But Of Course, He's Not Gay Or Anything (he Definitely Is)

Thanks I was going to do that anyway

you know what? Fuck you. *turns your strong and stoic and serious character into a crying, traumatized, whimpering, curled up mess in the floor*

a bunch of solangelo sketch stuff

(i made those between actual works thats why it is missing wills freckles and some of nicos scars 🥹 and the proportions are quite funky)

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.

The billionth reason as to why I'd be a great demigod

I have a headcanon that young demigods are feral by default as a survival instinct and mellow out with age.

Dionysus did not mellow out with age.

there’s so many revival jason ideas that i love so much, but the one i’m most obsessed with is where jason “comes back” because his life is now connected to leo’s

basically the “life force” or whatever you want to call that’s weaker gets connected to the one that’s stronger. the usual idea i have for this is that leo gets some item that can do this and after a little oopsie, jason is back

and because jason is still technically dead, he can’t die. he get get tired and fatigued if he doesn’t eat or looses blood, but he can’t die. someone could rip out his heart and he’d still be alive, or rather “alive”. he can only die if leo dies

for the most part, it’s an acceptable situation for the both of them. however, there is one issue

jason doesn’t see any problem with it. he already protects leo with his life. now, he can do it and actually be protecting his life. but now things are different. he can’t die. he can throw himself into dangerous situations and come out alive. he can do risky moves that he’d normally never think of doing. he’s not risking anything. he can come out alive. he’s now even more of a weapon than he was before

for the most part, leo also has no problem with it. he finally has jason back. he knows that he’ll never be without him again. also, he has more respect for his life, knowing that it’s not just his own, but also jason’s. it’s a little nerve wracking when in fights with monsters, but he knows he has people around to help him out. but… then there’s jason’s new recklessness. jason already had little regard for his own life. now, he has even less regard for his safety. it causes leo great distress. sure, jason can’t die, but he can still get hurt. he can still be in pain. what if something happened to him? what if he was hurt so badly that he can’t call for help? what if he’s laying there feeling that pain for hours? he loves jason so much. it hurts him to see the man he loves have so little regard for his well being. it hurts him to see him get hurt time and time again

On the second or third day of the Battle of Manhattan honestly, Will Solace couldn’t tell anymore. The memories of those days blurred together like a smeared painting. All he knew was that he had genuinely believed he would die there. Not in some noble, heroic blaze of glory, but clobbered to death by a cyclops wielding a giant wooden club, far enough from his siblings—dead or alive—that none of them would see it happen.

He still remembered holding the limp hands of little Kylie from Demeter, ten years old, obsessed with flowers and Star Trek—even though he’d spent way too much time arguing that Star Wars was superior. Her hands were cold, slick with blood. Her glazed-over eyes stared at nothing, lost in the fog of shock and blood loss.

Will had reached inside himself, instinctively trying to summon healing magic like he always did. But there was nothing. Just emptiness. His usual reserve was gone bone dry, like a well in the middle of a desert long since forgotten.

Most of his siblings were dead now, except for Austin, Kayla, and Jasmine. There used to be twelve of them. Two never made it off the Williamsburg Bridge. The rest were taken by monsters in the chaos of the city streets.

Travis Stoll had been assigned to guard the medics by Jasmine,  head counselor now, by default. But he was busy fending off another cyclops. That left Will, defenseless, magicless. kneeling in a pool of blood, trying to tie a tourniquet on Kylie’s leg with trembling hands.

Guess we’ll all be partying in Elysium together, Will thought grimly, watching the shadow of the club rise over him.

Then, impact never came.

Nico di Angelo burst from the shadows like a knife through smoke. All sharp angles and shadows, the son of Hades was silent and fast, his Stygian Iron sword catching no light from the burning sun. He danced around the cyclops with eerie precision, dodging its every swing, slashing at tendons and knees. The club never touched him. He moved like a blade himself, calculated, deadly. And finally, with one clean thrust, he brought the monster down and finished it off, its body dissolving into dust with a hiss.

Will stared, wide-eyed and a little breathless.

“Thank you,” he managed, cradling Kylie as Nico approached, sword still in hand, back to the sun. “I’d shake your hand, but…” He looked down at his blood-soaked arms. “As you can see, I’m a bit occupied.”

Nico gave a small nod, expression unreadable.

Will couldn’t stop looking at him. The black hair falling in uneven strands across his face, the tired eyes, the quiet way he moved like he was used to being forgotten. He was beautiful, broken-glass beautiful. And maybe it was the adrenaline, or the near-death experience, but Will felt something twist in his chest. Something warm. Something terrifying.

“You need anything else?” Nico asked, his voice quiet.

Will blinked out of it. Kylie was now staggering off toward the Empire State Building, a square of ambrosia clutched in her hand.

“No,” Will said. Then, impulsively: “Wait. If you ever… get hurt. Or need patching up or anything—I mean, obviously, I’m the best medic at camp.”

Nico raised an eyebrow. “Obviously.”

“I’m just saying,” Will said quickly, trying not to sound too eager. “You can ask. I’d help. Any time.”

Nico gave a short, almost imperceptible nod, then turned, already melting back into the shadows.

Will watched him go, heart pounding, and wondered when exactly dying turned into falling in love.

A whisp of hair tickles his cheek, following the elbow resting on his shoulder. Lee glances over as Cass swipes the strands back behind her ear.

“So,” she says, very nearly dropping her plate. Lee reaches over and gently tilts it back upright. His sister Does Not notice.

He lets it fall. She doesn’t notice that, either. Rest in peace, Stale Piece of Olive Bread, Single Grape, and Sprig of Parsley (?). You will be missed.

“So,” Lee repeats. He follows her eyes, gaze landing on a frizzy mess of blond curls and vacant blue eyes. “…Ah. So.”

Cass’s fork twirls in the general direction of their new baby brother. Several other people in line at the braziers also look over to where she’s pointing, glance obviously back towards the two of them, leaning close, and then pretend to look away while very clearly straining to hear. What a place, Camp Half-Blood.

“We gotta fix that.”

Lee grunts. She’s right — rarely does he ever see a kid Will’s age so blasé and sad about camp for so long.

But.

The circumstances.

“We already talked to Luke, Cass.”

She waves a hand. Her fork very nearly misses his eye. Lee would like, for once, if she could maybe use perhaps one ounce of her prophetic abilities to be less of a klutz. “Eh, Luke doesn’t know everything. There’s gotta be something he didn’t try, something Will likes. I mean, I think I saw the barest little hint of a smile when Diana was cussing Michael out yesterday.”

“Achlys would smile at that,” Lee argues. “I mean, come on. He got flamed. It was embarrassing.”

“Fair, fair.”

Lee looks back at Will. He still sits at the edge of the Apollo picnic table, chin on the worn-smooth wood, poking vaguely at the food Diana got for him. There’s a decent spread — some of the roast chicken, some of the lemon potatoes, probably more vegetables than any eight year old would be willing to eat, but it’s not like they would know. Will barely eats anything. If it weren’t for the Twizzlers that keep disappearing from Lee’s stash under the floorboards, he would’ve stuck the kid on an IV already. It’s been weeks.

“We could maybe try the weapons rounds again,” Cass murmurs. “I know Luke did it on intake, but maybe —”

She glances over, peeking through the edge of her hair, and cuts herself off, mouth furrowing as she bites the inside of her cheek. The son of Hermes in question leans on one of his younger siblings, grinning as they shriek and complain, laughing as another kid empties out what looks like the entire camp stash of cutlery from her pockets. Lee’s not dumb — he saw the difference, too. There’s no demigod more kind and welcoming and determined than Luke Castellan, Lee knows it, Lee’s experienced it, but —

When Will came up Half-Blood Hill, he was sobbing. He scratched four other demigods trying to squirm his way back to where his mother was running back to her car, shoulders heaving with her own cries, face-tear streaked and laden with guilt as she watched him go. When Will was dragged to the Big House, he was there ‘til nightfall. When Will was placed, as all are, in Hermes, he didn’t leave the cabin for days.

Camp doesn’t usually see that. Luke doesn’t usually see that. And as much as the guy has seen everything, there’s nothing he can handle less than a demigod who desperately wants to go home.

It’s not something anyone brings up.

“We’ll give it a go after dinner,” Lee agrees.

It’s not a lot, but it’s better than nothing. It might help to get a tour of what Camp offers by someone a little more…qualified. Or enthusiastic, rather. Will’s eight, after all. What kind of eight-year-old doesn’t want to swing a real sword at a training dummy? Or, hell, at another eight-year-old? Not that there are many other eight-year-olds at camp this lovely April, but Annabeth is like…ten. Lee thinks. Eleven? Something like that. Maybe she’ll swing a sword around with the kid. She only tends to be lethal when someone is doubting her. She’ll probably be very lenient on someone who is just learning.

Well.

Like, one would hope.

Whatever. It’ll sort itself out.

He repeats it to himself as he sits down, plastering a wide smile on his face and meeting Will’s eyes. Will stares back, eyes big and dead, but Lee refuses to look away first, to look down. Eventually Will return his gaze to the brown mush he’s made out of his plate.

“Hi,” he hedges.

“Hey, kiddo.”

Will hums. From beside him, Diana sighs — that is the extent of what they usually get. A little more, actually. The hi was slightly more animated than usual. More like a single two-by-four than a rotting corpse, in terms of spirited greetings.

If Lee is anything, though, it’s annoying and persistent. It’s actually what led to his getting claimed last winter.

“You get something to drink?”

Will shrugs. Lee glances into his cup to see that he has not, in fact, gotten anything to drink.

“They’re enchanted, you know.” He taps his own cup. “Anything you ask for, you get. I get Green Apple Kool-Aid.”

“‘Cus you’re a freak,” Michael mutters. Lee shoves him off the table.

Will scrunches his nose. “…Enchanted cups?”

The look he levels in Lee’s direction is equivalent, he imagines, to the look the jury gave OJ Simpson on his first foray of the witness stand, but the allure of discontinued novelty drinks must be stronger than his suspicion, because he tilts his cup closer to him, thinks for a minute, and then says, “Coke.”

All three of them hold their breath. Even Michael, who is recovering from his recent trip to the ground. The cup slowly fills with sparkling amber liquid.

Will frowns.

“Hey,” he says, something akin to a pout taking over his face, “I asked for coke.”

The drink stops fizzing. It, too, seems to regard the young boy in confusion.

“That would indeed be Coke,” Diana says eventually.

Will scowls. (It is, probably unfortunately for him, a little bit adorable, because his cheeks are very pudgy and he has quite a lot of freckles and his whole face seems to scrunch with the movement. Like a baby hippo. Lee tries really very hard not to smile but it’s something of a losing battle, he thinks.)

“It gave me cola!”

Lee looks at Cass. Cass looks at Lee. Cass looks at Michael, then, and Lee looks at Diana, and they all kind of look at each other and envision the words what the fuck floating between them in wavy comic sans.

“That would be the case,” tries Michael. Lee can see that he tries very hard not to tack ‘you dumbass’ on the end there. Lee pats him on the shoulder in recognition for his efforts.

“I asked for coke!”

“Okay, let’s maybe back up a bit,” Cass thankfully says, before Lee can utter his very eloquent ‘huh’. “What are you asking for, hun?”

“Coke!”

“No, I — I, uh, I got that part.” She purses her lips very thoughtfully. “Are you thinking of, maybe, Diet Coke?”

“No! Regular orange coke!”

“Okay,” mutters Diana. “Okay, awesome, I love it when everything makes sense.”

“Orange coke!” insists Will again. And, like, yeah, they brought this on themselves. When Lee scraped off a portion of his food and prayed for more emotion from Will, he did not specify. He was under the unfortunate misconception that his father loved him and was not a sociopathic genie. That’s on him. But still. “The fruity one! With the orange lid an’ the F on the bottle an’ not the one with no bubbles! The coke one!”

“Are you thinking maybe of Fanta?” Cass says, finally. She makes a weird shape with her fingers. “Odd bottle shape? Neon?”

“Yes!” exclaims Will, visibly relieved. “The orange coke! The good one!”

The cup quickly ripples and changes into a liquid the approximate colour of their shirts, only harder to look at. Will narrows his eyes, drags it over, dips his tongue into it, and then lights up, chugging it down with the zeal and zest Aphrodite kids do cranberry juice.

“One thing they got right up here,” he says happily, wiping the sticky moustache off his top lip. He, for the first time, looks a little less like there is a giant aching hole in the centre of him.

All at once, Lee remembers the one time his mother took him with her to one of her conferences, deep down in Arkansas. They stopped for Wendy’s on the drive. Lee requested Coke. The cashier asked ‘what kind’. Lee stared blankly at her for a total of at least seventeen solid seconds before replying ‘uh, the…Coke…kind?’ and received a large disappointing cup of Sprite.

“Oh my gods,” he says. He now knows, he feels, at least an approximation of the shock Phaethon felt that one time. “You’re Texan.”

None of his siblings share in the euphoria of this realization. This eureka moment, really. Least of all Will, who seems to be wondering if he can, perhaps, put in a request to be claimed by another god with smarter children.

“Lee,” says Cass gently, “have you gotten dumber?”

“No, no, he’s Texan,” Lee repeats. “They’re like. They say weird shit down there.” He gestures at Will, who is rapidly shifting from bewildered to offended. Lee would feel bad if it wasn’t a little bit funny. “Coke means pop. Fixin’ means intending. Might could — actually, I’m not sure what might could means, and at this point I’m too afraid to ask.”

“It means might could!” Will cries. He throws his hands up in exasperation which would be better conveyed where his hands not still pudgy enough to have the little indents on the knuckles. Lee melts to the actual floor. “That’s like askin’ — askin’ what ‘the’ means! It means ‘the’!”

“Oh my gods,” breathes Diana, hand pressed to her mouth. “Oh my gods, he’s adorable.”

“What does ‘might could’ mean, he says! Nex’ thing I’mma hear’s gonna be some stupid Yank quest’n ‘bout y’all, I bet —”

There is a thump as Michael slides right off the bench. This time, Lee doesn’t even need to push him.

“Yank,” he wheezes, from the floor. There are real tears in his eyes. “You’re my favourite, kid, holy fuck —”

Will stomps his little foot. It’s so — tiny. Bite sized. The lights in the sole twinkle like crazy. He’s got Princess Leia on the heels.

Lee is going to melt into goo.

“Who authorized him to be this goddamn cute,” Lee whisper-yells. “Like, genuinely. Look at him.

“Believe me, I’m looking,” Cass says, smiling softly. She knocks their shoulders together, snorting as Will chokes on his own indignity, hollering something about and there’s no such thing as healthy brisket! how about that! til’ his freckly face glows.

“Oh, wait, shit, that’s real,” Lee says. “That’s — yo, he’s actually bioluminescing. Are you seeing this? I am seeing this.”

“Didn’t know that was something we could do,” Diana comments. She grabs her cup, empties it into Michael’s (making a truly — truly — rank concoction of milk and Mountain Dew, Lee physically recoils) and stares at it until it refills.

“Hey, Glowstick.”

Will freezes. The most affronted look Lee has ever seen on a child scrunches his squishy face. Cass coos. Michael starts cackling again.

“Who are you talking to,” Will demands, scowling.

Diana looks at him. She raises her eyebrows.

“You tell me, Johnny Storm.”

“That’s a — that’s a bad reference!”

“Just — here.” Diana slides over the cup before Will can get started again. “Here’s your coke, kid.”

Will squints at the cup for several seconds. Diana holds it out dutifully. Well, for a dutiful seven seconds before her arm gets tired, then she sets it down and moves her hand away.

“Mama says I’m not allowed two cokes in a row,” he says finally.

Lee glances over at Cass. She grimaces back.

Here we go.

Diana just blinks.

“What does your Mama say about throwing stones at people named Clarisse from the roof of the Big House?”

“She never mentioned.”

“Well, we’re allowed to do that here. The rules say you can have two cokes, too, if you want.”

Will screws up his face. He gnaws on his bottom lip. Lee holds his breath.

Finally, he takes the tiniest of little sips.

“I guess two cokes is kind of nice,” he says.

Lee smiles. He reaches over, paying close attention in case Will’s a biter — you never know at Camp Half-Blood — and ruffles the kid’s frizzy curls.

“Some good things about camp, huh?”

Will huffs. “It’s still not great.” He sets his cup down. His soda moustache sits at a firm handlebar. Cass muffles a snort in her hands. “But not bad for a bunch of Yanks.”

Lee decides that he will take that. A stubborn, sarcastic Will is better than a miserable one. They got time. They’ll get there.

Plus, when Michael takes a mindless sip of his Surprise Concoction and sprays it all over Diana’s face, hacking and cussing up a storm, Will even smiles.

Yeah. They might even get there soon.

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

”s3 filming begins in july” ok so im clawing at the walls and biting my mattress

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