#diana at camp halfblood au

[words-writ-in-starlight]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Diana wakes up.

Diana sits up.

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[sqoiler]

Cassiestephcara camp halfblood AU?

let’s pretend that this is in a different universe then the Actual pjo gang anyway

cassie’s a daughter of zeus (duh) which is a Big Deal

the only other daughter of zeus in recent times was born like, a million years ago and diana’s a goddess now so cassie has a Lot to live up to

steph is a daughter of hermes but she’s under the protection of the one they call “the bat”, a son of hades who became a god ages ago. the bat is scary af and a lot of the campers are afraid to mess with the “batkids”, who actually hang out in the underworld with the bat sometimes and go on quests for him on the drop of the hat and stuff

kara’s not a demigod; she’s a minor goddess who’s overshadowed by her more famous mother–calliope, the muse of epic poetry, who likes to roam the mortal plane as a reporter. 

anyway, kara was young so calliope and her demigod (son of zeus) husband sent their three kids (kon and jon and kara) to CHB to learn more about the mortals

they stuck kara and her brothers in with the zeus cabin, and kara and cassie hit it off immediately

when zeus sent cassie on a quest (”My Own Daughter is the Only One to be trusted with this–”), cassie picked kara to go with her, but they needed a third person

kon and tim, a son of athena and a “batkid”, had hit it off, kon having no fear of creepy bats as he’s immortal himself

anyway steph, tim’s best friend, liked to hang out in the zeus cabin and tease kon and tim, and that’s how kara and cassie met steph

kara started spewing something about “fate” since all three are blonde, which made no sense to cassie and shouldn’t they take bart (a legacy camper and one of cassie’s best friends) instead?

bart wanted to go but he knew steph (bc barry was a son of hermes, so bart stays in the hermes cabin and knows steph through that) and convinced them to take steph since she was really excited about non bat friends

anyway they all went and the rest was history 

(also the quest was to retrieve diana’s lasso but diana had already recovered it so the quest was actually pointless but diana felt bad so she gave cassie a lasso of her own to compensate)

[words-writ-in-starlight]

I just read your ww/pjo cover and it is amazing. But wait, if you never read the heroes of Olympus series does that mean that your Percy never got hit with the Nerf Bat to make other characters relevant, and so he's now Diana's 'Invincible Punching Bag' forever? Oh. Annabeth would laugh at that forever.

It goes something like this.

“So,” Percy says, looking at the series of utterly demolished sword dummies and the way that Diana hasn’t even broken a sweat.  “You wanna fight?”

“I wouldn’t want to hurt you,” Diana says.  Diana has been at the Camp for all of two days.  She can be forgiven for not knowing this particular bit of gossip.

Percy grins and gives Riptide an idle spin in his hand.  “You won’t.”

Well.  Either he’s right and Diana gets a new sparring partner, or he’s wrong and everyone learns important lessons about hubris.  She nods and they move aside, toward the sparring ring, and the handful of campers trading idle blows scatter like startled squirrels.  Diana expects them to leave, but instead they range out around the ring with eager expressions.  Fair, she supposes–she’s an unknown quantity, and Percy is one of their better fighters from the sound of it, so they must be curious.

Percy gives her a small salute with Riptide and Diana salutes him in return.

He barely waits for her to lower her blade before he rushes her.

Diana has been training for battle since Percy’s grandfather’s grandfather’s grandfather wasn’t even a twinkle in someone’s eye, but he’s fast and fights with total abandon that makes her cringe at Antiope’s remembered voice even as it makes her grin.  She plays defense, drawing him out, and he meets her eyes briefly over their locked blades, huffs out a laugh.  He knows what she’s doing.  Percy plays along, shows off some of the flashier moves that she knows were taught for discipline rather than for combat.

Riptide is a touch shorter than Diana’s preferred sword, but then she stands at six feet, and while Percy is tall, he’s not as tall as she is.  The celestial bronze clashes against her blade as she steps in to catch a blow, and he catches her hilt, giving a twist to see if he can knock her sword to the ground.

Diana reverses the lock and strikes without thinking, a blow with her pommel that risks a broken rib if not worse.

Percy is jolted a few steps back, touches his ribs absently, and doesn’t even miss a beat as he takes another swing.  It’s as powerful as the first, and the small crowd of campers roar encouragement, cheering for the home team.  

Diana narrows her eyes.

She fights more aggressively now, until finally she gets in a blow with her blade, and the edge skates off Percy’s arm like she’s using a butter knife.

“The Curse of Achilles,” she says, the two of them parting for a moment to prowl around the edges of the ring as the campers heckle them, and Percy shrugs blithely.  “I have not seen someone take that on in many years.”

“Hey, you gotta do what you gotta do, right?  You gonna fight me for real now?”

Diana is not a perfect woman.  She knows this well enough.  Possibly her fatal flaw is that she never could resist a challenge.

She grins again and, this time, it’s Diana who lunges forward, faster than any human could hope to follow.  Percy’s eyes widen, but he gets Riptide up in time to catch her sword.  She misses the Godkiller, sometimes, if only for how magnificently well-balanced it was–she’s never been able to find another sword that fit so well in her hand.  Nonetheless, she can see that her blows are beginning to drive Percy back, one step at a time, and when their blades lock again, she gives him a hard twist that sends him stumbling, and she uses her knee braced at the small of his back to flip him to the ground.

Riptide clatters from his hand, and Diana’s knee is firm at the base of Percy’s spine, holding him facedown in the dirt.  The crowd, as modern Americans like to say, goes wild.

“You fight well,” she observes.  “But recklessly.  And you do not guard your back well at all.”  She stands and offers him her hand, and Percy rolls up to his feet without a scratch on him.  He does, however, rub at the place where her knee had been, a little rueful, and Diana watches the movement with interest.

“You’re incredible,” he says, admiring.  “I’ve fought gods and you’re–real good.”

“You have?”

“Yeah, I stabbed Ares in the foot one time when I was twelve.  I think he took it kind of personally.”

He says it almost offhandedly and Diana smiles, wide and fierce.

“He probably deserved it,” she says.

“Well, I shouldn’t say so in case I get struck by lightning, but yeah.  You sound like you’ve met.”

“I have also stabbed Ares.  I found that lightning was more successful.”

Percy looks delighted, still rubbing at the small of his back like he’s expecting a bruise to rise.  “Oh my gods.  You’re teaching combat, right?  Can I watch the first time you teach his cabin?”

“Sure,” Diana says.  She nods at his hand and Percy lowers it with a guilty start.  “And I will teach you how to guard your back, Achilles.”

[words-writ-in-starlight]

Your PJO"/Diana fic is amazing. I never thought that would happen when I asked your opinion like that, and I am just so happy that so many people agree that these two series meeting is the best thing ever. You rock so much for giving that shape and life

Ah, thank you so much?  I really love the crossover potential and I’m 100% going to say some more about it, I might even get my act together enough to put it on AO3 sometime in the next 40 years if there’s enough of it.

But really, don’t we all desperately want to see Diana standing with the Justice League and preparing to fucking wreck the oncoming invaders when five shitty vans come screeching up and just spill forty heavily armed teenagers onto the pavement?

“Diana,” Bruce says very evenly, “what the hell is this.”

“Good question,” Diana says, staring Percy down.

He salutes her with Riptide, taps the hilt twice on his chest and then raises it to her, the way Diana salutes with her own weapon.  Percy doesn’t intimidate easily, somewhat to Diana’s dismay at this very moment, and seems mostly unfazed by her disapproval.  “We’re here to help.  Rachel told us where you would be.”

“Um, where can I get an army like that?  Does that come fully equipped with the superhero thing?” Barry wonders.

Annabeth cocks her head at him, a little confused, a baseball cap clenched in her teeth while she ties her hair back into a severe ponytail to keep it out of her way.  “We’re not here for Wonder Woman,” she says, taking the hat in one hand and drawing a short sword in the other.  “We’re here for our teacher.”

“You are children,” Diana says strictly.

Percy grins at her.  “Aw, come on, you’re glad to see us.  We promise to focus on evacuating the area.”

“Diana,” Bruce repeats.  “Why are there children here.”

“Hey, show a little respect,” Percy says, his amusement vanishing.  “We’re not a bunch of lost kids.  We’re here to fight for our goddess and our world.  And with all due respect, Your Highness,” he adds to Diana, “you don’t have time to get rid of us.”

Bruce is not used to being so thoroughly shut down by a kid--or, well.  He’s a little too used to it, but it’s been a while since Jason--since anyone did it.

Diana sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose and says, “Fine.  Just try not to get caught in the middle of the battle.”

“Great,” Percy says, and immediately turns on the crowd of halfbloods, shouting orders.  They divide up into squads and just fucking disappear into the chaos--some of them literally.  Diana can see the faintest impression of movement tracing Annabeth as she follows Percy like a ghost.

“Diana,” Bruce says a third time.  “Do you want to maybe explain this.”

“It’s a long story,” Diana says.

“Was that kid your son?” Arthur asks.  When she gives him a mildly scandalized look, he shrugs.  “You look kind of alike.”

“He’s my cousin,” Diana says after a moment of consideration.  “Sort of.  On my father’s side.”

“I thought you were made from clay,” Barry says, dismayed.

Diana pinches the bridge of her nose harder.

[words-writ-in-starlight]

I love the PJO!Diana so much? It's just- I just- wow? So amaze. Thank you for that.

“hey i might write more of that diana at camp halfblood au if anyone was interested” me, swooping in like a peregrine falcon: I AM INTERESTED!

Well, hell, I got free time.  The first bit is here.

Diana knocks lightly on the door of the white manor house and waits.  Her hair is tied back into a braid in the style of her home, easily managed for traveling, and she is dressed harmlessly, like a museum curator, with a red scarf wound loosely about her neck and her lasso tucked into her satchel.

“What?” demands an irritable voice from inside, and the door flies open without a sign of anyone beyond it.  Diana’s three companions, whose names she knows now, are still on the grass beyond the porch, watching her with varying degrees of pity and amusement.  She strides through the door without regard for either.

There is a man sitting at a card table, and he is playing cards with a centaur.

Well, all right, then.

“Sit,” the man says, pointing at a chair with a can of Diet Coke, and folds his hand of cards with a sigh.  Diana doesn’t sit, remains standing, polite but stubborn.  He looks up to her and she sees a glint of something in his eye, more than the portly middle-aged man with a bad-tempered set to his mouth he takes the form of.  Diana looks back and breathes the taste of wine in the air, and wonders what he sees in her eyes.  Truth.  Or maybe battle.

“So,” the man says.  “I heard you’d be coming.“

“And here I am,” she says.  “May I ask why I’m here?”

“Isn’t it obvious, Amazon?”

“Not particularly.”

Dionysus gestures expansively toward the windows, to the sprawling grounds outside.  “This is the largest gathering of halfbloods on Earth, girl.  And the whole lot of them were almost massacred in the war against the Titans last year.  They need a teacher–a real teacher, with real battle experience.  Chiron is all well and good, but every person who’s assisted him so far turned out to be evil, a robot, or both.”

Diana looks at him for a moment.  “And none of the gods will take that on?”

“Ha!”  He turns to the centaur.  Chiron.  Diana wants to speak with him so badly that it makes her chest ache–Chiron, trainer of heroes, who knew her mother when she led the Amazons to victory.  “Listen to her.”

“These are the gods’ children,” Diana says, keeping the edge out of her voice through main force.  “Is a museum curator the best they can find?”

Dionysus looks at her again, and his eyes glitter again, and Diana sets her jaw hard and stares back.

“A museum curator, no,” he says evenly, taking a drink of his Diet Coke.  “A warrior trained on Themyscira, though–a veteran of half a dozen wars and the inspiration for a fistful of legends.  We’ll take that.”  He scoffs.  “You don’t even know where your power comes from, do you, girl?”

“My power comes from my people,” Diana says, holding her head up under the weight of his derision.  “And from the life that Zeus gave me.”

“And from prayer.”  Dionysus stares her down, and his voice lowers, into something that creeps into her ears and paints pictures across her mind’s eye.  “From a thousand soldiers on a battlefield in Germany, who saw a goddess take the field alone.  From a concentration camp, who saw a gate ripped from its hinges.  From fearful children and refugees across the world, who saw a single woman go to war and win.”

Diana sees herself, or almost herself.  A figure ten feet tall, holding a shield in one hand and a flaming sword in the other, her skin glowing gold and her armor unmarred by the battle, casting down those unworthy with all her power behind every blow.  

She is unspeakable, untouchable, undefeatable–divine.

Dionysus’ voice creeps further, lower still.  “And all those people in all those countries told their children and their children’s children about the woman who had saved them, and they built you your very own religion.  You gain your immortality from our father.  You gain your power from them.”

Diana swallows and imagines an iron wall around her mind, and the images disappear.  There is only Dionysus and the taste of wine in the air, and she smiles at him, baring all of her teeth.

“I’ve defeated a god before,” she says.  “Stay out of my head.”

Dionysus, wonder of wonders, actually smiles back.  Only half mocking.  “You have potential, girl.  So.  Will you stay and instruct the brats, or will you go back to hiding in a museum?”

Resting a hand on the table, Diana considers the question.

Percy is sixteen years old and he has the eyes of a man in his fifth or sixth decade, the survivor of a prophecy that ate up dozens of children before it was exhausted.  Annabeth has a coil of grey hair that falls into her face even when she ties it back.  They are children and they are warriors and they need help.

“I’ll teach them what I know of fighting,” Diana says after a moment.  “But I’m a volunteer, not a prisoner.  I come and go as I please, and I won’t be beholden to Olympus or anyone who lives there.  Yourself included, Lord Dionysus.”

“Mister D, here,” he says.  “And those sound like satisfactory terms to me.”

“Right,” Diana agrees.  She knocks her knuckles against the table and says, “I’ll go see what your arena looks like.”  She starts toward the door and stops and turns back.  “And one more thing.  My name is Diana.”

“I know your name, girl.”

“Then,” Diana says sweetly, “I recommend you stop calling me girl.”

***

It’s at dinner that night that Diana meets the rest of her new students.  Camp Halfblood.  She’s almost endeared.  She’s had one or two people ask her if she’s been claimed yet, and Percy and Annabeth, her self-appointed guides after Rachel was dragged off on an errand, both snickered until they were blue in the face over it.

“Who was your mother?” Annabeth asked curiously after the second time the question was posed.  “A goddess?”

“My mother is Hippolyta, queen of the Amazons,” Diana said.  “She crafted me from clay and Zeus gave me life, as a weapon to protect them.”  She doesn’t know if this is the truth or if she is Zeus’ daughter in the more traditional sense, but she also doesn’t much care.

“Well damn,” Percy said, frankly impressed.

And now they are in a pavillion, with Diana at the head table and watching the students offer sacrifices to a brazier.  The smoke billows thick and heady, and Diana watches it rise with a considering eye.  How much of a god is she, then?  If she gains power from prayer, from belief, as Dionysus implied, then could she gain strength from a sacrifice the same way they do?  If someone knew her name to direct a prayer, would she hear it?

Camp Halfblood has ice cream, and it’s magnificent.  Diana elects not to think about sacrifices, and Dionysus waits for everyone to be seated again before he stands up.

“Right,” he says, his voice carrying even though he sounds bored.  “New instructor.  You,” he says, pointing to her.  “Stand up.”  Diana simply looks at him until he sighs and says, “Please.”  Once she’s standing, she offers a wry little wave to the pavillion and tries not to look at how empty it seems, far too few people to fill the tables.

“This is Diana,” Dionysus announces.  “She’s going to teach you how to kill things more competently than you currently do.  Introduce yourself or something.”

“All right,” she says, because it seems fair enough even though he’s clearly using it as an excuse to sit back down and ignore her.  The students–campers?–are attentive, though.  “My name is Diana, princess of Themyscira.  I am an Amazon and I have a great deal of combat training.  I look forward to working with you all.“  She considers for a moment and adds, “Are there any questions?”

“I thought the Amazons vanished like thousands of years ago,” a voice from the crowd calls.

“Themyscira is a hidden island in the Atlantic, so, yes, they did vanish but we’re still alive, anyone else?”

“Are you a halfblood?” another voice shouts, and Diana purses her lips.

“Not…as such,” she says carefully.  “My position is–under debate.”  Dionysus snorts at that.  

Percy, sitting near the front where he can see Diana–she thinks that he did it as a kindness, so that she could see someone familiar nearby, and she’s touched by it–gestures to get her attention and smirks as he says, “You’d better just tell them.”

Diana glances briefly at Dionysus–this is his home ground, his approval to give–and then sighs and looks back at the curious faces spread out like a small lake.

“A century ago,” she says, “I left Themyscira and fought a god to end a World War.  I was–I was naive, I suppose.  Until then, I didn’t know what I was.”  She has never said this out loud.  To anyone.  It takes an act of will to force the words out.  “I’ve never been to Olympus and I certainly don’t live there, but I am the daughter of Zeus, and I am a god.”

The pavillion explodes into shouting, and Diana sits down.  Percy grins at her and salutes with a glass of something in a truly toxic shade of blue, and Diana grins back.

“You’ll fit in just fine,” Dionysus sighs.

Diana considers that for a moment, picking up a wine glass that fills itself with pale gold liquid at her touch.  A sip reveals that it is wine from Themyscira, the crisp sweet white that Diana always favored, and Dionysus gives the glass a slightly betrayed look.

“I think I’m offended by that,” Diana decides at last.

“That’s fair,” Dionysus concedes, and slams his Diet Coke like a shot of tequila.

[words-writ-in-starlight]

I have to say that I love this PJO/Diana fix! I'm bummed that it didn't occur to me before to think of that crossover! But totally validated by your interpretation. I can't decide if I want more of Diana with Percy & co or at Camp Halfblood as she figures it all out or if I want more flabbergasted/ bemused Justice League interactions. Lol can you see Diana and Bruce watching PJ&co and all the Robins together?!

Uhhhh….this is not at all what you asked for but here, have some unsolicited Dick Grayson.

Read the rest of this AU here!

“So, I hear you’re a god.”

Diana pauses halfway through her chana masala, a bite hovering in the air on her fork.  The young man across from her has a crooked grin like he’s maybe had his jaw broken, but he’s handsome and dressed in plain but expensive clothes, and he looks completely serious.  

“I…beg your pardon?”

“Right,” he says.  “Sorry.  I’m Dick Grayson.”

Diana sets down her fork and shakes the offered hand.  If there was going to be a place to have a conversation like this, she supposes this isn’t a bad one–a back corner of a noisy Indian restaurant, squirreled away in a New York alley.  Annabeth recommended it.  Diana is technically on chaperone duty.  

“Diana.  Can I ask how you know who I am?”

“Mm,” he says, stealing a piece of naan and stuffing it into his mouth.  “Yeah.  I’m Bruce’s oldest kid.  We haven’t been talking a whole lot lately, but we’re working on it, you know what I’m saying?  And he’s been trying to figure you out, but I said–hey, B, maybe we should just ask.  You’ll have to forgive his paranoia.”

“I expect it comes with the job,” Diana says graciously.  “So you decided to walk up to a stranger and just…ask if I was a god?”

“I mean.  Yeah.  Pretty much.”  Dick looks expectantly at her.

“Can I ask why that was the conclusion you jumped to?”

“Sure,” Dick says, and he straightens up, like he’s giving a report.  “You’re clearly immortal, or at very least you age so slowly as to be next to immortal–we have photographic evidence and anecdotal reports dating back to World War I.  You demonstrated enough speed and strength during the Doomsday event to face down a monster that ultimately killed Superman.  You can either fly or generate enough power on a jump to simulate the effect.  You–”

“That’s enough,” Diana says coolly.  ���May I ask why you chose this moment to ask if I am a god?”

Dick grins at her and links his hands together, resting his chin on his fingers.  “Because I’ve been following you for three hours.”

Diana keeps a scrupulously straight face at that and does not demand to know how he can see through the Mist.  Perhaps Bruce has been teaching his students (sons?) this skill, as he seems almost as clear-sighted as any halfblood.  “So?”

“Well, I know there’s some kind of base an hour or two out of the city, and I picked you up there, and now you’re here and you’re alone, so it seemed like as good a moment of any,” Dick says.  “You’ve got a weird number of kids out there by the way–and listen, when one of Bruce’s kids is saying you’ve got a weird number of kids, that’s a bad sign.  Bruce thinks you’re training some kind of child army that you pulled out of your ass during the battle with Steppen-whatever.”

Ah.  Well.  That explains a few things, including the way that Bruce has been avoiding her of late.

“And what do you think, Dick Grayson?”

Dick smiles.  “I think that sometimes kids need training, and that doesn’t make them a child army.”  His smile fades.  “They’re well-trained kids, from what Bruce said.  You should be proud of them.”

“I am,” Diana says gravely, looking over Dick’s shoulder to the door as it swings open.  She raises a few fingers and Percy wanders over, his hands in his pockets and a forbidding look on his face.  Percy, Diana has learned over her months working at the camp–almost a year now–is generally speaking far friendlier than his resting expression would suggest.  Apparently, he takes after his father, and more than one person has made a joke in her hearing about the Sea God Scowl.

This is not such a moment, though, because when he comes to a stop beside the table, Percy is spinning a cheap pen between his fingers and gives Dick a suspicious once-over.

“Who are you?” he asks bluntly.

“Dick Grayson,” Diana cuts in.  “He’s come to ask if I’m a god, and if I’ve been hiding a child army in upstate New York.”

Percy’s frown deepens into a glare and he taps his pen a couple times against the table’s edge.  “She didn’t force us to come fight,” he says, and Dick raises his hands in surrender.  

“I never said she did, okay?  I’m just here because Bruce wants answers, preferably sooner than later.”

Percy unsheathes Riptide and sets it down on the table, a glowing bronze blade that doesn’t draw so much as a glance from anyone else in the restaurant, and takes a seat beside Diana.

“Here,” Diana says, offering some of her naan, and Percy takes it while Dick gapes shamelessly at Riptide.

“Hey,” Percy says curiously, the suspicion fading from his face.  “You can see my sword.”

“Uh, yeah,” Dick says, like Percy’s being a fool.  “It’s right there.  How’d you manage to disguise it as a pen?”

“Magic,” Percy says dismissively, studying Dick.  “How are you doing that?”

“Bruce isn’t bothered by the Mist,” Diana volunteers.  “But he’s not a halfblood.  Maybe he can teach others how to ignore the Mist.”

Dick rolls with the change of subject with admirable grace, reaching out to poke Riptide with a finger.  “I’ve always seen better than Bruce.  When I was a kid, I just figured I had a vivid imagination, and then when I was working with Bruce usually it was because of one of the Rogues.  Harley has some weird ass dogs.”

Diana reaches out across the table and catches Dick’s chin in a movement like lightning, and studies his eyes–bright and blue and…clear, in a way that she knows well.  Steve Trevor saw clearly, too, unmuddled by the Mist, as does Bruce, but Dick’s eyes have the unmarred clarity that can only be inborn.

“Who are your parents?” Percy asks.

“Mary and John Grayson,” Dick says, allowing Diana to manhandle him with a patient look on his face.  “I take after my mother.”

“You might,” Diana allows, letting him go.  “But I expect your father was someone else entirely.”

[words-writ-in-starlight]

Weird thought time. Percy can telepathically talk to fish. Aquaman can telepathically talk to fish. Ergo, Percy and Aquaman can talk to each other telepathically. (honestly, this doesn't really make any logical sense, but in my head it was pretty funny) (also i'm loving this au)

There’s nothing I can add to this masterpiece.  Arthur and Percy are buddies immediately and without hesitation.  Arthur teaches him to fight with a trident.  Percy does his father proud and gives half of Camp Halfblood a heart attack.  Diana is thrilled with both of them.

[words-writ-in-starlight]

Why do you hate PJO Dionysus?

So....it’s not so much that I hate him.  I’m mostly apathetic toward him, I care much more about almost any other given character in those books, but when I take the time to think about him, I get real annoyed real fast, and here’s why.

If you are an adult with the care of children under your purview, I frankly don’t care why you’re there, it’s your job to not treat them terribly.  And by and large Mr. D is just kind of disinterested in the kids, which, fine, you know what, he’s a god, that’s understandable.  And I generally ascribe to the belief that he probably gives more of a fuck about them than he’d ever admit.  But still, dude, you don’t have to be nasty to them just to prove how annoyed you are at your dad for putting you in time out.

Basically, I don’t hate him, I just want someone who’s an actual mature adult to show up and yell at him.

[words-writ-in-starlight]

i just found your diana at camp halfblood au and I LOVE IT A LOT. why is this not more popular? this is PERFECT! I haven't read 'percy jackson' in a long time but now I want to!

Thank you so much, I’m so touched by everyone’s enthusiasm!  I too have been prompted to reread the Percy Jackson books because of this AU, so join the club on that one, bud.

[words-writ-in-starlight]

Your WW/PJO stories give me LIFE. I love your writing style :DD Keep on writing!!

Anonymous said:

I am here to say you are AMAZING and i LOVE your WW/PJO thingie. Here’s to best wishes for the season and the new year and i hope the muses keep on trucking.

THANK YOU SO MUCH, I’m so glad you’ve enjoyed it!

[words-writ-in-starlight]

yarndarling replied to your post “I have to say that I love this PJO/Diana fix! I’m bummed that it…”

pfthahahaha “because i’ve been following you for 3 hours” oh man i was cackling so hard at that. and percy’s Sea God Scowl! excellent all around

[words-writ-in-starlight]

*obligatory soulmates saying first words to each other castlevania prompt*

Bless your BEAUTIFUL SOUL Amuse.  Honestly there’s No fic for this so I guess I’ll just do a canon soulmate thing because it probably hasn’t happened yet.  And also I’m standing by Alucard/Trevor because I’m almost 100% sure that the show will be doing Sypha/Trevor, so strike while the canon is limited, right?

“So, vampire--”

“I have a name, Belmont.  If we’re going to be traveling together, you might care to use it.”

“Alucard, then."  Trevor stretched both legs out, propped against a tree.  He still looked mildly beaten to hell from Gresit and Alucard looked like--well, like Alucard, which was to say perfect to the point of being infuriating and entirely unsubtle, and Sypha had announced plainly that neither of them would be any use at buying supplies in a civilized village.  Leaving them a few minutes outside the village limits, she had marched away like she was going into battle.

Alucard was sitting cross-legged in the darkest part of another tree’s shadow, his sword across his lap and his eyes on the roof line of the village.  Looking for trouble.

“So,” Trevor repeated, and Alucard tipped his head toward him, only slightly, but enough to make it clear that he was listening.  “You don’t burn in the sun, and your sword has silver worked on the hilt.  Can you cross running water?  Hold a cross?”

“Yes, I’ve never tried, and before you ask, I’ve never developed a taste for garlic, although I can touch it.  And I don’t catch fire in the sun, but that doesn’t make it a pleasant experience.”  Alucard made a gesture to his own face, to his sharp inhuman eyes.  “It’s--bright."

“Huh,” Trevor said.  He wound Vampire Killer through his hands, taking pains to look idle.  It must have been easy to be a vampire, he thought a little irritably, with that perfect stony unconcern carved into one’s face all the time.  Then again, it was entirely possible that Alucard was unreadable simply because he was Alucard.  “So, you’re more human than vampire.”

“It’s not a clean division,” Alucard said.  There was a moment’s hesitation in his voice, something that Trevor tentatively identified as wariness.  “I can walk in the sun, and I am mostly immune to the majority of weapons against vampires, but I still require blood, and from what I can tell a consecrated item will still hurt me.  Your whip, for example.”  Another moment, longer this time, as Alucard turned his eyes back to the village.  “I have a soulmate.  Full-blooded vampires, like my father, do not.”

The niggling itch of knowledge at Trevor’s left wrist turned into a steady burn, as impossible to ignore as having a match held to his skin.  His bracers covered the four words of neat black script, written in thin, spidery letters over the blue lines of his veins, but the impulse to cover them with his other hand was overwhelming.

Trevor usually got through life just fine without thinking about his mark.  Why are you here?  He was a Belmont.  He got greeted with why are you here all the time, it was only barely more useful than good morning.

But then there was Alucard.

And Alucard’s mark stood out like charcoal on paper, half-ruined by the scar that bisected his chest but the last word still legible where it curved under his collarbone.

“What about your mother?”  Trevor realized, once he’d asked the question, that it was probably rude.  He might have punched someone out, for asking about his dead family’s soulmarks--they weren’t necessarily taboo, but they were personal, not to be bandied around for the public.

Alucard didn’t twitch, as stony as ever as he sat under his tree and didn’t look at Trevor.

“My mother’s mark matched my father’s first words to her.  She was glad that I had one."

Trevor had stopped coiling Vampire Killer, giving up on looking casual in exchange for studying Alucard closely.  “I didn’t have a mark for five years, when I was born.  For a while there, my family was worried I’d never get one.”

“The Belmonts care about soulmates?”  Alucard’s lips tipped up minutely.  “I imagined that they had elaborate genealogies to breed for strength and speed and bad tempers.”

“Fuck you too,” Trevor said, but it was a good-natured response, not the sharp tone he meant to put behind the words.  Alucard looked amused, a proper smile curving his lips.

Trevor wondered what Alucard’s mouth looked like when he laughed.  Then he recoiled from the thought in shock, like he’d been handed a live snake instead of an apple, and shut his mouth tight.

The silence that settled over the pair of them was thick and smothering.  More so because there had been a moment, brief but surprisingly easy, of camaraderie, Trevor thought.  The contrast made the silence press on his ears and try to wriggle down his throat, and his arm itched under his bracer, the black words demanding his attention again.

Trevor closed his eyes and let out a slow breath, trying to push the itch away.  When he opened his eyes again, he almost cracked the back of his skull open against the tree, startling back from Alucard, who had moved to sit in front of him.

“Holy fucking Christ,” Trevor hissed between his teeth.

“My apologies,” Alucard said, looking entirely unapologetic.  “You’re usually very difficult to sneak up on, I assumed that you knew I was here.”

“Well, congratulations on reaching a new level of just--obnoxiously quiet, I guess.  What did you want?”

For the first time in Trevor’s life--hell, maybe the first time in anyone’s life, ever--Trevor had the dubious pleasure of seeing a vampire look at him with what looked almost like nerves.  It was...heady, really, a little intoxicating, and didn’t that just give a lot more insight into the woman whose death had precipitated all this than Trevor ever wanted to have.

“What does your soulmark say?”  

Alucard’s question was as unadorned and direct as being punched in the fucking face, and twice as disorienting.  Trevor throttled down his first response, which was it says ‘none of your fucking business, now back off before we see just how vulnerable you are to consecrated objects’, and gave Alucard a look that he hoped wasn’t too much like a rabbit eyeing over a fox.

“Why do you want to know?”

Alucard sighed, the sigh of someone putting up with the insufferable day after day--as if that wasn’t absolutely Trevor’s prerogative at the moment.  Then delicate fingers rose to his throat, loosened the laces at the collar of his shirt, pulled the cloth down and aside.

The scar, Trevor remembered, started just inside Alucard’s left shoulder and slanted down to his hip, an attempt to rip out his heart or something else vital that, frankly, Trevor was shocked he had walked away from.  Alucard’s mark was two short lines of text under his collarbone, over his heart, and all but the first letter and the last word had been mangled by Dracula’s claws.  It took some doing to damage a soulmark--they were stubborn things that tended to write themselves over scar tissue if possible--but it looked like some of Alucard’s skin had been very nearly flayed off all together, and the mark had gone with it.

All that was left was the letter I, the suggestion of a few more words, and the word hole.

“You can’t read it anymore,” Alucard said, releasing his collar.  “But it used to say ‘I fell down a hole.’  I’ll admit that I expected something...else.”

Trevor snorted.  “Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly braced for the hole either.  Your castle has some fucking structural integrity problems.  Hire an architect.”

“It’s--”  Alucard shook his head.  “It’s a trap, Belmont, and the structural integrity of the city of Gresit is not my responsibility.  What does your mark say?”  This close, the liquid gold color of Alucard’s eyes was impossible to ignore, a steady and inhuman stare that seemed to lance through Trevor’s skull and rummage around in his head.  Alucard didn’t blink enough.  An inane thing to notice, at a moment like this, but Trevor couldn’t seem to stop noticing inane things.  Inane things like how, of all the things that he ever imagined doing with a vampire--even a half-blooded one--a sit-down chat about soulmarks fell significantly below Hell freezing over.

Then again, Hell had declined to freeze over in return for coming to visit Earth, so Trevor imagined that a lot of people were reevaluating their expectations.

Reluctantly, as slowly as he could manage, Trevor unlaced his left bracer, and held out his arm without a word.

Alucard’s touch, one uncalloused finger tracing over the line of the words, was cool.  Not quite as warm as the air around him, and it was starting to be cold.  For once, though, Alucard was neither stony nor unreadable--his lips were parted, his eyes fixed on Trevor’s wrist, and his face looked open, almost wondering, like a child.

It turned his marble beauty into something fit to stop the heart.

Trevor let out a breath, slow and careful to keep it from trembling.  He’d never given much thought to who his soulmate would be, or what they would be like, except to hope that they wouldn’t mind being paired with a Belmont, wouldn’t want him to give up his family’s work.  Then, after the fire, he hadn’t thought of them at all.  He had expected, in all honesty, that the world would end before they met, or at the very least that he would go the way of the rest of his family and that someone, somewhere, would have their words go scarred white without explanation.

He wondered what his family would have said now, to know that the last son of House Belmont was soulmates with the son of Dracula Tepes.

[words-writ-in-starlight]

10 Female Characters

So I was tagged in this meme by @the-anchorless-moon and it’s basically what it says on the tin: 10 favorite female characters from 10 different fandoms.

Lucretia, The Adventure Zone

Rogue, X-Men

Rachel Berenson, Animorphs

Claire Temple, Defenders

Sara Lance, Legends of Tomorrow

Daine Sarrasri, Immortals Quartet

Nomi Marks, Sense8

Eve Baird, Librarians

Cassandra Pentaghast, Dragon Age: Inquisition

Jamethiel Priests-Bane, Kencyrath

And here are ten more tags for people.  If you don’t want to do it, don’t feel obliged.

@skymurdock, @lathori, @aethersea, @littlestartopaz, @cthulhu-with-a-fez, @sroloc--elbisivni, @thanatoswrath, @princehal9000, @maelace, @im-lost-but-not-gone