Chapter Text
Chapter 1: Whatever I’ve Done, I Did It For Love
// This is a 'the Black Phone' Demigod AU fic with an oc insert.
Eleonora Giana Hopper, half-sister to Vance Hopper, had been at Camp since age 6. She was the youngest camper to ever have entered the perimeter of Camp Half-Blood. It had been revealed at age 9 that she was a daughter of Apollo, and one blessed with healing talent and prophetic dreams at that, not to mention that she dabbled in archery and was decent at music (the guitar was her passion, though she could play piano and flute as well).
Though being liked well enough, she was all alone at Camp. Her older half-brother wasn’t, to her knowledge, a demigod, and she didn’t have many friends at Camp. She was the weird Apollo kid who was more into metal than the usual genres that Apollo children were into, the Apollo girl with anger issues (unlike the generally sunny dispositions of her half-siblings), the camper who had, at age 10, died her hair a sea green (since then she has died her hair denim blue, firetruck red, sunset orange, jet black, grass green, and her current color, fuschia), claiming to hate her blonde hair with her whole being. It had always reminded her a little too much of the protective older brother she had left behind when she was dumped unceremoniously on Half-Blood Hill at age 6.
Now, at age 15, she was a bit of a loner. She was the one the Ares kids picked out in a crowd to bully, the subject of the Hermes cabin’s pranks, the topic of conversation that the Aphrodite kids sneered at with disdain written all over their faces. She found solace in the camp’s activities director, Chiron, her half-brother Will, his boyfriend Nico, Annabeth Chase occasionally, and her music.
Chiron had allowed her to get multiple ear piercings and exactly three tattoos , mostly because he pitied her. She had started off wanting to get a pinball inspired tattoo (the wrist one), because pinball was her brother’s favorite game. Then she wanted some dragons because she had read the Hobbit and had become obsessed with fantasy things. And the birds were just a cute design that she wanted. And then, once she discovered that she didn’t really feel much pain, she decided to get her ears pierced for the hell of it. She didn’t wear her piercings often because she got even more weird looks, but she wore them on special occasions.
Such as today, her fifteenth birthday. November 17th, the loneliest day of the year in Eleonora’s opinion. Sure, she got a few ‘Happy Birthday’s from the few of her siblings that stayed all year round at Camp, but there wasn’t much celebration. None of her birthdays from age 7 up had been very noteworthy. Except this one.
It had been a normal day at Camp. Eleonora (Nora, as she implored people to call her) went to breakfast, then to archery, music, the stables, and lunch. Not much happened. However, at dinner, a large commotion arose at the border. Lots of shouting and screaming. Nora could very vaguely hear what was being said by the loudest voice.
‘Fucking- What the fuck is that sonnuva bitch?! Ugly ass motherfucker, take that!’
Very briefly, she heard another voice cursing in Spanish and telling someone named ‘Finn’ to get behind the owner of the voice. It shocked her for a second. Other than herself speaking Italian because of her mother, and Paolo exclusively speaking Portuguese, nobody really actively spoke another language at Camp. Sure, they may know another language, but other than the occasional Greek, nobody spoke anything other than English.
Nora was the first to jump up and double tap her band guitar pick necklace , the necklace turning into a celestial bronze sword . The necklace had been a gift from her father, Apollo, before he just… cut all contact with her. Each band-printed guitar pick turned into a different weapon. The one she had on it now, the Queen pick, turned into a sword she had named Spada, which literally translated to ‘sword’ in Italian (she thought she was hilarious for that).
She raced towards the border to scout out what was going on. She vaguely heard footsteps behind her, not bothering to look back when she saw the group of six, maybe seven, teens fighting off what appeared to be a swarm of harpies. They had no weapons other than two of them having baseball bats and one having a mortal pocketknife. Those weren’t going to help them much.
Nora tied her hair back into a bun with a spare hair tie that she always kept on her wrist for easy access to it and leaped forward, slashing her sword in an arc through the air. She took out a harpy with ease, she hadn’t spent nine years training for nothing, after all. She could feel the gaze of the newcomers train on her whirling figure as she let her unbridled rage at the harpies for attacking these innocent teens move her in a deadly dance.
She could hear the sounds of battle all around, the grunts of a few campers, the screeches of the harpies as they were slain and rendered golden monster-essence-dust. She almost couldn’t tell when all the harpies were gone, standing just outside the border, panting and covered in golden harpy dust.
She shook her head and body, dislodging the dust much like a dog shaking itself dry. After sufficiently shaking herself off, she looked around to take stock of the motley crew of demigods. There was a brunette girl who seemed to be the youngest who had a bloody nose and a large rock in her hand as if she had been using that as a weapon. Standing beside her was a boy around her age who looked a little too much like the girl for them not to have the same mortal parent. He seemed scared and was clutching something tightly in his right hand, though she couldn’t see what. Beside him was a Hispanic kid of the same age who had angled himself in front of the scared boy protectively. He was one of the ones with the baseball bats, though it didn’t seem to be his bat. It didn’t quite match up with the average bat height for someone of his shorter stature. It most likely belonged to the boy he was so dead set on protecting. Beside the Hispanic kid was a curly blond-haired male a little bit older than she, clutching a bloodied pocketknife. He had a bloody nose and scratches along his cheeks and arms, alluding to the fact that he had gotten close enough to the harpies that he had taken a few good hits while fighting. Beside and slightly behind the curly blond, there was an athletic-looking Asian kid who was around the curly blond’s age. He was the other bat-wielder, this time the bat belonging to the wielder, evident by the bat matching up with his height and the dirtied baseball jersey he wore. The kid was definitely an Aphrodite child because, even covered in blood, he was beautiful (not that he was her type. She was more into females as it was). Beside the definite Aphrodite son stood two bloodied boys around the same age, they practically clung to each other for protection as neither had a weapon on hand. All of them looked like they were about to collapse. And they did. One by one, the blond and the Hispanic being the last, they dropped down, out cold either from exhaustion, fear, or both. She was sure the last thing they saw was her panicking face as she rushed over, medic-mode activated.