Advid-vibe-stealer - I Steal The Vibes

Nico di Angelo is in love.

Unfortunately.

Not with Percy Jackson anymore. That would’ve been easy. Unattainable, sure, but at least he could’ve filed it away under Stupid Mistakes I Make When I’m ten. Curse you, Aphrodite.

He knows the feeling — that jittery, restless buzz, like waiting for the sun to rise after an all-nighter you know was a terrible idea. It’s an old enemy by now. Like most of his enemies, it’s winning.

Will Solace is light and butterflies and every other nauseating thing Nico pretends not to give a crap about. His laugh lights up the room — because of course it does — like the universe personally handed him a spotlight and said, Here, make everyone else look worse. 

His absurdly long fingers drum a rhythm on the table, like he’s starring in some indie coming-of-age movie nobody asked for. Nico included.

Every stupidly perfect curl, every freckle that looks like Aphrodite got drunk and decided to show off — it’s enough to make Nico want to set himself on fire. He wonders how much gold it would take to recreate this disaster. Everything in Hades’ palace. Twice. Maybe throw in Cerberus for good measure.

Will’s eyes crinkle when he smiles — soft and blue and filled with that unbearable, stupid early-morning light that makes you want to punch the sunrise and then crawl into a pit and die.

“Oh my gods, Cecil, please don’t—”

Will’s laughter detonates — loud, wild, full-body laughter — and Nico feels it like a bomb going off right inside his ribcage.

He bends over clutching his chest dramatically — Nico’s chest, technically, since that’s where the explosion hits.

His back curves like some stupid heroic mountain or whatever. It’s disgusting.

The first sound of his laugh practically plants flowers in the air. Actual, metaphorical, revolting flowers. Nico would throw up if he weren’t too busy mentally composing sonnets about Will’s jawline. He is a disaster.

“Yo, Death Boy, what are you staring at?”

Will waves a freckly hand in front of his face because of course he notices. Of course he has functioning eyes. Meanwhile, Nico can barely remember how breathing works.

“Nothing,” Nico says, dead inside. “Just the sunrise.”

And somehow, Pandora opened the box and you didn’t fall out. Miraculous.

“Sunrise? D’Angelo, it’s literally ten in the morning. And raining.”

“Cecil, shut up before I hand-deliver every skeleton middle finger we planted on the Ares cabin roof last night into your bunk.”

“Geez, Nico! Fine! Shutting up!” 

"What was that for?"

He is warm, and soft, and he smells good.

And when Nico catches him by surprise, he touches the tips of his fingers to the swell of his lips, eyes wide, freckles blinking like stars.

Nico hides a smile, rocking back on his heels.

"No reason."

"Not that I am complaining," Will hastens to explain, "uh, I loved it, actually, I just -- I am kind of gross? I was gonna go run to take a shower before I woke you and --"

Nico leans over and kisses him again. From this angle he can -- the sand pit for volleyball is just slightly lower than the bleachers, and if Nico stands on the second step, he can just...lean over. Will's lips are right there, even if it is more a press of mouths than a kiss with Will's rambling.

It stops, though, when Nico kisses him. He clams up and kisses back like he's afraid Nico is going to stop.

"Was that one just 'cause, too?" he says, when Nico lets up. Nico pulls away and notices that he is breathless. That could be the game he just played.

It could also be the little tinge of red around his cheekbones -- barely, really, anything -- and the way he darts his eyes between Nico's mouth and his eyes. Experimentally, Nico leans slightly forward. Immediately, Will closes his mouth, then his eyes, waiting.

Nico waits, too, grinning. When Will cracks one confused eye open he cannot help but laugh, and Will shoves him, scowling.

"You're teasing me," he accuses.

Nico quiets his mirth in his hands.

"A little."

"You're mean."

"Mhm. A little."

He leans forward, again, past the threshold of middle ground between them. This time Will waits, evaluating, pout on his bitten-red lips. He narrows his Carolina-blue eyes and Nico takes the time to watch them, to memorize them. He thinks of brilliant butterfly wings and fire. He thinks of afternoon skies. He thinks of shallow, splashing lakes, of robin eggs and icebergs. Of scorpions and scales and flower petals. He thinks long enough for Will to believe him, again, to fall for it; he thinks he could get away with making him wait, again, but finds he doesn't want to.

"You taste like strawberry," Will mumbles, and presses himself closer, "the candy kind."

Nico smiles against his mouth. A bribe, of sorts. Will's tongue licks along the seem of his lips, determined to taste more. Nico allows it and slides his hands up his belly in his distraction, resting on his chest. He swears he can feel when his skin gives way to dark ink, long-healed as it is. There is less of a buzz.

Will pulls away, slightly, although there isn't much to go.

"I'm supposed to -- get ready."

"Mhm." Nico kisses him again. He resists, or he tries to. Nico hovers, for a moment, candy breath and all, and he cracks in second. "What was it you had to do, again?"

"I --" Nico swipes his thumb along the line of his ribs, featherlight, and he twitches, trembles; "I --"

He is so easy. It is like he has buttons red and tantalizing for Nico to press, and his impulse control has never been good. Nico memorized them ages ago, and uses them at his leisure; Twizzlers, before a game, dipping his hands in ice water so they're cooler than usual. A fingernail against his ribcage, a flat palm on the heart of his tattoo. A little bit of height, and the promise of a kiss, of the end of one.

Like a detonator.

"Don't stop," Will sighs, forgetting. Nico can almost see the list of responsibilities float from his brain, wrapping around Nico's head like laurels. He curls his fists to avoid the crow of victory bubbling in his throat, wrapping his hands in strands of Will's hair -- another button.

He tugs.

Will whimpers.

Easy.

"Won't," Nico promises, and kisses him again.

So I can't get this out of my head and I can't find any fics about it

How do campers (Nico,Cecil, just mostly Will's friends) react to getting shots and physicals do they hate it or not.

I just need headcanons from you because yours are the best

oh god they do not handle this shit well cus they're all babies.

will is the world's worst patient because he's the world's worst hypocrite. he had to be pinned down by four people to get his shots & checkups as a kid. now he just lies about having done them to himself or gets guilted by his little siblings lol. (gracie is frequently sent in with her big green eyes to bawl about how worried she is. it works every time without fail.)

nico loves shots. genuinely. the idea of having all these vaccines just...free...to Get...is almost unbelievable for him. he had friends to die from polio as a kid. he is the first in line and snarks at people who try and refuse.

kayla rolls her eyes and whines, cus she's an apollo kid and doesn't GET sick, ugh, why does she have to, but understands she sets an example and does the stupid checkup.

austin is a little nervous about needles and hates admitting it. will always does them quietly in the back room with him, and holds his hand.

all the little apollo kids -- and most of the little kids in camp -- are dragged in kicking and screeching, except the odd couple who are morbidly intrigued. for a grand many years will and nyssa have paired up to bodily drag them inside. once nico starts acting like they're the coolest things ever, though, the little kids follow. they listen to him quietly tell stories about what the 20th century was like at campfires and start to understand how lucky they are to live where they do.

lou ellen will actually pass out if she is aware she's getting nicked. she gives will permission beforehand and he either waits until she's entirely locked in on a spell and won't notice anything around her and does it, or he just has to straight up wait for her to pass out and do it then. lol.

cecil keeps fucking Escaping. will'll be like hey. i need to check to make sure you don't. have fucking cancer. and cecil will follow him to a cot and two seconds later has straight up Disappeared. like the door to the infirmary was closed with three people watching them, the windows are clamped shut, there are no other exits. he just sunk into the floor. it takes cecil eight days every single time and will is always ready to Actually Strangle Him

I have no clue like what could this possibly be????

I could never and I'm an artist

Friends:  Do some D&D art! Me:  Like this? 

i didn't say it was good, i said it has bewitched me body and soul

I love Rick Riordan. Do you have a disability? There’s probably a character for that. Are you a minority and/or lgbtq? There’s definitely a character for that. Sure, maybe it’s not all 100% accurate, but he’s TRYING and that means so, so much.

Sometimes Nico just sits.

And he watches.

Will, squirming, lets him.

“I don’t know what you’re hoping to find,” he admits, one day. The sun is out, but it is cold; Nico wears a sweater over his camp shirt, and had borrowed Will’s least offensive flannel. Goosebumped skin peels through the holes in his jeans. “On me, I mean.”

Nico blinks, slowly. His mouth is hidden in his arms, tucked into his bent knee.

“To find?”

“Yes.”

“Hm.”

He has huge, dark eyes. Brown, will supposes, but really they’re black; black like river mud, black like crumbling ash, black like polished stone. Black like the deep dark bottom of the well, so far down you can see yesterday’s reflection. Black like the stars so far up they blink at the child-age Earth.

“I’m not much,” Will explains, or tries to. His shoulders draw back like a string has been pulled between them, the hilt of his humerus brushing against the fleshy end of his earlobe. “To — look at, I guess. Or anything.”

Nico blinks. Will exhales, quick and sharp.

“Says who?”

“I — don’t know.”

He’s itchy, he realizes, at the back of his neck and under his chin, heated blood churning and pressing until the skin bubbles with irritation, nerves sparking. He pinches at the side of his neck.

“Just know, I guess.”

Nico hums again. There is the tiniest of separations, Will notices, between his pupil and his iris. Only if you — look. If you stare, searching for flakes of gold, of amber. They’re there. Will’s sure of it.

Nico reaches out, slowly. He waits for the weight of Will’s breath to return, for the pound of his heart to calm somewhere near normal; the tip of his fingertip is cool and rough, sword-rough, and in its tracing path across his nose and down the sides of his cheek leaves a trail of ice and pricking needles.

“You’re interesting,” says Nico, quietly. He pauses on the jagged, rounded scar off-centred on Will’s cheek, dug through two years ago, trying to piece together fragments of a skull. He presses his narrow fingertip into the outline, inspecting the contrast. “I like you.”

The coarse wind blows, and Will shivers. Nico’s steady shoulders twitch in the cold, and his finger moves with them.

“I like you. Too.”

There is no smile to be seen with half his face masked so tightly. But there is a flash in his sky-black eyes, like a strike of gilded lightning, like the flaming arm of solar flare; it burns, for a moment, in the dark space behind Will’s eyelids, and he takes the time to memorize it. To stick it in the walls of his memory, like glued-on attic wallpaper.

“Good.” He pulls back, tucking his hand back against the curve of his neck. He nods, once, graphing Will’s exhales “Good.”

———

based on this post

Headcanon that Will Solace knows his routine so well he's found little breaks in between to be able to have a short ass breakdown before going back to out himself together and be his happy self again.

(Ya'll I can write.😃)

"See you!" Will waves as he steps down on the grassy floor of camp. He feet pushing against the wooden panels of stairs as he rushes to talk to Chiron about the lack of supplies arriving in time for the infirmary.

The infirmary to Big House wasn't exactly a five minute walk. Camp was supposed to fit at least a hundred campers in estimation. The acres of camp had to be doubled for that many ADHD demigods to have enough ground to cover.

Will Solace was no exception. And yet he still ran across the field, dodging campers barreling through groups. (And maybe him.) If he wasn't careful, he'd hit the ground faster than you could say— eat dirt!

Routines like these weren't common. But they were often enough that — Will found loopholes to take a break, allow a little slip-up from the perfect smile he had practiced over and over in the mirror.

He still ran across the field. Like a coward running away from his problems and misery. With a goal in set. So different yet so similar.

He found himself somewhere secluded, somewhere people haven't made it into their spot by now. Will hid it well after all, he made sure no one was looking or following his direction.

No one approaching or noticing his existence behind the thick trees.

It was perfect. A perfect place to rest just for a few minutes before going to his mission. He had left earlier than normal. The sudden arrival of news about a day with the supplies of Nectar and Ambrosia had been delayed, and Will had sauntered off to hide between a small area surrounded by bushes.

They were thick enough to gain some time alone even for a short moment. And yet Will knew it so well, he didn't have to glance to know. Arriving at the same place for years has done things that came in handy later.

His feet hits the ground sending vibrations through the earth floor. He takes a moment to catch his breath. To make sense of the smile he had shown to everyone earlier.

A twitch appears. Corners of his mouth droop and it doesn't take long before Will slowly sucks in a breath that seems a little burdening to hold. It doesn't take long before a rush comes out crashing like a quiet sob.

The noises die out. Chattering fades into white noise. Heart pounding as his breath grows uneven just like the ground he stands, his chest swallows him whole. Like the pressure that had been building under that lock and key.

Only he threw the key out and was shoving his emotions in a cage as they grow twice in size. Doubling till the cage breaks.

Just a few moments. He said to himself, slowly dropping down to curl up in his own form of tried that still undoubtedly troubled him. Maybe for good.

He pulled his knees to his chest, as close as it can be. Even if uncomfortable from the way his back stretches. His arms wrap around the scraped knees and counted.

One. Two.

Breathe in.

Three. Four.

Breathe out.

A routine he's been familiar with all these years. Count two — hold it in. Count two again — let it go.

Five.

It was repetitive but it kept Will grounded for all these years since the Battle of Manhattan. A routine he had so carefully pieced together to relearn how to piece himself back as well.

Six.

He needed to be strong for his siblings, for camp. The children that knew nothing but only that camp was safe for them. It was supposed to be safe. He was supposed to be perceived as safe.

If he breaks down in the middle of nowhere how the hell is he going to live that image up? Children would realize the person that they depended their lives can easily break as them— will they perceive him as strong? Or just a fraud?

Seven.

Tears filled his eyes but never out to other's. Just a few moments. A few moments to collect himself, let him break, just a small slip-up he'll allow this time. And then—

He cracked.

Eight.

Slowly his breath grew uneven. Not frantic. No. Even in his worst times, even if he's not able to grasp himself. He still tried to take control. He was greedy of it. Even in death he wouldn't let go of it.

Because if he had control he wouldn't be so miserable. If he had control no one would've died, no one would suffer. If he had control no one would mourn their loss like he did over and over again.

But he couldn't.

Nine.

In his own spiraling state. He let just a bit of desperate control slip. Hot tears streamed, his body shook and it was only a matter of time before he needed get back up again.

His sobs were like distance screams of an animal. If you were close you would hear it more clearly. The agony, the distress. Everything that had all been piled into life's cruel hands. Because everything had a place and time. And it never went out of schedule or stepped out of line. So did he.

Ten.

He gripped his arms, forcing himself to stop his shaking. He stiffled his breathing, counting backwards. Eyes closed, he looked up. Trying to breathe again. It was enough time for his self-loathing. He decided.

Opening his eyes, wiping his tears, pinched his cheeks to gain back it's rosy color. Fixed his composure and smiled.

Then with a steady stature. He willed himself to get up. His legs wobbled but never fell. Taking off with his goal in hand. He prompted himself to forget his vulnerability until another time came where he could allow himself to crack again.

He ran across the field to talk to Chiron about the lack of arrival of the supplies he had requested, just like a routine;

Will Solace never stepped out of line as everything always had time and place.