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writer-room · 4 months

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Listen when people say they want Percy to go on a villain arc most times I see it as they want him to go dark, want him to start murdering, maiming, going full Luke, etc. And I support that. If anyone deserves to kill people it's this kid.

However, let us be realistic for a moment, because I quite like the other alternative. Villain arc Percy usually entails "he's finally had enough of the Gods bullshit & will do things his own way". Let us think on this. What would Percy most likely do in this situation? Would it really be murder right off the bat?

I think he'd be the pettiest, annoying little shit there is. And because one can't usually threaten the Gods in a way that truly matters, but they can make them sweat really hard.

This goes beyond ignoring their calls and leaving them on read. He refuses to give food offerings unless it's the nastiest shit known to man. Bribes the cyclops into hucking huge objects up Mount Olympus before they all scurry off. Finds the olive tree Athena gave to Athens, and while he wouldn't have the heart to destroy it, he'd for sure rip off a branch & mail it to her (Annabeth nearly had to put them in witness protection).

Eventually it gets to the point he has Nico on speed-dial and offers him a shit ton of fast food & a 'get out of Percy's quest bullshit free' pass if he could hop into the Underworld and yoink up some annoying spirits or dead monsters to piss off the Gods. When the Gods get pissed at him Percy just silently pulls out some safe-for-demigods phone like "hang on I wanna see how many happy meals I owe Nico for bringing Typhon back up". They know he is not bluffing.

Could the Gods counteract him? Yeah, sure, Hera gave him amnesia and it was like 90% effective for a while. However, he kind of went off the rails, everyone else went off the rails, and then they had even more Roman nonsense to deal with. If anything it both solved but also made even more problems. And a much angrier Percy. So, frankly, they're very confident it could work, but they're a little worried about what the aftermath would be.

Ares suggests just killing him. Poseidon takes offense to this. Artemis scoffs and says even Ares couldn't beat him. Everyone stops for a moment. The question is not asked verbally. But it is seen in the darting eyes and shifting seats.

Can they kill Percy Jackson?

Well, sure, they must be able to. He's a powerful kid, no doubt, with powerful allies, but they are Gods. Of course they can kill him. So that's not the real question, they wouldn't dare really entertain such a thing to ever confirm if it was true, but this is rather the layer of frosting hiding the real atrocity of a cake underneath it.

What will they lose trying to kill Percy Jackson?

What will remain standing in the face of some 18-year-old who lived one of the hardest knocks of life, loves so much it makes them sick, is so completely unaware of his own strength not even they know its full extent, and currently has absolutely zero fucks to give about the end of a reign longer than he will ever understand?

They decide to quietly shut the lid on that whole fiasco and let Percy do whatever he wants.

Unfortunately, they can't exactly ignore everyone else. And everyone else is who Percy cares about the most. So, think of it more like leaving a grenade in a locked box in the attic. Just hope and pray you've moved out before something gets curious and starts rummaging around up there.

#percy jackson #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #rick riordan #dark percy jackson #ideas #talk #text post #greek gods #annabeth chase #nico di angelo #typhon #pjo headcanon #to be entirely clear percy is still someone who did just like manipulate bob into murder #and poisoned Akhlys thru her tears fully intending to kill #among other things. hes still that person. however hes also the guy who helps leo make some weird machine #and they try to test its flight by riding it off a cliff over the lake w bamboleo by gipsy kings blasting #hes still totally that guy (under stress but i say that not as an excuse just as an 'he doesnt do it on a whim. but he still Can')#but hes also like. stupid. & u gotta get him at the right Vibe before he starts to get like Really concerningly murderous about things #usually hes the regular amount of murderous like most halfbloods are bc they deal w too much on a regular basis #i think that a percy turning 'dark' would b him looking the gods in the eye & saying 'no lol. also u suck. L + ratio.'#& then when they try to fight him on it only THEN does he while still holding eye contact begin to make the ocean levels rise #specifically targeting important places to those gods & havin his ocean buddies destroy the place #u wanna dance god boys? he will spare humanity on some rock but he Will destroy everything else #he is one-shotting monsters bc hes not dealing w this. some bs happens & he just grabs some monster by the throat & makes them spill #if that doesnt work he just walks into olympus w pandoras box 2.0 & starts to open it until the gods will talk to him. they start talkin #bs again. he slowly opens it again. they talk. he shuts it. they spew more bs. he opens it a little faster. they give in #dark percy to me is someone who doesnt DEFAULT to violence but who realized 'oh i can just do whatever i want' & found that gods react #best when its violent. he only does this w gods & monsters bc he chooses fastest route to get what he wants. but he recognizes violence Bad #so he just looks for the most receptive response. & then he abuses it relentlessly. but he also hates the gods. come stop him btch u wont

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mediumgayitalian · 1 month

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At around half past one, Nico gets a Feeling.

He gets feelings a lot. Nothing he can quantify, just something telling him that something is up, somethings wrong. Or something’s about to be. At this point, he’s learned to trust his intuition, based purely on the number of times it has saved his life; a number he’s long since given up counting. (He’s only ignored his gut feelings three times in his life: when Bianca went on her quest, when his father promised not to hurt Percy before the Titan War, and when he went looking for the Doors. He has learned his lesson.)

So when something at the bottom of his stomach tells him to get up, to check things out — he does.

He knows it could be nothing. (The last time he had a Feeling, it turned out that he had placed a book precariously on the edge of his desk, and it had been about to fall. Not exactly world-saving stuff.) But regardless, he steps out of bed, shoves his feet into his shoes, and creeps out of his cabin.

Camp is kind of beautiful at night.

There’s an eerie calmness to it without so many human disasters running about, and the quiet reflects that. All Nico can really hear is the hooting of owls in the distance, the chittering of nocturnal animals and monsters alike, the distant screeches of curfew harpies, and the pleasant crashing of the waves. The air is clean, when he inhales, and he takes the time to hold it in his lungs for a bit, imagining the sweet breath is healing his burned lungs, turning the scar tissue back to something flexible and normal. Whether or not it actually works, he doesn’t know, but it feels nice.

Under the light of the brightly shining new moon and billions of stars, he starts his patrol. Around his own cabin first — there’s nothing, as he expected, the warning doesn’t seem overwhelming like threats tend to be — and then he makes his way around the circuit, checking behind gardens and shrines and inside braziers. He hums quietly as he walks, something preppy and bright the Apollo kids have been hollering for days, and waves to Lady Hestia, sword heavy at his waist.

“Come sit,” she calls, patting the seat next to her.

Nico does.

“Haven’t seen you out at night in a while.”

He hums, toneless this time, leaning back on his hands and mirroring her gaze at the sky.

“Been sleeping, for once.”

“I’m glad.”

He smiles, knowing that she means it. He watches out of the corner of his eye as she picks up his sword, sliding it from his belt loop, and uses it to stoke the flames. She doesn’t seem afraid of it, or wary. To her it’s just a stick of metal. It’s nice.

“You have you been, my Lady?”

She pokes at the embers a few more times, scooping a few to balance at the tip of the blade for a while. It glows with the heat, and he knows he’ll have to sharpen it tomorrow, but he doesn’t mind. Maybe he can do it while Will is in the archery range. It’ll give him an excuse to be at the armoury at the same time, anyway.

“I’ve been well.” She breathes deeply, small smile pulling at her face. “It’s calmer, and more people wave to me. I like it.”

“Good.”

She dismisses him a few minutes later, sending him off with a promise to chat again soon. She doesn’t need to worry about him promising — he makes a point to sit with her at least once a week — but it’s nice to know someone wants his company, so he appreciates it. He leaves with a wave, walking towards the eastern half of the cabins.

Nothing’s amiss. He can hear campers snoring, and see the odd reading light. Malcolm catches his eye as he walks past the Athena cabin and winks, sending a cheeky salute when he sees the sword held loosely in his hands. So far, everything seems fine. He’s beginning to think the Feeling might have simply been about Lady Hestia, so he decides to do one last check around the Big House and then head back.

Of course, that’s where the issue is.

The infirmary lights are always on. They’re dimmer in the night, more of a glow than anything, but there’s an extra brightness streaming out from the windows, and when Nico peeks inside, he sees Will, standing with his back turned at the nurse’s station.

He takes a moment to check his strength, making sure he has the energy for it — dinner last night was pho and he had three bowls, he most definitely does — and sinks into the shadows by the door. He materializes back in the little alcove by the bandage & wraps cabinet, lurking silently while he blinks the dizziness away.

The first thing he registers is soft singing.

He’s facing Will, now, and can see the glow coming from his hands, enveloping a bowl of some kind. He has both hands coated in some dusky pink substance, massaging and gently pounding it against the sides of the bowl, working it through with great care. As his voice gets higher, the glow gets brighter, fading as he dips lower. He sings something about hills and meadows and the breeze, about wing-song, about the sound of flower stems bending in the wind. For a while Nico stands, listening to the melodious ancient Greek, swaying with every pitch and hold. It’s captivating.

Will is almost haunting when he heals.

There’s a divinity in him — in all of them — but he glows when he sings. Not just his hands, and sometimes his head if he puts enough power in his words, but there’s an almost shimmer to the air around him, a shining warp. His skin gets clearer, and his hair goes more metallic, almost, like spun gold rather than blonde. His freckles make his skin into an inverse replica of the night sky, dark specks surrounded by bright empty between them. His long fingers pluck through bright strands of light like a harpist strums their chords; lightly, carefully, skillfully; like a braider weaves their hair. There’s an undeniable age to his magic, a practice that’s visibly replicated millions of times over thousands of years, as if every healer who has come before him links their arms with his, breathes their strength in his lungs. Sometimes, when he does something truly unbelievable, amazingly beyond reason, he flickers — his orange camp shirt fades into a white chiton, or long robes, or a white coat, or a blue tunic. Watching him heal is like watching the sunrise — breathtaking and unique, every time, but powerful in its cyclic archaism.

It takes Nico a long time to realise Will is swaying.

Snapped out of his trance, he begins to notice Will’s long, slow blinks, the unsteady way he stands, the weight he has leaned on the counter. Even his face looks plainly exhausted under the glow, face pillow-creased and eyes bruised, hair mussed, limbs leaden. Footsteps as silent as he can manage, Nico creeps over to the schedule posted by the door, scanning through the scrawled pen ink.

He curses quietly. Will is not supposed to be awake.

There are really only three people who can work the infirmary to its fully capacity, barring Chiron. Kayla, Austin, and Will are the only ones who can magically heal, as much as the volunteers are imperative, so when the camp is in full swing one of them must be stationed at all times. That’s how Will sets it up. A bit of a waste of time, he acknowledges, but Nico knows he has memorized every time a camper who should have been saved. He carries far too much guilt to ever let it happen again, as inconvenient as his rules may be.

Night shift, though, is a need-be basis. If the infirmary is as empty as it is right now, then there truly is no need to keep one of the three of them awake outside their circadian rhythm, staring at nothing. Instead, they take shifts in the on-call room — asleep, but prepared should anything go wrong, should a monster chase a new camper at an odd hour. It’s Will’s turn for on-call. It’s two in the morning. He should be asleep.

And, yet.

Nico recognizes the look in his eyes. There’s a — frailty, to them, a deep-seated, animalistic fear, one he recognises from the hours after his own night terrors. A single-minded panic that cannot be unseated in any logical way, cannot be comforted with any gentle hands.

Nico handles his fear with slashing swords and bruised knuckles. Will, he knows, handles his fear with obsessive, endless preparation.

Knowing full well nothing is going to drag him away from his focus bar actual cardiac arrest, Nico walks right by him. Will doesn’t move. He settles behind him in the old, creaky leather office chair, curling his legs under him and resting his head on the soft arm. He watches Will, watches the almost machine-like movement to his kneading arms, and falls back asleep to his humming.

———

“…Nico?”

He wakes up warm and a little cramped, in the same position he fell asleep. Sun is streaming on from the many issues, blocked from burning his eyes by Will’s hunched frame, facing towards him now, hands and shoulders shaking with equal violence.

“What time is it?”

His voice is croaky and wrecked from hours of singing. Nico is willing to bet his throat is burned as badly as his hands, cooked from non-stop, sun-borne glowing. The divinity that had emanated from him before has abandoned him and he looks young, lost.

“Early,” Nico says softly. He unfolds himself from the chair, stretching slightly — gods, he is going to ache today — and wraps a slow, careful hand around Will’s wrists. “Probably around six, if I have to guess.”

“I don’t remember waking up.”

“That’s okay.”

“I’m tired.”

“That’s okay.”

His breathing is heavy, laboured.

“I don’t —”

Nico squeezes gently. “It’s okay, Will.”

Will swallows and says nothing.

“Come on.”

Carefully, letting Will’s stiff joints set the pace, Nico guides him out of the infirmary. The sun shines brighter as soon as he steps outside, but he doesn’t seem to notice bar a tiny, almost imperceptible flinch at the change in lighting. Nico switches from holding his wrists to laying a hand on the small of his back, half-worried he’s going to fall over.

Luckily, he makes it to the Apollo Cabin upright, although the stairs take them a while. The hinges of the old screen door creak as Nico pushes it open, and he sees both Kayla and Austin, up and dressed, jump.

“…Will?” Kayla asks softly, eyebrows creased in concern. She walks over to him when he doesn’t answer, frozen still, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”

Will leans — almost hesitantly — into the touch. The same blankness from before clouds his eyes, although this time there’s less of the fear.

“Hey.” Nico walks over to stand in front of him, waiting patiently for him to meet his eyes. In the minutes it takes, he hears Austin pad over, standing opposite to Kayla, hands clenching and unclenching like he can’t decide what to do with them. “You think you can sleep?”

Will doesn’t answer verbally, but drifts after a moment to his bed. Nico follows, helping him out of his shoes and shirt. After a beat of hesitation, Austin hurries over, turning down Will’s sheets and helping him crawl in. Soft guitar music begins to play, and when Nico looks over Kayla is fiddling with the CD player, turning the dials carefully. Without much fanfare, Will’s eyes flutter closed, and his breathing slows to something deep and even. His twitching fingers still.

“I don’t think today’s an activity day,” Nico murmurs. “I checked up on him a while after midnight; he’d been at it for hours. He didn’t stop ‘til sunrise.”

Kayla rubs harshly at her eyes. “Fuck.”

“He’ll be okay,” Austin whispers. He runs a gentle knuckle over Will’s forehead, then turns his careful, imploring gaze to Nico. “You kept an eye on him?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

Nico inclines his head. “Had a feeling.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Kayla admits. “He was —” She trails off, staring at something in the left half of the cabin — the empty half. “He was like this after the Titan War, too. I think he spoke maybe two words for the entirety of September.”

Nico almost can’t imagine it. The very thought of it makes something twinge in his chest, clench in his stomach.

“We’ll figure it out.” He nods, to convince himself as much as Kayla and Austin, who look to him with way more trust than he deserves. “We won’t let it — it won’t get that bad. We’ll help, and if we can’t figure it out we’ll get help. It won’t be as hard as last time.”

It won’t be as hard as last time because there won’t be twelve shrouds, Nico doesn’t say, but he doesn’t need to. Both Kayla and Austin nod, looking at their sleeping brother with firm resolution.

“This time, we’ll be there.”

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