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frozenrose20 · 20 days

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Will Solace always says he's a bad singer but at the same time his father is the god of music and Naomi is a professional singer. I absolutely refuse to believe he can't sing. My personal headcanon is that he's actually a great singer.when he sang to open the doors of Orpheus flowers grew so my headcanon/theory is at when he was super young he started singing one time and it was so beautiful that it brought his mother to tears. Our lovely idiot. With low self esteem issues simply saw the tears and thought 'Oh my gosh I sing so bad my mother is crying' and he simply swore off singing ever since. if he has to sing for healing purposes he sings super quietly so no one hears him. if you do end up hearing him you'll just be absolutely blown away and brought to tears.

#pjo #toa #hoo #will solace #pjo hoo toa #naomi solace #will can sing okay #i refuse to believe otherwise

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will-solace-aaaaa · 1 month

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DO ANY MORE PPL FROM CAMP OR FRIENDS HAVE TUMBLR???

Leo: @leo-valdez-graaa

Frank: @frank-zhang-skreee

Annabeth: @annabeth-in-your-chase

Thalia: @thalia-grace-aaaaaa

Percy: @that-dam-son-of-poseidon

Hazel: @hazel-is-confused

Piper: @piper-mclean-raaa

Jason: @jason-graceeeeee

Kayla: @kaylaknowles-yaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

Nico: @nico-di-angelo-aaaaa

Will: DAS ME<3

Magnus: @magnus-falafelking

Alex: @alex-fierro-pr-nightmare

Clarisse: @everyone-is-a-punk

Mallory: @mallory-keen-to-kill

Silena: @silena-beauregard-official

Tj: @thomas-jefferson-jr

Halfborn: @halfbornhalfdead

Ares: @amazing-war-god-ares

Aphrodite: @im-aphrodite-dearies

Apollo/lester: @why-did-i-get-acne

Zoe: @zoe-can-see-the-stars-again

@stop-hammer-time and

@god-of-powerpoint ,too

Other campers/friends: plz comment or something because my MOTHER (naomi solace❤️❤️) has tumblr, and now idk who does or doesn't anymore🥲

Ly @miss-naomi-solace , best mother ever (please unground me)

WE HAVE ALL SEVEN + MORE AND SOME GODS/GODDESES ON HERE???

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kekaki-cupcakes · 29 days

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Naomi Solace from @mediumgayitalian 's latest fic that I'm literally in love with <3

I used @aroaceleovaldez 's character design sheet for Naomi a little bit too cause I don't know country clothes lol but I'm really happy with how it turned out and those boots are 😙👌

the bag has a jar of jam, a single pickle [you can buy those???], one of her many cassettes and her key btw

#Naomi solace #pjo fandom #will solace #pjo #percy jackson #heroes of olympus #percy jackon and the olympians #drawing #digital drawing #riordanverse #Naomi Solace fanart #and im getting onto that solangelo drawing as i post this ive got such a cute idea for it

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mediumgayitalian · 28 days

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———

For some reason the lack of a little jingling bell throws her off.

It’s a quintessential diner thing, she supposes. A little bell above the door. There’s the weird decor and the pressed cotton uniforms and the yelling chef and the little bell. It was in both Back to the Future one and two. That’s how she knows she’s right.

But when she pushes open the door with windows so caked with grime she can hardly see through them, there is no little jingle. And when she looks up at the door frame, eyebrows furrowed, it seems sad and lonely. She’s never been so aware of the lack of a sound, the absence of a noise. It makes the rest of the silence of the diner seem eerie, wrong. Dead.

She takes a hesitant step forward, door swinging shut behind her. She realizes as she approaches the ordering counter that her hand rests palm cupped on her belly, and removes it immediately.

“Hello?”

There are a couple groups of people in the back, talking quietly over their food. It doesn’t make the diner seem any less abandoned, somehow. If anything it feels like a TV playing on mute in a hospital. Saturated static.

“Seat yourself, girl. You ain’t never been to a diner before?”

The woman that speaks is tall and plump and harsh-looking. A very strange mixing of features. They’re at odd with the diner-specific yellow uniform she wears, collar pressed but skirt wrinkled. Apron dusted with flour and streaked with machine oil. Face pinched, eyes hard, black hair resting in dainty ringlets along her shoulders. Her name tag only reads the name of the business.

“A couple,” Naomi defends. “One even had a hostess.”

The woman — who must be a manager — raises an eyebrow.

“You see a hostess’ station?”

“No.”

“Then why haven’t you sat yourself?”

“‘Cause I’m not here to eat.”

“Well, then, get the hell out of my restaurant.”

Naomi holds her gaze, tilting up her chin. She will not be swayed by orneriness. “I need a job.”

The manager eyes her critically. Naomi’s hands twitch, and the top of her head feels suddenly itchy. Summer before highschool she’d wrote her first resume — Mama’d drawn her a bath and sat behind her and spent two hours slowly untangling the ratty mess of curls on her head with nothing but a bottle of cheap jasmine conditioner and her own two fingers, telling her about lasting first impressions.

“Go home, kid.”

“I’m not a fu —” She stumbles over her words at the last second, catching herself before that eyebrow can climb any higher. It does, and the other eyebrow begins to climb with it, but she rights herself and powers on. “I can vote,” she says finally. “I can throw on a uniform and get blown up across seas. I can — I can adopt a child, if I so choose. Right now.”

The eyebrows reach critical height, brushing the end of her carefully teased hairline. Naomi watches them and their inspiring journey with intensity, instead of noticing how the manager’s eyes drop down to her stomach, linger, and then return to her face.

“You gonna adopt it right outta your womb, or what?”

Naomi snaps her mouth shut.

“Well,” she says, and nothing else.

The manager sighs. “This ain’t a charity.”

Naomi barely manages to bite the snark back from her voice before she speaks.“I’m not asking for charity. I’m asking for work.”

Eyes shifting to the tables in the back, the manager leans over the counter, long fingers wrapping around the handle of a coffee pot so old the handle has worn right down to plain metal, and walks over to a beckoning customer. She fills a man’s mug with her lips pressed thin, offering a napkin to a child in a high chair.

“And why would I hire some pregnant kid?”

The customer pushes over a stack of plates without moving his eyes from the newspaper in front of him. There’s a woman on the other side of the table, holding a spoon out to the little kid, eyes desperate and tight smile slipping when the kid’s pudgy fist hits and sends the scoop of scrambled eggs flying. The man brings the coffee to his lips and waves the manager away.

“It’s illegal for an employer to discriminate against a pregnant person,” Naomi says finally. That had been drilled into her head by her Mama, too. That and how to keep her finances separate. She’ll have real trouble with that, what with the zero dollars she’ll have by the end of the week.

“Good thing I’m not your employer, then.” The manager sets the plates by a soapy sink, putting the coffee pot back on the hot plate. “Get lost.”

I am lost, Naomi almost says, almost slamming a hand in the counter to catch herself from her suddenly weak knees. She watches the manager watch her, tight little frown furling the corner of her mouth, through the blur of her eyes, swallowing hard around the lump in her throat.

“Please,” she says, too quiet, then tries again: “Please.”

The manager disappears behind a short half-wall, following the sound of an oven dinging. Naomi gasps silently, bowing over the counter, breathing heavily. She curls her hands into fists and presses them, hard, one to her chest and one right under her ribs. Ka-thump, ka-thump, kickkickkick. Kickkick ka-thump, ka-thump, ka-kickthump.

There’s an echoing clatter as a hot tray slams on a stove top. Scrambling upright, Naomi lifts the little door on the counter, scanning the space. The register is ancient and yellowed, buttons so worn with use the labels have worn away. There’s a thread-thin mat at the base of it. The counters are clean but scratched, walls stained but dust-free. The coffeemaker gurgles pathetically. An apron hangs from a hook nailed to the wall by the kitchen window.

As quietly as she can, Naomi slips it over her head. It’s tight around the waist, so she folds it once and ties it around her ribs, instead, letting the straps dangle loosely at the butt of her jeans. She ties her hair quickly behind her head and steps up to the creaky sink, silently moving the pile of dishes to the empty counter. When the clatter in the kitchen starts up again, she turns the water on as quick as she can — hack gurgle rush — and squeezes the mostly empty soap bottle as hard as she can to make up a lather.

“Hell are you doing?” says the manager gruffly, two pies balancing on her oven mitt hands.

Naomi shrugs.

“You deaf, or stupid?”

She thinks if laughter like a lyre and sun golden hair, plucking at her out-of-tune guitar string and asking a similar question. The ghost of a smile pulls across her face.

“Not deaf. And that’s rude.”

A pie plate crinkles under the press of a knife, and the scent of candy cherry mixes with slightly-burnt coffee. Makes her think of Grammy’s house, the smell of the jams she spent sixty years making soaked permanently in the wooden foundations. The manager finishes plating the pie slices and sliding them under the display glass around the same time Naomi suds up the last dirty mug. She watches her red-painted finger tap, tap, tap on her bicep out of the corner of her eye as she rinses it off.

Unplugging the sink, dirty water gurgling as it drains, she points a hesitant elbow at the dishtowel tucked into the managers pocket. She grabs it, threading it around her fingers, twisting the worn pink tail.

“Freezer broke two days ago.” She picks at a loose thread ‘til it pulls clean from the rest of the fabric, balling it up and sliding it into her pocket. She tugs on the fabric one last time, then tosses it, bundled, into Naomi’s waiting hands. “Tables in the back better have their bill by the time I get back from fixin’ it.”

Naomi hunches over the sopping dishes to hide her smile, listening to the scritch scritch click of the manager’s shoes as she stomps away.

———

Di doesn’t believe in paycheques.

“Great way to get ripped off,” she likes to grumble, slapping a stack of 20s bundled in a stapled piece of notebook paper into Naomi’s hands every Friday. She doesn’t think much of taxes, either, or lawyers, or racecar drivers. Naomi doesn’t quite understand that last one, but she knows better than to ask. As far as she’s concerned she’s still on probation, and probably will be if she works at the diner for another four months. Or the rest of her life.

On one hand, Naomi doesn’t have a bank account, so a cheque would be useless to her anyway. The cash she can use immediately and whenever she needs it. On the other hand, which is currently occupied with sewing back closed the hole she gouged in her backseat for the seventeenth week in a row, she has nowhere exactly to put that money, so it stresses her out.

Maybe she should look into an apartment.

Of course there are no apartment buildings in Sheffield. But she’s pretty sure Iraan is a big enough town to have a couple, as squat as they may be, and it’s only a twenty minute drive. There’s more to do there, too, so maybe she’d actually have a reason to take a day off every week. It’s not like she can buy a damn house with the less-than 3000 dollars she has saved up.

Waddling out of her car, she ducks into the diner. You’d think she’d be used to the lack of bell, now, but she finds that she still anticipates it; finds that her brain still quietly signals to her ears to prep for it. It always sets her off, a little.

“You’re late,” says Di critically, uniform hanging over her arm, foot tap tap-ing on the linoleum floor.

“I don’t have a starting time,” Naomi says lightly. “On account that I am not your employee.“

Di huffs, rolling her eyes. Naomi rolls them right back, snatching the uniform from her arms on the way to the bathroom. She has to wear Di’s, now, because she doesn’t fit into her old one. Di is much taller and broader than her and the stupid thing hangs down to her mid-calf, awkwardly drowning her shoulders, but it’s the only thing wide enough to cover her belly and Di refuses to let Naomi just wear her regular clothes.

(“You’re indecent,” she always says, sneering at her jean shorts, but Naomi has learned to translate you’re indecent but also you can’t have bare legs around hot oil, which she’s come to appreciate. Sure, Di makes her clean the bathroom whether or not she needs to crawl around in her knees to stay balanced, but she doesn’t want her burned to death, at least. That’s something.)

“And your hair’s unwashed,” she adds, as if Naomi had not walked away. She reaches up and adjusts Naomi’s collar, like that is going to do anything to change the fact that she looks like she’s wearing a collapsed tent. “You’re going to drive customers away.”

Naomi doesn’t say, you open before the community centre does, so I can’t shower in the mornings. She does not say, I spent last night trying to change the oil on my car when I couldn’t lie down to reach it. She doesn’t say, I’m too scared to sleep in the community centre parking lot, because my windows aren’t tinted and I don’t know what’ll wake me up.

She says, “The only thing scaring customers away is your busted attitude,” and scurries into the kitchen before Di can order her to clean the friers.

———

Naomi’s favourite part of the diner is the radio.

She can’t believe that Di allows it, what with her general distaste for joy in all of its forms. But it’s balanced on the window sill watching over the oven, antenna extended out the torn screen, dials permanently stuck on an old forgotten country channel. Naomi likes to hum along as she works, frying potatoes or kneading dough, twirling around the kitchen with a mop or a broom. It’s nice even when she’s cramping, even when her feet are sore — she likes hollering along to Dolly Parton when she knows Di is listening, want to move ahead, but the boss won’t seem to let me, likes the way her little parasite goes absolutely buck wild whenever Willie Nelson comes on. She can hear it even when she’s in the dining area, plates balanced all up her arms (and on her belly, too, which is one of the many things she has discovered it’s useful for), humming along to scratching dorks and scritching napkins, working 9 to 5, what a way to make a livin’.

She amuses herself often by making up lives for the various patrons. They’re close enough to the main highway that they get all sorts driftin’ in, from families with bratty kids who upend their food on the floor for Naomi to clean to men in starched suits who never leave a tip. The regulars she’s gotten to know, like the older, stocky, short-haired woman called Bella who smiles softly at her and leaves more than double her bill every breakfast. Or the two young men, college seniors, she thinks, who come in every Saturday afternoon and laugh loudly and talk about strange subjects and rope her into their conversations when there’s no one around and she’s bored.

Other patrons, though, strangers, she speculates. Like there’s a man in the farthest back corner, now, hunched over in the peeling green vinyl seats, scrawling frantically in a tiny notebook. She imagines he’s a private investigator, chasing a lead, about to discover that the woman on a date on the other end of the diner is cheating on her husband of fifteen years.

“Naomi, if you don’t get your ass back to work.”

She throws her hands up. “There’s nothing to do!”

Di observes the half-empty diner, noting the clean tables, neat counters, sparkling kitchen. Each customer sitting satisfied in their table, coffee mugs full, plates still hefty with food.

“Clean the grout.”

Scowling, Naomi stomps to the kitchen, wrenching open the cupboard under the counter and yanking out the Mr. Clean and scrub brush. It’s an ordeal and a half to get on the floor, wincing at the extra weight on her knees, sitting back on her heels with every spray and keeping one hand on her belly while the other scrubs. I Got Stripes by Johnny Cash starts playing through the radio, and she grits out the lyrics with every drag of the brush through the tiles.

“— and then chains, them chains, they’re ‘bout to drag me down —”

A pair of worn black boots come stomping into her line of vision. Naomi finishes scrubbing at a stubborn smear of grease, relishing in how it submits under her power, then rests her weight on her tired hands and tilts her chin up to glare up at her boss.

“I got stripes, stripes around my shoulders,” she sings defiantly, “chains, chains around my feet —”

“I should whip you, you damn drama queen,” Di says darkly, glaring right back. “Had three separate customers come on up to me askin’ me if I’m mistreatin’ ‘that poor young pregnant girl’.”

Naomi smiles triumphantly.

Di scowls, rolling her eyes hard enough to visibly strain her face, and drops some kind of foam pads at her feet. She stomps off without another word, scowling at the radio.

Poking at the pads, Naomi discovers they’re meant to be strapped to her knees. She slips them on, immediately noticing the relief.

For the rest of her shift, she’s an angel.

Di even almost smiles at her.

———

“Naomi, go home.”

“What happened to kid?” Naomi pants, knuckles going white against the counter. She breathes slowly and carefully through her mouth — in, two, three, four, out, two, three, four, in, two — and grits her teeth, staring determinately at the sticky tabletop until the dizziness fades. “I didn’t even know you knew my name.”

“I don’t.” A roughened hand rests on the small of her back, loosening the too-tight apron straps. “You’re sick, kid.”

“I’m fine.”

She tilts forward. Di barely manages to catch her, settling her slowly on the floor without so much as a comment about how heavy she is.

“The diner is empty, Naomi.” The same roughened hand moves up to the back of her neck, untangling the sweaty strands of hair that stick to her skin. Her voice is unusually soft. “You’re nine months pregnant, kiddo. You need to go home. You need to rest —”

“I need to work.”

With great effort, Naomi shoves her away, standing slowly to her feet. The world is still wobbly and bile climbs up her throat, but she pushes forward, hands half-extended beside her. She reaches back for the wet rag, swiping weakly at the table. An onslaught of nausea makes her pause, mouth clamped shut, breathing quick and deep through dry nostrils.

When she speaks again, Di’s voice is hard. “I’m not asking. Get out of my diner. Go home, or you won’t be allowed back. I won’t be accused of killing some dumbass kid who doesn’t know when to quit.”

“I can’t —” she gags, tears springing in her eyes, desperately trying to wrestle back some control of her body — “there’s nowhere, please, Di, let me —”

She slaps a hand to her mouth, heaving. She hasn’t even — she hasn’t eaten all day. The smell of anything makes her want to vomit. The idea of putting anything more in her body makes her want to peel off her skin. She feels — bloated and freakish and ugly; like an unsuspected astronaut on a sieged spaceship.

Like she’s about to burst.

“Oh, for the love of — Naomi, please tell me you are not nine months pregnant and sleeping in your fucking car.”

Naomi says nothing. She squeezes her eyes shut and tries not to think of Mama’s peony-scented perfume.

“Jesus Christ.”

Stomp, click, stomp stomp. Rattling chain, swishing cardboard. Flicking switch. Turning dial, fading music. Stomp, click, stomp stomp.

Two callused hands on her biceps, dragging her upright.

“C’mon, up you get. Where’re your keys?”

A hand digs around in her apron pocket.

“What, d’you fuckin’ run these over or somethin’? The hell’d you fuckin’ do to these things?”

No jingle on the door. A flipped sign.

“No, obviously you can’t — go get in the fuckin’ passenger seat, dumbass. God.”

Di mutters something about stupid kids and stupider adults, for putting up with them. Naomi smiles tiredly. Daddy used to say that all the time, flicking her on the forehead.

“Roll the window down. You need fresh air.”

The slight breeze coming in from the window is helpful, actually. It’s been a disgustingly hot summer, and Naomi has had to sleep with her windows down to avoid suffocating. She wakes up to mosquito bites in places she frankly did not know could be bitten.

“D’you think you’re going into labour?” Di asks quietly, over Dolly’s crooning. Bittersweet memories, that’s all I’m takin’ with me.

Naomi sighs, shaking her head. Already, the nausea has faded into the background. The sweat cools against her skin, and she stops feeling quite so much like she’s going to die.

“No. It’s only been eight months and a little less than two weeks.”

“…You remember the exact date?”

Well, hello, feverish flush. How I’ve missed you so. Will you do me a favour and cook me alive, while you’re here?

“It was a very memorable occasion,” Naomi mumbles, shrinking back into her seat.

“I see.”

Naomi’s never seen Di look quite so amused before. Her whole face softens, and her brown eyes look warm, for once. Naomi would attack her if she had the strength.

Di cruises slowly down Main St, conscientious of the kids ducking in and out of the shops, laughing with their friends. A tween girl looks over at an older boy and whips back over to her friends when he meets her eyes, the whole group of them descending into delighting shrieks. Naomi watches them with a smile and an ache in her chest. She wonders how Molly’s doing. How Esther’s holding up, how Leela is faring. Jen’s at school, now, all the way up in NYC. She hopes they’re well and tries not to hate them for not being here.

Sheffield’s small, and there’s not a street Naomi hasn’t driven down. She spends most of her free time in the community centre pool or the desert around the diner, sure, but she’s been around. When Di turns on Pine St and follows her all the way down, though, she frowns, looking over and asking a wordless question.

Di doesn’t answer. She’s driven them all the way to the other side of town in less than five minutes, pulling into a gravel parking lot and killing the engine.

“C’mon,” she grunts, climbing out of the tiny car and waiting, arms crossed, for Naomi to do the same.

“Sure, sure, let the pregnant woman crawl out of her own seat. Don’t lift a finger or anything.”

Di rolls her eyes.

As soon as Naomi has struggled her way out of the car, which takes her a good four minutes, Di stalks off. In her harried attempt to follow her, Naomi feels like a duck hopped up on an energy drink.

“What kinda money do you have?”

Naomi looks at her strangely. “Uh, what you pay me.”

“Yes, obviously, I meant savings.”

“What you pay me,” Naomi repeats.

Di purses her lips. “Well.”

She does not finish her thought. Instead, she strides down the gravel driveway, heedless of Naomi’s struggle behind her, until she approaches a squat looking building with ‘OFFICE’ printed on the little window.

“She needs a room,” she says to the clerk sitting behind it, gesturing at Naomi.

Naomi looks at her in alarm.

“Di, I can’t —”

“Fifty a night,” responds the man quickly.

“Try again.”

Di’s response is swift and immediate, ignoring Naomi’s tugging hand. She pulls away, resting her hands on her lower back, swivelling her head between Di and the man.

“Rate’s a rate, Di.”

She’s not surprised this man knows Di — everyone knows Di. But the slant to his eyebrows is unfamiliar, the hands clasped easily behind his head. He relaxes back into a leather office chair, heeled boot hiked up to rest in his knee, whistling absentmindedly in the face of Di’s glare.

“Two hundred a week.”

“Not a chance.”

“I’m not asking, Jed.”

The man — Jed — finally starts to look irate, meeting Di’s jaw-set stare with one of his own.

“I’m sorry, I musta missed something. Did you up and buy this place?”

Di doesn’t answer him right away. She never slouches, always standing at her full height, and she’s mighty tall for a woman. For anyone, really. She has a way of planting herself right in front of the sun, no matter where she is. Jed stares up at her, squinting, cast in Di’s shadow everywhere but where he needs to be sheltered.

“You gotta laundry list of shit you done owed me your whole life, Jed.”

Jed just his chin out.

“I don’t owe her shit.”

Blunt fingers wrap around her elbow. “She’s mine.”

“Ain’t how this works, Di.”

“Says who? You?”

For all her intensity, Naomi doesn’t think Di’ll actually fight anyone. If she would, Naomi would’ve gotten her ass kicked months ago.

(She’s mine. Kiddo. You need rest. Roll down the window.)

(…Well.)

Regardless, a flash of fear flits across Jed’s face. He cuts his gaze from Naomi to Di and then back again, pupils shrinking, and then invariably comes to a decision.

“Two fifty,” he snaps, scowling. “Not a penny less, Di.”

Di nods once. “Fine.”

She tightens the hold on Naomi’s elbow, dragging her away from the window. There’s an echoing bang, bang, bang, interspersed with muffled curses, before Jed stumbles out of a door on the side of the scaffolding. He stomps away without looking back, and Di tugs her along to follow.

“Laundry is your own problem. Clean your own shit. If you miss a payment, I’m kicking you out. Clear?”

Naomi stares. Jed standing in front of another low, old building, but this one is much longer, a door posited every dozen or so feet. A plastic chair sits in front of every door, and every door is numbered.

A motel, Naomi realises.

“Clear, kid?”

“Crystal,” Naomi manages, throat dry. Jed practically throws the key at her head, stomping back to the office. Numbly, Naomi slides it in the lock, pushing open the door.

The room isn’t big. There’s a double bed in the middle, a window in the far side and a dresser under it. A TV rests in a dugout shelf in the wall, and there’re two small doors next to it; a closet and a bathroom, Naomi assumes. Smaller than her bedroom back home.

Much, much bigger than her car.

“You’re gonna have to work another ten hours a week to afford this place,” Di says critically. When Naomi looks back at her, she’s lingering at the doorway, staring resolutely at Naomi’s face. Not a spare glance for the room itself.

Naomi does the math fast in her head.

“Twenty hours.”

Di scowls. “Don’t insult me, kid. Ten more hours a week; make sure you’re early tomorrow. I don’t give a shit if you’re sick again, either.”

Naomi swallows. She smooths a hand over the quilt tucked neatly over the bed — it’s soft, if not warm. The pillow is plump.

God, she’s missed pillows.

“Thank you, Di,” she says quietly.

Di makes a small twitching motion with her head that may, in some lighting, be considered a nod, then stalks off. Naomi sinks into the mattress; surprised at how much her feet aches now that she’s off of them.

She swings them up, kicking off her boots, to rest on top of the blanket. She leans against the rickety headboard. She rests her hand on her swollen stomach and slowly, silently, begins to cry.

“You and me and sheer fuckin’ will, kid,” she mumbles, face crumpling. The constant ache in the small of her back lifts, slightly. She stretches her toes as far as they’ll go and cries harder. “We’re gettin’ there. We’re gettin’ there. We’re gettin’ there.”

———

naomi art

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aroaceleovaldez · 1 year

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Will describing his mom as his best friend was like the one part of TSATS i enjoyed :,) mama’s boy,,,,

they’re rocking out to Bonnie Tyler

#tsats #the sun and the star #pjo #riordanverse #will solace #naomi solace #the sun and the star spoilers #tsats spoilers #my art

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ficsnships · 1 year

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“Sometimes I forget you’ve been all over this continent,” said Nico. “I mean, I’ve been a lot of places, too, but mostly since coming to Camp Half-Blood. Do you ever miss traveling?”

“Occasionally,” said Will. “But I think it was more that I liked being with my mom. She has such an adventurous spirit. It’s hard not to feel the same way when you’re around her and she wants to go see the world’s biggest ball of twine or something.”

I love that Naomi Solace is a great mom, like I’ve always headcanon her to be. 🥹🥰

#will solace #nico di angelo #solangelo #naomi solace #the biggest ball of twine is in Kansas #nico’s book #tsats #the sun and the star #tsats spoilers #pjo fandom #ficsnships books #ficsnships

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thestarstoasun · 22 days

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Will and Naomi Solace don't normally celebrate Easter considering the whole she slept with a Greek god, had a demigod child but could only tell her small-town religious family that she had a one nightstand and got pregnant thing. She had been told they still loved her but was still publicly shamed and shunned until she got famous for her music.

Will didn't think his grandparents, uncles, or aunts deserved his mom in their lives after what they put her through, but he figured if she could forgive them, he could too. Except they didn't know he was bisexual. They didn't know about Nico. Will had been all too willing to tell his sweet, loving, adoring mother about his boyfriend. He made sure Nico knew when he first brought it up that there was no rush, and just like when it came to everything, he was willing to wait forever. (Nico had actually stared at him in disbelief, and with the oh-so-noticeable red splashing across his pale skin muttered a quiet, "Idiota". Will didn't need to be fluent in Italian to know /that one/, even when he first heard it.)

Introducing Nico to his mother was a mistake, not because of any homophobia or monster attacks, but just how much they both love to embarrass him. His mother shares stories and shows pictures (which Will panics about because technology and demigods don't mix well) of a much younger and embarrassing Will, and by the look in Nico's eyes Will knows he is never living it down. In return, his mother learns of his embarrassing flirting in the middle of a war.

The memory was nice now, a year and a half later, especially since Will was currently on the verge of an entire mental breakdown. Being back in Texas had that effect on him. At camp, he locked away all panic, grief, loss, suffering in order to run the infirmary and be strong for his siblings, but here, he had no infirmary and no siblings. He could honestly care less of what these people thought of him - Lee's opinion had mattered, Michael's opinion had mattered, His mama's opinion matters, Nico's feelings and opinion matters. Hades, he cares more for Apollo's opinion than these people, and he was still struggling with his own complicated feelings towards his father - not that they ever showed outwardly.

Will was more worried that these people that shared blood with him would shame his and Nico's relationship and upset his boyfriend. Nico had suffered so much pain and suffering already, especially when it came to his sexuality and accepting that there wasn't anything wrong with himself for loving boys. Will was so proud of how far Nico had come and felt sick to his stomach at being an indirect cause of a relapse.

"You worry too much," The words sounded so beautiful that they must have been spoken by an angel. (They weren't, they were spoken by none other than Nico Di Angelo, but what can he say, he is Apollo's son. It is in his nature to be dramatic at least sometimes.)

"I don't think I worry enough. I mean, there is jus' so much that could go wrong. Mama-" Will shot Nico, who was failing to hide a wide smile, a curious expression unknowingly tilting his head slightly to the right. "What's so amusin' about this?"

"I think I finally understand what Lou Ellen meant when she called you a dog." Will stared blankly absolutely stunned out of his panic, his lips formed a small pout that was absolutely not adorable. Nico got up from where he sat comfortably on Will's bed and wrapped his arms around his boyfriend's waist, resting his head on Will's shoulder. "Breathe. I'm already prepared to ditch this dinner and shadow-travel us both and your mother out somewhere nice at the slightest sign of trouble. Catholic guilt is a bitch, but I am done letting it, Gods, or anyone control my life."

Will felt both relieved and worried. Nico had learned so much about his boundaries with his powers over the last year, but it didn't mean Will didn't worry. "Is that why-?"

"Yes, that is why I slept so much today, il mio sole. Even before we left camp you were doing that nervous thing where you wrap bandages around your wrist. I figured something was bothering you and it had to do with our vacation. You love your mom, so it was obviously this dinner. I'm from the 30s, not an idiot, William, amore mio."

Will couldn't help but gently remove Nico's arm's from around him and sweep the boy off his feet. This frustrating, self-destructive, annoyingly attractive, smartass paid way too much attention to a simple healer such as himself, but Will couldn't imagine his life without Nico in it anymore. The half-hearted glare he received filled him with so much warmth and made him smile so wide it hurt, which in turn caused Nico to turn away to hide the slight upturn of his own lips.

#I honestly wrote this to cope with how awful my easter was #Should I continue this? Suffering and pain is always fun ig #will solace has daddy issues #its not canon #I just know that he does #will solace #nico di angelo #solangelo #pjo #heroes of olympus #the sun and the star #percy jackon and the olympians #naomi solace #riordanverse #trials of apollo

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theveryattacheduser · 1 year

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will solace headcanons because I felt like it: -he doesn't have a filter whatsoever. he says whatever is on his mind whenever he wants. sometimes he would say things that should not be told in a situation he is in. - He is a big indie music fan, Like he is constantly searching for a new underrated artist. he is also a huge oldie, mainly cause Naomi influenced him. just has a really good music taste -did his own piercings. no explanation. he just did it cause he was bored. -He learned sign language when he was 4 and just continued learning it. -He is very popular around children. like all children love him. he doesn't know why. they just do. -his wardrobe consists of shorts, jeans, and shirts. he only owns one hoodie and one pair of sweatpants. he just finds them more comfortable. -a hopeless romantic who is hopeless when it comes to romance. he just can't flirt. however, he is the best when it comes to date nights and gifts and accommodating love languages -very sarcastic, maybe too sarcastic because sometimes his sarcasm can come off as being for real. -he seems like the type of person to love friends - and he definitely raged and criticized everything in medical shows -when he is excited his freckles and hair glow. when he is upset, his hair and freckles deepen in color. -he has a pet cat named toaster. he loves toaster with his whole heart. He is also allergic to toaster. -sucky immune system, gets sick too often -refuses to sleep, can't sleep, never sleeps. -he is a history nerd. he can rant about history all day every day 24/7 -he LOVESSSS ice skating, like a lot -the whole corner of his room is just plants. all of them have their own names. -he has one of those aesthetic fairy light polaroid pictures. all of them vary from him and Nico, the camp, toaster, Naomi, everything. -very talkative lad -energetic in front of strangers, calm in front of close friends -he can't cook, please never let him cook -he is like an incredible listener -bread, he loves any kind of bread -also lactose intolerant -he LOVESSSS souvenirs, and he is an advent collector of souvenirs and soda taps -quality time is his receiving love language, and compliments are his giving love language

-He also buys so many things for his friends, especially Nico

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asolareclipses · 1 day

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(Previous Part)

After passing through the miserable Manhattan traffic, the roads of rural New York began to calm as they began the long journey to Maine.

Beside Will, Jason was twisting a map around, the paper crinkling with each slight movement he made. “You’d think they would’ve made these easier to read.” He grumbled under his breath.

“Well they sort of did,” Will replied, “Google maps offers great convenience, unfortunately there’s no demigod Google or Apple…or any of the other companies.”

Jason blankly stared at Will for a moment, “I’m going to pretend I understood what any of that meant.”

Will held back a laugh, he had forgotten that Jason wasn’t exactly familiar with modern technology. He was like Nico in that way, maybe that’s one of the reasons they got along so well. “It’s phone stuff, i’m not really the expert on it because I was never allowed to have a phone. But my Mom had one, and the other campers keep me up to date with all that other stuff.”

Jason’s eyes widened for a split second, Will could tell it was because of the mention of his Mom. He was probably surprised because Will typically didn’t mention her. “So your Mom, she’s…” Jason’s voice died off.

“She’s alive, if that’s what you wanted to ask. Her name is Naomi Solace, though I doubt you’ve heard of her. She’s a pretty well known country singer, always busy with tours and concerts.” Will seemed to fall into the past as he spoke about his mother. “I used to go on tours with her, they were chaotic but honestly amazing. Staying up until the late hours eating fast food, traveling around the country. It was great.”

Jason seemed hesitant to speak, but he noticed Will’s smile fading. “Did something happen?”

“Well, turns out monsters aren’t great for tours.” Will sighed as he stared out across the endless roads. “As I got older, more and more attacks happened. Eventually my Mom had to send me to camp, she didn’t want to. I still think she regrets it, but there was nothing she could do. Guess that’s just how it is.”

“Do you still keep in contact?” Jason asked cautiously.

“Yeah,” Will nodded, “I send letters, and Iris messages. Sometimes I even visit, though she’s pretty busy so I never stay long. She would probably let me stay forever if she could, but I wouldn’t burden her like that.”

Jason opened his mouth to speak but he hesitated, unable to find the right thing to say. After a moment he finally spoke, “She sounds nice.”

Will smiled, “Oh yeah, she’s amazing.” He meant it completely, his Mom was truly one of the best people he’d ever known. “But enough about my Mom, what do you think this ‘dark presence’ or whatever it is we are facing?”

Jason frowned, his mind delving into thought, “I’m not sure. What dark creature or thing would be out to get Nico?”

Will paused, a revelation hitting him so hard he almost drove them off the road. “Oh my Gods…how did I not realize sooner?”

“What?” Jason said, his hand was now tightly latched onto the door from Wills lapse in good driving.

“It’s Nyx,” he said the name like it was poison in his mouth. “It has to be. She’s probably still pissed that he embarrassed her.”

“Nyx?” Jason asked, his voice almost incredulous.

“Yeah, we fought her back in tartarus. Guess she’s still holding a grudge.” Will shook his head with an unpleasant look displayed on his face.

“So Nico left to what? Go fight a goddess on his own?”

Will sighed in pure frustration, “Yep. It’s a classic Nico move, I mean he would’ve gone to tartarus alone, again, if I hadn’t forced him to take me.”

“I guess in that way he hasn’t changed, still trying to face things alone.” Jason frowned.

“Right.” Will’s face was now unreadable even to himself, “At least he’s not alone, he took your boyfriend with him remember?”

Jason almost choked, “Boyfriend?!”

Will failed to hold back his laughter, “I guess it’s not official yet?”

“We’re not-he’s not-“ Jason stumbled over his words before giving up at forming a coherent sentence.

“Okay, okay. I won’t push any further, just know, it’s pretty obvious.” Will smirked as Jason tried to regain his composure.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Jason finally spoke with a false look of confidence. “Me and Leo are just-“ He was cut off by a sudden thump against the roof of the car.

Will glanced up in shock, “What was that?”

“I don’t-“ Jason began, but before he could finish there was another thump and sharp claws pierced through the roof.

Will grit his teeth looking ahead, “Hold tight Jason, the rides about to get bumpy.”

—

Bumpy was an understatement. The second Will swerved off the main road, the normal car ride transformed into a death trip. Each turn was so sharp Jason had to cling to whatever he could just so he wouldn’t be thrown across the car. He was convinced that any second now they’d go barreling into a tree. Yet, Will somehow maintained control, his driving was insane but also impressive.

In a particularly harsh turn, whatever had latched onto the car had gone flying off and when Jason turned to see he got a clear view of their attacker—well attackers. Rapidly approaching behind them was a small group of harpies, hellbent on turning them into bird food.

“Uh Will? You might want to speed up,” Jason said as he gripped his sword. There wasn’t much use for it in the small space but it was a good plan b.

“On it.” Will said, as his knuckles latched around the wheel turned white, they began to pick up speed making any movement of the car even more jarring.

Jason kept his eyes on the harpies which were still hot on their trail, “How do we lose these guys?”

“No clue,” Will spoke through clenched teeth. “Maybe you could blow them away?”

Jason perked up, for a moment he’d forgotten about the whole wind powers thing. “Good idea.” He spoke quickly before focusing on the wind beneath the harpies wings. With a slight twist they spiraled away, losing control of the air around them.

Will seemed to relax for a moment, but that was cut short by the cars suddenly sputtering to a slow stop. The extra speed and turbulence appeared to be too much for the old camp be vehicle. “Aw hades!” The look on Will’s face was of pure and utter frustration.

As soon as the car wasn’t moving, Will slung open his door storming over to the hood of the car. With a frown he threw it open and was promptly engulfed in smoke. Jason hurriedly rushed over to him, urging the winds to dispel the clouds of smoke.

As the smoke dissipated it revealed Will who stood there coughing and muttering a range of curses—some Jason had never heard before but he was sure they weren’t positive. “Of course this happens!” Will threw his hands up in defeat.

Jason winced, not sure how to comfort him.

“The one time I go out on an important quest, everything goes wrong!” Will spoke, his anger seemed more directed at himself than the circumstances.

“Every quest has setbacks,” Jason tried his best to sound optimistic.

“Maybe, but we left camp hours ago and we’re already stranded on the side of the road. Who knows what Nico and Leo are doing, and if we’re too late.” Will rambled on as he began to pace alongside the car.

“Will, things happen, I don’t see how this could be your fault.” Jason continued with his reasoning, but it was as if Will had heard nothing.

“What a great idea to send a medic on some important quest, like I could actually be a hero.” Will spoke directly to himself almost unaware of Jason’s presence.

“Will stop.” Jason took cautious hold of Will’s shoulders, a firm look on his face.

Realization passed across Will’s expression as he now understood how he’d been acting. “Sorry..” His voice was almost too quiet to hear.

“This is only a temporary setback, we’ll find away to get to them in time.” Jason spoke with every ounce of reassurance he could gather.

Will looked away, now focused on the dirt beneath his shoes. “Right, you’re right.”

Jason watched as Will seemed to shrink in on himself, embarrassed for showing a slight piece of his troubles. He felt a sense of similarity between himself and Will, he knew all too well the pain of hiding your true feelings.

It was the first time he saw Will not as this bubbly guy who was happy to do whatever whenever, but as someone who faced the same harsh world that met every demigod. Will knew loss, he knew more than he’d ever tell. He would never show that side of himself willingly. Instead, he let himself be portrayed as a calm reliable person with no struggles despite his constant turmoil. It didn’t feel fair.

At that moment Jason knew Will was a true hero, whether he believed it or not. He just had no idea how to prove it to him. What he did know, was that they had to succeed. Not just for Leo and Nico, but for everyone else, including themselves.

Part Seven?

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athenaspeculiardaughter · 3 months

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Sally: so ladies the situation is serious

Naomi: really serious

Emma: what can we do

Sally: there's 2 solutions

Naomi and Emma: ??

Sally: we're going to shout at the gods knowing that Poseidon and Apollo will listen to us

Naomi: yeah?

Sally: or we adopt all of the demigods with family issues

Emma: why not both?

Sally: I like that

Paul: I don't want to break the mood but where are they going to sleep?

Sally,Naomi and Emma: *bad look*

Paul: ok I understood *ran away*

@thepeculiarbird @thedarklordyna

#incorrect quotes #incorrect pjo quotes #sally jackson #naomi solace #I saw many people using the name “Emma” for Mrs.Yew #paul blofis #percy jackson #Cabin 7 #cabin 3 #toa apollo #trials of apollo #poseidon #Me creating headcanons at 1 a.m #will solace #michael yew

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nonascoldcoffee · 2 months

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my personal headcanon for will is that everyone in camp assumes he was claimed because he just had a "natural grace" while working in the infirmary

but in reality, apollo randomly was checking up on the camp and saw some curly blonde kid and was like "oh shit he looks like my favorite baby mama"

#will solace #apollo pjo #percy jackson #trials of apollo #naomi solace

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kitkats-and-kittens · 5 months

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Saw a post earlier about Naomi Solace and I am now obsessed with her being the Percy Jackson verse equivalent to like Taylor Swift or something.

Like Will just offhandedly mentioning that his moms off in Europe for a world tour and everyone at camp being like tf-

I want his first time walking into the Apollo Cabin to be Pipers exact experience, just posters of his mom, records from her really niche tours that he probably went on, signed photos and t-shirts, just everywhere and Will being embarrassed and unsure how to tell his siblings that having pictures of his mom on several walls around his bed is kinda weird.

Also I want Austin to go absolutely feral when he realises he’s roomies with the Naomi’s solaces son.

Like Naomi solace is an absolute Queen and I need more people to recognise that. 😭😭

#percy jackson #pjo #apollo #will solace #naomi solace #apollo cabin #she is the moment

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