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.)

Nana heralds from a family of serial killers. She neglects to mention this to her husband, but when Iemitsu makes it clear he doesn’t expect Tsuna to join his family, Nana brings him into hers. This becomes a problem when Iemitsu changes his mind...

In which Yamamoto wanders through life smiling, joking, and terrifying bystanders. It strikes him as weird that he’s had to struggle not to kill people, that it’s been such a challenge. He’s pretty sure that for most people, not being a murderer is way easier than being one.

“Well,” Stiles says, “if they’re going to hunt werewolves, I’m going to hunt them.” It’s a ridiculous statement from a ten-year-old, but he’s obviously one hundred percent sincere. For the first time since the fire, Peter feels life stir inside him, feels purpose. It’s kismet, clearly. He’ll never meet the child he would have had with Olivia. Instead he’s met this boy, this brilliant, determined, cynical child with a world of potential. Peter kneels down in front of him so they’re at eye level. “How do you feel about doing that together?”