#Percy enables him

[bayetea]

so you’ve mentioned before the trouble with frazel raising a child. BUT, what stuck in mind was you said they’d have conflicts with having a son and not a daughter.

what do you think would happen if frazel had a son?

what do you think would happen if frazel had a daughter?

so this is informed by my own analyses of frank's canon material and upbringing, but at the end of the day this is my own interpretation, so you don't have to take this as like a fact or anything!

but the crux of my thoughts on this subject boils down to this: frank didn't grow up with any male role models that we know of, positive or negative. his household has always been highly matriarchal, especially after emily went to war and he was left in the care of grandma zhang, who is stern and unforgiving and absolutely impossible for frank to relate to at all. in an ideal world "male" and "female" role models wouldn't be a significant distinction at all and positive role models of any gender would be equally accessible for all children - but realistically kids often prefer people that resemble them in some way (gender, race, ethnicity, etc) as such, and frank appears to have had no men to help him develop and navigate his masculine identity. we can also note that in western pop culture asian men are most dominantly represented in two forms: martial arts action movie heroes or... brainiac nerds. frank is neither. like I'm not gonna get into this much (because it's a big topic) but like we know how asian men are stereotyped as and deemed less than for being """less masculine""" in the west so I think that might be a thing to keep in mind when considering frank's feelings, i.e. why he might care more than others about his own masculine self-image

anyways, there's this one line from grandma zhang in son of neptune that I've always found very poignant, and honestly kind of chilling:

Men do not cry. Especially Zhang men. You will endure, Fai.

it isn't made 100% clear when exactly she said this in the books but I believe the implication was that she said this to frank during emily's funeral - which is fucking crazy lol. his mom just died and his grandma is pulling a "boys don't cry" on him. I can see that she just wanted him to be strong but the complete lack of tenderness during the worst time of his life and emphasis put on his expression of sadness as a detriment to his masculinity would make any young man feel like shit. we aren't given any insight as to how frank felt about this line specifically in this chapter but we do know that frank almost never pushes back against the things his grandmother says, because emily zhang is quoted as once saying to frank:

There is no arguing with Grandmother. It'll only make you suffer worse.

now the line "especially zhang men" was probably quite meaningless to frank in the moment because he did not care even a little bit about his family name or his chinese ancestry - and he certainly doesn't see himself upholding his grandmother's notions of what a zhang man is supposed to be, but a man in general? what's a young boy to think when he has no men, no male role models in his life and his grandmother is telling him that men don't cry? he has no grounds to push back against that. and I think this teaching is exacerbated heavily by frank going to camp jupiter, which appears to uphold the same general principle that showing weakness is unacceptable - not for men specifically (as far as we know), but validating that idea at all is just. not what I think frank needed to be hearing

funnily the first positive male role model that we know frank to have had is percy, who is slightly older than him - and frank immediately attaches himself to percy and likes and admires and respects him so so much. and although percy is put through the freaking wringer in son of neptune, frank doesn't ever actually see percy shed tears (percy does cry/almost sheds tears/gets emotional to the point of his voice breaking about twice in son, but both instances occur in front of hazel, not frank). the only time he really sees percy showing emotional weakness is the scene where he gets so freaked out by evil centaurs that he gets triggered and can't move - and that wasn't even a voluntary moment of vulnerability, he was legit triggered and got physically sick over it. I'm not gonna go so far as to claim that percy becomes frank's image of what an ideal man should be, but ehhhhh from the way frank talks about percy throughout hoo and especially son I don't think that would be the biggest reach either

and there are several bits and pieces throughout the books where frank expresses a desire to assume a role of conventionally masculine importance. I'm not gonna go to the trouble of singling out like all of them but here are three instances that I consider most noteworthy:

frank in son:

Whenever [Hazel] wanted something, he had the irrational urge to provide it. He wanted to be the old-fashioned knight riding to her rescue, which was stupid, as she was way more capable at everything than he was.

frank in son:

If he admitted how weak he was, that his whole life depended on a half-burned stick... Hazel would never see him as a hero. He'd never be her knight in armor.

frank in hoh:

Frank was so pleased to be holding [Hazel's] hand, [...] He felt needed--useful. Not that Hazel required his protection. [...] Still, Frank liked being next to her, imagining he was her bodyguard.

all these of these instances are specifically related to hazel, which I find significant - because they say something about how frank thinks he needs to be for a female romantic partner. like the first quote literally has him wanting to be a provider for her and the second has him fearful that if he appears weak (think about the "men don't cry" line) then he won't be good enough for her, so I don't think it's wrong to assume that frank still has some not great ideas in his head about the specific ways in which he needs to be a man. do you guys know those jokes about "the masculine urge to bleed out in the snow" or however it goes. frank retweets the shit out of that post every time he sees it and piper is in his dms like "are you okay???" /lh

furthermore we see frank really taking pride in himself as a son of mars towards the end of son when he's mouthing off against alcyoneus - and I think his godly parentage plays a role in this. mars is a highly "virile" god and considered the second most important deity in cj's roman pantheon. he's a highly significant figure in the roman mythos because he is considered the pater (father) of the romans, the father of romulus and remus from whom all romans are descended - aka the father of rome itself. so there's something inherently paternalistic about frank, the son of mars, assuming the role of co-praetor at camp jupiter. it's the ultimate fulfillment of his repeatedly expressed desire to be able to perform his masculinity in the specific way that he really wants to

and alllll of that is basically just to evidence that I don't think frank would be the sort of father who's going to parent his kids the exact same way regardless of gender. I think I see frank being tougher on his son (if he has a son) in the future than his daughter as a result. not to such an extreme that he would say terrible harsh things like "zhang men don't cry" to his own boy (I don't think he ever wants to make his kids feel the way his grandma made him feel) but just in little ways that build up over time

whereas if frank had a daughter, I think he's more likely to spoil and be lenient and extremely protective her. not necessarily to the point of sheltering her excessively or refusing to let her fight (i.e. I think he'd be happy if his daughter joined the legion or ever became a praetor herself) but just in the way of not having the same kind of, say, rigid masculine expectations that he might have of his own son

and like. I'm worried that my saying this might incur frank hate or whatever but I want to say clearly that I think he'd still be a good dad? good enough anyway. obviously it would be great if frank could unlearn some of this and care less about gender norms but the books kind of just... put all of this stuff on the table and don't resolve/address it meaningfully so I'm just working with what we've got. hilariously despite being from the 1930s I think hazel would be more evenhanded towards their kids regardless of gender so I can totally see this being a thing that they clash over in the future. not in a relationship-ruining way but just as an add-on to the issues they'd have as parents that I mentioned in my other ridiculously long post on frazel child-rearing lol

(and if their kid is neither a girl nor a boy then I think frank would be a little confused lol but still highly supportive and willing to learn)

[pooks]

Fred: *shows a harmonica* If you play, you get a hundred million Galleons George: But the Ministry will be overthrown Percy: *grabs the harmonica and plays rapidly* Arthur: Percy NO!

[mediumgayitalian]

Hazel thinks she hates New York.

It’s not Camp Half-Blood. She likes Camp Half-Blood, actually, likes the sweet-smelling strawberry fields, the rolling waves in the distance, the way every colour, every conversation or moment, just seems more. Louder, livelier. It’s only been a couple days but she’s fond of the place, even though the people are odd and the customs odder (seriously — who came up with the curfew harpies? Hazel is no stranger to demigod structural violence, but a group of demonic bird ladies let loose at a random time of “after the sun sets, usually” to kill and devour children and teens is a new level of weird even for her. Percy assures her that the harpy murder is alleged, as he has spent several summers in camp and has not seen it happen, but he is also an amnesiac and an enabler so what does he know).

It’s the stars, she thinks.

New York doesn’t seem to have any.

It was a shock when she was first brought back. How dim the night sky had become, how devoid, bereft. Uranus’ dome now pales in comparison to the dazzling Alaskan skies decades ago, even in New Rome, huddled away from California’s worst light pollution. Even in the middle of the Pacific, in quiet midnights aboard the Argo II, the sky seemed lonelier. She’s gotten used to it, for the most part, the tar-coloured skies, but New York is like the inkwells on the desk she shared with Sammy. They spilled them, constantly, clumsy hands taking the slap of the ruler in exchange for tapping fingers and quiet giggles, and the dark-stained woodgrain is a perfect amalgamation of the skies she watches now; stifling over the screened tent roof, silent as a packed grave. Unsettling.

She should be sleeping. Gwen’s snores beside her are familiar, and the ground is solid. A welcome reprieve from the months she’s spent at sea. But despite the exhaustion twisting in her limbs and bagging under her eyes, she cannot convince herself to drift. Her eyes remain stubbornly open, locked in with the stillborn sky, waiting, waiting, waiting.

Even the moon is dull.

Finally she can take it no longer. Careful not to wake her friend, she creeps out of her sleeping bag, wiggling out over the course of several minutes to avoid the loud rip of the zipper, The tent’s door she can’t muffle, so she opens it as quickly as possible, somersaulting out and zipping it shut behind her in under ten seconds. She holds her breath, hands braced on the taut plastic, straining to hear a shift, a sniffle, a snort of disruption, but there’s nothing. Gwen remains blissfully unconscious, snores steady and even. Good.

Sword firmly in her hands, watching warily for demonic chicken ladies (who are nowhere as sweet or cool as Ella, awful cousins are universal among species it seems) or whatever other horrible ‘features’ Camp Half-Blood forgot to mention to them, she picks her way out of the Roman encampment, through the strawberry fields, and towards the main.

It’s around three in the morning, she’s pretty sure. She can’t be certain, because she cannot see the sky, but she’s always had a knack for navigating the dark. Nico can, too. Perks of being an Underworld child, she supposes.

Hopefully Nico is asleep. (She replaced his cabin door with a solid brick of obsidian to force him to sleep, yesterday, so he better be, but he’s a slippery little brat and she does not doubt his ability to squeeze through the air vents she left for him, or something. His hair was probably greasy enough to slide him right through. He better have showered, or she is going to smack him. Hard.) If he isn’t, though, she wouldn’t mind his company. She is in the mood to complain about the modern world. And if he is, maybe she’ll go wake up Percy. Or wander around until the sun rises. Who knows.

She notices, as she wanders along the edge of the wonky cabin-omega, movement coming from the Big House. Most of the windows are dark, but the bottom floor on the left — the infirmary, she thinks — is dimly lit, conscientious of the late hour, and there is definitely someone moving around. She pauses, watching for a moment, and — yep. A blond boy, every couple of minutes, rushes past a window, stethoscope bouncing off his chest, new thing in his hands with every trip.

He seems harried.

Without much thought, Hazel pushes through the rickety screen door.

At first, he doesn’t seem to notice. Hazel is camouflaged, slightly, but the shadows, her black bonnet and dark sleep clothes blending in with the many shadows cast by shelves of equipment and gently swaying privacy curtains. The boy is busy, flitting from cot to cot, scribbling on charts and tripping over chords. He moves so quickly he is blurry, hard to focus on. It takes him almost a minute to stop, freezing in the dead centre of the overcrowded infirmary, and turn to face Hazel. He is tired, she notices. His eyes are darker than the bruises under them; glassy like black labradorite, and widen as they notice her.

“Oh my gods, you’re — you’re Hazel Levesque! Holy moly.”

“Hi,” she says, smiling slightly. “You look busy for this time of night.”

The boy waves a hand, returning to his fluttering — a little slower, this time, though. Less frantic.

“Oh, yes, well. Lots of things to do. Julia’s collarbone was totally shattered, have to keep monitoring that, and there’s a group who got drop kicked into a broken onager, their recovery concerns me, and we’re rationing nectar again, and I swear I’m always running out of bandages, and I keep getting that niggling feeling, you know, when — you’re forgetting something? Important? But of course you have no idea what, and — I’m sorry.” The boy twitches, freezing midway through changing an empty saline bag, glancing back over at her. “Oh my gods, are you injured? Fuck, of course you are, it’s the middle of the night and you’re here, obviously —”

“Wait, I'm completely —”

“Oh, no, you’re fine.” He sighs, a full bodied thing, and turns his attention back to the chart in his hands. “You’ve got an old riding injury ‘round your left patella, though. You should get that checked out.”

Hazel blinks.

She…does have an old knee injury.

It was a riding accident, when she was nine. She doesn’t remember much, only flying, warm wind kissing along her face, bubbling out of her lungs as she laughed and whooped and forgot who she was, what she was, forgot the stones popping up behind her. They couldn’t catch her anyways. And she remembers falling, wind at her back, instead, and she remembers Sammy’s face, and the panic that clouded it, and her mother’s shouting. She remembers cold marble and an oil-slick voice and cool hands on her forehead. 

She blinks, shaking her head slightly. The blond boy has moved past her, now, pacing up and down the rickety cots, trailing his long fingers over bandaged foreheads and crooked elbows. His mouth moves softly and silently, hands glowing along, shoulder sagging, slightly, with every person he visits.

“You’re exhausted,” she observes. 

The boy smiles slightly, finishing a whispered hymn before turning her way. “Who isn’t?” His fingers twitch, in absence of a task, and start picking at the bandage around his wrist, wrapping, unwrapping, wrapping, unwrapping. “Is your knee bothering you? Unhealed injuries last longer for demigods. Especially after battle. Something about unsettled scores, I don’t know. The concept pisses me off so I refuse to entertain it on principle, but I can ease the pain if you like.”

Her knee does twinge, actually. It’s a damp kind of ache, like a headache in a rainstorm, but it's old and familiar, and hardly even registers. It smarts far less than her heart, anyway. 

Gaea’s gone. 

So is Leo.

Leo is gone.

She swallows. “I’m okay. I’m used to it.”

“Three years ago, a man named Michael Moylon went to the ER for a ‘headache’ he’d been ignoring. Turns out he was shot in the head but was used to the pain, so he didn’t bother.” The boy stands starighter, scolding hands on his hips. Hazel stares at him. “So.” He pats a padded bench with a papery cover over the seat. “Let me take a look.”

…Camp Half-Blood will always be, Hazel thinks, a strange, strange place, with strange, strange people. It’s hard to believe she once thought the Apollo-descendants of Camp Jupiter oddities; it’s hard to believe she once found anyone odd. Even outside of Camp Half-Blood. 

Gods, child-eating harpies. She really can’t get over it.

The medic wastes no time. The second she forces her feet to move, settling in on the cot, he is in action, tapping her pant leg gently so she rolls it up – which she does, flushing red and pretending not to see his bit-back smile – and prodding gently at the area, humming to himself. 

“Jeez,” he murmurs, pushing the tip of her kneecap with his thumb until she winces. “You shattered the whole bone!”

“There is no way you could possibly know that,” she argues. “I broke it – gods, I broke it ninety years ago, almost. And it healed.”

“It healed ish,” the medic corrects. “By ish I mean maybe someone tied a bandage on it and you were on crutches for a week.”

Hazel has seen a grand many things, even for a demigod. She has faced Titans. She has faced Giants. She has won, in all of these fights, she has held fallen comrades, she has wept for them, she has wept for decades, cursing and loving her mother in equal measure. She has stood her ground in front of six of the most powerful demigods to ever walk the Earth and defended her brother. She has faced off her own Father, even, and the broken power behind his eyes. She has bent the Mist to her will. She has bent the Earth to her will. It is not cocky to say she is strong, it is not arrogant to claim she has seen all there is to have seen. 

Still, the small pop of her gaping mouth echoes in the quiet, midnight infirmary, and the boy smiles, sideways and crooked, and shoots her a wink. 

“I could tell you how often someone two hundred thousand years ago ate shellfish by looking at a fossilized tooth. Believe me, I know what a shattered patella looks like.”

Modern medicine is a wild thing. Hazel has found that a lot of her friends in modern times have no idea how good they have it, and how wildly medicinal science has progressed in the last century. Aside from machinery and accurate devices, the pure knowledge that is widely available is mind-blowing. Hazel still remembers the looks she got when recommending calomel to a stressed out mother of a colicky baby in a cafe – it’s not like she knew mercury was poisonous. She remembers dosing out her mother’s calomel solutions for her deepest depressions. 

Still. There is a difference between modern medicine and near-divining her past with the barest touch of a bone through layers of skin and fat and muscle. 

The boy hovers wide, scarred hands over her knees, waiting for her nod. As he rests his palm on her skin she sighs, quick and startled like the quick collapse of a carnival tent; the bright, clear heat of his hands sinks into the pores of her skin and settles deep inside her brittle bones, warming a cold she hadn’t realised she’d been harboring. He begins to sing, under his breath, first, but slowly swelling with the night breeze through the open windows, swirling around the climbing plants hanging from the ceiling and weaving through the stone fountain in the room’s corner, pulling her lingering pain away with it. Hazel watches, wide-eyed, as the shadows take shape, chasing the song, of a horse, red-eyed and panicked, and a small little wisp of a thing, weak and limp. With every lilting note, the shadows get softer, and softer, and softer, until they wash away in the fountain’s stream. 

In the silence there is the warmth of the medic’s hand still on her knee. In the silence there is that same warmth, liquid, slowly pushing its way through her veins and blood, settling curled and tired in the marrow of her bones. In the silence there is, for the first time in nearly a century, a stillness, a total lack of the low, pulsating, ice-cold pain that has been quietly pushing from her knee for longer than it hasn’t. 

“Can everybody do that here?” she asks, finally, breathlessly. “Or just you?” 

Hazel makes no habit of the infirmary in Camp Jupiter, but biannual check-ups are mandatory and she is not immune to injury. Still. This is a relief unlike she has ever felt. 

The waves his hand, pulling back, and grins. “I take it you feel better?”

She answers honestly. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt better in my life.”

There is an ache, still, home in the dead centre of her chest, a lump still growing in the back of her through, and should she think too long, her eyes sting. But Leo is not…Leo is missing. And he is troublesome, like his great-grandfather, and slippery, and she has more faith in her friend than in Death. The ache is not overwhelming. The ache is tinged with something spiked and fiery, fueled by the genuine strength she feels in her body for perhaps the first time in my life. 

“Good.”

The medic twitches, slightly, as if he were about to reach out but thought better of it. He nods, instead, smiling, and walks back off to the end of the cots, where a monitor is beeping softly. This time, Hazel follows him, sliding off the bench and peeling the crinkling paper off her backside, stepping nimbly over taped-down cords and kicked-off blankets. She stands behind him, on her tiptoes, straining over his (too tall. People should stop growing after five-ten, she believes, except Frank who is an exception because he is cute) shoulders to watch what he is doing. He explains, around another muffled smile, each number and symbol, pointing to the freshly bandaged chest of the patient and muttering about reckless, thought-averse fools and internal bleeding isn’t real, nyeh nyeh nyeh and when I finally go insane and quit, they will have to beg for six business years to get me back I mean it. 

“Are the other medics this…” Hm. Unprofessional is probably not the word to use, here. “...Spirited?”

The boy raises a perfectly-shaped eyebrow. Hazel flushes. 

“The other medics are eleven and thirteen,” he says dryly. “And Kayla is currently over there –” he points to a snoring girl with dyed-green hair, who is bandaged in six different places and is sleeping upside down – “because she makes bad choices and has been demoted to assistant until I’m less mad at her, so.” He shrugs. “Spirited is what y’all get.”

“I didn’t mean to offend,” she tries. The boy just snorts. 

“Y’r’gonna havta try a whole heap harder to offend me, that’s for damn certain,” he assures. “If I was really gonna quit, I woulda done it two years ago when they slapped the head honcho badge on my shoulder and told me to get crackin’.”

Hazel stills. Demigod life is a – wild thing, she knows, and most have not lived as long as she has, ageing like amber in the depths of the Underworld while the world stretches on ahead. Percy’s face when he realized demigods could live longer than eighteen still haunts her nightmares. Camp Half-Blood is a loud, lively place, that burns brightly over its layers of ashes and yells over the sound of weeping ghosts left behind. That much she can gather. It should not be strange to her for an eleven-year-old medic, or an army of teenagers. Her own camp is guarded by an eight-year-old. 

But this boy still has stubborn baby fat clinging to his cheeks, for all his height. He cannot be more than fourteen. Fifteen, if she stretches. 

The youngest head medics at Camp Jupiter are twenty-two. Regardless of demigod life, skills take time to learn, and stomachs and hearts take years to turn to stone. 

“I’m – sorry,” the boy says, voice crackling like burning pyres. “I’m –” he forces a smile, a quick, strained thing – “I am, uh, spirited. Unprofessional. I haven’t slept in several days and I’m – uh, I don’t like working Austin too hard. He’s still learning, and he doesn’t like healing much, anyway.” He busies himself quickly with the patient he pointed out earlier – Kayla, the thirteen-year-old medic. It is quickly apparent that there is nothing to be done for her, and he stands there, back turned to Hazel, scarred hands twitching above her forehead until they settle, finally, featherlight, like he’s scared a touch will wake her. Like he’s scared a touch will hurt her. 

His shoulders shake, slightly. It’s too dark for anyone else to see the twin droplets, splattering on the corner of her cot. 

Hazel’s chest smarts something awful. 

“Where are the other medics?” 

She knows there are none before he answers. He must know that she knows, judging the careful steadiness of her voice, the fleeting touch of her finger on his clenched fist. She pulls back when his hands begin to shake, worse than before, and his finger worms under the bandages on his wrist, pulling and twisting, twisting, twisting. He stands close to Kayla, still. Hovering, careful. His lips part, and Hazel holds her breath. 

“There were more of us,” he begins, hushed. His dark eyes track Kayla’s snoring. “I was the thirteenth. They were –” He looks up, suddenly, looks over, and the look in his eyes is like cracking ice, like a glacier that has stood for thousands of years breaking finally into the arctic sea and falling under its own weight to the sandy floor. Like the fractured flash of sky between lightning, like the azure glass shards of a Christmas ornament refracting back the twinkling candlelight. “It was so loud in here, once.”

Hazel tries to reconcile that, in her head. This boy standing at the edge of his younger sister’s hospital bed, his younger brother tucked safely away, awake for maybe the fourth or fifth day in a row. I was the thirteenth. 

Hazel knows a little something about unlucky number thirteen. 

“War?” she asks, quietly, remembering something Jason had told her, on guard on the Argo, about a Titan’s battle on two sides of the country. About an army of snake-monsters for them, and something on the other end. Something worse. 

“Slaughtered,” the medic says hoarsely. Another tear traces the path of the first, low light flashing off the sheen of it. “First the – first my sisters, the oldest, then my brother, then – all of them, at once, at the same –” He chokes, on something, on the truth of it or the pain of it or both. Something bubbles in Hazel’s chest, thick and oily, something like horror and pain and hatred; a pit of the same tar that killed her the first time bubbling through her veins and burning the back of her throat. Twelve children. Her throat dries.

“All of them?”

“Every last fucking one,” says the boy, and the pain swells from him so thickly and ardently Hazel is half-sure each ghost is standing behind her, boring into his gaze. “Every last one. I watched them.”

Hazel watched. She held her eyes open for as long as she could when the tar swallowed them, when Gaea dragged them down. Her mother’s kiss burned hotter on her forehead than the boil of the earth exploding around them, and the shine of Marie Levesque’s guilty tears glittered brighter than the diamonds popping like falling stars everywhere Hazel touched. She held her eyes open until the heat dried them blind. She watched, as long as she could, her prodigal mother sink, her beautiful, broken mother die. She had thought she would feel something worse, something like satisfaction. Vindication. Nico told her they hold grudges. She had known it about herself before then. But the pain of her body ripping from her soul was secondary to the pain of realizing, to the pain of finally understanding that her mother suffered, too. Pluto’s wanting had cost them both, and Marie had only barely been able to apologize. She had never been able to make amends. And now she walked, like all souls do, along the beaten paths of Asphodel, reduced to her guilt, to her anger, to her wanting. 

Hazel sits heavily on the one remaining cot. After a moment, the boy joins her. 

“I don’t think it’s worth it,” he admits, quietly. He meets her eyes when she faces him, blue-black in the candlelight. “All – this.”

She follows his gesturing hands. To the bandaged girl, Kayla, to the bloodied, to the sheets pulled over small faces. To the brothers and sisters slumped exhausted by bedsights, tear tracks dried on young faces. To the faded pictures rubbed worn with mourning, gentle fingers. 

They have never been thanked by the gods. 

She’s not sure it would be worth it, either.

“There’s nothing that will bring them back.”

It’s not consolation. It doesn’t sound like it, either; to her own ears it sounds defeated. Agreeing. 

“Do you think they’d even want to be back?”

“Probably not.” She swallows, thinking of Leo. Is he relieved? He’d insisted on being the sacrifice. She hadn’t fought him. She couldn’t blame him for wanting. “I wouldn’t.”

They sit in the non-silence. The medic pulls the bandages on his wrists until they are bruising; Hazel’s fingernails, unbidden, reach up to her lips, pick, pick, picking until salted iron dribbles down her chin, onto her pajama shirt. In the heavy stillness of the twilight there are people coughing, and snoring, and worse, moaning, groaning. Crying. Calling out for their mothers, for their sisters. Birds wail outside the open windows. Cicadas weep. Dryads murmur amongst themselves, sap dripping out of them in swathes.

“I know you’re a big-shot Prophecy of the Seven kid,” says the medic, smiling wryly at her. He sniffles, swiping a hand over his face; as the first rays of sunlight begin to stream in Hazel realizes he is spattered with a night sky’s worth of freckles. “But, uh. If you’re not busy, I could use a hand today. Every day, really. Whenever you’re free.” He exhales. "Sometimes it makes it a little bit worth it."

There is a veritable library’s worth of to-do lists for Hazel to work through tomorrow. Today. She’s a high enough rank that her presence and her direction will be missed. 

Regardless, she smiles back. 

“Yeah.” She reaches for his hand, and he releases his bandages, holding their palms together. “Yeah, I’ll hang out in here today.”

[maybeanartist02]

i love how jamie porter subverts expectations like. you telling me the tall, quiet, winter-coded guy is actually Really Expressive, Smug, and an Enabler For Chaos? He's the last to speak, if he speaks. He's an extrovert. He's a tease. He likes puns and is sarcastic and a smartass. he tries to solve mystery novels' mysteries before the books over. he checks percys math homework for fun. he buys flowers for the vases percy buys. hes FULLY ON BOARD with a house made of only bean bags for sitting. hes got more manners than the average 22 year old man but he also says a dick joke.

im obsessed with him

[salmonlyster]

hes waving at you hes just weird

ive used the name frances the most but fritz is really growing on me :p okay more thoughts under the cut lol

im not sure i like the idea of him being on a scholarship anymore since that implies he has an attachment to the school which is NOT like him at all. my initial thought was hes on a scholarship because hes valuable to the student body (again, really smart when he puts effort into things) but i think thats a bit too complicated and i would have to work around that logic a lot.

he's still in constant danger of being kicked out, though. and a constant target of harassment. he doesn't do it on purpose persay but he doesn't make any sort of effort to conceal what he does whatever the fuck he wants. type of guy where you would think he has no social awareness, but he's very aware! he just doesn't care. type of kid that flushes random shit down the toilet or puts firecrackers in it. burns his homework in the bathrooms. hides cigarettes in his boxers and skips to go smoke behind the dumpsters.

him and illi are the first to meet each other (and on illi- i love the name illi, and will definitely keep it, but will likely change their last name :3). illi is really frustrated with school because it's miserable for them, but they just kind of float by without bothering anyone else. illi has a bit of a complex about it where they feel like they should at least be bullied or something of the sort to justify how much they hate school. in short they enable each other and become public nuisances, but there's a weird dynamic about it. willis has been a target his whole life, and is ambivalent towards it because of how he's grown up with it, but is frustrated with illi's fascination with that. illi struggled talking to others growing up and goes days without speaking to their classmates, and struggles to form substantial connections to others. there's never a negative attitude towards illi by the student body, but there's never a positive one, either. they have a lot of pent up rage and think that getting beat up on the near daily would make their anger worth something.

on the socialization thing, louise's conflict with others is less that he can't form connections, and more that he isn't particularly interested. he takes his academics very seriously and eats lunch in the teacher's room (one of the english teachers) (which I will get into later in a louise-focused post). he views school as "networking" and more like a professional work environment than anything, so becoming friends with others isn't something he thinks about doing. if he put in the effort, though, him and illi would be equally awkward.

also, i really like the idea of willis being trans, simply because his uniform is worn really interesting. the pants are lower on the hips to give the illusion of a longer torso, which is something that trans men (myself included lol) do to conceal their hips/give a more masculine frame. i know the intention was just to be a sloppy uniform but i think it could be interesting. I likely won't take that idea that far.

also let me know if youre interested in the playlist im making for this :3 ok bye now ill prob not like this drawing in the morning but we ball

[minaharker1897]

You just know that Percy and Annabeth would pop out the most calculating yet batshit crazy children ever. As we all know too well, Percy keeps coming up with these utterly insane plans and Annabeth enables him by trying to figure out a way to make them work.

Now imagine both of those traits in a single person. Want to get out of doing your homework? Why, you could just create a diversion and while your parents are distracted they might just forget about it! And what diversion will you go for?

Spiders, of course! But you’re scared of them too, so you’re gonna have to bribe a couple Hermes boys to do it but they thrive on chaos, so they’ll do it for a few drachmas and a Pepsi. Keep in mind that for all this planning, they could have done the assignment ten times over.

Everything goes according to plan and by the end of the day, the spiders are driven out and the kid is in deep shit but it doesn’t matter because they didn’t have to do their assignment. Percy doesn’t know if he should be scared or proud.

I’m just saying, Percy, Annabeth, and Chiron would absolutely have their work cut out for them with this one.

[dark-elf-writes]

Something something perpollo but it’s Percy being forced to marry some god to keep him “contained” after he accidentally ascends so he challenges them to make an impossible shot, and Apollo, #1 Percy Jackson enabler, making that shot with absolute ease much to his fathers fury.

[flapmemelord]

so possible breakup route yeah? if it were percy's i like to think elio would try to knock some sense into him,,,, but that might be self indulgent (elio is, mostly, an enabler) (i did this to draw an angry elio) and relies on what i've understood of percy for the spring semester

although extremely cutthroat (burying negative feelings behind coarse expressions of power is a tertiary Te trait (in ESFPs and ENFPs)) these questions come from a place of worry and from someone who knows exactly how his best friend behaves and is trying to make sense of the situation (it's also an absolutely remarkable thing reference, that one chapter, those who get it get it)

named the situation perselio pvp (might make more content about it lmao), as a ref to tokimeki gs3 system which had boys fighting for the mc if you got close to two in particular and ignored one of the LIs enough times..... though in that context i dont think what elio feels for the mc (or for percy for that matter) being romantic or not matters. he's undoubtely close to both and is lashing out a little because of the situation (also probably from having repressed feeling left out for a while)

[demigodsanswer]

Headcanon: Annabeth, after becoming kind of enamored with plushies, starts to make them for people in her life. The first one is for Estelle. She weaves magic into the stitches and Estelle finds she can always think more clearly with the little owl in her backpack when she grows up.

[annabeth enamored with plushies headcanon]

Annabeth had become kind of addicted to stuffed animals. Percy was an enabler, buying her just about every one that she looked at for more than four seconds. But she was ready to take her addiction to the next-next level (the next level had been when he bought her a Jellycat blush coffee cup cross-body bag that held her travel mug It came with her everywhere).

Now, she was going to make her own plushies.

Annabeth didn't have a sewing machine yet, but she was very good at crochet and knitting. So, she'd start with crochet animals.

She stared at a remarkably lopsided penguin (without eyes at the moment, because she hadn't attached the beads yet), and confronted the fact that she maybe actually didn't know how to count after all. Annabeth tried not to internalize that as a bad sign for her architecture career. Calculus? Walk in the park. Counting to sixteen? Apparently impossible.

Annabeth was about to undo the poor creature when Percy walked it, claimed it as his own, and named it Jeremy for some reason. Now Jeremy sat next to her collection of Jellycats and Squishmallows, mocking her.

But she did improve. When she was sure that she could actually reliably make a plush owl, she said a prayer to her mother with every stitch. Estelle wasn't a baby anymore. She was starting Kindergarten in the Fall. And Annabeth wanted to give her something extra special.

It was one of her best creations yet, even if she had to request an extension on her final paper for her Kant class to get it done in time for Estelle's birthday.

"It should help her focus and excel in school," Annabeth said, packaging up the plushie.

"Can you make one of those for me?" Percy asked.

"Sorry, you already claimed Jeremy," Annabeth said.

Percy grabbed his penguin. "Well, he's perfect the way he is. Wouldn't trade him for any magic owl."

Once Percy fell asleep, though, she casted some blue yarn onto her knitting needles. She was hoping that knitting a magic sweater for her boyfriend's lumpy penguin wouldn't bring the sweater curse down on them.

[bayetea]

I'm a strong "percy would get a job in education/outreach to underprivileged kids in the future" truther but I don't necessarily agree with people who say that him taking on marine biology as a college major doesn't make sense at all

"why would he study marine biology he can already work with sea animals to his heart's desire" I don't know maybe because he wants to get paid???????? he wants a normal job???? percy grew up poor and unsafe. why is it weird that he craves stability with a career that enables him to do something that he loves? or maybe he wants to go into the system and help bring about lasting reform that will actually improve care for sea creatures??? yes he can save sea animals on his own time but think about it. is it better to abandon his life in the middle of the night to go help a trapped sea creature Every Single Time it happens or is it better to enter the system and make it so that capitalists stop polluting water or disturbing sea ecosystems for profit. his powers as a son of poseidon are a band-aid not a lasting solution to systemic environmental neglect and decay. he has an established precedent of caring for bringing about systemic change (see: turning down immortality) and for me this is no different (I just personally headcanon him wanting to bring change for disadvantaged kids but whatever)

to me this logic is like telling an exceptional artist that there's no point in going to art school to become a professional when they can already just do art on their own time for fun. like yeah....... if you're content with doing that as just a hobby. but what if you want to become an even better artist and learn new skills. what if you want to do it as a job that pays you and gives you health insurance and social security. then what

for me the main logistical issue of him majoring in marine biology has never been that he would never do that it's that the intersection of new rome college accreditation to the Actual Real world isn't all that clear/logistically sound. like I guess the mist can handle anything but what impact is new rome going to be able to have on the realm of mortals. this would be a nice thing to discuss actually (more in tags)

[rosesradio]

"whimper machine leo valdez"

It all started as another stupid contest between Percy and Jason. Their teasing about how they could make Leo whimper and moan so loudly soon became a contest about who could make him louder. When Nico joined the mix, Leo expected him to tell them they were being ridiculous.

Leo did not expect the son of Hades to enable them, to join them.

“Aww, you having fun, sweetheart?” Percy cooed, dragging his thumb across Leo’s bottom lip. His weapon of choice was backshots, making Leo tremble on his hands and knees as Percy pounded into him.

“Could do this all day,” Leo gasped, letting out a languid moan as Percy wrapped an arm around his waist, the other moving around his throat.

“All day?” Percy echoed. His voice had that cocky edge to it, though he sounded breathless all the same. “You can’t have me all day, babe—you still gotta give Jason and Nico their turns. I know they won’t be able to please you like I do, though…”

Percy was right about one thing, though not the other. Jason went next, his favorite position being when Leo rode him.

“‘S so big,” Leo managed, thighs trembling against Jason’s hips. “Stretching me open so deep, fuck…”

“Yeah?” Jason murmured, large hands tracing up Leo’s chest. When he’d grasped Leo’s waist, his fingers almost touched; that realization had earned him a telling moan from Leo as he ground down on his cock. Yes, if anyone was a size queen, it was Leo.

“You’re so beautiful,” Jason whispered, cupping Leo’s cheek. He nuzzled into the crook of Leo’s neck, kissing the maze of hickies left by himself and Percy so far. “Even if I don’t win, that’s okay. ‘M just honored to please you, love…”

Nico went last, laying an exhausted Leo down on the bed to fuck him in missionary. His hands traveled down to Leo’s v-line, tracing over where Percy had left some hickies and Jason had kissed before he sucked him off.

“They really went above and beyond, didn’t they?” Nico mused, his lip curled as if hiding a secret. “Your opening acts?”

Leo nodded, whimpering as he basked in the cocktail of pleasure and overstimulation.

“Well, how about I go easy on you, hm?” Nico asked. Without warning, he flipped Leo over, pressing his face hard against the mattress. He kissed down Leo’s spine, nimble fingers moving underneath him to wrap around his cock. “Don’t worry about a thing, tesoro. Be a good girl and let me go down on you, m’kay?”

Fuck. Leo’s eyes rolled up, pre-cum leaking from his already spent cock. He wasn’t sure what it was about Nico talking to him that way, but—the son of Hades put his mouth to work, his tongue curling inside him in just the right way to make him whimper—Leo knew from the beginning that he was the loudest for Nico.

[blueiscoool]

Remnants of a Legendary Typeface Have Been Rescued From the Thames River

Doves Type was thrown into the water a century ago, following a dispute between its creators.

The depths of the river Thames in London hold many unexpected stories, gleaned from the recovery of prehistoric tools, Roman pottery, medieval jewelry, and much more besides. Yet the tale of the lost (and since recovered) Doves typeface is surely one of the most peculiar.

A little over a century ago, the printer T.J. Cobden-Sanderson took it upon himself to surreptitiously dump every piece of this carefully honed metal letterpress type into the river. It was an act of retribution against his business partner, Emery Walker, whom he believed was attempting to swindle him.

The pair had conceived this idiosyncratic Arts and Crafts typeface when they founded the Doves Press in the London’s Hammersmith neighborhood, in 1900. They worked with draftsman Percy Tiffin and master punch-cutter Edward Prince to faithfully recall the Renaissance clarity of 15th-century Venetian fonts, designed by the revolutionary master typographer Nicolas Jensen.

With its extra-wide capital letters, diamond shaped punctuation and unique off-kilter dots on the letter “i,” Doves Type became the press’s hallmark, surpassing fussier typographic attempts by their friend and sometime collaborator, William Morris.

The letterforms only existed as a unique 16pt edition, meaning that when Cobden-Sanderson decided to “bequeath” every single piece of molded lead to the Thames, he effectively destroyed any prospect of the typeface ever being printed again. That might well have been the case, were it not for several individuals and a particularly tenacious graphic designer.

Robert Green first became fascinated with Doves Type in the mid-2000s, scouring printed editions and online facsimiles, to try and faithfully redraw and digitize every line. In 2013, he released the first downloadable version on typespec, but remained dissatisfied. In October 2014, he decided to take to the river to see if he could find any of the original pieces.

Using historical accounts and Cobden-Sanderson’s diaries, he pinpointed the exact spot where the printer had offloaded his wares, from a shadowy spot on Hammersmith bridge. “I’d only been down there 20 minutes and I found three pieces,” he said. “So, I got in touch with the Port of London Authority and they came down to search in a meticulous spiral.” The team of scuba divers used the rather low-tech tools of a bucket and a sieve to sift through the riverbed.

Green managed to recover a total of 151 sorts (the name for individual pieces of type) out of a possible 500,000. “It’s a tiny fraction, but when I was down by the river on my own, for one second it all felt very cosmic,” he said. “It was like Cobden-Sanderson had dropped the type from the bridge and straight into my hands. Time just collapsed.”

The finds have enabled him to further develop his digitized version and has also connected him with official mudlarks (people who search riverbanks for lost treasures, with special permits issued) who have uncovered even more of the type.

Jason Sandy, an architect, author and member of the Society of Thames Mudlarks, found 12 pieces, which he has donated to Emery Walker’s House at 7 Hammersmith Terrace. This private museum was once home to both business partners, and retains its stunning domestic Arts and Crafts interior.

Much like Green, Sandy was captivated by the Doves Type story, and mounted an exhibition at the house that displays hundreds of these salvaged pieces, including those discovered by Green, as well as mudlarks Lucasz Orlinski and Angus McArthur. The show was supplemented by a whole host of Sandy’s other finds, including jewelry and tools. An extant copy of the Doves English Bible is also on display.

“It is not that unusual to find pieces of type in the river,” Sandy said. “Particularly around Fleet Street, where newspaper typesetters would throw pieces in the water when they couldn’t be bothered to put them back in their cases. But this is a legendary story and we mudlarks love a good challenge.” The community is naturally secretive about exactly where and how things are found. For example, Orlinski has worked under the cover of night with a head torch, to search for treasures at his own mysterious spot on the riverbank.

For Sandy, the thrill comes from the discovery of both rare and everyday artifacts, which can lead to an entirely new line of inquiry: “The Thames is very democratic. It gives you a clear picture of what people have been wearing or using over thousands of years. And it’s not carefully curated by a museum. The river gives up these objects randomly, and you experience these amazing stories of ordinary Londoners. It creates a very tangible connection to the past. Every object leads you down a rabbit hole.”

By Holly Black.

[rei-ismyname]

For your choose violence ask game, 1 and 12, please!

Hey there, this is fun!

1. Character that everyone gets wrong. Funnily every ask has included this, but I'm not going to repeat myself. Instead I'll find a different way to vagueblog about certain of my fellow X-Men fans.

Hank McCoy, aka the Beast, specifically his tenure as Director of X-Force. One group of people simply choose to ignore the run entirely (which is valid - if you don't enjoy then ignoring it can be healthy,) and many reduce him to war crimes memes, which is also valid. I'm definitely not defending his actions at all, but I don't often see the complicity and accountability of the Quiet Council and his subordinates mentioned. Ben Percy's choice to reboot him from factory settings was one I found unsatisfying as it short circuited any kind of trial or reckoning - and everyone else's guilt has been forgotten.

There was a teeny bit of subterfuge

Firstly, every single member of the Quiet Council was there for X-Force's formation and received reports. His first act was torturing a prisoner. There's no arguing that Krakoa needed some kind of security apparatus, but they failed to provide any guidelines, zero checks and balances. They told Hank to protect Krakoa by any means necessary and handed him a morally blank check. He chose to do the things he did but he was enabled by those who knew even after he left Krakoa. They chose to keep him out in the world as a deniable asset. Again, not to diminish his culpability but the monster that was Hank McCoy had many parents. The simple fact that he wasn't very effective at protecting Krakoa should have been cause for review, even if the ethical calculus is non existent.

His team didn't have all the information but they had enough to know better and were involved in the team in the first place. 'Just following orders' should be odious to modern readers, and even Jean chose to quit while leaving the system in place rather than do anything about it. They eventually moved to a better model, but after genocides were met with light scoldings I wasn't surprised at the degree of sunk cost fallacy Beast fell into. I wish we got a serious meditation on how you can't be the director of the CIA without damaging your soul irreparably, but I think we got enough to illustrate my point. I often wondered how he felt about everything - during the first Hellfire Gala he asked Xavier if he'd disappointed him and heard 'not yet' back - I got the impression he was outsourcing his morality and it's unsurprising that he was able to reconcile it with his actions.

Solicits for X-Men #8 show the President of Terra Verde at Graymalkin to see Beast punished for his crimes. It's a shame he can't remember any of it because it was done by someone else. There's no Quiet Council or Krakoa to punish anymore, and I'm disappointed that accountability never came for any of the guilty people.

12. The unpopular character that you actually like and why more people should like them.

EXODUS, baby. Two of the big themes of Krakoa were compromise and community, and Exodus' previous publication history showed he was not well suited to either (except for that bizarre time he worked for SHIELD but I ignore that.) Up to that point he'd been an obscenely powerful religious fundamentalist and mutant supremacist but hadn't had enough page time to explore that in any depth.

Seriously, his style is out of this world.

When he arrived on Krakoa and was given a seat on the Quiet Council he was absolutely both of those things, though he proved himself committed to good governance without any agenda. By being part of an ostensibly egalitarian community for the first time he became a true believer and slowly ditched his old methods of blunt force for community-building and fiercely protecting it from outside threats. He compromised while looking fabulous.

Exodus had frequent campfire educational sessions with kids, he rewrote scripture as his theology evolved (Jesus as the Nazarene Mutant is everything to me,) he put his faith in Hope and Krakoa as a polity but moreso as a people. He tried to convince Doug to die temporarily so he could take his place in X of Swords, risking permanent death. His labelling of Wanda as The Pretender was pretty uncomfortable, but after The Trial of Magneto he invited her in to tell her own story.

Then Immortal X-Men began and the 3 event comics put him through the wringer. First was Judgement Day where he fought and killed towering death machines while simultaneously leading the psychic countersiege on the Uni-Mind. He was tested by the Progenitor with a public simulation of his old boyfriend in hell. He stuck to his code and passed, but he also bumrushed a demon to free Garrington from his grasp. Exodus objected to humans being resurrected, but he still accepted Nightcrawler's argument. When Syne the Memetaur was resurrected for the last time, he rushed to fight her but lowered his fists when she started to talk about poetry. He ended up collaborating with this cthulhu that had torched Krakoa and killed countless mutants to fight a celestial and save the world for everyone. Compromise.

After Sins of Sinister, he accepted his capacity for evil and submitted to very unpleasant measures to ensure Sinister's influence was purged. When the fight kicked off he stuck to the agreement and didn't join the fight, even at Hope's request. His breakdown after he tried to kill the very obvious bad actor Selene highlighted the flaws of Krakoa's government, and played a crucial part in transition to democracy.

Fall of X prevented that being implemented, and after thrashing a ton of sentinels he pivoted to the safety of everyone else, especially The Five. When the Krakoan diaspora ended up in the desert of the White Hot Room, he wore a midriff and stepped up for 250K scared and leaderless mutants - choosing to inspire and protect instead of his old methods - he'd come full circle. His actions after that are a whole other post, but I hope I've made my point. I don't trust religious fundamentalists, generally speaking. My kneejerk reaction to Exodus was 'fuck, he's going to ruin everything' but he avoided the hypocrisy and selfishness, the refusal to allow change that underpins my experience with IRL fundamentalism. He compromised and grew, and definitely walked the walk.

Is he unhinged? Yes, fortunately. Does he have some bizarre beliefs? Absolutely, but they weren't based on nothing and he ended up being right. When Hope was prepping to sacrifice herself to rebirth The Phoenix he begged to die in her place. He was the only adult to level with Kafka and be honest with him about the reality of the White Hot Room. More than most he committed to the promise of Krakoa and put everything into making that a reality. He's also not fooling anyone with his vow of celibacy not being related to his true love dying 900 years ago.

[in1-nutshell]

I am once again humbly asking for more Brainstorm.

Brainstorm with a human buddy that, while not the most scientifically inclined, is very chaotic and excitable and is just a pure enabler for his bullshit.

Like Brainstorm will just be going on about his latest invention, and Buddy will just be sitting there listening to him, not really understanding what he's saying but they heard the words explosive, so they're on board.

dealers choice for platonic or romantic, i just want to see more of this funky little man

Hello again! It's nice to see people appreciate this mad scientist. I know Buddy surely appreciates his more explosive weapons.

Hope you enjoy!

Brainstorm and Human Buddy who loves explosives

SFW, platonic, mentions explosions, Human reader

MTMTE

Ever since they met, Buddy had been drawn to Brainstorm.

They couldn't tell you when their friendship started. Brainstorm couldn't tell you either.

But Ultra Mangus can tell the exact moment when his processor ache started.

Buddy and Brainstorm start clicking.

Ultra Magnus in his office.

"Someone is thinking about shenanigans..."--Magnus

It's no secret to everyone on board that Buddy loves explosives. The crew found out about it during the Pepper spray Incident.

An incident consisting of Pepper spray, pepper, a battery, engex, and Whirl.

That was also the day Whirl swears he found his soulmate. Or a good friend. He still doesn't know yet.

Brainstorm quickly figures out that Buddy isn't as scientifically inclined as he is. But then again not many bots are, besides Perceptor of course.

"Hey Brainstorm..."--Buddy

"What is it?"--Brainstorm

"In the hypothetical situation, I managed to set a binary gun on fire from the inside. What would happen if I put water on it?"--Buddy

"Well that a strange-wait you did what?! Where is it?!"--Brainstorm

"Oh it's right over there."--Buddy

"Why is it there!?"--Brainstorm

"I don't know I thought it was a good idea!"--Buddy

"How is putting it on the top shelf a good idea!? How did you even get up there?!"--Brainstorm

"I don't know!"--Buddy

Brainstorm does appreciate Buddy making an effort to understand his science rambles.

Does Buddy space out sometimes? Yes, they do.

Does Buddy try to contribute the conversation with zero understanding. Yes, they do and Brainstorm loves them for that.

Buddy wants to be in on any experiments that have explosives involved. Brainstorm, while he loves the enthusiasm, knows that Buddy shouldn't be around so much of it.

"Please, Percy! I want to see the cool experiment!"--Buddy

"I'm sorry Buddy but this one is simply too dangerous, especially for your organic nature can't withstand these conditions."--Perceptor

"Brainstorm?"--Buddy

"Percy's right Buddy. Your organic form can't handle this one."--Brainstorm

"Thank you Brainstorm."--Perceptor

"Which is why you need this exosuit to watch us do it!"--Brainstorm

"Yeah Brainstorm!"--Buddy

"No Brainstorm!"--Perceptor

If someone tries to give Buddy a hard time for not being intelligent enough, Brainstorm is ready and armed. No one is going to make his friend feel like a worthless intelligent slug, they are the ones who are the worthless unintelligent slugs!

"So you thought it was a good idea to go and tell Buddy that they were some dumb organic. Your words to be exact."--Brainstorm

"So? They are. All organic life forms are dumb and worthless.""--Random bot

" Oh I think my accomplice and I would disagree. Isn't that right Whirl?"--Brainstorm

Whirl with two blasters in his claws.

"You picked the wrong fleshy to mess with."--Whirl

Shoots Random bot in the knee.

"That's for messing with My Buddy!"--Whirl

"Your Buddy?"--Brainstorm

"I'm still working on it!"--Whirl

[anothermarkedone]

THERE’S LITERALLY NO RIDOC FICS AND I THINK THAT’S CRIMINAL! So thank you for being an absolute legend and taking requests for him 🙏🙏

I was thinking what about a Ridoc x reader who is Dain’s little sister but she’s the completely opposite of him. A Weasly twin style prankster who thinks rules are just suggestions. I’d love to see the shenanigans she and Ridoc get up too while also trying to keep their relationship a secret from Dain bc we all know he would freak out

Fourth wing pranksters

Word count: 834 Pairing: Ridoc x Aetos!reader A/N: I saw this request and was immediately inspired. They're head canons, I hope you don't mind nonnie.

Likes, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

One thing was crystal clear

Under no circumstance can Dain find out about you and Ridoc

It’s bad enough that his sweet darling little sister would start dating a guy

But Ridoc?! 

The guy who’s known to be the best prankster in the entire quadrant?

Hell to the fucking no

It’s bad enough that you don’t follow the rules, no matter how much Dain and your father try

You don’t need someone to enable you and join in your behavior

Not as a classmate or as a friend and certainly not as your boyfriend

But if you play it smart, he won’t easily find out

He’s too busy drooling 🤤 over Violet, glaring daggers 😡 at Daddy Xaden 🥵 and being a stuck up rule follower

He’s literally Percy Weasley 🧑🏻‍🦰 since we’re talking about HP references

There was a silly tradition in Fourth Wing that when it’s someone's birthday🎉, they bring a snack🧁 to Battle brief

And it just so happens that Dain’s birthday was the next day

The day before his birthday, he had roped you into helping him make your grandmother's famous caramel apples

He told you that he needed your help last minute of course, so you didn’t have an excuse ready😑

The perfect opportunity for a prank, if you say so yourself🤫

When you and Dain were finally done, you wished him a happy early birthday and told him that you were going to study for a bit with Violet.

He knew that Violet was still pissed at him for reading her memories without permission, but he never expected that his sweet fragile Violet would insure that there would be retaliation

*Cue evil laughter*😈

Dain of course insisted to walk you to Violet's room, to make sure you were safe, he claimed, definitely not to maybe see Violet🤡

You walked into Violets room (or rather, Violet pulled you through the wards that 💪🏻overprotective 🥵Daddy Xaden installed)

You used your signet to see through the wall and waited until you saw Dain walk away

The second he was gone, you slipped out of Violet’s room and into Ridoc’s, who was already dead asleep😴

You climbed on top of him and settled in his lap

Of course, he’s a horny bastard and had other activity ideas🥵

You promised him whatever he wanted after he helped you🤭

He was 100% in after you explained your plan, as if he wasn’t already after your spicy promise😏

You two sneaked into the kitchens

You two went to make another batch of ‘caramel apples’ but oh no😱! there are no apples left😥!

Guess you two have to use the onions…😈

While you started making your grandmother’s caramel sauce, he went to peel the onions

It was one hell of a job to get it done before battle brief, especially since your promise didn’t do anything to lessen Ridoc’s horniness

There were a lot of steamy kisses and inappropriate touches🤤

But Ridoc’s ice signet 🥶 came in handy when the ‘apples’ were done and they had to be cool enough so that it seemed that they had cooled down during the night

You two sneaked the actual caramel apples 🍎 into your room to snack on later

Then you went to battle brief

Once you two were seated with your squad, Dain came in with the tasty onions🧅

He handed them out to professor Kaori, professor Devera and, to your slight horror, even to major Varrish

When Dain handed them out to your squad, you quickly warned them not to eat them🙊

The whole time, you and Ridoc had trouble to keep from bursting out in laughter🤣

Professor Kaori had just started battle brief, everyone’s apple temporarily forgotten in favor of taking notes, when major Varrish suddenly leaped from his chair with an angry shout🤬

Pieces of onion falling from his mouth🤮

Ridoc’s hand squeezed your inner thigh, as if that would keep him from bursting out in laughter

Varrish demanded to know who did it

Of course Dain was his first suspect, but professor Kaori pointed out that it was not something Dain would do😯

Everyone checked their own apples and found onions under the thick layer of caramel

Bodhi subtly suggested that one of the first years could have a signet that can change objects, which would make sense, since the first years had only just bonded their dragons, so they have no control over their signet🙄

And thus, Varrish’s rage turned on the first years

He ordered everyone to leave, except the first years and Dain

You shot your horrified brother a (hopefully) comforting look 😬

As soon as your squad was out of the room, Ridoc grabbed your hand

In his other hand, he held his onion and he was busy licking the caramel from the vegetable🤢

Sawyer laughed that he was disgusting, Violet was satisfied with her small petty revenge and Rhiannon was shaking her her head while mumbling how she was stuck with idiots

Ridoc gave your friends an innocent wave, before dragging you off to fulfill that promise that you made.🥵

[percico-sea-of-darkness]

Imo Nico saying "You're not my type," and skipping away to see Will was Nico trying to preserve some of his pride/dignity.

I mean, his actions throughout PJO & HoO are literally love confessions. He chooses Percy, turning his back on Hades, and only goes back to Hades on Percy's request. Nico sends his friend to help Percy in hell (literally more than anyone else did to help Percy). He sticks with the Argo II crew despite literally all of them besides Hazel being extremely rude/unsettled by him for Percy.

So it's like. Nico has laid his heart bare for Percy? But Percy is in a relationship with someone else and Nico doesn't really know what Percy thinks about him - other than being convinced that Percy doesn't love him. So he's pulling himself together and trying to show that no, he's not hung up on Percy. He's not pining. He's not crying over the one sided love, and feelings of rejection. And by playing his feelings as less serious than they actually are, he's enabling himself to continue to have a friendship with Percy - since by playing off his affections as a crush rather than painfully in love - it's less awkward that Percy don't return his feelings. So they can move on and resume their friendship. That's imo anyway. It was self preservation. @hermesmyplatonicbeloved

Oh, totally!

Sorry for responding until now, but I haven't been able to be very active on my networks lately :)

But bringing up this topic, if I had been in Nico's position, I think I would have done something very similar, if not the same. Imagine this situation: Having to be Perc#beth's spectator. That not only did they practically all their missions together, but important gods, such as Aphrodite and practically the ENTIRE fucking camp, did everything possible for Perc#beth to finally come together. And seeing firsthand how Percy practically gave his all to the people he cared about (Nico never really realized how important he was to Percy, since haha ​​I think it's obvious to anyone in love and hurt), and Annabeth being territorial with Percy just gave Nico the idea that the two of them just can't be, it doesn't work, it's impossible. His low self-esteem in conjunction with the pain of losing his loved ones, his loneliness and all the pain he had to go through to protect Percy was enough for him to not only start wanting to lie to himself and others in order to get some relief to his pain. And besides, he was so used to people pushing him away, that the first guy who practically forces him to be by his side is obviously the person Nico is going to cling to, to say "I'm getting over it" when in reality he's not.

So. Nico gave too much, and wanting to feel better about everything he had done, he "he confess no confess." I'm a witness that not telling your feelings to a person can cause you a lot of problems, since there was never really closure. Your mind is always thinking about 'what if', even if you don't want it to.

So the best way for Nico, and I think for any sane person in his situation, to not generate even more pain than one already has and not put oneself in a compromising situation is to confess not confess: Totally minimize your feelings, saying that they are from the past and something temporary (giving the other person to understand that you became interested but you don't have any problem now, that the unilateral nature of the situation doesn't bother you at all.)(HAHAHA its funny because it actually does). And even more so being in Nico's situation, that practically seconds before confessing, Percy boasted about his future with Annabeth. That was the final blow. It's a total NO to Nico, and like a normal person, he saved what little dignity he had left (you know, the whole situation with Cupid and what follows) and left with the only person who was behind him (because obviously Nico would be tired of just chasing, it's normal to want to be chased, but that's not a confirmation of romantic feelings, it's just a need, and more of a lonely and 'needed of love' person). So, I totally agree.