#even in ways Percy doesn’t consciously realize | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

captain-is-king · 11 months ago

Text

okay i didn’t want to annoy anyone with a stream of consciousness live-blogging of the episodes which CAME OUT TONIGHT!!!!! AHHHHHH!!!!!!

so here are the notes i took while watching if anyone wants to scream with me please feel free to do so

EDIT: HOLY SHIT IM A FUCKING IDIOT CHRIS IS CHRIS RODRIGUEZ!!! I WASNT EXPECTING HIM THIS SOON IN THE SERIES AT ALL. oh god and percy being friends with him now makes the betrayal so much worse oh shit oh man.

episode one:

- blackjack was percy seeing through the mist oh my god

- MYTHOMAGIC

- THIGHTY WHITIES

- oh my god they just trade sandwich toppings. that is so cute what the fuck

- grover psychanalyzing people. yes. good.

- mrs. dodds scene was underwhelming but that’s okay (edit: fight choreo is absolutely phenomenal the rest of the time)

- i am GASPING out loud at grover telling the headmaster

- obviously he’s doing it because it’s not safe for percy

- but WOOOOOOW

- eddie! what a cameo lmao

- i like that sally appears to argue with gabe more but also i’m worried she isn’t going to fucking murder gabe. it’s important to me that she kills that guy.

- also upset that percy probably won’t say “i know gabe would like to offer everyone in this lovely city free appliances” at the end

- near the septic tanks interesting detail to include 👀

- percy judging so hard like “you’re telling me found jesus”

- oh interesting the mist is responsible for grover which honestly makes more sense than hiding it? like if the mist takes care of monsters why not satyrs

- boys? i’m actually 24 I LOVE HIM

- mythomagic as training is fun

- would’ve been cooler if he swore on the styx and there was thunder but that’s okay

- omg i didn’t even realize his rain jacket was actually red until now. SUCH a good detail

- good animation of the minotaur very good

- oh my god the fight was the same like i could SEE the words on the page as i was watching it

- HE MUST BE THE ONE

- i grinned like a FOOL through the whole credits they’re so beautiful oh my god

episode two reactions under the cut!!!! i loved episode one but i liked episode two EVEN MORE so i have a lot of things to say.

episode two:

- annabeth just watching percy sleep with her arms crossed. she would.

- YOU DROOL WHEN YOU SLEEP oh my god the way she says it is like. so calculating. i always pictured it like a flippant thing in the book but no she’s like. angry. like it’s a remark on his character and she will use this detail to take him down in battle and it’s perfect and funny

- oh my god he’s turning away so grover doesn’t see him crying. i feel like this is a detail in the book somewhere but now i can’t find it happening so maybe i’m just losing it

- ok so the big house is not what i ever pictured but it is gorgeous and i love this version of it

- the diet coke

- but did you?

- he’s starting with me

- excuse me your highness

- dad? yes peter. it’s percy. exactly

- the audacity of mr. d. i’m obsessed

- “why must you ruin everything”

- omg the owls

- oh the cabins are so cool

- like one thing i never was able to picture was how camp was laid out and i just am eating so well this is so fun to look at

- I KNOW WHAT YOURE GOING THROUGH he really does though doesn’t he FUCK now i’m emotionally

- holy shit juniper????

- LMAO okay definitely not juniper she looks much older

- council of cloven elders is so much spookier than i thought

- mmmmm grover figured it out interesting

- also apparently names don’t have power. i mean that is the stance in heroes of olympus they did not care about names. so i get it

- so like. this is kronos? looking like the grim reaper in percy’s dreams?

- ok honestly the lack of annabeth so far is very upsetting

- mmmm “glory” interesting, luke

- who is this spunky kid with the hair

- YES. YES WHEELCHAIR USING DEMIGOD YES!!!

- idk why but them just using lighters takes me out of it. but it made me laugh

- yesssss hephaestus kids my beloved

- spunky kid with the hair is chris. NOW WHO THE FUCK IS CHRIS

- holy shit this is so sad. percy alone in the woods burning his candy

- OH MY GOD FOR HIS MOM oh my god i’m not going to survive this episode

- “i think i’ve made some friends here”

- oh this is too much. it’s giving “good kid” energy from the musical

- YES angry percy. i always felt like the musical emphasized how like. angry and upset percy was at his dad. obviously it’s a huge plot point in the book but it feels like more apparent in the musical and i always LOVED that about the musical so of course i LOVE that it is being emphasized in the show as well

- if percy doesn’t cut off medusas head and mail it to olympus after this and trying so hard to get his dad’s attention it will be SUCH a letdown i have to say it i’m sorry

- good bathroom scene. GOOD bathroom scene.

- are you stalking me annabeth

- yes

- oh i’m so in love with her

- like we knew she’d be phneomenal. but we’d seen so little of her in promo stuff!!! and i HAVE BEEN WAITING SO LONG TO SEE MY GIRL!!!!! AND HERE SHE FUCKING IS!!!!!!

- also saying annabeth is the head of the athena cabin and seeing tiny little annabeth is SO. funny. like we all knew it was funny that a twelve year old was in charge but SEEING it makes it so painfully obvious

- “she’s my little sister”

- they call them forbidden kids that’s a little silly but that’s fine

- also i enjoy that they’re talking about thalia-luke-annabeth earlier

- BABY ANNABETH HIDING IN AN ALLEY. oh i hope we get to actually SEE this scene one day because i do love it so

- “can you ask her to knock it off.” obsessed.

- these waterfalls are SO. cool. the one thing the descriptions of camp were always missing. i love a waterfall

- the kid playing the war drums has me laughing out loud

- laughing OUT LOUD at percy. flossing and peeing and whistling

- oh my god a lizard. i would too.

- just laying down. picking at a leaf

- i just noticed he actually has vans. skater!percy lives

- GUESS ILL LOSE DESERT PRIVILEGES good book line so glad it’s in here

- the fight choreo is SO. GOOD

- “NOT BAD HERO” ALSO GOOD BOOK LINE

- you were here the whole time and you didn’t help me? yes. what is wrong with you!!

- oh i love her SO. much. i love them both so fucking much

- one of my FAVORITE lines is “poseidon, earthshaker stormbringer. hail perseus jackson son of the sea god” and i’m so glad we got it

- i like jason mantzoukas because, like that post about gene wilder, you can really believe he’d let those kids die

- also one of my favorite scenes is annabeth being invisible in the big house the whole time percy is being offered a quest and chiron is like “someone already offered to go with you” and annabeth takes her hat off to reveal she has been there the whole time. and it’s always been so funny to me but i don’t mind that the humor of it was still maintained in the scene after capture the flag being altered a little bit. and we still got “not bad hero”

- oh shit are we not getting the oracle. i guess it makes sense. it’s a lot of time when someone can just tell percy they think it’s hades but like. actually. BETRAYED BY ONE WHO CALLS YOU A FRIEND!! FAIL TO SAVE WHAT MATTERS MOST!! ITS KIND OF IMPORTANT and the oracle is like a very important plot point later

- I AM SALLY JACKSON’S SON. YOU TELL THEM

#percy jackson #percy series #annabeth chase #grover underwood #oh man i love them so much

48 notes · View notes

forasecondtherewedwon · 10 months ago

Text

soundtrack to a tooth alignment

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians Rating: G Word Count: 967

Summary: It's just a dumb song. It'll end eventually. (But also, what is love?)

If Percy had to explain his quest strategy, he’d say it’s pretty much “attack now, think later”—like, days later—so if this particular quest ever gets commemorated in song, or on an urn or something (do they still do that?), he hopes they include the way he just neutralized the Thrill Ride O’ Love situation by bringing up the orthodontist. Because that was a tactic. Everything is totally not-weird now. Here in this dark tunnel. With Annabeth.

Percy puts his hands on his knees like it’s school picture day and squeezes.

She doesn’t reply to his orthodontist anecdote, and he doesn’t have a follow-up comment. If he opened his mouth right now, he’d probably say something else about the song that’s playing (blasting, honestly—is this torture? Is this a heroic trial? Percy’s trying to remember whether any of Hercules’s labours had this sorta unhinged Valentine’s vibe), and he’d probably borrow words from his mom’s vocabulary when she’s listening to old music on the radio—words like “funky” and “groovy.” Annabeth’s never even seen a movie and she’d probably look at him like he’s the one who’s out of touch. He can’t risk it. Words are overrated anyway, right?

That’s probably why the guy singing keeps using the same ones over and over.

Percy wonders if this is a record for the most times Annabeth’s heard the same question without answering it. Could the singer calm down with the “What is love?” already? Instinctively, Percy starts tapping his foot to the rhythm, but then he realizes Annabeth can probably feel his shoe striking the bottom of the boat and glances at her nervously. Yep, she’s giving him a look.

Laughing self-consciously, he observes, “Sounds like he’s trying to control a bunch of horses.” Annabeth frowns. Percy points vaguely upwards (because this tunnel is creepy and grungy, but no visible speakers? Alexa?) and hears himself singing along in explanation: “Whoa whoa whoa whoa-o-ah…”

Her frown deepens and he cuts himself off with an awkward cough, looking away into the water, his only ally here who won’t judge him for being so embarrassing.

Ok, maybe this guy does have to constantly ask himself “What is love?” because what else is he gonna do, talk about his feelings to another person? Percy’s getting the theme of this theme park now, not so much the devastating rejection part, but definitely how uncomfortable it is to have a crush on somebody. Man, if he liked somebody like that, maybe he’d go build a haunted amusement park about it too. Luckily, he’s—

He’s somehow staring straight at Annabeth.

Swirls of coloured light are reflecting up off the water that’s lapping the sides of their boat, making her glow purple and blue. Percy doesn’t have to be a son of Athena to know Annabeth’s pretty, but it’s never been, like, relevant. She’s super smart and careful and focused and good at planning. Percy was never gonna point out that she had this talent for prettiness unless they were in a situation where somebody needed to have really sparkly brown eyes or a face he’s kinda itching to cup in his (suddenly sweaty) palms, at which point he could save the day and be all, “Hey, Annabeth, you’re pretty! Why don’t you take this one!” And they wouldn’t think he liked her, just that he was resourceful.

But here she is, being pretty when the only crisis is that his heart’s beating a little too quick and he can’t scootch away from her without threatening to capsize the boat. Backup plan: look at his hands.

He’s making it weird, and it’s not, it’s not weird. Two people in an abandoned amusement park isn’t weird. It’s brave, and adventurous, and just because the song just said “love” for the millionth time doesn’t make it romantic! You can love lots of stuff. Hephaestus probably loved building this ride. Percy loves his mom. Loved his mom. Loves his mom. He’s curious what the word makes Annabeth think of, his gaze drifting sideways.

She’s looking at him. Percy’s eyes widen. Panic mode.

“Do you think Ares is really gonna eat all those burgers?” he blurts out.

“What?”

“At the diner.”

“Well,” Annabeth says thoughtfully, “why else would he order that many?”

“Intimidation.”

Her eyebrows raise.

“Ares is already the god of war.”

“And what’s a meal like that other than a war between a man’s mind and his stomach?” Percy reasons, feeling deep. If they survive this quest and Chiron’s looking for a Camp Philosopher, Percy could do that job. He has insights now. Would he have to wear a toga though? He’s seen that “Death of Socrates” painting at the MET, and those guys were going full bedsheet.

“But why would he bother?” Annabeth wants to know. “I think he’d be expecting us to be intimidated by him anyway.”

“Maybe he’s secretly insecure.”

“Maybe he’s just hungry.”

“Do you think everybody else could see how many burgers he had,” he ponders, narrowing his eyes, “or were they hidden by the Mist?”

“The Hamburger Mist? They were normal burgers, Percy.”

“Then explain why no one seemed surprised!” he demands. “Or impressed!”

“The thought of someone eating a stack of burgers that high doesn’t impress me.” Annabeth’s face scrunches in disgust. “Just makes me a little nauseous.”

“That could be seasickness from the boat.” And because another of his strategies is “speak now, think later,” after a second, Percy asks, “What would impress you?”

Her expression shifts into something like determination but softer. Yeah, with a little bit of a smile.

“Somebody who’d take on the Chimera alone so their friends could get to safety. That’d be pretty cool.”

That’s my story, Percy almost says, but he follows Annabeth’s gaze up the wall to watch Hephaestus’s play out instead.

#my writing #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #PJatO #PJatO spoilers #Percy Jackson fic #PJatO fic #Percy Jackson #Annabeth Chase #percabeth #percabeth fic

51 notes · View notes

fearlessinger · 2 years ago

Note

i would love to know your thoughts about how Will, Austin and Kayla are Apollo’s foils!!

Heyyy I’m so sorry this took me so long but… in my defense… it ended up being very long? I’d been meaning to do a deep dive into Apollo’s relationship with his children for a while, and you gave me the perfect excuse.

Starting from the obvious: Apollo’s children are mini mirrors of him. They clearly inherited a lot of his personality traits, both the good and the less good. Apollo’s ready to acknowledge the latter right off the bat, but it takes him until the very last book to admit that their kindness, their compassion, their willingness to stand up for the weak – for their disgraced father, to whom they remain inexplicably loyal even when he has nothing to offer them in return... they got that from him too. Will, Kayla and Austin reflect back to him his BEST qualities, finally allowing him to recognize and take ownership of them after an entire life of being made to feel like he had to suppress them. I’ve talked about this before so I won’t belabor the point here.

The other way in which Apollo and his children foil each other is perhaps more subtle but I think even more interesting: they have complementary arcs re: their relationship with their father.

Apollo begins the story having lost all faith in his father already. He doesn’t really believe in his father’s mercy, in his father’s compassion, in his father’s love anymore. He’s not surprised by his father’s cruelty, especially not when it’s directed at him. He’s under no illusion about who Zeus is, how he operates, what he’s motivated by. It takes him 4 books to call him abusive outright, but he’s been drawing comparisons between him and Nero since book 1. It’s in fact precisely the similarities between the two, between Nero’s treatment of Meg and Zeus’s treatment of Apollo himself, that first led Apollo to realize Meg is abused too.

When Apollo discovers that he’s bleeding red, he immediately knows what has happened. He understands that he’s been sentenced to death. He tries to convince himself that this is just like his previous punishments, that if he does everything right he will be forgiven and taken back in, and, being the incredible liar that he is, he makes it almost sound believable. But he knows, deep down, that it’s all bullshit.

I turned my face to the sky. ‘If you want to punish me, Father, be my guest, but have the courage to hurt me directly, not my mortal companion. BE A MAN!’

To my surprise, the skies remained silent. Lightning did not vaporize me.

And yet, it takes Apollo 4 books to finally say the word “abuse” in relation to his father. He keeps telling himself surely this is enough. Surely this is enough suffering to satisfy Father. He’ll take pity on me now. He can’t really want me killed. He’ll change his mind.

He clings to that hope, to that fantasy, as a last ditch attempt at denying the truth and, most of all, the inevitable consequences of it.

I suppose I could have raged at him and called him bad names. We were alone. He probably expected it. Given his awkward self-consciousness at the moment, he might even have let me get away with it unpunished.

But it would not have changed him. It would not have made anything different between us.

Apollo admires Percy and Jason for the fearlessness with which they stood up and spoke their mind to Zeus. But at the end of his trials, at the end of his character arc, Apollo chooses to bow his head and remain silent, because unlike Percy, unlike Jason, he knows, and finally accepts, that his father is a lost cause. Zeus won’t change. Zeus doesn’t want to change. He cannot be saved.

Because that’s what this was all about. Apollo refusing to give up on Zeus no matter how much it hurt him, right up until the moment it would have literally killed him, because despite everything, still, Apollo couldn’t bring himself to believe that there is nothing he can do to redeem his father. It may not look like it at first glance, but a big part of Apollo’s journey in TOA is about accepting that this is yet another choice his father has taken from him.

So Apollo doesn’t rage at his father. He doesn’t call him out on his behavior. He finally accepts that there’s no point in it. In every way that matters, now, to him, his father is already dead.

Will, Kayla and Austin, on the other hand, start out with a… quite frankly astounding amount of faith in their father, all things considered. But just like there was a caveat to Apollo's lack of faith in Zeus, there's a caveat to the kids's faith in Apollo too.

There’s no doubt in their hearts that he loves them. Apollo pays attention to them. Not nearly enough, of course, but enough that Will considers a prolonged period of silence on his father’s part not just weird, but outright alarming. Enough that the thing that they all consider irrefutable proof of his identity is him recognizing them and smiling at them.

It’s a tragically low bar, but one that none of the other gods manage to clear. Apollo’s children feel acknowledged. They feel cherished. They feel at ease interacting with him. They know he won’t mind if they bombard him with questions. He won’t mind if they tease him. He won’t even mind if they yell at him. We see them do all these things within minutes to a day of his arrival at camp, seemingly completely unthinkingly. We see Will confess his insecurities to Apollo the moment Apollo asks. Heck, Will confesses to Apollo that he made a wrong call with the nectar and almost killed him completely unprompted, as soon as Apollo’s awake. It doesn’t seem to even cross his mind that Apollo might get mad at him for it.

Will, Kayla and Austin believe their father to be nice. They believe him to be safe. They believe he means well, not just with them, but in general.

‘Jason is making that storm,’ Nico said. ‘If you fire the onager, you’ll kill him and Piper, and –’

‘Good!’ Octavian yelled. ‘They’re traitors! All traitors!’

‘Listen to me,’ Will tried again. ‘This is not what Apollo would want. Besides, your robes are –’

Will’s conviction that his father would NEVER agree to the slaughter of innocent demigods, not even if that’s the only way to defeat the gods’ greatest enemy, is so unshakeable he repeats it twice: once in front of the roman army, and once again as he tries to convince Octavian that even just a handful of lives is too high a price.

Damien reluctantly handed it over. I leaned toward the guitar case by Woodrow’s feet. The satyr leaped several inches into the air.

Austin laughed. “Relax, Woodrow. He’s just getting another string.”

There’s no way Austin doesn’t know the story of Marsyas from Will’s mythology books. In fact, his reaction here indicates that he does, because it’s only with that context in mind that Austin would find Woodrow’s reaction funny as opposed to confusing. But it doesn’t seem to quite click in Austin’s brain that the cruel god of the myth is his dad. Because Austin's dad would never hurt a fly. It’s simply laughable to think that anyone would have reason to be scared of him.

It’s worth noting that the rest of the CHB demigods don’t ever seem overly intimidated by Apollo either, which makes perfect sense considering how he presented himself to the world prior to his fall from grace. He used to act like a total clown. That's how the campers seem to think of him, and, to an extent, it's how his children think of him too. For all the faith they have in his character, they don't really seem to have a lot of faith in his ability to do… much of anything.

‘We don’t know what’s going on at Delphi,’ Will continued. ‘My dad hasn’t answered any prayers, or appeared in any dreams … I mean, all the gods have been silent, but this isn’t like Apollo. Something’s wrong.’

Across the table, Jake Mason grunted. ‘Probably this Roman dirt-wipe who’s leading the attack – Octavian what’s-his-name. If I was Apollo and my descendant was acting that way, I’d go into hiding out of shame.’

‘I agree,’ Will said. ‘I wish I was a better archer… I wouldn’t mind shooting my Roman relative off his high horse. Actually, I wish I could use any of my father’s gifts to stop this war.’ He looked down at his own hands with distaste. ‘Unfortunately, I’m just a healer.’

The phrasing of this bit is a little ambiguous. Was Will agreeing to the suggestion that his father might be hiding out of shame rather than take action against his descendant? We can’t say for sure, but I’m inclined to think so.

Will believes his father cares about him and his siblings. He believes his father doesn’t want any deaths on his or the gods’ account. But he also seems to have absolutely no expectation that his father would intervene to prevent these deaths. He feels that it’s HIS responsibility to stop the war, to stop Octavian. Of course, his father would never wish hurt on any of his descendants. His father would never hurt a fly. He is kind. Silly. A bit of a clown. He visits them in dreams. He answers their prayers. He can't seem to ever be there for them when it would matter most.

This is really the crux of the problem. Apollo’s children trust him. They don’t trust him to be able to protect them.

But they don’t hold this against him. How could they? They know him. They know it’s not because Apollo doesn’t care. It has to be because he can’t. Literally can’t. Gods can’t meddle in mortal affairs. And… is it possible… that maybe… maybe Dad's power and overall competence is a bit overhyped in the stories?

He sure can't seem to be able to put together a decent poem.

Kayla squeezed my hand. Her archer ’s fingers were rough and calloused. “It’s okay, Apollo… Dad. We’ll help you.”

Austin nodded. “Kayla’s right. We’re in this together. If anybody gives you trouble, Kayla will shoot them. Then I’ll curse them so bad they’ll be speaking in rhyming couplets for weeks.”

Kayla and Austin are such kids at the beginning of THO: self centered, blunt to the point of rudeness, shamelessly thrilled to learn everything about this crazy thing that just happened to their dad. It’s heartening to see. But as soon as they realize that Apollo is actually struggling, THEY are the ones who rush to reassure him, earnestly promising that everything will be alright, that they will support and defend him.

Like Apollo, who appointed himself his mother's protector mere days after being born, tasked himself with slaying the monster that had been tormenting her, felt an obligation to cut down whoever would dare badmouth her, his children too feel a responsibility to be his protectors, to defend his honor. Like him, who only ever thinks about his mother in terms of what he can do for her, who has no delusions that she could be his salvation in time of need, his children too are far more preoccupied with helping him than they are with anything that they think they might get from him in return.

It's the last thing Apollo would have wanted for them. He was so relieved to hear them worry about the Olympics and youtube views, and then utterly ashamed to realize that they care about him more. As much as he admires his mother, Apollo did not intentionally model himself after her in this respect.

But just like Leto, Apollo doesn't really have a choice. Or, well. Perhaps that’s not quite true. He might have one, but it's one he is not willing to consider. Not until the end of this story at least, not until he finally, definitively accepts that his father will never change, that his father cannot be saved.

“A father should give more to his children than he takes,” Apollo thinks in despair, looking at his children who are ready to give and give and give to him, even as he's left with nothing to repay them with, but in truth he is only reaping what he sowed. His kids only know of him what he’s let them see.

“That was so beautiful!” She wiped a tear from her cheek. “What was that song?”

I blinked. “It’s called tuning.”

“Yeah, Valentina, control yourself,” Damien chided, though his eyes were red. “It wasn’t that beautiful.”

“No.” Chiara sniffled. “It wasn’t.”

Only Austin seemed unaffected. His eyes shone with what looked like pride, though I didn’t understand why he would feel that way.

Was this the first time Austin actually heard his father play music without intentionally flubbing it? Based on what we saw of Apollo in the books preceding this one, I’d wager yes. But Apollo is taken aback by his son’s reaction. He doesn’t seem to have realized yet how deep an impact his habitual routine of feigning ineptitude actually had on his kids.

He’s not really making any effort to correct their assumptions either. He never protests when his children explain to him stuff that he already knows. He doesn’t offer advice when Kayla and Austin debate the best way to patch Connor’s injuries up, defers to Will’s judgment when doing infirmary work.

Granted, the kids know what they are doing. They technically don’t need his help in these matters. It just doesn’t seem to occur to Apollo that they might appreciate it anyway. It also doesn’t seem like he’s given any consideration to the fact that his trust in their abilities can only be worth so much to them, when they are given no reason to think he knows enough to evaluate them.

It must have felt so good for Asclepius to hear Apollo say “my son taught me this thing”. But that was a long time ago, and Asclepius knew his father in a way that Apollo’s children quite simply aren’t afforded in the present day.

To make matters worse, he is genuinely horrifyingly far from at the top of his game at this point in time, and not handling it well at all. In a stunning display of immaturity, he makes a whole spectacle of his poor performance at the archery range.

It’s no surprise then, that nobody listens to Apollo’s pleas to not attack Peaches, not even Kayla. In a combat situation, of course she trusts her own instincts more than her father’s. Neither she nor her brothers take Apollo's completely justified concerns about having a "death race" within the labyrinth seriously. They don’t listen to him when he insists that the game should be at least put on hold until the prophetic trees situation is under control. They don’t even ask him to help them with the infirmary, not until Will is left alone and absolutely needs the spare hands.

As much as he tries to hide it, it’s clear that Will has very little faith in Apollo’s ability to rescue Kayla and Austin. And is it any wonder? How can Apollo save his children now that he’s a mortal, weaker than even the weakest demigod, when even as a powerful immortal that was beyond his power?

Apollo couldn't save Lee, or Michael, or the rest of Will's unnamed siblings who died in the battle of Manhattan. He gave them gifts – weapons, to help them in the fight. He was not, he could not be there for them when the weapons ran out.

Now, the only thing that’s changed is that Apollo doesn’t even have enough power left to protect himself.

As soon as they were gone, Will gave me an apologetic smile. “They’re in shock. We all are. It’ll take some time to get used to…whatever this is.”

“You do not seem shocked,” I said.

Will laughed under his breath. “I’m terrified. But one thing you learn as head counselor: you have to keep it together for everyone else. Let’s get you on your feet.”

Of course Will is terrified. He easily admits this to Apollo, but then immediately changes topic, relieving him of the burden of having to reply. He knows Apollo has no reassurances to offer him at the moment. And he loves him. He doesn’t want to make this any harder for him than it already is.

Will’s used to having to manage his own terror alone anyway. Keep it together for everyone else. He can be the rock for his father too. So he smiles, he stays calm, he gives all the support he can while pretending that he himself requires none. He commits to this course of action so thoroughly that Nico feels compelled to intercede, to try to communicate Will’s needs to Apollo in some way:

Nico rested his hand on Will’s shoulder. “Apollo, we were worried. Will was especially.” [...]

“I’ll be fine.” I pulled on my jeans. “I have to save Meg.”

“Let us help you,” Nico said. “Tell us where she is and I can shadow-travel—”

Nico's attempt is still pretty indirect. He’s trying to be considerate of Will’s feelings, respectful of Will’s choices. But the meaning of his words is obvious: Please, don’t do this to him. Will's not gonna be able to survive losing you too.

Perhaps the most interesting facet of Will’s coping strategy of repressing, repressing, repressing is the following:

“Gee, thanks….”

I got the feeling that he almost said Dad but managed to stop himself. [...]

“Guys,” Will interrupted, “why don’t you run to the Big House and tell Chiron that our…our patient is conscious.

Kayla and Austin alternate between using Dad and Apollo with no discernable pattern, seemingly at random, which makes sense considering how young they are. It's likely that they've known their father – properly known him at least – for little more than a year at this point in time. They are familiar with him, but not so familiar that thinking of him as Dad is second nature to them.

But Will has known Apollo longer, and to him it is. He so clearly struggles to not call Apollo Dad. He catches himself right before saying it twice in their first scene together, despite the fact that Apollo looks nothing like himself, and nothing like someone who could plausibly be Will’s dad either. But Will recognizes him, even though he wishes he didn't, and the word is automatically on the tip of his tongue. It slips out of him anyway, seemingly without him noticing, at dinner that night, while he and his siblings argue against Apollo that the planned activities for the next day are a perfectly acceptable level of dangerous:

“It’s different now,” Austin told me. “Since Daedalus died…I don’t know. It’s hard to describe. Doesn’t feel so evil. Not quite as deadly.”

“Oh, that’s hugely reassuring. So of course you decided to do three-legged races through it.”

Will coughed. “The other thing, Dad…Nobody wants to disappoint Harley.”

It doesn’t happen again, though. Will makes sure of it.

Maybe he thinks that as long as he does not say the word, there’s still a chance that this will turn out to be just a really weird nightmare.

Maybe he fears that if he does say it, he’ll be tempted to lean on Apollo for support, and feels that he can’t afford to do that when Apollo is barely holding himself upright, and seemingly eager to throw what little health and safety he still has away like it’s worth nothing.

Maybe he’s afraid of getting any more attached than he already is, now that Apollo could quite literally die on him at any moment.

Maybe, even if he doesn’t want to acknowledge it, doesn’t want it to be true, a part of him is actually angry with his dad for putting him through all this, willingly or not.

(And speaking of foiling, and of Apollo and his kids being mirrors of each other, I think it’s worth mentioning that Apollo, for his part, does the same thing in reverse. He refuses to call Will, Kayla and Austin “my children”, feeling undeserving of the title of father, until the moment Kayla and Austin are stolen from him. He only allows himself to acknowledge the connection when it will hurt him the most, but at the same time, also, when he is finally in a position to do something for them, as opposed to them offering to do things for him.)

And then.

Apollo doesn't die. And not only does he not die, he brings back with him Kayla and Austin and Meg and all of the missing campers safe and sound.

Suddenly, everybody’s looking to him for guidance, taking directions from him, deferring to his leadership.

“I think there’s a way,” I said. “But I’ll need your help.”

Austin balled his fists. “Anything you need. We’re ready to fight.” [...]

“Hey!” called Nico di Angelo. He and Will scrambled over the dunes, still dripping from their swim in the canoe lake.

“What’s the plan?” Will seemed calm, but I knew him well enough by now to tell that inside he was as charged as a bare electrical wire. [...]

“What’s the plan?” they ask him. And also “How do you know it will work? What if you fail?” They don’t feel the need to stop questioning him, but they trust his answers. They trust that as absurd as his idea to take down the colossus might sound, it’s their best shot. They win. They all live.

Of course, Apollo only gives us a terse summary of the aftermath of the battle. To tell us about how happy, how proud of him his children are, would completely ruin this nice self deprecation thing that he has going.

The next time we see Will, Kayla and Austin interact with their father, it’s 4 books and almost 6 months later, after Apollo has finally resolved that he must make the effort to respect other people’s choice to believe in him, even though he thinks himself unworthy:

‘Dad!’ Will shot to his feet. He ran down the steps and tackled me in a hug.

“Dad!” is the first word that we hear Will say. And it’s not a slip up this time. It’s all Dad, Dad, Dad the whole book. Will doesn’t call him “Apollo” once.

This change in Will’s attitude is, in all likelihood, not just due to the events of THO. He, and Kayla and Austin too, must have heard accounts of what Apollo has done in between then and now, not only from Meg (who is at this point simultaneously Apollo’s biggest critic and his biggest hype machine. A powerful combination), but from Camp Jupiter and the Waystation too. And I’d bet that those accounts were nowhere near as dismissive of Apollo’s actions as Apollo’s own narration is.

We see everything filtered through Apollo’s still very biased perspective, and we know how much he doubts and berates himself. We know that he’s more acutely aware of his mortality now than he’s ever been, and that he’s readying himself to make the final sacrifice.

But Will is not scared anymore. Not like before. There’s no trace in him of the barely concealed terror that gripped him all through THO. He’s still just as eager to offer Apollo support, but now he seeks out his father’s support in turn.

It only takes one word from Apollo for Will to immediately confide to him his worries about Nico, his hope that it will be good for Nico to have something else to focus on, if they can help Apollo accomplish this task. Helping Apollo is almost more an excuse to help Nico in Will’s mind at this point. He tells this to Apollo before he even tells his boyfriend. He looks to Apollo for support. Quite literally.

Nico seemed to realize, at the same time I did, that Will hadn’t shared all the lines of the prophecy with him.

‘William Andrew Solace,’ Nico said, ‘do you have something to confess?’

‘I was going to mention it.’ Will looked at me pleadingly, as if he couldn’t make himself say the lines.

‘The son of Hades, cavern-runners’ friend,’ I recited.

This becomes a bit of a running gag, even: Will begging Apollo with his eyes to say the awkward thing in his place. It’s a stark contrast to his behavior at the beginning of THO, when he felt compelled to give Apollo an out whenever any sort of awkwardness manifested itself.

At one point this happens:

‘So what do we do about the rest of them?’ Will asked. ‘Dad, you sure you can’t …’ He gestured at our bovine audience. ‘I mean, you’ve got a god-level bow and two quivers of arrows at basically point-blank range.’

It’s the first time we see Will make an explicit, direct request of Apollo. A small one, sure, but I think the casualness of it, coupled with everything else, is indicative of how fast and comfortably Will’s settling into the habit of relying – actually relying on his dad.

He trusts his father’s judgment to the point that he doesn’t hesitate even for a second to give Apollo nectar when Apollo asks, despite the fact that his father is still technically mortal at the time, and drinking nectar should still technically kill him, as Will no doubt remembers, because the discovery caused him a fair amount of grief at the beginning of THO.

In practice, their situation hasn’t changed that much overall since the first book. They are still facing impossible odds. Apollo isn’t any less prone to concussions, he’s not any less vulnerable or fallible than he was when they last parted ways.

Yet, Will’s expectations of his father have changed on a fundamental level. Apollo doesn’t seem helpless to him anymore. Far from it. And his praise means more to Will, now, than Will can manage to express in words.

Nico smirked. ‘Friends, meet my glow-in-the-dark boyfriend.’

‘Could you not make a big deal about it?’ Will asked.

I was speechless. How could anyone not make a big deal about this? As far as demigod powers went, glowing in the dark was perhaps not as showy as skeleton-summoning or tomato-vine mastery, but it was still impressive. And, like Will’s skill at healing, it was gentle, useful and exactly what we needed in a pinch.

‘I’m so proud,’ I said.

Will’s face turned the colour of sunlight shining through a glass of cranberry juice. ‘Dad, I’m just glowing . I’m not graduating at the top of my class.’

‘I’ll be proud when you do that, too,’ I assured him.

We’re never told why Will was embarrassed of his glowing talent, to the point that he apparently hardly ever showed it off, and even on this occasion had to be coaxed into doing it by Nico. If I had to guess, I’d say probably because it’s yet another ability of his that completely lacks offensive power. But Apollo thinks it’s amazing, and he leaves Will no room to argue otherwise, and the next time we see Will, he’s glowing brighter than he ever has, bright enough to be mistaken by Nero’s soldiers for a god, and loudly declaring himself his father’s son in front of everybody.

It’s easier to see all this in Will, who has the most page time out of all of Apollo’s children, but Kayla and Austin’s perception of their dad too has shifted in a similar way. A single compliment from Apollo makes Kayla blush right down to the roots of her hair. “You're taller,” is the first thing she and Austin tell him upon greeting him. “You hold yourself straighter.” This may or may not be factually true, but regardless I would wager that their comments are reflective of more than just a physical reality. He looks taller to them. He’s grown in their esteem.

Kayla had been listening quietly, but now she leaned in. ‘Yeah, Meg was telling us about this prophecy you got. The Tower of Nero and all that. If there’s a battle, we want in.’

Austin wagged a breakfast sausage at me. ‘Word.’

There’s a big difference between this dialogue and when they promised Apollo that they’d protect him, back at the beginning of THO. The way they phrase this, it’s like they expect some pushback on the idea of them joining the fight. They expect that their father will want to protect them. That he may not even need them. And they respect his initial decision to leave them at camp, where he hopes they‘ll be safe.

But they make a point to let him know that they want to be there for him, with him, anyway. They know that, one way or another, their time together is coming to an end.

It’s pretty obvious that this is something that weighs heavily on the minds of Will, Kayla and Austin all through book 5. Not so much the possibility that Apollo will die, but the possibility that he won’t. That he will become a god again, and they will have to go back to seeing him only in dreams, if they’re lucky maybe in person once a year, never for longer than it takes to exchange a gesture of affection, a couple hollow platitudes. That they’ll never get to be this close with him again.

They don’t ask him to stay. The big requests still feel too big for them to voice. But everything they actually say and do is telling enough.

"I was hoping you'd come back," Will says, giving him the new clothes he's bought for him just in case. And he adds, "I wanted you to feel at home."

‘Hey, if we don’t get out of this –’

‘None of that talk,’ I chided.

‘Yeah, but I wanted to tell you, I’m glad we had some time together. Like … time time.’

His words warmed me even more than Paul Blofis’s lasagne.

I knew what he meant. While I’d been Lester Papadopoulos, I hadn’t spent much time with Austin, or any of the people I’d stayed with, really, but it had been more than we’d ever spent together when I was a god. Austin and I had got to know each other – not just as god and mortal, or father and son, but as two people working side by side, helping each other get through our often messed-up lives. That had been a precious gift.

Austin makes a point to underscore that it’s not the mere fact of having gotten to share some time with his dad that he’s grateful for. It’s not like he never saw or talked to Apollo before. He and his siblings are lucky, for a demigodly definition of the word. Apollo always gave them the time of the day. But this is different. Austin doesn’t quite know how to describe, put into words, what exactly the difference is.

But Apollo does. “Austin and I got to know each other as people,” he says. He calls it a precious gift, as if it’s something out of his hands. Because it is. It will continue to be, until Apollo decides to wrestle it out of the hands of his father. He still doesn’t know that he can.

[Dionysus] disappeared in a grape-scented cloud of glitter.

‘Such a show-off,’ I muttered.

Will laughed. ‘You really have changed.’

‘I wish people would stop pointing that out.’

‘It’s a good thing.’

Notice what is it that prompts Will to remark on Apollo’s change. It’s not Apollo being desperate to get Kayla and Austin and Meg back, to the point of risking his own life to go find them. It’s not Apollo being kind to Harley and winning the child’s loyalty along with a ukulele. It’s not Apollo expressing sorrow and regret about Jason’s death.

There’s a moment, later in the book, in which Rachel actually does give Apollo the “it’s so great that you actually care about people now” speech, but to Apollo’s children this doesn’t seem to register as an actual change in their father at all. They never show surprise to see him care.

Instead, what Will chooses to highlight as a novelty is Apollo rolling his eyes at Dionysus’ antics. He’s used to his father being kind. He’s not used to his father being serious. And he likes this new serious version of his dad – not humorless, but also very much not a clown all the time. It feels more real, somehow. Will doesn’t have anywhere near enough context to fully understand it, but the thing that he's really reacting to is the lack of a mask.

Apollo does understand though. He understands what his children are trying to communicate to him, even though they are careful to phrase their desires exclusively as expressions of gratitude. He may find it hard to believe, still, but he ain’t stupid. It’s painfully obvious that his kids want more of this. More of HIM. And he wants nothing more than to be able to give it to them. But much like his children don’t dare ask, he doesn’t dare make a promise that he’s afraid he won’t be able to keep.

I think you can see, at this point, what I meant when I said that Apollo and his children have complementary arcs re: their relationship with their father.

Apollo needs to give up on a father who refuses to accept him as his own person, keeps him from his own possessions, from his own loved ones. He needs to give up on a father who hates him enough to orchestrate his death. He must, for his own sake, and, most importantly, that of his children.

Will, Kayla and Austin need to realize that they are entitled to ask more, that they should demand more of a father who loves them, completely unconditionally, enough to be willing to die for them. A father who, they are starting to discover, may be fully capable and willing to murder for them, too.

The series ends before any of them have time to really act on the revelations they have had, the lessons they have learned. It’s an open ending, but the way forward is clear.

Apollo tries to tell himself that it will be enough to keep his distance. But even as he tries to convince himself of this, he’s admitting that there’s really only one way to stop tyrants like Nero. Tyrants like Zeus. Who can’t be reasoned with, because they don’t care to be reasonable. Who can’t be cut off either, because they feel entitled to everything and have the power to trample all over other people’s boundaries. Visiting his children in secret, helping demigods behind his father’s back… that strategy wasn’t working for Apollo before, and it’s not gonna start working now. There’s only one way this story can end, and deep down Apollo has already acknowledged it.

Apollo’s children, on the other hand, and I want to say especially Will, because he’s the one who has the most reasons and the most need to, should finally allow themselves to get angry at their dad. Because now they have seen, they have proof, that he can be a much better parent to them than he’s been all their life. Because they know him too well, now, to be able to make excuses for him. He is simply too good to be so awful a father. So how dare he?

The one time he was there with them, even as a mortal, even without his power, he saved them. So why could he not do it all the times before? Why could he not do it for all their other siblings?

Apollo let go of his anger, and, with it, he let go of the last of the hope he still held for his father too.

Will should be angry with his father because, now, he actually has hope for him.

No, it’s not Will’s responsibility to reform Apollo. But it matters to Apollo what his children have to say. What his children want. They know him well enough, now, to know that he’s both capable and willing to change for them.

But Fsinger, you’ll be asking me now, what about the infamous solangelo book teaser scene in the TON epilogue? Doesn’t that go against everything you’ve been so correctly and exhaustively arguing up until now?

To that I have to say

1) I was hoping you wouldn’t bring that up

2) I really, really want to be wrong, but that scene really reads like a hasty, completely graceless reset of the status quo so that Will and Nico’s adventure, and probably many more after it too, can be written still following the same old formula that has already proven to sell. Suddenly, jarringly, Apollo's back to feeling like he can't do anything but watch in resigned impotence as his kids march to their death, and Will’s back to making excuses for his dad. Everything can continue on as usual. Move along, spectators, there’s nothing to see here. If you thought this story was leading up to a specific place, no you didn’t.

#i am so ready to ignore tsats inevitably retconning the shit out of this ✌️✌️✌️✌️#thanks for coming to my TED talk #actually no joke thank you for your patience i'm so sorry to have kept you waiting #i'm gonna get to answering the other asks soon. before the next ice age starts i swear #toa #toa meta #rrverse #will solace #kayla knowles #austin lake #thesungod

254 notes · View notes

onigirio · 2 years ago

Text

remember me; pcj

percy jackson x amnesiac!reader

a/n: this was meant to be a drabble but it got way longer than planned ^^; i hope you enjoy!

warnings: amnesia, brief mentions of pain and headaches, mentions of death, everyone is a little ooc (my bad)

when consciousness returned to your body, all you could see was the void. your vision was filled with an expanse of black, broken only by a faint glow in the distance. ‘did i die?’ you thought to yourself. you were beginning to understand the phrase ‘seeing the light’ a little bit more. as feeling returned to your body, you realized you were on something soft, like a cloud.

maybe you did actually die, and this is heaven’s waiting room. it was feasible, and that’s what you would’ve concluded if your head didn’t start pounding like all hell. if you weren’t dead already, the pain would definitely finish the job.

“…not okay! they could’ve…” a feminine voice said

“…one’s fault…” a masculine voice responded

the words faded in and out of your ears, a loud ringing overshadowing all other noise. you groaned, your eyes opening slowly. sitting up, you were met with the sight of three teenagers bickering at the foot of your bed. what scared you the most was the fact that one of them held a bronze sword in his hand, and the other had small horns. the only normal one was the blonde, at least until she turned to look at you. she had sharp gray eyes, like the sky before a storm. those same eyes widened and exclaimed your name in relief. the blonde wanted to approach you, but stopped at the way you flinched when she called your name.

“how are you feeling? you weren’t looking so good” the boy with horns asked you. sword boy (you really had to ask them for names), chuckled before replying, “they took a literal boulder to the head”. blondie then proceeded to punch him in the shoulder, swiftly shutting him up, “percy please-“

“it’s true!”

all you could do was look between the two of them as they started bickering back and forth. you raised an inquisitive brow and goat boy could only smile nervously, “you know how they can get”. that began the snowball of your confusion. you felt like you should know these people, but you don’t. how could something feel so familiar yet so foreign.

“i-i don’t think i do”

the arguing pair froze to look at you in confusion. the blonde in particular, stared at you with a steely gaze, “don’t what”. you averted your gaze, opting to count the small scratches which littered your hands, “i don’t know how they can get-“ you paused, “because i don’t know them, i don’t know you! i don’t know where i am, why i’m in bed, why my head hurts so bad-“ all the questions that had been stirring in the back of your mind rushed out like an avalanche. you had more to say, but you were cut off by someone slamming the door open. another blond kid. great. already two blonds and neither one had told you their name

“how about the next time someone wakes up after being knocked out, we call the medic” blond boy (this is getting ridiculous) scolded, proceeding to give you a quick once over with his eyes. “will, we would have-“ sword boy (blondie called him percy you think) started, “no you wouldn’t have” he replied, taking your pulse and noting it down, “you’re not even supposed to be here”. ��percy’ pursed his lips, knowing that will was right. the blonde girl rolled her eyes in annoyance, “right or wrong- it doesn’t matter. they don’t remember anything”. will stopped, gaze switching between you and blondie, “like from the fight?”. blondie shook her head

“like from their life, at least after camp half blood”

will turned you, “well” he started, “what’s the last thing you remember”. you took a deep breath, recalling your thoughts, “running, i think. for a while- and being chased by something or someone?” you did your best to recall from the top of your head, but the pounding was still prevalent. even if it was the last thing you remembered, it still felt like it was so long ago.

the one with horns spoke up again, “that’s the day they got to camp half blood. they were attacked near the border, and i had to help them to the infirmary”. percy’s brows furrowed, concern prevalent on his features, “so they don’t remember anything after coming to camp.”

the four teens looked at you. it wasn’t apparent, but you could see the pity hidden behind their eyes. how do you reply? it wasn’t your fault, but you felt terrible. from what it seemed, these people were close to you, yet all the moments you shared together had vanished into thin air blondie cleared her throat, “i suppose weshould start with names then. i’m annabeth” she said, “the satyr is grover” he gave you a comforting smile, “the guy helping you is will, and on the wall is-” annabeth paused, her words getting caught in her throat. “percy, right? i think i heard annabeth say it” you questioned, looking at him for confirmation. the green eyed boy nodded, a small smile finding its way to his lips. it was hard to place, but you felt familiar with percy. everyone else was a stranger, but somehow you knew him. you couldn’t place it, but every time you two made eye contact in the infirmary, your heart stopped for just a minute.

will cut them all off, beginning to usher them out of the room. he spoke about doing some tests and giving you more ambrosia (you were both concerned and intrigued). the trio left, but you didn’t miss the way percy glanced at you over his shoulder

—

after a quick brief with will about your injury (rock to the head, seriously?), he sent you off all bandaged up and equipped with a lifetime supply of pain medication for your headaches. amnesia was not the worst part of your situation, surprisingly. your past self was either extremely brave or extremely stupid, and somehow managed to mess up your shoulder too. now your good arm was out of commission for the foreseeable future.

great

at least you wouldn’t have to worry about any demigod related activities for a while, meaning no capture the flag (some girl named clarisse was not happy about you being benched). being free from the game meant a lot of things. most notably was the apparent lack of kids on the grounds. you sat bored in your bed, in what was supposed to be your cabin. your hoodie was long gone, lost among the vast expanse of laundry you had. the bandages wrapping your shoulder were out on display, barely covered by the black tank you wore. piles of magazines were strewn around the duvet, haphazardly closed from your frustration.

you don’t remember reading them (slipped your mind along with everything else), but the content was so familiar you found yourself getting bored within the first few pages. with a groan, you flopped over onto your pillow. the annoyance quickly turned to confusion when you felt something hard under your head. pillow discarded, you found the source of your discomfort. it was a book. a mid-sized book with your name on the cover. the leather cover was worn, and you could see just how much was in it from the thickness alone. curiousity beat you to the punch, and you decided to open it up.

on the first page was a picture. you, percy and annabeth standing in front of the lake. captioned with your signatures and a date. on the page parallel, doodles bordered paragraphs of what looked like descriptions of the day. after reading more, it got more apparent that this was your bullet journal. the next page listed important dates like birthdays and events, and the next was personal goals, followed by more polaroid photos of you and your friends.

the further you read, the more your heart ached. you looked so happy, and so did your friends. the last one was written just last week, and it was paired with a candid photo of you laughing on your bunk next to percy. tears pricked the corners of your eyes. it was you in that picture, you knew that for sure, but it felt like you were looking at someone else’s life. these were your memories, with your friends. it felt so weird that you had no recollection of it

this camp seemed to shape you into the person you are — well, were — and you couldn’t remember any of it. would you get your memories back? how long would it take? are your friends still well, your friends? closing the journal, you tucked it back under the pillow and opted to stare at the ceiling. thinking about the life you lost with your memories. what was it like? bickering with annabeth, or play fighting with grover, kissing percy-

wait

that was a new one. it wasn’t something that you had thought about before. you weren’t sure where it was coming from, but you had a vivid memory of spending time with percy. it wasn’t a feeling, but you saw it. it was a memory. you didn’t remember who you were, but you did remember being so close to percy that you could feel his breath on your lips.

maybe you needed fresh air. the smell of dust and sweat was starting to get to you

the sun hung low in the late afternoon sky. capture the flag had ended a while ago apparently. you were so caught up in your thoughts that you didn’t even notice the ambient noise of the other demigods outside. people greeted you and you feigned recognition, but it was hard to pretend when everything you knew slipped through your fingers so easily

everything except a night with percy. how cliché

you found yourself on the docks for a reason you can’t quite place. you swung your legs aimlessly, staring into the horizon. a sigh left your mouth. as the world went on around you, thoughts of the journal clouded your mind. you let yourself zone out as a small break from reality. you wished all of this was just a sick daydream

“oh, hey”

you almost jumped out of your skin, your stupor broken by a familiar voice.

“at least you still remember our spot” percy said, taking a seat next to you on the dock. you laughed dryly, “remember is a strong word, i just wanted to get away from everyone”. sea green eyes flicked from the water over to you. he couldn’t say a lot of the things he wanted to, because gods know you would think he’s a creep. percy was just happy you’re okay, but he missed a lot more than he could say

“so, how are you doing” he slowly broke the silence. you shrugged, “i’ve been benched, mentally and physically”. percy laughed lightly at your words, “i’m guessing it’s hard finishing tasks you have no clue how to do”.

“someone asked me about how i fight and he started describing things i didn’t even know i could do” you both laughed, like you were old friends. which in retrospect, you really were. “do you think you’ll get them back, your memories i mean”. you pursed your lips in thought, “hopefully, i’ve been thinking about it a lot. i found my journal, and it seemed like we had so many good memories” you said, reminiscing. percy looked at you again, hearing the longing in your voice. “i’m just some person now. even if i do remember life before camp, i lost so much of myself along with those memories” your voice began to tremble. a single tear rolled down your cheek into your lap, beginning the downpour.

“people know me percy. i have relationships with a lot of people here. hell, some even look up to me”, in the absence of tissue, you opted to wipe your tears away with your hands, “i don’t remember who i was percy! i don’t remember people, or my beliefs. all i remember is kissing you!” you paused, taking a breath to stable yourself, “why do i remember kissing you”

in the heat of the moment, you let it slip. you hadn’t meant to open up so much, but you were tired of feeling like a stranger. the pent up emotions were too much to handle for you. it was silent between you two for a moment, the void filled with sounds of dusk

“that night” percy started, “when you told me how you felt, it’s like the world stopped”. you looked towards him with curiosity. hopefully, this was the night you remembered. it clearly had some form nuance in your life, since it was the only thing you remember.

“maybe it’s a good thing i didn’t ask you out that night” he started, “it hurts a lot when the person you care so much about doesn’t even recognize your face”. you opened your mouth to speak, apologies lingering on your tongue, but percy quickly cut you off, “don’t blame yourself, i know how you are” he stated, “besides, im happy you remember me” the boy flashed you his signature smile, and your heart melted. “it means i was important to you”

for the first time in what felt like ages, a genuine smile found its place on your face. percy was about to continue, but was cut off by the sound of someone calling his name. he looked disappointed, but began to get up nonetheless.

“i guess i’ll see you at dinner-“ “percy wait”, you grabbed his wrist, stopping him as he was about to leave, “thank you” you stated simply, heat rising to your cheeks. he laughed at your bashful expression. “maybe amnesia isn’t such a bad thing” he said, pulling you up out of your position on the dock. you raised a brow, looking at him with apparent curiosity. gesturing for him to go on, percy continued, “well, it means you get to fall in love with me all over again”. he feigned pain when you playfully punched his shoulder. the voice from before was louder now, annoyance evident in its tone. percy said goodbye, but before he could fully turn away, you used your good arm to pull him towards your form. the boy yelped in surprise, but confusion turned to joy when he felt your lips against his cheek. a smirk crept onto his lips, and the brunette began to tease you endlessly. rolling your eyes, you pushed him away, “someone needs you, dork”. he pouted, “can i at least get one for the road?” he called out. you shrugged in reply and laughed as he groaned and walked away from you.

you retook your seat at the dock, legs swinging over the edge. it was darker now, and the moon painted your face with a dim glow. you were alone again, but this time your heart was left feeling a little more full than before

likes/reblogs are appreciated <3

#rio rambles #pjo #hoo #pjo headcanon #percy jackson #rio writes 🐝#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson universe #percy x y/n #percy x reader #x reader #pjo hoo toa #pjo drabbles #pjo imagines #pjo fanfic #annabeth chase #will solace #grover

152 notes · View notes

yaemona · 3 years ago

Text

modern ! childe headcanons

contents both sfw and nsfw, childe x f ! reader, mentions of semi-public sex/car sex, mentions of alcohol, cunnilingus, this is very stream of consciousness

a.n just a little something whilst i figure out what fic i wanna work on next. i have a ton of these for him specifically, it’s kinda crack and jokes but like also. . . i’m right. anyway ppl seem to like my modern takes so i thought i would share this. i hope it gives u a good laugh at the very least

minors and ageless blogs do not interact.

sfw

i’ll get this out of the way: he plays league of legends. you know he does. you can’t tell me i’m wrong.

we are off to a rocky start

he’s sporadic in nature, the way he takes care of himself follows that pattern

he works out pretty regularly, often going out on jogs at the asscrack of dawn before going to his classes. he manages a 3.5 ish range gpa but like

he puts a bunch of things off til very last minute and then suddenly he has 5 assignments due, two of which are papers and he is surviving off the raw adrenaline of having a deadline to meet

during finals there is not a single light on behind those eyes and u fear for his sanity

does he sleep? you genuinely do not know.

his thirst for the thrill of battle is translated directly as a thirst to play league for 15hrs straight and not leave his room

ah speaking of classes, his major is drumroll please

🥁🥁🥁

oceanography !

hear me out, this is more than just a clever incorporation of his fucking narwhal summons kind of

he visited an aquarium once as a young lad and his eyes lit up so bright and he had the biggest smile on his face

he just about lost his shit at the moon jelly tank

and in the tube you walk through where the fish and creatures are swimming above and all around you, god he felt like he was in some sort of fairytale

he takes his younger siblings to the aquarium nowadays either when he goes home for holidays or when they come to visit

i just realized the ocean is kinda like. . . a deep dark abyss. well. there you have it folks at least he didn’t fall into it ig

anywayyy he also very much does love fishing. he has tried to drag scara out on multiple occasions. scara refuses. thoma was keen though !

yes, modern ! thoma and childe are fishing buddies

there’s no good place to slot this in but he’s allergic to peanuts. idk he just is. i have nothing more to say on this matter. shrimp is on thin fucking ice but it doesn’t send him into anaphylactic shock so he is swallowing a bucket of bubba gump’s popcorn shrimp as we speak

percy jackson phase as a kid. has a lot of compartmentalized information about greek mythology now. he still finds it interesting and if it fits into a conversation he’s willing to go on about it for quite awhile

it is currently 10pm. your phone rings. it is childe. he’s 5 minutes away from your house, are you agreeing to going out to get slushees?

yes, of course you are!

cherry slushee with nerds is his go to

the friend who is always down for literally anything, and always invites you along to do whatever it is

no money? no problem, he’s paying for you. don’t try to fight him on it you’re not going to win he’s persistent

love language is gift giving

that really specific thing you mentioned wanting? he remembers. staring at an item in a store that you really do want, contemplating extra hard before ultimately setting it down? he’s buying it for you. he sees something while he’s out and about or perusing online that reminds him of you? he doesn’t even hesitate.

one item in particular he got you for one of your birthdays is a necklace

it’s a dainty little thing, you mutter something about being afraid to break it. he laughs.

“trust me, you won’t. they’re good quality. here, let me put it on you.”

childe can be quite clumsy at times, but his movements then were so careful and gentle as he clasped the necklace

it’s a lightweight chain adorned with a sand dollar pendant, it even came with a cheesy little message card

“you are bright, beautiful and one of a kind. the odds of knowing someone like you are one in a million. . . lucky me! wear your necklace as a reminder that i love you.”

and you do wear it, very often. the memory and the gift itself always put a smile on your face.

and he still gets giddy every time he sees it around your neck

anyway now i’ll remind you he plays league of legends and we’ll get back to that

he also plays valorant, that one is more so for fun and he’s constantly fucking around

he facetimes you often and sometimes he just has his phone propped up against something on his desk facing him while he’s queuing in valorant with friends

“who does he play val with?” im so glad you asked.

venti, itto, and hu tao.

respective agents they main: jett, brimstone/raze, and reyna

childe mains omen. just feel like he would.

venti is a mutual friend childe actually met through you

but the other two are online friends childe met in solo queues, and they exchanged discords after they just kinda hit it off

after a few times childe had you on facetime they complained enough to the point where childe just gave you the disc invite and added you to the call

and honestly. . . listening to the four of them is the funniest shit you’ve ever heard.

pity the poor soul who is solo queuing and ends up with them

childe has been known on multiple occasions to jokingly flirt with whoever it is

it’s even funnier when they flirt back or instigate it in the first place. you can’t hear the person obviously, but boy oh boy are the screams of the other three in both amusement and horror utterly hilarious

childe and venti are screaming at each other about how the other needs to stop sucking so back

“WHY ARE YOU YELLING AT ME THAT WAS ONE FUCKING ROUND IM LITERALLY TOP FRAGGING FUCK YOU!”

venti does it because of the amount of joy it brings him to piss childe off ( there’s a reason they don’t play league together anymore )

hu tao is giggling up a storm and itto’s trying to hold a conversation with you about your day as you’re crying from laughter

if i don’t move on from gamer ! childe now, i don’t think i ever will

childe is. . . a reckless menace. you think whoever granted him his driver’s license should probably be fired yet he’s never gotten a ticket

he’s safer when you’re in the car but he’s still playing speed racer. if you’re really frightened then he will drive the actual speed limit and be more cautious.

surprise! he can be a good driver

that’s nice hon but what about your safety

early morning trips to breakfast diners in your pajamas, most often after all nighters pulled or particularly sleepless nights

sleepovers that involve you two in the kitchen baking brownies at 3am and you two dance around while they’re in the oven

he’d try to jump on your back and have you give him piggy back rides, and damn near knocks you over with the sheer force he runs at you with alone

his spotify playlists are a mess he listens to literally everything

toxic by britney spears or kiss me thru the phone comes on through the aux in the car and he is giving a full performance

oh yeah speaking of which, i think he’d genuinely enjoy karaoke

he doesn’t take it too seriously, he’s there for the laughs and the food/drinks

extroverts will be extroverts

pleads at you with puppy dog eyes to sing breaking free from hsm

just give in, the smile on his face would be so worth it

nsfw

horny. like. always.

it does not take much to get him worked up and when he does he makes it ur problem too

he just skips past subtle cues, god forbid when you’re out in public

face buried in the crook of your neck, leaving hickies while you two are sitting in a corner; hand resting very high up on your thigh under the table, fingers dangerously close to brushing up against you

y’all have left some gatherings and gone home early

he has gotten quite . . .impatient a handful of times which has led to him fucking you in a few bathrooms and once in the car but like here’s the thing

childe is tall he’s got spindly limbs and the backseat of a car isn’t very spacious

so it was very clumsy and the two of you were doing a lot of giggling the entire time he still fucked ur brains out though

before you were in a relationship, y’all started out as fwb

he invited a few friends ( you included ) over for a small get together. drinking, games, what have you

childe, when drunk, is very touchy. and he already found you quite attractive while sober. put two and two together and welllll

you end up in a very heated makeout session after he’s dragged you to his room

friends passed out in the living room so you try not to make too much noise

you get very dirty looks from them the next morning

childe brought up the proposition of fwb and to be frank it was the best sex you’d ever had so you were keen

that went on for a couple of months

then, one morning, you woke up in his bed alone to the smell of pancakes?? waffles?? dunno but it smelled so fucking good

you get up, pull his shirt he’d been wearing the previous night over your head and walk out to see what’s up

god looking back on it now it seems like a scene out of a very cheesy romcom

the kitchen counter is a bit of a mess, but an organized one

and childe’s standing at the stove with the sleeves of the hoodie he’s wearing rolled up and in his boxers flipping a pancake over

sunlight is creeping in through the window and lights up the room in such a delicate way. . . and you feel a flutter in your chest

he notices you staring and flashes you a bashful smile it’s . . .different from how you’re used to seeing him, but it still feels like him

“ah, good morning! i wasn’t sure what you liked but . . .there’s some eggs and bacon, and a few pancakes already done, so go ahead and help yourself girlie.”

his freckled cheeks are flushed with the brightest pink, ginger hair unkempt from sleep and last night’s escapades

you walk up behind him and wrap your arms around his waist, planting a kiss against his shoulder blade

“morning,” you yawn.

he could get used to this.

you perch yourself on one of the empty countertops and watch as he finishes up, talking while he rinses the dishes in the sink, and come to the decision that the two of you want to try something more than your current relationship

and that’s that

yes he did eat you out on the kitchen counter afterwards what do you expect seeing you in just his shirt drove him crazy

#genshin childe #childe x reader #childe headcanons #childe imagines #childe smut #genshin smut #genshin headcanons #childe x reader smut

575 notes · View notes

lord-of-christmas-lights · 3 years ago

Text

I swear I have normal Narnia headcanons. However, none of them are featured in this post.

So! If you've been following my series of posts about my Inhuman Narnia AU and the couple of oneshots I posted on ao3 under ASkyOfKai, you've probably noticed that in this little universe I've created, Narnia is sort of...sentient. And I've just realized that I've only actually gone into depth about this on Discord with my friends who are probably very tired of hearing about it. So I'm making y'all suffer through it instead. Welcome to Inhuman Narnia 101, please take your seats because this is going to take a while.

Warning for religious themes, theological discussion, and some dark fantasy/inhuman/body horror concepts that involve blood and physical changes.

BEFORE I SAY ANYTHING: Please keep in mind that an AU is meant to be an alternate universe that may not follow canon information. If anything in this post contradicts canon on the creation of Narnia (it undoubtedly will), pay it no mind, this is an AU. It doesn't have to follow canon.

First off, a little explanation of the Inhuman Narnia AU in general. Basically I came up with this AU after seeing some other people on tumblr post about the Pevensies being not quite human after their time in Narnia. Just eerie, cryptid, a bit of dark fantasy kinda stuff. And I was like, "I'm in love, sign me up, I have ideas." I did not sit down and develop this all at once. The worldbuilding I've done for it has come slowly over the past few weeks through posts, fanfics, and discord rambles. The idea of Narnia being a sentient earth deity of sorts is a recent one and there is already so much to it. (Also I call her Narnia because it's convenient, she has other names but I haven't bothered to like, actually make any up so Narnia is what she's called.)

The most important thing to note starting off is that Narnia is not supposed to be a replacement for Aslan, nor is she necessarily "the hero to his villain". Aslan and I have an interesting relationship, as he is literally God/Jesus/The Holy Spirit/etc and I no longer really identify as Christian. While there are times that Aslan definitely takes a more antagonistic route in my writings, I don't actually see him as a bad guy, nor as a good guy. As God, he literally removed from our concepts of good and evil (in my opinion). The same goes for Narnia being an earth deity. I am a Christian-raised pagan, and I definitely subscribe to the idea that gods and deities are not subject to humanity and our rules. Narnia is not a good goddess, she is not a bad goddess, she simply is a goddess. Plain and simple. The dichotomy that exists between Narnia and Aslan in my writing is generally that of opposing deities, but this isn't a hard and fast rule. There were and still are times when they're friends, working towards the same goals. There are times when Narnia's power is stronger than Aslan's and times when Aslan's power is stronger than hers. There is no simple 1:1 comparison between them.

So, getting into motivations and why Narnia as a deity even exists. Essentially, I asked the question, "How do the Pevensies become inhuman?" and voila earth deity Narnia was born. Now, the basic in-universe mythology I've worked out is that Narnia and Aslan are two deities from separate dimensions that came together to create a new world, the world of Narnia. Aslan is the one who oversees things, he's the one who comes up with the ideas, and he's a little less attached to the world as a whole because he's a Creator, not an earth deity. Narnia is, however, and she literally makes up the world, she sort of runs the entire thing on a physical level, and she is much more attached to it. So she's always kinda taken on this role of making the things in her world the way she wants them. For the most part, she and Aslan designed everything together and they're both happy with it blah blah blah. Well, Aslan then decides to bring a few humans from this other world he's created to Narnia. And she affects them a bit (I've got headcanons about Digory and Polly that I haven't posted anywhere yet but I might soon), but it isn't until Aslan brings the Pevensies over that she really gets to experiment. See, there are other deities in the world that kinda rule over the various lands on a surface level (patron gods for Telmar, the Archenlands, etc, they just have less power than Narnia and Aslan) so she has a little less power over the people in those places, but the country of Narnia is both her land and her so when the Pevensies become the Kings and Queens and live there for 15 years, she's very connected to them. And it's through this connection that she starts to affect them. Honestly, I'm not sure if Narnia even knows what she's doing when she starts stripping away their humanity. I think it's that she can feel they're not from her world and she doesn't like that. She wants them to be a part of her, she wants them to belong in her world just the same as everyone else. (Side note—I know Telmar and some other lands in canon are based on people finding portals and coming through and I'd like to say that she does affect them a bit, takes away a bit of their humanity, but it's not to the same extent as the Kings and Queens of her lands).

"So Kai," you might say, "You keep empathizing that she is literally the land and the land is her. What the hell do you mean by that?" Well, essentially, she is...the...land. Basically if you've read Percy Jackson Heroes of Olympus, there's this idea that Gaia and Tartarus are both physically their domains and able to take on a smaller, human shaped physical form because they're gods and not restricted by human ideas of only having one body. Narnia is the same. Her physical form is both the entire world and whatever smaller shape she might appear in to people. However, we have to acknowledge that their world is differently structurally from ours. There's magic, there's talking animals, and in my Inhuman AU, there is a literal Heart of Narnia at the center. Like a physical, beating, human-shaped heart. Except it's a lot bigger than a regular human heart. Also it's golden. And many many many miles underground. So anyways this is where she's centered. It's basically where her soul is. Probably under Cair Paravel because I just came up with that idea and I love it. And radiating out from it are veins of magic and blood, and these stretch all across the world. Now here is where we get into blood magic and some of those fun terrifying concepts I've come up with.

Narnia has her own blood, of course, but also whenever one of her Kings or Queens bleeds in battle, she kinda pulls it down through the earth into her own heart and veins. It doesn't really do anything to her or them in particular, it's just a fun side effect of them having a patron pagan god. Yes this includes Caspian after he becomes King. Also Peter's blood turns golden because he's the High King, and then later Caspian's does too because I just really like imagery of Ben Barnes bleeding gold. (Side note—when Peter returns to England, his blood goes back to red, but it does remain a brighter red than blood generally is).

Diverting for half a second here. Now, in both my regular Narnia writings and my Inhuman AU, Lucy is very very connected to magic. In my regular Narnia fanfic, she studies with the druids, who are sort of like BBC Merlin's druids. They're just like, chill dudes who run around in camps doing magic and making prophecies and shit. However, in the Inhuman AU, they are a lot darker. One of my favorite ideas with the Inhuman druids and Lucy is that they are so connected to Narnia's magic and her Heart that their hands become stained with blood. Is it their blood, is it Narnia's blood, is it someone else's blood? Idk, don't ask questions. But yea, their hands are permanently stained reddish-brown to almost black. In my regular Narnia stuff, I still like the idea of Lucy's hands being stained and go with just earth magic, dirt stuff for the reason why. But yea no, in the Inhuman AU her hands are stained with blood because of blood magic.

So getting a bit more into how Narnia affects the Pevensies now because I love talking about this lol. She doesn't consciously chose how to change them, though she does call them her creations. Generally the way her magic affects them is by connecting them to to the land in some way and bringing out certain traits they have. So for Peter it's his eyes flickering between regular blue and the amber of a lion's, feathers appearing on his back that grow into wings, having a strength greater than that of a giant's. His blood is golden and on clear nights, the Aurora Borealis in the sky is reflected across his skin. For Susan, her skin glints like glass in the sun and she can briefly glimpse the future. Her wounds are sewn shut with golden rays of light, her eyes are cracked but clear, and she seems to glow faintly in the night, a bit of the sun's radiance shining through her. Edmund has a bit of a star's power lodged in his throat, and can manipulate words, uses them to influence people and their actions. His skin is frostbitten in places, a side effect of ruling the Woods where the White Witch once held so much power, and in some spots his bones shine under the ice that spreads across his skin. Lucy has the stained skin from her stronger connection to magic, and when she speaks words from the Old Language (the one Aslan and Narnia used to shape the world itself), her voice echoes and rasps. Her teeth are too sharp, her smile too wide, and when she disappears underwater, she can stay for hours without surfacing. I want to get into Eustace and Caspian now too but this post is already extremely long and I've still got a bit to cover, so we're just sticking with the Pevensies for now. So yea, Narnia doesn't pick what she does to the Pevensies, she just connects herself to them and through that connection, they change. The magic that she is made of, that Narnia the world operates on, that's what changes them. However, as I stated already, she does call them her creations and feels extremely responsible for them.

Wrapping back around up to the beginning, this is the biggest source of conflict between her and Aslan as of the canon timeline. I like to believe that the lamppost incident was an accident, that Aslan didn't actually mean to send them back at the end of LWW and it was pure coincidence, wrong place wrong time stuff. That being said, it did happen and Narnia really didn't like it happening. The Pevensies did return to their (mostly) human selves in this AU in England, so when they came back in Prince Caspian, she felt disconnected from them again. She reacted to this by digging into them even harder on a spiritual level and essentially speedran them back to being inhuman throughout the timeline of PC, which generally takes place over a few months in my mind. I don't remember how long it was in the book, it's been quite a while since I read them, but it's only like a week in the movie and like eff that, overthrowing a kingdom takes a bit longer in my opinion. Now there are a few divergences here. 1. They all stay at the end of PC and yea that's it, they go back to being Kings and Queens and it's like a second Golden Age but with Caspian there as well. 2. Susan and Peter stay, Lucy and Edmund go back and it's a repeat of the human/inhumanity cycle for them + Eustace in VOTDT and then they stay. 3. Everything happens exactly as it does in canon and it's a constant cycle of humanity/inhumanity with the character's various trips and finally ends at The Last Battle. I like all versions and I tend to leave things a little open to the reader on what exactly happens, or I would if I could actually finish some of my drafts and post them. As you can imagine, Narnia likes 1 the best and 3 the least. She really wants her Kings and Queens to stay and rule her lands and like be awesome and stuff. However, Aslan prefers 3 the best and 1 the least. So again, neither of them is really good nor evil, they just have differing opinions on how the world should be run and what the Pevensie's fates should be. I do tend to side with Narnia, I really like exploring these concepts of inhumanity, but I also really like the concept of a cycle. That's very common in mythology.

So anyways, that's a bit of an overview on earth deity Narnia and her role in my Inhuman AU. If you made it this far, congratulations, and I give you explicit permission to use any of my ideas in your own writing/fanart/whatever, as long as you tag either my tumblr or my ao3 (lord-of-christmas-lights and ASkyOfKai) because I need more Narnia+Inhumanity content in my life. Thanks for reading all this and I'll probably be back very soon with elaboration on Eustace and Caspian's inhumanity!

- Kai

#inhuman/dark fantasy narnia #the chronicles of narnia #peter pevensie #susan pevensie #edmund pevensie #lucy pevensie #aslan #digory kirke #eustace scrubb #caspian x #narnia headcanons #rambles of a hyperfixating kai

90 notes · View notes

weasleyswizardpleases · 4 years ago

Text

Funny Girl (Pt. 2)

Summary: Being serious has never been your thing, but when you find yourself at the center of a conflict that tears Fred and George apart in the midst of the second wizarding war, it’s hard to find something to laugh about.

Warnings/Notes: Violence, hospital setting, blood, crying. This is a second part per the request of several of you and also my own brain goblin. There will be a part three!

tags: @weasley2x @weasleyfilms

It’s been several months since your falling out with the Weasley twins. The tensions in the wizarding world are coming to a head; the dark lord grows stronger by the day. Purebloods are becoming bolder in their oppression of muggleborns and wizards of mixed heritage, not to mention no-majs. Potter and his little crew have disappeared. Dumbledore is dead. Things look rather bleak.

You wish you could say that you worked things out with your friends, but they both felt betrayed, even though you tried to explain the misunderstanding. How could you have known that they’d both have feelings for you? How could you have predicted that they’d both make their move on the same day, within minutes of each other, nonetheless? You weren’t prepared to choose, then or now. And that’s what they demand- me or him, him or me. So you distance yourself. You’re still friends with Lee, but your friend group has really broken apart since you and the twins have begun avoiding one another.

In confidence, Lee tells you that he’s never seen Fred so on edge, and George has become more withdrawn than ever. He reassures you that they’ve patched things up between the two of them, though. It was your biggest worry after the fight, that they’d let you drive a wedge between them. That was foolish to even consider, of course. You’ve always known that, although the three of you had been a trio ever since you met, their connection to one another was closer than their connection to you. It’s only natural. They were born together, and, apparently finding the provided companionship sufficient, have clung together ever since. Blood runs thicker than any matter of the heart. No falling out could change that for very long.

You, on the other hand, are left alone, without your two closest friends since first year. You try to throw yourself into your final year of studies, but your heart isn’t in it, and you wind up working with some others outside of class to hone your defense against the dark arts skills; you sense something big is coming. When the battle of hogwarts arrives, you have your first conversation with fred and george since your falling out. Mrs. Weasley sees you and pulls you across the room, eagerly shoving you in between the twins. You groan and nod curtly at each of them as she bustles away. It’s a sweet gesture- Molly has always liked you, and clearly wants you and the boys to patch things up- but it feels much more grim given the circumstances. Some people will certainly lose their lives tonight. It may be your last chance.

You sigh and look at Fred almost shyly. His eyes meet yours gingerly, and in that glance is all you need to know. He pulls you into a tight hug, and you match his embrace.

“I’ve missed you,” you whisper.

“I’ve missed you too,” he says softly.

You turn to George, who pulls you into his arms without hesitation. His broad shoulders heave with a massive exhale.

“It’s good to see you again,” he says.

“I bet it would be even better to hear me,” you say, grinning. He fingers the bandage over his mangled ear and smiles.

“We’ve been making some adjustments. Trying to see how smooth we can get his noggin, bit by bit. Soon he’ll look just like an egg,” Fred says, putting a hand on your shoulder. The way the three of you interact is like before, but more careful. The tension is still there. There’s a lot you need to talk about to really smooth things over, but the urgency of the situation forces you to bandage the wound as best you can. It’s comforting, at least, to know that they’re intentions are for the restoration of your friendship.

When the barrier is lifted and the hordes come rushing in, you fight right alongside the Weasleys. The three of you work in tandem perfectly, knocking out death eaters one after another as if this is your job. You wipe out a particularly nasty one and George whistles in admiration.

“Done this before?” he asks. You spray covering blows as Fred and Percy run across an open stretch of courtyard into the castle’s corridors, into the fray. By the time you hear the corridor collapsing, taking Fred under its enormous weight, you’re too absorbed by the encroaching crowd to pay it any mind. It’s only later when you realize that you heard, even saw, the explosion, and did nothing.

When the battle pauses, George is still right there beside you. The arm of his jacket is ripped, and you can see blood caked on his skin through the tear. The air is dusty and morale is low. You look around, watching as those who are able emerge with stretchers and collect the injured. Your breath catches in your throat as you watch a classmate, the girl who sat next to you in potions, lifted onto a stretcher, writhing in pain. Now that you can finally think, fear clouds your mind. George’s voice breaks your reverie.

“Y/N,” he says. You turn to him. He puts his hands on your shoulders and looks into your eyes. “We made it.” You nod, blinking tearfully, and pull him to you. Your small frame shakes, adrenaline still coursing through you, your thoughts clear and urgent. George’s chest rises and falls as he tries to regain his breath. Over his shoulder, you see Percy jogging alongside a stretcher. He looks stricken. You freeze, your eyes widening. You shake George’s embrace off and nod towards the scene.

His face darkens and you both take off running to catch up with Percy and the students carrying the stretcher- on further inspection, it’s two boys from your year looking nearly unrecognizable, drenched in sweat and the grime of battle, their faces ashen.

Percy looks at you but doesn’t speak. You brace yourself and look down at the stretcher. It’s as you feared. Fred. He’s pale, his breathing shallow, his body limp.

“Freddie!” you scream, your heart in your throat. George nearly collapses at the sight but you pull him onward, knowing that above all, you must be together now, that in this dire moment Fred must be with George, and George with Fred, to the very last.

George, weak in the knees, casts an arm around your shoulders and you follow Fred into the great hall. Time seems to move slowly. You wave down the Weasleys, and they crowd in. Fred is set down on the stone floor, and you move to wave down a healer, but it’s impossible to find one who isn’t occupied with some other task.

In this moment, nothing matters to you more than saving Fred. You yank on the shoulder of nearest healer, who’s working on a wounded leg.

“Get over here,” you say roughly. “He’s dying,” you add, waving toward the grim scene. She nods curtly at the owner of the bloodied leg and turns her attention to you.

“There’s nothing we can do. We’re waiting on transport to St. Mungo’s to arrive, but we can’t fix the unforgivables here. We just aren’t equipped.”

“Waiting? Waiting?!” you shout, grabbing her by the shoulders. “There’s no bloody time for waiting. Save him! Do something! Now!”

The healer, a sallow-cheeked woman in her forties, pries your hands off her shoulders and pats your arm sadly. She shakes her head.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly, knowingly, “but I have to focus on saving those who can be saved.” She turns back to her patient and continues mending the leg. You look around frantically, but George is there, pulling you to kneel around the stretcher with the others, before you can decide what to do.

“It’s no use,” he says, his mouth set deep in a frown. You finally take a good look at Fred, and it’s almost too much. You know that this may be the last time you see him alive, if this can be called living. You bury your face in his side, breathing in his scent. You feel yourself begin to cry.

“Freddie, my Freddie. I’m so sorry. I love you. I love you,” you murmur into his bloodied jacket. You feel him shudder, and he moans what may be an attempt at speech. Soon, the healers from St. Mungo’s are there to take him. By that time, you’re sure he won’t live. George, of course, goes to St. Mungo’s to wait, and you follow. The rest of the family stays to fight, Molly and Ginny especially resolute in their quest for revenge. Later, you hear reports that the Weasleys all fought like animals, hardened by grief. The waiting rooms at the hospital are overflowing, and you and George are left to slump on the floor. You throw your overcoat across your laps for warmth and rest your head on his shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says, after many moments of silence.

“I love you, George Weasley.”

“I love you too.”

“I’m sorry about everything.”

“Me too,” he says. You feel him shake softly with tears, and you hold him as he cries. Eventually, his breathing becomes more even, and he slumps into your lap, asleep. You hold him protectively for hours, waiting for any news at all, but none comes. A few times you flag down St. Mungo’s staff and ask about Fred, but they have nothing. By morning, when rumors arrive that Voldemort has been defeated, cheers ring through the halls, but you and George remain in limbo. Others like you fill the waiting area, their faces timid and bleak. Nobody speaks very much.

Finally, the nurses let you in to see him, and he’s a pitiful sight. But he’s alive. Watching the hospital sheets rise and fall with his breath is the greatest gift. The nurses tell you he should regain consciousness soon, and you sit alert beside the bed, hope flooding your body. You clasp George’s clammy hands in yours while you wait, stroking the back of his hands soothingly.

Finally, Fred stirs. He blinks gingerly and looks around the room, unable even to raise his head from the pillow. Immediately, George is at the bedside, grinning.

“Fred!!” he cries, grasping his brother’s face in his hands excitedly. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you, you handsome devil.”

“What happened?” Fred asks weakly, looking dazed. Your body goes electric with joy at the sound of his voice, and you run to find a nurse, as you were instructed to do. You grab the first person you see in scrubs and pull him back to Fred’s room. When you burst in the door, Fred inhales sharply.

“Y/N?” he asks softly.

“Freddie!” you exclaim. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear that dopey voice.” You rush to his bedside and hold his hand while the nurse checks his vitals. “There’s so much I have to tell you. If you had… well, you didn’t, I suppose is the point, and… Freddie, I love you. And I’m sorry about the past few months.”

“Y/N. I love you too. And I’m sorry, too. Even sorrier.”

“Good,” you say crossly. George looks at you questioningly. “What? He started it!” Fred laughs weakly and you kiss him gently on the forehead. You’re not sure what your relationship to the boys will be going forward, but for now, it’s clear: all is forgiven, and acknowledged, and accepted.

63 notes · View notes

theggning · 4 years ago

Text

Codsworth Is So Underrated, You Guys

ALTERNATE TITLE: Codsworth and the Totally Understated Mindbending Evolution of Artificial Consciousness

I find Codsworth is often the most underrated of the 16 companions in Fallout 4. Your faithful robot butler is among the very first you can recruit and an excellent early-game ally, but he has a few disadvantages in gameplay that mean he’s often sent back to Sanctuary before long. Codsworth is a mid-to-close range fighter only, cannot wear armor or be equipped with weapons. He cannot be healed by stimpak, which makes him a liability if you’re playing on Survival mode. He has no companion quest of his own, so unless you particularly enjoy him there’s not a compelling reason to keep him for a long time. He also becomes recruitable exactly 2 minutes after adorable puppy Best Boy Dogmeat, so he is often (understandably) replaced just as soon as he’s made available.

But there is this great, completely understated facet to Codsworth, so understated that the game does not draw attention to it in any way. And yet, it is a wonderful reflection of many of the themes of Fallout 4 and, I believe, a pretty strong indication of its thesis statement.

Now what in the hell am I talking about?

Like many sci-fi/fantasy universes, the Fallout series is home to many highly-advanced robots. Robots were commonplace before the Great War, and many have survived the bombs intact and in working order. Others have been built or modified by wastelanders to serve various tasks (Percy, Ada.) The most important thing to understand about robots, though, is though they may have vivid personalities programmed in, they are widely accepted to be objects. They are thought of the same way as an appliance, a machine built for a specific purpose and programmed to follow a strict set of protocols.

Many jokes revolve around the relatively rigid intelligence of robots. Pre-War, many were deployed in inappropriate jobs or designed haphazardly (Mister Handies acting as nurses in a hospital, “paramedic” Protectrons with massive deadly tasers for hands, military robots constantly going haywire and erupting in friendly fire.) Others continue to man businesses and play out daily tasks as they were programmed to do over 200 years ago. Most robots are incapable of understanding anything beyond their initial programming, and most pre-War robots are completely unaware that the Great War ever happened.

When the Sole Survivor reunites with Codsworth at the ruins of their home, it seems like he, too, doesn’t understand what’s going on. He talks about tending the (dead) garden, references the (ghoulified) neighbors, and generally acts like the chipper robot butler Sole left behind on their way to Vault 111.

But there is something slightly… off in Codsworth’s dialogue here. Though he acts like the war never happened, he also specifically mentions details that suggest it did:

Player Default: Codsworth! You're still... fully operational?

Codsworth: {Defiant} Well of course, mum. You can thank the fine engineers at General Atomics for that! At least, you could have. Had they not been... vaporized.

A bit over 210 actually, mum. Give or take a little for the Earth's rotation and some minor dings to the ole' chronometer. That means you're two centuries late for dinner! Ha ha ha. Perhaps I can whip you up a snack? You must be famished.

You've no idea the desperation for human contact one develops over 200 years. {Upset, recalling bad memories of encountering raiders and scavengers. / Disgust} And when you do encounter them? Oh the cruelty! You're either... target practice or... spare parts!

Even stranger, Codsworth mentions details that are plainly made-up (or some kind of delusion):

Codsworth: It's been ages since we've had a proper family activity. Checkers. Or perhaps charades. Shaun does so love that game. Is the lad... with you...?

Player Default: Codsworth... listen to me carefully... have you seen him? Have you seen Shaun?

Codsworth: Why, sir had him last, remember? Perhaps he's gone to the Parker residence to arrange a play-date?

(Shaun is an infant. He is too young to play charades or to go to the neighbors for a play-date.)

So at once, Codsworth does and does not acknowledge the war. He does and does not seem to understand what’s happened, and he does and does not seem to follow Sole’s urgency regarding their spouse’s death and Shaun’s kidnapping.

And then, after a speech check, Codsworth finally snaps and breaks down sobbing in despair. Not only does he understand that the war happened, he has developed the ability to get depressed about it. Longing for human contact and with nothing else to do, he’s even developed coping mechanisms to help him try to deal with his loneliness and despair—futilely trying to do his chores and deluding himself into pretending everything is completely normal.

Wait a minute. Sobbing? Despair? Depression? Coping mechanisms and delusions? This Is all pretty sophisticated stuff to be programmed into a robot, and if you spend more time with Codsworth, the reality of what’s happened to him becomes apparent:

Codsworth has evolved beyond his programming. In his 210 lonely years of existence, he has developed emotional reactions and self-awareness far beyond that of most other robots, and, indeed, has basically evolved an artificial consciousness.

“Emergent intelligence” is the theoretical ability of an AI to eventually develop something resembling human thought processes, and it seems that our dear Codsworth has undergone this. Traveling with him, he displays many sophisticated thoughts and behaviors far beyond what most robots are shown to be capable of. He has memories of pre-War time and places, and understands how various locations have changed. He is capable of learning new information and forming opinions on it, gaining his own understanding of the people and factions in the Commonwealth. He can feel happiness, sorrow, fear, disgust. He can anticipate things, predict danger and imagine how people might respond to your actions. The mere he fact he has opinions and a moral code that he applies to you shows he has free will, something even other robot companions don’t (Ada has a personality, but absolutely does not care about your actions.)

He’s also smart enough to make many wry observational jokes, and to lay one hell of a sick burn on you:

{Joking - Found an old bowling alley. / Amused} Fancy a game, mum? Something tells me the bumpers are no longer available.

Codsworth’s intelligence is even more sophisticated than that. He displays stunning self-awareness, frequently referencing the fact he is a robot and what that means. He is very proud of his background as General Atomics’ finest, and seems pleased with his robot nature and his lot in life. (Unlike Curie, I don’t think Codsworth would ever really want to gain a synth body. He seems quite happy as he is.)

Here he is making reference to still feeling the tug of his programming:

{Seeing an office with chairs arranged in a circle. / Neutral} I've the most incredible urge to rearrange those chairs in a more perfect circle.

Understanding when other robots are restricted by theirs:

A pity. It appears Deezer's programming is too severe to allow for normal conversation. Ah well.

And when they’re actually not:

Codsworth: Greetings, sir. Good to see another robot in town. That chef hat becomes you.

Takahashi: Nan-ni shimasho-ka?

Codsworth: Takahashi you say? I'm Codsworth, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.

Takahashi: Nan-ni shimasho-ka?

Codsworth: Is that so? Well, we both know RobCo is no General Atomics. It's not surprising it failed, shoddy work and all. {Friendly - trying to cheer up another robot. / Friendly} Chin up, though. Never know when parts may turn up.

And here’s Galaxy Brain Codsworth ruminating on his own state of being and contemplating his nature:

{Disappointed that he can't be 100% human sometimes. / Sad} It's unfortunate that I lack the proper design to consume liquids. Something about camaraderie over a few drinks is very inviting.

I suppose if I had the hardware, I'd have the software as well. I'd hate to see how that'd affect my honesty and manner settings.

{Reconsidering what he thought was a good idea. / Thinking} Indeed. Perhaps I should rethink my initial desire.

Hilariously, Codsworth does not seem fully aware of how remarkable his intelligence is. He occasionally says things like “if I had feelings” and “if I could feel things,” indicating that in some ways he still believes he is only a robot and defines himself by what a robot is and does.

But as we can see, our humble robot butler has essentially evolved to become the smartest, most emotionally intelligent and person-like robot in the Commonwealth*, and potentially in the series.

([SIDE NOTE: Other FO4 robots nearing Codsworth’s level of consciousness and developed personality include Captain Ironsides, KLE-O, Whitechapel Charlie, and perhaps Takahashi. Curie is close, but also receives the unfair advantage of being uploaded into a synth body with a human brain. Jezebel also functions off of a human brain. Nick is not a robot, he’s a synth (though he does jokingly refer to himself as one) and also has the advantage of a human brain encoded on his processor.])

Also hilariously, the game basically does not acknowledge Codsworth’s impressive evolution. At all. There is absolutely no direct mention of it in the script. It is all left to ambient dialogue and the player’s own observations. And because so many people overlook Codsworth as a companion, they may not even realize exactly how unique his expanded consciousness is.

Now, you might call this total lack of mention a mistake, an oversight on Bethesda’s part, or that old chestnut “bad writing.” I don’t think it is. I think it’s a deliciously subtle little detail to include in a story about humanity, machines, artificial intelligence, and what makes a person.

Many of the themes of FO4 revolve around synths—distinctly not robots, but androids, artificially created beings with fully organic human bodies. Most of the storyline factions have strong beliefs about synths and the relative humanity thereof. The Institute believes that synths are objects, tools, machines no different from a robot who are only simulating their personalities through programming. The Brotherhood believes synths are monstrous abominations, a danger to humanity itself, technology run amok which needs to be destroyed. The Railroad believes they are people. Not humans, but people, built instead of born, free-thinking beings that deserve to be treated with respect and given rights.

Through quests, dialogue, notes, worldbuilding and other venues, players explore these questions. What makes someone a person? If your personality and memories can be rewritten or programmed, then who are you, really? Where do we draw the line between humans and machines, and how do we decide who belongs where?

Meanwhile, as the player contemplates the nature of personhood and the definition of intelligence, their robot butler quietly evolves into a fully-conscious person on his own, right beside them.

Codsworth is unquestionably a machine, but also unquestionably beyond the appliance he was built to be. Which to some philosophies and players should really beg a few other questions. If a robot can be considered a person, then what makes synths so different? And how many excuses do we have to make to pretend otherwise?

Ya boy Codsworth may not be flashy, or powerful, or kissable. He may not be the most glamorous companion around. But he is a good friend, a beloved member of the family, and above all else, a loyal butler—content to serve, quietly and humbly doing his job where some may never even notice him-- or the fact that he’s casually become his own person and sent generations of roboticists and philosophers spinning in their graves.

#fallout 4 #fallout meta #codsworth #hey tumblr fuck you i win #i was forced to do an involuntary second draft #but i like it better now so hey

147 notes · View notes

phykios · 3 years ago

Text

honesty and promise me, co-written with @darkmagyk [read on ao3]

“I’m in love,” Piper tells her when she shows up for another fitting. “Have you seen the new Beyonce video?”

“I heard the song.” Annabeth says, “isn’t that enough?”

“God, your whole play-acting thing is too far if you’re pretending to not like Beyonce.”

“I never said that.” Annabeth holds up her hands, “I like the song. But I did not see the video.”

“Well, when you see it, you’ll be in love too, but I will fight you.”

Piper could be scrappy in a fight. But Annabeth had been a champion fencer in high school.

“Kidding!” Piper says at her look. “There’s plenty of them to go around.” She didn’t even start to drape fabric over Annabeth, pushing her onto a muslin covered couch, and then pulling the video on the TV. She didn’t have one of those voice control devices. Because she was friends with Leo, and he was pretty firm on them being evil. “But I do call dibs on the main guy. The CALVES. The thighs. He’s unreal.”

“That good?” Piper went all ways, though as of late she gravitated towards women more often than not, so this was some high praise indeed.

“Unreal, I am telling you. Like, the hand of God came down and sculpted him personally out of marble.”

Already in her recent watch history, the thumbnail of the video greets them, the song title splashed across the TV screen, weaving between a very, very familiar set of legs.

Like, intimately familiar.

In something of detached horror, she watches the camera pan up, lovingly lingering on every inch of bare skin, following the muscles of his calves (which were unreal) to his knees then his thighs (which Annabeth had spent almost too much time between now), up his torso and his chest (which she knew made for an excellent pillow) to Percy’s face, set in a firm, hard stare.

And that fucking blue lipstick again.

She can’t even focus on Beyonce herself, too distracted by the way her hand traces the length of Percy’s outstretched thigh held in perfect arabesque as she gracefully drapes herself over him, crooning softly into his ear.

Annabeth should do that next time. That’s her spot, after all.

Tearing her eyes away from the screen even as Piper watches, enraptured, she slips out her phone, sending a quick, furious text.

annabeth: BEYONCE???????

A minute, then he responds.

percy: oh lol i didn’t realize that came out today 😁

percy: what’d you think?

annabeth: i think im going to kill you later

“Just look at him,” Piper says, pausing on Percy’s form, his arms outstretched, fingers placed delicately around a bar. “I mean--look at him!”

“Yeah,” she chuckles, maybe a little uneasy. “He’s alright I guess.”

Incredulous, Piper swivels her head. “Alright? Alright? Do you need your eyes checked?”

She just shrugs.

Why is she being so weird about this? It’s just Piper. She’s trained to find symmetry and beauty in bodies. They’ve happily shared crushes and fixations plenty of times before, so why is Annabeth being so weird about Percy? It’s not like they’re… you know… dating or anything. Just hooking up a bit.

Piper squints at her, then shrugs herself. “Fine. I don’t have time to get an answer out of you anyway. Come on.”

“Speaking of time,” Annabeth says, following Piper back into the kitchen studio, “I have to head out by 6:30.”

“Oh yeah?” Piper’s head is buried in her belt box, searching for the perfect accent. “What for?”

“I’ve got a show to catch.”

“Kind of early,” she says, pulling out something thin and silver. “Don’t you usually meet Thalia at the ass crack of midnight?”

“Well I kind of want to eat first.”

“Okay.” She cinches the belt around her waist, tight. “Then you’re going to have to help me with this skirt.”

***

Hands aching from hours of macrame, Annabeth walks up to the box office window at the Koch Theater at 7:46, having a handful of second thoughts.

Old, uppity white couples keep shooting her some particularly intense passive aggressive glares, some of them even venturing into actually aggressive territory, which usually wouldn’t even register on her very short list of things to care about, except that she is feeling woefully out of place. The lady in front of her has ten pounds of diamonds hanging off of each old, wrinkly ear, and the best Annabeth could do was fish out her least-ripped pair of jeans, pairing it with one of her nicer black shirts, the sleeves long enough to cover most of her tattoos. The macrame kept her longer than she had meant, so she didn’t have time to change before dinner, but fuck it, right?

She did also take out most of her face jewelry on the way. But she left the nose stud, obviously. And the tongue piercing. And the industrial, because Percy really likes those, so she doesn’t feel that bad about it. And he hadn’t even told her about this until after she had already given herself the half-undercut, so it’s not like she could do anything about that either.

“Can I help you?” At least this box office worker isn’t giving her the stink-eye.

“I’m here to pick up a ticket? Should be under ‘Jackson.’” He’d offered to leave it under her name, but this was safer. She doesn’t think her mom is a big ballet person, but she isn’t about to risk it, either.

She slides the ticket towards Annabeth beneath the glass plane. “Enjoy the show,” she says, with a quirk of her mouth that is surprisingly sincere for someone in customer service.

She’s pretty sure she’d enjoy the show more if she weren’t panicking thinking about getting dirt on their fancy carpets. Her boots are clean, of course, and she doesn’t really care, but she doesn’t want to, like, embarrass Percy or whatever. She’d asked him if she should dress up, but he’d assured her otherwise. “No one’s going to care, I promise,” he’d told her the night before, her lounging in his bed while he did some pushups. “And if anyone says something, let me know and we can kick their ass after the show together.”

“Great. Guess I don’t have to break out the Chanel, then.”

He’d paused, frowned, then huffed a laugh, shaking his head. Like the idea of Annabeth wearing Chanel was hilarious. Like what she’s wearing tonight really is the best that she can do.

Self-consciousness isn’t really a feeling that Annabeth has anymore. She’s spent so many years chafing against expectations, shucking them off when she inevitably failed to meet them, desperate for a place, a crowd where she could just be. In her scene, she doesn’t have anything to prove to anyone, and when Percy is out with her, he doesn’t need any convincing. He likes her. He likes her a lot, she thinks. He likes her enough to let himself be dragged out to every shitty dive bar and shittier rock show in New York City, laughing and cheering and holding her close the whole time. He likes her enough to cart her to his apartment at 4 AM, inevitably waking Nico up from his undead slumber, and leave her with nothing but a glass of water and a kiss on the forehead. And she likes him, too--a lot. Annabeth likes Percy enough to ditch her band t-shirts for a night and track mud on the carpet of the Koch Theater and willingly sit through a performance of fucking Swan goddamn Lake of all things, and it’s only a little scary how much she is willing to do for him after only a few months of fucking him. Because this really isn’t her scene, not anymore.

The weight of everyone’s stares bears down on her, threatening to crush her beneath them, a feeling she was so sure she’d left behind.

At least Percy had been thoughtful enough to get her a ticket out of the way in the back of one of the balcony sections. It’s a bit of a hike, but the audience members aren’t dressed quite as nicely as the ones downstairs, and she feels like she can breathe a little easier.

She pulls out her phone, checking her text messages on instinct. There’s a selfie from Percy in his stage makeup (and she’s not going to lie… he looks fucking pretty), with his standard accompanying three blue heart emojis. She can’t help it, her heart skips a beat and she can’t help but smile, even as she rolls her eyes. She’s just about to send him something appropriately sarcastic when another text notification slides in. It’s from her father.

Hi Annabeth… I was talking to a friend in Boston who said he's looking for a new

prospective in his architecture firm. Passed your information along.

Love you, dear

She swipes it away. Deletes the whole text conversation, for good measure.

Forget about him. This night is about Percy.

A few minutes later, so engrossed in Percy’s program bio (it’s about all she can focus on right now), she doesn’t even notice everyone around her leaning forward in breathless anticipation, until the warm, honey-like sound of the oboe draws her head up.

Roughly two minutes in, she’s really wishing she had attempted the synopsis. The extent of her knowledge of Swan Lake is a few half-remembered orchestra rehearsals in her teens and reading the Wikipedia article on that Natalie Portman movie a few months ago, and she definitely doesn’t recall there being anything about any Men-in-Tights looking motherfuckers prancing around. They’re sort of bobbing, back and forth, elegantly stepping from one side of the stage to another. Even from back here, she can see the delicate, precise placement of their hands, fingers curved just so, moving through space as though they aren’t bound by the laws of physics.

The fingers, she remembers. She could never get the hang of the fingers. Her old ballet teacher had given up on them after a week, and that had been the beginning of the end for that particular extracurricular.

Now her fingers tap on her jeans, impatient, far faster than the easy going music on stage. She’s just about to give in to the millennial instinct and pull out her phone, maybe play a round of sudoku, when the dancers motion as one to the back corner, and Percy comes stepping out. His hair is perfectly slicked back, gelled down, any hint of curl beaten into submission, and his smile is small, but white, gleaming against the tanned brown of his skin. She can’t help but smile back, like he could somehow see her. Finally, she thinks, relaxing a little more into her seat. Something to watch.

On his off days, her off days, any day when she would spent the night at his (always at his, never at hers) and wake up wrapped in his comforter and the smell of seawater, she would take the blanket with her and steal into his living room, curl up on his couch with her feet tucked under her legs, and watch him dance. She’s seen him drill these sequences over, and over, and over again, counting furious sequences of sixes and eights beneath his breath in duet with the thuds of his feet on his floor. Most times he would notice her and shoot her a grin, granting her permission to observe the artist at work. Sometimes, though, he would be so caught up in his body, the shifting of his feet and the music in his head, that it was like he couldn’t see her at all. Seemingly alone, he would dance, uninhibited, and she would be struck by a feeling that she usually reserves for specific monuments. Watching Percy dance in his apartment, in his brown tights and black tank top, lost in his own world, is like looking at pictures of the Gateway Arch, or the Hoover Dam, or the Parthenon.

She searches for that feeling now, leaning forward in her seat, eyes hungrily raving his form, but she just doesn’t see it. It’s… honestly, it’s a little boring. She won’t lie. He had warned her it would be something of a slow start, but this isn’t exactly an ADHD friendly medium, and she is losing her patience, just a bit. He’s so reserved, like he’s holding something close to his chest, impersonal as he takes the hands of the female dancers and lets them twirl around him.

Personally, Annabeth thinks that he looks kind of lost. Maybe he’s just nervous--it’s a big role and he’s a young guy. But he had seemed fine when he’d kissed her goodbye just after lunch.

The court jester is killing it though. Feeling just the slightest bit guilty, she lets her eyes drift over to him, deciding to watch him for a while instead.

On some level, she does appreciate the skill on display here. Percy can raise his back leg in a perfect ninety degree angle that would make her architecture professors sweat. The girls drift back and forth across the stage on the tips of their toes, weightless and ethereal. It’s mesmerizing, and she lets herself be mesmerized.

Time must slip away from her, because she blinks and all of a sudden the stage has gone from sunny yellow to cool blue, the crowds of dancers having vanished. He is alone on stage. Percy kneels in a deep lunge that makes her thighs ache just looking at him (and for… other reasons), his arms and his attention pointed to the wings, with a… Annabeth squints. When the hell did he get a crossbow?

But everything is swept to the sides when the White Swan tiptoes her way on stage, impossibly graceful, and all of a sudden, Annabeth gets it.

It feels a little cliche to say, but the way that woman moves on the floor really does remind her of those old, vintage jewelry boxes, suspended in animation, moved by some otherworldly force. It’s amazing. It’s a little terrifying. Sublime is the word that comes to mind as Annabeth watches her. Her arms move with fluidity, perfect curves, her fingers trailing behind her like wings.

And Percy is just as mesmerized as Annabeth is. As the audience is.

A few things hit her, in rapid succession. First, that Percy is, actually, a really good actor. His reticence before--he’d been playing a character. He’d been playing aloof and reserved and unmoored, because Percy--Siegfried--whatever--has been waiting his whole life for something to fulfill him, until this singular moment, the moment he laid eyes on this beautiful creature. Second, that she doesn’t need words to understand what’s going on. It’s all there, in every look and gesture and step, as the two characters circle each other, slowly but irrevocably falling in love. And third, that she recognizes the look on his face. It’s the look that Percy gives her when she has been talking for too long and he can’t get a word in edgewise, or when she screams along to the god awful underground bands, three beers in and missing every single fuck she’d ever had, or when she wakes up after him to Percy’s arms around her waist, her hair in his mouth and her head resting against his collarbone. She recognizes it, because that’s the look that Siegfried has for Odette. Because that’s the look that Percy has for Annabeth. Because he loves her.

And fourth, that that doesn’t make her as happy as she wishes it would.

There’s a cold pit in her stomach for the rest of the show, a turning screw that twists in deeper, minute by minute, with every turn of the dancers. She wastes the next hour trying to puzzle this out, not even pretending to watch the drama unfolding on stage, because it makes no goddamn sense. (Her situation, not the ballet--she managed to skim the synopsis during intermission, her foot tapping incessantly against the blessedly empty seat in front of her.) Things are great between them. It’s been a heady, intoxicating four months, full of bubbles and butterflies, sweet, soft mornings, and some really, really phenomenal sex. This should make her happy. This should put her over the fucking moon, and she cannot, for the life of her, figure out why it doesn’t.

The prima ballerina comes back out as the Black Swan, just as poised and precise as her counterpart, but she’s a great actress as well, because there is something undeniably different about her. Her arms move like rubber, like joints are just an afterthought, wrapping themselves around Percy’s neck and shoulders. She misdirects his attention, drawing his eyes to her wrists, her clavicle, the curve of a leg or the point of her toe. Seducing him. Tricking him.

Like Annabeth.

Because try as she might to run from it, Annabeth isn’t who she says she is. She wants so desperately to be this fuck-the-rules, fight-the-power, punk rock princess that she took every part of her that didn’t fit that image and tried to rip it out of her, bloody and struggling. Her trust fund, her two (two!) Harvard degrees, her enriched childhood and her bright and shining future; she took it all out back and shot it, and prayed that would be the end of it. She’s a phony, just like that goddamn Black Swan. Percy is in love with a phony.

Her sweet, wonderful, devastatingly kind and handsome Percy--she tricked him and made him fall in love with a mishmash of archetypes and aesthetics, distracting him with nose piercings and ripped t-shirts and ugly, deafening noise.

She’s not surprised that she’s crying when the curtain falls. She’d never known that Siegfried and Odette both died at the end.

When the cast reunites for curtain call, Percy is given a standing ovation, and Annabeth enthusiastically joins in, wiping the tears from her eyes, smearing her makeup.

She doesn’t wait for him at the stage door, but sits on the steps of the theater, plucking at her sleeves, aching for a drink and wishing she had had the presence of mind to wear something a little nicer. Percy finds her there almost an hour after the show ended. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

In the dark of night, illuminated only by streetlamps, she can’t read his face--but she can read exhaustion, in every part of his body. “I was waiting for you by the stage door.”

Something in her stomach goes cold. “I… wasn’t sure if I was allowed,” she offers, weakly.

He smiles, a light in the dark. “Of course you’re allowed,” he says, offering her a hand. “Shall we?”

She knows what will happen next. She’ll take his hand, and they’ll walk to the subway together, fingers intertwined. They’ll get on the 1 train headed north, and Percy will let her rest her head against him, tilting his head back against the window, eyes closed, almost asleep. The doorman will nod at them as they walk up to Nico’s apartment, barely batting an eye at his sweats and her ripped jeans, the two of them sticking out like a sore thumb in a sea of impeccably dressed rich New Yorkers. Nico will wave at them distractedly from his office, gulping down his sixth coffee of the night, and they’ll tiptoe into his room, falling asleep in each other’s arms with little more than a good night kiss.

Which, of course, is exactly what does end up happening.

Almost.

Annabeth crawls on top of him in his bed, kissing him soft and senseless. She doesn’t know where he’s getting this energy from, but she is not complaining as he slips up inside of her, the two of them rocking each other gently to orgasm, their foreheads pressed together. Shuddering as he comes, he captures her mouth in another kiss, pouring every ounce of love he has in him into her.

A waste, honestly.

But as far as goodbye sex, it’s pretty damn great.

She needs to end this, before either of them get hurt. It’s the least of what he deserves, after all. To put yourself out there, to offer yourself up like that, that might be the bravest thing Annabeth’s ever heard of, and surely, Annabeth can find the courage to do what needs to be done.

#whomp whomp!!#ballet au #pjo fic #my fic #percabeth #the rivalry ends here #darkmagyk #perseannabeth

35 notes · View notes

hazellvesque · 4 years ago

Text

your wounds; my sutures

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians/The Trials of Apollo

Rating: PG

Pairing: Nico di Angelo/Will Solace

Summary: When Will Solace, Camp Half-Blood’s greatest healer, is the one who gets hurt in battle, the son of Hades has to step up to the plate and put the skills he learned in the infirmary to good use.

Word Count: 2,572

Warnings: graphic descriptions of cuts, blood, stitches, and questionable amateur medical practice.

Read on Ao3

* * *

The second he caught sight of the gaping wound in his boyfriend’s shoulder, Nico almost blacked out. It was hard to believe Will was even still conscious with so much blood seeping out.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Will’s voice was strained, yet somehow calm, as if he hadn’t just taken a direct hit from the dangerous end of a sword. He was sitting on the ground, using his good arm to keep himself propped upright. The wound slashed across his shoulder blade, beginning just a few inches to the right of the base of his neck. The weapon had cut straight through his shirt, leaving tattered scraps of fabric as the only discretionary cover for the graphic injury.

“Nico? Are you still with me?”

“You’re bleeding,” Nico said lamely, snapping back to reality, still not quite believing what he was seeing.

He’d seen much worse in the past. Hell, he’d caused much worse. But this was Will Solace. He was Camp Half-Blood’s greatest healer. He wasn’t supposed to be the one who got hurt, ever.

If Nico could, he would resurrect the monster just to kill it all over again. It deserved a punishment far worse than evaporating into golden dust, but at least the satisfaction might quell Nico’s anger a bit. He couldn’t stop staring at the wound. Fortunately, Will was faced away from him. Nico imagined the pained expression on Will’s face, how he was probably fighting to keep his lopsided, reassuring smile bright despite it all.

“What do we do?” Nico spoke quietly, but desperately.

The two boys were utterly exhausted. The fight had taken nearly everything out of them. Will’s own healing abilities couldn’t possibly work well right now - he was so weak he could hardly sit upright on his own. Nico thought of shadow traveling to Camp or even to the nearest hospital; he’d have to do some quick thinking to explain the situation to a mortal doctor, but the idea was quickly shut down by the black fuzziness already creeping into the corners of his vision. He probably wouldn’t be able to move himself ten feet without passing out.

They’d have to solve this the old-fashioned way.

Will gestured with his head towards his bag. It lay a few feet away, discarded early in the fight and no doubt now containing a few broken supplies and squished ambrosia squares.

“Grab some supplies for me? I don’t want to move too much and make it worse.” Will said, his breathing labored. “You’re going to have to help me clean and close it up.”

“Right.” Nico nodded a little too fast, hardly processing Will’s words at all.

Nico dashed over to Will’s backpack and tore it open. In moments, the grass was strewn with miscellaneous bandages, ice packs, and burn creams that would be utterly useless in helping solve the problem at hand. He searched for the vial of nectar he knew should be there, and swore under his breath when he found it shattered, the pieces of broken glass nicking his fingertips and the golden liquid seeping into the canvas fabric, causing an utterly useless sticky mess. Reaching further, Nico pulled out everything he thought would be useful - gloves, cloth, peroxide, and the small suture kit box at the very bottom of the bag.

He rushed back to Will’s side, fighting the wave of nausea that hit him, both from sight of the cut and from standing up too fast. He quickly pulled on the latex gloves, hoping to get this over with as quickly as possible.

“You remember the first step in treating a wound?” Will asked.

“I have to clean it. And apply pressure to stop the bleeding,” Nico recited mechanically. Then he paused, head tilted, mouth scrunched in annoyance. “I can’t believe you’re turning this into a medical lesson.”

“Never a bad time to brush you up on your basic skills.”

“This is anything but basic.” Nico’s hands trembled so hard that he nearly dropped the tools in his hands. “I can’t really see the whole thing. I’m going to have to-“ he gulped, silently chiding himself for how stupid he felt for asking, “-to take off your shirt. Cut it off, I mean. To get to the, uh...”

Even through what must have been some of the worst physical pain of his life, Will chuckled. “If you want to prevent me from bleeding out, then yes, unfortunately, you’re going to have to see me shirtless. Did you grab the scissors?”

“No,” Will’s shirt was already torn nearly to shreds, and precious time was slipping away. Biting back his mortification, Nico took hold of the already torn collar of Will’s orange camp shirt and ripped straight down, letting the cotton fibers fall apart in his hands. He quickly tore in two other places, removing the blood-stained fabric entirely.

Any embarrassing implication of his actions was immediately shut down by the now clearer sight of the dark red stickiness quickly streaking down the right side of Will’s body.

“Talk to me, Nico, what’s going on?”

Nico half-consciously began soaking the cloth in peroxide. “Isn’t this going to sting?”

“Like hell,” Will made a hmph sound under his breath, then he laughed, “I know it was super common back in your day to do this-”

“I’m going to forgive you for that because you’re hurt right now.”

“But peroxide on deep wounds can do more harm than good, so really, this is a last resort, since we don’t have any nectar. Even just clean water or soap would be better, but that doesn’t matter now. Just…don’t use a lot, just enough to make sure nothing gets infected. Give me something to hold on to?”

With his right hand, Nico held the folded, peroxide-soaked rag precariously close to Will’s injured shoulder. His left hand silently slipped into Will’s and squeezed tight. “Do you want me to tell you when?”

“No, just go for it.”

He went for it.

Three of Nico’s senses sparked to life all at once: the sound of Will biting back a scream ringing in his ears, the gruesome sight of the cut bubbling from the peroxide chemicals burned into his eyes, and the feeling of all of the bones in his left hand being crushed by Will’s iron grip as he squeezed in desperation from the pain.

“I’m sorry!” Nico cried. He twisted the already red-soaked cloth in his hand so that he could use the clean side to put more pressure on the cut. He could feel the heat radiating off Will’s body, which sent an odd shiver down his spine.

“Don’t be,” Will said, though the tone of his voice would suggest otherwise. “You’re doing everything right. You should be more sorry about the stitches you’re going to have to put in.”

If he hadn’t been so focused on stopping the bleeding, Nico’s arms would have dropped uselessly to his sides in shock. Instead, he let his jaw do the dropping. “The what I’m going to have to put where? Will, I can’t-“

“If I can pull a baby out of a cloud nymph, you can learn how to properly stitch someone up.” Will hissed through gritted teeth.

“But-”

“I can’t be the only one reattaching limbs at Camp, I need help sometimes so you may as well get practice now.”

“I’m not exactly the best at healing people. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“I’ll talk you through it,” Will squeezed Nico’s hand, which Nico hadn’t realized he was still holding. “If it were practically anywhere else on my body I would just do it myself, but I got hit in the worst possible spot.”

Nico dropped the bloody cloth and sat back on his heels, dumbfounded. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” Will reassured him. “I promise. I trust you.”

The bold statement made Nico flush, his heart rate increasing even more, though by now he thought that would have been impossible. With his new determination, he opened the small box from Will’s bag. Inside lay a small, curved needle already threaded with a thin black cord, two differently shaped pairs of what looked like fancy tweezers, a small pair of scissors, and a tiny blade Nico hoped he wouldn’t have to use.

“How do I do this?” Nico steeled himself, swallowing down his doubts.

Will quickly explained the basic process: Nico would need to use both of the “tweezers” - one of which was actually a needle holder - simultaneously. One would be used to hold the skin in place and the other, as the name suggested, was to push the needle through. Then, he’d have to tie off the thread like a knot and cut off any excess. Rinse and repeat all the way up, until hopefully the cut would be closed well enough to not reopen on the way to get professional care.

Nico delicately traced his gloved hand across the bottom of the cut, right where he’d need to start stitching. The bleeding had subsided, but Will’s skin was still too warm and bright red.

He got to work right away.

The first stitch was the most difficult. Nico had wielded swords as long as he was tall, but the intimidation of putting a tiny, intentional hole in someone was somehow worse. His hands trembled as he pushed the needle through one side, out the other, and knotted the thread tight.

“Does that hurt?” Nico asked timidly.

Will hesitated before answering: “Not as much as getting myself slashed open in the first place.”

Glad to see he still had a sense of humor, despite it all.

Nico continued his diligent work, taking about a minute to complete each tiny stitch. He’d probably need to do about 20 more to get the wound closed entirely.

“This...reminds me,” Will said, his voice sounding far-away and dreamy. Whether it was blissful reminiscing or exhaustion, it was difficult to tell. “Of Manhattan. And Annabeth.”

“What about Annabeth?”

Will was rambling now, taking his mind off the pain in the only way he could. “She was hit in the same place. Protecting Percy. During the battle against Kronos. I was the one who healed her back then. We were all looking for my brother Michael when Percy dragged me out of the search party and said he needed a healer. He was really freaked out, it was kind of scary to be honest. I’m pretty sure that was the first time anyone outside of my own cabin even acknowledged my existence,” Will took a deep breath, and after a heavy pause, he muttered, “I was made head counselor as soon as the battle was over.”

With all the losses they’d faced over the last few years, it was sadly almost too easy for Nico to forget that Will had lost at least four of his siblings during the Battle of Manhattan. Everyone coped with trauma and loss differently, but you wouldn’t look at Will Solace and think that he was hurting. Then again, Will’s optimism and willingness to constantly help others may very well have been a way to disguise that hurt. He hadn’t been able to help the people he’d lost.

Nico had been about to express his condolences when Will asked, “Where were you during all of that?”

“Convincing my dad to let me borrow his dead army,” Nico laughed humorlessly, the memory rushing back to him. “And helping protect Percy’s parents.”

Will’s head tilted. “What were Percy’s parents doing on the battlefield?”

“Sally Jackson is a powerhouse of a woman and will stop at nothing, not even a Titan. Plus, I felt like I kind of owed it to Percy after...everything I’d done.”

Will made a humming sound, as if to say that’s fair. Over the past few months, Nico had opened up more about his early years at Camp Half-Blood. Even now, he felt a pang of regret for how he used to behave towards the people who were only trying to help him. Will didn’t know all of the details, of course, but he knew enough to understand.

“I remember seeing you out there,” Nico continued, his voice a whisper. “We hadn’t even spoken before, but I knew who you were.”

Will responded just as quietly. “I knew you, too.”

Not in the ‘I’d heard the whispers about the reclusive son of Hades’ way, or the ‘I knew about the boy who had lost his sister’ way. No; he’d said it like a confession.

“You-,” Nico swallowed hard, “you did?”

“You kind of fascinated me,” Will murmured. “Can you believe it only took me another year to actually speak to you?”

Nico felt his heart jolt in his chest. Why hadn’t he known this before? If he knew any better, he’d think Will was only confessing this now because of his delirium. Or maybe he’d wanted to admit it for a long time. Nico knew exactly how that felt.

“And you initiated conversation by asking me to touch your hands that had just birthed a baby. Real smooth, Solace. No wonder I liked you so much.”

With that, Nico tied off the final suture, cut the excess thread, and carefully placed the tools back in the box.

“I think...I think it’s done?” Nico exhaled, finally letting his hands tremble freely, begging for the pent up anxiety to somehow release through his fingertips.

Slowly, carefully, Will reached back behind his head with his left arm, tracing his hand across the delicate stitches, checking for error. Nico stared intensely, only just now taking the time to notice the details of his own work. It was nowhere near perfect. Hardly satisfactory, even. His handiwork was messy, uneven. But it would keep the wound from reopening at least until they got back to Camp.

“Not bad for a trainee,” Will said finally, dropping his hand and turning to face Nico. “Thank you. Really. You know I never would have asked you to do this if-”

“Don’t apologize,” Nico cut him off. “I’d do it again. In a heartbeat. I...”

Nico frowned, his brain finally catching up to the scene in front of him. Without the distractions of the blood and sharp objects, the sight of Will Solace shirtless suddenly brought a rush of warmth to his cheeks. He unconsciously leaned back, all too aware of how close they were sitting, but that undeniable tense energy still radiated between them. Speaking of heartbeats…

“How were you so calm through all of this?” Nico asked.

“Because I had to be. I always do,” Will shrugged without thinking, then winced from the pain. “All in a day’s work, you know? Someone’s got to step up when there’s an emergency.”

“That someone shouldn’t always have to be you.”

“No. You’re right. It shouldn’t,” Will said softly, his gentle eyes locking with Nico’s.

It wasn’t meant to be a cruel comment, but Nico felt the weight of the words press down on him. He didn’t have the time to come up with a retort before Will spoke again: “Maybe we both have a thing or two to learn about helping others. Or helping ourselves.”

Will reached out and took Nico’s hand.

“You’re still shaking,” Will said. “You don’t have to be nervous, you did a good job.”

Nico felt his face grow hot. He stared down at their intertwined hands, then back up into Will’s eyes.

“That’s not why I’m nervous,” he said.

#solangelo #my writing #will solace #Nico di Angelo #PJO #toa

237 notes · View notes

hellpotter · 4 years ago

Note

17 and 31 from the prompts list plz<3

this is not your fault, okay? i promise and i don’t deserve to be loved | percabeth

warnings: might contain triggers (mentions to war, death and ptsd)

Annabeth is still in that post-sex daze when Percy rolls to his side and curls up besides her, throwing one arm over her waist.

The feeling pulls her back to full consciousness and her body stiffens instantly with the realization that he’s probably almost half asleep. She straightens up quickly and notices his eyes widening and his body waking up with the movement.

“Hm, I-,” she mutters while searching for her underwear between the sheets. She realizes she has already used all of her good excuses for leaving him previously. It had been getting harder and harder to come up with a reasonable justification for her to go, and she accepts that today it is going to be ridiculous.

“Looking for this?” His voice is hoarse and low, and he holds her cotton panties between his fingers. When she tries to snatch them, though, he yanks them away from her reach.

Guess he isn’t as sleepy as she’d thought before.

“Percy,” she scowls. “That’s not funny.”

“No?,” he says, as he pulls her panties further when she tries to reach them one more time. “I disagree.”

“Please, stop it. I really should go, I... Uh, I-,” he raises his eyebrows when she mumbles, trying to figure out what to say next. “I have to work early tomorrow, I need to rest,” she makes up.

He sighs and hands her her underwear, but what he says next makes her paralyze.

“No, you don’t.”

“What?“

“Tomorrow’s Sunday, Annabeth. I know you’ve been making excuses not to sleep with me.”

��What makes you say that?”

“Well, for instance, the fact that we never go back to your place after a date, and the one time we did, you basically kicked me out as soon as you could,” he leans on his elbow, lifting his upper body. “Or that you say things like ‘I need to work’ on a Saturday night, or that your mom has ‘come to visit’ at least 5 times in the past 3 weeks.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence and Annabeth tries to think of something decent to say, but she can’t. So Percy goes on, the dim light making it hard for her to read his expression.

“Look, I-,” he sighs and sits up, putting one hand on her thigh. “I know you don’t owe me anything and it’s okay if you don’t want to... stay the night. But we’ve been seeing each other for, what, more than a month now? I was really hoping we could move forward with this, but I can tell there’s something going on, so...” he clears his throat and trails off.

Annabeth takes a deep breath, considering how she’ll handle this. She’s not sure if she’s ready to tell him the truth.

“Percy, this is not your fault, okay? I promise.”

He nods and waits for her to say something else. She realizes that maybe the truth is her best way out of this now.

“Ok. Maybe we should talk,” she whispers, avoiding to look in his eyes.

She can tell he’s surprised when she gets up to put on her panties and then searches for the shirt he’d been wearing before, pulling it over her head.

“Can you make me some tea?” She asks.

“Okay.”

They stay in silence until the moment he hands her a cup of tea and sits in front of her by the kitchen table. He looks at her expectantly and she stares down at her tea, breathing in.

“So. Remember I told you about when I volunteered to serve in Afghanistan?”

“Yeah. I remember.”

“Well, I-,” she finally looks up and finds his concerned eyes. “I have been diagnosed with PTSD. It’s, um, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.”

He reaches out and takes her hand on the table. “Oh. Yeah, I... I know what it is.”

She nods. “So, I-,” Annabeth’s not sure why, but she suddenly feels like sharing the whole story with him. “I didn’t really want to go. I mean, it wasn’t exactly my idea. I, um, I had this girlfriend. Reyna.”

She stops talking and takes his expression in. She hadn’t told him about her sexuality before, and she wasn’t sure how he would take it. She notices his eyebrows raise slightly for a second, but he doesn’t say anything, and his eyes hold the same concern. So she continues.

“Reyna and I went to college together and we, um, we were good together and she understood me like anyone else. But she was, like, a natural warrior. Really, I know it sounds stupid, but she was. It wasn’t really a surprise when she volunteered right after we graduated, not at all. I’m not the greatest supporter of American military action, so what really surprised me was when I started to consider going with her. I was so terrified of being alone and of losing her that the idea of going started to feel better than staying. And I could use the money, so it sounded like a win-win.”

She pauses and takes a sip from her tea. She hadn’t talked about this with anyone, except for her therapist, and it was a lot for her.

“Do you regret it?” Percy asks softly. “Going, I mean.”

“I-,” she wasn’t expecting that. “I don’t, actually. But I wouldn’t go back or do something like that again.”

He nods and caresses her hand with his thumb, and they enjoy the silence for a while.

“Anyway. So we went, together. And it was fine, most of the time. We had a lot of quiet days and we got to spend a lot of time together and we met some incredible people. But the bad days... They were really bad,” memories start flashing through her head and she notices there are tears coming down her face when Percy reaches out to wipe them away with his thumb. “So there was this one day. We had a huge fight, me and Reyna. Our time there was ending and she wanted to stay for another year. And I didn’t, I just wanted to come back and start building our life together. A normal life, without guns and tanks and bombs and training.”

The tears are rolling down her eyes uncontrollably now, but she can’t control herself.

“She had to leave before we could even end the discussion. And there was- There was a, um... There was a bombing a few hours later,” she stops and stares at the wall, trying to even her breathe. “And she... I couldn’t even say goodbye.”

Percy gets up and knees down besides her, holding her close while she shakes violently.

“Hey... It’s okay,” he whispers carefully. “You don’t have to say anything else. I’m sorry.”

She tries to remember her therapist words not to feel ashamed of crying, but it’s hard when she’s basically spilling her heart out to... Well, the guy she’s sleeping with, ‘cause she can’t even call him her boyfriend. Or can she? That’s probably something for them to talk about later.

“I’m sorry about that,” she whispers when she can breathe normally again.

“Don’t be,” Percy leans back just enough to look at her face and pulls some curls behind her ear. “I’m sorry you had to go through all that.”

She answers him with half a smile and takes a deep breath. “After that I came back and... Well, I guess a part of me never did. I blamed myself for it, I felt like I should’ve done something to protect her, and a part of me still does,” he opens his mouth to say something but she goes on. “So most nights I have nightmares, and I wake up screaming or- Well, I can get aggressive sometimes. Or if it takes too long for someone to wake up in the morning I start wondering if maybe something happened to them and I... I lose my mind,” she looks at him, intensely. “It’s hard to... deal with it. For me and for... whomever is nearby. And when something bad happens I feel like... I feel like I don’t deserve to be loved.”

He holds her face in his hands and sustains her gaze. “I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. But I won’t let you believe that, okay? It’s not truth, and it’s not fair to yourself. This isn’t your fault, and it doesn’t make you less good or less worthy of love. You do know that, don’t you?”

Annabeth looks down for a moment, his gaze and his words too intense for her to absorb. Rationally, she’s known all of this for a while, and therapy had been helping her cope with all of these feelings well. But the way he looks at her makes her feel actually loved for the first time in years, and that’s a new feeling.

“Hey, listen to me,” he continues, softly. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. And I completely understand if you don’t feel comfortable sleeping with me. It’s your choice, and I’m here to support you nonetheless. Trust me, I can handle messed up and complicated and difficult. But I- I really like you, Annabeth Chase. And well, if you’re up to it, I hope I get to spend a lot of nights with you,” he drops a soft kiss of her lips. “And mornings,” another kiss on her cheeks. “And afternoons,” he whispers close to her ear before kissing the crook of her neck, making her giggle.

She pulls away softly to look at him, her eyes filled with appreciation. “Okay,” she mutters. “I guess I am up for it, after all.”

He kisses her slowly, and, in that moment, she knows she’s starting to fall in love with him. And it scares the hell out of her, but it also makes her heart feel so warm, she’s afraid it might burn.

She can’t tell exactly what it is that they’re starting there, but she knows it feels like something good. And she’s pretty sure they’re off to a good start.

#prompts list #pjo fic #percabeth #percy jackson #annabeth chase #mortal au #living with ptsd #post war trauma #mentioned reyna ramirez-arellano #previous reynabeth #this is way out of my comfort zone #like really idek where this came from #angst #i hope you like it #but idk

45 notes · View notes

fandomn00blr · 3 years ago

Text

Days 80-81

of @the-wip-project ‘s 100 Days of Writing

80. How do you feel about your old works? And bonus homework: say something nice about past-writer-you.

I don’t mind reading over my old works. I haven’t been doing this that long, so the oldest stuff I have on AO3 still feels pretty fresh (some of them are WIPs that I’m still ‘working on’). But even when I go back and read things I wrote a LONG time ago (mostly ideas or snippets of original fiction...not sure why it took me so long to realize I liked writing fan fic, too!), I still see the potential there for polishing those things up into something I would be proud to share or toss into a portfolio. Past-writer-me had some really fun ideas for turning ancient mythology into YA fantasy before I even knew about Percy Jackson (lol), inspired almost entirely by my experiences as a high school Latin teacher on the west side of Chicago.

81. What have you learned on your writer journey that you wish you had learned earlier?

Just wriiiiite. I wish I’d started doing this more regularly when I was a kid, tbh. I must’ve felt too busy to sit down and write, because I have ALWAYS had elaborate stories in my head, but it took getting burnt out and bored of working solely on academic writing, I guess, to inspire me to just start writing them down. For fun. For posterity. For whatever. I wish I’d just started writing for myself so much sooner.

Writing Update

I posted the first chapter of a short, three (or four?) chapter stroghainoff thing on AO3 earlier, so yay! Most of it is done...just need to figure out some nitpicky things, but right now, I’m back working on these two tonight:

The song eventually ends, though Fenris has no idea when or how as he's been lost completely in the smell and the soft strands of Anders’ hair falling out of its bun against the side of his face. He lets out a little involuntary whimper that he hopes nobody hears when Anders finally pulls away from him, and Fenris assumes he’ll be off to go find another dance partner to bewitch, or to pull Isabela back into the mix to keep things fun, or to see if he can talk someone into buying him another drink.

But instead, Anders spins around and whispers, “Want to get out of here?” against the side of Fenris’ face.

Fenris’ heart leaps all the way into his throat. “Yes!” he wants to shout.

But he can only really manage to blurt out an inelegant, “What?” over the sound of the next song’s jarring intro.

Which, of course, gives the Link just enough space and doubt to start rambling self-consciously at him. “I know we still haven’t talked about what happened in the woods, or at the clinic, and I know I said I’d back off...but dancing with you just now...I mean, maybe it was just me...but…”

“No.” Fenris tightens his grip on his waist, and pulls him close enough that he doesn’t need to shout. “It’s not just you.”

He feels Anders’ face split into a bright, gleaming grin next to his cheek, and he can only imagine what kind of ridiculous expression he’s wearing on his own face now as they stand there, pressed together, fumbling through this encounter like two idiots who just met.

“Well, that’s a relief,” Anders sighs, and his whole body relaxes against him, warm and heavy like a weighted blanket.

#100daysofwriting #yeah i skipped 79 #i was gonna share a dragon age X grace & frankie crossover AU snippet but then i got weirdly anxious about it #maybe it'll show up on a throwaway thursday #lol #linked #fenders #fenris/anders #dark sprawl au #my writing #WIP

8 notes · View notes

im-moreofa-dogperson · 3 years ago

Text

Killing Me Slowly - Part 1

Featuring: Female Reader

Set In: Percy Jackson Universe (only name mentions: Nico Di Angelo and Will Solace)

Summary: Having resided at Camp Half-Blood for going on 3 months now, y/n is still unclaimed, and wishes she were never a demigod in the first place. Upon meeting a mysterious young man at camp, however, she grows suspicious that there is more to her story – and his - than meets the eye.

Words: 3184

masterlist

___________________________________________

The last thing you remember was being chased through the woods. Giggles ran rampant, but as you turned your head to look back you tripped over the tree roots and crashed into the hard earth.

You groaned and rolled onto your back seeing sun beams shining through the silk of white gowns surrounding you as you slowly slipped out of consciousness.

******

When you finally came to, you were back at camp. Lying atop white, cotton sheets in the Apollo cabin, and your friend Will sitting in the chair next to you reading from his novel.

Even though they were significantly younger than you, Will Solace and his boyfriend Nico Di Angelo were always looking out for you given that you’d made so few acquaintances since coming to camp about 3 months ago.

“What are you reading?” you ask in a low voice. He turns quickly, so engrossed in his book he hadn’t realized you’d awoken. He sets his book down on the nightstand and shifts his attention towards you.

“A Separate Peace by John Knowles. How are you feeling?” He inquires. You always admired his tenacity when it came to healing his patients, but now that you were the patient, it just came off as stubborn.

You still hadn’t been claimed, but you were sure your mother wasn’t a curative goddess of any sort. There was no way you possessed the patient nor diligent attributes that you saw in your friend Will.

“Fine. Just a small headache,” you admit. He shakes his head and sighs at that.

“How many times have I told you not to fraternize with the nature spirits? They’re unpredictable, Y/N.” You realize he’s just concerned for you, but you roll your eyes at that remark anyways.

“It was an accident! There was no foul play, alright? Just a few forest gals and their demi-goddess friend chasing each other around,” you teased.

He sighs again but nods his head. “Okay, just – promise me you’ll be more careful?”

“Sure.” Will knew, of course, that it was meaningless for a demigod to agree to such a promise, but you respected his efforts anyways.

Just then, Nico arrived in the doorway to notify the two of you that dinner had been called.

******

That night, you wasted no time settling into the bottom bunk bed in the Hermes cabin to fall asleep. Though it was common for demigods to have nightmares most nights, you considered yourself lucky for not having to worry about that too often.

You figured it was because you didn’t have enough real-world experience to provide the dark and foreboding content of a nightmare.

Before arriving at Camp Half-Blood, you had resided in a cramped apartment in Brooklyn, New York with your father.

The two of you had lived a quiet, relatively average life, undisturbed by monsters, so when a satyr finally discovered you it was thought that you’d quickly be claimed by a minor goddess of some sort; someone who doesn’t draw too much attention from malicious characters.

After the first month, however, and there still being no sign of who your godly parent could be, you began to accept your life as an honorary Hermes camper.

So, when you eventually fell asleep and your dream began, you were pleased once again to find yourself back in the oak woods you were in earlier that day. The only difference being that you were alone.

Your dream-self wandered around, leaves and sticks crinkling and snapping under your bare feet. You often dreamed of natural surroundings; it was where you felt most at home.

While your explored, you suddenly felt a cool chill tickle your arms, sending a shiver down your back. You turned to look around you but didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. However, when you began walking again, you heard a second set of footsteps.

You stopped moving, and so did the mysterious steps behind you. Too afraid to look back again, you quickened your pace moving forward. You now distinctly heard someone lumbering after you, so you began to sprint.

While you were running, you noticed a subtle shift in the atmosphere; the sun no longer broke through the leaves, and a dense fog had begun to rise around your ankles, as if clinging to you in an effort to slow you down.

It wasn’t long until whoever was chasing you had apparently succumbed to the fear induced by the forest. You heard his laboring breaths and heavy feet begin to retreat away from you.

You sighed a breath of relief and slowed to a stop, though your small victory was short lived. For it was just then you heard the sound of an unmistakable hiss. The source of the hissing continued to do so as it began to encircle you.

You couldn’t pin down where the hissing was coming from, as whatever emitted it continued to move, and a feeling of doom soon crept its way through your body before settling in your chest.

When the hissing stopped, you looked to where you last heard it, and that’s when you saw the body of a 3-meter-long viper with a diamond pattern on its back slither out from behind the trees and into the clearing out of the fog. You instinctually took a step back, but you knew there was no escaping it.

It barred its fangs and hissed again as it snuck its way towards you. Your body shivered in terror when the viper suddenly launched itself at you, mouth wide open. You cried out, throwing your arms in front of your face and stumbling backwards.

When it became apparent the snake hadn’t bit you, you opened your eyes only to find yourself back in the Hermes cabin.

******

The next morning after breakfast, you slipped away from the Hermes cabin to avoid doing their daily activities and trainings for the day.

Being that you had remained unclaimed for so long, Travis and Connor Stoll, the head counselors of Hermes, notably felt guilty making you tag along with the group, so you were often able to get away with playing hooky.

You decided to head over to the lake to relax with the naiads and for some peace and quiet after the unsettling and ominous dream you’d just had.

The nature spirits at camp were naturally shy souls, rarely interacting with mortals of any sort, but they appreciated your company. You suspected they felt comfortable around you because you were just as shy and reserved as they were.

In fact, they enjoyed your company so much so that other campers often joked that the reason you hadn’t been claimed was because you were in fact a nature spirit of some sort yourself.

You’d usually scoff at these accusations and their irony, given how badly you wished for them to be true.

Plopping yourself down on the warm planks, you dip your toes in the water and gaze out across the lake.

The nightmare you’d had last night had left you feeling unnerved and anxious, so you were grateful for the tranquility that the warm, afternoon sun settling in the sky provided.

You soon noticed one of the naiads drifting up to where you sat. The greenish hue in her brown hair almost seemed to glow under the sun’s reflective beams.

When she broke the water, you smiled, but just as she opened her mouth to speak you heard yelling coming from Half-Blood Hill. You whipped your head around and noticed a few campers running to the source of the commotion.

Deciding it prudent to investigate, you begrudgingly bid your friend adieu and made your way over to the hill.

You immediately noticed the head counselor of Ares cabin, Sherman Yang, giving orders to the campers who had come to help to head back to their activities in reassurance that everything was under control.

Deciding it best not to argue with him, you began to turn away. However, it was just then you noticed what all the fuss was about. A young man with brunette, curly hair who was notably bloodied and bruised was being escorted by a few counselors towards the infirmary.

He had a busted lip, swelling around his left eye, and cuts all along his arms that made it look like he’d just lost a fight with a thorn bush.

He suddenly caught you staring, as you made eye contact with his light blue/green eyes. They were familiar to you, reminding you of the glimmering lake under a midday sun.

You quickly looked away, and your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. You chalked up your sudden infatuation and recognition of him to the probability that he’s a son of Aphrodite, but that excuse was short-lived.

As him and the two counselors walking with him passed you, your eyes caught the glint of a glowing sign above his head: a golden sun with rays made of arrows. The sign of Apollo.

******

After everyone’s initial shock and congratulations had been made, Will made his way over to the young man to introduce himself. You learned that the boy’s name was Thomas and that he’d just escaped from a hoard of dracaenas hence his injuries.

You didn’t stick around for long letting Will introduce him to camp, though you couldn’t help but wonder more about him. After making eye contact with him, however briefly it lasted, you felt struck with the feeling that you’d met before.

After pondering over this all day, Nico finally came to find you after dinner to walk with you to the bonfire.

“Let’s sit here,” he said, motioning to a couple empty spots near the front. The two of you were notoriously more comfortable sitting in the back, away from any sort of attention.

However, Nico once confided in you that ever since he began dating Will, he felt more self-assured in putting himself out there, and you couldn’t have related more, knowing that without the two of them by your side, you’d quickly have migrated to the back.

After a large congratulations to Thomas for being claimed and some recognitions to a few campers for various training achievements, the campfire songs were well underway.

After a few of the usual songs, one of the Apollo kids started urging Thomas to sing. A few of the others joined in chanting his name, and pretty soon the whole crowd is chanting him on, while a couple Athena kids grab his arms and gently toss him to the front.

You cringe and turn into Nico, worried about him embarrassing himself. You knew from Will that it was only a stereotype that every child of Apollo could sing.

The noise of the audience eventually dies down and Thomas picks up a lyre from the front bench. He takes a deep breath, and you tense up waiting for his inevitable demise.

He plucks a few of the strings, before falling into a song. When he begins to sing, all the muscles in you suddenly relax, and you gaze upon him eager to hear more:

‘All I’ve ever known is how to hold my own

But now I wanna hold you

Hold you close

I don’t ever wanna have to let you go

Now I wanna hold you, hold you tight

I don’t wanna go back to the lonely life’

While he sang, you found yourself lost in his eyes again. He gazed back on you and you felt as though his words had enveloped you in his embrace. You imagined you were the only two people there, and that his song was written for you.

‘I don’t know how or why

Or who am I that I should get to hold you?

But when I saw you all alone against

The skies like I’d known you all along

I knew you before we met

And I don’t even know you yet

All I know is you’re someone I have always known

Suddenly the sunlight

Bright and warm

Suddenly I’m holding the world in my arms’

When he plucked the last string, your eyes lingered on each other for a second longer before your cheeks flushed and you looked away. You noticed quickly that you weren’t the only one stricken by the beauty of Thomas’ singing.

The usually rowdy campers remained quiet, the nymphs had wandered out of their forest dwellings to listen in, and the usual scuttling, chirping, and tweeting of the animals had fallen to a hush and now remained that way; hungry for more.

After a moment, however, the crowd erupted in cheering and applause. You felt overwhelmed with the sudden switch in atmosphere, as if you’d been yanked out of a pleasant dream.

While Nico was distracted talking to Will, you slipped away and made your way to the forest.

******

You wandered off into the woods to catch your breath, eventually coming to a stop and resting your hand against the pale trunk of a large birch tree.

You couldn’t believe how engrossed you’d become listening to Thomas’ voice. You figured everyone was just enamored with his singing as strongly as they were because he’d been gifted by Apollo, but that didn’t explain why he’d seemingly only sung to you and why you’d welcomed it so given how aversive you were to attention.

You had closed your eyes for a moment, but now your head was starting to ache where you’d knocked it into the forest roots the day prior.

When you opened them again, however, it felt as though the usually welcoming ambience of the forest had shifted slightly to a more ominous tone.

The soft glow of the campfire had disappeared, the noise of the bonfire had quieted to a lull, the air had a sudden chill, but most disturbing was when you turned around, you couldn’t place where you had entered the woods.

A panic began to creep into your chest, so you started walking back the direction you’d come, hoping your mind was just playing tricks on you.

You quickened your pace until you were at a slow jog, but still hadn’t made it the edge of the trees. None of the nymphs had appeared to help either, further raising your suspicions that something was wrong.

Suddenly, you heard a feint hiss that stopped you dead in your tracks. It was just like the one you’d heard in your nightmare.

After hearing it again, this time closer and more distinct, you turned in the opposite way and booked it. You had no whereabouts as to what direction you were running, only that you had to get away from that awful sound.

You ran over tree roots, ducked under branches, got cut up from some twigs and leaves in the process, before your arm was grabbed, suddenly, pulling you to a halt.

You cried out and attempted to shove whoever had grabbed you away.

“Hey hey hey, you’re alright! It’s alright!” It was a familiar voice, urging you to slow down and focus. When you did you realized it was Thomas who not 5 minutes ago had almost melted you on the spot with just his voice. The same voice trying to calm you down now.

“What happened, what are you running from?” He inquired, still holding onto you as you were visibly shaking.

You knew you couldn’t tell him the truth, or he’d assume you’d lost your mind. Although you just may have but decided to keep that information to yourself for now. You forced a smile, and replied still out of breath, “Nothing. I just got lost and so I panicked and ran.”

He nodded. Though it wasn’t a total lie given that you had more or less gotten lost, it was still apparent that you weren’t sharing everything.

Deciding not to push you on it, he tentatively let go of you and chuckled politely before saying, “come on, let’s just get out of here, this part of the woods gives me the creeps.”

******

The bonfire had dispersed by the time the two of you came out, so no one but Thomas was made aware of your sudden disappearance. He’d been kind enough to walk you to your cabin without asking questions causing you to feel even guiltier about lying.

You were curious about him to say the least. You wish you knew why his singing had had such an oddly familiar hold on you, how he’d found you in the woods after the bonfire, and especially where you felt you knew him from.

All of this pondering over questions that you lacked the answers to, however, was exhausting and you soon turned over and shut your eyes.

As soon as you’d passed out in your small corner of the Hermes cabin, another nightmare began.

It started out the same as the last one did; heavy footsteps lumbering after you, shallow breathing, and foreboding hisses.

Though you’d experienced this dream before, the panic still rose quickly to your chest as you scrambled and raced to get away. Stumbling over roots and forest brush, the weakness of your dream body struggled to keep up with your mind’s urgency to evade danger.

Just as it was apparent the man chasing you had caught up to you, he slowed down, until you eventually heard his raspy breaths and heavy footsteps retreating.

You slowed to a stop as well knowing you still weren’t out of the woods yet – metaphorically speaking – but not knowing quite how to evade this next threat. The source of the hissing was almost taunting you as you heard it circling around you.

You felt yourself succumb to the overwhelming feeling of hopelessness as you saw the viper slither out from its hiding place and inch towards you. You held your breath in preparation for your enemy’s inevitable attack.

The snake launched itself at you snarling along the way causing you to cry out and turn away. You fell to the ground and closed your eyes, digging your nails into the dirt. You knew the viper had dissipated before it reached you, but you still shivered in fear.

You finally summed up the courage to open your eyes but instead of waking up back in the Hermes cabin, you found yourself in a different setting. A tunnel.

The tunnel’s dark and jagged passage filled you with cryptic doubt and dread. Nonetheless, it led up toward a feint light where, just at the threshold, you noticed the silhouette of a young man standing with his back to you.

Feeling as though you were being urged on by an external force, you pushed yourself off the ground and began approaching him.

Just as you reached out a hand close enough to touch his shoulder, he turned around, and you recognized him. It was Thomas, the son of Apollo whose presence hadn’t left your mind since he’d arrived.

Before you could form a second thought, you felt cold hands seize you by the waist and yank you back down the tunnel, away from the light, and away from Thomas.

You cried out, “Wait - !”

You woke up just then and as you opened your eyes there was one name left at the tip of your tongue: “Orpheus”.

__________________________________________

Song: “All I’ve Ever Known” included from Hadestown the Musical.

#percy jackson #nico di angelo #will solace #fic #pjoverse #pjo fic

7 notes · View notes