power of the axe to free Edan by having him slice off thetendrils. Edan’s soul disappeared, along with the fragments in the jar and theBeastmaster across the lake, but as soon as he’d done that, a massive shapeappeared in the distance. Sensing danger, Gineye returned, driving us all torun with Eldon in tow, back to the portal we’d come through.

The giant creature, which revealed itself to be a Terrasque,chased us all the way to the portal, eventually parking itself right on theother side of the portal but very much within striking range should we try toescape. Then, it revealed itself to be the same person Zareem had made a dealwith--the one who had marked him with the symbol of Vecna—itself an old andpowerful Primordial. It offered to let us pass as long as we kept the guardsbusy enough for it to escape, since the plane was rapidly dissolving around usas the weave unraveled. We agreed, while secretly planning to alert the guardsonce we were through, and escaped through the portal. The dimensional “police”were on hand to help, and drove back the massive claw that came through, butdespite our efforts, a tiny portion of the creature broke off and disappeared.Still, we had what we had journeyed for and after relinquishing the axe to Silvanus,so that he could extract the soul, we nervously awaited the revival itself. Wewere graciously allowed to be present for it, and the process went surprisinglysmoothly for all the trouble we put in. Upon waking up, groggy and disoriented,Edan asked for his bag which Jemima unquestioningly returned. However, insteadof keeping it, he simply took out the wooden box from the month prior andopened it, revealing a deactivated Void card from the Deck of Many Things. Witha glare he turned to Silvanus, telling his father to try harder the next timehe wanted to kill him before storming out of the room (just in time for Gineyeto return from searching the town for a saxophone in order to serenade Jemima’sreunion with the man she was clearly crushing on.) Gineye’s return lead to anembarrassment-fueled brawl, culminating with the party members involved (sansZuradar and Zareem who had left to talk to Jonah again) waking up the next dayin the infirmary.

When the party reunited in the tavern the next day theyfound out about a list of jobs open to them, now that they had been acceptedinto Mantle, the organization based in Sylvenstand. The party was very excitedover an upcoming tournament (though Jemima had her eyes more on the Bardcollege which nobody even looked at twice) but Gineye demanded they go to thecapitol city Paplus first, upon seeing not only the capture of the resistanceleader they’d encountered in Crance, but also a name he recognized—Lord Darius,a man he’d known before we first met up who seemed to be somehow connected tothe scars Gineye hides under a porcelain mask. As we geared up to go, we askedEdan if he wanted to come along, which he agreed to do, as he wanted to get asfar away from Sylvenstand and his family as possible.

The furthest we could travel by portal was to Paplus’sneighboring town StoneHelm, a two day’s walk from Paplus. Once the journey byportal was completed, Edan took his leave, stating he would be taking the jobat the Bards college there, though the party (save for a heartbroken Jemima)were too busy making plans for marching order and cooking arrangements to evennotice. A days walk later, they set up camp, dividing the nighttime watch intoshifts. During the second shift, after Jemima had bedded down for the night atthe end of her watch, a group of drow appeared, demanding Zuradar tell them thename of the halfling in the nearby bedroll, and at her last name ofAppleblossom the drow attacked, easily subduing the sleepy party and cartingthem off.

We awoke in darkness, with our arms and legs bound, with theexception of Zuradar who had been inadvertently untied by his owlbear Pip, andZareem who instead found himself in a nice room as if he’d been invited as aguest instead of kidnapped. It wasn’t long before the drow returned, removingtheir blindfolds and walking them out of their cells to a large central roomwhere they saw Jemima trussed up and suspended over a fire, and a hooded man atthe end of the room. The man demanded Gineye be brought forward and demandedhim to take off his mask or risk Jemima’s life. Grudgingly, Gineye complied andthe man removed his own hood, revealing the face of a man Gineye had worked withbefore during a similar rebellion back in Faerun, Tiberius. Like many of the peoplethey’d met, Tai had found his way to this world as well and joined the currentrebellion due to his own curiosity at how similar it was to the one in theirown world, even down to the blonde lady behaving shockingly like Gineye himselfhad done. A betrayal from within their ranks had gotten her caught by LordDarius’s forces, and the traitor in question happened to be the reason theywere captured in the first place—they were searching for a young halfling manwith the last name of Appleblossom who was known to use polymorph spells withthe aid of an enchanted broom. Alternates again, the party realized as theygrouped back up.

As we had found our way not only to Paplus but the rebellionwe were supposed to aid, we found ourselves tasked with helping them take downsome high-priority targets. Namely, we were sent to investigate a guard house(since trying to talk a gnomish inventor into helping us without copiousviolence was sadly not anywhere close to our forte.) Inside we found no guardsat all, but instead a massive iron golem guarding the place which we wereforced to fight after the attempts to bluff our way past it failed. With sometricky maneuvering (and a hand grenade), Gineye managed to deactivate the golemand we entered the captain’s office. Our suspicions were on high alert when theguard captain’s voice didn’t quite seem to match his body, but before theErinyes possessing him could do anything, Gineye petrified the captain with acrossbow bolt, then shattered the resulting stone form to prevent the Erinyesdoing more harm.

By the time we returned, the other team had safely securedthe inventor who was currently very clearly possessed himself. After a gooddeal of fooling around and failed attempts at exorcism using the Command spell,Lei realized that as a paladin, he could perform the exorcism himself. With theinventor finally free of possession, he demanded we shut down the factory thathad been making the golems and mechanical enforcers for Lord Darius, butinsisted that we not harm Darius when the time comes for he was in fact, a goodman. The revelation that the revenge Gineye sought would be deflected by yetanother Alternate did not go over well.

So, we set off towards the golem factory with Gineye leadingthe charge, revenge still smoldering behind his mask. When we arrived, thefactory seemed deserted, but when the guard dogs that came out of a few nearbykennels turned into hellhounds, and an ice devil dropped in from above, werealized we were in trouble. The battle, though brief, was tough, painful andlikely made worse by the absence of help from Zareem (who spent all of his timeattempting to get one of the hellhounds to trust him in an attempt to keep it.)Meanwhile, the ice devil managed to get inside the mental world Gineye used toconverse with the spirit of his axe and begin to corrupt it, leading to Gineyebeing unable to get back in. In a desperate bid to regain control, he demandedLei kill him, hoping that the soul trapping powers of the axe would give him aback door and a chance to find “Axey” again before his coin revived him. With aheavy heart, Lei and Zuradar complied, using their own weapons to kill theircompanion.

Gineye fell, then disappeared, reappearing shortly afterwardsacross the room, but something was very much different. Instead of the cheerymask he wore, there was a more sinister one with a jagged smile and a sinisterred glow from his eyes. As it had several times before, the axe had taken overGineye’s unconscious body, puppeteering it into using all of its abilities toattack his friends. Hoping to somehow break its control, Lei, Jemima andZuradar threw themselves into combat while Zareem continued to ignore the fightand attempted to gain favor with the hellhound in the corner. Even aftercalling for help, Zareem didn’t join the fight, stopping only to retrieve anice spear that had fallen from the ice devil’s body and throwing it into a furnace,completing the job of destroying the factory that they had been given.

Meanwhile, inside his head, Gineye was locked in a battlewith a being that resembled a corrupted version of the mostly benevolent spirtwho had helped him for the last several weeks. Assuming (probably correctly,though no confirmation has been given on this point) that this was in fact thepower source of the axe, built from the many slaughtered souls trapped insideit, and having corrupted the actual “Axey,” he sought to free her from thecorruption. A few times her consciousness seemed to flicker, as if his attemptswere getting through, but he was running out of ideas. In one last desperate move,he pulled her into a hug, and when that didn’t work, he used the power of theaxe to summon two spears, stabbing them both through her back and into his ownchest, aiming for the coin around his heart.

Back in the real world, the spear tips manifested out ofGineye’s body before they and he vanished again, leaving only the axe behind.The party barricaded the factory and then rested, worried about their friendbut too battered and tired to leave (save Zareem who had done basically nothingthe whole fight.) As they were ending their rest, a figure began to crawl outof the axe nearby, eventually solidifying into Gineye, though mysteriouslywearing the dress his spirit friend had worn. Naturally the team had questionsbut Gineye was evasive and wanted to move on, stopping only to shoo Jemima awayafter noticing that her poking his leg was causing no sensation of touch.

Their mission complete and their party gathered, theyventured forth to return to the rebellion’s hideout, only to find the doorwelded shut and a trail of blood leading them towards the other door and an unconsciousTai. Thankfully his injuries were minimal, but Tai’s story was grim: during thetime they were away, the hideout had been attacked by the robotic enforcersthat Lord Darius was using, but during that time they had made contact with adivination wizard by the name of Monty who was also a transplant from Faerun,one willing to aid them in their cause. Monty had given them a tip, telling thatthe leader of the rebellion was going to be publicly executed the next day, whichhappened to be only hours away now. Together they went to the town square, nowfitted with a gallows and a horde of people gathered to watch the execution.

Something was very much off, however, as the party hid amongthe crowd, waiting for their chance to strike. The man introduced as LordDarius was a far cry older than the man Gineye had known, and something feltvery wrong about the whole scenario. Those feelings were proven right whenGineye was attacked by one of the masked enforcers and the cloak was knockedoff of the “prisoner,” revealing yet another masked enforcer. The crowd ran asour heroes found themselves surrounded by more of the metallic men. Having dispatchedhis own attacker, Gineye used his axe to create a rope and swung over to thebox with the elderly Lord Darius, soon after followed by Lei using his ownmisty step ability to teleport over.

Inside the box, while the old man may have been recognizedas Lord Darius to the crowd, behind him, hidden from the audience, sat a muchyounger man with a stony expression on his face. The same Lord Darius who hadscarred Gineye’s face. Gineye readied one of the many small powder keg grenadeshe owned, but before he could exact his revenge, the two figures flanking theyounger Darius revealed themselves—one, an arch devil and the other, a demonlord. The demon quickly whisked Darius away, while the arch devil took off intothe city, leaving a swath of destruction in his wake. Before long, our heroesfound themselves in the midst of a holy war, with hordes of demonic forcespreviously hidden in the town, rising up to fight an onslaught of paladins, clerics,and other warriors blessed by divine forces.

Flanked by Zuradar, Gineye ran after the arch devil that hadfled from the observation box, but quickly ran into a group of paladins andclerics who were also pursing the same target. Two of the group, marked by thesymbol of the Raven Queen, immediately took offense at Gineye’s existence, callinghim a “filthy undead” as one attempted to smite him with a lightning bolt. AsGineye protested the inhumane treatment (while the gaping hole in his chestproved their accusations correct) a paladin marked with the symbol of “Bob,”the god of slaughter they had met previous, came over and uppercut the one who castthe lightning bolt (said storm cleric looking shockingly like Zareem.) Thepaladin of Bob revealed soon himself to be in fact Grug, released from thepunishment he had been given by Bob, who urged them to leave before somethingworse happened.

The older Lord had been retrieved from the observation boxby the time Gineye and Zareem returned, but as they returned so did the archdevilwho Gineye had failed to catch before. Introducing himself as Bael, he demandedthe old man be turned over. The party refused, attempting to stop him throughcombat, but their efforts proved futile as he simply walked over and took whathe wanted, before disappearing. Through the use of a haste spell and his own paladinskills, Lei was able to track Bael’s movement back to the Lord’s castle, but itwas decided that the party should rest before continuing on. After a short rest(in which Jemima hounded Gineye for a while in regards to his new undeadstatus, one he couldn’t really deny when the gaping hole in his chest magicallypatched itself up) they trooped off to the castle, preparing for a confrontation.

Lord Darius was inside when they entered, Gineye fullyprepared to take him down one-on-one, were it not for the young noble killinghis older counterpart in front of the bard. Remembering the request from thegnome earlier, Gineye used a new spell, revivify, to revive him before whiskingthe old man outside to protect him. Then, as he returned, finally ready for hisrevenge, that moment was stolen from him as a dark shape appeared behind theyoung Darius, taunting the party before snapping his neck and summoning shadowsto attack our heroes. After having fought them once thanks to Grug, the partyknew how to deal with these shadows and the fight was brief, but by the timethey finished the shadowy creature had left, leaving behind the empty husk thatwas once Gineye’s most hated foe.

Gineye was all set to use his magic to revive or preservethe body, but the arrival of a man through a dimensional door stopped him. Itwas Monty, the diviner they’d been told about, who was more than happy to usehis magic to prove that even if Gineye preserved the body, there was no soulleft to revive him. However, Monty was able to speed them along on their waytowards finding the rebellion’s missing leader, as he directed them towards a dungeonarea that his scrying couldn’t see into—which must be the place as he couldfind her nowhere else.

Inside the dungeon lay a maze of traps, pitfalls andsentient doors who kept their rooms locked with riddles. Inside the very last doorin the maze was a set of stairs leading down to a large room, where a strange,sinister ritual was taking place. A number of cultists surrounded summoning circles,two of whom were wreathed in flame, the one in the middle conjuring up a domeof solid darkness. As stealthily as they could, the party slid closer, Gineyemanaging to make it all the way to a door on one side of the room where he cameacross a terrifying sight: the same exact cell in which he had been tortured.

Unleashing the full power of the axe, he demolished the cultistsin a single hail of swords, which left the summoned fire elementals free toattack at will. Again, the fight was short, the most notable event was Jemimadoing her best to attack one of the elementals with the rapier she’d beencarrying all this time—while forgetting that without magical properties to it,the enchanted fire could easily melt it. Rest in peace, rapier, you were loved.Once the fires died down (literally) the team set about investigating the roomand the dome of darkness in the center of the room. Sadly, efforts to dispel itproved fruitless so the party turned their attention towards a mural on thewall, one depicting a multi-segmented circle, each with a crowned creature carvedinside. After close inspection—including noticing that one segment seemed todepict the same tarrasque they had unleashed upon the world previously—the partyguessed the mural was related somehow to the cult they had encountered, worshippingprimordials from the different planes (each of the elementals seemed to bedepicted, along with ones that looked celestial and infernal.) Finally, theygave one last attempt to dispel the dome, finally breaking the spell with awell-placed arrow, but instead of finding the leader inside as they’d hoped,all they saw was a shadowy creature who disappeared in seconds, followed by hermagical cloak which Zareem kept for himself.

As they went to leave, who should they run into but Grug andthe same paladins and clerics from before? Gineye, remembering their reaction tohim, attempted to hide in the stairwell, but the storm cleric (who still lookedshockingly like Zareem) detected him with his own divine sense. As the partyrushed to protect him, Zareem himself squared up, drawing his sword anddemanding that the paladin face him instead. It only took one single mightyblow from the paladin’s mace to instantly kill the already injured Zareem. Therepresentatives of the Raven Queen left, telling the group to keep “theirundead” on a leash, as everyone tried to figure out what to do now. It was thenGineye posed an idea: someone should let him borrow a 3rd levelspell slot. His words were cryptic, but nobody had any third level slots leftafter the long day they’d had, so Gineye lowered it to a second level slot. TentativelyJemima offered him one of her second level slots, and Gineye in responseplunged his hand into his own heart, pulling out an axe and handing it to her,fading into the axe as his mask appeared on her face. From inside her mind, heused her body and magic to cast a spell to preserve Zareem’s body, before the groupset about a much longer rest.

About halfway through their rest, Zareem revived, his coinhaving activated—giving him permanent wings and a new set of powers. Gineye leftJemima’s mind and reformed in the physical world, and after a bit of foolingaround with him trying to mind-hop into Pip the owlbear’s mind that ended withGineye accidentally killing (and immediately reviving) the poor creature, the teamdecided it was time to move on. The war had died down across Paplus, and theirmission was over though at great cost. After delivering the news of the outcometo Tai, the team set off in search of a Gnoll paladin of Silvanus who they weretold had a scroll for them

What they found instead was a mysterious bar—the same barthey had encountered in Lunacy, still run by the extremely shady feeling manwho just so happened to sometimes be the primordial of Earth. Zareem andZuradar both asked to see what goods he was peddling today, leading to Zareemgaining a +1 chain shirt and Zuradar acquiring himself a +2 bow (for only twoof his hit dice, a total “bargain!”). Meanwhile, Jemima found the gnoll seatedat a table and retrieved the scroll from him. The man let them leave afterthat, noticing how uncomfortable the other three were, but with a reminder thatthey could find him if they only looked for him.

Outside the shady bar (which had mysteriously vanishedagain) they discovered that the scroll was a teleportation sigil, but one thatthey weren’t capable of activating. One person however, was, and it took only asingle utterance of Monty’s name for him to appear through a tear in reality,casting the spell that would take them off to the tournament.

After the chaos of a holy war and a rebellion all in thespan of less than a week, the gang was happy to have a chance to settle down andrelax. Once in the tournament building, they had to sign up, either in solo matchesor groups of 2, which lead to Zareem and Zuradar becoming a group (fittinglynamed Heaven and Hell), Lei and Jemima teaming up (as Swords and Chords) andGineye going solo (under the name “The Entirety of France.”) Then, with an hourto prepare, the teams wandered the building, discovering their old friend Jonahhaving set up a merchants stall there. Jemima immediately informed him of theloss of her rapier, relinquishing the melted remains. In return, he gave her asword he’d fashioned from some of the dragon bones she’d given him, a rapierelegantly combining master swordcraft with the sublime beauty of the naturalworld.

Geared up once more, the matches began. Zareem and Zuradarfound themselves heavily outmatched by a pair of orcs. After Zareemaccidentally hit the younger (and far more badly damaged) of the two with acritical hit poison spray, inadvertently killing the orc, the older and moreexperienced orc proceeded to knock both of them out. Jemima and Lei’s roundwent much smoother, against a lizardfolk and a man in a strange leather dusterwho carried what could only be referred to as guns. Despite the strange man’sapparent prowess with his weapons, he managed to score only one hit on Jemimabefore he was knocked unconscious himself, and the Lizardfolk surrendered soonafter.

Gineye’s match however was stranger still. His opponent wasa man who seemed to disappear shortly after the match started, stayinginvisible or hiding behind dust clouds the whole match, but doing significantdamage to Gineye in the process. Finally, angered, Gineye readied a crossbowbolt, striking as soon as he saw the man’s arm clearly. The petrification boltworked perfectly, petrifying the man and winning Gineye the match (though notbefore a contingency spell activated, using lesser restoration on the man whograciously conceded.)

After their match concluded, Gineye left to find his friendsin the infirmary (though only Zuradar and Zareem needed much attention.) In themidst of their conversation, the man he had just fought walked in, joining thediscussion of the fights he had witnessed. He introduced himself as James and extendedan offer to Gineye to meet him for breakfast at a specific tavern the nextmorning. Tired from their battles, the group headed out to an inn to rest. Itwas agreed that Gineye should go to the tavern to meet James the next day (sincethey might be more relaxed if it was just him) while the rest would return tothe tournament location to find out what was going on. The tournament itselfwouldn’t start for two days, and the actual matches were entirely team-based,but since Lei and Jemima both had passed their matches (as well as Gineye) theywere allowed to form a team and invite the two who had failed their matches aswell.

Gineye’s investigation only put him more on edge. Jamesseemed very eager to recruit him away from the others, even offering to “helphim leave” should Gineye need it, in a way that suggested assassination wouldbe involved. He also knew more than he should, particularly about the war inPaplus and how Gineye’s party had come through a portal in Paplus that shouldhave originated north of the town of Tance, the same as another group whoarrived recently (where, unknown to James, the hidden town of Sylvenstand waslocated.) Gineye played along as best he could, mocking his teammates and theirdecisions and offering to send a package later that day that might be useful toJames’ group. However, once he returned, he clearly wasn’t eager to join such ashady group, but instead had Lei send a package over to the tavern—one containingthe Axe Gineye had pulled from his own heart yet again. However, to his dismaynobody actually took the axe while he was there and in fact nobody was home forthe full day, leaving him to sneak out the next night with a pilfered spellbookand a sour mood.

Finally however, the day of the tournament arrived. The gangwas among the first to compete, finding themselves soon in a large arena packedwith thousands of onlookers. In the middle of the arena, a Kenku introducinghimself as Veo Elmwood was acting as the Emcee, introducing first our heroes asthe “NaCl Pain Delivery Service” and their opponents as “The Hands of Nature.” Theparty (and especially Jemima) were pleased to see Edan again, along with hisalternate Ivan, the ranger Alice (whom Zuradar had attempted and failed to seduceback in Sylvenstand) and Leafsong, the Gnoll paladin from earlier.

However, instead of a fighting competition as the party hadexpected, it was instead a series of games and tests of skill, each with a “firstto 3 points” system of one-on-one matches. The actual games were chosen by diceroll, with the first being a drinking contest. Gineye stepped up, certain hecould win with his undead constitution, even against his opponent Ivan, butonce again Ivan’s luck was on his side as he came back with three points toGineye’s two. Next, Jemima found herself face-to-face with Edan in a challengeof pure luck as they rolled dice, each hoping for a higher roll than theiropponent. Right at the last moment, when it looked as though Edan would scoreanother point for his team, Jemima caught a glow around Ivan’s hand for amoment as the dice flipped over onto a natural 1. Finally, it was Lei and Leafsong’sturn, a test of endurance as they were forced to withstand increasingly harderthrown rocks without crying out in pain. In the end however, Lei managed tohold out the longest, scoring another point for our heroes. And as we left themat the end of that session, they were preparing for the next round of combat: atrial by combat, forced by Ivan again using his luck to twist the die to his favor.

And there you are, thirty episodes summarized as best Icould, with deep apologies for not being able to condense it even further. Ihope you enjoy reading it, and feel free to check out our episodes on youtube!

[howtohero]

#047 Being the Only Powerless Person On Your Team

Most superhero teams have a very similar “core makeup” so to speak. There’s the “flying tank,” usually the most powerful member of the team in possession of classic superpowers such as flight, super-strength and usually some kind of eye beam. Then there are usually a collection of more specialized heroes, speedsters, telepaths, someone with wings (there’s always someone with wings) some type of warrior-goddess woman, a wizard, maybe a space cop, sometimes there’s a talking animal, and so on and so forth. Then there’s usually the token guy or gal who doesn’t have any powers. They’re the odd man or woman out in the team, the one who wasn’t called upon by some Mayan deity or entrusted with ensuring the legacy of an entire planet, they’re the people who chose to be there. And yet, usually, they’re the weakest, the least qualified to deal with the myriad of threats that superhero teams are called upon to fight on an hourly basis. So how do you deal with being the powerless member of your superhero team?

Many powerless heroes seek to make themselves indispensable to their team in a non-superpowered capacity. They become the team’s scientist or their medic or the team detective (or the official bow and arrow guy of the team) or the guy who always brings the best snacks to the superhero picnics which are almost certainly a thing, they find themselves a niche or a skill that their compatriots are too superpowered to go out and learn for themselves (did you know that in some schools you can get a degree in always bringing the best snacks to picnics? [disclaimer: existence of such a degree may vary from university to university and from universe to universe]). If helping the team in a support role isn’t enough to scratch that crime fighting itch, then they’ll have to prove themselves to be capable of assisting a group of superhumans in a fight in a meaningful way. They’ll need to push themselves to their absolute limits. They’ll have to become a master of like a dozen different forms of combat (either hand to hand, weapons, or verbal) and also be able to simply keep pace with the time displaced super soldiers and literal demigods that populate the superhero word. What I recommend is either finding a hidden mountain society of ninjas that will happily and helpfully teach you everything you need to know, or sending me money so I can open up my own dojo and personally train you. (Four out of five doctors recommend taking the second option!) [Disclaimer: of the five doctors we polled only one of them actually went to medical school.]

Once you can actually keep pace with superhumans you need to make sure the people on your team actually respect you. Make sure that nobody is looking down on you because you can’t shoot webs from your armpits or break the sound barrier. When you first start out you should never allow anybody make fun of you for your lack of powers. Once you become well established as a competent hero then sure let the jokes flow in, it might be better if rivals underestimate you anyway. But at the start of your career you can’t allow that to become a thing. Additionally, you should never call attention to the fact that you don’t have any powers and you certainly shouldn’t use your lack of powers as a crutch or excuse. Show your teammates that you’re more than capable of keeping up with them all on your own. Spar with them. Eat with them. Join them in danger simulations. Even sit in on games of “What can you shoot from your eyes,” and when they get up to you don’t say something lame like “tears” just give everybody a death glare until somebody timidly says “daggers” and they move on. 

Once you’ve earned the respect of your teammates you need to turn your attention outwards, towards the supervillain community.  Something token-non-supers need to be aware of is the severe lack of intimidation factor they have. Your teammates are all more than capable of striking fear into the hearts and minds of bad guys. They fly and shoot beams from their fists and they routinely surf on asteroids and some of them have parents in the Greek pantheon, that stuff is scary to the average bank robber or swamp monster. All you can do is kick pretty good. That’s not nearly as scary. Sure it’s still like a little bit scary. Nobody wants to be kicked. But I don’t know if anybody actively fears being kicked in the way they actively fear being struck down by Zeus. Now, what you need to do is make up for this lack of eye lightning or visible horns through sheer force of personality. Be boisterous, be rude, be obnoxious, and don’t take any nonsense from anybody. Not even the literal devil (not to be confused with the Literal Devil who is a c-list supervillain who annoys everybody by taking everything completely literally) himself. Once a grainy cellphone video of you mouthing off to a very evil and very angry giant,p planet-eating, super robot goes viral you can be sure that no supervillain is ever going to disrespect you ever again. But large levels of sass alone won’t do the job. You need to make sure you can at least partially back up your attitude with shrewd combat preparedness and quick thinking. Once you successfully defeat a supervillain who on paper should’ve squashed you beneath their heel, you’ll have cemented yourself as a valuable and respectable member of your team.

Some people are blessed with superpowers, others are not. Regardless, you shouldn’t allow your life and career to be dictated by chance. If you want to go out and save the world via punching criminals then go do it! Just make sure you’re prepared. The life of a non-powered hero can be dangerous. Many of them die. But if you get yourself placed on a team, if you earn a spot on a team. You’ll be given the opportunities many non-powered people only dream of. So get out there, find a city of martial arts masters, look up a bunch of insults online and get out there and save the world!

[melancholiablackbile]

A lot of questions... my my, someone's curious lol

@black-satin-dancer tagged me, cheers dude :D

Rules: answer all the questions, add one of your own and tag as many people as there are questions …pshh please, let’s keep it realistic - I don’t even know that many people irl. (also didn’t feel obligated to answer the Dragon age/Mars effect questions, because I’ve never played it)

1. coke or pepsi?

Neither. I absolutely hate fizzy sweet drinks lol. The only thing I enjoy is kombucha and I’ve had ginger ale which I can tolerate. (btw did you know there’s something called bacon soda? I just found out and I’m absolutely horrified and disgusted. pls burn this knowledge out of my brain thank)

2. disney or dreamworks?

I don’t have a preference, nor am I overly invested in any of the two, so it depends. By Disney I really like Hocus Pocus, The Nightmare before Christmas and Frankenweenie, to pick a few. As for DreamWorks, Penguins of Madagascar are THE SHIT omg 3. coffee or tea? I’m a tea person, however I enjoy coffee flavour in things

4. books or movies?

Both

5. windows or mac?

I use windows, don’t feel like I’m missing out or anything tbh

6. dc or marvel?

I’m only starting to get into comics, and I’ve probably seen more marvel films than dc ones, but I think I like dc a little more I like the older Batman films by Tim Burton.

7. xbox or playstation?

playstation. “OF COURSE we’re going to go with the ps4 - they’re blacker!” :D

8. dragon age or mass effect?

Haven’t played either, but was thinking about giving Dragon age a go

9. night owl or early riser?

aw shit dude, I don’t even know anymore. my sleeping schedule is so fucked up lately, I tend to be a night owl tho. But hey, time isn’t really anyway, so..

10. cards or chess?

both, but you can do more with cards. like chess is just one game, but there are lots of different card games. I personally identify with CAH, I think the company should hire me, because I’m a horrible person lmao

11. chocolate or vanilla?

chocolate all the way. I don’t eat it often, but when I do, I’m a snob about it - I only like the dark stuff (only vegan ofc). bonus points, if there’s dried fruit like berries in it. To sum it up (i’m taking this way too seriously and detailed lol, but I have insomnia ¯\_(ツ)_/¯) overall, chocolate flavour is better I guess, vanilla makes me vomit, it’s disgusting and I hate it. 12.vans or converse? I used to own a pair of converse, but neither are shoes I’d wear now

13. fluff or angst?

a good combination of both ehehe

14. beach or forest?

forests are awesome - they are green and smell amazing, you can spot a lot of wild animals and the atmosphere is very serene and calming. I’ll always pick forests over beaches, unless the beach is all sand or small round marble stones, the water is clear without the detached, rotting algae stuff that floats around and ew, the sun has fucked off so I don’t get sunburnt (my skin always skips the tan stage right to red and I prefer pale skin anyway) and all sweaty and shit, there are NO people beside those I’m there with and I do NOT spot any animal while in the water that’s bigger than like 5cm. Because even though I love and respect it deeply, I’m genuinely afraid of sea life, I don’t care that there are lots of totally harmless creatures. …lmao, I feel like a rich asshole saying all that - way too many demands. (sorry sea/ocean, I love you, but you freak me the fuck out)

15. dogs or cats?

I have dogs, but I love both. With dogs, the love is more likely to be returned though :D

16. clear skies or rain?

clear night skies for star gazing, rain during the day

17. cooking or eating out?

I eat mostly raw vegan nowadays, because it’s healthy I don’t have the energy to cook and can’t be arsed and I’m not too fond of eating in public so… preparing/eating food at home?

18. spicy food or mild food?

all the spices lol

19. halloween/samhain or solstice/yule/christmas?

How is this a question, have you met me? My whole existence basically revolves around celebrating Halloween like every day

20. would you rather forever be a little too cold or a little too hot?

The first one is way better imho, I’m usually a little too cold anyway (no pun intended omg) and I’m fine with that.

21. if you could have a superpower, what would it be?

Hydrokinesis (so basically I’d be a water bender ehehe) or Telepathy

22. animation or live action?

both are great (with the exception of some anime adaptations lol)

23. baths or showers?

showers don’t take too long, but baths are very nice from time to time

24. team cap or team ironman?

Team Loki, duh! No, but honestly, I’m not really invested in the whole civil war thing, but if cap is a nazi, then I’m team ironman

25. fantasy or sci-fi?

both are amazing and bring happiness into my life

26. do you have three or four favourite quotes, if so, what are they?

I guess I have a lot of favourite ones, but these two came to my mind right now: “I do desire we may be strangers” (Shakespeare) it’s such a classy and eloquent way to tell someone you hate them :D “And so being young and dipped in folly, I fell in love with melancholy” (E.A. Poe) because ME tbh

27. youtube or netflix? 

Youtube, no netflix here

28. harry potter or percy jackson?

Harry Potter all the way. I’ve read the first Percy jackson pentalogy and don’t get me wrong, Greek mythology is awesome, but wizards over demigods

29. when do you feel accomplished?

Idk, when I’m able to do more than the bare minimum and when I totally Tony Stark the whole subject/study material the night before the exam. and probably smug/petty rather than accomplished - when I prove horrible people/people I don’t like wrong or do things they don’t approve of lol

30. star wars or star trek?

I have to say Star Trek but I love both

31. paperback or hardback books?

Hardback. HARDBACK!

32. horror or rom-com?

I’ve always gravitated towards horror - psychological, gothic, really bad b/c movie style, etc. - I get bored by rom-coms

33. tv shows or movies?

depends, but both. as an aspiring actor, beside theatre, I think I’d like to work on films over tv shows - if I ever get the chance to do so that is

34. favourite animal?

penguins, rats, corvids.. but like, birds in general and all animals are awesome anyway and precious and worth of life 35. favourite genre of music? alternative rock - which is a broad spectrum tho, so I guess rock sub-genres in general.. art rock, goth rock, punk rock my favourite (purely because of the name) is krautrock (aka kosmische Musik) which is the German term for space rock, but the literal translation is either herb or cabbage rock lmao :D throw in some psychedelic stuff, ambient music, experimental and classical and I’m good to go

36. least favourite book?

Madame Bovary. I think The Great Gatsby was boring too. I don’t usually read books without researching it a bit before so I can somewhat predict whether I’ll like it or not. (btw, if you’re into fantasy at all, 10/10 recommend reading the series A Raven’s Shadow by Anthony Ryan, he’s such an eloquent writer and the plot and characters are incredible! 37. favourite season? The season of Halloween - autumn all the way

38. song that’s currently stuck in your head?

Cinnamon Bone by Eliza Rickman. She has a really nice voice and combined with the melody it sounds very unique. Actually didn’t know who the singer was until a few days ago. She also performed in the weather section in a Welcome to Night Vale episode. Oh and I rewatched CATS the musical on Sunday, so like.. the whole libretto is playing in my head on loop :D I’ve pretty much known the entire thing by heart since I was like 8 lol

39. what kind of pyjamas do you wear?

Either boxer shorts or Levi Ackerman’s running titan pyjamas lmao

40. how many existential crises do you have on an average day?

I’m having an ongoing one since the age of 16 tbh

41. if you can only choose one song to be played at your funeral, what would it be?

Space Oddity by David Bowie

42. favourite theme song to a TV show?

I’ve know this song before I started watching the show, but Far from Any Road from True Detective is amazing. And the opening to snk season 2 lol, it gets me all fired up and ready to salivate every time Levi appears cry probably idk :D

43. harry potter movies or books?

even though, they are problematic in some aspects, both have their charm (pun absolutely intended this time)

44. you can make your OTP become canon but you’ll forget that tumblr exists. will you do it? 

Bitch, my otp is canon. and I doubt anyone can really forget about tumblr - you can try and leave, but it will never leave you

45. do you play an instrument and if so, what is it? 

Not like professionally or since early childhood and all that, but I taught myself how to play the violin and I think I’m pretty decent. Same goes for drums. My dad and I low-key collect musical instruments, I think we have around 20+ pieces ^^

46. what is the worst way to die?

alone and helpless and in excruciating pain from whatever the cause was that didn’t kill you immediately though, so you have to suffer

47. if you could be entirely invisible for a day, what would you do? 

Be sneaky ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) lol idk, I’d do stuff anxiety and self-consciousness prevent me from in normal life. Okay, that is so pathetic, but my first thought was “I’d go swimming” … *wipes away a tear*

48. If you could have personally witnessed anything in history what would it be?

I feel like it’s kinda selfish and considering I’d choose this out of any moment in history maybe a wasted opportunity? but I would have loved to see David Bowie perform. Idk, I’m sure there’s more, but it’s 3am here..

49. If you could understand animals but you could never understand humans again, would you?

I find I often don’t understand humans anyway..

50. What is your most favourite album currently?

The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars by David Bowie is my go to favourite album, haven’t really listened to whole albums lately, just a few songs here and there 51. (my question) What is your favourite word/phrase/colloquiallism? Name one (or more) per language you speak c:

tbh, Jeremy tagged most of the people I’d tag too, so I’m just adding @the-river-dream-shore and @slecnaztemnot to this if they or anyone else feel like it ;) I’m going to sleep now hopefully~

Note: Wow, that’s a lot of reading material lol. Why did I sound so angry?? I was tired, so that took a toll on my answers, I promise I’m not that much of an asshole :D

[fowlbynamedorkbynature-blog]

Hecate’s Realm: Chapter 11 - The Chapter With No Name

Prologue   Chapter 10

AN: Okay, so if you’re looking at the title, and you’re like, “Why would she title it like that? Is she being mysterious or something?” No. I’m not. I literally couldn’t think of a decent title that described what would happen. It’s kinda like Just Do Whatever from Fairy Tail. To this day, I still can’t figure out how that relates to the episode. Whatever, I’m gonna stop rambling. Sorry.

This has been beta'd by the amazing xx ShamiksXa xx, so go check her out!

One hour later, Hazel and Emerson went down to the Great Hall. A good amount of the third year Gryffindors were already there, she noticed. She also noticed that Frank was deeply concentrating. She would have to remember to ask him about that when they met up in the Room of Requirement later that night. She then looked over to the reason they were on this quest in the first place. It seemed Harry was in the middle of a heated discussion between Ron and Hermione. She'd have to find out about that later too. She could no longer look at them, so she sat down across from Emerson and tuned back into what she was talking about.

Hazel lied awake in her four poster bed the cogs in her mind whirring and humming. She had just returned to her dorm after a long hour of Muggle Studies. The way her day had being going, one could very easily assume that this class would be as easy as the rest had been. However, that person would be wrong.

Extremely wrong.

Apparently, when Hecate filled her in on an endless amount of information about Hogwarts and the Wizarding World into Hazel’s brain, she didn’t deem it necessary to include their understanding of the Muggle World. Now, for any other demigod, there wouldn’t be an issue. Muggles-- or mortals, perhaps, were simply normal people with normal, happy lives. They've experienced it, they envy it, they embrace it and don't think too much about it.

But as far as Hazel knew, she was the only demigod that had been dead for nearly 70 years and came back to life. Because of that, she was as confused as a first-year. She was extremely thankful that people like Leo who made an effort and had to catch her up to the modern technology and human advancements since the 1940’s.

It was as grueling and fatiguing as any class could be. Though it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been; Emerson was there to help her whenever she felt lost-- which was quite often.

So she went on her first day in Hogwarts as if she was any normal student and acted like she was absolutely, completely comfortable with the unusual castle. She anticipated for the rest of her roommates to go to bed so she could meet up with the others in the Room of Requirement.

The Daughter of Pluto snuck through the empty halls of Hogwarts, letting her mind wander. She hid in the wallowing shadows and stayed away from the magically lit torches. As a demigod who had battled against creatures, gods, titans, and literal forces of nature to name a few, she still had to confess that this quest was the weirdest and most peculiar ones that she had ever been on. Going to Alaska with her not yet boyfriend and a Son of Neptune-- no, Poseidon was one of the strangest ones. As was traveling across the Atlantic to literally defeat Earth which-- which was surprisingly evil was unusual as well. But this one took the cake. Being thrown into a brand new world, with no gods, it’s own powers, problems, and more importantly, culture was even more confusing than anything she's ever experienced. Even though she considered herself a witch, the people here were of a whole different caliber, and the people-- British witches and wizard saw this as absolutely normal. They didn’t bat an eye at the moving paintings, which were most likely following her as she trekked through the castle. They didn’t find it strange or surprising to have food conjured up from thin air in an instant, or climb on staircases that moved or even to share a space with ghosts!

She had made sure to steer crystal clear of them as much as she possibly could. Being a child of the god of death wouldn’t be doing any favors. If anything, they’d blow her cover. Hazel needed to be undercover for this task, and she wasn’t about to fail this for something that she was.  Which is exactly why any of them got too close for her liking, she either hid behind a textbook or struck up a conversation with Emerson to seem as if she was distracted and normal. She had managed to convince the other Hufflepuffs that she was completely terrified of the ghosts. Emerson, being the nice and compassionate person that she was, did everything in her power to keep Hazel away from the ghosts that wandered and floated in Hogwarts, something the demigod was thankful for.  

Before Hazel knew it, she was outside of the invisible door of the Room of Requirement. She passed in front of where she knew the door to be three times, and entered. The room appeared to be just like it had the last time she had been there. Frank and Luna were already there waiting; however, a certain platinum-blonde Slytherin was not. Hazel took a stride and walked over to her boyfriend when she noticed he was somewhat off.

“What’s wrong?” She inquired, worryingly.

“What?” he looked up and tried to suffocate his previou h, nothing.” He lied.

She folded her arms. “Frank.”

He sighed. “It’s just … something happened in Care of Magical Creatures. Draco-”

“What happened to Draco?” She interrupted. She couldn’t help but get nervous. The fact that her new friends was gone on the first real night at Hogwarts was troublesome to say the least.

“He’s in the Hospital Wing, but he’s fine.”

“Hospital Wing?”

Frank nodded. “He got scratched by a hippogriff, but I saw the wound as he was carried away. It was bloody, but it wasn’t deep.”

“Then why isn’t he here if he’s really okay?”

“He insisted that it was going to kill him. But I doubt he’ll even get a scar.”

“So he’s okay?”

Frank nodded again. “Even if he’s acting like he isn’t. I was going to ask him why he was acting strangely but he’s not here.” Hazel relaxed a bit. She didn’t want to lose someone this early in the quest, even if she had only had one conversation with the Slytherin.

“Can we go see him?”

“I think that’s a lovely idea,” Luna said, speaking for the first time since they had all been in the Room of Requirement. She started walking towards the door, gently dragging them through the castle.

Thankfully for the demigods, no one else was there besides Madam Pomfrey, so they could speak freely about what was happening. They opened the doors and walked over to Draco, who sat up when he saw them come in. He frowned internally, knowing he would have some explaining to do, especially when he saw Frank.

See you next time.

Also, if you want to hmu on instagram (@fowlbynamedorkbynature) and talk about literally anything, I’m always down.

[aion-rsa]

How Do You Approach Worldbuilding?

https://ift.tt/2D3V9ve

We’re honored to bring this roundtable conversation between three of speculative fiction’s most exciting up-and-coming authors: Emily Tesh, A.K. Larkwood, and Everina Maxwell. In it, the writers and IRL friends have a funny and insightful conversation about everything from fantasy maps (yea or nay?), writing an emerging romantic relationship (how do Tesh and Maxwell do it so well?), and worldbuilding (the struggle!).

In honor of the recent publication of Tesh’s Drowned Country (the sequel to last year’s lush, folkloric fantasy Silver in the Wood), we’re running the first part of the conversation. We’ll finish the conversation in February, in celebration of the publication of Maxwell’s first novel, a gay space opera about princes in an arranged marriage called Winter’s Orbit. (Larkwood’s The Unspoken Name, a fantasy about an orc priestess turned wizard’s assassin, hit shelves back in February.)

Now, without further ado…

A. K. LARKWOOD: Hello, I’m A. K. Larkwood, also known as Kassie, I wrote The Unspoken Name, a book about what happens when you’ve been brought up with a terrible purpose – and then, when it comes to it, you can’t go through with it. Csorwe expects to die in the Shrine of the Unspoken One, but she’s rescued by a strange wizard who says he has a new task for her – and the question is how far she’ll go to serve the person who saved her life. It’s also about loyalty, sacrifice, and the special bond between truly annoying coworkers. I have spent most of the plague year so far doing a series of increasingly recherche craft projects to procrastinate working on the sequel. Surrounded by crochet animals, painted lampshades, wholemeal loaves and small watercolors of fruit, I now have no choice but to… participate in this Q&A.

EMILY TESH: Hi! I’m Emily Tesh, and I wrote the Greenhollow Duology – Silver in the Wood, a story about what happens when the centuries-old avatar of the greenwood meets a handsome young folklore enthusiast with more curiosity than common sense, and its sequel Drowned Country, a story about being a person with no common sense who has accidentally stumbled into the role of a woodland demigod. I am not nearly as good at craft projects as Kass so my plague year procrastination has been spent replaying video games I have already played for hundreds of hours; at this rate my next book will be some sort of thinly veiled Starbound/Mass Effect/Two Point Hospital crossover in which all problems are solved by completing picross puzzles.

EVERINA MAXWELL: I haven’t done anything productive in quarantine but I’ve taken a whole lot of naps. Rounding out the SFF combo, I’m Everina Maxwell and I wrote Winter’s Orbit, a queer romantic space opera about arranged marriage, intergalactic politics, and slow healing from the past. To prevent a war, disreputable media darling Prince Kiem is ordered to marry Count Jainan of Thea, a quiet scholar grieving the loss of his previous husband. The match shouldn’t work, and the political waters are treacherous–even before Jainan is accused of murder. On with the questions!

Q: Let’s kick off with, what are we reading at the moment?

LARKWOOD: I really enjoyed Zen Cho’s The Order of the Pure Moon Reflected In Water, which is a snappy, funny, and rather touching novella about a nun who joins a group of bandits. If you’re looking for something longer, I also loved The Changeling by Victor Lavalle, which is about… a book dealer whose wife commits a terrible crime. Or is it??? I actually don’t want to tell you anything more about it because it’s such a wild ride. I picked it up and read the first page thinking ‘I’m not sure this is for me but let’s see’, and ended up eating up the whole thing in one go.

MAXWELL: My concentration has been a bit shot lately what with 2020 happening, but I’m excited to dig into Of Dragons, Feasts and Murders by Aliette de Bodard–Vietnamese mythology and murder husbands!

TESH: I have also been suffering from the pandemic of it all when it comes to reading, but I really enjoyed The Empress of Salt and Fortune by Nghi Vo – love the novella length for when you are having a hard time concentrating, and it is gorgeously written.

Q: LARKWOOD: As we know I am a nerd who loves a fantasy map, but I understand you two are map-agnostic verging on anti-map. Please explain this wrong opinion to me. 

TESH: OK, my map agnosticism has two angles:

As a reader and as a profoundly geographically confused person anyway, it is 100% likely that a fantasy map tells me nothing. We are crossing the Pointy Mountains to enter the Forest of Spiders? Fabulous, bring on the spiders. I do not care which direction they are coming from, I promise to be equally alarmed by them regardless of point of origin. I will literally never refer to a map when I am reading a book. It gives me nothing. Probably this is a personal failing.

As a writer I am suspicious of mapping, especially mapping too soon, because it can pin you down to things you are later stuck with (oh no I put a river here and now it’s in the way – or even worse, oh no I need a river and the map says I haven’t got one.) And then that prevents me from using my all-time favourite setting trick, which is ‘Coincidentally We Have Found Ourselves In A Location That Precisely Echoes Our Emotional State.’ (The spiders… are the characters’ feelings.) For example, a good chunk of my novella Drowned Country is set in Fairyland, which ended up as a painfully barren and empty landscape – because that is where the characters are, emotionally speaking, so that was the setting I needed. But I couldn’t have mapped it – I am not a detailed planner and I often don’t know what emotionally significant locations I need until I hit the relevant sequence!

Obviously the usual caveat applies to all this which is ‘you can do anything if you do it well’. Even I can acknowledge that a good fantasy map is a thing of beauty. For example, Kass, I am deeply pleased by the map from The Unspoken Name, which turns a front-of-fantasy-novel standard into a character moment – want to tell us about how you designed it? 

LARKWOOD: I’ll be honest, my intention with the world of Unspoken was to make a fantasy setting that could not be mapped. (For those who haven’t read it: the setting is composed of many worlds connected by portals to an eerie hyperspace labyrinth called the Maze.) I was feeling burnt-out on the idea of a fantasy setting as an alternate universe or RPG setting or any other kind of internally consistent simulation. I wanted to make something not just implausible but impossible, and was feeling very harassed by the idea that someone might ever try to tell me that I was wrong about alluvial plains or something, so the original concept was actively contrarian about geography. For instance, there were rivers but no seas, because they had all been poisoned and destroyed by divine warfare thousands of years ago (take that, The Water Cycle!). 

Having made this unmappable world my immediate thought was “but how do I map it, though?” In the actual book, the Maze serves the dual purpose of giving us kind of a space opera feel, and also lets me do a lot of different surreal landscapes while giving the characters the ability to zip around quite freely from one location to another. So the map in the book is a collage of different fragmentary maps of different worlds – it’s supposed to give the impression that the main character has maybe been compiling it on her travels.

MAXWELL: My editor asked me for a map three times. On her third attempt I realised I could no longer pretend I just hadn’t read that line in all her previous emails, panicked and opened PowerPoint, because Paint intimidates me and all I can do with a pencil is stab myself. This tells you everything you need to know about my mapmaking process.

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Q: LARKWOOD: So Silver In The Wood/Drowned Country and Winter’s Orbit are both about a winsome fool who eventually kisses someone more sensible. I’m consistently impressed by how well the two of you can leverage an emerging relationship as the main conflict of your books (sometimes I try but I’ve always gotta put in a big snake or a haunted water feature) – what’s your approach to developing romance dynamics in your writing?

MAXWELL: I love deconstructing romance arcs. It’s a good example of something I could never get right when I started out, so I spent years trying to improve it. Different people have different bits of the writing toolkit when they get into the game (I’ve read Silver in the Wood; Emily was apparently born with the romance kit), but having to put work into something does give you a huge appreciation for what you like and an iron-clad knowledge of what you want to put on the page.

For me, it starts out very simple. You have a flawed character. Everyone else looks at them and thinks, oh, a normal person. Except another main character, who gets to know them and goes: holy shit, this thing you do is amazing and hot – which your first character doesn’t recognise, because to them it is Tuesday. This happens both ways round, and now you have pining. Then life comes at them hard (or in the case of Winter’s Orbit, a murder investigation and an irate press officer), and they both use their skills as a crowbar to crack that problem apart while the other one hands them screwdrivers and tries to remember not to stand there with their mouth open. Now you have accomplices, which is even better than pining. Then they start to trust not only in the other one’s skills, but that the other one will use those skills for the partnership—for them. Now you have a relationship built on a rock-solid foundation, and incidentally a team that everyone else looks at and decides is not worth messing with.

The draw for me is always a whole greater than the sum of its parts. Separately they have flaws and chips and a few veins of gold. Together they are brilliant.

TESH: I am so glad Ev had a smart answer because mine is just ‘and then… they kiss’ and that’s a plot, right.

LARKWOOD: you’re both right, and also witches. I didn’t even know there was going to be a romance subplot in Unspoken until like, the third draft.

Q: LARKWOOD: Both your books take place in a setting which puts interesting pressure on those characters, whether it’s the forest primeval or a bureaucratic labyrinth of space offices. For me one of the great pleasures of writing SFF is that you can shape the world however you like (you will notice that in The Unspoken Name and sequel I somehow managed to construct an entire setting around big snakes and bad ponds). How do you approach worldbuilding?

MAXWELL: There are dozens of ways to approach worldbuilding, obviously, but I think the commonality is like growing pearls: you pick a grain of truth and irritate everyone around you until it turns into something that looks shiny from far away but smells fishy close up. That metaphor got away from me. What I mean is you tend to write what you know, which is an old and hackneyed statement but says something useful about how we can get from blank pages to spaceships.

I don’t know what it’s like to live in a multi-planet space empire. But I do know, intimately, how large bureaucracies work and the multitude of ways they go wrong. I know what snow looks like through glass on a night when you’re already tired and can’t escape to bed for several more hours, which means I know something about the climate and the rhythm of the day. I know how someone sufficiently charming can avoid learning the requisition system and just walk around security controls, which means I know what that requisition and security system looks like. And that gets built out in layers: every time you add an element, you think through more of its consequences, like layering colour on a page. You can very successfully build a world by starting with mountain ranges and rain shadows, obviously. But alternately you could just start with a deep well of creative frustration at the millionth time you’ve filled out Form 34-B, and build it up from there.

Q: TESH: We have joked at various times about our ‘casts of thousands’ – a phrase I think we stole from an essay by Diana Wynne Jones, discussing her short story Carol Oneir’s Hundredth Dream, where the same tiny group of characters are the ‘actors’ in hundreds of different dream narratives. I know I reuse characters or character types from story to story – spot the Large Sad Man in everything I write – but what about you? Who are your cast-of-thousands characters? What are the advantages of reusing a character type rather than lovingly handcrafting each new character from scratch?

LARKWOOD: I guess for the same reason that it’s easier to buy a box of watercolours than to grind your own pigments from the raw earth? The way you mix and apply them is what’s interesting, unless being the guy who makes his own paints is your whole thing – a cool thing, don’t get me wrong, but not everyone needs to write Ulysses.

Anyway I freely admit to this. The antagonist of The Unspoken Name first showed up in a comic I made when I was 14 in which he was an immortal demon overlord and drug baron, which seems like a bit of an unwieldy career combination now I think about it. 

If I’m remembering correctly, Carol Oneir’s cast eventually goes on strike because of how clunkily she deploys them as stock characters – the lesson I take from this is that you can get away with dropping your immortal demon overlord in anywhere as long as you hide him well enough.

To be continued…

Stay tuned for Part 2 of this conversation, coming at you in February 2021.

Winter’s Orbit is now available for pre-order. Drowned Country and The Unspoken Name are available wherever books are sold.

The post How Do You Approach Worldbuilding? appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[mind-writing0]

Chapter 26

"Hi, Your Highness!" Patton greeted cheerfully, being the first brave enough to go sit with her. He didn't seem nervous at all, but instead was fascinated by her dress yet holding back the urge to touch it out of politeness.

"Good morning, Sir Patton. So, what's been on your mind lately?" The Queen asked, brushing a perfect lock of auburn hair behind her ear.

"Um, not much, Your Highness." Patton clasped his hands together nervously as some of the other Selected joined at other tables nearby. Virgil and Lance poured their own tea, while Bill and Logan allowed the butler to do it. "I've kinda..." Patton's eyes widened as he corrected himself. "I've been thinking of marriage lately. Weddings, specifically."

Queen Diana smiled, and Virgil took in from his table beside them, how beautiful the queen really was. She had light curls of auburn hair, and her caramel eyes sparkled in a way that reminded him of Roman. The prince and queen looked a lot a like; she seemed like an older gender swapped version of him. "I would think that marriage and weddings are not to be dismissed. What do you think you would want at your wedding, Sir Patton?"

Patton blushed, smiling bashfully at his teacup. "Well, where I'm from, we have this tradition. The couple getting engaged shouldn't kiss until they announce their engagement to the family, that way their first kiss is documented. I know that sounds weird, but I think it's cute."

"I agree," the Queen smiled, then turned to Lance and Virgil's table. "What about you, Sir Virgil?"

Virgil smiled thinly, then thought about it quickly. He couldn't really come up with anything. For the past two years, he'd been daydreaming of him and Dan being married, and the way they were wed hardly occurred in his mind. Sure, a big wedding would be nice, but as long as they were together, shouldn't that be enough?

"I haven't thought of it much," he confessed, "I think as long as both people are together and happy, any wedding would be magical."

The Queen beamed, and Virgil felt a warmth from it.

"You mean you'd want to be married in, like, the District Services Office?" Bill scoffed, pushing back his blond wavy hair.

The Queen turned to him with a frown, yet she was as graceful as ever. "I see the idea as romantic. Depending on where you would marry doesn't matter," she turned to Virgil. "Only being with each other is enough. Though, if I were to guess, I would say your wedding is going to be extravagant." She winked, and Virgil knew, as his face flushed, what she meant. He was a favorite, even in the queen's opinion, to win Prince Roman's heart.

Virgil smiled. "Thank you, Your Highness." Patton smiled thinly, and Logan sipped his tea, not saying a word on the matter. Lance grinned at Virgil, while Bill looked pissed.

"Well, I'd want a big wedding. I've been dreaming of it since I was little." Bill replied, trying to win on personal or emotional appeal, though he just came off as snobby. "I think, to start out with flowers—"

"Excuse me, I think I have a suit design I need to run by my maids." Virgil said hurriedly, getting up from his table. The Queen looked at him with a knowing look in her eyes. Interrupting while trying to leave was improper, but listening to Bill's wedding plans could drive anyone mad. Rather it was etiquette disadvantage or personality advantage he'd presented to the Queen, he wasn't sure. She merely smiled and nodded to dismiss him, and he left quickly.

He hurried to his room, looking down at the carpeted ground while he thought of what to do. Lance was unfortunately still trapped—

Virgil ran into something, or someone, hard enough that he almost fell over. The person quickly grabbed his hand so he didn't fall, and Virgil noticed he was wearing the blue and gold guard uniform. Then he noticed this particular guard had longer hair than the others, held back in a short ponytail. His violet eyes studied the Selected teen cautiously.

Virgil stood steadily, grinning. "Officer Kogane, right?"

The guard smiled in return, "Yes, Sir Virgil. Apologies for running into you."

"That's okay," Virgil said quickly, "I hope the next time I run into you, it's not so literal."

"Same here, sir. Good day," he bowed his head, held his arms politely behind his back with the stature of a prince, and continued his rounds.

Virgil thought of his behavior in comparison to when he commented on Lance's teasing. He wondered how Dan could become friends with a guard that seemed intimidating, or fake. That was it. He seemed to act held back, stiff. Like the others, but worse. Shaking his head and walking upstairs to his room, Virgil thought to ask Lance and see if he'd ever seen the guard let his guard down. Next Masterlist Previous

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