#appollo

[klapollofanfic]

Klapollo <3 ( Ain’t no grave can hold my body down Fanfic fanart )

[dirtyriver]

Lucky Luke: Dakota 1880, written by Appollo, art by Brüno, prepublication begins in Spirou 4561, September 10, 2025

[frenchcurious]

Apollo 5000 GT 1964. - source Moto Vitelloni - Wheels n' wings.

[where-was-there-was]

watching old pre-amongus youtube poops is great because for some reason they had an obsession with sauce but to us post-amongus people it just sounds like sus and it makes it seems like the old youtube poopers had just a weirdly specific precognition

[lili-the-puppet]

All the official relationships in Move On Molly

[whereserpentswalk]

I don't have a logical reason for it but the quotes "Tell the emperor that my hall has fallen. Apollo no longer has his house, nor his mantic bay, nor his prophetic spring; the water has gone quite." And "My battery is low and it's getting dark" have the same energy to them. Perhaps on occasion, the machine and divine can speak the same poetry.

[writing-nothing-but-spilled-ink]

Okay y'all I'm fixated on batman and Percy Jackson so this is batman characters and who I think there e goddly parent would be based on vibes mostly

Damian: he's a child of Hades honestly it fits the vibe his grandfather is over six hundred years old and damn near immortal and someone in the family tree dated a ghost or something along the lines I don't remember the context but he's a child of Hades

Harley: a child of Dionysus she's just super chaotic and I feel like it fits the vibe also could explain where her interest in psychology comes from because he's the god of madness and revelry

Ivy: a child of Demeter

Swamp thing: a child of Gaia (look I know Gaia is a titan again I'm going off of vibes)

Bruce: a child of themis (she's the goddess of justice and is associated with oracles and prophecy yes including the oracles of Delphi)

Zatanna: a child of hekate

Dick: a child of Apollo

Raven (I know not technically a batman character but I'm including her): also a child of hekate (yes I'm ignoring trigon)

Cyborg: a child of Hephaestus

Alfred: a child of Hestia (if she had kids I don't remember if she's one of the maiden goddesses) he's the only one that can keep the batfam together and running smoothly because God knows Bruce is really bad at communicating and arranging proper dinners

Beast boy: is a child of pan

Constantine: also a child of Dionysus arguments could also be made for Aphrodite

Jason todd: A child of Ares

Thats all I have for now if I think of more I'll update or give me suggestions of characters and if I have an idea then I'll add it to the list

Also please correct me if u spelled the gods names incorrectly

[legendarypiratecheesecake]

The Girl in the Market

Part 5:

Hector of Troy x fem!reader

Warning:!!mentions of violence and blood!!

The night had teeth.

It bit with sharp winds that howled through the crags, with jagged rocks that scraped like claws, with a cold that wrapped itself around the bones and squeezed. The moon, wan and distant, spilled a ghostly light over the desolate mountain pass barely enough to see the path, yet too much to hide the horrors it revealed.

And in that pale light, a nightmare was unfolding.

Hector stood frozen for the briefest of moments, breath caught in his throat. The sight before him carved itself into the core of his being.

She was still standing , barely , clothes torn and covered in soot and dried blood. Her hair clung to her face in wild strands, her cheek bruised, her wrists scraped raw. She was clutching a flaming torch in both hands, shaking, her entire body trembling like a leaf in a storm. But she stood her ground. Her voice tore through the silence as she screamed, not out of helplessness, but rage. The kind born from a soul that had nothing left to lose.

And in front of her the thing she dared to challenge was no ordinary beast.

Its massive form shimmered between shadow and flesh, each movement leaving trails of smoke behind. Its eyes glowed like twin rubies carved from fire. Its snarl rumbled through the stones, low and guttural, filled with something worse than rage: amusement.

It was toying with her.

Hector’s eyes burned. He gripped his sword harder, knuckles bloodless. Every fiber in his body screamed to move but there was something about her, this girl who only spoke to people in glances and silence, now throwing herself at the embodiment of war, howling at it like a madwoman with nothing but a branch aflame.

And gods, she was magnificent.

The Makhai lunged, and Hector launched forward without another breath, his body moving before his mind could follow. The wind tore at him as he threw himself between her and the beast, steel clashing against monstrous claws in a blinding shower of sparks. The creature shrieked as his blade found flesh, its cry echoing through the mountains like thunder tearing the sky.

It reared back, furious, and swiped Hector barely ducked in time, but its claws raked across his shoulder. He bit back the cry, vision blurring with the sudden burst of pain. His feet skidded against the rocks, but he kept upright, sword raised, heart pounding in his ears like a war drum.

She didn’t run. She should have he expected her to.

But when he caught a glimpse of her face, he saw no fear, only raw, primal fury.

She looked at the wound he’d carved into the creature’s side.

She understood.

Torch in hand, she lunged.

Hector had no time to stop her, she rammed the flaming stick straight into the bleeding gash. The Makhai let out a piercing, unholy scream that split the night in two. Its body convulsed, smoke exploding from its mouth and eyes, fire consuming it from within. The rocks trembled beneath their feet. Hector shielded her with his arm as the beast thrashed, clawing at the earth and sky.

Then, silence.

It was gone.

Not dead or bleeding. Gone. As if it had never been there. Not a body, not even ash remained.

Only the crackle of the dying torch at their feet.

Only the firelight painting their exhausted faces.

Only the echo of horror, still lingering in the air like a curse.

She stood for a second longer then collapsed to her knees. Her breath hitched, and then, violently, she leaned forward and vomited into the dirt.

Her entire body convulsed with the force of it, trembling from head to toe, fingers digging into the earth. Her sobs followed, ugly, raw sounds pulled from the deepest part of her. She clutched her stomach like she was trying to hold herself together, like if she let go, she’d dissolve into nothingness.

Hector couldn’t move. His sword hung in his hand, forgotten. His shoulder throbbed where the beast had cut him, blood running down his arm. But the only thing he saw , the only thing his eyes refused to leave was her.This girl who had fought a creature of death with fire and fury.

This girl who now knelt in the dust, breaking.

He took a step forward slowly, carefully, as if afraid the earth might crumble beneath them.

Another step.Then another.

She didn’t look up. Her arms wrapped around herself, her shoulders heaving as her breath came in choking gasps.

Hector knelt beside her. Not close, not touching. Just near enough for her to know she wasn’t alone.

She flinched as he stepped forward, startled by the crunch of stone beneath his boots. Her legs shifted, trying to lift her away from him, but they gave out.

"Don’t! " she rasped. "Don’t come any closer."

He halted. Hands raised not in surrender, but in calm reassurance.

"I won’t harm you," he said, voice barely above the wind.

Her eyes met his bloodshot, swollen, cracked with pain. Her chest heaved from the effort of breathing through the sobs. She wiped her mouth with the back of her shaking hand.

"What…" Her voice was gravel. "What was that thing?"

Relief bloomed in Hector’s chest. She was speaking. A sign of life. A thread he could hold.

"A Makhai," he answered grimly. "A beast of war. A remnant of chaos, drawn to pain and strife."

Her eyes flickered, trying to comprehend.

"And why would it come for me?"

He didn’t look away. "They feed on suffering. Perhaps it sensed your anguish… or the strength beneath it."

She barked a humorless laugh. "I’m no warrior."

"No," he said, crouching beside her, voice steady. "But you didn’t run. Most would."

She studied him, narrowing her eyes. A shift.

"Who are you?" she demanded. "Why do you speak like you know me?"

He exhaled, jaw tight. "I am Hector. Son of Priam. Prince of Troy."

She reeled as if struck. She looked him over as if trying to recognize something in the dirt-caked man before her.

"But… why are you here?"

"Your servant, Tenna, came to Briseis," he said. "She told her everything. Briseis came to me."

"You shouldn't have come," she whispered.

"I had to."

She dropped her gaze. "I’m not going back."

"I didn’t say you were."

She frowned. "You’re not?"

"No."

"…Why?"

"Because I’ve seen enough to know it wouldn’t help you. And I won’t become another force against you."

Silence lingered, heavier than before.

"What’s your plan?" he asked.

She hesitated. "When the port opens, I’ll find a ship. Buy my way out. Anywhere is better than here."

He said nothing at first. Then: "That’s not a plan. That’s a prayer."

"I don’t care."

He didn’t argue. "Then it’s yours."

She eyed him. "What’s the catch?"

"No catch."

"And you?"

"I’m staying. That creature won’t be the last drawn to you."

She didn’t argue.

---

The silence stretched as they both sat beneath the stars. The fire between them crackled low. A heavy breath of wind curled around them, whispering through the mountain crags.

Hector sitting beside her, just a few feet away. Her cheeks were scraped. Her arms bore bruises. Her eyes looked hollow, like someone who had walked through death and come back staggering. But she was still here.

"Do you think he knows?" she asked. "My father?"

Hector didn’t turn to look at her. His gaze stayed on the mountains.

"Not yet. But he will soon."

She bit her lip. Her hands trembled in her lap. She was trying to breathe slowly, but the panic was rising again.

"He’ll send men," she whispered. "He’ll find me."

Hector finally looked at her. There was something in her tone that struck him not fear, but resignation.

"Not if I have anything to say about it," he said quietly.

She scoffed, barely a laugh.

"You’re the prince of Troy, If something happens to you while protecting someone as unimportant as me... they’ll hang me at the gates."

He arched an eyebrow, slightly amused despite himself.

"Unimportant?" he said. "That creature attacked you like you were the last flame left in a dying world. I don’t know what that means, but I know it doesn’t spell unimportant."

She shook her head and looked away.

"You don’t understand..."

But before she could finish, a dry branch cracked in the distance. She jumped to her feet in one jerking motion, eyes wide with terror. Hector stood with her, already reaching for his sword.

It was nothing. Just the wind, or perhaps a fox. But the damage was done. She was trembling again, and he could see it this time the rawness, the exhaustion. This girl was frayed down to the threads.

He stepped forward and gently placed a hand on her shoulder.

"You need to rest," he said.

She turned her head, eyes blazing.

"I can’t! I have to leave, I have to--"

"Go where?" he asked, voice still calm.

She hesitated. Then finally, reluctantly: "There’s a boat. One of the merchant fleets is leaving at sunrise. I was going to buy passage."

Hector raised a brow. "With what coin?"

"I took it. From my father."

Of course she did. Brave, reckless, desperate. He admired it. But he also saw every flaw in her plan, every crack waiting to swallow her whole.

He sighed, his mind running through options. The earlier fury, the one that told him to drag her father to the square and end him there, was fading. This was bigger. Political. Delicate.

Her father wasn’t just a man. He was a pillar of the city. Revered. Respected. And Troy had enough enemies without Hector creating one inside its walls.

But then another idea came to him. Her ceremony. The priesthood.

He turned back to her. "There’s another way."

She narrowed her eyes.

"If you still want to be a priestess..." he said slowly, "...I can see you into the temple at dawn. Once the rites are done, your father won’t be able to touch you."

After a pause he let out his second option: " but If you still wish to leave Troy and sail away somewhere farI’ll see to it myself. I’ll arrange the boat. I’ll make sure no one follows."

"Not even me." He turned his head I her direction and continued: "Whatever you choose… I’ll protect it."

She didn’t speak at first.

She just looked at him truly looked at him.

This man who had ridden into the mountains in the dead of night, bloodied his hands to fend off a creature from another world, and now sat before her like a soldier waiting for orders. Like a friend offering refuge.

Like something she couldn’t define.

End of Part 5.