#Octavian HoO | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kikiiidym · 1 day ago

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heyyy i really like your writing, and i wanted to know if you could do one of the pjo & hoo boys with a curly haired reader? like a reader with long, curly hair like merida's one (fem!reader, pls) and could you add nico??

PJO/HOO reacting to you asking them to define your curls

Percy Jackson :

You groaned dramatically as you sat down with your detangling brush and three different curl products. “I can’t do it tonight. My arms are made of seaweed.” Percy poked his head into the room like a curious dog. “You okay?” You looked up at him. “Will you help me do my hair?”

Cue confused Seaweed Brain noises.

He blinked. “Uh… define? Like, in a dictionary? Wait—OH, hair. Got it.” “Define my curls,” you clarified. “It’s a thing.”

Percy stood there like you just handed him a loaded celestial bronze brush. “...Babe, I fight monsters. I control the ocean. This feels like a harder quest.” To his credit, Percy actually listens. He tries his absolute best. He rakes the product through way too fast at first (like he’s sword-fighting your hair), but you guide him through the rhythm: water, product, rake, scrunch.

Eventually, he gets into it. At one point he pauses and goes, “Wait. Is this what Aphrodite kids do for fun? Because I kinda get it now.” “You’re gonna look like a goddess. Well—you already do. But now you’ll be a well-moisturized one.”

He squishes a curl, watches it bounce back, and grins like it’s the coolest thing he’s ever seen.

Haircare Skill: 6/10 (Great learner. Needs to slow down, and stop scrunching like he’s putting out a fire.)

Grover Underwood :

“Oh, yes! Of course! Nature blessed you with curls—it would be an honor to help.”

Grover is full of awe when it comes to your hair. He calls it “earth’s crown” and treats it with the same reverence he gives wildflowers and acorns.

How he helps: He uses way too much product, especially the “natural” ones. Your curls smell like eucalyptus and lemongrass for a week. But his fingers are soft and warm, and he sings little woodland songs while he works.

Sometimes he talks to your curls: “You’re doing great. Just relax and bloom, little spiral.”

Moment: “Curls are like vines. You don’t force them—you guide them.”

Haircare Skill: 6/10 (So much love. So much rosemary-scented chaos.)

Connor Stoll :

“Babe. My time has come.”

You had just flopped onto your bunk like a weary Greek goddess after war—except instead of a sword, your weapon had been a wide-tooth comb, and you’d lost.

You groaned, head hanging off the edge of the mattress. “I can’t do it tonight. The curl routine. The steps. The arm workout. I have no will to live.”

Connor peeked in from the doorway with a mischievous grin. “You calling for backup?”

You lifted a hand like a damsel in distress. “Please. I beg of you.”

His eyes widened, hand on his chest. “You… you want me to do your hair? Like, actually?” “Please. I trust you.” He gasped. “You trust me with the curls? Babe. This is a sacred honor.”

Then he dropped his voice an octave. “Activate… Curl Daddy 3000™.”

How he helps: It starts off ridiculous. He makes a grand show of inspecting your products like he’s a curly-haired sommelier. “Ah yes, this one has notes of coconut, regret, and post-shower desperation.” You slap his arm, laughing. “Just do it!”

Then something terrifying happens: he gets serious. Like, almost too serious.

He rakes through your curls gently, muttering to himself like a man on a mission. “Water first. Then product. No raking on dry hair, Stoll. You got this.” At some point, he pauses and goes, “These are type 3b spirals, right? Mid-density? High porosity? You need extra hydration.”

You stared at him like he’d just recited the Iliad backwards. “How do you know that?” He winked. “Let’s just say I’ve seen a few TikToks. For research purposes.” “Research?” “You’re hot. And I like watching people do satisfying hair videos, okay?”

He sections your hair like a pro, uses a misting bottle to rehydrate as he goes, and squishes your curls like he’s testing the bounce on Olympic trampolines. He even sings a dramatic fake theme song while he works: 🎶 Curl Daddy 3000, here to slay / detangling demons all the way 🎶

Every so often, he pauses just to admire your curls like they’re magical. “People fear the curls. But I respect the curls.”

Moment: When he finishes, he steps back and puts his hands on his hips like an artist admiring their masterpiece. “Oh yeah. She’s got volume. She’s got bounce. She’s got hold. She's got face. She's got body. Look out world.”

You glance in the mirror. Defined. Moisturized. Practically red carpet ready.

“I think you did it better than I do it,” you murmur.

He shrugs, smug. “I contain multitudes.”

Then he kisses the top of your head. “Next time you’re tired, you don’t even have to ask. Your curls are safe with me.”

Haircare Skill: 100/10 (A student of the internet, master of chaos, and shockingly gentle. Would 100% start a prank haircare channel. You’d be the model. He’d be the chaos.)

Luke Castellan :

“You want me to help you with your hair? You trust me that much?”

You sat on the edge of his bed, curls dripping onto a towel, shoulders drooping. It had been a long day—training, stress, the usual existential dread—and your arms simply refused to lift again.

Luke looked up from his book and closed it instantly. “Of course. Sit down, sweetheart.”

How he helps: He moves like he’s holding something sacred. You hand him the leave-in, the curl cream, the oil—he studies each label like it’s a prophecy.

“I don’t want to mess it up,” he murmurs.

“You won’t.”

He sits behind you and runs his fingers through each section slowly. Carefully. He doesn’t rush. You can feel how focused he is, like your hair is a language he’s learning one curl at a time.

He pauses sometimes just to kiss your shoulder. To tuck a damp curl behind your ear. To exhale softly.

“I didn’t have a lot of softness growing up,” he admits quietly. “But this? Taking care of you like this? It’s the kind of softness I want to keep.”

Moment: “I never thought I’d have something this soft in my life—this peaceful.”

You lean back against him and close your eyes, the scent of your curl cream mixing with the faint warmth of his hands.

“You’re good at this,” you whisper.

“I’m good at you,” he answers, and scrunches a curl with reverence.

Haircare Skill: 8/10 (Not perfect, but everything he touches turns into devotion. The curls come out lovely—and so does your heart.)

Travis Stoll :

“Wait—you’re letting me touch your curls? Babe, you trust me that much? I’m honored. I feel like I just got knighted.”

You were halfway through your post-shower routine, your curls wet and clumping without definition, and your arms were done. You called for him, half-jokingly. “Travis, come do my hair before I shave it all off.”

He peeked in like a raccoon, wide-eyed and immediately hyped. “Ohhh, you want the full Stoll Special?”

“No chaos,” you warned.

He held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

How he helps: It starts silly, of course. He makes a little crown out of your microfiber towel. Tries to name each curl section like “The Royal Court of Spiral-Land.” But when you hand him the leave-in, he buckles down.

He gets weirdly focused. Like, tongue-sticking-out-while-sectioning kind of focused. He rakes through your hair carefully, occasionally mumbling, “This is so satisfying…” while watching your curls bounce back.

You catch him twirling a few around his finger like he's braiding ivy. “Look, I made a heart curl!”

“You’re supposed to be defining them, not flirting with them.”

“They’re an extension of you. I can’t help it.”

Moment: He finishes by scrunching gently and sitting back with this proud, goofy smile. “If loving your curls is wrong… I don’t wanna be right.”

You peek in the mirror. Defined. Bouncy. Surprisingly even.

“Holy crap,” you say. “You actually did it.”

He smirks. “Told you. Curl whisperer.”

Haircare Skill: 6.5/10 (Solid execution. Loses points for getting distracted halfway through and briefly trying to make a TikTok about it.)

Will Solace :

“YES. Absolutely. Sit. Sit down, goddess. This is my battlefield now.”

You barely got the question out before Will rolled up his sleeves like a seasoned pro. “Do you want the lightweight curl cream or the medium-hold? And I brought a wide-tooth comb. Just in case.”

How he helps: Will treats your hair like a sacred healing ritual. He detangles your curls gently while humming, uses the perfect ratio of water to product, and actually sectioned your hair before you even asked.

He even diffuses with a hairdryer on low heat. On low. Respectful king.

Moment: “Do you know how soothing this is? I think I’m healing myself just doing this.”

He kisses your forehead, then adjusts a coil that fell out of place. “You’re perfect. Let me help you feel that way, too.”

Haircare Skill: 10/10 (Hair god. Probably has a Pinterest board for curl types. Would run a self-care workshop.)

Nico Di Angelo :

“You want me to… touch your hair?”

He said it like you just asked him to handle radioactive material. The idea both terrifies and intrigues him.

You were lying on his bed in the Hades cabin, too tired to even reach for the curl cream. “Please, I’m exhausted.”

His cheeks flush. “What if I mess it up?” You smile. “I trust you.”

How he helps: Nico becomes eerily focused. He kneels behind you and carefully separates each curl like he's defusing a bomb. His fingers are cold but gentle, and he asks before doing every step. He even mutters little “sorrys” every time he accidentally tugs too hard.

By the end, he’s still not sure he did it right—but your hair looks great.

Moment: “These curls… they’re kind of like you. Wild. Untouchable. Beautiful.”

Then, in a whisper only you can hear: “And I would never change a single thing about them.”

Haircare Skill: 7/10 (Surprisingly careful and follows instructions to the letter. Afraid of leave-in conditioner like it’s a spirit from the Underworld.)

Jason Grace :

“I… don’t know how to do that. But I can learn.”

Jason takes your hair as seriously as he takes being a Praetor. He gets mentally prepared, asks for a step-by-step rundown, and salutes the conditioner bottle like a soldier reporting for duty.

How he helps: He’s gentle, very methodical, and so respectful. But he mixes up the products once and tries to apply mousse with gloves for “hygiene.” You have to stop him from overthinking it.

Still, his focus and care make the whole experience feel like a soft, golden dream.

Moment: “I’m starting to understand why you look so tired after wash day… this is a whole workout. You’re a hero just for dealing with this every week.”

Haircare Skill: 6.5/10 (He does well! Just needs to relax. He’s treating each curl like a Senate bill.)

Frank Zhang :

Reaction: “You want… me to help? Are you sure? I’ve never… I might mess it up…”

Frank is so nervous at first, like he’s afraid your curls will turn into snakes if he touches them wrong.

You reassure him, and he kneels behind you with the careful gentleness of a knight polishing his lady’s armor.

How he helps: He asks for approval after every step. “Is this okay?” “Too rough?” “Too much product?” It’s endearing, and honestly, he ends up doing really well.

Every so often he just stares at your curls and mumbles something like, “Whoa... they’re so pretty up close.”

Moment: “This is like… art. Your hair’s like a painting, and I don’t wanna mess it up.”

Haircare Skill: 8/10 (Tender baby bear. Only flaw is over-worrying. But you’ll feel so loved.)

Leo Valdez :

“I GOT THIS! I watched a YouTube video once. Wait, where’s the diffuser? Is that the one that looks like a UFO or…?”

You ask for help and Leo immediately turns it into a science project. He’s hyped. Possibly too hyped.

How he helps: Leo’s method is… chaotic good. He puts too much leave-in conditioner on one side of your head, then forgets to use gel on the other. But he talks to your curls like they’re sentient:

“Behave. Be bouncy. Don’t embarrass me in front of my hot girlfriend.”

He ends up with curl cream on his nose and some in his eyebrows. But you’re laughing the whole time.

Moment: “Curly girl method? Pfft. More like curly genius method—wait, is it supposed to be this crunchy?”

Haircare Skill: -4/10 (Fails scientifically. Passes emotionally. 10/10 would let him do it again just to watch him talk to your curls.)

Octavian :

You were exhausted, flopped dramatically on a Roman lounge couch, your detangling brush abandoned beside you. “I don’t have the energy, Octavian. Please. Help me or bury me in a toga.”

He glanced up from his scroll like you’d offered him a rare relic. “You want me to tame the storm of your curls?”

You nodded pitifully.

He placed his scroll down, stood up slowly, and rolled his sleeves like a priest before a sacrifice. “Bring me your finest tools. This will be my masterpiece.”

How he helps: Octavian treats this like a ritual. He doesn’t just section—he maps your head like a Roman general planning a siege. Each product is applied with precision. He scoffs at store-brand gel and pulls a jar from his own stash. “From the Venus cabin. Only the best.”

He says things like “This curl clumps like a Senate faction. We must break it apart to restore order.”

And he loves scrunching. He treats your hair like he’s sculpting a statue. Gentle but with deep control. Like he thinks your curls represent the fall of Rome and the rise of natural glory.

Moment: “If Rome had statues of women with curls like yours, maybe it wouldn’t have fallen.”

You blink at your reflection—defined, shiny, coiled to perfection—and can’t even argue.

“Octavian?”

“Yes, my darling?”

“…You’re terrifyingly good at this.”

He bows. “I accept your worship.”

Haircare Skill: 9/10 (Meticulous. Dramatic. Smells faintly of lavender and tyranny.)

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kikiiidym · 4 days ago

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hiii!!! I couldn’t find a rules post for your blog so if this is anything you don’t wanna do or just don’t feel like writing please ignore it! But if not could you do pjo boys headcannons with a transmasc!reader? Also, I just have to say I love your works so much! I really enjoy how you write the characters :)

How PJO/HOO boys would react if they found out someone was being transphobic

Percy Jackson :

He got really damn mad. Like next level, “Poseidon might want to hold me back” kind of mad.

You told him after dinner, voice small, eyes flicking down to your plate. You thought maybe he’d just try to cheer you up.

Instead?

Percy’s chair scraped back like thunder cracking.

“They said what?” His fists slammed the table. “Who the hell—who—would have the audacity—?”

He looked like a storm was building behind his eyes. He stood up like he was ready to go find someone right that second.

“Percy—” you tried, but he pointed at the ground. “No. No, you don’t just say that like it’s okay. You’re telling me someone mocked you, the person I love, for being exactly who you are?”

He crouched in front of you, voice softer but trembling. “You are real. You are valid. And you are more badass than any sea monster I’ve fought.”

Then he kissed your knuckles and muttered, “Swear to the gods, if they say anything again, they’re getting a one-way trip to Tartarus Lite.” (Someone found their whole cabin flooded next day.)

Grover Underwood :

Grover’s reaction was… different. He just started crying.

“They hurt you?” His bottom lip quivered. “They really—how could anyone be so cruel?”

You tried to reassure him, but he took your hands and looked right into your eyes.

“You are valid. You are sacred to the wild. You’re part of the balance, the beauty, the song of things.”

Then he added through clenched teeth: “I know several dryads who’d love to help me ‘accidentally’ trap them in vines.”

He blinked. “Also, maybe I slipped a truthroot into their tea. Oops.”

Connor Stoll :

Connor? Oh, he got mad as hell. But the smile? Still there. That dangerous little “Oh so we're being assholes now, I’m about to wreck someone” smirk.

“They bullied you? For that?”

He put an arm around you, kissed your cheek, and said, “Don’t even worry, babe. They messed with the wrong cabin.”

You blinked. “Connor, don’t do anything crazy—”

“Oh, I’m not.” He winked. “But their armor? Might smell like skunk for the rest of the week. And their socks? Vanished.”

He leaned in, nose brushing yours. “But seriously, I don’t care who they think you are. I know who you really are. And I think that’s amazing.”

Travis Stoll :

Travis looked like he was about to flip a table.

“They mocked you? Oh, it’s over for them.”

“Travis—”

“Nope. No talking me out of this. You’re my boyfriend. You’re real. You’re brave as hell. And I will be rearranging their bunk beds so they collapse at 3 AM.”

He got serious for a second, pulling you close.

“Hey. You don’t ever need to change for them. You’re already everything I want.”

Then he winked. “Now go nap. I’ve got mayhem to plan.”

Luke Castellan :

Luke got dangerously quiet—the kind of quiet that only comes from someone who’s fought monsters his whole life and just discovered a new kind worth slaying.

You told him at the campfire, trying to pass it off like a joke. “It’s fine,” you said with a shrug, “just some dumb comments. People suck.”

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t blink.

“They bullied you?” he said slowly, the words sounding like knives being drawn.

You tried to downplay it, but he stood up like a switch had flipped.

“Who was it? Tell me. Right now.”

There was something terrifying about how calm he looked. Like a man who’d burned the world once and wouldn’t hesitate to burn a smaller piece of it again.

“I thought I’d seen the worst people could do,” he muttered. “But they mocked you? Just for being you?”

He sat back down, pulling you into his lap without asking. One hand on your lower back, the other gently brushing your cheek.

“Listen to me,” he said, voice low. “You are everything they wish they had the guts to be. You know who you are. You live it out loud. That scares them.”

His tone turned hard again. “If I hear even one more word from them—just one—I will remind them that I may not be Kronos’s vessel anymore, but I’m still a damn force.”

Then he softened, just for you. “But more importantly? You’re safe with me. And loved. So loved.”

That night, the bullies found their gear rearranged to spell “cowards” across their cabin floor.

No one ever said a word about it. But they never messed with you again.

Will Solace :

Will? Freaked out quietly at first. He was calm on the outside—but he was one more insult away from going full wrath-of-Apollo.

You told him after he noticed you acting off during breakfast. You thought he’d be disappointed.

He was not.

Will’s whole demeanor went icy.

“They bullied you for that? For being yourself?”

His jaw clenched so hard it looked painful. “That is unacceptable. I’m going to report it. I don’t care if they’re Jupiter or Greek, child of a war god or whatever—they’re getting dropped from every rotation.”

He softened when he saw your expression falter. “Hey—no. Don’t you dare think this is your fault. I see you. All of you. And I love you for exactly who you are.”

He kissed your forehead and added with a smirk, “Also, I may or may not ask Apollo to give them the worst rash known to demigod kind.”

Nico Di Angelo :

Nico didn’t just get mad—he got deathly still.

You told him one evening while sitting under the stars. You didn’t even want revenge. You just wanted someone to know.

His expression went blank. That terrifying, undead kind of blank.

“They said that... to you?”

You nodded.

The shadows at his feet rippled. The temperature around you dropped. You reached out and took his hand before he did something, because oh, he was going to.

“I want names,” he said, voice low. “Because I’ve brought down worse for less.”

“Nico—”

“No, listen.” His tone cracked open just slightly. “I know what it’s like. Feeling like you don’t fit anywhere. Like who you are is wrong just because it makes others uncomfortable.”

He took a shaky breath, his hand now gripping yours tightly. “But it’s not. You’re not. You’re you—and I love you. Which means they better keep your name out of their mouths, or they’ll find themselves alone in the dark.”

You never saw the bullies again. No one asked questions.

Jason Grace :

Jason didn’t yell. He didn’t swear. But he looked like he could crush marble with his bare hands.

“They said what?”

His fingers gripped the back of a chair so tightly the wood creaked. You told him the story, trying to downplay it. He was not having it.

Jason took a deep breath, trying to ground himself in his training—but his knuckles were white.

“They think they can shame you? The bravest person I know? I don’t think so.”

He took your face in his hands, thumbs gently tracing your cheeks.

“I know what it’s like to feel like you’re two people. I had to be perfect. But you—you’re true. You’ve chosen yourself over fear. And I won’t let anyone take that from you.”

Then he kissed your temple. “Also, I’ve written a formal complaint to Camp Jupiter’s senate. They’ll be scrubbing centurion bathrooms by tomorrow.”

Frank Zhang :

Frank got quiet. Really quiet.

He just stared at you, jaw tight, eyes wide and kind of… haunted. Like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

You said, “It’s fine, really, I—”

“It’s not fine.”

His voice was shaking.

“They bullied you? Just for being yourself?” He stood up suddenly and paced. “I swear, I’ll—”

You touched his arm. “I don’t want revenge.”

He nodded, slowly. “Okay. Okay. But I do want you to know this: you’re everything. Strong. Brave. And more of a man than any of them will ever be.”

He hugged you so tightly it nearly lifted you off the ground. Then, with a growl: “But just so you know... if they try again, I’m shifting into something with claws.”

Leo Valdez :

Leo went silent—which, for Leo? Terrifying.

“Wait. Someone said that about you?”

He blinked once, twice—and then stood up, grabbing his toolbelt.

“Leo—?”

“Just grabbing a few things,” he said, too calmly. “Nothing big. Maybe a little mechanical justice. Y’know. Hypothetically.”

Then his voice cracked, and he turned back, eyes darker than usual. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Because I didn’t want to cause—”

“No. Babe. You matter. Your identity isn’t ‘drama.’ It’s you. It’s real.” He stepped close and put his forehead against yours. “You’ve been through hell just to exist. You think I’m gonna let some punk erase that?”

He grinned again—but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll keep it classy. Just a little public humiliation. With sparkles.”

Octavian :

Octavian smiled.

But not in a good way.

“Interesting,” he said, folding his hands. “Someone thinks they can speak against my partner? In Camp Jupiter?”

You tried to explain you didn’t want trouble. He stood up slowly, like a statue coming to life.

“They will be humbled. Publicly.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Octavian—”

“You,” he said, gently brushing a hand through your hair, “are the most important thing I’ve ever had. And no one—no one—will question your right to exist without consequence.”

The next morning, a camp-wide bulletin appeared: “New Camp Policy: Zero Tolerance For Identity-Based Harassment. Violators will be transferred. Or cursed.”

And Octavian? Didn’t stop smiling for a week.

Hello! Sorry for not writing any rules; I don't really have any right now. Thanks for requesting this, too. I've never written about trans people, and this has opened my mind (sorry if my English isn't good or if it sounded offensive).

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