#ghost nico

[ritnya46]

AU GHOST!NICO

what if...the seven hadn't rescued Nico?

[yonemurishiroku]

Nico is the ghost that haunts Jason and Reina.

They consider him an evil poltergeist and try their best to avoid and expel him.

well, in the end they understand what he really wants... they go to the old house of the Di Angelo family and find the skeletons of a girl and a boy trapped in the wall.

"So that's what he asked for.." Reina says softly as Jason gently lifts the boy's skeleton in his arms.

They burn the skeletons and see Nico holding his sister's hand and waving happily at them.

Then they disappear into the white mist, finally finding peace.

[AU, the ghost of Nico and Jason and Reina helps him find peace, sister - Hazel].

this is destroying me on a spiritual level.

who hurt you anon

[moqra]

ALEX!!!!!💖

[yonemurishiroku]

Similar posts: Self-love Nico again because i say so - those times Nico finds solace from within his darkness.

Nico di Angelo accepted his blood, his powers, his godly half - even when it distances him from the living.

Anyone else thinks it’s fascinating how Nico can be… what’s the word, i don’t know,… intimate with death itself?

What I’m trying to say is that: most people are scared of the concept of death, whereas Nico feels truly comfortable within it and likewise, death embraces him the same way the Underworld welcomes the dead.

The jar incident hits deep to me because Nico literally relied on a temporary death to survive. It’s like Nico reached out to death as an escape.

When the reality was too cruel and the pain was unbearable and he just couldn’t take it anymore, death was there as a relief. A much needed rest. A house to hide in the middle of the storm.

No, I’m not saying Nico was suicidal. What I meant is that Nico perceives death differently. He knows it intimately. The aura it gives off. The moment it happens. The grief that follows and lingers. He knows them all and he embraces them all.

And the fact that that death-like coma did provide him more time to be rescued and ended up half the reason why he survived, I’d like to think that in some way, death does favor Nico, too.

I don’t know. i just think that it’s intriguing how children of the Underworld are guarded by such a dreadful force that people fear so much. They come so close to it that they don’t feel scared anymore.

And death welcomes them. They are safe. No one dares to touch them when they’re in its arms.

[glitterforplaster]

title: i used to have such steady hands, but now i can’t keep them from shaking (demo) verse: steady hands pov: 3rd, Percy pairing: Nico/Percy summary: the Ghost King is dead. notes: a sneak-peek at the first part of the "steady hands" universe. dedicated to poppy queernico; happy birthday, babe. title from “a raindance in traffic” by the wonder years.

o1. i’ll come back to haunt you

There are very few things that Percy Jackson expects to find waiting for him behind the front door of his New York City apartment on a cold November night; these being a) a disgruntled and possibly elderly neighbor, b) his mother, or c) Annabeth Chase, who would brush past him without a word, start a pot of coffee, lean against the counter, cross her fantastic mile-long legs, and then proceed to have a one-sided conversation about the sub-par ceiling construction of the lobby downstairs, without even once mentioning their two-year-old break-up or the fact that she hadn’t contacted him in months or the reason she was there (and Percy would just smile and offer her the couch, because that was Annabeth, and this was Percy).

Absolutely none of these things include Nico di Angelo, yet there he is, standing in the dimly-lit hallway, his red tennis shoes almost— but not quite— matching the carpet.

Everything about him speaks of shadows, of secrets, of shades— his dark eyes and the grey hoodie zipped up over his Soul Eater t-shirt and the rings on his fingers and the way he’s chewing on his lower lip like he’s not sure he’s supposed to be here.

(Why is he here?)

His expression is one part defiant, angry, challenging, two parts wrenched open, honest, bare. (Percy has no idea how this kid manages to be such a contradiction all the time. Maybe it helps that he lives in the Underworld. As if he weren’t enough of an oxymoron already.)

"Hey," Nico murmurs, like it’s not unexpected that he’d show up at Percy’s place at eleven at night; like this is completely normal. His eyes are flicking over Percy’s face with a sort of— hunger, but still there’s a soft kind of hesitance in his voice, almost— shy.

"Hey," Percy repeats, a little incredulously, hand still resting on the edge of the apartment door. "Um, not to sound rude or anything, it’s nice to see you and all, but— where the fuck have you been? You know, for the last three years?”

Nico visibly flinches, shrinking back into his oversized hoodie like he’s been hit. He looks at his shoes. “Around,” he says quietly. “Quests and stuff.”

Something curls in Percy’s chest; a coiled spring, cold steel held back, tamped down, pushed away. He’s angry, furious that Nico thinks "quests and stuff" smooths over three entire years of no contact— not a single word. He wants to scream, wants to take this kid by the shoulders and shake him until all his change wears right through the seams of his pockets, until he’s got some sense in him.

But all he says is, “You could’ve sent a fucking Iris message. At least once in three entire fucking years.”

(He’s aware that he’s probably cursing too much, but he’s twenty-one years old, which is sort of like an adult, and Nico di Angelo is standing outside his apartment door, so it’s justifiable. Mostly.)

"Percy," Nico starts, his voice quivering like a bowstring. He pauses; looks away, down the hall, unable to meet Percy’s eyes; murmurs, "I’m sorry."

A quiet sound claws its way up his throat, involuntary and sharp and pained; swallowed like knives as soon as it makes its presence known. “Look, it’s late,” he says, opening the door wider. “Why don’t you come inside, I can— I’ll make coffee— I’ve got leftovers in the fridge, you look like you haven’t eaten in days— is it cold outside? You look freezing— here, come in, it’s warmer in here.”

Nico’s inhale is shaky. “Percy,” he repeats, in that same soft tone. “I can’t.”

"What?" Percy turns back to the doorway. Nico’s still standing there— lingering like a restless spirit.

"I can’t come in," he says quietly.

Percy’s face falls. “Why?”

"I—" Nico’s voice fails him, cracks. He swallows; tries again. "I need— I need you to—" He stops again, squeezes his eyes closed to shut out the world; lets out a soft, pained sort of sigh, like he’s got a blade in his chest and his breath has just moved it slightly to the left.

"Nico," Percy says, panic twisting into his spine like wire holding him up. "What’s wrong? Shit, are you hurt? You can tell me. Whatever it is, I can— tell me what’s wrong."

Is he crying?

Fuck, oh, gods, he’s crying.

Nico blinks open his eyes, edges wet with tears. “I need you to help me bury a body.”

"Okay," Percy says. "Whose body?"

(He doesn’t even think about it until it’s slipped from his mouth. His knee-jerk reaction is still to help this kid, to protect him, no matter what the cost. He needs to keep Nico safe. It’s a bone-deep compulsion. Easier than swimming, than breathing, than screwing up.

If anyone else had come to him with that sentence sitting under their tongue, he would have shut the door in their face.)

The tension in Nico’s shoulders drops like a stone in water— as though he can’t hold himself up even a moment longer. He rubs the heel of his hand into his eye, like a child accidentally awake in the middle of the night.

"Nico," Percy says again, fear like ice in his blood. "Whose body?”

Nico hiccups, breath catching on the hooks of his hesitance. “Mine,” he says. “My body.”

The colour bleeds out of Percy’s skin. He’s sure the score of his mouth looks like a graveyard. He thinks of burying this boy alive— of standing by while his childhood friend chokes on dirt and leaves. He feels sick. “You want me to kill you?”

Nico trembles. “No,” he says softly. “There’s no need. I’m already dead.”

[glitterforplaster]

i used to have such steady hands but now i can't keep them from shaking (i must have been watching his ghost) - a mix for when the ghost king becomes just what he's always ruled over; a mix for when the son of the ocean feels like he's drowning in his grief {x}

1. a raindance in traffic - the wonder years   (i used to have such steady hands but now i can’t keep them from shaking)   2. your ghost - greg laswell   (push your old numbers / and let your house ring / until i wake your ghost)   3. woke up new - the mountain goats   (what do i do without you?)   4. do you know what i’m seeing - panic! at the disco   (if i go to hell / will you come with me or just leave?)   5. bones - ms mr   (dig up the bones / but leave the soul alone)  6. misguided ghosts - paramore   (would someone care to classify / our broken hearts and twisted minds?)   7. anyone’s ghost - the national   (didn’t want to be your ghost / didn’t want to be anyone’s ghost)   8. haunt - bastille   (and i’ll come back to haunt you)   9. home - daughter   (keep the nightmares out / give me mouth to mouth / i can’t live without you)   10. ghosts - rosie carney   (i was hoping you would listen / but you didn’t even notice i was gone)   11. broadripple is burning - margot & the nuclear so and so’s   (i’ll be hanging from a rope / i will haunt you like a ghost)   12. lose your soul - dead man’s bones   (you’re gonna lose your soul / tonight)   13. skin - grimes   (i'll have you be near my heart / until i feel human)   14. lifeforms - daughter    (you can try to forget but i won’t let you easy)   15. woke up dead - kyla la grange   (you were the only thing that i could touch or feel)   16. hazy - rosi golan   (what if i went and lost myself? / would you know where to find me / if i forgot who i am / would you please remind me?)   17. milk - sea oleena   (the only living ghost to grace the hall)

listen. art credit.

[franchaelan]

hi do you like icecream?

HII I absolutely love ice cream xP

[glitterforplaster]

Nico di Angelo stands in his doorway and everything about him speaks of shadows, of secrets, of shades— his dark eyes and the grey hoodie zipped up over his Soul Eater t-shirt and the rings on his fingers and the way he’s chewing on his lower lip like he’s not sure he’s supposed to be here.

(Why is he here?)

His expression is one part defiant, angry, challenging— and two parts wrenched open, honest; bare. (Percy has no idea how this kid manages to be such a contradiction all the time; maybe it helps that he lives in the Underworld. As if he weren’t enough of an oxymoron already.)

i'm sorry