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zqteez · 6 months

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happy birthday | k.ys x reader

summary: just yeosang giving you one of the best birthday gifts you’ve had in a while :)

wc: 631

genre: fluff & smut (fluffy smut..??)

warnings: softdom!yeosang, sub!reader, breast play, finger sucking, unprotected (dont do that!), fingering, kissing (slopping/lazy kissing), oral (f reciving) if i missed anything lmk!!

a/n: my first yeosang fluff/smut story im lowk kinda excited 🤗 i hope you guys enjoy because this random idea just popped in my head at 9pm while brushing my teeth 😭🫶

it’s 11 at night, cold with the stars shining and blinging through the blinds through the room you share with yeosang. the night before your birthday. you’ve always loved your birthday. it was like your favorite holiday even though it wasn’t a holiday. “remember tomorrows your special day tomorrow so i’ll do anything you want tomorrow my love” yeosang whispers into your ear while holding your in his arms. “are you sure i can do whatever i want and you’ll agree with it?” you turn around facing him. you love his features on his face, you love everything about him. he was meant for you. “yes, yes love anything, now go get your beauty rest princess, i love you so much.” he kisses your temple before dozing off. “i love you too, baby.” you kiss him on his forehead before you go sleeping in his arms.

(time skip to 7am)

Saturday at 7 in the morning, sun glistening through the blinds, bed messy but your still laid in it. you suddenly wake up to yeosang not being in your arms anymore. “yeosang..?” you mumble still in a lazy morning voice. you realize he wasn’t even in the room with you, but your room smelled very nice, warm like vanilla. your favorite scent. you decide to get up, get ready to go find yeosang and get ready for the day in general.

you finished getting ready and head to the kitchen to see yeosang standing there with flowers, cake and heart shaped red balloons in his hands. “happy birthday my love!” he screeches at you while popping a confetti popper. “oh my gosh?? yeosang thank you so much!” you run over to him hugging you then kissing his cheek. “baby, i hope you have the best birthday ever.” he smashes his lips into yours. tounges roaming each other’s mouth. the kiss was sloppy but wonderful. “let me make it up to you baby..” he carries you back to the bedroom bridal style pushing you into the bed.

“open and suck.” his fingers go towards your mouth and you open your mouth as you take yeosang’s fingers to your mouth. sucking and twirling around his knuckles. he takes his free hand and removes your shirt. “didn’t even put ona bra when you woke up?” you shake your head no. “fuck..” he takes his free hand and starts to play with your hardened nipples and massaging your breast making you moan onto his fingers. he removes his fingers from your mouth, pulls down your panties and starts playing with your throbbing clit.

he pushes his fingers in and out faster and faster then eventually you came on his hands, taking his hands out of you he licks them clean making you whine at the scene. “you want a condom or no?” he asks in concern. “no, i want you to fill me up with your seed please..” you whine making him curse under his breath. pushing his hands into your hips and pushing his cock into you making you moan. “fuck your so pretty when your like this..” he groans. the moaning, whimpers and groans bouncing off the walls you might think your neighbors below and above you might have to write a noise complaint about you both, but you didn’t care. you wanted people to hear how good he was making you feel. “fuck, darling i’m gonna-“ hot cum shoots into you painting your walls.

yeosang stares at the scene he made. he’s so proud. after a long minute of you both coming back to reality, he mumbles into your breast, “i love you so much, happy birthday.” “i love you too.” you kiss him on the forehead. “now, lets get cleaned up and cuddle afterwards or do you wanna go somewhere?” you hum. “cuddle.” he smiles.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #kpop #ateez fluff #ateez fic #ateez smut #ateez yeosang #kang yeosang #yeosang #yeosang ateez #yeosang smut #yeosang fluff #ateez x reader #ateez drabbles #yeosang x reader

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henry-fox-biggest-stan · 1 year

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TSATS SPOILERS (KIND OF)

Lines I caught from Rick’s TikTok

Will said “But yeah”

said Screech-Bling, “The River of —- runs deep in Tartarus

Nico added, “which I

“—- caller, longtime

his scorched tricorn hat. “If only that’s all —-.” Hiss-Majesty whimpered in agreement. “The —- of Punishment” (My guess on missing word, Fields)

probably sensing Nico’s hesitation. “So it’s —- deal with pain”.

that clearly meant Explain.

He didn’t want to tell —-. Will already looked miserable but —- and didn’t complain. But Nico feared —- now would break his facade. (😧😧)

one if we’re careful” Nico said.

“Nico.”

He put on the bowlet. —- “You know the trogs—-. Don’t be shy”

He then offered Nico a brown

“I much prefer the weird.”

steaming black stone cup in either —- he said, “I accept a rating between (my guess on missing word, hand)

(Under that) The broth was a dark red color, with —- protein floating in it. “Er, looks great, —- we can’t ingest Styx water—“

(Under that) the comment. “I am aware of human —- worry, Bon-screech-appetite!”

(Under that) pleasantly surprised, It was a little tart,

“Oh, I’m —- (my guess based on the look of the word, okay)

“I’ll let them know —- Besides, you need

(Under that) Will did not look

The dark chapter (chapter 17) (I think they might be flashbacks of when Nico was first on Tartarus):

(All this from the same page, all the lines are in order. Page 159) (first page of the chapter)

figured Nemesis must

Nico was thankful that —-, because if he hadn’t kept —- he would’ve had no idea —- on the strange marshy ground, —- and his lungs burned

seemed to be shifting. That was —-. He’d be staring into the distance, —-, and for the briefest of —- backwards like a mirage. The land- —- sharper edges, with colors so terrifyingly —-. The land itself seemed to be rising. —-. Or was Nico imagining that?

—-, so he kept walking.

(All this from the same page, lines in order. Page 161)

The ground shifted sideways, throwing him

of the Phlegethon, his hands digging —- cinders swingling around him, making —-. Huh, the Phlegethon, he thought. —- think of that.

the river was less like roaring fire and —-. It seemed to call out to him, as if begging

He hauled himself upright. When he turned —- it was much closer, no more than a —- in the green fog between the twisted dark —- thousands upon thousand of tiny, glowing

out if he wanted to. His throat was too —-, and when he looked up again, —- vanished. The ground beneath him, though, —-. Like it was alive.

(Next page, all in order. Page 165)

and falling apart. Nico —- because of the impossible —-, but —- above, whooping and shrieking. —- much sharper thorns —-. Had to use his word to clear his —- creatures scurrying away from him. Always floating in the shadow/s (can’t see the end of the word), —- always watching him. He wondered —- eyes never approached or attacked. What —-! There were far more of them than there —- constant guard, awaiting the inevitable, —- was perhaps worse than if he’d actually been —-.

On the eyes, he barely realize than he’d —- the forest. The fog suddenly lifted, and he —- and impenetrable wall of darkness. It —- direction (??), as far as he could see. Even the River —- sharp left turn and wended off to the north, as —- with that darkness. Nico stopped and stared, —-. How could Tartarus just end like that?

him continued for a few feet, so he took a

appeared in the darkness, a vertical fissure

(All this from the same page, lines in order. Page 167)

his hand. It came from the rift at the

grumbling, getting closer and defi- —-. Whatever it was, Nico estimated —- appearing (??) seeing him, and blocking his

He dated through the archway, ducked —- the nearest cover he could find: a tall tree —-. Beyond, in the gloom, was an area that —- garden.

—-!” said the voice. “Why do we have to

garden, another voice answered. It must have —- tone was harsh and unforgiving.

—- my children are so disobedient” she said. “I gave you life, I gave you purpose and what do I get

said, “Love and affection?”

Mother.

turning his head until his right eye could just —- edge of the trunk. (My guess, missing word is see). What he saw twisted his heart.

(Under that) —-, at least three times the size of an adult —- in smoke and ash than swirled around her —- of an hurricane. Her dress was the deepest black, —- glittering with the twinkles of entire galaxies, (Akhlys??)

#tsats #the sun and the star #the sun and the star: a nico di angelo adventure #nico di angelo #will solace #solangelo #nico pjo #pjo nico #rick riordan

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cloudynight-pjo · 11 months

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Ok, like I finished the sun and the star yesterday AND DAM WAS IT AMAZING

TSATS SPOILERS (some things I’m not sure on because I haven’t looked back on the book yet)

• Are we just ignore the fact that will GAVE NYX HAY FEVER for like a second but like is he a plague kid or not??? HOW DID THEY JUST SLIDE BY THAT Kinda wish we got more of his darkness(plague)

• Nico and will were so cute throughout this book but that one scene when they got into an argument I had to stop reading an process it and LIKE I WAS READING IT IN CLASS so my friend was What happened?! And the Nicknamesss, Like Night light, Demigod Care bear, Therapy Globe( can’t remember all of it), field medic will solace. Also during the arguement hiss-majesty and screech-bling were like 🐸🐸🧌🧌🧀🎩

• Nicos Cocoa Puffs are amazing but I also thought Cacodemons were a weird name so in my head I kept calling them cocomelons 😭

• During that one scene when will stepped in the goop monster cyst generator looking thing didn’t will like lose his shoe? So did he go around Tartarus shoeless or not am I just confused.

• THERE EXCHANGE OF GIFTS WAS SO CUTE Like Nico with a coin that each side represent them and Will with Nicos RING AHHHH! Also who wants to bet on how many times will tried to apologize to that nymph he accidentally screamed at.

• So you know how Nico kinda let his Cocoa Puffs free (like his demons) I imagine that Will will also try to let go more of his darkness and let out more emotions that aren’t just positive emotions.

• Shal and Piper r amazing too love them. Also I lost it when piper was like ‘Your smoking hot boyfriend Will Solace’ To mock Nico and she has made relate to her on the whole figuring out the identity thing yet.

I probably have other thing to say just don’t wanna Make this any longer.

#the sun and the star #will solace #solangelo #nico di angelo #piper mclean #aaaaaahhhhhhhhh #the sun and the star spoilers #pjo hoo toa #percy jackson

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finniestoncrane · 1 year

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One Caress

Dano!Riddler x GN!Reader, word count: 6.5k commission: dano!riddler with some psychological torture 🐀💚 commission me here! request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: stalking, threats, dubcon to enthusiastic participation

The platform was slick and wet, glistening with the reflections of the dim, overhead lights. The air in Gotham was always thick, yet icy cold, and you shivered into your coat as you stood close to the wall, desperately trying to sink into the shadows. It was better to be unnoticeable, much safer. Of course, better than being almost invisible, was being with someone else. There was always something to be wary of, something lurking in the dreary alleys, sometimes not lurking at all it would seem. In your peripheral, you could see two men, whispering together, certain that they had pointed at you before getting back into their two-man huddle.

Alone in Gotham was almost certainly a death sentence.

Staring down the platform, there was only one other person there. The lone refuge available to you.

Yes, it was better to be with someone in Gotham. Even if that someone was a weedy looking stranger who just happened to share the train platform with you. At the very least, it might keep the advances of some of the more timid criminals at bay. Calculating the risk, you reached the conclusion that you were more likely to die at the hands of two men, than by the hands of one rather weak looking specimen. So, you shuffled quickly towards him, sitting down beside him on the bench he had staked out.

You startled him, deep shock on his face, his body jerking back and stiffening to the point where if he had been standing, you were sure his solid body would have toppled over and shattered into a million tiny pieces.

“Do I know you? What are you doing?”

“I’m so sorry, I’m just…” you gestured with your eyes, head slightly nodding behind you towards the two men who were lingering, not obvious, but definitely still monitoring the situation “…just trying not to get mugged, or worse.”

He looked behind you at the two men, narrowing his eyes behind his glasses, but he didn’t speak up. He didn’t say anything. Instead, he turned away from you, settling back into his hunched over position.

“So can I sit here?”

Without looking up, he muttered his response softly.

“Oh, yeah…sure.”

“Thank you.”

You introduced yourself to him, waiting patiently for him to say something in return.

“Ok.”

There was no indication that he was about to open up to you, even slightly. His body was still, focused on the ground.

“Are you…”

“Sorry, I’m Edward. Ed. Eddie.”

Feeling as though you had truly accomplished something, you felt genuine warmth spread through you as you realised you were cracking through his exterior. After all, it was good to make friends, especially ones you might share a commute with. Who could make the world a little less lonely and a bit less terrifying. And it didn’t hurt that he was also pretty cute. Shy, soft features, a bit nerdy looking. A welcome change, really.

“Nice to meet you, Eddie.”

“Yeah, you too.”

Eddie seemed to be desperate to focus his attention on anything but you, or at least to try and convince you that he was deep in thought, too busy for idle conversation, as he shuffled around his backpack, avoiding any eye contact, never turning his body towards you.

From the left, the train appeared around the corner, loudly proclaiming its presence with the dull rumbling of its wheels against the wet tracks, brake screeching as the doors opened.

“It was nice to meet you.” At his words, you brought your hand up, thinking he was prepared to shake it. It obviously took him by surprise though, as he blinged a few times before participating in the pretty common human ritual. Eddie stood up and got on, not waiting for you. And once inside the carriage, you lost him, eventually spotting him perched awkwardly on a free seat near another man further down. It was ok, though, you were safe amongst the crow of people standing by the doors. It would do for now. You could lament the loss of a potential friend, but safety in numbers. That was a relief in itself.

And you were almost thankful that you’d lost him. Maybe not at a surface level, definitely not somewhere in your mind that you were able to be aware of it. But lurking below, you knew that there had been a strange feeling when you made physical contact. There was something about Edward that had set off little alarm bells in your deep subconscious, regardless of how handsome and plain and polite he had seemed.

That feeling might have been why you remembered him so well, and why you thought of him. Although, you hadn’t yet properly decoded the new obsession, instead mistaking it for a crush. He was pretty cute, and that sweet, social awkward attitude really did things for you. He was definitely always lurking there, something to think about when you had a dull moment behind the counter at the store. Everybody fell in love with strangers on the train though, right? It felt different though. You were borderline obsessed, to the point that you could have sworn you’d seen him walk past the sore, and then again on a different day on the opposite side of the street, staring in. Wishful thinking, you supposed.

The crush didn’t occupy your mind for much longer though, as shortly after your chance encounter with Eddie, the letters began.

Well, not so much letters as greetings cards, slid under your door and waiting for you when you got home from work, or after a day or night out. Always when you were away from home. Never stamped. Because whoever was sending them knew where you lived, knew your schedule. And each one of them was customised, little bits of personalisation, like whoever was sending them was bizarrely adept at paper crafts. The artistic flair, and its ability to inspire fear that spread through your blood like a disease, was impressive.

After a week of the cards, sometimes two or more a day if you left your apartment more than once, you were losing your mind. Your ‘secret admirer’ as they called themselves, had wriggled into your brain and they were gnawing away at it, likely relishing in how nervous you now were. Watching your every move, quietly giggling to themselves when they saw you turning around quickly to make sure no one was following you.

But just as you were really losing yourself, you were offered a break, a reprieve from the stress and fear. Because one day, you happened to look up from the register and noticed a familiar face looking at the soda cabinet.

“Eddie?”

He looked around, finally focusing on you, the only other person in the store. With his hand holding the bottle, he gestured towards himself, taking a few tentative steps towards you.

“It’s me! From the station?”

Eddie responded with as polite a smile as you imagined he could muster, but it was plainly obvious that he didn’t remember you at all. Heart sinking, you tried not to let this get you down too much. It would be easy to resign yourself to thinking that everything in your life was terrible. The job, the stalker, the inability to hold the attention of someone who looked as though he might speak to a stranger once every three months, and only then when he had to.

But not to be deterred, you made an attempt to jog his memory, and after you recounted most of what you considered your romance novel worthy ‘meet-cute’ story, he seemed to remember you. Or at least, he was polite enough to pretend to.

“So, uh…maybe we could meet for a drink sometime? I’d love to thank you for letting me sit by you.”

“You want to…have a drink with me? It’s really not necessary.”

“Please? I won’t feel right if I don’t. You’ve been on my mind ever since.”

Blushing at your reveal, you quickly averted your gaze to the floor, kicking your feet a little bit, trying to calm yourself before you said something else that made your body cringe and crumple like a piece of thin paper.

“I guess that would be ok then.”

You almost dropped your phone as you fumbled with it, trying to get it out and get his number before he had a chance to change his mind.

“Give me your number and I’ll text you, we can work out a time!”

Once you had him, stuck in your phone, a quick text sent to share your number (and to make sure he hadn’t given you a fake one) he left in a hurry, blushing as he left. Finally, something positive. Something to drown out the seemingly never-ending stresses of life in Gotham. At least for the time being. A small distraction was all you needed though in order to get back on your feet.

And when you got off work, there was a text from Eddie waiting for you. Half expecting it to be a polite rejection, you were shocked to find he had taken the initiative to arrange your date. Or not date, just a thank you drink. But if you were lucky…

In three days from now, Friday evening, you’d be meeting him at a bar not too far from the station where you had met. Very considerate of him to arrange it just in time for you getting off work.

The whole way home you were practically bouncing, telling every stranger that you sidled up to for safety about your date. And when you got to your apartment, opening the door to see the greetings card on the floor, you brought your foot down on to it, slid it behind you in to the hall, dirty footprint imprinted onto the envelope, and shut the door on it.

They kept coming though, never escalating in tone or message. And there was no point in going to the police. In Gotham? What would be the point. ‘Someone’s sending you cards, lady? Without anthrax in them? And they’re not letter bombs? Come back when you have something interesting.’ No, there was nothing to do but try and ignore them, which would have been a futile effort had you not had Eddie to distract you.

Even as you sat at the booth in the bar, nervously but patiently waiting for his arrival, alone and vulnerable, you were still consumed enough by the thought of Eddie that your stalker and any potential danger was far from your mind.

But then you happened to catch a glimpse of the TV in the corner, playing some scrolling news channel, closed captions detailing the report that was playing on Gotham’s newest threat, The Riddler. He was enough to strike instant fear in anyone, to be fair. Suddenly your stalker didn’t seem too bad, in the grand scheme of things. There were shivers coursing through your veins as you watched the clip of his stream, that mask, and behind it unhinged and volatile, hairs on end as you read the words on screen, digested his murders, so hypnotised by terror that you hadn’t noticed Eddie approaching you from behind.

“Hello.”

Startled out of your trance, you jumped and let out a little squeak, worry emblazoned on Eddie’s face instantly as he took a step back from you.

“Sorry! Please, Eddie, sit down. I was just distracted by the…”

You droned off, eyes averting back to the images on screen, the words along the bottom, details of the crime, horrible, gruesome. Trying to refocus your attention on Eddie, you noticed he was watching too, eyes wide behind his glasses, mouth neutral, not scared, oddly void of emotion as though he were trying to force it down. Trying to hide his nerves from you, maybe. As he turned and took a seat, he offered a wry smile.

“Thanks for arranging this, Eddie. I really wanted to let you know how much I appreciated you letting me sit by you, and for letting me thank you. If that makes any sense?” You giggled lightly into your drink, Eddie sipping at the one he had brought over for himself. “If I’m babbling, just let me know.”

“No, it’s alright. Are you ok though? You seem…less bright and bubbly, much less confident that you were before. Is something the matter?”

Your heart thumped, breath catching in your throat, luckily able to be disguised by your sips. Were you really that nervous? Had the news, your stalker, the general atmosphere of Gotham, really gotten to you to the point that you were no longer yourself? And beside that, underneath the worry, excitement bubbled up. Eddie had pinpointed aspects of your personality, and had remembered them well enough that he could tell there was something wrong.

Pathetically grateful that he had asked, had shown some concern, you let out a monologue to rival most of Shakespeare, directed just at him. And he sat, nodding politely, listening intently to your troubles, offering a sympathetic ear and a gentle smile.

“So, yeah. I’ve just been edgy because of the news. And those greetings cards aren’t helping. They’re not horrible or anything, I just…”

“I understand. Have you considered though that the intentions are nice? Isn’t it possible that whoever is sending them is expressing feelings for you that they might not be able to express otherwise?”

You looked across the table at him, concerned that he might be sympathising with your stalker, worried that he wasn’t taking you seriously after all. And he must have sensed you shifting uncomfortably, as he began sputtering out words, digging himself out of the hole he was beginning to make for himself.

“I don’t mean…I just…is there someone you know who might fit the bill? That you can have someone confront for you?”

“No, I don’t think so. So far, I only really know you in Gotham. I moved here for work. How’s that going for me, huh?” You rolled your eyes, taking in a deep breath and sinking into your drink.

“Well, maybe it’s just someone being weird. Whoever he is, he probably wants you scared. That’s likely the intention. And are you…scared?”

“Well, yes. It’s working!”

Eddie offered a gentle, lopsided smile. It was easy to talk to him. It felt like he already knew you, and you already knew him. Like you had been friends for years. Though he didn’t reveal much about himself, he seemed open. And he was a great listener. There was no indication that he was anything less than enthralled when you spoke of your hobbies, told him what you liked to do on a Saturday, mentioned your plans for your dream vacation.

And thought you felt a bit of guilt at how long you spoke of your job, detailing everything about it that made it so boring, so stifling, he never once looked like he was waiting for you to wrap it up. Instead, he was sympathetic.

“I understand completely. My job is a means to an end.”

“That’s exactly it! But I don’t know what the end is for me. There’s nowhere to go. I can’t go up, I can’t even go side to side. I feel very…trapped.”

“Like a rat in a maze.”

“Eddie, you get me so well. I just…do you ever feel like everything is out to get you? Like the entire system is set up in favour of the other? And you’re expected to just trudge along, trying to make the best of what is essentially a nightmare of a situation?”

He reached out and placed his hand softly on top of yours.

“More than most, I think I know exactly what you mean.”

Removing his hand swiftly, as though he felt he had become too casual, too personable, he shot you an apologetic but sweet smile.

“It’s hurtful to see someone so cheerful and kind be brought down by this place.”

“Oh, Eddie. I’m not…I’m ok, really.”

“But Gotham, it does things to a person. I’d like nothing more than to fix it. To rid it of the atmosphere that brings good people to their knees.”

You stared at him, eyes wide at the sudden outburst of passion in his words, his voice unwavering, eyes focused on you. Like he was a completely different person, coming out from behind the mask.

“At least, I’d like everyone to feel…good. Safe.”

“And I genuinely feel safer having you around. Even with my stalker, and now this idiot.” You gestured to the television, still covering the news of The Riddler. Eddie blinked slowly before speaking again.

“Well, given how we met, I’d like to extend my…services.” He smiled awkwardly, met with your own flirtatious grin back. “I’m always here if you need me.”

And though your stalker pursued their relentless campaign of psychological torture over the next week, you kept Eddie’s offer at the back of your mind. Which was helpful, because when your stalker somehow realised that you were no longer reading the cards, that’s when the texts began.

An unknown number, messages at least four times a day. Each time you blocked one, another came in. Persistent to the point where you stopped blocking them, allowing them to flood in, one by one, declaring love, outlining their intentions to have you. In a desperate bid to find some comfort, you invited Eddie over for dinner at your apartment. It was easy to find your ongoing conversation with him through the other messages. His was the only contact in your phone with a little love-heart after his name.

With a date set, you were thankful. It couldn’t have come at a better time. Your anxiety was at a peak. Each day there was more and more news about The Riddler, that mask staring out from the television screen, threatening and yet somehow childish. Hopefully, if dinner went well, you could convince Eddie to stay the night. If you sealed the deal, you might be able to get him to sleepover a lot more often. Not just for the safety, you found him to be oddly comforting. As though when you were with him, you didn’t have to be afraid of The Riddler, of your stalker. With Eddie there with you, it was like they didn’t exist in the world outside of your apartment anymore.

And everything was going well, the way to a man’s heart truly being through his stomach.

“I don’t know when the last time someone cooked for me was.”

“It counts if you cook for yourself though!”

“Hm, do microwavable meals count as cooking?”

“Ok you should come over a lot more often. Even if it’s just to be fed.”

He looked up from his plate, shovelling the last mouthful in, gentle smile pressing into his cheeks.

Eddie stood up, plate in hand, but you took it from him, dropping it into the sink.

“Let me help you with that.”

“Actually, Eddie, we can leave those for now. I had other plans.”

Before he could protest, your lips were on him, hushing him, whatever words he was about to say melting into a moan against your mouth. And with the physical contact, your fears felt like they were melting away. Any stress that had been brought on by the terror you were living in turned into vicious passion as you bit at his lips, tongue forced almost to his throat. Fervent hands grasping at his shirt, your fingers deftly undoing two buttons, finally feeling Eddie’s hands against your body instead of nervously by his side.

No longer polite and cordial, limited by his own social anxieties, Eddie was someone almost completely different in those moments. His hand, palm flat against your hip, fingers gently teasing at the fabric of your shirt, the other behind your head, gently tracing your jawline. With your hand on his, you brought it around to kiss his palm, noticing all the tiny cuts on it.

“Oh! Eddie, what happened? Are you ok?”

“They’re just papercuts.” He snatched the hand away before you could finish cooing over them.

“You poor baby! How did you get so many?”

“It’s…uh…my job, files and things.”

“Here, let me kiss them better.”

As you moved to grab his hand again, he stepped back from you completely.

“I actually think I should go now.”

“Woah, wait. What happened?”

“Nothing! I had a lovely evening, but…I’d rather things not get so heated this quickly?”

As disappointed as you were, it only increased your lust for him. You wanted him, and he wasn’t letting you have him. Everything about him was so strangely attractive. It was always the quiet ones, the polite men, those were the ones who had something lurking under the surface, waiting to come out. And you hoped to god that Eddie was hiding something truly spectacular under his soft, nerdy exterior.

And you got a glimpse at that something, but it wasn’t necessarily pleasant. Because as he sifted through his open wallet for his train ticket, you noticed the driver’s license in the front of the wallet said Patrick Parker. Pretending not to notice, you leant in and kissed him again, pressing one on his cheek for good measure as you walked him to the door. You could think about the implications of his lie later. Not everyone gave a different name for nefarious reasons. There was a myriad of excuses you could think of for him.

With a bruised ego and diminished libido, you sat down on your sofa, flicking through the channels and trying desperately to ignore the 24-hour news cycle’s obsession with The Riddler. But all you could think of was Eddie. He had a strange hold on you. It wasn’t normal for you to be so infatuated with someone so quickly, but he had an air of what you thought could only be mystery about him. And you were worried you had maybe put him off, or scared him away by being so forward. Either way, you were worried about him. Why had he given you a fake name? Or why did he have a fake ID? And what happened to his hands? They looked like papercuts, sure, but there were so many. And what man is turning down what was definitely turning into second date sex?

A nice one. A polite one? One that’s not interested in you.

Sighing, you tipped your head behind you onto the back of the couch, scrunching your eyes closed and trying hard not to let your mind catastrophise the evening. Eddie was a gentleman, that was all. He just wasn’t interested in pursuing you too quickly. Maybe he thought it wasn’t the right time. You had spent a lot of the evening tell him how scared you were. But he hadn’t seemed that worried. Was that a front?

Trying to think back to the evening’s conversation, you realised that Eddie had seemed a little aloof when you were discussing your stresses. He had known that the letters had stopped. Had you told him though? Probably. You let yourself rant to him with no filter when you were around him. It was easy to open up to his innocent looking face. And when you spoke of The Riddler, he had been adamant that you had nothing to worry about. But how could he be so certain? This city was a hellscape, and Eddie didn’t seem to be concerned by any of it. You were though. And you wished Eddie was here to instil some of his confidence in you, because right now you were terrified.

As though on cue, there was a dull thud in the other room, and you jumped from the sofa, straight up, hands clutching at your chest in fright. A quick glance to your left at your phone, wondering if you should call Eddie, even after the way he left. He did offer you companionship if you ever felt unsafe, after all. But you persevered and took slow, careful steps to the bedroom, picking up the rolling pin from the kitchen counter as your weapon of choice.

The element of surprise was crucial, but equally terrifying. You brandished your weapon, took two deep breaths and slammed the door open, screaming as you charged forward, swinging the rolling pin around and trying to make contact with anything or anyone. Waiting for the dull thuds of a strike to let you know you had at least knocked your assailant back.

But there was no one there.

Adrenaline beginning to fade, heartbeat returning to a safe rate, you padded around the bed, over to the window. It was cute for the aesthetics, having a window by the fire escape, but it had always filled you with the kind of dread that came with the lingering threat of home invasion. The window was shut though, locked from the inside. You double checked, even. You stood back to take in the fire escape, in case you could see anyone outside, your socks suddenly becoming cold and wet. There was a puddle on the floor. The sound of the rain, hard and deafening, would likely last until morning, serving as a reminder to let your landlord know there was a leak. Not that anything would come of it. Maybe Eddie would come around to fix it?

Leaving yourself with that thought, you returned to the lounge to clean up before heading to bed. The only time you were free of the worries. Though the greetings cards, their little love messages and secret codes, were pervasive enough to break through. They always did.

And while you lay still, face screwing up in disgust at the horror show your mind was treating you to, the closet door eased open slowly. A figure, dark, shadowy, exiting and standing at the foot of the bed, taking you in as you slept fitfully. Admiring their work, the window, locked behind them. Cursing the little puddle where the droplets of rain on the slick coat had fallen, rousing suspicions, before they were able to make their big reveal.

Pacing around the side of the bed, they leaned in to you, your body stirring at the primal sense of being watched. As you opened your eyes, blinking, adjusting to the darkness, you finally noticed them. Your pitiful scream cut off quickly by a gloved hand. In a panic, you tried to bite, wriggling and trying to sit up, but their body was on yours, straddling you on the mattress, the creaks and squeaks explicit in their nature. With tense fists, you beat your hands against the torso, tears pooling in your eyes and falling down the sides of your face.

“Stop it! It’s me! It’s me!”

A deep voice, the one from the streams. Familiar. His hand was removed from your mouth and he held them up, palms out.

“It’s me.”

“The Riddler…”

“Well, yes. But it’s…Eddie.”

He removed the mask slowly, unveiling his silly little face. The cherubic one that had promised to protect you not long ago, that had been in your apartment just hours before. A surprised sob pushed out of your throat.

“I’m sorry, I could have thought of a better way of…introducing you…I just wanted to let you know that now you don’t need to be scared of anything! Because what you’re scared of…is me!”

Your chest heaved as a loud gasp fell from your mouth. He was right, but so wrong. This was a fucking nightmare. There was no way it was happening. In a bid to at least exercise some self-preservation, you tried to shout for help, but his hand slammed down over your mouth again. A look of disappointment, irritation, crossing his face.

“Now, why would you do that? I can protect you. I told you that! There’s no need to worry!”

His voice seemed different, not as controlled or paced as it usually was. Usually? You barely knew him. You didn’t know him at all in fact. You had met him three times in total. But where he was at least polite and soft before, now he seemed almost hysterical, punctuated by the fact that he was smiling almost cruelly, giggling to himself.

“You’re so confused, ok let me explain!”

“Eddie, please.”

“Ok, that has to stop I’m afraid.”

With a swift motion, he unclipped a roll of duct tape from the carabiner attached to his belt, tearing off a piece and securing it over your mouth.

“Please, if you’re not going to read my letters and cards, all my messages, the least you can do is let me talk face to face.”

Your heart sank, the physical feeling causing a wave of nausea to settle over you. It was hard to believe how taken in you had been. The cards, the messages, they had been coming from Eddie, in a bid to control you? Or was he trying to let you know how he felt, like he mentioned in the bar. If you were scared, terrified, then you’d be more likely to turn to your saviour. And he’d made himself your saviour. And while you were still in shock, you were beginning to feel more than horror at the fact that you were still lying there, gazing deep into his big eyes behind the mask. The last thing you needed was to be on his bad side. And it was still Eddie after all. In his own weird way, he had been trying to impress you. Or were you just convincing yourself of that? Either way, there was no getting past the fact that you found him weirdly hot in his outfit. A thought that had you lurching, trying to remove yourself from your own body.

As his ranting continued, trying to convince you that everything he had done was for you, you were beginning to be convinced.

“It’s nice to feel needed. Do you know how badly I want to save everyone? And you begged me to save you!”

Leftover desire from earlier, the lack of satisfaction at his own hands, the feeling of unresolved lust.

“And I want to! I’ve been watching you, protecting you when you didn’t even know! Trying to show you my devotion! And you’ve been so grateful so far. It’s made me feel really good.”

It was possible that it was the adrenaline, maybe your mind trying to convince you to make the best of a bad situation, but you were entirely swept off your feet by his declarations, the dedication to you he was explaining. It was romantic, stirring a warmth inside of you.

“Now, please don’t scream again. I’d hate for this to go wrong.”

He removed the duct tape in a quick snatch, crumpling it and tossing it to the side.

“Eddie, you don’t have to…I’m grateful?”

The questioning tone was unintentional, but genuine. You weren’t sure if you were grateful. But you weren’t ungrateful either. And as sweet as Eddie was, as much as you wanted, a few hours ago, to fuck nice Edward, there was something entirely more appealing about fucking The Riddler. Fear and passion toe the line against each other after all.

Almost at the same time as you noticed your own arousal building, Eddie seemed to noticed too. As you pressed your thighs together, trying to contain yourself, he trailed off from his sermon, eyes trailing up your body, eyes wide as though he had only just realised that you lay before him, sleeping in panties and a t-shirt, more exposed that he’d seen you before. In a show of his real self, or whichever version of him Eddie was, his eyes flitted around the room, awkwardly trying to avert his gaze as he tugged the jacket over his pants.

In a bold move that shocked you, words came out of your mouth without any cognitive action required.

“Is that a murder weapon, or are you just…pleased to be here.”

He pulled out a flat, shiny silver tool from his pocket.

“Both.”

His little smile, goofy and gentle, pressed upwards into his cheeks as he giggled to himself, watching you bite your lip. Lifting it up, he slapped the flat end against his gloved palm, your breath hitching at the sound.

“Would you…like to see it in action?”

You nodded silently.

“Of course you do. I knew it from the moment you sidled up to me on that platform. You’re a little slut. It’s a disappointment, for sure. But it’s one I expected. You’re a woman after all.”

“I’m sorry, Eddie.” You were trying to control the excitement in your voice, not wanting to distract from the scenario he was laying out before you.

“A good start. But show me you mean it though.”

You leant up, shuffling to the edge of the bed and turning around, knees under your stomach as you bent over. Face pressed into the mattress, ass in the air. A leather glove fell softly to your cheeks, curving around them, gliding to your hips and down your thighs. The touch was soft, careful and thoughtful. But it was contrasted by the sudden crack that echoed in the room as the smooth, cold tool made contact with your skin. It nipped, the stinging echoing around the flesh, ringing out internally as well as externally. Before you had time to relish in the tingling as the pain ebbed away, you were struck again, a lurid little yelp coming out, in turn inspiring a soft moan and a giggle from Eddie behind you.

In quick succession, he brought the tool to you four more times, no break for reprieve in between the smacks, and with tears forming in your eyes, you managed to gasp out a “please”, to which Eddie dropped his weapon to the floor and soothed over the skin. Red imprints under his leather glove.

“You’ve been a very good girl so far. My good girl.”

His body was suddenly crumpled over you, collapsing you into the bed as he leant his entire weight on you. Mouth agape, pressed against your ear where you could hear his warm breath, hear the whimpering as he removed the gloves from his hands, two bare fingers being thrust into your mouth. He stretched them into a V, stretching the corners of your lips, nails and fingertips pressed into the gums.

“Come on.”

You managed out a muffled ‘hm?’ but audible enough that he knew you were feigning ignorance at his intrusion.

“Suck.”

Letting your tongue press flat against his fingers when he brought them together again, you pouted around them, saliva covering them as you hollowed your cheeks, humming in pleasure.

“You’re good at that. Are the skills transferable?”

“I don’t…”

“Get on your knees and show me.”

Once you were on the floor, knees on the hard wood, you looked up at him, batting your eyelashes, lips apart in a suggestive pout.

“Now what, Eddie?”

“Do you need me to show you?”

“I think so.” You looked away from him, acting coy, trying to instil the role of confidence in him, since this new side of Eddie was one you weren’t sure you wanted to usher away too quickly.

“God, you’re so stupid, hm?”

“I really am, Eddie. I’m so stupid, I’m just a stupid little slut.”

With a shuddering breath, Eddie frantically began undoing his belt, unzipping his pants and letting them fall down. The bottom of his coat covered him, but you raised your hands and slowly pulled down the zip, revealing his thick, solid length, taking it in your hand as you looked up at him. His face was red, blushing, but he maintained eye contact as you leant your head forwards, pausing just before your mouth made contact with his hard cock.

“Like this, Eddie?”

“Fuck.”

You took his head in your mouth, tongue lapping at his precum, letting yourself drool over it, hungrily, before sliding your mouth down further, to the point where you were sure you couldn’t take any more of him. As your nose met with the small tuft of light brown hair at the base of his cock, his head hit the back of your throat, and you choked around him. Saliva dripping from your lips and down the shaft of his length.

“It’s ok. It’s ok. You’re doing so good.”

He brought one of his hands to the back of your head, gathering up your hair and twisting it around his fingers. With his grip on you, he took control, easing your head gently but quickly up and down, bobbing around his twitching cock. Between moans, Eddie was still insistent on lecturing you.

“I think about you…all the time...mmm…huh…I watch you…everywhere…you go…fuck…I’ve kept you so…so safe…hmm…and everything…I’m going to do…what I’m about…god…to become…hng…you can think of it…as another…heh…one of my little…love notes.”

With a slick pop, he removed himself from you, a strand of saliva connecting the soft, red head of his cock to your lips. The explicit image of you on the floor on your knees, servitude to him, was sending him into a frenzied fit of desperation. Hand still wrapped around your hair, he teased you up, letting you drop down onto the bed.

“Lie back. Let me show you how much you mean to me.”

Once you were in position, at his complete mercy, he tore at your panties, yanking them down your legs hurriedly, spreading your thighs apart with his hands, long soft fingers lingering in their grip on your skin, leaving you only to grab his cock at the base, guiding himself inside of you with a deep breath and a mewling little moan.

“Ah..aha…ha”

He laughed as he found his pace, thrusting forward into you, lifting your ankles and bending your legs at the knee, hands following down to your thighs where he dug his fingers in again, using the pull to bring you closer, to get himself deeper inside of you.

With each motion, you could feel yourself clenching around him, walls stretched by his surprising thickness, whimpering as he became more forceful, as his grunts were replaced by one word, repeated over and over, punctuating every little rutting motion he made.

“Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.”

“I’m yours, Eddie.”

“Mmm…thank you…thank…you…I can’t…I can’t…much longer…”

“Oh, Eddie.”

His knees weakened under him, just as he let himself thrust in once more, stopping inside of you to let himself cum, filling you with his hot seed, groaning at the view when he pulled out slowly, your lips swollen, dripping, covered in him. A mark of his ownership.

Collapsing next to you in the bed, jacket still on, opened and exposing his soft sweatshirt, he pulled you into him, holding you tight, almost painfully, against his chest.

“See, you don’t have to worry. As long as you’re mine. If you’re mine, then he can’t hurt you. I can’t hurt you.”

It was almost cold, the way that he said it. Despite the warmth that was forced into the tone. The words themselves were threatening, commanding.

“I’ll protect you. It’s better to have someone in Gotham. Safety in numbers.”

#finnie writes #riddler smut #fanfic #the riddler fanfic #riddler fanfic #riddler x reader #riddler x you #ridler scenario #dano riddler #dano!riddler #edward nashton #the riddler fanfiction #the riddler #paul dano #danonation #cw dubcon #cw stalking

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pjo-hoo-toa-freakazoid · 1 year

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Tsats spoilers ahead

From the preview vid from Rick’s Instagram

Bob and Screech-bling mention!

Fields of punishment mention

Can’t quite make out what this scene could be but adding the points above it could potentially be them planning or discussing routes of the underworld and ultimately landing on the Fields of punishment. Maybe Screech-Bling’s accompanying them in the journey

So these guys could maybe already be in the underworld judging by the ‘Will already looked Miserable—’ line.

Ok I’m theoryless I’m just describing the potential scene?? Help 😭😭😭

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tsarisfanfiction · 10 months

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Eclipse: Chapter 24

Fandom: Trials of Apollo Rating: Teen Genre: Family/Adventure Characters: Apollo, Hades Another long chapter ahead! I had a lot of fun writing this chapter... hopefully it doesn't get too confusing in places. I have a discord server for all my fics, including this one! If you wanna chat with me or with other readers about stuff I write (or just be social in general), hop on over and say hi! <<Chapter 23

APOLLO XXIV

The silver titan Trapped within his buried cell Trouble comes hunting

The titan didn’t move, but his eyes flickered from where they had been regarding – searching – Apollo to focus directly on Hades.

“I am both,” he said. His voice was lower than Apollo expected – not the gravelly tones of Alcyoneus, but a voice that would no doubt join the bass section of a choir. “Bob and Iapetus.” He didn’t move from where he sat. “They are different stages of my existence but I will not erase either from who I am, now that the choice is mine.”

That… Apollo could understand that, to some extent. Zeus had not stripped his memories, the way Iapetus had been dunked in the Lethe, but he had taken away everything else, forced him to be Lester while he fought to still be Apollo.

He was both now, too. Lester-Apollo, Screech-Bling had titled him, the same way mortals had once named him Phoebus Apollon, and many others beside. Lester was another part of him, part of his history but part of his growth, of who he was now, for all that he still preferred and used Apollo as his name.

Even Hades inclined his head minutely in what Apollo assumed was a gesture of at the least comprehension, if not understanding, although he otherwise stood tall. His uncle was wary, he realised – Apollo had no personal history with the titan, but his uncle had once fought against him, and no doubt knew him well from the battles.

There was a lot to learn about your opponent in a war.

“Which stage are you in now?” the older god asked, and the titan made a noise that could almost be resigned amusement.

“Nico taught me much about demigods, humanity, and kindness,” he said, “and it appears that once learnt, those things tend to stick. I am Bob, now, Hades, and I do not think I will ever use the name Iapetus again, but do not mistake that for the amnesiac, bumbling janitor who swept your halls. I have not discarded the title of Titan of the West, nor the Piercer.”

“Bob the Piercer, Titan of the West,” Apollo mused, sounding out the name. “I understand.”

Those sharp silver eyes snapped back to him. “Leto’s son, if I’m not mistaken. Phoebus, as I recall.”

It was a light feeling, to be called his mother’s son, rather than his father’s. Apollo nodded. “Phoebus Apollo,” he clarified, and was surprised at a look of near-approval in Bob’s eyes.

“I can see Phoebe in you,” he said. Apollo had barely heard his maternal grandmother’s name in millennia, outside of his own epithet. It was rare enough that his titaness mother was mentioned in modern times. The titan looked between the pair of them. “What brings the two of you to visit me? Missing your janitor, Hades?”

“Nico.” The demigod’s name was heavy in the miasma of the prison, sitting between the three of them with no mere insignificance. Bob’s eyes widened a fraction. “My son.”

“You, a god, came down here on the request of a demigod?” Bob asked, clearly surprised. Apollo understood that, too – gods did not do things because demigods asked them to. It just didn’t happen.

“No,” Hades said. “I came down here because my foolish son intended to come back himself.”

“What?” Bob demanded, half-rising from where he sat in the first open display of emotion beyond guarded curiosity. “No. Nico, Percy, Annabeth… none of them must come back! The Pit… he would obliterate them from existence!”

“In that, at least, we are in agreement,” Hades told him, voice clipped short. “I have explicitly forbidden my son from ever attempting to return here, but for you, it appears he had no qualms about attempting to disobey me.”

“Nico…” Bob sighed, shaking his head in something lightly despairing. Apollo knew that feeling all too well. “So you are here to, what, eliminate me so that Nico has no reason to try?” Apollo found himself pinned by silver eyes again. “And this does not explain Phoebus’ presence. Phoebe bequeathed you Delphi, did she not?”

Bob was clearly not someone to be underestimated. “One of my sons would not let Nico come alone,” Apollo told him, not responding to the veiled suspicion that there was a prophecy involved. Sometimes, prophecies were best left unshared, although he was well aware that the clear omission no doubt told Bob that there was one. From the look the titan gave him, he didn’t think that was a good enough reason by itself, but Apollo didn’t elaborate; for one thing, he didn’t know if Nico was out to the titan, and while Bob was of an era much like the gods where such things as same sex attraction and relationships were normal and nothing to get agitated about, that did not mean that coming out did not mean something far heavier in modern mortal’s eyes.

Hades, thankfully, showed a similar degree of tact by not elaborating on his behalf. “We came here,” he began, starting to inspect the wall separating them from the titan, “because the demigods’ intention was to get you out, and if we do not, they will.”

“Out of this prison, or out?” Bob demanded. Neither Hades nor Apollo answered, and he frowned. “I won’t say no to leaving this place,” he said, “but I find it difficult to believe that two Olympian gods want me free.”

He had a point – Apollo was acutely aware that they couldn’t necessarily trust the titan to not attempt something similar to Kronos, but he was also aware that Nico, and Will by extension, would not be satisfied until they knew Bob was no longer in trouble in Tartarus.

“Consider this thanks for keeping Nico alive during his time down here,” Hades replied, rather dryly.

Bob assessed him with clear suspicion. “You put a demigod’s life on par with a titan’s?”

Hades put a stubborn hand on the brass material separating the two of them. “My sole and last living son’s life,” he corrected, an admittance Apollo had never expected to hear him say, especially to a titan. “Although should you betray him, or me, I will not hesitate to send you straight back here.”

Finally, a slow grin spread across the titan’s face. “That, I can believe,” Bob said, standing up straight at last. “Very well, Hades, Phoebus. Get me out of here and I will not betray Nico’s trust… nor either of you unless you betray me first. Does that sound fair?”

Apollo glanced over at Hades, and was slightly surprised to see his uncle glance back at him; he had expected the exchange to be primarily led by the older god. So far through what could only be called negotiations, he had not anticipated his opinion being sought, and yet Hades’ glance could only be described as in askance.

Usually, an agreement as potentially devastating if broken as the one Bob proposed was sworn on the Styx, but Styx had been specifically appointed the keeper of godly oaths, and while that trickled through to bind their children through their heritage, it did not backtrack through lineage to the titans – and even if it did, as far as Apollo knew, Iapetus had had no godly descendants himself. Nymphs, yes, and even mortals if his lineage was traced far enough, but no gods.

It was an exercise in – and a test of – trust. He and Hades could be bound to the Styx, if pressed, but Bob would not be, and binding themselves thus when the titan could break the agreement without consequence was in no way a good idea.

That being said, Apollo sensed no lie in the titan’s intentions. There was no tang of deception hanging between them, nor had he seen any glimpses of potential futures where Bob turned on them. That was not to say it would not happen – Apollo’s glimpses of futures were sporadic at best, and the Fates often withheld vital personal moments from him (such as his third time mortal, or before that the slaughter of his children on Williamsburg Bridge, for all that he’d seen other parts of the Battle of Manhattan long before it came to pass, and glimpses of New Rome burning as the undead spilled across its streets – something he wished he’d remembered seeing when mortal, facing down the possibility of Tarquin) – but one way or another, the lack was significant.

He nodded back at Hades. The known risks of not helping Bob escape far outweighed the known risks of helping – only one decision did not invite their kind-hearted sons to seek Bob out themselves, something that neither he nor Hades wanted, and Bob seemed likewise dismayed at the prospect of. They were odds he was willing to take.

“Very well,” Hades agreed, looking directly at the imprisoned titan. “Those terms are acceptable.” He placed a hand once again on the wall between them, and began to shimmer the purple darkness of his essence, now streaked through with a light Apollo had not seen until Alcyoneus. “Apollo.” The order was clear, and Apollo stepped forwards, pressing his own hand to the brass structure. His own essence reached out cautiously, feeling the threatening tendrils of Tartarus rebelling against his existence.

The lighter streaks of Hades’ essence called to his, and Apollo carefully let his own answer, reaching out and intertwining gently with his uncle’s. It wasn’t quite mindreading, but it immediately gave him the sense of what Hades was doing, the way his power wasn’t assaulting the blockage directly but instead seeking the seams surrounding it and prying them open with far more finesse than a brute force attack could ever achieve.

One god’s raw power wasn’t enough to get through the prison walls – of course it wasn’t, otherwise more powerful inmates including the titans would have been able to break out whenever they chose – but with two combined, the brass began to buckle under the combined assault.

Apollo pushed harder, prying at the stress fractures that were beginning to open under the onslaught of two Olympians at near full power and widening them, delving as far in as he dared with his uncle by his side as they found the weakest point and wrenched it apart.

With a spark that turned into a boom, exploding outwards and punching through Apollo’s exposed essence viciously enough to leave him winded, the brass gave way, a gaping yawn in the material wide enough for Bob to push his way out, which was exactly what the titan did.

“Thank you,” he said. Apollo gave him a small grin as he pulled himself back together again, seeing Hades similarly regathering the tendrils of his essence and standing tall.

“No problem,” he replied. “Now how about we leave?”

Beneath their feet, the prison moved, shaking like an earthquake. The walls of the prison were sturdy, too sturdy to be brought down by simply moving earth, but there could be no way the timing was a coincidence.

“Come.” Hades gripped his forearm tightly, and extended a hand towards Bob, fixing him with an expectant look. The titan hesitated, clearly and admittedly understandably not fully trusting Hades’ motives, and the god clicked his tongue impatiently. “Unless you want to sneak past the guard yourself-”

Apollo’s consciousness was suddenly yanked in half, sudden and harsh enough that the part of it that remained in Tartarus missed the rest of Hades’ argument why Bob should concede to shadow travel. He knew the feeling of being in two places simultaneously instantly, and he also knew what seeing elsewhere and potentially elsewhen felt like, but he had hardly been prepared for it at that moment, when the rush of darkness and power and fear screamed that if they didn’t leave immediately something was about to go very wrong.

The sight of his two sons mollified him somewhat – how could it not, for all that the timing of this vision was absolutely terrible. Will looked better; far more awake and aware, although he was still sitting shoulder to shoulder with Nico on the floor by the bed. Nico, by contrast, looked more tired, as though he’d been using some of his powers since Apollo had last seen them.

Asclepius, much to his concerned surprise, was in conversation with none other than Thanatos, whose dark presence in Nico’s bedroom was wholly unexpected. The demigods appeared to be more or less ignoring the gods, with Will’s periodic glances up – a little wary, but Apollo couldn’t blame him when part of being a healer was keeping Death at bay, for all that it was truly in the hands of the Fates – the only real acknowledgement of their presence.

It was a peaceful scene, a sharp contrast to the sharp disagreement his Tartarus-inhabiting consciousness was hearing between a god and a titan who seemed to prefer the idea of fighting his way out to letting Hades take him anywhere through the shadows, although Apollo could admit Bob had a point and that the possibility of Hades losing control of shadow travel if Tartarus decided to intervene wasn’t zero – not that Hades was willing to admit as such. However, like his uncle, Apollo would also still rather take the shadow travel risk than fight Kampê.

Up in the Underworld, Thanatos tensed, his large wings flaring out and almost taking up the entire room. Will ducked, startled, as the iridescent black feathers narrowly missed the top of his head, but Nico stayed stock still, eyes narrowed as though something was suddenly bothering him. Asclepius was surveying the god of death with some degree of alarm – a feeling Apollo had to admit he was sharing.

“What’s wrong?” Will was the one to ask it, looking at his boyfriend with occasional concerned glances at the wings brushing the air above his head. “Is something-?”

“Something’s… not right,” Nico murmured, his voice shaking slightly. “I don’t- This feels like-”

“Lord Thanatos?” Asclepius ventured, drawing Apollo’s attention back towards the gods in the room. “What happened?”

The Chthonic god shook his head, hand twitching. Immediately, the large scythe materialised, taller than Will, who understandably skittered a little further away from the god, although not so far he was out of contact with Nico, who seemed to be gaining more and more comprehension – and fear – by the moment. It looked a wicked weapon, Stygian Iron for the reaping of reluctant souls, and in Thanatos’ grip it was clearly a familiar weapon, for all that Apollo had rarely seen it used for more than brushing souls.

“I…” he began, before his dark eyes fixed Asclepius firmly. “Protect the demigods.”

“From what?” Will demanded, one arm winding tightly around Nico’s shoulders as the son of Hades trembled. “What’s going on?”

For all his earlier unease around the god of death, Apollo’s demigod son didn’t falter as Thanatos turned to face him, his wings barely missing the demigods with the action.

“Nico,” the god said. “He will not reach this far.”

“I know,” the quivering teen said. “I know. But…”

“What’s going on?” Will demanded. Apollo dearly wanted to know that, too – the Underworld was supposed to be safe, what was scaring Thanatos? The god of death was clearly frightened, but there was very little that death would fear.

In Tartarus, the ground quivered again, and Apollo ducked as a whip cracked, its tip smashing into the side of the corridor. Hades let go of his forearm, growling curses in languages long forgotten by mortals as his sword leapt into his hand, and beside him, a long, silver spear materialised into Bob’s hand.

“She would never have let us escape, shadows or not,” the titan said, and Kampê cackled.

“Escape, Iapetus? Godlings? Escape doesn’t exist.”

“I have to go,” Thanatos said. “He has stirred. He is angry.” There was a tightness to his face, fear so blatant Apollo could see that even Will could parse it as blue eyes widened.

“He..? Is that..?”

Apollo raised his bow, a whole brace of arrows nocked, and let them fly. Kampê was like Python, her body ever-changing, but the transformations appeared limited to her waist. The rest of her body seemed to be more or less stable in appearance, although no less dangerous for it as she charged forwards, her whip slashing half of the arrows out of the air before they could make contact.

“Nice try, godling,” she rasped, snakes hissing derisively at him. Apollo stamped down the queasiness that facing down aggressive snakes provoked and ducked down as the whip once again lashed past him. Black armour over the robes of the damned stepped in front of him, as Hades gripped his sword with two hands and brought it down.

“Not the Lord above,” Thanatos told Will. “You are safe, here.” Will didn’t look convinced, not that Apollo could blame him.

“Then… Who?”

“I must go,” the god said. “Remain as you were. Nico, if you could get word to the Lady Artemis-”

Apollo jolted in shock and failed to dodge the next lash of Kampê’s whip, which bit into his shoulder deeply, drawing a flood of ichor.

“Focus!” Hades snapped at him, which Apollo dearly wished he could do, but the Fates hadn’t freed him from the vision and he stumbled again. Artemis had nothing to do with any of this – and how was Nico contacting her from the Underworld?

“I’ll try,” Nico replied, resting his head on Will’s shoulder, who was looking increasingly upset at being left out of the loop. Asclepius didn’t look much more informed.

“Lord Thanatos, where are you going? What is happening?”

“It would seem that I must go,” the Chthonic god said, before disappearing in a swirl of shadows and darkness. “Tartarus rises.”

Will’s panicked yelp of “what?” was the last thing Apollo heard before the vision faded and his consciousness fully reconciled in Tartarus, and it resonated clearly through his essence.

What, indeed.

His back was to the remains of the wall that had shut Bob in. In front of him, darkness and silver blazed as Hades and Bob pushed back at Kampê. Ichor flowed down his arm, and Apollo covered it with a hand, willing his form back together again so he could once more use his bow.

The ground beneath them continued to quake, but it was a long, steady rumble rather than an unpredictable creation of Poseidon’s. This shouldn’t be enough to be felt in the Underworld, surely? Even if Thanatos was attuned enough to sense Tartarus’ shift in moods, Nico shouldn’t be able to sense a disruption like this. That would be well beyond a demigod’s abilities, even one who had met Tartarus.

The – badly timed – vision left Apollo with more questions than answers, which wasn’t unusual but was thoroughly inconvenient when it had occurred simultaneously with the start of a battle in an enclosed space and a new ally that neither he nor Hades knew how to fight alongside. Thanatos was right; the demigods should be safe inside the Underworld, but that didn’t stop the what if beginning to niggle in the back of Apollo’s mind – which certainly wasn’t useful when he was supposed to be fighting.

Shoulder re-sealed enough to use, Apollo willed more arrows into existence, ready nocked to fire, and at the moment his uncle disappeared from view, the Helm activating, he drew back and released. Bob lunged forwards with his spear the moment the arrows passed him, and ichor splashed onto brass flooring and walls as the missiles this time found their marks.

Kampê laughed, seemingly unconcerned by her new status as a pincushion, and Apollo shrank rapidly as her scorpion tail arched over her back and dove down towards him, dodging to the side before the venomous stinger collided with the brass of the wall behind where he’d been stood. It bubbled and hissed where it connected, large dollops of venom splashing down and forcing Apollo to dodge further away.

He had heard the stories of what that venom could do, and had no wish to be paralysed for any length of time.

A gash opened up in the tail, near the stinger, and Kampê flicked it around irritably as her whip wrapped around Bob’s spear and pulled. The titan resisted for a moment, digging his heels in as best he could, before surrendering his weapon. It thrust past the monster, Kampê far too intelligent to impale herself upon a captured weapon, but that didn’t stop Bob from charging forwards with his bare hands, grasping at one of the heads that had spouted from her waist and yanking it out from the roiling mess of transformations.

That earned him a furious yell, and suddenly there were two scimitars in her hands, glowing a sickly green and flashing out in slashes the mortal eye would never be able to follow. Apollo fired an arrow at one of them, the momentum pushing it back a fraction, while the second stopped with the unmistakable clang of metal against metal, despite the fact that there was nothing to be seen.

Bob took the split second it afforded him to duck down and summon his spear back into his hand, spinning it like a staff and pushing Kampê back a step. She was forced to step up, reminding Apollo that they were at the base of twelve steps.

Archers were not supposed to take the low ground. They could, if they had to, but when the high ground was right there and being held by their opponent instead… it was inconvenient.

Apollo couldn’t see where Hades was, although the periodic opening of new ichor-dripping wounds in Kampê’s carapace and flesh with no visible cause was a sure indication that his uncle was in close combat with the monster. Bob was a vibrant sight of flashing silver, tinted green by the glow of Kampê’s weapons but bright nonetheless. Neither of them seemed to be making any significant progress against her, although they seemed to be holding their ground well enough – the Helm made Hades intangible, and what few specks of gold fell from the otherwise silver titan didn’t appear to bother Bob in the slightest – and Apollo knew he had to find a way to tip the balance.

He darted to one side as the stinger of her tail lashed down again, haphazard in a way that suggested her target was the invisible, mostly indetectable Hades rather than Apollo himself, then dodged back the other way, shrinking down enough to be hopefully negligible in Kampê’s attention compared to the two melee fighters facing her. Then he ran.

Were he still Lester, he would still have done exactly the same thing, but with a mortal constitution and reflexes it inevitably would have gone far worse. Apollo zig-zagged around her legs as they started to stamp, the monster realising where he’d gone but unable to pin him down at his current size, and was forced to leap over more than one sudden injection of venom as her stinger awkwardly caught the ground.

It was, he thought idly as he ducked and dodged, likely similar to the scene John had envisaged as he wrote Samwise attempting to evade Shelob’s own many legs and stinger. If nothing else, it was highly reminiscent of Peter Jackson’s cinematic interpretation.

Apollo had never really wanted to play the role of Samwise – Legolas, on the other hand…

He threw himself into a forward roll, momentum and the godly ability to defy at least some logic allowing him to roll up the steps and past Kampê’s monstrous derriere, to say nothing of the vicious stinger which promptly tried to spear him, and came to a stop only once he was at the top of the steps, down on one knee with several arrows nocked as he returned to a more battle-worthy size.

Then, he let the arrows fly.

Kampê snarled, but while she no doubt could ordinarily turn in the corridor to pursue him, Hades and Bob kept her front end occupied with invisible slashes and vicious thrusts, leaving the monster now sandwiched between two fronts. On the down side, that left Apollo with her tail to contend with as it lashed out behind her, and he was forced to back away further as she began to slowly retreat from the onslaught of Hades and Bob, clearly for reasons that had nothing to do with escape and everything to do with continually getting her tail in range of striking Apollo.

Apollo had no intentions of being struck by her tail. Unfortunately, despite its various cuts from Hades’ attacks, it still appeared to be fully functional and showed no signs of weakening its attacks. Perhaps Ares would be able to sever the limb in a single stroke, but Apollo was not Ares (nor did he have any desire to be), and no amount of arrows, even fired by a god of archery, were going to detach it from the rest of the body – and certainly not before Kampê managed to land a hit with it.

So he was going to have to get creative.

During her invasion to Camp Half Blood, she had been crushed to death, Apollo recalled hearing – he had not been there, had not seen it, had not been able to do anything to help the demigods in that battle, and more than one demigod had paid the price, Lee chief among them. Given the strength it had taken for he and Hades to pry open enough of the prison that Bob could leave his cell, it seemed foolish to even try and collapse the brass ceiling. Kampê would need to be fully distracted, and it would take likely all three of them to do the collapsing in the first place. No, that wouldn’t work.

He dodged the stinger again, and caught sight of one of the scimitars nicking Bob, who let out a bark of pain, stumbling back a single step. The invisible force that was Hades stopped the next swing of the sword, buying the titan time to re-seal his wound and stagger upright again, traces of agony showing in the twisted lines of his face.

Poison, Apollo realised, firing off another handful of arrows. Most were deflected by either the stinger or a scimitar, but two got through to bury in her back, to her furious hiss.

Kampê took another step backwards, forcing Apollo to edge further away again. She was almost to the top of the steps, now, and Apollo’s height advantage was lessening rapidly – although so, too, was Kampê’s higher ground advantage over Hades and Bob, so Apollo couldn’t be too upset about the overall effect.

Besides, the sight of her poison had given him an idea.

It was something that would have killed any mortal, even a demigod, if it had made contact, yet while it had clearly hurt Bob considerably, it hadn’t completely incapacitated him. Perhaps it would’ve been a different story had he been facing the monster alone, but with numbers on their side, they could cover for the other as necessary, buying recovery time (they being mostly Hades and his intangibility; Apollo wasn’t certain why the Helm was finally working against Kampê when neither Orion or Alcyoneus had been unduly bothered by it, but he was certainly not complaining).

It was too much to hope for that Kampê would be vulnerable to her own venoms and poisons – anyone who used such weaponry had either an innate resistance to them, or one built up over time, and Kampê was old enough that even if the former didn’t hold true, the latter certainly would. Apollo wasn’t going to waste his time trying to get her to nick herself with her own aggression.

That did not, however, mean he hadn’t had what he hoped was a stroke of genius.

He retreated further, buying himself some space away from the stinger, and willed an arrow into existence. It appeared, identical to the rest of his quiver, but Apollo didn’t immediately nock it to the string. Instead, he began to chant, keeping his voice low so that Kampê hopefully wouldn’t be able to hear over the sounds of her scimitars ringing against Hades’ sword and Bob’s spear, or her own clawed feet skittering across the smooth, loud brass surface beneath them.

The last time he had attempted this, he had been a desperate mortal with no way of knowing what he was summoning – if, indeed, he could summon anything at all – and a newly-discovered agitated talking arrow trying to pretend it knew more than it did about enchanting arrows. He almost faltered at the thought of the Arrow of Dodona, and how it had gone from an irritating nuisance to a loyal friend and confidant, before sacrificing itself to help fell Kampê’s own brother, but pushed on.

If plaguey, plaguey, plaguey slipped into the closing stanza of the chant then, well, so be it.

Plagues and illnesses were devastating forces of nature. Apollo’s duty was to keep them under control, by allocating when and where they occurred – much to the ongoing disgust of the nosoi, who wanted to rampage unchecked – and he knew all the strains of disease that could infect mortals intimately well. How could he not?

He also knew how devastating the right one could be – or wrong, depending on perspective. Mama Kokohad been furious with him when the Conquistadores invaded South American in the fifteen hundreds, by the Gregorian reckoning and the strain of smallpox that Apollo had been tickling the Spanish with for centuries made the jump from a society that was used to it to one that had never been exposed to anything of the sort before. Ares had been, too, although his reasoning had been less to do with the population decimation and more to do with how it had weakened the Andean peoples so far that they could hardly fight back.

Even Apollo had been horrified at how viciously it had decimated the various peoples of South America and wiped so much of their civilisation from existence in only a few short years, and he had inflicted many deadly plagues upon the European civilisations across the millennia.

Monsters did not get illnesses the same way mortals did. Nor did gods, nor any immortals. Their constitutions were too fundamentally different for that.

But if an animated colossus could catch a hay fever conjured by a pathetic mortal version of himself, then Apollo saw no reason why Kampê could not catch something rather more debilitating crafted by the god of plague at near full strength.

Unlike most of his domains, plague had not wavered at all in the depths of Tartarus. It did not need the sunlight to grow, did not stem from lightness and love, but rather the darkness of the damp shadows where the light dared not touch.

The Pit fit the requirements perfectly, and where Apollo had noticed effort in maintaining his light, in healing, in music and even materialising his own arrows, it was a lack of effort he noticed as a sickly green haze began to envelop the golden arrow. The very worst things mortals could imagine in a disease bloomed and entwined effortlessly around the arrowhead, sinking in until the metal itself took on a sickly sheen, no longer shining as brightly as its fellows.

Apollo did not know if it would affect Kampê, but he knew he had to try.

The miasma given off by the arrow did not quite rival the general miasma of Tartarus, but it was pungent in its own way, offensive to olfactory systems in a fashion that would have had Lester’s eyes streaming with tears and nose running with a disgusting flow of mucus. It had no such effect on Apollo, but he was still conscious that this thing he had created from and with the dank, disease-provoking aura of Tartarus was not something he wanted to accidentally inflict upon himself, and kept it carefully pointed away from his form as he finally nocked it.

Kampê’s stinger smashed into the wall next to him, and Apollo leaped up, landing on her scorpion tail lightly before running down the segmented limb – now far more like Legolas than Samwise. She thrashed and did her best to turn, but Hades and Bob continued to hamper her, keeping both her vicious scimitars away from Apollo’s advance along her scaled back.

The snakes hissed at him, lashing out from her scalp as her waist deformed, melting and bubbling together until a single, large serpent erupted from what would have been the small of her back if she had the anatomy of a human, heading straight for Apollo.

“Bob!” Hades’ disembodied voice barked, all the warning either Apollo or the titan got before the serpent head with long, no doubt paralytically venomous fangs separated from the rest of its hastily created body, rolling harmlessly down Kampê’s flank to land on the brass floor. In his periphery, Apollo caught sight of silver flashing faster as Bob engaged both of Kampê’s scimitars at once, the reach of his spear enough to keep both her hands occupied.

Hades flickered into view beside Apollo, his deep black sword dripping with ichor and venom combined.

“Will that work?” he demanded. He didn’t ask what it was, but given he had more than once amused himself by startling Apollo into inflicting a pandemic on the wrong city, there was no way he didn’t recognise a plague arrow.

Apollo shot him a grin. “Only one way to find out.”

He leapt forwards, over the writhing mass that was Kampê’s waist, and found purchase on her powerful back muscles, feet morphing into satyr hooves to better find balance on the near-vertical surface. Behind and below him, he heard the swing of a sword and the tell-tale sound of several unpleasant things being decapitated.

Kampê writhed, shaking her body from side to side as much as she could whilst still fending off Bob’s attacks – or more accurately, trying and failing to disengage with the titan so that she could turn all of her offensive strength onto Apollo. Her serpentine hair lashed out at him, but Apollo forced himself to stay still, keeping his balance despite her best efforts through a combination of satyr hooves, the beautiful skill of a horseback archer to adapt to movements beneath their body, and pure godly intent.

He had done something similar four and a half millennia ago, perched on the back of a writhing, ever-transforming creature with a single arrow nocked and the knowledge that if this didn’t work, things were going to go very, very badly wrong.

It hadn’t worked back then, and Python had very, very nearly destroyed him before the resulting fight was finally over. With that nugget of unwelcome memory in the back of his mind, Apollo set his sights on the nape of Kampê’s neck, and fired.

Chapter 25>>

#trials of apollo #trials of apollo fanfiction #riordanverse #riordanverse fanfic #pjo hades #pjo apollo #pjo iapetus #pjo bob #will solace #nico di angelo #pjo asclepius #pjo thanatos #pjo kampe #tsari writes fanfiction #eclipse

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crescentmoon-flower · 9 months

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Rewatching winx season 4 for nostalgia and realizing how wierd some things are

Episode 9

Yes we get it ogron, you want the white circle, no need to keep repeating yourself.

Ah yes Jason queen, I hate him

No musa, friends don't have anything better to do when you're on an important phone call

Thank you bloom for jumping to help

The last time we hear musa be the lead singer in this season :(

Cute artu~

Why didn't roxy have the circle from the beginning

You of all people? What do you mean bloom?

Thank you helia for being the only one with common sense

Sky you can't ditch your job for a surfing contest, you either brandon

Riven and nabu Bonding, awwww

Hah! I take it Sky and Brandon can't actually surf

Stella, please do some couples therapy, you're opinions on dating aren't really very healthy

King erendore? Oh wait I forgot this happened

Flora is right and I loved blooms oh no, she sounds so resigned

Artu is so smart

How exactly does nebula know roxy's name?

You know the first time I watched this I assumed nebula was a witch, forgive me but I think all of her actions here lead to that assumption

Why is Stella getting the vision of roxy?

They walked out so awkwardly

Didn't the girls just leave the bar? Now they're back inside as if they never left

Didn't musa read the book of fairies? She should know about the wings

Hah! Duman's reaction was funny

Yeah beat his ass girl

I find it both odd and yet very realistic that the wizards don't recognise nebula

Oh wow nebula's pissed

Love how all but ogron dodged, shows how his power effects his fighting style

Wait? She waited for centuries? Again with the lack of consistency with the time line people

You know what would have been cool? Roxy transforming into nebula's fairy form

This whole ass fight looks so pathetic

Run away boys, run away

How old is nebula if she was in the book of fairies?

How are defense shields supposed to help?

..... that somehow worked?

Also love nebula talking to roxy out loud while possessing her

How the absolute hell did that work?

Love the personality change, roxy would've totally freaked out if this were the first few episodes

Also love how nobody's questioning the man dressed like royalty with GUARDS in a bar talking to waiter about royal responsibility

Speaking of the royal seal....

Hah! He guessed right

The pawn shop owner must be absolutely baffled

That has to be morally questionable, why did you do that musa

Erendor has very good points, but still whose ruling erakleon?

Couples adorableness, naaw

Also good job riven, your really trying

Surprised nothing broke on that crash

SEXUAL INUENDO!!

This episode is summarised by Sky and his dad are about to cause a political crisis, and Roxy's brain has been stolen by bling.

Episode 10

Roxy is the most realistic character here right now

I love how opposite bloom and roxy are, meeting magic one embraces it the other rejects it

Stella you own a business, of course you work alot

Seriously, how does belief in magic weaken the wizards? They had magic before humanity forgot fairies

What's up with musa?

Stella, please don't, at least one person will think your insane

Wtf tecna? What frequencies? Do humans give off frequencies when in trouble, what are you searching for panicked screeches?

Thank you for asking the good questions musa

.....bloom..... WHY DID YOU PUT ON THE CIRCLE WHEN YOU SAW WHAT IT DID TO ROXY?!

No, no, turning a pet into your double to take care of a shop is a terrible idea, aisha

There is no need to apologise for perfectly reasonable reactions roxy

Isn't the loft directly above the shop? Where is musa going to meet riven?

Aaaaaaaaawwwww nabu's shirt is too big in such a cute way!

That man in the background looked so confused why the girls presented the door to tecna

The girls in the shop vaugly remind me of the trix, wouldn't that have been a plot twist lmao

Haha, this is backfiring so bad!

Why did the girls gasp? The knew Stella was going to say that

Also that guys reaction would probably be mine too

Haha! I already said that someone is going to think they're crazy

I'm not going to coment on the riven/musa drama with Jason here, it annoys me so much

Jason is just so oblivious to all that's happening

Stella already convinced several humans about fairies, just do what you did before?

Roxy is so wise for her age, and so right

Useless mcguffin wings, they could just fly (but I do love the designs)

Noooo, we don't actually hear musa sing?

Safety rule people, don't crowd around a burning building it could collapse and you are taking away the authority's attention

That dude barely even cares he's looking at mythological beings hes just worried about that poor family

The call for help sounds like Stella

The little girl looks like miele

THEY HAVE BUTTERFLY WINGS WOMAN WTF DO YOU THINK THEY ARE, DEMONS?

the wizards are immune to fire, they just walked through it

THAT'S WHAT I WAS TALKING ABOUT, COLLAPSING BUILDINGS!

just casually going to leave while taking this random girl with us- wonder what the bystanders thought

Super hearing residents

Riven, think before you speak

Jason, don't talk about situations you don't understand even with good intentions

I said the idea of turning pets to doppelganger is a bad idea

#winx club #winx helia #winx aisha #winx anagan #winx bloom #winx brandon #winx duman #winx flora #winx gantlos #winx musa #winx stella #winx tecna #winx sky #winx nabu #winx riven #winx timmy #winx club reaction

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merverse · 1 year

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just finished the sun and the star and im posting this from my phone but i have to write my feelings down so spoilers of course:

first of all, i get it. this is not a fanfic, this is an actually rick riordan book and i can't expect it to go dark even though the story and the characters on it totally deserve to be put into a more mature light, so i'm trying to be more open about all this, but..... i'm really disappointed.

the writing was flat. the only reason i had any sort of sympathy to the characters and what they were going through was because i already knew them beforehand, but even then they felt like.... strangers. i think rick needs to stick with first person povs, because (and this also something i struggled with when reading the heroes of olympus series) he can't do multi character stories that well. i thought mark could help with this, but it honestly felt all over the place.

and i was expecting some character inconsistency throughout the book and messed up timelines once again, but it still surprised me how obvious those mistakes were. for example, we have nico being an advocate for change: people change, they learn from their past experiences and evolve throughout their lives and this is the whole reason why we are going into this quest! the whole reason why nyx is after me! and not even a couple of chapters later he finds out one of the giants did just that and found love and acceptance and he just flat out refuses to accept this. uhm, what? will has to remind him he's all about change? nico: oh yeah! my bad! forgot we were doing that

( see: chapter 19: ‘You see the trogs,’ said Screech-Bling. ‘You see Bob the Titan.’ Will smiled and squeezed his hand. ‘Nyx hates what you represent – change.’ / and then, chapter 22: "Nico scoffed. ‘You didn’t meet Geryon. You don’t know what he’s like.’ ‘Was like,’ said Menoetes. ‘Was. Because now you don’t know what he is like.’ Nico was left speechless. ‘Maybe we should give him a chance,’ said Will. ‘We both know people who were once terrible and then turned things around.' )

and don't get me started of the morals on this book. we get it, it's a book for middle schoolers, but you don't have to state the message of it every single chapter for it to be obvious. we get it, this is about changing and owning up the past but trying to be better in the future. not everything is black and white. okay. oh, ur gonna mention it again? oh, ur gonna get a goddess to spell it out for no reason at all? okay.

and god.......... the whole solangelo situation, i'm so SAD. i love them together, i adore them. but those stories about how they got together........ nico somehow deciding he was gonna tell the entire camp he was gay........ will kissing him for the first time just when he was grieving jason after he died (why. why would any of them think this was okay. WHY)........ i know these situations "make sense" and are explained in the book, but i don't like them. i don't. and i refuse to acknowledge them.

well, no. i'm actually going to acknowledge the whole coming out scene and how the story treats the whole thing. (disclaimer: not every queer person has to agree on this, we all have different experiences and that's fine, this is just my opinion on the matter) i hated how it felt like they were using nico's character as this big pamphlet advertising the "gay is okay!". i know his sexuality is a Big part of his character, and he is the first gay character in the pjo universe, but why did it feel he was also the first queer demigod at the camp? why did it have to be a big deal? i think the whole scene about juniper messing it up and him "choosing" to ask will out and also come out to the entire camp at the same time was..... unnecessary. i didn't need him to say he was gay in front of the entire greek camp, he can be used as an inspiring story for any other demigod just choosing to hold will's hand at dinner.

(and is...... a greek camp...... i can understand internalized homophobia on nico bc of his upbringing, and also anyone can have it no matter their experiences, but..... a greek camp..... and a public coming out scene after the whole thing with cupid.......)

(side note: not even one mention of patroclus and achilles. NOT EVEN ONCE.)

and i think what really sealed the deal for me was hazel. well. THE LACK OF HER. does nico remember he has a sister? does mark knows he has a sister? does rick???????? me, throughout the book: oh so this is the chapter where i get some hazel and nico crumbs! no? okay so the next one! oh, still no mention of her? so the next chapt-

she's mentioned 6 times. 6 times. and only once he's allowed to actually think about her. i hated it. and it was worse with reyna.

(the fact nico thought about annabeth and percy AND JASON? (WHO HE WASNT CLOSE WITH AT THE MOMENT) WHEN HE WAS GOING THROUGH TARTARUS ALONE? BUT DIDN'T THINK ABOUT HAZEL? HELLO?)

and even thought the message of the book is about how light and darkness can coexist within one self (as we are... repeatedly told..... all over again...), it still rubs me the wrong way how, at the end, darkness is still portrayed as something.... bad.... that u have to live with. like will says "‘But now I know that it’s not about conquering, or vanquishing, or any of that kind of hero talk. Sometimes it’s better to learn to live with the darkness.’" uhmmmmmmmmmmmm

all that being said, it was a..... fun book. not life changing and I'm definitely ignoring its existence, but the plot was entertaining enough and i did cry when bianca, maria and hades showed up because i adore the di angelo family. also will has powers! that's cool! i guess!

oh, and nico's little demons/children/whatever they are..... cute. in my head they are like those dust bunnies from ghibli.

#and im not even going to talk about wills whole dilemma with accepting nico's darkness or whatever tf he had going on for the entire book #like i get it but i also dont #should've stayed in the drafts 😁#tsts spoilers #the sun and the stars spoilers #the sun and the star #tsts #nico di angelo #will solace #solangelo

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isimchi · 5 months

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