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icepopstar5105us · 2 days

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Ok so

There is this trope about ghosts not reaching maturity until they've been ghosts for several centuries

There is ALSO the trope that ghosts fight as a sort of way to communicate

With the power of these two tropes combined-- I give you this strange headcanon:

Ghosts become mature adult ghosts after 500 years.

Danny and his usual troublemakers are all in the same "daycare".

He's just the youngest + most unique ghost so they like playing around with him the most. In other words, it's the ghost version of older siblings ordering their younger siblings around

As far as ghosts go,

There are blobs, ghost animals, shades (those are ghosts as we know it) and ghosts (aka Infinite Realms Beings) etc etc

The blobs and etc are, well, blobs and etc

But ghosts need a while to fully grow up and be considered adult

And so, if these ghosts are children, they need guardians or caretakers at the daycare right?

Correct

Baby ghosts are under the care of the nearest authority (Ancient or Leader or etc etc)

Except baby ghosts usually stay near where they were born and Danny and Co just so happen to be near Pariah Dark

Pariah Dark is asleep

But Fright Knight is there!

Except Fright Knight is also sealed

And it's one thing to wake up the ultra powerful megalomaniac tyrant kinda parent figure but not really you're supposed to have and another to drag your oldest adult sibling out of their room to touch grass

In other words, the surrounding authorities just went eh the babies can contact fright Knight if anything happens

But then Danny defeats Pariah and inherits his authority

So he technically becomes the caretaker of baby ghosts in the area while being the youngest baby ghost himself

Hence the other ancients visiting and *playing* with him to see if it's ok to leave the babies with this other baby

And since they're ghosts who don't have human guidelines or morals, decide that since he's that strong it should be fine to leave it alone

Besides he has Fright Knight! Good 'ol Frighty will definitely help out this new baby kid ghost with doing everything!

Meanwhile, Fright Knight waiting for Danny to come claim the crown and ring: ...

Cue Danny's rogues coming up to him to show him shit they accomplished

Youngblood : Phantom look at this cool baking soda volcano that spews out real lava!!

Danny: It does WHAT

Youngblood: Look!

Danny: NO

Ember: Hey Babybop wanna listen to the new song I wrote? It compels humans to start cults based on my name!

Danny: Ember, no

Ember: I think you mean Ember YES

Skulker: Ghost boy I have skinned an alien and brought you a pelt turned into a coat

Danny: ...you did WHAt

Skulker: It is nearing winter time and one must always be ready for winter time

Danny, having an existential meltdown after seeing his parents and Vlad get it on together: Desiree what the actual fuck??? Did you do????

Desiree: I merely fulfilled a wish

Johnny: Hey Phantom look we got matching tattoos to celebrate our anniversary!

Kitty: Wait what did you just say?

Johnny: uh, we got tattoos for our anniversary?

Kitty: ...our anniversary is in TWO MONTHS. THAT was for my DEATHDAY.

Johnny: ...oh shit

Danny, about to soup them both: Man, get good

Lunch Lady: Phantom have you eaten your proteins today?!

Danny: uh... Yeah?

Lunch Lady, already throwing meat at him: EAT MORE

Danny:

Box ghost: WITNESS! THE GREAT BOX MECHA!

Danny: oh come on seriously

And on the other hand,

Walker, dumping ten piles of paper in Danny's room: Phantom, here are the latest forms that need revisions

Spectra: What do you MEAN you're not allowing me to open a beauty salon in order to dig into other girls' insecurities and maintain my own beauty?! That's why it's called a beauty salon!!

Cujo and Wulf who are both the best boys and favorites, with smug faces:

Fright Knight still waiting for Danny to accept the ring and crown:

Plasmius: What the heck is this weird feeling my ghost side keeps making me feel??

Plasmius: is it... Is there perhaps a ghostly way I can adopt the little badger??

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icepopstar5105us · 2 days

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Happy 20th anniversary Space Boy

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icepopstar5105us · 2 days

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DPxDC Prompt #8

Danny was practicing shapeshifting with Amorpho when he felt the tug of a summoning and heard the distant words drifting into his mind.

Normally Danny would just ignore it. Or if it seems like this was a group that needed some sense scared into them, he'd shift into his Horror form and terrify them into never pulling this shit again. But then he heard them mention live sacrifices, and Danny just had to step in before that happened. So he let the summoning pull him on through, briefly forgetting he was shapeshifted into a... less than ideal form.

Danny lands in the circle right on top of one of the intended sacrifices, a group of people in weird outfits and, is that guy green? Irrelevant. Immediately Danny on knows something is very wrong. His powers feel muted and far away. His form suddenly feels, locked somehow.

He casts his gaze across the summoning circle and, to his horror, recognizes the binding ritual. These cultists wanted to bind and seal him in one of these mortal's bodies after they were sacrificed. But they fucked up the spell. Or maybe Danny fucked it up by coming in too soon? Irrelevant again.

What matters is the spell went sideways. Instead of locking Danny into one of the sacrifice's bodies, it locked him into his own form while pulling most of his abilities just out of reach. Now he's here. In the shape of- He's stuck as-

"Dude, is that a pigeon? Did the Ghost King, like, send you to voicemail?"

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icepopstar5105us · 15 days

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It took me a while to finish Patton's casual look art piece but here he is I am so happy the way it looks🩵🌼🌻

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icepopstar5105us · 15 days

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Will wakes up sometime around two, stumbling over to Arts & Crafts. He looks so incredibly, adorably sleepy, face creased with pillow marks and hair sticking out everywhere even worse than usual, that Nico can’t help his smile.

“Morning,” he says quietly, shifting over in the bench to make room. “Or, well, afternoon.”

“Mmfh,” Will responds. He sways on his feet, eyes still closed, so Nico has reach back and take his hand, guiding him to the seat Nico cleared for him.

“Still sleepy?”

Instead of answering, Will slumps onto his shoulder. Nico tenses for a moment, but quickly relaxes — Will is out of it. He’s a heavy weight on Nico’s side, and his breath comes out in little puffs; he’s halfway to snoring. He sets aside the clay sculpture he was making, wiping off his hands, and shifts slightly to make his shoulder more comfortable, sliding his hands in Will’s hair. After a quick glance to double check that no one’s around, he cards through the matted curls, carefully untangling the birds nest that sits currently upon his head.

“Night shift was long?”

Will groans, nuzzling deeper into Nico’s neck. Nico huffs, allowing it, turning his half-limp body so he’s practically sitting on top of him. It’s kind of a nice weight, actually. And Will is warm, slumped and half-sprawled in his lap like a freckly blanket.

“Got thrown up on three times.”

It takes Nico a second to decipher the words, mumbled as they are. His finger gets caught in a strand of Will’s hair as he winces, tugging a touch too hard. Will shivers.

“Oof.”

“Mhm. Shouldn’t complain, though. Not Cecil’s fault.” He pauses. “Well, it’s a little his fault. I told him not to mess with Billie’s garden.”

Nico smiles. “You know, it’s not the first time a Hermes kid has been poisoned for their dumbassery. You could’ve left his cabin to handle him.”

“They would do a horrible job. They might actually make him worse.”

“Yep.”

“…I can’t leave him to suffer, Neeks.”

“Hero complex,” Nico teases. “Sounds like a natural consequence to me.”

“Shhhh. I’m sleeping.”

“It’s two thirty in the afternoon, Solace.”

“Pot, kettle, et cetera.”

Nico smiles. “Only dorky people say et cetera when they’re half asleep.” He shifts, accepting that he has a lapful of head medic, now, no refunds or exchanges. It’s still, somehow, very comfortable — he feels as if he’s laying in a sun patch, under a warm, heavy blanket. Plus, Will smells like strawberries and lavender and his sandalwood shampoo. Nico could get used to it.

He does, however, subtly raise a couple skeleton to stand guard outside the gazebo — no need to get anyone gossiping. As cute as a sleepy Solace is, Nico can and will shove him to the ground the second anyone gets too close. He has a Reputation.

(He is a liar.)

“Did I miss the strawberry coffee cake this morning?”

“Yes.”

“Aw.”

Nico hums, untangling the last of his hair. Without anything for his hands to do, he slides them under Will’s hoodie, resting them in his stomach, ignoring his whining and exaggerated shiver at Nico’s ice-cold hands.

If Nico is going to function as his personal bean-bag chair, Will is going to function as his space heater. Fair’s fair.

“Saved a piece for you, though.”

He feels Will’s grin more than sees it, twisted up as they are. He feels his happy little wiggle, too, arms flailing before wrapping around Nico’s waist, thighs shifting before re-bracketing his hips.

“You’re my actual favourite.”

“Hm. I think you say that to all the boys you save you strawberry cake and let you nap on them.”

“Nah.” Will’s breathing starts to slow, body stilling as he rests his head right about Nico’s heart. He can feel his puffs of breath in his collarbone, tickling the skin under his thin t-shirt. “Just you.”

Nico flushes, more pleased than he’s willing to admit, and rests his chin on his head, watching over the strawberry fields. He checks that Will is actually asleep, and when he is, he presses a quick, darting kiss to his still-creased cheek, and smiles.

“You’re my favourite, too.”

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icepopstar5105us · 15 days

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“Sit down, Solace, you pain in the ass, I’ll get it.”

Will huffs moodily, trying in vain to continue hobbling towards the cupboards against the infirmary wall. Nico has to physically wrestle him back to his cot, which in theory should be way harder, but luckily he’s weak enough from the pain meds that once Nico manages to shove him against the cushions, he can’t get back up.

Ha. Karma.

“You can’t get it,” says the most dramatic drama queen alive, dramatically, “on account of you not know what ‘it’ is.”

Nico smiles patiently. It resembles, to the outside eye and perhaps the inner one also, the bared teeth of a grinning shark. “Tell me, then.”

“No.”

“Then tough shit for you.”

“I’m just gonna wait until you’re turned away again,” Will calls against his retreating back. Nico flips him the bird. “So this was futile, really.”

He’s stubborn, but he’s not an idiot, Nico reassures himself. Surely, the many years — formative years — he’s spent as head medic have made him smart. Surely, Mr. Nagging Nag shall heed his own advice, lest the entire camp descend upon him in swathes of shrieking, not quite righteous fury, intolerant or hypocrisy. Surely.

He hears the creak of a rickety bed, a thunk of something hitting the wooden floorboards, and a soft oof.

He closes his eyes and exhales deeply.

For fuck’s sake.

When he turns around, he sees William Andrew Solace, Best Healer in Generations, Paraded Progeny of Apollo, Also Notably Naomi Solace’s Son, That’s Kinda Sick, Isn’t It, sprawled on the floor, ridiculously long limbs outstretched, attempting to wiggle across the floor to the cupboards.

“Solace, I am going to kill you.”

“Some healer you are,” Will mutters, as if Nico is not playing healer right now purely because he is the only one in the entire camp with a half a chance of wrangling the dumbass head medic himself. He continues to wiggle.

Wrapping a hand around his uninjured ankle, Nico drags him bodily back to his cot, ignoring the shrieking.

“One day on bedrest, you dipshit. One. Day. That is all anyone is asking if you.”

“My binder!” he insists, because he is difficult. “I don’t need to sit down and do nothing, I need to run my infirmary!”

“You need to sit the fuck down and heal your body before it schedules healing for you,” Nico snaps. “For fuck’s sake, Will, does it matter to you at all that other people would like to see you safe and healthy, even if you couldn’t give a shit?”

For a glorifying moment, Will stares at him, eyes wide, face frozen. Nico meets his gaze, glaring, his own chest heaving where Will appears to have held his breath.

Then, Will bursts out laughing.

“That!” he says, wheezing. “That is what I have been trying to nail through your thick skull! Karma, you little turd!”

Mouth opening, and closing again, it’s Nico’s turn to freeze.

“Oh, gods.”

The horror in his voice is tangible. Will laughs harder.

“Oh, gods, I’m becoming you.”

He stumbles to the closest cot, sitting down quickly before he gets any dizzier than he already is. Nausea builds up his throat.

Gods, that was a direct quote.

“Not so fuckin’ easy to wrangle you clumsy shitheads, is it!”

Nico cradles his head in agony. No. No! It can’t be! He refuses to lend any credibility to Will’s mother-henning! He is obnoxious, and overbearing, and hell-bent on restricting Nico’s freedom; there is no way Nico is emulating him right now, because that would mean he has a point when he’s bossing Nico around, and — no. Cannot be.

“I told you,” Will says, smug as a godsdamn rooster in a hen house. (Oh, gods, now his stupid cowboy idioms are ringing in his head? He needs to spend less time with Will. Better yet, he should take another dip in the Lethe — willingly, this time. Anything is better than this.) “You clumsy fucks are the sole reason I am going to die from stress-induced heart failure at twenty-two, and then I am going to resurrect myself as a ghost through sheer stubborn will alone to haunt each and every one of you for eternity.”

Nico chooses to focus on the part of the sentence that he can conveniently argue with. “You don’t get to call anyone a clumsy fuck, on account of you shattering three bones in your ankle because you stomped your foot too hard when you were trying to make a point.”

“What was the point I was trying to make, again?”

Nico keeps his mouth shut.

“Something something reanimating entire dragons to scare the shit out of Cecil is going to drain you to dangerous levels of energy and make me have to drag you from the brink of death yet again something something.” He pauses. “Even if it was really funny and he nearly actually pissed himself.”

“Well, whatever,” Nico says, elegantly changing the subject. “You’re an idiot, and if you don’t let yourself heal than you’re worse than the rest of us and can never lecture us ever again. So. And I’ll rat you out, too, they’ll believe me.”

Will glares at him. Nico glares back.

“Get some rest,” Nico orders, still glaring. Will pulls a face and repeats his words back to him, mockingly.

“There’s a difference between me and the rest of you idiots,” he grumbles, petulantly ripping loose the blankets and shoving himself under them. Nico smacks his hands away, tucking them around him for him, checking his pillow, and then his forehead for good measure, just in case his stupid ass somehow gave himself a fever. Will squirms, just to make things difficult, so Nico, as acting healer in the room, has to smack him. “I can feel my limits.”

“And yet you pirouette right on over them. I think that makes you worse, actually.”

Will, son of the god of truth, has nothing to say to that.

“Stupid,” Nico says, fondly, squeezing a gentle hand in his cheek. “Sleep, okay? You can go back to being dictator of the infirmary when you’re healed.”

“Tomorrow,” he insists.

Nico rolls his eyes, smiling, and pulls his hand away. Will darts out and snatches his wrist before he goes far, eyes pleading, and Nico caves immediately. Will’s skin is warm, and smooth.

“If you’re healed by then.”

He traces his thumb across Will’s freckled cheekbone, shivering slightly as his long eyelashes tickle the tip of his fingerprint.

“Mhm.”

He’s already puffing out small, quiet snores, head lolling against Nico’s hand, body exhausted from working overtime to try and heal.

Shaking his head, Nico ducks down, pressing a kiss to the space between his eyes before pulling away. He watches him for a moment, peaceful, face smooth and un-creased, delicate cupid’s bow pink and poised, skin spattered with paintbrush freckles. Heart skipping, he can’t resist another quick peck, lingering, at the top of his nose, the middle of his cheek; again at the dip of his brow. It furrows, briefly, under his touch, before relaxing again.

“Goodnight, Will.” He brushes a knuckle over his cheek. “Thank you, you dork ass.”

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icepopstar5105us · 16 days

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Nico wakes up with a mouthful of hair.

“Are you serious.”

He sticks out his tongue, trying to get it out of his mouth without spitting on it, giving up after about four point three seconds of trying. He wriggles his arm out from where it’s pinned between his body and Will’s, flicking the last few strands off his tongue. For good measure, he kicks the first thing he can reach — his boyfriend’s thighs, go figure — in protest.

“Please, no,” Will mumbles tiredly, batting blindly under the cover until he slaps on big hand over Nico’s ankle, squeezing. “Please. I got in at three thirty last night. It’s barely seven. Please.”

Nico sighs, relaxing his muscles. Will presses a brief kiss to his shoulder in gratitude, face buried in his chest, sinking boneless into him.

“The whole knowing the time without a clock thing will never stop being weird,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to a freckled forehead. He rubs his hands over Will’s bare shoulders, digging his thumbs along the knotted muscles, and smiles as he groans, trying in vain to plaster somehow closer to Nico, practically melting into him. “Gracie keep you up all night?”

He shifts as he nods. “Harley, too. Poor things just want someone to hold their hair outta their face and rub their back, they’re so miserable.”

Nico hums in sympathy. It’s flu season — hitting the little kids, mostly. Will has been on his feet for days trying to mitigate symptoms, soothe aching bones and sore throats. There’s not too much he can do for the flu, but the kids are miserable and they trust him, so his presence is more of a cure and a comfort than anything.

“Kayla there now?”

“Austin and Lou. Kayla’s on after lunch; Piper’s with her.”

“Good.” He squeezes his shoulders again, leaning down to press a long, lingering kiss right between his eyes. He leans into it, sighing. “Sleep for a bit, okay? I’ll come check on you, but I don’t want you up before 2.”

“‘Kay,” Will sighs, unconscious again by the time Nico’s wiggled out of his hold. For a moment he stands, watching him: his bare, broad back, spattered with dark freckles and moles, dipping at the base of his spine and covered barely by the soft, white sheets; arms curled up all the way around his face in Nico’s absence, bicep squeezing his cheek, pursing his delicate Cupid’s bow; long, light eyelashes fanning over round cheeks; even, steady breathing, in and out, in and out.

Golden hair, of course, frizzy and messy and poofing out around his head; haloed in the early morning sun.

He’s barely able to tear himself away to go shower.

———

“They’re everywhere,” says Kayla in disgust, peeling a long, curly strand off her shirt. “I haven’t been in the same room as him in two days. This is a brand-new shirt. How am I still somehow covered in his hair?”

“He’s like a dog,” Austin explains. Nico snorts. “He sheds, and at first it’s subtle, here and there, you get used to it. The suddenly two years go by and people are complimenting the fur coat that was not fur before you bought it.”

Gracie sticks out her bottom lip, eyes watering. “Will is not a dog, he’s a boy!”

Austin groans, muttering something about favourites and annoying older brothers and where was this energy when I ate the last secret cabin twinkie and was accused of being a ratbag, huh, Gracie, where was my defense squad and annoying older brothers again. Gracie is unmoved by his whining, glaring at him with big green eyes — ever her oldest brother’s defender.

Nico hides a smile in his hand. No wonder, with how Will dotes on her. On all his siblings, really, but only Yan and Gracie are young enough that it doesn’t embarrass them.

Kayla and Austin, on the other hand. (At this point, Will enjoys embarrassing them in front of their friends as much as the actual doting.)

Kayla, weak to her sister’s pouting, pokes her playfully in the side. “I’m only teasing, Gracie-girl. Of course Will isn’t a dog.”

“Except the shedding, and the constant yapping, and the fact that if you don’t let him loose to run around for a while he goes batty, and of course the following Nico around like a lovesick pup—”

“Thank you, Austin,” Nico interrupts, clearing his throat. He sends a quick prayer of thanks to his father for hair genetics covering his flaming ears.

Austin snickers. “Anytime.”

After three years it’s futile, but sometimes Nico really considers rescinding his doctor’s note. Is sitting here during meals really worth his peace? Is it?

“He really does shed, though,” Kayla says after a moment of silence. She pinched yet another hair off her shirt, sighing. “Like, not to agree with Austin or anything —”

“Hey!”

“— but, like, damn. If he’s been there, you know it.”

Nico snorts. “Tell me about it. I keep finding hair on my pillows, it’s driving me insane.”

It does drive him insane. He finds it in the shower — although to his credit Will really does try to get them all there — and in his hairbrush, on his clothes, his sheets, his mattress. The floor. Once, notably, on the shrine in his cabin, after which Will had panicked and sprinted to the pavilion to scrape an entire pot roast and pray not to get smited, leaving Nico to laugh himself to tears at the base of it.

Too late, he notices the total silence at the Apollo table, the wide eyes boring holes into his head, the loose, dropped jaws.

“What?” he says, shoulders curled defensively.

As soon as the word leaves his mouth, realization dawns on him. He chokes on a grape.

“You two didn’t tell us?” Austin demands. “How long has this —” he gestures vaguely at Nico and at the infirmary, which, he assumes, is meant to represent Will — “been going on?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he wheezes. With his rapidly asphyxiating brain, he attempts to summon his boyfriend, still conked out, via sheer force of will. GET THE HELL UP AND COME RUN DAMAGE CONTROL, he screams silently.

Predictably, this does nothing.

Kayla shrieks. “Oh my gods, look at his face! They’ve been doing this forever!”

Nico bangs his hands on the table, trying at once to convey his protest and also hi, hello, children of the god of medicine, I am choking to death, fix please. Neither signal gets picked up, inhabitants of the table erupting an a screeching series of questions so loud that other campers notice, understand, and approach, equally as screechy.

“Will and Nico are together?”

“Holy shit! Since when?”

“I thought they’d never get out of the pining stage!”

“Don’t they hate each other?”

“Bro, are you stupid? Do you not know what bad flirting is?”

“Hey, is di Angelo turning purple, or is that just me?”

Throwing himself into the nearest shadow, Nico disappears.

———

“Get up, get up, I fucked up, I fucked up!”

Will shoots straight upright with a gasp, force of his own body sending him careening right over the side of the bed. He goes down in a tangled heap of cursing and yelping and ow, fuck, shit-damns.

“What happened?” he demands as soon as he’s free from his fabric prison. He rushes (stumbles) over to wear Nico is still wheezing, hands braced on his knees, for dizziness now as much as to catch his breath. “Neeks, woah, slow down for a sec. Deep breaths with me.”

He tries to follow along to Will’s exaggerated breathing, steady, long inhales and exhales. A calloused hand touches the curve of his neck, warmth blooming under it, and suddenly his airways are cleared.

“Thanks,” he manages hoarsely, breathing back somewhat under control.

Will squeezes his hand. “No problem.”

There are several pillow creases criss-crossing on his cheeks, making him look soft and sleepy, although his eyes are alert, crinkled in poorly-concealed amusement. His hair is somehow more mussed than when Nico left him this morning.

“What happened?”

“So I. Um.” Nico clears his throat. “Your bother was roasting you for shedding like a dog. I, of course, had to join —”

Will rolls his eyes, mouth twitching. “Of course.”

“— and I mentioned super casually that I get your hair all over my shit, right? And, well — well.”

“Well?” Will prods, when Nico cuts himself off. Chancing a glance, Nico finds he doesn’t look angry, or nervous, or disappointed — and of course he wouldn’t. Not for something as silly as this.

He is gonna laugh, though. Nico hates when he’s righteously clowned.

“Well, I.” He lowers his voice to a mumble. “May have said something about all of your hair that ends up on my pillows.”

For a moment it’s silent. Nico keeps his eyes trained away, although he leans into Will’s touch, his hands in his face, the side of his neck, the warmth thrown off his sleep-addled body.

He’s almost startled by the giggle.

Almost.

“…Oh, you dumbass.”

He tries very hard to look annoyed as Will cracks up. He taps his foot, crosses his arms, and tries very, very hard to frown, but Will’s laugh has always been the most musical thing about him, and he loves to serenade. And Nico is very weak to song.

“Stop laughing at me,” he snaps, without heat.

Will’s cheeks puff up from the force of him trying, face going red around the edges.

“I’m trying, Neeks, I am —”

“Not very hard.”

“I am, I am.” Valiantly, he draws in a deep breath, only breaking into giggles twice before managing to hold a somewhat straight face. “Nico,” he says, suddenly very close and very warm, “I love you.” He presses a kiss to his forehead. “And I love sneaking around with you —” the bridge of his nose — “and making out in dark closets —” his cheeks, both, quickly, one after the other — “and behind the Big House —” the base of his jaw — “and in the —”

“I get it,” Nico interrupts, flushing. He can feel the curve of Will’s smile against his skin.

“My cabin, if it’s empty,” Will murmurs, kissing the underside of his jaw, his neck. “Yours.” Slight nip of his teeth. Nico gasps.

“Will,” he whispers. His knees start to shake. “Will, c’mon, we gotta —”

Will presses a kiss square to his Adam’s apple, lingering. “We’re in yours quite a lot. I’ve gotten used to it, honestly, Neeks, I —”

The door bangs open, making both of them yelp. The matching screeches to not help the general air of panic and sitcom level foolishness.

“Oh my gods, you really are porking!”

“Get out, Kayla!” they both yell together.

“Jesus,” Will curses, forehead resting on Nico’s shoulder.

Nico bites his lip. Will shifts, turning to meet his eye.

They last two whole seconds before losing it.

“Three years of sneaking around without so much as a soul finding out,” Nico huffs as Will snickers. “Three whole years.”

Will pecks him loudly and exaggeratedly on the cheek. “And endless more in the open.”

“You’re such a goddamn cheeseball.”

“And yet you’re in deep, deep love with me.”

“…I am.” He cradles his face, pressing a kiss, finally, to his lips. Will presses back, smiling. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

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icepopstar5105us · 16 days

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“I want you to have this.”

“Will —”

“Nico,” Will interrupts, voice stern, “take it.”

He fiddles with the clasp of his watch, sliding it off and holding it between them. The Celestial bronze frame has long since worn smooth, leather straps molded to the shape of Will’s wrist after years and years of use. He can even see the indent on the side of the bottom strap, where the Ace bandage Will often fidgets with has worn a groove.

“Please.”

Nico glances up to meet Will’s wide, pleading blue eyes. They’re darker, in the setting sun; almost midnight blue. Like the Raleigh reflection that colours the sky happens somehow in the tiny rings of his irises, too.

He sighs, holding out his wrist. Will’s expression melts into something almost relieved, corners of his lips turned up in a grateful smile. He wraps his warm hands around Nico’s forearm and fingertips, flipping over his arm, and presses the cool watch face the the middle of his wrist, buckling up the straps. Nico’s wrists are thinner than Will’s, and the worn-wide hole third down from the tip of the strap is skipped for the long-forgotten fifth. The watch fits comfortably and snugly, light enough that Nico almost — almost — forgets it’s there.

“It’s nothing like Percy’s,” he says quietly. His hands linger on the skin of Nico’s forearm, blunt fingernails picking at the watch’s grooves. “It can’t protect you. It doesn’t have a shield or a sword or anything like that. It’s just a watch.”

Nico hums. Gently, careful not to shrug off Will’s hands, he brings the watch closer to his face, inspecting it. There are nicks and chips, as expected for a watch Will has worn longer than Nico has known him, but there’s not a flaw in sight. It even ticks, pleasantly, a sound almost musical.

“Beckendorf?”

A tiny, punched-out sigh slumps from Will’s mouth.

“Yeah.”

“I can tell.” He taps his thumb on the face. “He did good work.”

“He gave it to me when I was eight,” Will says softly. “I used to — freak out, a lot. My anxiety was a lot worse as a kid. I’d panic if someone was late to breakfast, if I woke up late and no one was in the cabin. I didn’t like not knowing when things were supposed to happen.” Will’s lips quirk up. “Set it on the table when he walked by me one day. Didn’t say a word, just mussed my hair and smiled at me like he didn’t just fix my shit better than Xanax ever could.” His smile turned wry. “I had the hugest crush on him for years.”

It startles a laugh out of Nico, the admission, imagining Will’s motormouth trailing after Beckendorf, his bemused indulgence.

“There’s no way he didn’t know, either. I am not a subtle person.”

His shoulders shake. Gods, what a sight. He’s almost sad he missed it — he’ll have to ask Clarisse or Annabeth about it. Hell, maybe even Chiron. Will even looks like he’ll allow him, wide grin on his face, red as his ears may be.

“Not a bad choice,” Nico agrees, calming down a little. The watch feels heavier, now, knowing the significance, and he looks at it, lips pursing. “You sure you want me to take it?”

Will’s hand drags down his his arm until it rests in the palm of his hands for one, two, three seconds; glancing up at Nico, glancing down, nodding to himself. He twists their fingers together, squeezing. Nico’s breath hitches.

“You know how my energy kinda — goes everywhere?”

Nico nods. Will has more healing ability than pretty much anyone the camp has seen — and the more power, the harder it is to control. He’s got a pretty good handle on it, but if you stand near enough to him while he’s healing it’s impossible not to feel the affects; the ease to your joints, soothing of your tense muscles, pleasant warmth over your skin. Nico has been healed of scrapes and bruises just by virtue of one of Will’s beaming smiles, he’s gotten so good. Nico only wishes it didn’t drain him.

“I’ve been wearing that watch over seven years,” Will says. His fingers twitch. “The bronze is magic, of course, but that leather — that leather was living, once. Beckendorf made the whole thing with his bare hands ‘cause he saw me struggling. As far as ordinary objects go —” Will shrugs helplessly. “Might as we’ll be a sponge. It’s been absorbing my magic nonstop for nearly a decade. It’s as connected to me as my eyes, my hair.”

Almost absentmindedly, his free hand reaches out for Nico’s. He curls their fingers together, meeting them in the middle, and squeezes, hard enough to ground. Will blinks back into focus.

“I can feel you wearing it,” he whispers. “Your — heartbeat, vitals. Your life force.” He brings their clasped hands close to his chest, tapping right above his heart. “Here. I can feel you.”

Nico holds his breath. “Not just ‘cause you’re close to me?”

“No. I’ve never felt it like this before. Started the second you put on that watch. Focus for a second, can you feel it?”

Closing his eyes, he tries — imagining the click of the watch, gentle and soft, and the rise and swell of Will’s breathing. It’s in his hands, at first, every place they’re clutching Will’s, but in a second he can almost feel it pound — the ka-thump, ka-thump, ka-thump of Will’s heart, right next to his. The knot of anxiety in his stomach that isn’t his. The worry, golden and protective, spilling over him in waves.

“An empathy link,” Nico breathes. He stares at Will in pure awe. “You — you made an empathy link.”

That kind of life-force magic…you have to be deeply connected to the core of basically everything to access it. Satyrs have it easy, being nature spirits. Gods spend so long grappling with time that they can manage, too.

But mortals? Even half-divine ones?

Nico has spent a lot of time with the mythical, alive and dead. He’s met theoi from pantheons forgotten to every living soul, foreign to even most of the dead. He knows his history twice over and backwards.

He’s never heard of that before.

“Holy shit, Will.”

“Just — come back to me,” Will says. He tugs on Nico’s arms and faces him head-on, eyes now almost black that the sun has set down. “Promise me, Nico. Stay safe. Stay outta trouble as much as you can. Keep your head on straight. And —” He squeezes their hands together, to hide the tremble in his fingers. “I mean it, okay? Come back to me.”

Slowly, giving him time to pull away, Nico frees his hands, sliding them up to cup Will’s face. He pulls him down, standing on his tiptoes to meet him halfway, and lingers, breath mixing, warm, in the millimeters of space between them.

“I promise,” he whispers. “I swear it, Will, I’ll come back to you. I swear it on the Styx.”

Thunder rumbles above them.

“Good.”

Will closes the tiny stretch of space separating them, and their hearts beat in tapping harmony.

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