obsessive-procrastinator

Latest Posts by obsessive-procrastinator

shutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutup

it was unanimous

(photo of frank iero that this is based on under cut)

call me nico di angelo the way i don’t have an eating disorder but i do have severely disordered eating

I love cracking my bones. I'm like a fidget toy but more emotionally complex

leo and jason but they actually met before gaea

a young jason, having to venture outside of camp for the first time for a quest, running face first into a boy in the middle of the streets. hes scrawny and scruffy and not fit to be a true roman, but his fingers move quicker than his rapidfire mix of curses, apologies, and insults as he picks up the things that fell out of his backpack in the collision.

a young leo, running away from yet another home, colliding with a boy that acts like hes the first human hes seen in months. he's not sure whether to be annoyed or confused as the boy questions him on the very basic contents of his bag with his head tilted like some sort of stupid golden retriever. the new kids accent is thick, one he could barely understand, but he tries to answer the dumb questions as best he can.

jason follows leo, deciding the new boy to be his guide in an unfamiliar world. he shows him new and interesting things, colorful and exotic things he's never seen before. new places, new people. jason decides he must be divine in some way. he's distraught when he finishes the quest and has to leave. leo shared things jason could barely fathom, then it was yanked away, leaving a burning hole in his mind and heart and scalding marks on the hands he had guided.

leo leads jason, which was not his intention at first. he shows him normal things, the places where the security cameras or locks are broken, the place where the staff gives him freebies, the public library with computers you could play and code games on, all things leo had known about for years, but jason stares at him like a worshipper stares at a god, filled with awe and adoration. he wakes up one day, and jason isn't there anymore, leaving nothing but a fleeting memory, brushed away with the wind.

If I wanted that I’d just watch the show

*looks at books* too tired for you *looks at films* too tired for you *looks at art supplies* too tired for you *eyes fall on tumblr* oho ho

one of my favorite thoughts that comes with will going from cabin baby to head counselor is the insane 180 he must have had regarding his view on authority figures

6 more months til we get percy jackson and the olympians : sea of monsters on our tv screens

reblog this if you’re excited

shhh dont cry. jason sticking his fingers into an electrical socket while making direct eye contact with someone who's just said a really bad joke

But of course, he's not gay or anything (he definitely is)

Dean Winchester whenever he loses Castiel

Or both

Percy: It’s dark as fuck in here, anyone got a flashlight ?

Nico: Yeah , hang on

Nico:*picks Will up, cracking his back *

Will:

Will: *starts to glow*

Percy : 𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝒻𝓊𝒸𝓀

The two types of Jason Grace fans

Jason probably loved not having to be preator and being able to be by himself at CHB and not mask 24/7 like he did at camp Jupiter. My poor baby. someone get him hot coco and a huge thunder plushie

Brother snapped a photo of hector this morning while I was asleep

Transitional body horror where T makes your ovaroes drop down and out

prev

———

Will likes to be praised. True / False

———

The first theory he tests he is so sure of he barely bothers with a notebook. There is a paper, crumpled into his pocket. And a broken pencil.

"Hey," he says, appearing next to Kayla, who yells in surprise, "I have forty dollars for you."

She recovers quickly. "American?"

"No, Icelandic." He pulls several crinkled ones and fives he hustled out of the Hermes cabin last week. "Obviously American."

"Good, good." Kayla counts them obnoxiously, rolls them, and tucks them in her pocket, turning back to Nico. "What can I do for you, Scrooge McDuck?"

"I need you to switch your archery block with me and not tell Will," Nico says, ignoring the insult. "No further questions allowed."

"No questions will be an extra seven dollars."

"What? No way!"

"One dollar per question, Tony Stark." She scowls. "Curse our society for making rich characters cool. I'm trying to insult you."

Nico really considers telling her to stuff it. One dollar per question is a ridiculous rate and he refuses to pay on principle.

However.

There is no way he is getting the forty dollars he has already given to her back, so.

"Your bloodline will be cursed a generation per bill," mutters Nico darkly, counting out the bills. He is in fact short, and has to reach through the shadows to the loose panel under Cecil's bed and borrow a few quarters.

"Yeah, yeah. Alright." She squares her shoulders, staring up at him. She has a way of appearing as if she is six feet tall, when in fact she is four-foot-three. "I will do this for you. But note: I don't need that archery practice." She plants her feet on the ground, tilts her chin up, and stares. Nico realizes abruptly that this is not playfulness on her end, this is not the character she plays when they have these such interactions — her face is darkly serious, mouth drawn into a thin line. "I think it's funny what you're doing, di Angelo. But my brother is sensitive. This better not be a joke."

Nico's eyes widen. "It's not. I — swear, Kayla, I'd never do that."

She nods. "Good."

She makes a show of slinging her bow, stalking across the common with the sun glinting off her arrows. Nico is under no such delusions that it is unintentional. He watches her gather her siblings, rushing them away between the stables and strawberry fields before Will notices.

Nico breathes deeply, shaking himself. Will steps finally out of his cabin, tripping down the last porch step, and the confused little pout on his face is so obvious Nico can see it on the other side of camp.

He jogs over to the archery range, grinning.

Five minutes later, as he's setting up the last target, Will wanders over.

"Nico? Do you — have you seen the kids?"

The kids— the fourteen and twelve and nine and seven year olds that he, sixteen year old, mother-hens. The kids.

"There has been a change of plans," says Nico evasively. He clears his throat. "I, uh, thought we could spend a period together."

Will smiles a soft, pretty thing, squinting his eyes around the edges. "Change of plans, huh?" His smile turns cheeky. "Wanted to be alone with me that badly?"

Part of Nico curls and twitches at the tease, balks and flushes up to his roots. But the bigger, more curious part of him stops, relaxing his shoulders and softening his brow into something genuine, something determined. He holds the silence between them, curling it like rope, and says:

"Yes."

And then he waits.

There is no glowing red, not yet. There is a flash of surprise in Will's bright eyes; the blue narrows as his pupils dilate, as his blond blond eyebrows snap up to his forehead and breath nicks sharply along the back of his throat. But he recovers, or at least tries to, and busies himself with a practice quiver.

"Oh," he says, pressing his finger into an arrowhead. The tight skin of his fingertip snaps and beads a sphere of red, which he stuffs quickly in his mouth, sucking gently. Nico fights back the twitch of his own mouth and a comment about sepsis. When Will speaks again, his voice is quiet. Almost shy. "I'd like that, Nico."

Nico shivers. The hard k of the turn in his name sounds good in Will's mouth. Nico wants to press his ear to Will's throat, to feel the beat of it in his eardrums.

Instead, he grabs his own arrow, his own quiver.

He will always be clumsy in archery. Part of it is simply physiology — he does not have the armspan for it — but most of it, he feels, is the discipline. Archery is measured breathing, it is laying in wait, it is distance and sharp eyes and a bow string taut against your eye that can hurt you as much or more than your enemies if you twitch one muscle out of place. Archery is friendly fire and airborne plague. Archery is a thousand raining arrows, shot by one man — there is power, in archery, in the way there is power in a cook, in a janitor. Unassuming and easily equipped. It is not the discipline Nico knows, of the bellowed yell and the double-fisted blade, of closeness enough to your enemy to see the sweat on her skin and hate in her eyes. The heaviness for archery comes later, counting the arrows parallel to the ground, the half-cross graveyards released from your two pointer fingers.

Archery is for the tall, borne from willowtree bark.

He tries, though, matching his shots with Will's. Matching their breathing, the wideness of their stances; every time Will inhales, so does Nico, every time his arrow kathunks in the pupil of the target's eye, Nico's follows in the sclera.

A dozen in, he stops, turning to watch his friend. Will doesn't notice, exhaling, still, for ever release, inhaling for every line-up. Blinking only when shadow passes over the bright sun.

It is a rare thing for Will to stand at his full height.

He is still when he shoots. Aside from the blink of his eyes, every shot is lined up for entire infinite moments: muscles locked, hands steady, fletch clutched between his middle and pointer fingers. He exhales, once, and the arrow flies neatly and cleanly through the dead center of the target, and there is a half-second of movement where he turns, lining up the next one. But then he is still, again. Quiet. Measured.

"You're good," Nico says, quietly.

He sees first the defensive curl of Will's shoulder, the immediate, reflective frown. The I am not! pre-written on the tip of his tongue. But there is something, maybe, in the ease of Nico's stance, or maybe in the quirk of his lips. He keeps his eyes relaxed and open, meets his searching gaze.

"Bullseye after bullseye," Nico repeats, in answer to Will's unasked question. "I hit, like, two." He flicks his eyes over the dozens of targets, appraising. "You're good with a bow, Will."

Maybe he can hear the truth in Nico's voice. Maybe his affection is obvious. Maybe it is the use of his given name, stretched in the cavern of Nico's mouth: Will rocks back on his heels, huffing, and his pretty, rounded face burns.

"I'm — okay, barely!"

Nico smiles indulgently. "'Okay' hits seventeen straight targets?"

Will sets his stubborn jaw when he argues. It is different, significantly, when he cannot decide what to do with his heated cheeks. "Kayla can hit at least forty. In a row! Last week, she even —"

"I'm not complimenting Kayla," Nico interrupts, recognizing the deflection for what it is. "I'm complimenting you." He pauses. "You're talented, Will. Good job."

Will squirms, even as Nico gives him the space free from his gaze. He fiddles with the arrow clenched in his fists — it is warped, now, and even if he shoots it with the best technique on the planet only a blessing from his father will land it anywhere. He flicks it, over his fingers, near dropping it, and stuffs it back in his quiver.

"Thank you," he says, quietly. The tiniest smile Nico has ever seen on him quirks his lips, and he shivers at the sight of it. Like the edge of a solar eclipse, like the crack before an erupting volcano. "I — thank you, Nico."

Nico wants to say more. Suddenly, lit up like fire inside of him, is the urge to stand on a table, a soap box, and read off in any expanding order the plethora of things he has noticed: Will's gentleness, his smart-mouth grin, the flutter of his wide hands when he is excited and the careful way he positions his body to show people he is listening when they speak. Even if no one else is. Especially if no one else is.

But Will is embarrassed, already. He breathes quickly and stands hunched and keeps a foot of space between the two of them, although his shaking hands twitch, as if to reach over. As if to rest on his hips, like they do when he pushes, when he questions.

Sensitive, Kayla called him.

Shy, Nico adds.

"Anytime," he says. They are close enough together still that Nico can bump their hips together and this makes him snort, has him eye the space between where Nico's waist begins and Will's thighs just begin to meet torso, until Nico shoves him in exasperation. He snickers, pleased, comfortable, and catches Nico's poking hand.

"This block ends in twenty," he says. "Want to ditch early and throw things at Ellis from the roof of the Big House?"

"Yes," Nico agrees quickly, tossing his borrow bow haphazardly onto the stands. "If I ever say no to that, assume I'm a clone and shoot me."

Will snorts, taking much more care with his bow. "I'll keep that in mind, Death Boy."

They walk quickly to the Big House, scaling the wall and hiding beside the crumbling chimney. Will chucks pebbles with half as much accuracy as he shoots, but he still lands them, and muffles his cackling into his hands.

Nico hides his crumpled paper until his knees, and immortalizes the shape of Will's smile.

———

next

Will is breaking several laws but it's ok. He used had sanitiser. This is so rushed

Okay so I love bisexual Leo but like is there anyone else who sees him as just completely gay and all of his talking about girls is just because that’s the one way he can make himself feel normal? Like that he finds a girl pretty and convinces himself “oh I must have a crush on her then” but he doesn’t it’s just comphet

And there’s a quote from his pov in mark of Athena that goes something like “Leo didn’t usually pay attention to what other guys looked like, he supposed that was because of Jason” for one that’s more ammunition to ship Valgrace and for two (?) that sounds a lot like something a dude who’s scared to face his attraction to men would think idk if it’s just me though

He was literally my gay awakening

bestie, your favorite Percy Jackson character is Nico, you didn’t have to come out.

Back pain too, perhaps?

reblog to give your headache to elon musk instead

I love him

nico di angelo has 64 spoken lines in the titans curse and that was enough to get this fandom to adopt him. he is so powerful

you know the expression dean makes (i think in season seven) when he’s in the hospital and bobby pats his cheek and for a moment he looks so fucking surprised and then you can see in his eyes how touched starved he is? yeah.

I don’t know if anyone has ever done this before but, here ya go… The Different Types of Fanfiction! 

I probably left a few out, but these are the most common, compared to their base fiction’s canon plot. Enjoy! XD

Like if the fic does go to shit (it probably won't) who the hell is going to be like "aha! I found you kudos this random ass fic and I didn't like it"

“You shouldn’t give kudos to in-progress fics because you don’t know what might happen in a future chapter” is actually the wildest fucking take.

Am I the only one who liked The Lost Hero more than Son of Neptune?? Like I think I read through TLH in less than a day, but SON took me a good week.

Absolutely feral for this shit, I love it

me when characters (nico) that canonically have ptsd

drawn on my PHONE again i hate ibispaint (4 hours)

Valgrace Valgrace Valgrace

have you ever shipped something so hard that you become irrationally happy and make a sound akin to steam escaping from a kettle everytime they so much as stand next to eachother

I think Jason would be totally concerned by Leo saying this

leo valdez is that one kid that says shit like “stretching isn’t enough, i want to disassemble my body” and percy is the one that goes “oh my gods like legos”

and honestly i think that says enough about their friendship