Some solangelo HC bc The Sun and The Star ruined me in all the best ways
Ok but since it's now established that Nico is the most romantic of the two and wants to do things properly (the confession picnic in tsats) :
Whenever they're out of CHB on a date and they have Jules-Albert, Nico opens the door for Will
When they settle in New Rome and Will starts pre-med, he leaves coffee in thermos all over their flat. He also waits for Will when the blond has an exam. It becomes expected to see Nico waiting patiently next to the exam room with a cup of coffee and a cinnamon roll
Btw they both know the other's exact coffee/tea/drink order
He does bring Will to Paris and they illegally put a lock on Pont des Arts (the lovers' bridge) - but they also travel to other places. It's always a short trip bc monsters but napping together in a lavender's field is worth the risk. (To troll Will a little, he brings him in the Catacombs, both the touristic path and the illegal ones lol. Jokes on him, Will begs him to sneak them into the forbidden anatomical collection of Dupuytren's museum. They're both weirdos, what can I say)
Not that sweet but one time Will was listening to a cold case true-crime podcast and Nico absent-mindedly said he could always ask the victim if Will really wanted to know. Will wasn't on board with the idea, tho Nico simply shrugged and said the souls of Asphodel want to be heard. In the end Will convinced him to not bother the victim and make them relive a traumatic memory
He agonizes for days over what gift to give Will for his birthday even if Will repeats time and time again that he will be happy without a gift as long as he can spend the day with him (Gift giving vs Quality Time, choose your fighter). And for Christmas? He's a man on mission all year long: as soon as Will expresses interest in something, he carefully tucks the info in his head
The day he decides he's going to marry Will, he's shadow-traveling to wherever Naomi is to ask for her blessing
Then he prays to Apollo and before he can finish his prayer, a solar flare makes all of the electricity network explodes. Apollo is so overjoyed that a mini-heatwave takes root over CHB - and it's like, the middle of winter. At night, auroras can be seen in the sky. Apollo kids are Confusion™️
(Also he tells his father & stepmother of his plans beforehand. Hades keeps a straight face out of sheer willpower but the smile he gives Nico is wobbly. Persephone simply approves. She knows they would be a perfect match)
(Unbeknownst to Nico, Will has done the same thing because he knows his boyfriend likes being proper with stuff likes that. He hasn't gone down the Underworld bc he would need Orpheus' Doors but he prayed to both the King & Queen. Flowers bloomed on his windowsill. They were made of precious stones)
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True Vampires-Sondra London
I've almost finished reading the book True Vampires-Sondra London.
The author had a relationship with Gerard John Schaefer and his signature is in the section of the book, that is about Erzsébet Báthori (Elizabeth Bathory in English)
I wasn't expecting a American serial killer's signature in the book, so it's interesting that the signature is in this specific section of the book.
Sondra London also had a relationship with Henry Rollings
(The Gainesville Ripper, the inspiration for the Scream horror film franchise)
I've always been curious if Sondra London was aware that either man was a serial killer a the time she knew them or had a relationship with them.
This book is about a lot of people that are role-playing fantasists, that are delusional, mentally ill, mentally/emotionally/psychologically unstable/damaged people that were suffering from Clinical Vampirism and claimed they were a "self-proclaimed Satanist" a "self-proclaimed Vampire"
If you are genuinely a Satanist, an Occultist, a Spiritual, sanguinarian, psychic or tantric vampire you don't need to be "self-proclaimed".
A lot of the people mentioned in the book except Nico Claux are attention-seeking, delusional, mentally ill, edgelords.
In my opinion Nico Claux is a totally different calibre of person in comparison to the other people mentioned in the book.
Nico Claux, Gilles de Rais, Vlad the Impaler, Erzsébet Báthori are the most interesting to me.
Nico Claux isn't delusional, mentally ill, and never claimed to be something he isn't, he was serious about his intention, practices witchcraft, i've not read about anyone that practices Necromancy to invoke The spirit of Vlad the Impaler before, it was interesting and creepy to read about.
I love Nico's artwork that was used in Sondra London's book, it includes one of my favourite paintings-a self portrait of Nico when he was younger and he had long hair, the painting has a dark, angry, vampiric/ghoul vibe about it.
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Nico really fucking hates capture the flag.
Well, not always. Last week was fun. Last week was the annual Everyone Against The Stolls (to atone for their crimes), and Nico got to chase Connor around at top speeds, cackling, committing his shrieking and begs for mercy to memory. That was nice. That almost made him forgive the fucker for digging a trench under Nico’s unwelcome mat for him to fall into at seven thirty in the godsdamn morning.
But tonight’s game is boring.
He’s been standing, alone, at the base of the flag for the past forty bajillion hours. He’d raised a few dozens skeletons to spar with at first, since animating them to fight himself isn’t technically against the rules, but that got dull fast. (It isn’t much fun sparring with a partner who doesn’t have a brain. He already has to do that enough with Percy when he comes to visit camp.) He’d climbed the various trees around the clearing, or at least he tried until he got reamed by the dryads for climbing on a manner that was too annoying (?), and tried his hands at a few summoning spells. Nothing held his interest long.
And now he’s just standing, doing nothing, and he’s not allowed to leave. He has to stay in this stupid spot on the off chance that someone comes stumbling over to fight him for the flag.
“You’re our best swordsman, she said,” he says mockingly, beaming the nastiest vibes he can manage in Piper’s vague direction. “We need you on our defensive line, she said. Nyeh nyeh nyeh.”
His checks his watch. He groans. He looks critically over the grass, looking for a softer patch, and when he locates it he throws himself dramatically upon it, groaning louder.
“This sucks!” he yells, to no one.
“Will you shut up!” shouts back the dryad he pissed off earlier. “For the love of photosynthesis! Fuck!”
He bites his tongue hard to hold back laughter. (If he can avoid getting his entire cabin overgrown with prickle bushes again, that’d be great.) “Sorry,” he calls, trying with everything he has to sound contrite. Convincing his father to fight the Titan War was easier, actually. Acting is not his calling.
“Hmph!”
At least listening to see if she’ll come out and yell at him again provides something to ease his boredom. Yes, he’s going to regret bothering her, but in his defense, solo guarding is cruel and unusual punishment. He’d rather sit by an outlet with a fork and see if he can poke and let go fast enough to avoid dying. That at least would be interesting.
A rustling of leaves recaptures his attention, and he pauses.
“Holly?”
When no one answers, which is odd because she’s taken every opportunity in the last hour to either insult him or pelt him with stones, he lifts his head.
“You’re not going to scare me, dude. I had my fear glands surgically removed to become a better soldier.”
Not true. Obviously. But a fun bonus of being the camp weirdo is that no one doubts anything he says. He’s working on convincing everyone younger than him that he needs weekly tributes of chocolate delivered to his door every Friday or the dead are going to take over the world. So far, it’s working.
“Look, Holly, I’m sorry about the zombie, okay, I promise it didn’t mean to sneeze part of its brain on you —”
The rustling sounds again, only this time Nico can see that it’s not Holly’s tree, and in fact she is nowhere to be found. Alarmed, he jumps to his feet, shifting so he’s balanced on the balls of his feet, poised to attack. Is Piper’s plan failing? Has someone actually managed to make it all the way over here without getting (gently, probably, although they lost the last game and Piper gets cranky without dessert) maimed?
The rustling sounds for a third time. This time, an armoured someone stumbles out of the underbrush, tripping over their own foot and nearly landing flat on their face.
Nico has his sword at their throat in a millisecond.
“Wo-oah, Morbius. That’s probably my least favourite sword you could stab in me.”
Nico goes bright red. “I have never wanted to stab you more than right this second.”
Will, chest plate skewed to the right, quiver completely empty, and black paint smeared under his eyes, snickers. He puts a finger on the tip of Nico’s sword and pushes it away from his neck.
“The opportunity was right there, babe. I couldn’t not.”
“You really, really could. In fact at all times, you should remember these words of wisdom: shut up.”
“…Damn. Inspiring.”
Nico rolls his eyes, but the effect is somewhat lessened by the smile on his face and the obvious pleasure in his expression. He’s even feeling merciful enough to accept Will’s kiss, although his sword keeps a good amount of distance between them. (Will’s on the blue team, after all. It would be unprofessional to be fraternizing with the enemy.
…Well, too much, anyway.)
“What’re you doing here? You’re supposed to be with the other archers, sitting in trees and causing havoc.”
Will shrugs, grinning lazily. “I quit. This game is senselessly violent and I’m Against It On Principle. I’m a pacifist, you know.”
“Uh huh.” Nico raises an eyebrow. “I assume this doesn’t count you choking Cecil out in a headlock, this morning.”
Will opens his mouth. Nothing comes out. He closes it again.
“Cecil is my mortal enemy,” he grudges after a moment. “He doesn’t count.”
“‘Course not. Not like you cried for two hours when he went to visit his mom last weekend or anything.”
“Will you — stop saying I cried. I barely teared up, okay. Barely.”
Nico can’t quite force down the stupid grin that pulls across his face, matching Will’s, nor can he resist grabbing the leather straps of his boyfriend’s armour and hauling him close.
“You better not be here to distract me,” he mumbles, leaning close and pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw, the corner of his mouth. Will hums, settling his hands on Nico’s hips.
“Nope. Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“Drama queen.”
“Excuse — I am the least dramatic, I’ll have you know. I’m a pinnacle of solemnity. I am a shining beacon of stoicism. I am — mmfh,” He trails off. “Okay, doing this now, mhm.”
Nico smiles triumphantly into the kiss. Will, he has found, is very easy to shut up, despite his long-running nickname of Motormouth. It’s almost like he has an off button that can be accessed only by Nico sticking his tongue in his mouth. Nico is doing his civic duty, honestly. He should be compensated for his service.
(‘Course, doesn’t hurt that Will smells, like, really good, all the time, and his lips are soft as hell and he is actually quite the kisser, in fact. That is definitely a fun bonus.)
He smooths his hands over Will’s shoulders, travelling up the sides of his neck and settling in his hair. Will keens, slightly, when he wraps a finger around a frizzy golden curl and tugs, slightly, when he scratches his nails along his scalp. The rush of power at the feeling makes Nico dizzy, and his sword clatters to the ground as he busies himself with more interesting — and important — things.
Like pulling more of those sounds from his boyfriend’s throat. Or making his knees buckle, again, like he did the other night — gods, that was good, it made Will flush scarlet and Nico feel like he was fuckin’ floating, to have Will so needy and touchy and totally at his mercy —
“Free line to the flag! Go go go go!”
Nico startles, whirling towards the sudden cacophony of noises. To his horror, what looks like half the camp, helmets shining with plumes of blue, comes pouring into the clearing, weapons raised, voices mixing in one long, victorious shout. He lunges for his sword, but before he can grab it, two strong arms tighten around his torso, pinning his hands to his side.
Immediately, he knows he’s been set up.
“Oh, you — fucker!”
He feels the curve of Will’s grin against his neck. “First shower privileges for a whole month, baby.” He noses along his jaw, pressing an apologetic kiss to his cheek. “Couldn’t resist.”
Nico struggles, aghast, watching the once-red flag shimmer in Lou Ellen's hold to a bright, shining blue. “I am breaking up with you, you traitor, you Iago, you vixen — ”
Will snorts. He ducks down and pecks Nico on the lips, again, and again, and then shifts to his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, his temples, his forehead, and all over his face, making louder and louder mwah sounds until Nico is laughing, punching his shoulder and shoving him away.
“Okay! Okay. Let me go, you villainous toad. We will discuss how much you’ll have to grovel for my forgiveness after Piper finishes yelling at me for getting distracted.”
Will presses one last kiss to his nose, smiling cheekily before stepping away, heading towards his boasting team. “Enjoy that lecture! Love you!”
“Yeah, yeah.” Nico rolls his eyes, resting his aching cheek in his hand. “Love you too, asshole.”
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