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spdrvyn · 3 months

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mr. spider and his journalist

you and miguel are rivals on the surface, but there's an irrevocable bond that exists between the two of you when you read between the lines.

injuries. implied wound patching. fluff. hurt/comfort. suggestive. happy valentines, folks!

The fast-paced and riveting action, joint with the simple adrenaline of describing an intense scene was what drew you to this job in the first place. Journaling wasn't easy, while you were no superhero, you were still somewhat putting your safety on the line to witness two adults in skin tight suits and superpowers throw hands at each other.

In spite of everything, you loved your job.

Your name had reached every single article that average Nueva York citizen could even think to get their hands on, your name befell the mouth of every employee in your building whether it was in praise or malice. You didn't care, all that mattered to you was that you were truly out there.

Although, your workplace wasn't the only area of your life where you were severely disliked. Even as you went out and about to record and detail on the spectacles and heroic gestures in this city, its top vigilante still glared at you with ire through his mask.

He was a spider, you were a pest.

Spider-Man had fought many impeccable foes over the years, battled by a villainous organization that was out for his blood in an almost literal sense. Not to mention that he was hurtling fate's delegated task of protecting a multiverse which each had a different version of this maddening, web-weaving hero.

It wasn't like he could bring himself to actually express his distaste towards you, but it was hard to mask his annoyance when you immediately came flocking to him with borderline intrusive questions about his life outside of his work.

After the precipice of disaster subsided once each fight had concluded, the snippiness of your tone as you wrung out questions brought the crowd of clamoring reporters to a halt.

Miguel had to swallow his intrigue time and time again, he'd tried to acknowledge a long time ago that surely you were just another journalist seeking out to actually making something of yourself. But your passion was the flint that sparked his curiosity about you, it was a weakness. He couldn't allow his poise to be wavered by someone like you.

Someone so eloquent and composed, someone so witty and humorous, letting himself get bested by you would be the biggest blow to his massive ego. It would be nightmarish to even approximate the possibility of Miguel having some sort of interest towards you.

You'd already come to your senses a long time ago.

It was silly, really. Obviously you'd discover these underlying feelings for him, why else would you practically be clinging to his side post-mission? Why else would you publish so many stories and reports about his daily miscreancy? A 5th grader could figure it out.

There was so much you knew, that you really shouldn't have. There were details about his life that have retained in your mind, but you didn't even know his full name.

"No further anomalies, Miguel. I'd suggest checking diagnostics though, anomaly activity in this dimension has been active as of late."

Miguel groans, running a hand across his face despite his mask. "Uh huh, right." He doesn't need anymore on his plate right now, for all he could care, you were probably hiding around in a little corner somewhere.

"So it's Miguel?"

Fuck, he really hated being right. And not having a spider sense, that too. "Ay, mierda!" He jolted, you bit on your lip to conceal your giggles. Seeing someone as big as Miguel get startled out of his mind was a little funny. "Do not keep that detail in your little article."

"What kind of person do you think I am, Miguel?" Ugh, he hated the way you say his name even more. "Tu secreto es mi secreto, no need to worry about it. But if I could get a last name too, that would be-"

"Alright, get away from me."

He still remembered the way you chased after him as he approached the edge of the battered rooftop, clutching at his forearm. You'd pester him for details, the most intricate ones, even when he knew that he could just zip right out of there, you always found a way to make him stay. Every single time.

The stirring way that you were always able to show up after nearly every mission he's had, your very presence emanating even when deep into the crowds of people surrounding the scene.

But you didn't show up this time.

Don't call for backup, he'd insisted. A stupid, moronic decision that was because now he was crawling his way, bloody and bruised, throughout a sopping wet alleyway that definitely wasn't only soaking with just the rainwater.

There was no crowd this time, there was no you to be found. He would have noticed a hundred miles away otherwise, his watch had damaged in the aftermath. Narrowly escaping by a hair, he growled frustratedly as the furious taps of his fingers against the small screen didn't register. His talons took the rear, scratching against the tiny panes of glass and only breaking it further.

At that point, there was no more reason to be angry. What's done is done, he fought his battle, he didn't lose, but he wouldn't consider this a win either.

The nano-fabric, originally designed to be as comfortable as can be for your regular vigilante activities, now felt like it clung uncomfortable to Miguel's skin. Sticky, grimy, and bloody. His chest heaved with the effort to just keep breathing, his large frame now so small as he slumped against the rough wall of the alley.

He wondered what you'd say right now, if he hadn't been caught in this blunder. You'd be asking him, what the anomaly looked like, if they were from a different era, their powers, how did he defeat them? So on and so forth, but your absence was more than enough of a bad omen for his failure.

The sound of your voice wasn't something he thought he'd miss, your annoying comments, your inquisitive glances, that sparkle in your eyes whenever he started talking. All those lovely details he'd lost to snide replies and swift conversation enders, he closed his eyes, it was childish to hold onto hope, but maybe thinking about what you'd say, what you'd do, would motivate him to get up. Get away.

Miguel, I honestly just don't know you do it, you would say with a sarcastic rise in your tone.

Say, how does your suit even work? I mean, I know it's nano-tech, but I'm no scientist of any sort. You'd ask, all while poking and prodding at the technology. A privilege he only allows you to have.

I don't know what to do with you, how am I supposed to help when this thing doesn't even have a damn zipper! The frustrated grind in your voice says it all.

Don't die on me, please. I'm sorry if I'm a thorn in your side, okay? I'll stop, just wake up! Wake up, please. You begged, a desperation sewn deeply with the way you grasped at his bandaged hand.

When did he get here?

His body still hurt like hell, trying to get his neck up straight was like having needles straight into the muscles. His eyes fluttered open, and the first thing he sees is your eyes. Puffy, swollen, and red from crying, your mouth stuck in a pout, quivering from the amount of sobs that you've let out. Your grip on his hand loosens upon his awakening, you can't hug him without risk of hurting him, so you simply lean in closer.

"You're alive," it's said a lot calmer than the hysterics you were spewing a while ago, a relieved smile gracing your features. "I- I didn't kill you, you're alive!"

The joy rushes into your voice, you're practically vibrating with happiness while trying to fight back the urge to swoop him in your arms. Miguel would, but for obvious reasons, he won't.

"Why would you have killed me?"

"I'm not a science person, how many times do I have to tell you?"

He doesn't bother quipping back, he hums, looking down over at the exposed parts of suits, pushing the blanket you set on him aside to discover that everything was cleaned and patched and stitchedto near perfection. "So you're not a nurse or a science person, but you can fix wounds like no other."

"This is a common book trope, considering how I'm closely tied to a superhero, I feel like being a fixer-upper is a requirement."

"Closely tied?" He says, unamused.

"We'll have to be now! I can't have you scare me like that, I won't ask you any questions for a month as long as I don't see you in any dark alleys all hurt looking." You harumph, you see him press a spot below his ear and all of a sudden-

His mask disengages, fabric disappearing seamlessly as his face is miraculously bestowed onto your gaze. Warm skin from the ambient lighting set to accomodate his hypersensitive senses. Curly and deep brown hair, all mussed from his scuffle. A set of dark crimson eyes that look a beautiful chestnut if you really look from a different angle, you forget to breathe.

"Thank you, but don't get too excited. Consider this a treat for taking care of me," he returns to that sense of stoicism, but your jaw is unfortunately still agape from how awe inspiring he truly is. Now, you'd have to imagine this face every time you even so much as wrote the word spider down.

"I, uh, yeah. Sure,"

This is the first instance he's ever had you so silent. You trekked around your flat for different foods you could feed him, brewing him too many cups of tea to count. You barely even made small talk, it was astounding to him.

He left soon after, the super healing abilities work bound to have started working more efficiently anyway. You bid your goodbyes to him, it was as if you still had the moment of shock written all over your face when he revealed his face to you.

The days that followed were odd, he didn't find himself in any sort of kerfuffle that involved him to be severely injured anymore, but when he noticed you in the crowd, you tended to shy away. You didn't even try to follow him afterward to pester him for details on the battle, there was something so off about it.

So Miguel decides to talk to you about it.

You were idly typing away, contained in a small office from the rest of the room. The chatter from your coworkers were your white noise along with the near silent clicks of your keyboard, the process has you so out of it that you don't pick up on the reflection of navy blue and bright red on your computer screen.

"You," grumbles Miguel and this time, you're started.

"Oh, shock. What are you doing here?" That boisterous confidence you always carried with you had gone mute, all Miguel saw was a drained creative and it made his blood boil.

"Why haven't you been," he doesn't want to say it. Don't make him say it. "Talking to me?"

You tilt your head to the side in confusion, quirking your brow up. Miguel disengages his mask again, you'll never get used to that. "I- what do you mean by that exactly?"

"You know, don't you normally- ask more questions? After I take care of business?" Miguel despises how needy he sounds right now. Please talk to me and keep annoying me, for I miss it so dearly.

"I thought you hated that," your voice drops in volume. "I just thought since the thing that happened that you'd want me to leave you alone for a while."

The absurdity of your statement had him reeling, the reason why he didn't die that night was because of your allergy to negligence, how the thought of even leaving him alone would make you sick to your stomach as you so described. Now, you were giving him distance?

"No," he walked even closer to you, cornering you against your desk and causing you to shrink in your small swivel chair. "You don't get it, do you?"

You shake your head hesitantly, it's too hard to focus. You've touched him before, but never has he actually initiated it. He was mere inches away from you, whether you should focus on not looking like a freshly plucked tomato or his handsome face was between you and God.

He lets out an irritated chuckle, the gleam of his canines prominent from the light of the monitor behind you. "Has it ever struck you in that head of yours that I like talking to you?" He places a hand on one of your arm rests. "That I enjoy your sass, your passion?"

There's that funny feeling again, that feeling from when he revealed himself to you. Discovering such a big revelation from Miguel, something you've dreamed of nearly every night, but now that it's in the palm of your hand, you can't bring yourself to think properly.

"But I– I thought that–"

"It's a yes or no question, hermosa. Answer it."

"No."

The back of your chair hits the wood of your desk as Miguel pushes you, he dwarfs your suroundings, his presence much larger now that both of you are in a place so confined. Now that he wasn't "couchridden". At this proximity, you wouldn't be surprised if he could hear your heartbeat.

"Think again," his other hand moves to tug on your bottom lip as he clashes his own against yours, your whole body tenses and for a split second, he thinks he's seriously messed up this time, until you groan into his mouth and that thought is straight out the window.

Your hands map out his body, from the broad shoulders, tracing the muscle connecting them to his neck, then to the soft hair that you've been dying to touch ever since you've laid your eyes upon it. Your fingers ultimately find home in the curls at the ends.

It's almost filthy. His other hand now trailing down to your neck, wrapping deft fingers around your throat and it causes you to arch your back into him.

He uses his grip on you as leverage to separate, left panting and with a memory to use for later.

"We should get dinner sometime,"

"When are you free?"

"Friday. 7PM."

"Okay," and you lean in to kiss him again.

#spiderman: across the spiderverse #spiderverse #across the spiderverse #atsv #spiderman #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #x reader #x you #x y/n #fluff #hurt/comfort #miguel o'hara fluff #suggestive

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thedaughersofferrix · 1 year

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Birthdays

(work is not nsfw, but this blog is generally intended to be 18+)

synopsis: cal forgets about his birthday. you don't.

pairing: cal kestis x gn! reader

content warnings: pining, fluff, reader is a jedi

word count: 1.5k

a/n: something short and sweet to say happy jedi survivor release everybody. game looks amazing & i'm so happy to see cal again. might be a part 2, but i'm not sure atm

if cal kestis has a million fans, then i'm one of them. if cal kestis has one fan, then i'm them. if cal kestis has no fans, that means i'm dead.

Cal decided that fighting the Empire would be a priority in his life five years ago.

After he destroyed the holocron so the force-sensitive children in the galaxy could live in peace, that was his vow.

The Mantis crew got to work; blowing up Haxion Brood bases and wiping out legions of stormtroopers at a time. The fight thrilled him and every battle only left him in anticipation of the next.

It got to the point where he struggled to think of anything but the fight. Every thought was the next move, their wrongs and the perpetrators. The scars, the injuries and the losses continued and Cal never wavered.

He knew it was an obsession, but he just couldn’t help it. It was a need, etched into his soul and a part of his identity. His was Cal Kestis. The rebel Jedi, the most wanted man in the Empire. And the most dangerous.

Then he met you.

Well, he met you again, because he’d met you years ago, back when the temple on Coruscant was a Jedi temple. When Master Tapal was alive and little Cal’s mind couldn’t even fathom an Empire taking everything from him.

You’d been his crèche-mate and friend, long before either of you had been padawans.

In between lessons, you would spar or lounge in the dining hall, where most of the other younglings liked to loiter. He formed a puppy-love crush on you that made his Master chuckle. It’s only natural, Cal. The feelings will fade with time. He has half-right, Cal supposes.

He remembers vividly the last time he saw you when he and Master Tapal were minutes away from loading onto a cruiser with their clone troops. Thinking back, he’s embarrassed by how hesitant he was to leave you.

Don’t get all sentimental about this, you told him wisely. We’ll see each other when we get back.

It was so hard to tell himself you were dead.

Cal Kestis was the last living Jedi, fighting against the Empire that deemed his kind a traitor and punished them for crimes they never committed.

You had died, so had your master and so had everyone else he once knew. That had been difficult for him to accept.

Merrin and Cere understood the pain and that helped, at times. Though sometimes he didn’t want to understand. He wanted to see you, feel your arms embracing him and hear your voice in his ear. He didn’t talk about you to them though. He wanted something for himself, a little what-if to hold on to during the nights he felt particularly melancholic.

Then came his trip to Segra Milo, to speak with Saw Gerrera about his next move.

By that point, the Partisans recognised him on sight and offered him only a nod of acknowledgement when he passed by.

There you were, in all your glory. Older, a bit more rough around the edges (like himself) and even more attractive than you’d been about nine years ago.

When the two of you locked eyes and time bowed at your feet, to allow you both this moment of silent disbelief.

“Cal?” you had whispered. He whispered your name back and you smiled widely.

You embraced him like he had been so desperate for you to do. And he heard your voice, the one that had previously only reached him in dreams.

“I thought you died,” you told him.

“I thought you died,” he said, in a single breath. Emotion threatened to explode from his chest until Saw Gerrera cleared his throat.

“I hate to break up this lover’s reunion,” he said. “But we do have a war to fight.”

“Tonight,” you whispered into his ear and he felt like a padawan with a crush again.

Sure enough, the two of you made a rendezvous under the moonlight. The cavernous, dangerous terrain of Segra Milo felt so inviting that night.

You explained to him that you and your master had been ambushed by your own troopers. You and your master were separated when they received the orders and by luck, you weren’t the one in a room full of clones. Quietly you found an escape pod and left for the nearest planet. You cut your padawan braid and disassembled your lightsaber on the same day. The kyber crystal that powered it hung from your neck, hidden behind layers of clothing.

“One day I watched them string up a man for dropping his drink on a trooper's foot,” you recalled to him. “They claimed he had done it as an act of civil disobedience and that it was anti-Imperial activity. I rebuilt my lightsaber and started looking for the Rebellion the same day.”

You were the same person he remembered, only better. Now you were stronger and smarter, without losing your humanity.

The next day, you were separated again. You were travelling to Devaron to provide the Partisans there with support. He tried to go with you, but you sagely reminded him of the danger of two Jedi being found together.

You exchanged comm links the night prior and hugged tightly before you boarded your ship and he the Mantis. It reminded him of the one you gave him before what he thought had been your demise. He prayed he wouldn’t have to remember this hug the same way.

“Until next time, Cal,” you said, hopeful and bright.

“Until then,” he replied, leaving you with a smile.

The next time he saw you, he thinks he might have hugged you tighter than he’d ever hugged anyone.

There had been a next time, he thought. There could be another one.

And there was. In fact, there had been many next times. He couldn’t count on his hands how many times he had gotten to see you. On the good days, you spoke and drank together. On the days, you fought and mourned together. But you were together and it was so much easier than it had been before.

Recently he’d probably gone the longest without seeing you, which made him realise the effect you had on him.

The Empire was still are the forefront of his mind, almost always. It consumed his actions and words. Slowly but surely, however, you had been weaselling your way into an important position in his life.

He didn’t care about the Empire when he was looking at you and he may as well have not met an Inquisitor when he’s hearing your laugh. You were there and he didn’t need to think about any of that.

Then, when the gap you filled was empty again with your departure, he was consumed by the need to fight once more.

He forewent sleep and food, only collapsing when his body refused to preserve and eating when the hunger pangs came. Fight, fight, fight, was all he could think about. It never really occurred to him to celebrate his victories or even do simple things, like check the date.

But you returned to him again and reminded him of what he was missing.

“A win like this is worth sitting down for,” you insisted, sitting beside him at the fire. “Besides, today is special.” His brow furrowed.

“What’s today?” he asked you, which made you laugh, loud and beautiful.

“You can’t be serious, Cal.”

“I am! What’s today?”

“Cal,” you sighed. “It’s your birthday.”

His mind went blank as the gears started to turn. “Oh,” was what he came up with. You laughed at him again.

“Did you really forget?” you asked him.

“I haven’t celebrated it in years,” he admitted and you frowned, making him wish he lied. He hated it when you frowned, though you did make a cute face when you were angry.

“Well we’ll have to make up for that, won’t we?” you announced, standing from your seat and downing your drink. “Stay here for a second.” He nodded and you slipped away.

You returned not long after, with something behind your back.

“Close your eyes,” you instructed. He looked at you curiously. “Just do it.” His eyes fell shut. He heard you shuffling and muttering something to BD-1. “Put out your hands.” He open one palm and pushed it toward you. “Both of them.” He opened the other. He felt a weight in his left hand, then in his right.

“Open.”

Cal was greeted by a cupcake in his left hand and a multitool in his left.

“I tried to find a cake, but apparently Devaronians aren’t very fond of them,” you explained. “And this,” you pointed to the multitool. “I bought this for you back on Corellia, but you were gone before I could give it to you. It’s got everything you need to keep Beedee in working order.” BD-1 chirped happily at that.

Cal was starstruck. He hadn’t experienced softness like this since before the Clone Wars. Suddenly his chest felt fuzzy and his face was hot.

“Thank you,” he managed. “No problem,” you answered breezily.

He shared some of the cupcake with you, but you insisted he had to eat at least seventy per cent of it. The multitool found a place on his belt, though with the amount of combat he saw, he’d be using it soon.

You sat beside him at the fire on his birthday and Cal Kestis felt hope again in a way like he’d never felt before. Hope for not just the present, but the future.

#cal kestis #cal kestis x reader #cal kestis x you #cal kestis x y/n #star wars x reader #star wars jedi: survivor #star wars #star wars fanfiction

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its-vannah · 1 year

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Labyrinth | Jacaerys x Reader

A/N: This was so fun to write, y'all.

Warning: Death, arranged marriage, age gap, mentions of marrying young

Midnights Masterlist

You had spent nearly your whole life betrothed to Cregan Stark. Although he was quite a bit older than you—nearly seven years—your parents had agreed that it would be a good match.

Throughout the years, you had felt a sense of comfort in knowing what your future held. You were to be wed at seventeen, something your parents had insisted on as it was neither too young nor too old, with child before your twentieth name day, and a respected Lady of the House of Stark.

I'll be getting over you my whole life

But that all came crashing down when Cregan was killed in battle. For the first time in over a decade, you felt a sense of instability.

"It only hurts this much right now"

Naturally, your family still wanted you married off. After searching for and wide for a suitor, they settled on someone you never would have expected: Jacaerys Velaryon.

It only feels this raw right now

But you were devastated. You had grown to see Cregan as a friend. Although you hadn't been in love with one another, you felt comfortable in each other's presence, which was something not many Lord's and Ladies could say about one another.

That everybody just expects me to bounce back

On the way to Dragonstone, your mother had warned you not to dwell on things you couldn't change. Your heart broke at her words. You loved Cregan, couldn't she see that you were grieving?

Never trust it if it rises fast

Not daring to respond to her comments, you turned away from her, gazing out the carriage as you neared the castle.

Breathe in, breathe through, breathe deep, breathe out

The closer the carriage came to the castle, the more your heart began to pound in your chest. What if the prince wasn't looking for a wife? Would he even acknowledge your presence? What is he like? Is he kind of cruel?

All of these questions raced through your head as the carriage doors swung open.

The man who had opened the doors held out his hand to you, which you took gratefully as you climbed down the stairs.

Finally meeting the man's eyes, realization hit you: this wasn't a commoner, this was the prince.

He smiled gently at you, your hand still in his. Bowing, he pressed a kiss to the top of your hand, gazing up at you, "It's a pleasure to meet you, my Lady."

Was what I was thinking the whole time

As much as you hated yourself for it, grief practically went out the window at that moment. The kids he had placed upon your hand ignited a spark deep inside you. Never in your life had you felt the way you did in that moment.

Lost in a trance, you only snapped back to reality when he released your hand, introducing himself to your mother.

Still in a state of shock, you took a deep breath, looking around the courtyard.

It can't last

You could get used to this. But your mind was telling you it wouldn't last.

-------------------------------

Queen Rhaenyra walked side by side with you in the gardens, a gentle smile on her face as you passed by countless rose bushes.

"Tell me, Lady Y/N, were you close with Lord Stark?" She asked, putting a sympathetic hand on your back.

You sighed, "We had become friends over the years, and I knew him well. I miss him greatly, but I wasn't..."

Trailing off, you remembered that she never asked you whether or not you loved him. So you refrained from sharing that bit.

"Wasn't...?" The Queen asked, "Did you love him?"

You know how much I hate

Damnit.

Shaking your head, you met her blue eyes, "No, my Queen, I don't believe I did. Not in the way a woman should love her husband. But as a friend."

She nodded, "I believe you'll find happiness with my son. Jace was good friends with Cregan, as well, so this hasn't been easy for him. But before Lord Stark passed, Jace promised him that he'd take care of you."

Just like that

Your head snapped towards her, "Why in Westeros would he do that?"

Rhaenyra laughed at your sudden curiosity, "My son is a man of duty and honor. He cares deeply for those around him, and he wanted to ensure that you would be taken care of, as he promised his old friend. He didn't want you married off to the next man offered his hand."

Lost in the labyrinth of my mind

Your head was spinning. Had he really done all of this to ensure that you wouldn't be married off to man who could care less about you, only your ability to provide heirs.

Reading your silence, a small smile spread on the Queen's lips, "I'm rather tired, Lady Y/N. I believe Jace is in the study I'd you'd like a word with him. I have some manners to attend to."

Patting your back once more, she turned and walked away.

You were beginning to like Dragonstone—but once again, your head warned you against getting attached.

-------------------------------

Walking past two guards standing on opposite sides of the door, you cleared your throat when entering the study, "Pardon, Prince Jacaerys, but do you have a moment?"

The young prince turned towards you, the soft light from the window shining down on his face.

Smiling, he took a few steps towards you before sitting on the edge of his desk, "What can I do for you, my Lady?"

"I wanted to thank you."

He raised a brow, "For?"

How'd you turn it right around?

"The Queen told me of the measures you took to ensure I wouldn't be married off to someone who wouldn't provide or care for me," You explained, "It touched me to know that someone cared about my well being despite never having met me."

You would break your back to make me break a smile

"Well," He said, clearing his throat, "I know you now."

Crossing the room to stand beside you, you placed a hand atop his, "Really, my Prince, thank you. For everything."

He smiled down at you, "It was the honorable thing to do. And I stand by my choice. But I can't help but say I'm surprised."

"Surprised? By what?"

Jace bit down on his lips, "Cregan never told me how beautiful you were. How kind, observant."

Uh-oh, I'm falling in love

Heat spread across your cheeks at his comments, "I thank you, Prince Jacaerys."

Oh no, I'm falling in love again

"Call me Jace, please, we'll be wed soon enough."

Oh, I'm falling in love

A smile on your face, you nodded, "Thank you, Jace."

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even-disco-baby · 1 year

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LILIENNE, THE NET-PICKER — “You’re pretty good with that boy, Cuno.” She says it thoughtfully, as though she’s turning this fact over in her mind as she works at the tangled net in her lap. The sea is a soft roar over the horizon, and the world is tinged a dusky blue.

“Really? It doesn’t feel like I am. He still calls me anything but my name. Usually a slur.”

“It’s tough love, Lilienne, that’s all. A kid like that needs discipline.”

“He’s not that hard to deal with. He just wants somebody to play along with him. That’s all any kid wants.”

“He was good to me first.”

LILIENNE, THE NET-PICKER — She arches an eyebrow. “Really now…”

DRAMA — She isn’t doubtful, sire. Just surprised.

LILIENNE, THE NET-PICKER — “Well, I hope you’ll keep on being good to each other, then. The kid certainly needs it.”

EMPATHY — And so do you, she thinks.

LILIENNE, THE NET-PICKER — “You seem good with the young people around here in general,” she muses. “Cuno, those kids at the church, Lily and the boys… You said you used to be a teacher, didn’t you? Maybe that’s why.”

PAIN THRESHOLD — A familiar ache squeezes your lungs. The same ache that drove you to become a teacher in the first place. An incalculable and long forgotten loss.

INLAND EMPIRE — Don’t follow this thread any further. Let it unravel.

“Yeah, that’s probably it.”

“No, there’s something else… Lost children, a lost Indotribe…” [Follow the thread.]

“I think I wanted to be a father, once.” [Change the subject.]

LILIENNE, THE NET-PICKER — She pauses her work, strands of the net wrapped loosely around her fingers, but does not look up. “…Oh?”

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Hey, it’s never too late! Now’s your chance to give fatherhood a shot!

“Any chance *we* could make it happen?” [Give her the finger guns.]

“I wonder why I did…”

“It was a stupid thing to want.”

“I still do.”

“I guess it never worked out.”

LILIENNE, THE NET-PICKER — “Hm…” She goes back to her work, slowly and carefully. “Why not?”

“I don’t know. Can’t remember.”

“In *this* economy?”

“Things never lined up right, I guess.”

“I bet it was *her* fault. She ruined my chances forever.”

“Too poor and drunk and sad.”

“I’d never want to inflict myself on a child.”

“Just look at me.”

LILIENNE, THE NET-PICKER — She does look at you. There is no pity or disgust or whatever other terrible thing you expected in her gaze. Just a quiet acknowledgment.

EMPATHY — To her, you look just like a father she once knew. This only makes her more inclined to agree with you.

LILIENNE, THE NET-PICKER — “…When I first got pregnant with the boys,” she says quietly, returning to her work, “I was uneasy. Wondered if it was… right to bring them into this world. Into *our* arms…”

PAIN THRESHOLD — A rare pang wracks her. She does not like to think about these things.

LILIENNE, THE NET-PICKER — “I never did decide one way or another. I just knew what I wanted, and so I went ahead with it. *We* went ahead with it. And then again with Lily, even though…”

EMPATHY — Even though at heart she knew, by then, how it would all end.

SHIVERS — Five years ago, a man stands on the boardwalk where the corpse of a different drunken husband will one day be discovered. Bottle still clutched tightly in his hand, he fights the urge to throw himself into the dark water. He wins the battle today, but he will ultimately lose the war.

LILIENNE, THE NET-PICKER — “However things turned out for you, I’m sure you had your reasons.” She sighs, and cuts a strand of the net with the tip of her knife, then ties it back together. “Though that probably sounds shallow, coming from me.”

“A little, yeah.”

“Not at all.”

“Can I ask you something?”

LILIENNE, THE NET-PICKER — “Go ahead.”

“Do you regret having kids?”

“Uh… never mind.”

LILIENNE, THE NET-PICKER — She smiles, and there’s an uncharacteristic sadness in the lines around her eyes.

“No,” she says softly. “Never once.”

EMPATHY — She wonders if this is proof of her own selfishness.

It isn’t the children she regrets. It’s the world that she brought them into.

LILIENNE, THE NET-PICKER — “Now that they’re here, all we can do is love them. And you’ve got plenty of love in you for the children, it seems. That’s more than a lot of fathers could say…” She sighs, her eyes shadowed and sunken. “Oh, I don’t know what I’m trying to say anymore.”

DRAMA — But you know what *you* would like to say, sire. Go ahead. Now’s your moment!

REACTION SPEED — No, it really isn’t. Please don’t push your luck.

“Lilienne…”

Don’t push your luck.

LILIENNE, THE NET-PICKER — She turns to you, expression inscrutable with the light of the setting sun behind her. “Yes?”

“Do you think *we* could ever… try again?”

“Do you think you could ever see *me* as… a father?”

“Do you think there’s any hope in this world for any of us?”

“Do you think the children will ever forgive us?”

“Do you think I’m… a good man?”

LILIENNE, THE NET-PICKER — She looks at you, her chin no longer held high, a tired slump in her shoulders and something searching in her eye. Her hands are all tangled in webs of fragile knots.

“I think…” she says slowly, evenly, “you’re looking for something that I can’t give you.”

-1 MORALE

“Okay. Well. Khm. Right.”

“What the hell does *that* mean?”

“That’s not really what I asked…”

Say nothing.

LILIENNE, THE NET-PICKER — “I know what you’re asking,” Lilienne says frankly. “I’m just not so sure that *you* do…”

EMPATHY — For love.

RHETORIC — For vindication.

INLAND EMPIRE — For a lifeline.

VOLITION — For a future.

LILIENNE, THE NET-PICKER — Lilienne sighs, watching the twins in the distance, starting the long march home from the beach before dark. “At some point, Harry, you’re going to have to be okay with your life.”

SHIVERS — You have twenty two years left to reach that point.

#disco elysium #harry du bois #lilienne carter #UGH if you saw this after i hit the post button accidentally before finishing the formatting. no u didn’t.#anyway. lilienne i have feelings for you #and also lots of feelings about the impending apocalypse and whether or not the children will have a future…#FUCK OFF I MISSED A FORMATTING ERROR AGAIN. FUCK THIS GAY EARTH

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melsuki · 2 years

Text

𝐚 𝐩𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 paramedic!reader x prohero!bakugo

a/n: happy birthday the love of my life, the light of my mornings, and the stars of my dusk @kiyelle ! i'm posting this a lil earlier, but i hope you have an amazing birthday sweetheart; i'm so glad we're close and i can't wait to visit you in paris and go to the olympics with you <33 tw. blood, injuries, swearing, hospitals, needle mention

bakugo’s back slammed into a wall, and his head snapped backward, knocking against the concrete. blood ran down his forehead into his eyes, clouding his vision into a blur of red.

heaving in an agonising breath, bakugo ran through every situation and possible action available. his injuries were bad but the villain wasn’t in the greatest shape either; bakugo wasn’t going to let himself reach this level of damage without bringing them down with him too. so if he could just get the fuck up, he could finally crush the pesky bastard into a bloody pulp.

but just as his hands began warming up, through the ringing of his ears bakugo heard muted sounds of a fight starting up again behind the screen of smoke. his hands went cold. there weren’t any other heroes on duty nearby, and if they were, they definitely weren't strong enough to take on this calibre of villain.

bakugo gritted his teeth, and cursed at whichever dumb extra came and interrupted the battle, adding on another risk factor that bakugo has to keep in mind.

“stay still.” a stern voice came from beside him, and bakugo started, head whipping to the source of the voice.

“i said stay still.” you punctuated with a snarl. “you’re critically injured. stay down. shoto is here and taking care of the villain.”

he recognised you. even through the crimson blurring his vision and even through the ringing in the ears, he recognised you. and his blood boiled at the sight.

“i’m fine.” bakugo snapped, jerking himself away from your precise hands assessing his injuries. the sudden movement elicited a hiss, a stabbing pain blooming in his chest.

“no, dynamight.” you always say his name with such venom. each syllable like a slap to his face. “you’re not. several ribs broken, possibly a punctured lung, a dislocated shoulder, and a concussion are only just some of your injuries.”

bakugo clenched his jaw and his ruby eyes burned into your own obstinate ones. he knew each and every thing you said was correct and his nostrils flared at the thought.

“so shut the fuck up, let me do my work, and you can go on your merry way as fast as possible because trust me, we all want that. got it?” you stare at him, a brow raised just waiting for him to combat your words.

if icy hot truly was here, then in reality, the battle was already over. bakugo was sure all civilians were evacuated, and that the villain was damaged just enough that one more grapple would have ended it.

“hurry up shitty woman.” his eyes tore from yours, and he looked forward, refusing to acknowledge you. as soon as he gave his consent, you started working, hands moving with a practised fluency. he respected your skills and what you did, but bakugo didn’t miss (and definitely didn’t appreciate) the colourful mumbling underneath your breath, most likely aimed at him.

as you tried to staunch the blood loss from the various gashes that you could see on his body, you could tell he was losing blood worryingly fast. his eyes, however razor focused they usually were when you would watch him on the television, were losing focus, and his pupils were dilated, the inky blank eating up the burning crimson.

“dynamight.” you make eye contact. “the ambulance is right around the corner. my colleagues know our location and are coming with a stretcher and you’ll be in a hospital in no time.” you speak clearly and concisely, gently guiding him to lay down on his back, and preparing a tourniquet. “just focus on your breathing.”

his laboured breaths grew rhythmic, and his eyes fluttered to a close. as his vision grew black, he could hear your voice calling over more paramedics, and as he lost consciousness the last thing he felt was the cool gentle touch of your palm on his forehead, pushing back the blonde strands stuck to his sweaty skin.

the ringing in his ears were dull now. his head felt like it was stuffed full of cotton, and he could barely feel his limbs. bakugo tried to sit up with a grunt, but was immediately shut down with a firm hand to his chest. “nu-uh, you’re not going anywhere. especially not with those injuries.”

bakugo prepared to bare his teeth at whoever dared to stop him, but as his eyes laid on you, his eyebrows shot up in surprise. you didn't usually stay with him until he woke up. usually you just storm into the aftermath of his battles, and cuss at him until he stands down to let you treat him. that doesn’t always work, unfortunately for you. but when he does, you just leave and disappear as quickly as you came.

“the hell are you doing here?” bakugo rasps, each breath still a symphony of pain.

“making sure my patient is ok.” you cross your arms, eyes drifting over to look outside the window beside his hospital bed. “you were pretty wrecked by that villain. got me worried for a second there.” you frowned, and bakugo noticed the stiffness in your posture.

he coughed out a breath of laughter. “as if i would let some puny shit-stain of a villain like that take me down.”

at those words, a burst of laughter erupted from you, and bakugo paused. he doesn’t think he’s ever heard you laugh like that before. maybe the rare exhale of air from your nose as he swears at you from your many previous encounters, but never like this.

“that’s true.” you concede, and get up from where you were sat next to him. bakugo’s ruby eyes track your every movement as you go to slide open the door of his ward “I’ll go get your nurse. try not to scare them off-“

“thank you.”

you freeze, you’re hand resting light against the doorhandle. you had to question whether you imagined hearing those words as you turn to look at the bed ridden pro hero.

“sorry?”

“you heard me.” bakugo looked stonily ahead of him, refusing to meet your eyes.

a smile crept on to your lips. so he finally decided to show some gratitude; it only took him about three life or death situations. oh, you were going to remember this for a very very long time. and by the grimaced look on his face, he knew exactly that.

“hm sorry dynamight,” his jaw clenched and his fists tightened at the way you said his name. “i didn’t quite catch that.” you hum tapping a finger against your chin comically with the most infuriating smile bakugo has ever seen.

“get your hearing checked then dipshit i’m not repeating myself.”

“that what you say to the person who saved your life?”

“i already said thank you now fuck off.”

you laugh softly to yourself; even when in a hospital bed, completely immobile with countless tubes and needles stuck inside of him is he still an annoying brat.

“don’t miss me too much.” you give him a two finger salute, and as you turn to leave, you just miss the ruby stare that flick over to you, and linger even as the door slides to a close.

a/n: ok so ik im on a writing hiatus but shush don't say anything

#spirithub #katsuki bakugou #katsuki bakugo #bakugo katsuki #bakugo #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo fluff #katsuki bakugo fluff #bakugou fluff

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tsarinatorment · 1 year

Note

Hey I was totally randomly wondering what you thought about Will and Apollo’s relationship? :D

This took me a while to get around to, so sorry about the delay! I just love this relationship so much so I needed to make sure I had the time to delve into it properly and give it the acknowledgement it deserves!

Why? Because Apollo and Will's relationship is simultaneously so wholesome and beautiful, and also so sad, because they both love each other so much - but they don't often get the chance to show it, and indeed when they do get the chance, they get a little bit awkward and shy.

We might as well start chronologically here, with the first massive sign that this is a positive relationship, and not a neutral or negative one, and that's BOO. BOO is actually a goldmine for getting Will's unfettered and unbiased thoughts on Apollo, because once we hit TOA we're seeing it all through Apollo's unreliable narration, where he can't possibily believe that his kids might not actually hate him, and also the aforementioned awkwardness.

Will actively worries about Apollo. Before the idea of him being mortal enters the equation, back when he's a fully fledged god and surely there shouldn't be anything that could hurt him - Will is worried about him.

‘We don’t know what’s going on at Delphi,’ Will continued. ‘My dad hasn’t answered any prayers, or appeared in any dreams ... I mean, all the gods have been silent, but this isn’t like Apollo. Something’s wrong.’

"Something's wrong", Will says, after acknowledging that for most gods this degree of silence isn't weird at all - but that it is, for Apollo. That Apollo not dropping in on his kids' dreams is a massive red flag that something is wrong.

I'm just gonna dip into a secondary thing here because it's also occurred to me that there's an obvious fear running through Will here - "we don't know what's going on at Delphi". Delphi, the home of the oracle (hence this conversation coming up in the first place), but also the place of Apollo's greatest mythological battle. At this point it doesn't seem like the campers know that Python is definitely back, but they know something is wrong, that somehow the prophecies are blocked which means something's happened to one of Apollo's core seats of power, and with no signs that Apollo is trying to fix it - there's a high chance that at this point Will is terrified that his father has actually been defeated. And it's a logical jump to make - after all, gods are not exactly known for just letting control of their domains disappear, and with the double-whammy of him also going silent as one of his sacred places stops working...

I really, really, would not want to be in the shoes of an Apollo kid right then.

But anyway, back to the main point of this, which is their relationship. This section also gives us some great little pieces of insight into Apollo's relationship not just with Will, but also with the rest of his kids. Firstly, Will calls him dad, which is not super unusual amongst campers when referring to their godly parents, but also not overly common - they tend to call them by name. Small detail but a cute one.

Secondly, if Apollo not appearing in dreams or answering prayers in unusual, then that means that Apollo almost always (if not straight-up always) answers his kids when they call on him. Definitely, he must answer them when they're upset/panicked - which they would be at this point, and getting more and more upset and panicked as he doesn't answer, etc. And it's not just answering prayers, which could be done in any variety of nebulous forms, it's also actually dropping in on their dreams.

Apollo kids probably see their dad frequently, certainly compared to the other kids, most of whom seem to never, ever see their godly parent, or once in a blue moon (when their parent wants something from them). Is it likely that these dream visits are probably just Apollo dropping by and being his pre-TOA daft self with lots of posturing and probably many, many recitals of bad haikus? Probably - in fact, given how they treat him in THO, I'd say it's likely that they only see Apollo in goofy mode. Does that mean these visits aren't something to be cherished? Absolutely not. Will isn't pleased or relieved that Apollo's stopped bothering his dreams, he's worried.

He's also furious.

"I wish I was a better archer ... I wouldn’t mind shooting my Roman relative off his high horse[...]"

Octavian is claiming Apollo is supporting what he's doing. According to Octavian, Apollo wants this war. Will explicitly wants to kill him for this. He's not even subtle about it; he straight up says "I wouldn't mind shooting the guy" - and that's before we actually get the face to face confrontation with Octavian:

"[...]The god Apollo has shown me the future –’ ‘No!’ Will Solace shoved Nico out of the way and got in Octavian’s face. ‘I am a son of Apollo, you anaemic loser. My father hasn’t shown anyone the future, because the power of prophecy isn’t working. But this –’ He waved loosely at the assembled legion, the hordes of monstrous armies spread across the hillside. ‘This is not what Apollo would want!’ Octavian’s lip curled. ‘You lie. The god told me personally that I would be remembered as the saviour of Rome. I will lead the legion to victory, and I will start by –’

I love Will for this moment so, so much. He is furious with Octavian for even daring to suggest he has Apollo's support. He knows Apollo well enough to be able to confidently tell not just Octavian, not just Nico and Lou Ellen and Cecil, but also everyone in earshot, that Octavian is wrong. That Apollo would not want this, that he's so, so wrong and how dare he desecrate Apollo's name like that.

And the kicker is - Will is right. Will doesn't know it (yet - we'll come to that later) beyond simply his pure, unadulterated faith in his father, but we, the readers, already do, because Apollo has already bemoaned this whole mess to Leo. Will's absolute and utter faith in Apollo here is right and that sort of faith isn't blind, can't be blind. The only other time we see kids so adamant in their belief is the Athena kids - and by now we've had the absolute whopper of a confession that the Athena kids are like this because they're indoctrinated, because they're scared not to, because "Mum's always right".

The Apollo kids aren't indoctrinated. Maybe in BOO we don't know that for certain, but the moment TOA hits and we get his kids ribbing him and treating him like a person rather than someone to be afraid of, it's clear as day. This faith comes from Apollo earning it - we know he's gifted his kids stuff before. Percy tells us that Michael's sonic arrows are straight from Apollo in TLO. It's just a logical progression from there that his kids at the least have enough faith in their father to know that he wouldn't throw them into another war. And that's what Will gives us here, in BOO.

And then we reach TOA.

Will (tragically) only appears in the first and last books of the series, although Apollo does think about him occasionally, but even just from THO and TON we get so much depth to their relationship.

And it starts the very first time we see Will.

“You’re Will Solace,” I said. “My, ah...erm—” “Yeah,” Will agreed. “It’s awkward.” My frontal lobe did a one-eighty inside my skull. I listed sideways. “Whoa, there.” Will steadied me. “I tried to heal you, but honestly, I don’t understand what’s wrong. You’ve got blood, not ichor. You’re recovering quickly from your injuries, but your vital signs are completely human.” “Don’t remind me.” “Yeah, well...” He put his hand on my forehead and frowned in concentration. His fingers trembled slightly. “I didn’t know any of that until I tried to give you nectar. Your lips started steaming. I almost killed you.”

There are some major things in here that really stand out to me. Firstly, and I've mentioned this before in a meta about names and nicknames - Apollo calls him Will. He goes from explicitly not recalling his name (which is a whole other kettle of fish I have an entire theory on), to not just getting it right first try with no hesitation, he also calls him Will. Will, not William.

And that's not because Will's full name isn't William - we get that canon titbit in TON when Nico fullnames him. Apollo would have been correct to call him William, and given the pattern of most gods to call demigods by their full names rather than their preferred nicknames, the fact that Apollo not only gets his name right straight after his mental blank, he also defaults straight to Will's preferred name rather than his full name, is telling. It proves that Apollo has at the very least been paying close enough attention to Will during his life to know this - and combined with Will's own words in BOO, it's a straight up smoking gun that Apollo has interacted with Will often enough before this to instinctively get his name right.

Then we have the confession. Not just one confession, either - we've actually got two. The first one is a confession of I don't know what's wrong, from the kid whose primary inherited ability (that we know of at this point) is healing, which by itself is pretty impressive. Hi dad, I know I got all this healing stuff from you but sorry I still don't understand things is not something I'd be willing to say to a god I didn't know for certain wouldn't get mad at me - even if said god was temporarily mortal. And of course, there's the big one, the "I almost killed you" confession. That's definitely not something you admit to someone you're scared of.

But there's more to it than that, too - the trembling of his fingers, the way he goes back to check Apollo's vitals again (the way he's concentrating then, he's definitely using his vitakinesis). That's all fear, a need to reassure himself that actually no, he didn't kill his dad, that Apollo is awake and on the mend - as much as he can mend from the issue that is being mortal.

This is all the interactions of someone who cares - who cares so much.

And then the scene continues...

“Gee, thanks....” I got the feeling that he almost said Dad but managed to stop himself. It was difficult to think of this young man as my son. He was so poised, so unassuming, so free of acne. He also didn’t appear to be awestruck in my presence. In fact, the corner of his mouth had started twitching. “Are—are you amused?” I demanded. Will shrugged. “Well, it’s either find this funny or freak out. My dad, the god Apollo, is a fifteen-year-old—” “Sixteen,” I corrected. “Let’s go with sixteen.” “A sixteen-year-old mortal, lying in a cot in my cabin, and with all my healing arts—which I got from you—I still can’t figure out how to fix you.”

Most of this just affirms what I said already - the acknowledgement that it's abilities Will got from Apollo that he's failing to use to help Apollo completely, the way Will is completely at ease talking with Apollo (for the most part), the way Will opens up to Apollo about being worried - but also we get to see Will from Apollo's perspective, here.

We got the physical description earlier, which I didn't bother to include, but there's more here - Will's "poise", the respectful words he uses ("young man"), and also the fact that Will isn't at all scared or awestruck by him. That's not just a background detail, it's something Apollo specifically mentions. Will's scared, he's upset, he's trying very hard not to visibly panic - but he's still not on edge around Apollo. And when he calls Will out on this, Will shrugs him off.

I also mentioned earlier that one of the sad things about their relationship is the awkwardness between them, and that's something that this scene also manages to show, somewhat paradoxically given Will's general openness with Apollo about what's going on.

It's a very clever detail in THO, which is then mirrored in TON - there is only one occasion in THO that Will calls Apollo "Dad", and that's during a conversation where they're talking about other stuff and it just slips out. The rest of the time, we get scenes like this, where Will pauses, where he's gonna call Apollo "Dad" but then doesn't, because he doesn't know if he should, because this is his dad but it's also not, Apollo's a scared teenage boy himself right now and is it right to call him Dad? Skip ahead to TON and Will never, ever, calls Apollo by name when addressing him - it's 100% Dad, after he's got used to this new status quo.

And Will is the only one with this issue - Austin and Kayla call Apollo "Dad" right from the start. It's a very clever little piece of narration to show how Will's not quite confident in what's going on, how he's worrying about things that the other two maybe haven't fully registered yet. The way he wants to call him Dad but he doesn't actually know if he should, because things are different now. The way he almost slips here because calling Apollo Dad is natural, the way he does slip later on, at dinner.

The word smacked me in the face like Ares’s body odor. I turned to Austin. “The Labyrinth? As in Daedalus’s Labyrinth?” [...] “During the war with Gaea,” Austin said, “the maze reopened. We’ve been trying to map it ever since.” “That’s impossible,” I said. “Also insane. The Labyrinth is a malevolent sentient creation! It can’t be mapped or trusted.” [...] “It’s different now,” Austin told me. “Since Daedalus died...I don’t know. It’s hard to describe. Doesn’t feel so evil. Not quite as deadly.” “Oh, that’s hugely reassuring. So of course you decided to do three-legged races through it.” Will coughed. “The other thing, Dad...Nobody wants to disappoint Harley.”

I love this little scene (Apollo's extra descriptions removed from the quote for ease of length because they don't add anything to the Will&Apollo focus here) because it's Apollo being an actual dispairing father with the oozing sarcasm of "well of course it's safe so you can do dangerous things in there", and this is where Will has his one, single slip re: "Dad" in THO - a reaction to Apollo's super-parental vibe here. Where Apollo really just fell into worried dad mode and Will instinctively responded to it.

But despite this, for a lot of THO, Will is the one almost taking the parental role - he tells Apollo off when he's being an idiot (we'll get to that in a bit), but he also fills the softer sections, like here:

A blanket was draped over me. Will said, “Sleep well, Apollo.”

It shouldn't be the child tucking the parent in, it should be the parent tucking the child in, and it's heartbreaking that this happens but also the fact that Will does it, steps up to be what Apollo doesn't even realise he needs right then, is so precious in its own way. As for telling Apollo off...

I would have ignored Chiron’s warning and run into the forest except for Will’s panicked shout, “Apollo, I need you!” At the far end of the field, he had set up an impromptu hospital where half a dozen campers lay injured on stretchers. He was frantically tending to Paolo Montes while Nico held down the screaming patient. I ran to Will’s side and winced at what I saw. Paolo had managed to get one of his legs sawed off. “I got it reattached,” Will told me, his voice shaky with exhaustion. His scrubs were speckled with blood. “I need somebody to keep him stable.” I pointed to the woods. “But—” “I know!” Will snapped. “Don’t you think I want to be out there searching too? We’re shorthanded for healers. There’s some salve and nectar in that pack. Go!” I was stunned by his tone. I realized he was just as concerned about Kayla and Austin as I was. The only difference: Will knew his duty. He had to heal the injured first. And he needed my help. “Y-yes,” I said. “Yes, of course.” I grabbed the supply pack and took charge of Paolo, who had conveniently passed out from the pain. Will changed his surgical gloves and glared at the woods. “We will find them. We have to.” Nico di Angelo gave him a canteen. “Drink. Right now, this is where you need to be.” I could tell the son of Hades was angry too. Around his feet, the grass steamed and withered. Will sighed. “You’re right. But that doesn’t make me feel better. I have to set Valentina’s broken arm now. You want to assist?” “Sounds gruesome,” Nico said. “Let’s go.”

A long quote here but a necessary one because this scene is so, so good. @fearlessinger has already written about this in depth, but there's something so powerful here about the way Will snaps at Apollo in front of the entire camp, and Apollo backs down, admits he was wrong, and meekly does what he's told.

We see Will's own fear for his siblings here as well, of course - that glare he gives the woods is fierce, the defiance that the woods will not steal his (remaining) siblings from him is such a powerful image - but also it's just the way he channels it into doing what he's trained to do, how he's a battlefield medic first and foremost and the trauma that comes with it - and that Apollo respects this. Apollo understands what Will's saying, what Will needs from him. He understands that they're actually on the same page, re: Austin and Kayla, but that Will knows no-one would forgive them if they abandoned the injured to go after them - least of all themselves, or the missing kids.

Apollo's sheer respect for Will shines through here, the first time it's so blatantly explicit as respect as well as just love; it's also one of the first times we properly see Apollo respect someone else so openly (when you dig into his narration, you see it everywhere, because despite the unreliable narration he throws in our faces, Apollo is very much a god who loves and respects humans), and then he even takes it one step further, because then we get this:

I found my mortal healing skills were passable. Will Solace far outshone me, but that didn’t bother me as much as my failures with archery and music had. I suppose I was used to being second in healing. My son Asclepius had become the god of medicine by the time he was fifteen, and I couldn’t have been happier for him. It left me time for my other interests. Besides, it’s every god’s dream to have a child who grows up to be a doctor.

This is deliberate. This is so, so deliberate on Apollo's behalf. Here we have Will, confirmed earlier in the book to be fifteen, in direct comparison to Asclepius, at the same age, and in the same position - a better healer than Apollo. Of course, there's the fact that we are comparing Will to mortal!Apollo at this point, but the overall message is still the same: Apollo loves and greatly respects Asclepius, and is proud of him for surpassing him - and he's praising Will in the same breath, with this comparison right there. This is Apollo telling us "so you know that famous healer son of mine? Well here's another one, look at him, isn't he amazing?" No holds barred, pure and simple praise.

The painful thing is that Will doesn't realise this. Because Apollo also makes an absolutely massive mistake in THO when it comes to Will - and that's that he abandons him when he needed him the most.

“That’s an order,” she said. “No going into the woods until I say so.” The command sent a shudder from the base of my skull to my heels. I dug my fingernails into my palms. “Meg McCaffrey, if my children die because you wouldn’t let me—” “Like Chiron said, you’d just get yourself killed. We’ll wait for daylight.” [...] I scowled at Meg. “I’m staying out here tonight, in case Kayla and Austin come back. Unless you want to forbid me from doing that, too.” She only shrugged. Even her shrugs were annoying. I stormed off to the Me cabin and grabbed a few supplies: a flashlight, two blankets, a canteen of water. As an afterthought, I took a few books from Will Solace’s bookshelf. No surprise, he kept reference materials about me to share with new campers. I thought perhaps the books might help jog my memories. Failing that, they’d make good tinder for a fire. When I returned to the edge of the woods, Meg was still there.

It's never explicitly mentioned in the books - it's hardly even referenced - but Apollo doesn't even think about Will here, except as an owner of storybooks (that Apollo threatens to burn, although I highly doubt he ever would've done, not when they belong to Will) and a good head counsellor. He's so frantic for his missing kids, and so angry with Meg for (rightfully) banning him from going straight after them, that he storms off and doesn't pay Will any attention. He even uses the word "afterthought" here which technically references the action of taking the books, but also tells us what Will was here.

And it was wrong of Apollo. It no doubt hurt Will, although being Will he also probably brushed it off, understanding why Apollo was more desperate for news of his missing kids - after all, Will, too was desperate to go into the woods, and I wonder if Nico had to stop him from the same vigil, too.

I rested my hand on Will’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll be back by dawn.” His mouth trembled ever so slightly. “How can you be sure?” “I’m the sun god,” I said, trying to muster more confidence than I felt. “I always return at dawn.”

Apollo does, however, remember to reassure Will before he leaves - this isn't prompted by anything Will does, the presentation of the ukulele (which Will wholly attributes to Harley but given that Will is the one presenting it, heavily implies that Will was highly involved during its creation - I like to think that Will's the one that tuned it!) is several lines earlier, and several other non-Will interactions take place before Apollo does this. We see Will's fear come back again, in that little tremble that indicates he's not all that far short of crying, which Apollo notices (but doesn't call out directly, not even to the readers) and does his best to mitigate, even though he knows there's only so much he can do.

And Nico confirms for us that it didn't really help:

Nico rested his hand on Will’s shoulder. “Apollo, we were worried. Will was especially.”

(This is also one of my favourite THO Solangelo moments but that's a rabbit hole for a different post, this one is getting quite long enough I think, and we haven't even got near TON yet...) This is a sad moment, because while Will has spoken in this scene, it's all been purely medical, telling Apollo about his injuries, what they know - but not opening up even for a moment about how he's feeling. So Nico does it for him, letting Apollo - and us, the reader - know just how worried Will has been, that Will can't even admit it himself despite all the admittances he's made to Apollo about worries and mistakes and fears earlier in the book - and Apollo's delighted for Will, in that moment, that he has someone there to support him so whole-heartedly, even though his narration spends more time talking about his own woes than addressing his son's clear distress over him - likely because we're still at the point in the series where Apollo can't actually bring himself to realise that other people do, genuinely, care about and like him. He still thinks he's unworthy of his own children's affection, especially right now, when two of them are missing and not only did he just fail to bring them back, but he lost another child (not his, but bound to him nonetheless) in the process.

This is the moment where we realise that, despite how much both of them love each other, something that has been made abundantly clear on both sides by BOO and THO up to this point, there's still an emotional gap there, an uncertainty that when things get serious they can actually turn to each other and accept help from each other - expect help from each other. Despite the fact that we've already been seeing that happen all book.

In my humble, Apollo&his kids loving, opinion, there is nowhere near enough Will in THO, so the next time we actually see him is near the end, when we get this little moment:

“Hey!” called Nico di Angelo. He and Will scrambled over the dunes, still dripping from their swim in the canoe lake. “What’s the plan?” Will seemed calm, but I knew him well enough by now to tell that inside he was as charged as a bare electrical wire.

Apollo misleading us nicely here "I knew him well enough by now" - the way this is written, it makes it sound like he's talking about just since being Lester, but that doesn't fit. For starters, we've not actually seen Will pull this calm exterior frantic interior display - whenever he's been frantic on the interior, it's come across in his body language, whether it was biting his lip, fighting a smile or even being outright snappy. Or rather, Apollo's always taken the time to pick up on Will's tells even from the start. This isn't a sudden realisation of "oh now I can tell Will's not calm" when he's been doing the same thing subtly all book, this is Apollo pretending he's only just realised, holding up his self-inflicted narrative of "I'm a bad father", but given that he's been picking Will's tells apart all book already... this is actually more evidence that Apollo knows Will well and has done for a long time - definitely longer than the span of the couple of days Lester is in camp.

Apollo, please stop trying to convince us and yourself you're a terrible father. It's not working on us and you need to stop doing yourself that disservice.

And to wrap up THO, we have Apollo once again being a proud dad:

Will Solace and I spent the evening caring for the wounded. Will took the lead, which was fine with me; I was exhausted. Mostly I splinted arms, distributed cold medicine and tissues, and tried to keep Harley from stealing the infirmary’s entire supply of smiley-face stickers, which he plastered all over his flamethrower. [...] Thanks to Will’s healing and a hot dinner, the demigods I had rescued from the woods quickly got back to full strength.

Apollo and Will work on healing everyone together - Apollo even lists all the things he did - but when it comes to everyone getting better, he only credits Will. Gotta love some proud dad moments!

Now we're onto TON, which gives me so many feels about Apollo&Will. Yes, I know this is long already. No, I am definitely not done I just love these two so much okay.

Compared to the camp’s Greek temples and amphitheatres, the four-storey sky-blue Victorian known as the Big House looked quaint and homey. Its white trim gleamed like cake frosting. Its bronze eagle weathervane drifted lazily in the breeze. On its wraparound front porch, enjoying lemonade at the card table, sat Nico di Angelo and Will Solace. ‘Dad!’ Will shot to his feet. He ran down the steps and tackled me in a hug. That’s when I lost it. I wept openly. My beautiful son, with his kind eyes, his healer’s hands, his sun-warm demeanour. Somehow, he had inherited all my best qualities and none of the worst. He guided me up the steps and insisted I take his seat. He pressed a cold glass of lemonade into my hands, then started fussing over my wounded head. ‘I’m fine,’ I murmured, though clearly I wasn’t.

Look at this greeting. Look at how delighted Will is to see Apollo, that Dad! and the tackle hug and the open fussing and just all of it, especially compared to six months earlier, in THO where Will's always just a little reticent, a little shy to fully let himself be Apollo's son. Even here he's still falling a little into healer mode, but only after he gets to be the delighted, relieved son, and it makes you wonder just how much worse his worry got while they were separated, that he's managed to lose all those inhibitions and just be so openly, frantically, delighted, to see Apollo.

And of course, Apollo reciprocates in his narration. He's likewise so happy to see Will, can't not let this moment pass without letting us know that this is his son and he's so, so proud of him, look how amazing Will is. He's half delirious and about to pass out (much to Will's horror), but he's still got to find the time to tell us all about just how beautiful and talented and amazing Will is.

Then we get a beautiful, amazing little character detail, which makes me keysmash just thinking about it.

‘Oh, you’re awake!’ My son Will emerged from the bathroom in a billow of steam, his blond hair dripping wet and a towel around his waist. On his left pectoral was a stylized sun tattoo, which seemed unnecessary to me – as if he could be mistaken for anything but a child of the sun god.

The sun tattoo. The tattoo that is so clearly a sun that Apollo can't even pretend to mistake it for anything other than not only a sun, but also an acknowledgement of him, that he is Will's father and that Will is proud enough of that fact to have it tattooed over his heart (at fifteen and who the hell was willing to tattoo a fifteen year old boy but I'm glad they did). Is this tattoo just an homage? Was it a potential memorial in case something went wrong and Apollo died? So many questions, so many potential answers, and all of them are so, so pro-Apollo. We only see one other demigod with something so permanent representing their parent and that's Butch's rainbow tattoo in TLH. Whatever the exact reason, Will loves Apollo enough to permanently etch that into his skin and I think that's absolutely beautiful.

And Apollo makes a small enough deal out of it that it's clear even he can't escape the implications, although he hurriedly moves on in his narration rather than focus on this visual representation that he can't be a bad father, in Will's eyes, otherwise Will would never have got that tattoo.

Here’s all you need to know about Will Solace: he had clothes waiting for me. On his last trip into town, he’d gone shopping specifically for things that might fit me. ‘I figured you’d come back to camp eventually,’ he said. ‘I hoped you would, anyway. I wanted you to feel at home.’

Will Solace you beautiful child. And the way Apollo bursts into tears at this kindness, too, trying to attribute it to Naomi when we've just had four and a bit books of Apollo being kind to a world he thinks hates him. Maybe Will learned kindness from Naomi as well, but he definitely inherited at least some of it from Apollo. By this point in the series it's impossible to claim otherwise.

Also Will being so desperate to help Apollo feel at home, the little implication there that he doesn't want him to leave again, or at least doesn't want to be left behind again - and he isn't. Not until the end, when Apollo has to leave everyone, including Meg, behind. Apollo lets him come with them to the trogs, lets him join in and help, this time, for all that they get separated too soon, because Apollo doesn't want to be separated again, either. He definitely doesn't want his son (or any of the demigods) in danger, but he's learned to accept help, and the help of the two demigods who have been trying from the start (Will and Nico) is the help he accepts first.

I wanted to tell them that they were all so young. Their lifespans were a blink of an eye compared to my four millennia. I should be wrapping them all in warm blankets and giving them cookies rather than expecting them to be heroes, slay monsters and buy me clothes.

Some yearning to be a proper dad, too, just in case anyone missed how much Apollo doesn't want to put them in danger.

I won't dump the whole passage here, but I also just wanna mention how much Will trusts Apollo, that he's willing to give an overview of Nico's problems to him (no doubt with permission from Nico as well - we saw Nico speak for Will in THO, so this is a neat reversal here). He also confides in his own worries about Nico here, too, because while he's definitely not shy about telling Nico he does not want him going back to Tartarus, he also doesn't load Nico up with all his panics about the situation - so he offloads on Apollo, instead, once again showing us just how much he loves and trusts his dad.

Will developed a sudden interest in his bran muffin’s wrapper. Nico seemed to realize, at the same time I did, that Will hadn’t shared all the lines of the prophecy with him. ‘William Andrew Solace,’ Nico said, ‘do you have something to confess?’ ‘I was going to mention it.’ Will looked at me pleadingly, as if he couldn’t make himself say the lines. ‘The son of Hades, cavern-runners ’ friend ,’ I recited. ‘Must show the secret way unto the throne .’ Nico scowled with such intensity I feared he might make Will wither like the apple. ‘You think that might have been good to mention sooner?’ ‘Hold on,’ I said, partly to spare Will from Nico’s wrath, and partly because I had been racking my brain, trying to think who these ‘cavern-runners’ might be, and I still had no clue.

In fact, we get a lot of this in this scene, with Will actually treating Apollo like his dad, looking to him for reassurance and help and even to handle the difficult conversations (he's a fifteen year old boy he's allowed to want to hide behind an adult occasionally. If he was a normal mortal child he would absolutely be doing so most of the time at his age). It's a great evolution from THO, where he's almost still too in shock to actually treat Lester like his dad - to now, where he's completely and utterly embraced the fact that this is still Apollo, and that he can treat him like Apollo.

TON gives us many small moments of Will appreciation, because Apollo spends a lot of time with him and loves his son so very much, so I'll skip over all of those because they don't actually add anything new to this answer. But I'm not going to skip over the big ones.

Will Solace, healer, The hero we don’t deserve, He has Kit Kat bars.

Firstly: Will gets his own haiku. By name. Absolutely no misinterpretating who this could possibly be about - it's right there in the first three syllables of the first line. It also highlights his healing (at this point, Will's biggest point of pride), and calls him a hero. Massive honours right there (and reasons why I, personally, am gonna be voting this haiku all the way to top haiku in TOA in @ferodactyl's haiku tournament).

Then... anyone who has heard me talk about Apollo&Will has no doubt been waiting for me to bring this up, because oh boy do I think this was some beautiful, subtle, writing that showcases just how much Apollo's word means to Will.

The glowing.

Firstly, I love that Will can glow, anyway. It fits his character so well.

Secondly, the way it's used to showcase his and Apollo's relationship is masterful.

‘You guys stay behind me,’ Nico said. ‘Will, can you do your thing? The barest minimum, please.’ ‘Wait,’ I said. ‘What is Will’s “thing”?’ Will kept his focus on Nico. ‘Do I have to?’ ‘We can’t use our weapons for light,’ Nico reminded him. ‘And we’ll need a little bit more, because the trogs don’t need any. I’d rather be able to see them.’ Will wrinkled his nose. ‘Fine.’ He set down his pack and stripped off his linen overshirt, leaving just his tank top. I still had no idea what he was doing, though the girls didn’t seem to mind letting him do his thing . Did Will keep a concealed flashlight in his undershirt? Was he going to provide light by rubbing lichen on himself and smiling brilliantly? [...] Will took a deep breath. When he exhaled ... I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. We’d been in near-total darkness so long, I wasn’t sure why Will’s outline suddenly seemed clearer. I could see the texture of his jeans, the individual tufts of his hair, the blue of his eyes. His skin was glowing with a soft, warm golden light as if he’d ingested sunshine. ‘Whoa,’ Meg said. Rachel’s eyebrows floated towards her hairline. Nico smirked. ‘Friends, meet my glow-in-the-dark boyfriend.’ ‘Could you not make a big deal about it?’ Will asked. I was speechless. How could anyone not make a big deal about this? As far as demigod powers went, glowing in the dark was perhaps not as showy as skeleton-summoning or tomato-vine mastery, but it was still impressive. And, like Will’s skill at healing, it was gentle, useful and exactly what we needed in a pinch. ‘I’m so proud,’ I said. Will’s face turned the colour of sunlight shining through a glass of cranberry juice. ‘Dad, I’m just glowing . I’m not graduating at the top of my class.’ ‘I’ll be proud when you do that, too,’ I assured him.

Contrast Will in this scene, with Will here:

On the threshold stood Will Solace, radiating brilliant light.

and here:

Will, still glowing like an overachieving night light, had propped Nico against the wall and was now tending to his wounds.

(I will get to the rest of this scene later)

I love, love, love, love, love this. The first time we're introduced to Will's new ability, he's hesitant about it. He's embarrassed. Nico has to talk him into using it even though they need light and it's the best way to give it without offending the trogs. He dismisses the banter and the praise because he thinks it's a pretty boring ability - after all, it's just glowing, Dad, it's not like it's anything special, right?

Except it is, and Apollo makes sure he knows it is. Apollo, god of poetry, goes speechless he's so proud, and then methodically dismisses all of Will's attempts to downplay his ability because Apollo is so, so impressed that Will can do it - in fact, he later directly contrasts it against actual godly divinity:

His glow was getting brighter as he approached the fasces – like Will, like me in my own godly moments of rage...

because Apollo thinks it is that impressive.

And here we have the second glowing scene - in a brightly lit building, with floor to ceiling windows and plenty of light, certainly no need for more light, we have Will glowing brightly, of his own accord. No hesitation, no embarrassment, just a sheer status symbol, almost: I am the son of Apollo, and I will oppose you with everything I am.

This seems at such odds to his original feelings, where he keeps it as minimal as possible and dismisses any attempts to make it seem good - and the only reason that could possibly exist for this u-turn, is Apollo's praise.

Apollo told him, unreservedly and completely honestly (late enough into his mortality that Will understands that Apollo is sincere, and also that this isn't Apollo loving something completely cringe, like we know Apollo can do) that his power is impressive, that Apollo is proud of him for it. And just those words from his dad are enough to completely change Will's opinion on this power.

That's absolutely beautiful writing, and such a fantastic way to show without ever telling us, just how much weight Apollo's words have for Will. Just how much Apollo's praise means to Will.

Jumping back to an attempt at chronology, remember how I said (way back at the start of this, when I was talking about Will's faith in BOO, probably a couple of hours' of reading ago at this point whoops) that Will had faith that Apollo didn't want to put them in danger but that he didn't actually know for certain outside of that faith? And the yet I tacked on to that?

Well, this next scene I'm gonna mention notably has zero Will interaction in it. Absolutely none, despite the fact we know he's there, in earshot. And that's very interesting to me, because it's a scene entirely about validating Will's belief, especially when we reach this little interaction between Apollo and Rachel:

‘Rachel, I’m scared,’ I admitted. ‘It was one thing thinking about putting myself in danger. But the entire camp? Everyone?’ Strangely, this comment seemed to please her. She took my hand. ‘I know, Apollo. And the fact that you’re worried about other people? That’s beautiful. But you’ll have to trust me. That secret path to the throne ... the thing I am supposed to show you? I’m pretty sure this is it. This is how we make things right.’

An entire pentalogy later, we get it straight from the horse's mouth, without all the airs and posturing and blaming Octavian we got accompanying it in BOO: Apollo does not like putting demigods in danger. At all. Rachel has to convince him it's the only way - and it's interesting, because she views this as progress, on Apollo's part, that he's learned to worry about the others.

But Will and Meg, who are both in earshot but say nothing this entire conversation, already know better. Meg's been with him for (most of) his time as a mortal, at this point she knows him better than arguably anyone else, including Artemis, because she's seen him at his lowest, most vulnerable points. Meg knows he'll do anything to keep others safe - she's seen it, over and over and over again, been the one he's tried to protect more than once. It's not a surprise in the slightest that she's completely silent during this scene - she has nothing to add.

Will, on the other hand - this validates the faith he showed ten months earlier, on the battlefield between two armies loudly declaring that this war is not what Apollo wanted, that Apollo would never put them into the firing line like that. It's not a validation he needed - if he did, we wouldn't call it faith, anyway - but it's one he gets, and in a way it's a shame Apollo didn't look at him, didn't tell us how Will reacted to this, because I bet he was absolutely delighted (and also feeling very smug about being right, take that Octavian!).

Sadly we once again lose Will for a while, but then we get this glorious scene which easily competes for #1 Most Badass Will Solace Moment (and honestly, imo competes for simply the Most Badass Moment in Riordanverse, but I acknowledge my pro-Will bias here)

Behind me, a familiar voice roared, ‘STOP!’ The tone was so commanding even Nero’s guards and family members turned towards the broken blast doors. On the threshold stood Will Solace, radiating brilliant light. At his left was Luguselwa, alive and well, her stumps now outfitted with daggers instead of silverware. At Will’s right was Rachel Elizabeth Dare, holding a large axe wrapped in a golden bundle of rods: the fasces of Nero. ‘No one hits my boyfriend,’ Will thundered. ‘And no one kills my dad!’

Again, the wording here is so perfectly chosen. Will radiating light, the way the whole passage, despite also introducing Luguselwa and Rachel and even Nero's fasces into the scene - still frames and focuses on Will in particular. Beautiful.

But what I so, so love about this moment is Apollo's very careful use of the word thundered. We know that Apollo hates Zeus' lightning bolts - we know he's terrified of them. The sound of thunder is, to Apollo, the sound of pain, the sound of loss, the sound of abuse.

And he chooses to use that description here, when Will comes to his defence. When Will barges into the scene, unapologetic and determined, and manages to take over everything, scare the germani (I wish I could also include Nero in this but Nero is obviously actually too worried about Rachel and his fasces), Apollo calls his voice thunder. Coincidence? I think not.

Now, this doesn't mean I think Apollo is scared of Will - Will is his son, Will literally just saved his life. I think this was Apollo's way of driving home to all the readers just how much of a force of nature Will Solace can be when he wants to be. I think this was actually a mark of respect, a comparison literally to the king of the gods, but also how Zeus should be, not the abusive asshole he is.

It's such a powerful description. And that's also what Apollo keeps reminding us Will is - powerful.

And I love it.

The last bit I really wanna talk about here is the scene before Apollo goes to fight Python, when he gets a few minutes with frantic demigods whilst getting patched up just enough to hopefully not die immediately the moment he reaches Delphi, starting with this bit:

‘I have no choice,’ I said. ‘Nectar, please? And supplies. More arrows. My bow.’ [...] Will pressed a vial of nectar into my hands. ‘Drink this. And this.’ He passed me a Mountain Dew. ‘And here’s some salve for those wounds.’

Remember Will almost killing Apollo with nectar back in THO? You'd think he, out of everyone, would be most reluctant to let Apollo near nectar again, even on Apollo's own request, and yet he doesn't even hesitate here. I don't think it's just blind trust in Apollo - Apollo's also proven he's not great at the self-preservation thing, and Will is used to dealing with idiots with no self-preservation (see exhibit A: his boyfriend) - but I think it's faith, again. Faith, and hope, because he just saw Apollo revoke Nero's divinity, he just saw his father do something gods do. Apollo's getting his own divinity back at this point, clawing it back all by himself, and this little moment proves that Will saw this. He might not understand the nuances behind it, he might not realise that this is literally Apollo remaking himself as a god rather than being part of Zeus' own machinations, but he sees that Apollo is returning to godhood - and yet he still doesn't actually change how he treats Apollo. Apollo is still one of his patients here, he will take his medicine exactly as prescribed and treat those wounds before he bleeds to death.

And Will still frets a little, at the end:

Will did some last-minute bandaging.

This is the last moment we see with Will before Apollo reascends to godhood, and really it's too little to encompass everything that this means to the two of them - but also it leaves it open, tells us that this was never a goodbye for Apollo, no matter how scared Will had been, that despite never promising any of his children that he would come back from this, he didn't feel the need to detail out whatever words of farewell/comfort/etc. were uttered in this moment, when Apollo let Will fuss over him for just that last moment before he went down to face Python.

It tells us that while their time together as Lester and Will has come to an end, because one way or another Lester was never coming back, their time as Apollo and Will, as father and son, isn't over. There's no closure here, no final moment.

Because, actually, while they learnt a lot about each other while Apollo was mortal - especially Will learning about his father - this was only ever a single chapter in their relationship. Apollo has been Will's father since birth, he's been checking up on him, however goofily he may have dressed up those visits, at least since Will arrived at camp and probably since long before that, and he's not going to stop now. In fact, given the character arc Apollo went through during TOA, Will's probably in for even more parental interaction than he already had.

We get a little of this in the epilogue, of course, where Apollo returns to camp to open the next chapter of his life - and his relationship with his children - as a god once more. We know Apollo isn't planning on fading out of their lives again. And why should he?

So yeah, I have a lot of feelings about Apollo&Will; I love their relationship so much. I haven't even touched on further extrapolation like how Will will always react better to Apollo-Apollo than Lester-Apollo, because Lester-Apollo needed help and healing, and for Will to step up, while Apollo-Apollo is simply his father, and the version Will's known at least his whole demigod life, if not longer because this is already so long, whoops.

If you've made it to the end of this... congrats! And sorry again that it took me so long to answer.

#sunsketcher #will solace #pjo apollo #trials of apollo #heroes of olympus #toa #hoo #pjo #riordanverse #rrverse #tsari analyses things

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weird-little-book-lover · 9 months

Text

The Moment A Demon Became A Human

It’s not supposed to be like this.

Throughout season one and 90% of season two, Good Omens is a wonderfully fanciful, intelligent, story of the battle of good and evil.

Collectively, our favorite character tends to be the unnamed character: the energy between Aziraphale and Crowley.

This is why you always see cosplay with both characters and never just one.

The actual cosplay is the energy between the two.

Good Omens is a show that allows us to escape into a universe that reflects back the beauty of humanity in all its imperfections. A show that says:

“Heaven and Hell be damned, it’s humanity that creates the meaning of life.”

A show that reminds us what it means to love someone because you so deeply understand them.

Everything changed in an instant in season two’s final episode. (oi, spoilers ahead).

I wasn’t ready. The switch was so fast.

He’d been a demon with a heart of gold and a sharp wit for four years. Longer, if we’re talking about the book.

For me, the joy of Crowley has been that he really sees everyone for who they truly are and, despite being a demon, he accepts each person as such. No judgment, just acknowledgment and dry humor.

And then he realized.

He’d been pushing it down. Ignoring it. Though I suspect he was more aware than Aziraphale, Crowley had a sense it was there, but he was managing it.

Throughout season one we see Crowley have moments of softening to help Aziraphale process change and loss. To help when Aziraphale’s angelic view of the world becomes cracked by outside forces (and the ever-present threat of Armageddon).

At the end of season two, a pair of mere morals break Crowley’s defenses by naming what he has never dared to: He loves Aziraphale more than anything else in the known universe.

He never smiles again.

His almost cartoonish face has transformed. He looks at Aziraphale without his eyes darting about. Without his bored fidgets. Without his annoyed skulking. Without his eyebrows arched dramatically.

In 30 seconds of screen time, he has become human.

His face is calm. It is real. And it is hurting. He has to try. He’ll likely fail, but that’s never stopped him before. For us watching, it is haunting.

Crowley takes a leap of faith.

Have you ever deeply loved someone and had to take that leap of faith where you let go of all your fears and hope to God the other person catches you? It’s such a core part of the human experience, and yet 9 times out of 10 it is a leap that ends in a fall.

This is what Crowley does. He takes the leap. He confesses, voice cracking, everything in him breaking, that all he wants, all he needs, is Aziraphale.

Yet all Aziraphale can see is that he only has value if Heaven accepts him.

A Hail Mary.

As Aziraphale argues they’ll be happy together in Heaven, and Crowley tries to explain why they can’t exist inside a system not built for them, Crowley is overtaken by emotion and tries one last Hail Mary.

He rushes to Aziraphale and pulls him in for a kiss that is symbolic of everything Crowley is offering. All the love, passion, and commitment to always be there for Aziraphale.

Always. All ways.

Aziraphale rejects this gift with the quiet response “I forgive you.”

While everyone else is talking about the kiss, it’s the moment after when Crowley sighs that hit me.

It's the sigh for me.

It’s a sigh of resignation.

He’s buried this for so long, and now he must bury it once more.

Crowley can see Aziraphale loves him back, surely he can feel it, but he’s always seen the world and creatures in it very clearly. Aziraphale, much like Nina, is still struggling with a toxic relationship. There is no room for Crowley. And this time, Crowley can’t help him. Aziraphale must rescue himself, or resign them both to a loveless existence.

Aziraphale makes a very human mistake. Crowley reaches a very human depth.

It’s not supposed to be like this. A fanciful show just killed our favorite character.

And it did so by becoming human, first.

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nevraeldarya · 3 months

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Can I presumed that Rhea and Poseidonas have same habit, especially both of them love to record each other when one of them do embarassing things or been scolded etc

The recording thing is just a Poseidonas thing but there are things that both have in common.

1- Their resting face is a "Glaring bitch face" despite not even thinking about anything in particular.

2- When they sit to listen in a meeting (Poseidon) or around people (Rhea) both of them close their eyes.

3- They both get bored easily if the current thing isn't very important.

4- Rhea got the habit of hugging/grabbing her trident from Poseidonas.

5- They both have a deep love for sea creatures, Poseidonas for example doesn't mind if a school of fish decides to use him for a hide and seek game, same for Rhea.

6- Both of them have an idea of what a god should be like, unfortunately for the world Rhea agrees with Poseidonas on his view not in everything but still agrees, which is why she takes care of her battles and rarely let others support her.

7- Both of them love blue .... I mean Poseidon is dressing in all blue so 😂.

8- Both of them don't give any thought to people they don't consider important enough, they will remember the name and face (Or in Rhea’s case mispronounce the name) but the person will never be acknowledged. (Depend on the person's actions he or she may become tolerated or hated)

9- Rhea eyes turns the same shade of blue of Poseidonas eyes when she is angry, there is also another shade her eyes turn into another trait she shares with Poseidonas but no one saw it yet.

10- They are both good strategists and good leaders and despite their very not nice personalities the loyalty of the gods (for Poseidonas) / the people (for Rhea) goes to them.

11- A very painful thing for PJO Poseidon is that despite birthing Rhea the only thing that can say that they are father and daughter is the fact that they share the same sea green eyes and black hair, but beside that nothing in Rhea’s face screams PJO Poseidon, from the right angle Rhea looks like ROR Poseidon.

12- Currently they are both 190cm (of course Poseidonas as a god can change his height), so Rhea is a very tall woman 😂.

#ttsitsol #nevraeldarya #record of ragnarok #percy jackson fanfiction #ror x pjo #ao3 fanfic

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lorena12me · 1 year

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Alarms were sounding, red lights were flashing in the Shatterdome and the staff were running around., making sure the Jeagers were in top condition for battle.

The venue was buzzing with activity, but its energy was lugubrious. There was never any reason to be happy during a Kaiju emergency, knowing the amount of death and destruction a single one of the creatures was capable of unleashing against humanity, but this time it was even worse. A category four Kaiju was making its way into the bay and the Anchorage had only two functional pairs, at least until Clark and Bruce arrived at the Shatterdome and the Dark knight could go into combat.

Tim and Bernard ran to the hangar, donning their armor with swift care. They had been in the Anchorage's gardens, enjoying the futile peace of a couple of months without alerts when the alarms forced them back inside. The Category IV classification was bitter on their tongues and the knowledge burned in their minds that they were in for one of the toughest battles of their lives.

On their way they passed the Amazon Fury pilots and nodding to each other in greeting as they ran to their places. They were a gentle comfort to this fight, Diana and Hippolyta, mother and daughter, were experienced fighters who could lead Tim and Bernard's Red Titan into this battle.

The off-duty pilots are furious and frightened from their cockpits. After Roy's Injury, Jason and Kori have been looking out for their third, unwilling to acknowledge that Harper's piloting days are most likely over. After all, the loss of a limb makes coordination in a Jaeger nearly impossible. For now, the Outlaw remains cold and immobile at his station.

It all depends on whether both Jaegers manage to defeat or keep the Kaiju occupied until reinforcements arrive. Or die trying.

Tim used to not care about his own life if it meant the safety of the world. He would put his life on a scale and it would always outweigh humanity, so his death hadn't haunted him until now. Since he started drifting with Bernard that has changed. He no longer feels that emptiness when he tries to think about the future, nor does he want to completely discard his own life for the greater good. For the first time since he was saved, bloodied and traumatized from the wreckage of Drake Manor, he has something to live for.

And that something is Bernard.

What a terrifying thought.

He doesn't want this day to be his last.

"Bern..." he whispers his partner's name.

"I know, Tim" smiles his friend easily, reaching out his hand until his thumb gently brushes Tim's helmet visor "We will say it when we get back, it'll be an... incentive."

Tim wants to protest, wants to tell him that this might be the last chance they have to say it out loud, that they might die, brutally and quickly and then the words left unsaid will stay that way, buried between their blood and their guts, but he doesn't.

"We'll be back, Bern, we will."

Bernard's smile widens and it's like the sun, like a dandelion growing in a crack in the asphalt and Tim swallows saliva, wishing with all his heart to go home. Because even with the drifting, with their mental handshake and all that they have shared of their fears, dreams, desires and emotions, because even when they are both absolutely sure of what they feel, those words have refused to come aloud from the corner of their brains where their precious humanity emerges.

Tim knows that, if they come back, then there will no longer be any reason why that "I love you" that has been burning inside both of them cannot be said, brought out into the world where it will cease to be a thought and become a reality.

In the distance, the Kaiju who will be named Bane, rises.

_____________________________________________________________

Jaegers names:

Clark and Bruce: Dark Knight

Jason, Roy y Kory: The Outlaw

Tim and Bernard: Red Titan

Diana and Hipolita: Amazon Fury

Dick and Wally: Flash Tiphoon

Talia and Bruce (Now Talia and Nyssa): Demon Head

There are more pilots and Jaegers, but I haven't thought of them.

Five category Kaiju: Joker (He has been confronted twice, both times successfully escaping into the breach. Learn from his battles).

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tamelee · 1 year

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what do you love most about sns 🥰

oh 🥰😭... I love how my entire brain went ahead to try and challenge me on this one because where do you even begin? My whole system went into stress-mode due to indecision as I love every single moment and I wouldn’t be able to shut up about it. Every scene with Naruto and Sasuke together has something unique that builds onto that relationship. So, what I like most is the development. The story itself- although I acknowledge that it isn't focussed on romance at all. If I were to give it a name its: discovery. And we get to witness it all.

Like I said, ‘Naruto’ is a battle-Shonen Manga not focussed on romance. But what I see Kishimoto doing anyway is that he’s pushing back A LOT on those... well, heterosexual (I guess) romance tropes we know. Challenging these classic tropes and mocking them at the same time. Including some of his own characters. Most of what you see happening between them and even with Sakura who's a beard, it's all serving a narrative purpose. There is “like”, “dislike” and contrast to amplify those preferences further.

You know the awful makeover-moment where the already pretty girl takes off her glasses and straightens her hair and all of a sudden it is a "makeover"? ("Miss Congeniality", "Princess Diaries”- etc.) It is a (usually female) character thing where her worth is based on her appearance, or how romantically appealing she is. Or: your worth is your looks. And for the girls fawning over Sasuke, including Sakura, this is the case. That’s all he is to them and they expect him to be good at everything too. And Naruto, although agreeing that he is handsome, (which is funny by itself) did not value Sasuke by looks at all. In fact, it was even a source of frustration and part of his own inner discovery arc. Both Naruto and Sasuke aren't viewed favorably at all although in opposite ways affecting them differently yet resulting in the same.

Their connection, bond and even history as we come to learn later on is way deeper than what we see in the beginning of the narrative. It only develops further. They smiled at each other without really knowing anything about the other at the pier and Naruto, in all his frustration made Sasuke his rival but realized that Sasuke up close, didn’t look at him the way the other villagers did. This made him wonder and it challenges the bs “love at first sight”-trope as well because even if they felt a connection, they didn’t know anything about each other yet. Discovery.

But that first feeling allowed them to be curious as children naturally are. To keep an eye on each other, to become jealous, act like rivals, fight, have fun, be happy, get hurt, worry, find out that they’re each other’s most precious person and closest friend. Or in Sasuke’s case, only friend. Or in Naruto’s case, his number one priority- I’m here with you, surely this is heaven?

Kishimoto used Sakura (and Hinata too) to show contrast and challenge the 'girl transformation'-trope. Brutally so. Because coming to understand one another or deceiving the other by "becoming" someone you're not are completely different things. (Sakura saying "I don't care what you want to do or what your intentions are, I'll come with you" and then already having lost faith or constant facades in the hopes the person you’re interested in will love you back without them having any reason to. This includes ‘bravery’ for the purpose of grabbing attention for the wrong reasons.) Naruto and Sasuke didn't have to change who they were because those feelings were already there. Or to develop that love further. It wasn’t that type of transformation because that never ends well.

What Naruto and Sasuke feel and have for each other is way more than what most tropes (if not all) write/show as ‘attraction’. Love is way deeper than that. You don't fall out of love suddenly because you don't always feel those "butterflies". Having characters say with words “I love you” as they naturally do in fiction, and not getting it reciprocated makes sense if anything else is lost. (Especially if done in such selfish ways.) Because what defines love is Naruto and Sasuke and they never had to say it literally. Yet, they showed and described it in a lot of ways how love is supposed to feel like- ways how people reading the story can relate to or can imagine how it could feel. Hence ‘Naruto’ receiving criticism of it “being too gay”. Sakura and Hinata, despite the latter being so shy, have been doing a whole lot of talking and lecturing to others about all the things they’re wanting from Naruto and Sasuke while doing nothing to develop anything at all. Not in favor of these boys. (Selfish.) “I love you, so you should love me back” is not how it works.

Love is giving, sacrificing, selfless, kind, mutual, respect, dependable, forgiving, knowing that the other is at his most vulnerable when he’s eating (Naruto for some reason), wanting them to acknowledge you, making sure they eat, feed them yourself, body moving on its own, making sure they’re safe, wanting them around, walking next to them (which Sasuke actually did and not just say like Hinata), worrying for them, fighting for them, also your closest friend, will do anything, your number one priority, will beg for your life, get a panic attack and refusing to eat at the thought of you being in danger, think of you while seeing a falling star, have a cute nickname for you, stare at your face when your eyes are closed, is able to literally enter your mind, make a suicide pact, willing to die with you despite having a dream, being a Shonen protagonist willing to kill for you if you say something bad about them or claim them as your own, develop special powers and get stronger because of them, have compatible elements, kiss accidentally, never losing faith in the other regardless, feeling happy and at peace, shiver excitedly at the thought of fighting, asking the other if they could read what was in your heart, that you can’t define what you feel exactly, that they saved you, that you hurt when they’re hurt, that you share each other’s pain, have your blood mixed as a visual clue that you’re holding hands because otherwise it’d be “too gay”... etc, etc-

Love is a million things.

And the fact that some tropes and fans think all it is, is this quick little dopamine rush because “oooh Sasuke’s so cool and handsome with his cat-like eyes and ink-like hair and his love is atoning for his past sins by kissing the floor his wife walks on..” (looking at you Esaka) is just sad. Because your heteronormative mindset in this (‘Naruto’s’) case makes you ignore an entire lovestory that is certainly present there. Majority of fiction is shallow. And I’m afraid, but also happy (kinda) that we’ll never get to witness something like this ever again.

#asktamelee #sns #naruto x sasuke #I really did try to keep it short this time...#;-;

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tremendouskoalachild · 6 months

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Mralisola recruitment post

(no spoilers beyong the basic setup)

What is Mralisola?

Mralisola is the ship name for Zeen Mrala and Lula Talisola, major characters in the first phase of the Star Wars: The High Republic publishing initiative – specifically the works of one of its story architects, Daniel José Older. These include especially the comic line The High Republic Adventures (2021), some of its one-shot issues, and the young adult novel Midnight Horizon, as well as appearances in the manga The Edge of Balance and the middle grade novel Race to Crashpoint Tower. Phase Three of THR is starting this Fall, with the first issue of the comic's 2023 run releasing in December.

Who are Zeen and Lula?

Two Force-sensitive teenage girls who have a huge impact on each other’s lives. Lula is one of a group of young Jedi who come to help Zeen’s community during a disaster. Zeen has been raised to shun and hide her Force-sensitivity but is forced (heh) to reveal it in a moment of crisis. Being outcast from the commune that raised her, she joins the Jedi kids and becomes their close friend and ally, though she doesn’t join the Order herself.

Where does the shipping come in?

The girls are strongly paralleled from their very introduction and click immediately upon meeting. While the Padawan squad are all good friends, Zeen and Lula are especially close and are almost always seen together. Their growing feelings for each other are hinted at many times throughout the comic and acknowledged in their inner monologues.

Will the ship become canon?

It will be the star wars queerbait if not. Seriously.

But canon gays? In my Star Wars?

It’s more likely than you think! Look at this excellent guide to canon wlw by @chipthekeeper or the lineup of the ongoing @queer-starwars-bracket, which featured both of our girls. The High Republic is probably the most queer-friendly part of the franchise.

Yeah but. Lula is a Jedi. How does that work?

Non-spoilery answer is that there is definitely precedent for her situation in THR media and it will be interesting to see the characters grapple with it. The High Republic has many things to say about the Jedi Order and its view on relationships, and I believe Zeen and Lula are a major part of that theme, whichever way their story resolves.

Gimme some more reasons to get invested.

Girl friends to girlfriends. Complementary blue/pink color palette. The conflict of love and duty. Battle couple. Meditation couple (is that a thing? it should be). The theme of living as your true self in a loving found family. Pining. Helping your gf deal with the demons of her past. Teen sapphics, in Star Wars.

Okay, you got me! What do I need to read?

Definitely The High Republic Adventures 2021 (13 comic issues). If you get really into the setting you will probably enjoy the whole High Republic series, which has plenty of reading orders but is perfectly safe in publication order, such as on wookieepedia here.

While there are many crossovers between storylines, Daniel José Older's characters are almost completely contained to his own works, so for a mralisola-only reading spree you can just go through the list of Phase I picking out his works. (The comic miniseries Trail of Shadows and the manga volumes are skippable in that case, though you'll miss a cameo in the second manga volume.)

Whatever books and comics you end up reading, don't skip the Midnight Horizon novel, and read Starlight Coda (contained in Free Comic Book Day 2023, and included in the Star Wars: The High Republic Adventures — The Complete Phase 1 trade paperback) at the very end.

#mralisola #zeen mrala #lula talisola #the high republic #thr #the high republic adventures

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eriexplosion · 2 months

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Entering season 2 with Spoils of War!

Honestly I think this is one of the best season openings I've ever seen. The setting is perfect for showing off their animation chops and the upgrade between seasons, bringing everyone into sight with Echo falling flat on their face is hilarious, and it leads into a fun high energy sequence that lets us see the time gap between seasons and just how much Omega in particular has grown. While also introducing us to why everyone is so tired because god are ALL THEIR JOBS LIKE THIS?

Cannot overstate how funny Echo face planting is.

Fucking. Splat.

We went over the plan FIVE TIMES.

Tech turning the ship too sharply and throwing Omega out of it like what did you expect you knew she was out there

Baby girl has gotten SOOOO GOOD WITH HER BOW. I'M PROUD OF HER.

WHY IS OMEGA HANGING OFF THE SHIP?????? Hunter is SO TIRED. He is going to have a fucking heart attack at any moment and he sounds so much more tired than last season already.

"Better late than dead, I always say." Truly I would have done anything this woman said from this point on. Phee is so unspeakably gorgeous and this is still the best line to possibly have Tech come back on, just SAYING.

The faces Wrecker and Omega make at each other on 'this one's too big, this one's too small' are amazing

THIS ONE'S GOT A FACE TATTOO just roasting Hunter with NO provocation, going straight for the giant tattoo on his face. Reasonable, frankly, it's not great for going undercover.

"GOT A NAME BROWN EYES~" I love her.

Wrecker stuttering out 'Yes ma'am' is exactly how I would be around Phee, huge mood.

Echo is the only one besides Tech that she doesn't roast, clear acknowledgement of the fact that Echo is perfect.

Cid leading a mutiny when Hunter doesn't like the war chest plan is fantastic honestly. "We took a vote" and Wrecker can barely even look at him. Sorry Hunter this team has been turned into a democracy you're being overruled. Even Killjoy agreed. Can't tell if Echo is horrified by the name or that they got ratted out.

Cid giving this job is interesting, because the obvious reason is that she wants the money too, but what she tells them is true and comes into play at the end. Eventually the Empire will come out here. If they had succeeded here, they might have split from her completely amicably which is probably what she preferred.

"You can have a future. Isn't that what you're after?" and Hunter looks at Omega I'm WAILING.

Echo has probably rehearsed this speech SEVERAL times. And while neither of them are entirely right (Hunter is right to want to protect Omega, but he's wrong to think that getting away from the Empire is even possible in the circumstances, Echo is right to want to fight the Empire but that doesn't mean they need to throw themselves right into the battle with everything they have) I think that ultimately Echo's POV is the more realistic. And what we've seen in other Star Wars media, and has also been set up in TBB before, is that it doesn't matter what Omega deserves, the world they're in doesn't allow kids to be kids. I'm thinking of Cham in season one saying that he doesn't want Hera to live her whole life fighting like he's had to, where we know damn well that it's exactly what happens - it might not be what they WANT for their kids, but sometimes it's the realities of life. They can't just walk away from that, no matter how much they might want to, not just because of a moral imperative to stand up to the Empire but also because it's just not possible.

Anyway I'm emotional as always over the fact that all Hunter wants is to let Omega have a childhood and that's one thing that I think she will not be able to have.

"Our lives are like this because of Omega" OW OW OW OW Echo WHY did you have to say that her room is RIGHT there.

"We. Should be doing. More." GOD BUT THEY'RE NOT WRONG, THEY'RE NOT, JUST UGH. THIS HURTS.

Omega in her little room with Lula thinking about what she just overheard I'm destroyed.

One of the reasons that the theories that Hunter will die to save the team don't quite work for me is, like Tech, we already know Hunter would die for them. Right here his plan is that if anything bad happens he'll divert their forces entirely by himself, sure he has plans to do that and make it out alive but if he doesn't? He's fine with that, if it gets them out safe. Him sacrificing himself for them isn't any kind of character arc because we're already starting from a point where he'd do that without a second's thought.

Wrecker smoothly scooping Omega into the cargo crate is such an adorable moment.

Even through his helmet the power of Tech's >:T at Wrecker for stunning a guy is powerful enough to be felt.

Shout out to Hunter's gratuitous roll

"How could all of this belong to one person?" that's capitalism Omega

Somehow never noticed Wrecker calling Hunter 'Boss' before oh my god that's adorable.

"Are you sure this hatch will lead into the ship?" "If I am incorrect, we will instantly be sucked out and perish. I am seldom wrong!" I love him, he's so chirpy about it.

"Congratulate yourself after we escape" NO NEVER HE WILL CONGRATULATE HIMSELF RIGHT NOW

The inside of Dooku's palace is soooo gorgeous

Listen if the cargo containers can have thrusters to slow down their descent, I think that the tram cars could have them too, just saying.

"You are correct, I am impressed!" is so cuteeee oh my god.

THE MOST FACE.

God I am cry at Hunter being too boggled to understand how to operate a lift. TECH USUALLY DOES THIS baby it is a TOUCH SCREEN it cannot be that hard what do you mean Tech usually does?

He's so fucking stupid I adore him.

THE S C R E A M

#the bad batch rewatch

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ionlymadethissoicouldleaveanask · 8 days

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McCallistor

The dim hum of the fluorescent lights overhead barely touched the corners of the barracks where Tara McCallistor, known to some by other names she no longer used, methodically disassembled her shotgun.

The pieces lay precisely arranged on a coarse towel, her hands moving with practiced ease, wiping away the grime of yesterday’s drills. Silence was her preferred companion, but it seemed tonight it was not meant to be.

The door groaned on its hinges—a sound that didn't bother to hide its arrival. A young marine slipped through, his posture rigid, as if the air around McCallistor was a tangible barrier he dared not breach.

"Corporal, there's someone to see you," he muttered, eyes darting toward the exit as if he'd sell his soul to be anywhere but here.

"Thanks, Private. That’ll be all," she said, not looking up from her work.He almost stumbled in his haste to leave, the door slamming shut behind him with a clap that echoed off the bare walls. The stillness barely settled before it was broken again by another presence, this one decidedly heavier.

From the shadowed corner of the room, a figure emerged—tall and imposing, adorned in a uniform that clung to his broad shoulders, each medal a testament to battles fought and won. His face was a landscape of hard-earned scars, the most prominent a burn that trailed down from his right brow to his collar-bone, the eye on the same side of his face is blind, milky white and devoid of life. Ghostly, like the rest of him.

Tara remained seated, setting down her rag, her gaze cool and measured. "Sir," she acknowledged, with a nod that was more an assessment than a greeting.

The man raised a hand, a silent cue to dispense with formalities. "Let’s drop the rank and file, shall we?" His voice was smooth, the kind of tone that commanded rooms. "We’re just two super-soldiers having a chat."

A smirk twitched at the corner of Tara's lips. "Chatting isn’t generally what soldiers like us do best."

"True, but today's an exception." He stepped into the light, revealing more of his rugged features. "I know about your work with Project Freelancer."

Tara's hands paused on the metal of her shotgun. "I don’t know what you’re talking about," she lied smoothly.

He chuckled—a sound as dry as the desert wind. "Oh, I think you do... Agent Carolina."

The name hung in the air, a ghost from the past she’d tried to outrun. Carolina straightened up, her face a mask of indifference. "Who are you, and what do you want?"

"Let’s just say I’m someone who understands the kind of work you've done."

He glanced down at his uniform, the insignia of a Master Chief Petty Officer visible, with the numbers 117 stitched below.

"I’m here because Leonard Church has disappeared, and you’re one of the last people who might know something useful."

Carolina scoffed, leaning back against the workbench. "If Church wanted to disappear, he’s not going to be found unless he chooses otherwise."

"But you were close to him, closer than most," John pressed, his tone earnest. "Anything you remember could help."

"You think you can just walk in here and what? I’ll spill my life story?" Tara’s voice was sharp, her green eyes hard as emeralds.

"Not your life story," he stepped closer, his voice lowering. "Just the parts that never made it into the official reports."

There was a pause, heavy and thick with unspoken words. Carolina looked at the disassembled pieces of her shotgun, each part a fragment of the whole—not unlike herself.

"Fine," she finally said, her voice softer but carrying a firm edge. "I’ll tell you what I know. But after this, we’re done. You leave me and whatever ghosts I’ve got left in peace."

"It’s a deal."

Ohhhhh I love this! I hope we get to see more of their collaboration. Would also love to see whatever other Freelancer agents show up.

Great work, as always!

#halo #halo fanfic #red vs blue #rvb #john 117 #agent carolina #others writing

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saraicus · 1 year

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The Phantom | Morpheus x F! Reader

Warning: Sexual content, with a splash of angst

Requested by: Anon

Notes: Thank you anon, for the request. I love Phantom of the Opera <3 I’m following both the book and movie for the inspiration of this one-shot. Also, it may not perfectly follow the material, because it’s an inspiration and not a direct copy. Yes, I do reference the sequel, “Phantom of Manhattan” in the end. Sue me, jk please don’t.

If you'd like to be a part of “The Sandman” tag list, just ask me! Requests are open.

Word count: 4.6k

Masterlist

The bright sunlight glistered against your eyes as it peeked through your curtains. Slowly, your eyes began to open with your hand blocking the daylight. You began to stretch your body on the bed and sighed. Your joints cracked with slight soreness in your muscles lingering from last night's rehearsal. Everyone was anxious about the grand opening of Hannibal, especially after it was revealed you would sing an opera solo. Weeks of endless rehearsals were finally going to pay off after the prima donna decided to quit the production due to this mysterious opera ghost, who she was afraid of. Contrary to popular belief, you were never scared of the opera ghost; instead, you wholeheartedly believed the opera ghost was your angel of music. After all, your father promised to send you an angel of music after he passed away. While performing your rehearsal of the aria last night, you could see your angel of music’s silhouette in the corner of your eye from box five. You had yearned for your angel of music to reveal themselves, but that moment never came. If only, you knew that day would come soon.

“(Y/N), is everything alright?” asked Lucienne, as she was helping with your hair, “You seemed quiet.” You looked in the mirror to see her brushing the tangles out of your hair; however, you remained silent. Lucienne sighed and began to style your hair with the bright crystals pinned to your hair. “You know, I heard someone special was coming over to attend tonight,” Lucienne explained while finishing up your hairstyle, “Remember Corin?” You smiled softly when she said the name, Corin. The man with striking blonde hair and the bluest eyes would make anyone swoon. Your childhood sweetheart, Corin, became the sponsor of the opera house, however, you were always afraid to acknowledge him because if you were to recognize him then your angel of music would disappear. Regardless, your love for Corin never disappeared, despite haven’t seen each other in decades. “I do remember him, and it’s nice to know he’s attending the opening performance of Hannibal.” You replied while looking at yourself in the mirror again. Lucienne helped you up, as you slipped into the white dress and began to lace your corset. A knock echoed from your door with someone saying you had three minutes left before you had to go backstage. Lucienne sighed and made you face her, “You’re going to do wonderful, I can promise you that.” Lucienne stated before kissing your forehead. A slight smile appeared on your face, as Lucienne held your hand to take you behind the stage.

Your stomach began to twist and turn, and your knees quivered from nervousness. Your breathing turned shallow as you could feel the corset tighten around your waist, with your mind swirling. What if your performance doesn’t please your angel of music? What if your angel of music doesn’t come to attend your performance? A mental battle that began to hold a tight grasp on your brain, until a stagehand snapped you out of it and guided you to the stage. Claps from the audience filled your ears, as the lights began to shine against your dress and hairpins. The music for the aria, “Think of Me” began to play, and you locked eyes with the conductor, to which the conductor nodded their head. You closed your eyes and began to sing the opening of the song. “Think of me…Think of me fondly, when we’ve said goodbye,” you sang gently while opening your eyes again, “Remember me, once in a while. Please promise me you'll try.” You could feel your heart beating fast; however, you knew you had to stay strong for your angel of music. Your face began to soften as you continued to sing to the crowd, and your voice echoed from the stage to the house. Your voice never quivered; instead, you began to gain more confidence as the song continued. As you were singing, Corin smiled at the sight of you and whispered to himself, “Can it be, can it be (Y/N)?” He rose from his seat and began to applaud. Corin left his seat to meet you in your room and began to whisper to himself, “Long ago, it seems, so long ago. How young and innocent we were. She may not remember me, but I remember her.”

As the aria was ending, you took a deep breath before completing the song with your arpeggio. You closed your eyes as you hit the high notes of the song, to be met with the audience raising from their seats and clapping. Your heart began to beat faster from the adrenaline from performing, and you just smiled at them. Quickly, you took a short bow before leaving the stage to be greeted with your co-stars’ smiles and clapping. Lucienne appeared in front of you and grabbed your hand to guide you to your room. “You did wonderful, my dear,” Lucienne said as she opened the door for you. You walked over to your vanity filled with perfumes and makeup products to see a single red rose tied with a black ribbon bow in the middle. Your fingers hovered over the flower, as you pulled your chair to sit down. Lucienne left the room, and you could hear people shouting your name and a glimpse of men holding bouquets for you. You softly smiled as you heard Lucienne scolding them to leave you alone, before closing the door behind her. You shifted your attention to the rose and held it between your fingers. The silk ribbon was soft to the touch, and the pearl was glistering underneath the lights of your room. After a moment of silence, you heard a knock on your door, and before you could stand up, the door opened to reveal Corin. You smiled at the sight of him as he began to say, “Little Lotte let her mind wander. Little Lotte thought, “Am I fonder of dolls? Or of goblins or shoes?”’ You rose from your chair to hug him, and replied, “Father playing the violin. As we read to each other the dark stories of the North.”

“No, “What I love best,” Lotte said “Is when I'm asleep in my bed,” he whispered as you pulled away from the hug. “You sang like an angel, today (Y/N).” You walked over to your vanity again with Corin following behind you. “My father told me, he would send me an angel of music when he’s gone. He’s gone, Corin.” You whispered while looking at Corin, who was smiling at you. “I’ve been visited by the angel.” Corin laughed at your response and said, “No doubt, about it. You should change, I’m taking you to dinner.” You shook your head and rose from your chair. “I shouldn’t, the angel of music is strict.” Corin turned around and waved away before saying you should be ready in two minutes. You called out his name, but it was worthless as he closed the door, ignoring your pleas.

Sighing, you turned around to remove your dress and changed into a white cotton long-sleeve pajama dress with a white silk robe. As you were tying the robe, the lights from your room shut off. “Insolent boy, this slave of fashion! Basking in your glory.” a voice boomed inside your room, and you turned around to search for this voice, “This brave young suitor is sharing in my triumph!” You looked around your room and realized your angel was angry. Your heart began to beat quickly, and as your hands trembled by your side, you replied, “Angel, I hear you! Speak, I listen, stay by my side, guide me. Angel, my soul was weak. Forgive me, enter at last, master.” The room turned silent, until the voice boomed once more, “Flattering child, you shall know me. See why in the shadow I hide, look at your face in the mirror. I am there inside!” You looked in your standing mirror to see a tall pale man wearing a black outfit with a distinct white mask covering half of his face. “Angel of Music. My guide and guardian, please grant me your glory. No need to hide, come to me, strange angel.” You pleaded as you walked closer to the mirror. His hand went through the mirror as he stated, “I am your angel of music, come to me.” Corin had returned to get you, just to hear the man’s voice. He could hear the man pleading for you to enter through the mirror. Corin began to bang on the door and called out your name. However, you ignored Corin and focused on the man in front of you. With no hesitation, you placed your hand on top of his. The man pulled you through the mirror and began to guide you through the hallway that had arms holding candles to light your way. The light from the candles makes the appearance of your angel more visible. His slicked hair was black as coal; his skin was white as the snow, and his lips were red as roses. The mask covered the left side of his face, piquing your interest. “In sleep, you sang to me! In dreams, you came. You’re the voice that calls to me.” You said to him, as he was guiding you along the hallway, “Am I dreaming? For now, I find the Phantom of the Opera is here.”

“Talk once again with me, our strange duet. My power over you grows stronger yet, and though you turn from me, to look behind. The phantom is here.” The man spoke, before guiding you down the stone stairs leading down to the dungeon. “Those who have seen your face draw back in fear.” You said once more, as he led you to a boat. Carefully, he helped you sit on the boat as he led the boat. “It's me they hear, the phantom of the opera.” He said as you looked up to see him glancing down at you. “Come with me, my angel of music.” The boat slithered through the river, leading to a spiked gate that rose. Looking around the room, the river led to a slab of floor that was filled with covered mirrors placed in a specific order, candles, and a musical organ. He stopped the boat and got down to pick you up to place you on dry land. You didn’t say anything to him; instead, you began to look around from where you were standing. This was his underground lair.

“The night-time sharpens and heightens each of your sensations. The darkness stirs and wakes the imagination. Silently, your senses abandon their defenses.” The man said as he walked up the small steps the floor had, removing his cape and motioning you to follow him. “Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor. You could grasp it, and sense it. Turn your face away from the garish light of day; turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light.” He grabbed your arm to spin you and grabbed your waist. His gloved hands slowly crept up your soft curves, as your head lay against his shoulder. “Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams! Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before.” He whispered against your ear, his lips slowly hovering against your skin. “Close your eyes, and you'll live as you've never lived before. Let your fantasies unwind, in this darkness which you know you cannot fight.” You closed your eyes, as you allowed him to lower your robe. “Let your mind start a journey through a strange new world! Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before. Let your soul take you where you long to be. Only then can you belong to me.” He commanded as he turned you around, face to face, and you looked into his eyes. “Touch me, and trust me to savor each sensation! Let the dream begin; let your darker side give in. You alone can make my song take flight and help me make the music of the night.” Your left hand slowly touched his cheek, as you stared into each other's eyes. What does he mean, music of the night? Your eyes took in every facial feature he had, his sharp nose, sharp jaw, and the lingering touch of his hands against your waist. However, it was his eyes that captured you the most, his pale blue eyes shining from the candlelight nearby. The eyes that held memories, told stories, and most of all, showed his true intentions.

“Music of the night?” You asked as his eyes lowered, his fingers gazed up and down your back as he placed his forehead against yours. “Do you not want to make your angel of music happy?” He whispered, before laying his head against your shoulder. “Submit to your inner desires, my angel. Let us make the music of the night.” His hands cradled your face; you fixed your gaze on his lips as he tilted his face to lean forward. Closing your eyes, your lips touched his lips, and your hands landed on his shoulders. His hands slowly moved away from your face to place them on your hips; he pulled you closer to him, deepening the kiss. His hands move to caress your butt, firmly grasping them. One of his hands moves underneath your thigh to hitch it against his hip; you broke the kiss and looked up at him in awe. With no struggle, he picked you up and took you to his bedroom. It was like a tunnel from the lair, the walls, and floors made of rock; but there lay a black wooden bed frame in the shape of a peacock. As if you were a doll, he laid you against the red velvet sheets and got on top of you. Your heart began to race, and your knees were wrapped around his hips. His right hand grabbed your wrists to pin them over your head, while his left hand began to swirl around your chest, playing with the buttons. His eyes looked up into yours, then he asked, “May I?” You took a shallow breath, before nodding yes.

“I want verbal consent.” He said in a cold tone. You cleared your throat and tried to find your voice, but after witnessing everything, it was hard. His hand tightened its grip against your wrist, and you whimpered, “Yes, you may. Please, my angel of music, please me, and I will please you.” His lips twitched a smile, as his left hand began to slowly button the front of your pajama dress. After the four buttons were opened, he raised his left hand to remove the glove with his teeth before lowering his left hand again. His soft hands slowly pushed away the fabric to reveal your breasts; his thin fingers swirled around them, as your breath sharpened. His eyes were focused on them, and then he lowered to kiss them softly. Biting your lip, your back arched as his lips attached to your nipple to lick them gently. Your voice began to crack when you felt his teeth slowly graze it, before pulling it. He let go, and his left hand began to lower down to your crotch to hike your dress. His fingers reached over to remove your undergarment and slid it down to your ankles. The cold air breeze against your skin, making you shiver; he looked at you and kissed your forehead. He let go of your wrists, but you stayed still, not knowing what to do next. He removed his other glove with his teeth, removed his coat, and began to unbutton his shirt. You saw minor scars from his chest but were too scared to comment on them. You didn’t want to upset him, in any way. His pale skin was bright from the light surrounding the room, and you could see his lean physique. Your eyes lowered to his pants but looked up when you heard a soft chuckle.

He leaned forward again to kiss your neck, his plump lips fluttering around to leave short kisses. Your hands were still stuck in position, making him smile; his hands grabbed your wrists, and he whispered, “You can touch me, it’s fine.” You nodded, and your hands began to touch his arms. You giggled softly as his lips left short kisses, then his lips began to lower to kiss your collarbone. His tongue swirled around the bone and left kisses, while his right hand shifted to hike your dress again. You gasped, as you felt his fingers circle your slit; you could feel his fingers going up and down, creating this unusual sensation. You tried to hold back your whimpers, until he said, “Do not hold back, my angel.” With his permission, you gasped and whimpered as he slowly entered a finger inside. Your hands grabbed the soft red velvet sheets, as the first finger curled inside you, making your eyes close. With caution, you felt another finger enter; you choked on your whimper and let out a loud mewl. He whispered a shush, as you could feel the pad of his thumb touch your nub, your legs consciously wrapped themselves tighter around his waist, and you couldn’t stop yourself from rocking your hips against his hand. He stopped kissing your collarbone, and instead laid his head against your chest to enjoy your sweet noises. Your left hand raked through his hair, as your right hand continued to grab the bed sheets. You could feel his fingers going in and out of you, creating a lewd sound as your juices began to leak.

“I…I feel…” You managed to breathe out, “M-my angel…” He shushed you again and continued to play around with your crotch. There was a feeling in the pit of your stomach that began to form, and you began to tighten around his fingers. Your legs began to move around with no control, your breathing began to get shallow, and you looked to your right to see him staring at you with his eyes slowly blinking. The feeling began to get stronger, and you couldn’t control the lewd noises you were making. Before you were able to hit the climax, he removed his fingers and placed them against your thighs. You were struggling to breathe from what was happening, and you looked at him with wide eyes. “W-why?” You choked out, your body was slowly shaking from what you were experiencing, and you wanted to feel it again. He raised himself and began to unbutton his pants, your eyes fixated on his crotch. You could see a clear tent from his pants. Could it be? Were you about to lose yourself to your angel of music? “I want us to give into our inner desires.” He said in a soothing tone, “Together, as one.” As his hands pushed down his pants, you looked to see his member, making you gasp. Your blood began to rush to your cheeks as he leaned forward to touch your cheek and caress it.

He grabbed your hips to pull you closer to him; your eyes widened as you felt him against your crotch. Your arms were on each side of your head, as he leaned forward to place his left hand next to your head, and placed his right hand with your left hand. “Now you are here with me, no second thoughts.” He whispered to you, as his right hand moved to grab his erection, “Have you decided?” Your eyes looked deep into his eyes and nodded. “I’ve decided.” You replied, “The past before no return.” He echoed back the phrase and smiled at you. You gasped as you felt him against your slit; his forehead lay against yours, as he slowly entered inside. You closed your eyes and began to take deep breaths. He groaned softly as he was fully inside; he didn’t move an inch as you were getting used to the strange yet pleasurable sensation. You could feel the pain beginning to dull, so you looked at him as a signal to move. He began to thrust inside you slowly and gently, making you moan. His right hand grabbed your left wrist as he began to form a rhythm. You saw, he closed his eyes and his face twisted in pleasure. His eyebrows furrowed, his lips parted, and his eyes sealed shut. Your voice echoed throughout the room as you could feel yourself losing to your inner dark desires. Your free right hand dug into his back, as he continued to rock his hips. Slowly, your hand grabbed the back of his head to pull him towards you, his eyes open to realize what you wanted. He leaned forward with his lips mere inches away from yours, a short pause to breathe in each other’s air before clashing them together. The kiss began to get rough as you felt your teeth clashing against his teeth, yet you wanted more.

Your hand never left the back of his head, until you broke the kiss to breathe. Still, he never lost his rhythm; rather, he began to quicken his pace. Looking at each other again, he let go of your hand and wrapped his arms around your torso to place you on his lap. His hands held the back of your thighs, as you wrapped your arms around his neck. This new angle made you let out a sweet little cry, which was music to his ears. Your left hand tangled into his hair as your right hand was placed on his shoulder, with your forehead touching his forehead. You could feel your body getting warmer and the familiar feeling was forming in the pit of your stomach. You flung your head back as the thrusts became deeper, and he was squeezing your thighs. Your legs wrapped around his torso and pulled him closer. He began to let out low, rough grunts as his thrusts began to falter. “M-my angel…” You said in a high voice, “I can feel…” He groaned before saying something you didn’t think you would hear. “M-Morpheus, your angel of m-music is named Morpheus.” He said in a raspy tone. You cried out his name, and your fingers began to dig deep into his back. “Morpheus, my stomach…” You whined, then you could feel his lips press against your collarbone to soothe you. Morpheus shushed you once more, as your legs began to shake. “Morpheus!” You screamed out, and the knot in your stomach burst. It was as if time slowed down for a moment, and your vision turned blurry. His thrusting turned sloppy until he too cried out, and you felt something pulsing inside you. You began to whimper from the stimulation, and Morpheus laid you down on the bed again, gently.

Your body shivered and you felt him slip out of you. Your eyes searched for him, but your eyes began to involuntarily close, and you tried to fight the urge. His voice echoed in your ears, “One love, one lifetime.” Your eyes shut, and you fell into a deep slumber. When Morpheus saw you fall into a deep slumber, he got off the bed to place the bedsheets on top of you and kissed your forehead after putting on his clothes again. You dreamt of nothing, and everything was silent. In fact, when you opened your eyes, you found yourself alone. Your stomach twisted because you thought he had left you forever alone until you heard soft music coming from the other room. You fixed the dress you had on and walked to the other room to see Morpheus playing around with the piano. With no rush, you walked over to him and placed your hands on his face. He leaned back in response to your touch, enjoying the touches. As your fingers lingered by his mask, you said, “Whose is the face in the mask?” When the mask was removed, he screamed as his hand covered his face, and shoved you to the ground. You hit the floor with your head hitting a piece of furniture. “Damn you, you prying Pandora!” Morpheus shouted as he walked away from you, he faced a mirror and removed the cover. “Now you can never be free!” You saw the left side of his face had a large scar that went from the chin up to his forehead. He began to walk around his lair while throwing down books and pages, screaming, “Curse you, can you even dare to look or think of me?” Your eyes began to fill with tears, as you rose from the ground.

“This loathsome gargoyle who burns in Hell,” He cried out while covering his scarred face, “But secretly yearns for heaven…For…” Morpheus’ eyes flicker to you, as you raise your hand walking toward him. He began to walk backward until you whispered his name. Mere inches away from each other, you placed your hand against his hand that was covering his face. “Morpheus, my angel.” You whispered, as you softly tugged his hand away from his face. Morpheus stood still, as you tugged his hand completely off his face. His eyes lowered until you lifted his chin to look at you. “My angel of music.” You said to him in awe, “I see no demon in front of me. I see an angel.” Morpheus looked at you with disgust and huffed. “You’re lying. I am the demon of Hell.” He said in a monotone voice. You closed the gap between you two and cradled his face. “From what I’ve learned, demons were once fallen angels. Do you not agree that angels are beautiful?” You asked while caressing his scarred face, “To me, you’ll always be my angel of music.” Before you could kiss his lips, he pushed you away and grabbed his mask.

Morpheus fixed the mask on his face and turned around to see you trying to blink back tears. “Come, we must return to the opera house; they’ll be looking for you.” He stated as he helped you down the lair steps. With a broken heart, you followed him into the boat and sat down. The ride back was quiet, as you wanted to express that you were now in love with your angel of music, despite his scars. When you reached the hallway, he held your hand; but it wasn’t a firm grasp as before. Before you slipped back into your room, you turned around to face Morpheus, your angel of music, for the final time. “When will I see you again?” You asked while looking at him. “You’ll see me soon.” He replied in a cold tone. Before you could lose your chance, you immediately kissed him on the lips and blurted out, “I love you, Morpheus, my angel of music.” Morpheus stood still from the kiss and cleared his throat. He nodded and kissed your forehead before leaving you behind. Your heart ached in pain, as you saw him leave. With sorrow, you entered your room and lay on your bed. “Oh, Morpheus.” You cried out as tears began to spill out, “I will always love you.” You hoped to see him once more, the angel of music, the phantom of the opera, and your lover. Until then, all you had were faint memories of that night to hold on to. Those memories were embedded in your mind, forever. Morpheus would return, as he promised. But the aftermath of his return was rather gruesome. The only thing left of his identity would be the kid he gave you, on that fateful night. A son named Pierre.

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