Two very different people fall in love with a boy called death. Finding each other is chance. Falling for each other isn’t. This is their story. (Or in which Nico is Death with a capital D, Annabeth is a serial killer, and Percy is the poor schmuck who falls for both of them.)

Just your every day modern street gang of ragamuffins.

Zevran has trust issues, self-worth issues, and general issues. Alistair helps. When he's not making it worse. Or: Giving someone a ring is supposed to be a symbol of deep commitment. A symbol, dammit. Or: Clearly Brosca isn't a Tolkien fan; otherwise, she would know that rings found in questionable cave systems make terrible gifts.