#about naomi solace | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mediumgayitalian · 1 month

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———

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

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

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

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

“Hello?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You see a hostess’ station?”

“No.”

“Then why haven’t you sat yourself?”

“‘Cause I’m not here to eat.”

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

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

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

“Go home, kid.”

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

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

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

Naomi snaps her mouth shut.

“Well,” she says, and nothing else.

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

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

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

“And why would I hire some pregnant kid?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Naomi shrugs.

“You deaf, or stupid?”

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

“Not deaf. And that’s rude.”

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

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

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

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

———

Di doesn’t believe in paycheques.

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

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

Maybe she should look into an apartment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Clean the grout.”

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

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

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

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

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

Naomi smiles triumphantly.

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

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

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

Di even almost smiles at her.

———

“Naomi, go home.”

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

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

“I’m fine.”

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

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

“I need to work.”

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

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

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

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

Like she’s about to burst.

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

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

“Jesus Christ.”

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

Two callused hands on her biceps, dragging her upright.

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

A hand digs around in her apron pocket.

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

No jingle on the door. A flipped sign.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…You remember the exact date?”

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

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

“I see.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Di rolls her eyes.

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

“What kinda money do you have?”

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

“Yes, obviously, I meant savings.”

“What you pay me,” Naomi repeats.

Di purses her lips. “Well.”

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

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

Naomi looks at her in alarm.

“Di, I can’t —”

“Fifty a night,” responds the man quickly.

“Try again.”

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

“Rate’s a rate, Di.”

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

“Two hundred a week.”

“Not a chance.”

“I’m not asking, Jed.”

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

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

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

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

Jed just his chin out.

“I don’t owe her shit.”

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

“Ain’t how this works, Di.”

“Says who? You?”

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

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

(…Well.)

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

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

Di nods once. “Fine.”

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

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

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

A motel, Naomi realises.

“Clear, kid?”

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

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

Much, much bigger than her car.

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

Naomi does the math fast in her head.

“Twenty hours.”

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

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

God, she’s missed pillows.

“Thank you, Di,” she says quietly.

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

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

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

———

naomi art

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pjocharacterdesign · 2 months

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thinking about Naomi Solace. its very important to me that she has a 70s perm.

#pjo #riordanverse #naomi solace #mortals #character design #will solace #its hard to see but i gave her a little sun tattoo on her hip #cause i feel like it'd be cute to imply Will got his sun tattoo inspired by his mom #so it not only honors his dad for both of them but also he matches his mom

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apollosgiftofprophecy · 3 months

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ToA Fic Recs!!!

Tag List: @itscharliebabey

ASK AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE!

I probably forgot a LOT but these are the ones I tracked down via bookmarks and frantic searches upon realizing they Were Not bookmarked rip 😔

AND ALL ORGANIZED!!!! :DDD

OneShots

Apollo & His Kids

A Heart Heavy With Memories by @summerbummin

After reclaiming his godhood, Apollo visits his children often, and on one of those visits he tells them about their mortal parents. He shows them memories of their time together. And ends up reminiscing a little more than he bargained for.

How I Met Your Mother(s and Fathers) by NebuchadnezzarII

Around the Cabin Seven table, Apollo tells each of his six children how he met their parents.

Through The Son's Eyes by @literallyjusttoa

A journey through Asclepius' relationship with his dad, from Ancient Greece to modern day.

demand nothing less (than transformation) by tissuebocks

Dad is quiet for a moment, stroking her hair. Then, with a surge of his usual flamboyant excitement: “At what time is your date?” Kayla blinks. She pulls back a little to look at Dad. He’s still a little blurry from the tears, but she feels much calmer now. “He’s picking me up at six. …Why?” Dad’s eyes—cobalt blue—sparkle. Literally. “We’re going to dress you to the nines.” (or: apollo loves his daughter. he also loves fashion. even better is when the two intersect.)

@tsarinatorment

Can't Take My Eyes Off You

Naomi Solace is performing at a black tie event, and neither her son nor his boyfriend know much about formalwear. Day 2: Black Tie Event

Fatal Flaw

Every demigod had one, and every demigod had their trial where they had to face it head on and hope they had the strength to defeat it before it defeated them. Day 24: Injuries Beyond Healing

A Right To Emotions

Apollo had abandoned his son when he needed him, and the worst thing was that he’d never realised until Nico told him. Day 30: Forgiveness In A New Day

Childhood, Or A Lack Thereof

Demigods grow up too fast. Day 23: How long does youth last for?

Memories of Sunflowers

He first met his dad in a field of sunflowers. Day 2: Alone in a Sunflower Field

Shuttered Heart

Apollo loves fiercely and his losses hit all the harder for it. It's a trait his children inherit.

Daughter of Archery

If there’s one thing Kayla knows, it’s archery. Day 17: Perfection Is A Must

Apollo & Meg

Movie Night by @falconfrost

Meg and Apollo attend a midnight horror movie showing. Everyone likes clowns, right?

yesteryear by @m-arnie-xx

yesteryear (noun) — last year or the recent past, especially as nostalgically recalled; often a period in the past with a set of values or a way of life that no longer exists. Or, There is eighteen hours, thirty-five minutes, and nine seconds, between when Meg last sees Apollo, and when Artemis sends a sign to Camp Half-Blood to tell them that he has survived and defeated Python.

lesterlicious by apopcornkernel

yazz_ • 1 week ago This dude is straight up LARPing as the god Apollo or something 4.7K likes REPLY View 25 replies

Meg & Apollo's Highly Limited Roadtrip Playlist by Curioser

Fourteen hundred miles. Four radio stations. Two friends trying hard not to kill each other, or to acknowledge the fact that in less than a week, they may never see each other again. And Lizzo. So much Lizzo.

visions of beasts by UKULELEchildren

Suddenly, a figure appeared in the dark haze. A vague smudge of purple appeared. His cloak. “No.” I whispered. “You’re dead.” What would Meg have visions about?

Apollo & Olympus

Beneath the Rhododendrons by Lepidopterrain

Carefully, she slipped past the hyacinths that had popped up around the bush like a small protective wall. They'd been the only reason she'd looked down at that spot really, and noticed the flash of gold curls amongst the pinks, reds, and purples of the rhododendrons. Artemis let her fingers linger on the petals of one of the small little guardian flowers, just for a moment. She'd never been sure if her brother had noticed just how little control he actually had over hyacinths, for a flower that was supposedly 'his.' She suspected Demeter and Persephone knew, if anyone. But neither goddess had deigned to talk of such matters with Artemis. Perhaps for the best, Artemis wasn't really sure what she would've said if they had tried to bring the subject up. There's a very good chance she wouldn't tried to shoot one of them and then escape while they were distracted. Emotions weren't her forte. She was grown enough to admit it.

@tsarinatorment

The Older Twin

Apollo could lie all he wanted, Artemis was the older one. She’d never felt that as keenly as she did now. Day 26: Missing You

Third Strike

Zeus loved Apollo, once. His favourite son, his golden child. His greatest threat. Day 19: And So The Sun Sets

Ancient Greece

A Sun's Forgiveness by @hazardous-lightdas12

“Mortals die Artemis,” Apollo whispers. “Their lives will forever wax and wane. Like the moon. The ebb and flow of Uncle Poseidon’s waves. But us. We are eternal. You must remember that.” Her brother sounds like he has said the words to himself too many times. – Apollo does not scream when the lightning bolt strikes him. -- Alt Summary: Fathers make mistakes sometimes. Hippolytus’ father has made the teensy, easily understandable and forgivable mistake of beheading his son due to unproven and untrue allegations. Artemis grieves. Apollo tries to make everything all better, and somehow ends up making everything worse. . Zeus is so good at daddying! Admetus worries about the logistics of cow-herding

Of ravens and songbirds by Cassiethewriter

The godling whimpered and fought, and Python refused to let the hiss of frustration fall out. “Quite understandable, too.” He said, coils growing tighter and making the godling cough again. “Poor fair Leto being hunted by the issued Hera, the Queen of Olympus and the only child raised by Rhea. You heard of Leto’s suffering from day one, and sought to bring justice to it. Very brave and god-like.” Python snorted again. “But I’m afraid this is where you myths start— and end. Right here, right now. Like a moth to the sun.” Or, The battle with Python.

Phoenixrising007

Party On Olympus (gone wrong)

Mother’s hand was holding onto him firmly. Probably to stop Hermes from running down the hall and around the finely carved pillars decorating the sides of the palace. Despite the fact that if he were a mortal he would not even be walking yet, he already got himself into trouble recently.

Puppies (and why they can fix anything)

"Aww look at the puppy!” He raced forward, voice an octave higher than usual. As is normal when speaking to such an adorable creature.

Apollo & His Lovers

Naomi Solace

thinking about it, had a breakthrough by @thesungod

“I’m Naomi Solace!” “Okay?” “The singer?” Fred shakes his head, a smug smile on his lips. “Never heard of you.” “As Long As The Sun Shines? It was number 1 on the billboard for like, a month!” Hating herself, she starts mouthing the melody. There’s no way this asshole doesn’t know her stupid song. Naomi Solace meets an arrogant, young producer that she really wants to kick in the balls. Unfortunately, he seems to know what he’s doing.

Solar Powered by @curseofdelos (:D Glad to see you reblogged this hehe here's a tag :3)

Apollo, god of music, was how he had introduced himself. Naomi had assumed he was joking, and he didn't correct her. She had dated musicians and poets before. They all had an ego, and those same words would not have felt out of place from either of her exes. She merely downgraded Apollo from potential boyfriend to potential fling, and didn't think twice about it. Now though…. Now her son could heal wounds with a single touch, and her world was tipping on its axis.

Daphne

Plaything of the Gods - Daphne's Story by @the-primordial-archivist

When Apollo finally decided to wear a crown, it was her leaves that topped his head. But it wasn’t just he who wore her branches. Winners had her leaves on them too. Laurels. The symbol of victory.

Hyacinthus

You make a fool of death with your beauty (and for a moment, I forgot to worry) by @ukelele-boy

Sometimes as a god you lose track of time. With all his prophetic powers, Apollo never saw it coming.

His Flowers byshotar1s

Meg notices her servant, Apollo, is quieter than usual. Oh, the flowers in his hands explain why.

Frey

I Woo The Asgardian Hipster God by ladanse

"Another time, in a Stockholm tavern, I met this god who was smoking hot, except his talking sword just would not shut up." -The Hidden Oracle, Rick Riordan

(sidenote: WE NEED MORE FREYPOLLO)

REVOLUTION

Conversations (regarding a certain half-brother) by Phoenixrising007

Walking out of the council meeting Ares did his best to make sense of what just happened. Apollo was there. Back just like Athena said he would be. She won the blasted bet. Again.

@tsarinatorment

The Sun

Apollo plays the role of an idiot well enough that often, it’s forgotten that he’s one of the most powerful gods - and one of the most wrathful. #140: Setting Heaven on Fire

Seven Days and Seven Nights

A warning, a storm, and Will’s world gets flipped upside-down. Day 11: Storming

MultiChaps

Secrets of the Sun by @sierice and beta'd by @ukelele-boy

“No, that kid is too similar to me… way too similar... Almost like he’s…” Apollo’s eyes widened. “Like he’s you from the future?” Persephone finished. Dionysus asked incredulously, “You don’t seriously think that right? There’s no way you would ever dare to look like that!” -------------------------- This is literally just a Trials of Apollo reading the books fic. Hope you enjoy!

time eats all his children by IzzyMRDB

There is something sickly in the passage of time. Time is a rot. A disease or a plague, a festering in your very being that blurs the past until it is tainted with the present. Until the present is tainted with the future. The Greeks were well aware of this sickness, for all their depictions of time, while divine, were also rotted. AKA Apollo is the god least touched by the passage of time, yet the one most affected by it. There's so much of the present that he could change. AKA Time Travel with Post-TOA Apollo

Flowers For Apollo by @soleil-in-retrograde

As far as Lester Papadopoulos was concerned, he was seventeen years old and lived at home with his elderly mother just outside of Tampa. He had a(n older? younger? twin?) sister who visited regularly and a baby sister(?) in California who called him her dummy and would help out with his mother's garden when she visited and he was teaching piano to. He also had a myriad of cousins who went to a camp up north he wrote constantly. He didn't know what he wanted to do with the life stretching in front of him. ----- The God Apollo has a bad habit of not telling people when something is wrong. It doesn't help he doesn't quite remember until it's too late. It's not his fault.

Over The Palisade by @aeithalian

This was an old dream. He’d had it many times before. Jerry, standing before the Roman Senate. Mars, waving his hand. A lyre, appearing on Jerry’s arm. Jerry’s prophecy: “Crowns will fall to ash.” Jupiter, standing between the new augur and a towering statue of himself. Apollo, standing between his father and his son. Olympus, Apollo on his knees, trembling, electricity jumping over his arms. A stranger’s face, dark and stony. He says something, but the words are quiet. The doors of the Palace of the Sun. Chained shut. Or: Apollo has been missing for two and a half years, and there may or may not be an impending apocalypse.

Sunrise by IcyDreams_and_FieryWishes

At 10,000 years of age, Apollo falls to Chaos. With the last of his strength, he sends his memories through the fabric of Space-Time. At 1 day of age, Apollo refuses to let the story be the same as last time. Vi Va La Revolution. SkyFall: Season 1, Arc 1- The Rising Sun. In which Apollo lives through his early life, forming alliances and rewriting mythological history while striving to keep his siblings and family safe from threats outside and within their home. Will he succeed? Or will Fate prevail once more? One thing is for sure, Apollo remembers. And he will take his vengeance.

@tsarinatorment

THE MUST-READ Eclipse!!!!!!

According to the prophecy, Will has to go to on a quest to Tartarus. According to Apollo, that isn’t going to happen, even if it means he has to break the Ancient Laws.

The Stolen God is a ToA/MCatGoA crossover!

Python is defeated. The prophecies are restored, and Nero has fallen. Apollo has not been seen since. His trials are over; why isn’t he back on Olympus?

@flightfoot

Memories of Godly Selfishness

Chapter 1: Apollo and Meg watch Apollo's interactions with the demigods (and Grover) in Blood of Olympus and the Singer of Apollo. They don't like what they see. Chapter 2: Apollo, Meg, and Percy watch the fight with Otis and Ephialtes in Mark of Athena. Apollo gains new perspective on gods’ relationships with demigods. Chapter 3: Apollo, Meg, and Annabeth watch the final battle against Kronos and the aftermath, with a surprise guest later on. Chapter 4: Apollo and Meg watch “Welcome to Camp Half-Blood”. Apollo gives a long over-due apology. Chapter 5: Side Story - Satyr School: Apollo teaches some young satyrs. Chapter 6: Apollo, Meg, Thalia, and Will watch Thalia's and Luke's encounter with a certain son of Apollo.

A Convergence of Apollos

Percy had been hoping for a quiet afternoon celebrating Grover's birthday with him. Then Apollo arrived, and their peaceful afternoon got a lot less peaceful. It got even weirder when two kids popped out of thin air who both seemed to know him.

@falconfrost

Apollo & The Aftermath

The Roman emperors and Python have been defeated, the oracles reclaimed, and Apollo restored to godhood. He's having somewhat of a hard time adjusting to being back among the gods, which is understandable after his six-month grow-a-conscience speedrun. But something else is rotten in the state of Olympus, and before it can really feel like home, it's going to require some serious renovation.

The Tail of A Pollo

The hunt for the Teumessian Fox hasn't been going great, but thanks to a new prophecy (of sorts), it looks like Apollo may be key to aiding the Hunters of Artemis in the beast's defeat. In like, a super badass, heroic way, of course. Actually, on second thought, maybe just imagine the monster's defeat in your head. You definitely don't have to read this. I'm certain you get the gist of it already. You can simply exit this tab real quick, no biggie. Have a lovely day!

Bad Sons by @thesungod

Hades turned to the demigods that were still kneeling. “I need to speak with Will Solace,” he said to the shocked room, in the tone he could have used to say “I came to ask if one of you could lend me a pen.” “Alone,” the god added after a moment, staring right at Nico. Or, Will and Nico go on the stupidest quest ever. And it’s all Apollo’s fault.

Curioser

Fall of The Sun

Five times Apollo fainted and one time he didn't.

The Trials of Apollo: The Forgotten Acres

When their truck breaks down on the way to New York, Apollo and Meg get a few days of downtime in a refuge called the Forgotten Acres. While there, Apollo confronts a decision he's been putting off for weeks, and finds that it's one of the hardest choices he's ever had to make.

RavenWingDark

Kill The Sun

Even restored to godhood, Apollo still wants to be around his friends and mortal family, even at the risk of Zeus'...dissatisfaction. This is the four times Apollo got away with helping his demigods and the one time he didn't.

Mourning Sun changed my brain chemicals

Percy has the Chalice and all he has left to do is hand it over to Ganymede. Then he notices Ganymede might not be the only one being mistreated by Zeus. Apollo's at brunch, too.

Series

the grace of gods is a grace that comes by violence by @californiannostalgia

Were I That Burning Star, the first fic in the series, is an absolute Must Read imo

An old panic gripped me—the breathless fear of being forgotten, being lost. Would anyone remember me when I was gone? Would someone think to lay a flower down on my grave and say some fond nothings like, “Was a pretty cool guy, that Lester,” while wiping off a single dramatic tear rolling down their cheek? Oh, who was I kidding. So what if no one remembered? There wasn’t much I was proud to be remembered by anyway. After defeating Python and bringing down Nero, Phoebus Apollo reclaims his godhood. He is glorious once more. But for some reason, he can't quite make himself go back to how things were before. (A Character Study of Various Gods, including but not limited to: Apollo, Artemis, Hermes, Aphrodite, Ares, Athena, Hephaestus, Dionysus, and maybe Zeus)

Gods' Eye View by @flightfoot

Carefully, I picked out Apollo’s string. It glowed vibrantly, as the strings of all divine beings do. Mine most brilliantly of all, of course, though Apollo’s always seemed to be trying to outshine it. I firmly grasped hold of it, matching its own glow with my own. Slowly, I exerted my will, my power, pressing my radiance against the manifestation of Apollo’s, slowly increasing my light until it overpowered his. Yet, it resisted me, its glow strengthening, refusing to surrender. I grit my teeth. “I am Zeus, King of the Gods, and your father. Submit to me.” ----- Zeus tries to turn Apollo into a mortal. It does not go as well as he expected. That only incenses him further.

The Hidden Oracle+1 spin-offs by @garecc

Artemis falls to earth with Apollo in the hidden Oracle. Flames streamed off her body as she fell. Features sibling banter, protective Artemis, and far too many headcanons. ON AN INDEFINITE HAITUS.

rip hiatus😔

Memories of Dust and Gold by @moodyseal holds lots a variety of fics!

Companion Fics

The Healing Sun by ReadTheBooks. Companion to Eclipse

You are Asclepius. You are 9 and just want to help people. Your father is kind, and warm, and you love him dearly. Or, a look at a relationship hindered by loss but persevering through love. Asclepius and Apollo throughout the ages.

Other, But During ToA

A Single Drachma by @tsarinatorment, podfic by @stereden

Alone. Injured. Hunted. Michael doesn’t know where he is, but he knows he’s running out of time, and he’s only got one shot at calling for help. He’s got to make it count.

In Dreams by @m-arnie-xx

Zoe did not like Lord Apollo. He was too arrogant, too vain, and flirted with her and her fellow hunters incessantly. He always appeared in their camp at the most inconvenient times, offering archery tips that no one wanted and being a persistent source of annoyance to Lady Artemis near constantly. Zoe did not like Lord Apollo, but sometimes, when Zoe asked a Hunter how they knew something they couldn’t have possibly found out by themselves, and they told her about their dream, she would look up at the sun, and she would wonder… or Zoe did not get demigod dreams… until she did.

Hunger Games AUs

Bloody Eclipse by AmeliaAndreas3

The Sun Must Go On by @please-help-this-little-lesbian

The Golden Gates by SAM_42

Still The Mockingjay Won't Sing by SunnySky_11

The Copollo Masterlist - Collection of Ao3 & FF.net fics of Apollo & Commodus </3 Trainwreck beloved

And of you'd like, my fics:

The Works of Apollo - Canon Compliant Fics!

Alder's Mess of ToA AUs - AUs!

Adventures in (Grand)Parenting: Featuring Koios - My obsession with Koios spawned this!

The Crew of Dodona - Pirate AU! Random fic ideas written whenever the itch strikes!

#FEAST MY FRIENDS FEAST!#fic recs #the trials of apollo #trials of apollo #toa apollo #pjo apollo

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hogoflight · 6 months

Text

the thought of Naomi Solace explaining or just talking about Will’s father in. Any capacity at all. To her Texas friends / more conservative parents is so so funny.

“Oh, he was talking to me about a song he wrote with his ex, Calliope- well, technically he’s still dating her and her 8 sisters, but-“

“??? MA’AM???” “-but in the same vein that he’s technically married to 27 different people, keep up!”

“…oh, how’d you know who for certain the father was, then?”

“Hah, well, I figured it out fairly soon after Will started glowing in the dark like a damn glow stick! Made his father do that more than a few times, y’know what I’m saying?”

“NO, NAOMI, I DO NOT???”

“Why haven’t I met this freaky-overachiever-guy yet? He’d surely be some kind of famous considering everything he knows!”

“Hah, NO he keeps running into my windows every time he visits ‘cuz he can’t see the glass. I tell him to use the door-“

#apollo #toa #naomi solace

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asolareclipses · 9 days

Text

(Previous Part)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jason almost choked, “Boyfriend?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jason winced, not sure how to comfort him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part Seven?

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