"Nico solo book should be a tragedy" disagree.
Nico was Rick Riordan's first canonically queer character, and the first book queer character a lot of my generation knew about as kids- it would be a huge slap on the face of his audience if his story ended as a tragedy, and Riordan knows that. Thats why solangelo has such a solid, healthy dynamic in the background of toa.
Of now, he's also one of very few pjo-verse characters to be basically confirmed mentally ill, and he's also really disabled in the text, whether its said or not.
Nico is a queer orphan who's entire storyline til toa was just tragedy after tragedy after goddamn tragedy, and who has JUST begun to heal. He deserves a happy ending.
More importantly, the audience- the queer, disabled, mentally ill kids who see themselves in him- deserve to see him be happy at the end.
To make his story a tragedy would be to validate Nico's (and Hades') belief that kids like him don't get a happy ending. That all we're made for is tragedy.
Rick Riordan first wrote The Lightning Thief so his adhd son could finally see himself in a hero. He keeps writing after his son is grown because he knows how much other kids need those stories- his students, even. He knows.
It's even in the narrative itself: it tells us upfront that Percy's mother called him Perseus because he was the only greek hero who got a happy ending.
Nico is the queer kid's original Perseus.
The reasoning follows that he must be happy.
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I NEED MORE RAGNVALDR SMUT THIS MAN IS MAKING ME GO CUCKOO
you n me both you n me both you n me both you n me both like!!
warnings - randomly lost the spark for this at the end and you can… tell lol, not proofread, fem body, whiny pathetic big man with big tits >>>>>, unprotected piv but liek cmon… what is the protection in that era youre lucky rag’s washed
845 words
~~~
“You’re very close.”
“You’re more comfortable than the bed.”
Ragnvaldr snorts a laugh, eyes fluttering shut as he grins, hands winding tighter around your waist and squeezing the soft fat, “You’re obsessed with flattering me, elskede.”
“You’re worth the flattery,” you lift your chin and settle it between his collar bones to stare up at the man.
Auburn strands of hair burn like gold in the pouring sunlight, soft sage eyes gooey as they return your gaze. Morning birds sing outside the gaping window, fresh air chilling through the bedroom. Last night, you’d fallen asleep side-by-side only for the man to pull you atop his chest in the dark. Or maybe he did it as the sun first rose, staring at your lax face through bleary eyes; determined not to wake you.
Wringing both arms under Ragnvaldr’s head, you pull your face closer to his and earnestly giggle at how his cheeks go ruby red.
“Hm, blushing is a good look for you,” you dance the blade of your nails across his sharp cheekbones, feeling the warmth from his face lick over your fingertips, “So bashful.”
“Bashful,” he scoffs at the mere notion, “I’m the strongest warrior in Oldegaard, I am not bashful.”
“No?”
“No.”
“So, then, if I do this…” you sit up slowly, making a show of petting your palms down his chest and curving your back to push out your chest, perhaps -- just by mere coincidence -- grinding your pelvis into his, “You’ll feel nothing?”
“Nothing,” the tremble in his muscles says otherwise. So does the upward, smitten twitch of his lips. His hands tighten around your waist.
Ragnvaldr is as much a lovestruck fool as he is a warrior, he’s big and simple and so, so tender in your hands.
“Do you lie to me?” you pout, and though he knows it’s fake Ragnvaldr is tempted to smear it off your face.
He beams up at you, a chuckle rumbling low in his throat, “Of course, I’m lying. Have you seen yourself?”
You shrug coyly and he laughs again.
“Beautiful,” Ragnvaldr stretches his neck to press his lips to your neck, “So very beautiful.”
“Now who’s full of flattery?” you tease as hands larger and bolder than your own peel off the gown you’d slept in; Ragnvaldr lifts his hips while you fumble off his trousers.
Warmth lathes up your spine, washing over your skin in time with the softness of Ragnvaldr’s palms. He pulls and squeezes the fat of your hips in appreciation as your slick envelopes his cock. Tossing his head back in a throaty whine, Ragnvaldr bucks his hips up -- settling both feet on the creaky straw and pelts to better thrust into you. Slow and thorough, he curls both arms around your waist and binds you both chest to chest; earnestly moaning at the squish of your bare breasts against him. Leaning his head against yours, Ragnvaldr lovingly molds his lips against your forehead.
“I love you,” he proclaims, “Love,” he whines, high and pitchy and snapping into the back of his throat, “My love, my good love, sweet girl…” he shudders under your hands, pace quickening, “Please, sweet girl, kiss me.”
You should’ve known -- if you weren’t preoccupied with whimpering and wailing his name, you’d probably giggle. Ragnvaldr loves to kiss during sex, no matter how contradictory his wrapping and hugging says otherwise. You have to wiggle up from his sweaty arms to worm your face by his, kissing along his jaw just to tease your lips against the corner of his mouth.
“Please,” the big man huffs pathetically, arms cinching tighter around your body and hips rocking the thin mat below you, “Don’t be cruel to me.”
“Rag’,” you croon, finally giving him the pleasure of your lips locked to his, now mumbling against him, “My precious man, big, big man. You’re so good to me.”
His face flames beneath yours, only growing hotter the longer you speak, “Uh-huh?”
“Yes, yes,” you gasp, his cock driving harder into the spongy spot that makes you weep, “Fuck me harder, Rag’! Rougher, my love, don’t be gentle…”
“Uh-huh…” he nods weakly, and continues nodding against you -- skulls thumping dully in time with his fucking, “Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh…”
Fire rips up the seams of your tangled limbs, scorching up the loose ends of the building knots in both of your guts. Ragnvaldr tears his face back from yours, groaning and crying mixes of your name and gibberish. Gibberish until he finally crackles out,
“Can I- !" he's broken by a shiver and moan, "Can I cum inside, elskede?”
He wriggles one arm off you and in between your bodies to flick wetly around your clit. You burrow your face into the bend of his shoulder, biting the meat of his neck to muffle your swelling moans. You snag your nails into his broad chest, his soft hair tangling under your fingers, spurring you for an eager reply.
“Yes, yes, yes!” you chant dumbly, decisively numb to everything except Ragnvaldr and the ecstasy he brings.
BOOM bomb explodes you DIE!!!
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