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.)

Growing up in the Mafia isn't necessarily an easy or kind thing. The earth spins, life moves on, and Tsuna finds himself taking slow steps forward, back and forward again. (Or, ten times that Tsuna remembers it being easier to have sex with Xanxus rather than dealing with the insanity of the world around him)

From the beginning, there was something odd about Namimori. In a world where every city had its own method of dealing with the bane of humanity that were ghouls, Namimori was the first place Reborn had ever been that felt safe to him. People were calm and unafraid on the streets, even after dark. It was remarkable and at first he thought it was due to the fact that Namimori's police force had some sort of foolproof guard against ghouls. But then he noticed the distinct lack of graveyards. By the time Reborn really understood what kept Namimori safe, it was too late to do anything about it. After all, the successor was being tutored, the guardians were chosen, and Xanxus was bearing down on them with half the Vongola rings and all of his wrath. All there was left to do was wait and see.

“Bring me the Joker’s head on a platter,” Jason says, and he doesn’t mean anything by it, not really. It’s the kind of thing he jokes about when he’s overwhelmed, and he’s overwhelmed by Tim a lot. Tim’s intensity makes Jason turn flippant, makes him counterweigh the seriousness with comments about his own torture and death, like that will somehow lighten the mood. Jason says all kinds of things, for all kinds of reasons. He doesn’t expect anyone to listen.