"Don't Cry."

You are loved.

People care about you.

You are worth so much.

You are not broken.

Be yourself don't let other effect you because you are better then them.

❤️❤️❤️

Please, spread this for those who might need it right now

U.S. suicide hotline: call or text 988 (available 24 hours)

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Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA) National Helpline: 1-800-662-HELP (4357) – provides 24/7 confidential support and referrals for individuals and families facing mental health and substance use disorders, including panic attacks and anxiety.

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Take care of yourself and each other. Please stay safe ♡

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Twin Where have you been

Will wakes up a little bit stuck and a lot bit hot. It’s just past sunrise, from what he can see out of the mostly-shuttered window, which means he’s just pat late. Fuck.

“Nico,” he whispers, trying and failing to delicately free himself, “Nico, un-octopus. I gotta pee.”

He does have to pee. Moreso, he needs to wake up and leave, but if Nico hears so much of a syllable pertaining to his abandonment he will never let go. Ergo. Will has learned some creativity.

“Mmfggh,” groans Nico, maturely. He tightens his arms around Will’s waist and buries his face deeper into the (boiling, suffering, sweating, etc) crook of his neck. “No. Suffer.”

“Nico.”

“Sh.”

“Nico.”

“Sh. I’m sleeping.” Will feels more than sees one eye opening, eyelashes tickling his skin. He can guess at the glare. “Don’t you want me to be well-rested and healthy.”

“Right now I kind of want to flick you, honestly.”

Nico hides a smile along Will’s spine.

“That’s because you’re sick and twisted.”

“Mhm. Get off, di Angelo.”

Nico pouts but, finally, relents: he loosens his hold not enough for Will to roll out but enough that he can actually fill his lungs with enough oxygen to wiggle his way to the edge of the bed. Nico, as soon as Will is not glued to him, huffs and rolls over, smothering himself in Will’s pillow.

“I see how it is,” he complains, muffled. “You don’t want me. Fine. See if I hold you next time you come in here all needy and affectionate.” He shifts just enough to glare, once he’s sure Will is looking. “I’ll close the door in your face.”

Will rolls his eyes, smiling. He’s late, but he lingers a moment, tracing his fingers across Nico’s spine, his ribs; trailing along the reddened scratches over his shoulders and ignoring Nico’s nooooo leave them leave them as he heals them.

“You’re such a drama queen.”

“I mean it!”

“Right. You meant it yesterday, too, and yet…”

“You seduced me,” Nico says, emphatically. He sits up quickly and catches Will’s hand, staring at him hard and serious — enough so that Will almost believes him, except the corner of his mouth twitches. “You — did some kind of spell fuckery on me, no doubt purchased from your various witchy sources, and all restraint — gone. Poof. And I have restraint in abundance, so obviously it was not my weakness.”

“Obviously,” Will agrees. “Not like you say my name in your sleep and wake up pouting if I so much as breathe near the door. ‘Course not.”

Nico goes pink. “I — do not.”

Will grins. “You do. Sometimes you try and kiss the air where you imagine I am.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“Whatever you need to believe, darlin’. It’s not like I’m allergic to lying.”

He leaves Nico sputtering, cackling on his way to the ensuite. It is half the reason he’s dating Nico, honestly. How come Will’s cabin doesn’t get an ensuite? They’ve got like a billion people in there. They need it more than he does.

But, well. Will needs an ensuite to get ready most mornings, because he’s up before the harpies are cleared for the night, so he supposes he will just have to sleep at Nico’s more often than not. Shame. Tragedy, really, because he is just so attached to his twin bed that is not long enough for his legs. Too bad.

“I can hear you rearranging products in there,” Nico calls, still grouchy. “Cut it out.”

Will turns the last tube of hair gel so it is just slightly off-centred from the rest of the products. He smiles around his toothbrush.

“Wouldn’t be such an issue if you didn’t have so much hair shit,” he responds, spitting into the sink.

“You should have more hair products! Look at yourself!”

Will does not. He does not have a sister who continues to look judgementally upon his mess of a head and passive aggressively but lovingly gift him hair supplies for all birthdays. He also does not have time to do his hair. Less people should maim themselves for Will to handle all day, and then maybe he’ll do something with his hair.

“You think my hair is sexy,” Will says, walking back into the main cabin. Nico harrumphs from under the covers, notably not denying it, and states unabashedly — not that there is much to see, since it’s still pretty dark out — at Will while he changes. Will slips on a scrub top and then walks over and pinches him.

“Ow,” Nico whines, rubbing the spot as if he did not try to hide the stab wound he got sparring from him yesterday. “You hurt me.”

“Mhm. You objectified me.”

“…Only a little!”

Will shakes his head, smiling, and leans down — holding Nico’s wandering hands away from the hem of his shirt, he has places to be and has been distracted enough already — to kiss him. It’s a challenge, pressing his smile to Nico’s pout, but very quickly Nico sighs, eyes fluttering shut, and Will can kiss him properly.

“I’ll come wake you up again around noon if you’re not already up,” he murmurs. “I have to open the infirmary, but then I’m practicing for the rest of the day. You’re coming to my game, right?”

Nico tries to slide his hands up Will’s chest. Will bats his hands away.

“Yes,” he says, mournfully. “I will come watch you hit a ball around with other such interested jocks.”

“Bring your pom-poms,” Will says, cheeky, “and I wouldn’t remiss a matching skirt.”

He pulls away to Nico’s snorting laugh, wiggling his fingers in a wave as he heads to the door. He hears Nico’s quick have fun, goober as he pushes the solid obsidian shut behind him and blows a kiss at the window. He stands on the veranda, stretching, and relaxes with a sigh, staring across the common.

Gods, it is early.

And cold.

He trudges his way to the infirmary, anyway, already anticipating tonight’s koala cuddling.

———

next

He’s going to be *on screen*!!

Happy season three renewal, everybody 😂

Maybe we should all draw this weird little gremlin to celebrate 😉

I long for every detail on the ptsd episode with Will. I know I will cry in so many different ways. I crave Will angst.

i would be happy to tell you. ahem. (be warned the concept is. a little ridiculous. nor do i know why i structured this like a poem but alas we carry on):

middle of the summer after the giant war.

something happens at dinner. who knows who started it (hermes cabin). there is a food fight.

someone gets WAY too intense and fucking. launches a watermelon at someone else.

they miss thankfully! but it splats on the stone

and everyone jumps cus the sound but then they’re back to laughing and throwing shit but will just.

freezes.

and starts to walk very slowly to the watermelon.

and tries to.

piece it back together.

and after a second people are looking like oh my god what’s going on what’s his deal….

and percy stands up and rushes over and he’s like hey, man. you okay? you good?

and the camp has gotten silent enough to hear a quiet, panicked i don’t know what to do, michael, what do i do, what do i

and percy gets this LOOK on his face this horrible look and he’s like will, it’s percy. can you look up at me? do you know where you are?

and he just gets increasingly hysterical. trying to put the pieces back together. red juice spilling down his arms and pooling on the inside of his elbows. michael what do i — michael! michael! it’s not working, i can’t — i can’t feel him! michael! michael —

there are very few people at camp who understand what’s happening.

but a handful of them.

know will is not seeing a watermelon right then.

percy is just holding wills wrists and clutching him tightly and just saying it’s okay, will, it’s okay, it’s okay over and over

crying himself

i don’t have an ending it would just be painful. i do however have the image of clarisse, watching aching and angry in the sidelines. i like to imagine her barking at everyone else to look the fuck away and mind their business. i like to imagine chris holding her hand, and her tightening, hard. her crying. the little kids in apollo crying, too, because they've never seen their brother like this before. maybe nico remembering a golden shroud and a boy around his age who couldn't stop sobbing.

Nico doesn’t seek to uncover a new scientific field, originally. It is just that he does not understand it.

"Make better choices! Dumbass!"

"Whatever you say, Apollo Junior."

"Oh, shut up!"

This -- Apollo Junior business.

There are similarities, sure. Here and there. Blond, blue-eyed, tall and strong. Many are. And of course the proclivity for drama and histrionics.

But the similarities end there, as far as Nico is concerned.

"You good?" Will calls, and Nico startles. "You're staring into space." He focuses his eyes and realizes Will is watching him out his peripherals, smiling when Nico meets his eyes.

“Do you have a photo of your mother?”

Will looks up again, eyebrows raised, glow finally fading from his hands and eyes. He holds a strip of bandage over a camper’s bicep, wrapping the roll around. “I have several," he says slowly. "Why?”

Nico squints at him.

“C’mere.”

Will hands the roll off to his patient, walking over. He stands hesitantly in front of Nico’s chair, shoulders pushed up, teeth worrying his lower lip.

Nico reaches out and tugs it free.

“You don’t look that much like your dad,” he murmurs, tilting Will’s head to the side. “You’ve got the — general blueprint, sure, but he’s all…angles.” He runs a finger over Will’s soft jaw. “You’re rounded.”

It's true. Will has more to his cheeks than his father does, baby fat he hasn't quite yet dropped. His skin is spattered with freckles on freckles, peeking through the burn scars, and his eyebrows and eyelashes are fully blond. His curls, even are nothing like so many campers claim -- yes they are sunshiney, yes they are golden. The color matches the very shimmer of the sun.

But Will's curls are a mess. Constantly.

He can no more tame the mass on his head more than Chiron can control this camp. He can run a brush through, sure -- not that he does -- but every cowlick is at odds, and every curl chooses a different pattern. Like all the frazzle that lives in his head shoots out of his skull at random, like the exclamation points in a comic.

It's cute.

It's very un-Apollo.

"Um," manages Will, voice crackling like firewood. "Um, Nico?"

When Nico looks at him again he is glowing. Not with healing, this time, but -- red. Sun-cow red, dwarf-star red.

Flustered.

Nico blinks in surprise.

"You're, um. Um! I gotta -- work."

Will twitches a little in his hold, pulling back but stopping, and Nico gets the hint and releases him. He pulls back rapidly, then, haggard breath brushing across the fine hairs on Nico's fingers.

"I'm gonna," he says, or mumbles, picking at his cut up fingertips. "Uh, see you."

He runs, practically, to the back of the infirmary, disappearing behind a supply shelf. The girl he was treated throws her one working arm up in exasperation, scowling at the horrible bandage-wrapping she has attempted on herself.

"You," she says, glaring at Nico, "are always distracting him. I might as well bleed out if you're around!"

She stalks off, tossing the ruined bandages at his head. Nico slides off the nurse's station counter, nudging them with his foot. A sound escapes his throat, unbidden: a low, contemplating hum, wrapping around his tapping fingers.

He looks back towards the supply shelves and wonders.

———

He stretches it further three days later, when the weather spells are lifted to feed the strawberries.

Will delivers on the photographs.

There are, as he promised, several of them. Several dozen, really, tucked carefully in a weathered leather album, between dozens more of his siblings with them and not. He sits next to Nico on his bed, knees tucked against his chest, flipping between tracing the curve of his family's smile against the edge of his thumbnail and watching Nico from the corner of his eye.

"She's young," Nico observes, tapping at an older photo of Naomi. She is twenty-something, in the photo, early; she holds a squirming, chunky toddler Will in her lap and laughs so hard she's blurry with it.

The shape of their faces is identical down to the atoms.

"Yes," Will agrees. "She was young when she had me. Nineteen."

Nico raises his eyebrows. His own mother was young, he knows, but not for the time; Sally Jackson was young but at least old enough to drink. Will notices the look on his face and smiles a little wry, a little bitter.

"I know. I've had lots to say about it myself."

Nico nods, turning the page. This one is mostly Will's older, gone siblings -- he knows by the heaviness of Will's breathing before he can even puzzle out what the older polaroids tell him.

It is interesting, the way Will imitates. The way Lee Fletcher stands, the way Michael Yew rolls his eyes. The gentle hold of an older girl Nico doesn't recognize, poking a giggling, eight-year-old Will in the stomach. The exaggerated cheek kiss of a woman with hair down to her knees.

Will stares, now, at the photographs, images he captured, images he has memorized again and again over the years -- the blue of his eyes is almost gray in the shadows of the rainclouds, in the darkened fairy lights of the quiet cabin seven. There is a distance to them, a sadness Nico so rarely gets to see. It is pretty, on him. Makes him look heavy, makes him look full. So often he is cheery and empty, or whatever his campers, his patients need; it is relieving to see him soft and wanting for a moment, to see the love rising and bubbling in his face, to see it crashing like waves in the gentle shake of his large hands. In the rainy softness he looks like moonlight, reflective.

"They'd be proud of you, you know."

Will smiles slightly. There is no light in his eyes, for once, and Nico cannot resist running his thumb under them. Will shivers.

"You think so?"

"How could they not be?" He tilts Will's head, slightly, until those grayed blue eyes lock squarely on his, wide and hopeful. "I am."

He says it slowly, carefully, spending time on the separation between the vowels. Like he hoped there comes the heat, seeping right through to his roughened palms. He removes them quickly, unwilling to miss it, and to his sudden wave of satisfaction there it is: the redness in his cheeks, glowing like June strawberries. His looks away quickly, biting the corner of his cheek.

"I'm -- uh."

He reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. It pops back into his eyes immediately, so Nico tugs it gently back, tucking it behind the bobby pin by his temple. He watches his lips part as he inhales more than he hears the sharpness of it.

"...Thank you, Nico."

Nico watches the quiet set to his face, the small, pleased smile. Tiny. He watches the color that clings to his cheeks even as he flips through the rest of the photos, even as he is absorbed in distant memories. He watches. He watches Will watch him, out of the corners of his eyes, through the curls of his hair. Nico exhales, low and contemplating.

"Of course."

———

Will is a deeply affectionate person.

It is in the mornings when he grabs Austin's grouchy, scowling face, pressing deafening and exaggerating smooches all over until he cracks and laughs. It is in the gentle hand on Kayla's shoulder on the range, waving wildly at the missed target until she nods, eyes bright again, face narrowed in determination along her next shot. It is in the gentle hip-check of a frantic, barking Clarisse out of the way, murmuring assurances as he patches a slash through Chris's bicep. It is in the sunshine-bright smiles pointed at everyone he sees, at the thanks, darlin'! at busy passing nymphs and tricking Chiron into giving up his paperwork. It is in both hands occupied by giggling, awestruck children and his shoulders the new hot seat, it is in the shrieking laugh bubbling out of Lou Ellen's mouth as he twirls her to music playing only in his head, it is in his holler of gravity's increasing on me!! as he crushes Cecil to the ground. It is in the arm he slings over Nico's shoulders, constantly, the parting mwah pressed to his temple, the brush of his guitar-callused fingertips across cheekbones, knuckles, shoulders and crooked elbows.

It is everywhere. It is constant. It is, almost, forgettable.

It is confounding.

Nico tests it, again. He waits for the dusk of campfire, on an evening cold enough even Will is in tight blue jeans, and he says, in front of everybody:

“You look good.”

The tips of his own ears are red, hidden by his hair, and his voice is low enough to have several onlookers wolf whistle.

But the flames don’t burst into being across Will’s nose.

Instead he grins, wide and grandiose, cocks his hip high, and says, in the worst exaggeration of his soft, subtle accent Nico has ever heard:

“Aw, don’t I?”

And Nico thinks:

Hm.

He watches, and every day is groundhog day; every day Will is grinning teeth and kiss-pursed lips and hearty palms and gentle, careful fingers. Every morning he greets Nico with his lips pressed to his fingers and blown into the air, and he is shameless, and when there is teasing he responds with knuckles dug into ribs and wide-mouthed grins and come here, brat, you're next. Every other sentence ends in darlin' or dearest or if he's talking to Nico than a million others he pulls from a hat, Zombie Boy and Death Breath and sweetcheeks and princess. He doesn't even think about them. Nico will blink at every new one and say, no, and he will laugh, low and snorting, and double down. And Drew will roll her eyes and mutter about Southern charm or rather his lack of it and can you maybe be a kicked puppy somewhere away from me, please and he will roll his eyes. And he will walk Nico to his door every night and say, bright as daylight, night, Neeks, love you! and bound away across the common, shrieking as the harpies descend on his chronically late ass.

And Nico thinks:

Hm.

But there will be moments. In corners, or in twilight: when it is someone else's turn to sing, when someone else strokes the little ones' hair as they blink themselves awake to drowsy flames, when the campfire smoke is sweet and soft and wraps around the two of them, on the blanket Will has laid out. And Will will yawn, head drooping, halfway asleep, too out of it to notice Nico's creeping hand. And Nico will touch, barely, the edge of his pinky to the bent knuckle of Will's, tucked away between them, shrouded in shadow.

And under the dancing light of flickering embers, Will's face will burn.

And Nico thinks:

Ah.

———

Nico decides to consult an expert.

"Morning," mumbles Annabeth, bumping into him as she stumbles her way to breakfast.

Nico follows quickly, sitting down next to her and staring until she sets down her book. When she does not, he puts a very careful finger on the spine, tugging down until she blinks.

"Oh, Nico! Hey. Good morning."

Nico hides a small smile. "Morning," he greets back. "I have a Question."

"Capital Q question," Annabeth observes, taking a bite of her cereal. She glances over at her half-closed book. Nico cautiously slides it away, and she glances back. "Shoot."

"How do I test a theory?"

"Uh, hypothesis, usually," she answers. "Unless your theory is: Percy is deathly afraid of centipedes, in which case I will go ahead and confirm that theory for you."

"No, that's not the theory." Nico blinks. "Thank you, though."

"Mhm. Reparations, etc etc."

"Right. Uh, my theory is secret."

Annabeth stares at him. Nico stares back. Annabeth does not blink. Nico squirms.

"A gay theory," she surmises.

"Shut up," Nico confirms, red-faced.

Annabeth grins. "Make a list of true/false statements you can prove or disprove. Test them. After testing, form a conclusion." She waves her spoon emphatically. A drop of milk lands on Nico's eyelid, and she smiles sheepishly. "Boom. Questions gained. Will Solace's Affections: conquered."

"Shut up," he says, again. But then adds, belatedly: "Thank you."

He flees to the exit horn of her cackling, before anyone can overhear them.

———

next

i saw this image and immediately thought of them.Please tell me nobody has done this already LOL (。-∀-)