#and like PLEASE interact with it

[your-local-depressed-fangirl]

Day 1 of @willsolaceweek !!!

The infirmary was quiet for the first time in years. Not a sound was heard but the not so gentle sound of Will Solace’s head thumping against the head medic desk where paperwork was always filled out as long as Will could recall. First by Lee Fletcher then by Micheal Yew. 

In truth when Micheal was head he hadn’t known a thing about healing in comparison to Lee — or even Will — but he wouldn’t let a twelve year old take over the infirmary, saying it was too much responsibility. But he did let Will help out, Micheal would let Will sit on one of his legs as he struggled to fill out reports on injured and dead campers as Will fiddled with his hands, pointed out errors, and corrected them.

But now It was Will at that desk, not Lee, not Micheal, Will. A thirteen year old in charge of the infirmary. Will was capable, yes, but it was still ridiculous and Will still struggled.

The actual work wasn’t Will’s problem, especially now that the infirmary was clear and there was only the occasional sprained ankle or camper seeking out an ice pack for a training induced bruise.

It was the silence.

The silence got to him.

It was louder than any of Micheal’s old arrows whizzing through the air. It was louder than any song Lee had ever belted around the campfire for the kids he’d take suggestions from. It was louder than any supersonic whistle Will could ever let out. It was louder then any of the late night giggles that used to fill the air of the Apollo cabin.

It ate Will up. Devoured him. Ripped him apart limb from limb.

Thud, Thud, Thud.

Will’s head went, numb to the pain — the physical pain at least.

It felt like yesterday everything was fine. 

Will could lay his head down and rest his tired eyes and open them to Lee tucking him into his bed with his glowing star stickers on the ceiling of his bunk — green and a pain because they always found a way to fall on him in the middle of the night.

Will never realized how loud the Apollo cabin — the place he had spent most of his life — was until it was empty.

Empty being relative. It wasn’t that their existence had been completely erased from the cabin — no that would be too kind of the fates. There were little pieces of them laying everywhere that Will saw particularly when he was trying not to see them.

Those little pieces of them — of Will’s family — haunted his head as he sat at the desk where the head of the infirmary always sat — a seat belonging to dead people. So many dead demigods. Not one of them being Will Solace.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Went Will’s head as hard as he can slam it. Because somehow despite him logically knowing it was hurting him, it was soothing.

Thump. Thump. Thump. 

Will welcomed the distraction like he welcomed all the responsibility of running both his cabin and the infirmary to fill his head so he couldn’t think about anything else — so he couldn’t think of his siblings. His siblings, what would they all say?

Oh right, they are all dead.

Even in a fit of despair, even as he let himself feel — because his distraction ploy was having only minimal effect — for the first time since the battle, Will was methodical, banging his head to the famous drum beat “habanera” in halftime, counting the number of times his vision blackened around the edges, and the amount of times it faded completely.

Will’s head throbbed and screamed in pain, his neck ached strongly from swinging his head up and down with every muscle exerting themselves at full capacity, and his back hunched over just so letting gravity fall down hard on every last vertebrae.

But Will didn’t stop, couldn’t stop if he wanted to, until his head actually slumped against the desk unwilling to listen to the urge to thump, thump, thump his head to the strong gloss-ily finished oak desk.

Will’s temples rested on the desk as his eyes pointed at the floor — which swam in and out of view.

Thump, thump, thump went the blood pumping through his head even though the motion had stopped.

Soon — or maybe a while later, who knows Will couldn’t perceive time quite right at the moment — the foul taste of bile came rising up Will’s throat and lingering in the back of his mouth, tingling his soft palette, before spilling out of his mouth and onto the floor along with his last meal — almost fully digested because it was who knows how long ago — before he could stop it.

It was horrid.

Will hated throwing up with a passion. The smell made his stomach flip — not in a good way. The taste made him feel filthy — made him want to rip his tongue out if only for the taste of blood to overpower the bile. The feeling made him almost find the strength to start banging his head again. The sound made him squeamish despite all the grave injuries he’d treated in his time. The sight filled him with dread knowing he didn’t have a older sibling to take care of him and had to clean the biohazard up himself.

Bit after bit the biohazard that was Will’s vomit was diluted with tears. Drip, drop, drip, drop only stopping once Will’s head screamed in agony and made him.

The ever so slight ticking of the clock matched Will’s heart beat pounding through the cavity of his cranium. 

Will turned his head to look at the clock which read: “11:53”. Much too late.

Chiron had told him he was to skip the night shift and be back in his cabin by 10 pm so Will hopped up to his feet to grab a rag and clean his mess quickly. Will’s body felt light and distant feeling like he was possessing his own body, his head felt odd, his peripheral vision went black, and what remained of his vision went blurry.

Will let himself fall against the wall and slide to the ground before managing to grab his rag, head feeling awfully funny — actually just plain awful.

“Okay Will, this lesson is very important!” Lee had emphasized the time he taught Will about concussions. “The symptoms of a concussion are nau—, head—s, pain and —bing at — colli— si—t, so—ti—s fain—, vom— some—, —sitiv— to —und — light, ring— in — ears, trou— with mem—, —igue, —on—ion, less —din—tion th— usu—, —d poor bal—.” Will struggled to remember what exactly he said. Was that a symptom?

Didn’t matter Will had to clean up his freshly formed biohazard and go to sleep.

Through bleary tilting vision Will managed to grab a rag from one of the lower cabinets — at his eye level since he was on the floor — and began to crawl with it to the mess.

But oh how his eyes lids drooped and how comfortable the tile floor of the infirmary looked. 

Will’s shoulder muscles trembled before giving out, depositing him face first onto the ground.

He had time to close his eyes a little — recoup his strength — before finishing. Yes.

Will was awoken the next morning at nine AM to 4 bloody area kids who’d gotten into a fight and needed stitches. Lovely way to start the day isn’t it?

[END FIC]

My notes:

The symptoms of a concussion are: nausea, headaches, pain and throbbing at the collision sight, sometimes fainting, vomiting sometimes, sensitivity to sound and light, ringing in the ears, trouble with memory, fatigue, confusion, less coordination then usual, and poor balance. 

Please don’t ever intentionally give yourself a concussion like Will did! If you manage to get one for any reason please call a doctor. If that’s not possible for your situation then here’s some practical advice that’s helped me when I had a concussion: 

try to stay off of screens people with concussions usually have light sensitivity and blue light is the worst offender,

drink plenty of water just like any ailment,

get plenty of rest to let your brain heal itself,

make sure you’re on top of your nutrition so your body has the energy to heal yourself as fast as possible,

ice packs can help with the headaches,

eye masks and ear plugs help with light and sound sensitivity,

take it easy,

and try to avoid thinks that involve complex thought because just existing with a concussion is strenuous enough.

If you enjoyed, please like, comment, reblog and/or vote for this fic in the Will Solace Week polls and have a marvelous day!

[kensatou]

good thing from jp twitter this week is queen of old man yaoi michiru sonoo discovering the term old man yaoi

update: somehow it got impossibly more wholesome

quick translation: おかえり: welcome home あ 終わった 終わった: ahhh, it's over! it's done! コーヒー? お茶?: coffee? tea? コ~ヒ~ ありがと: coffee, thank you~ ネクタイレア★★ ネクタイ取るレア★★★★: seeing him with a tie on, rarity level ★★, seeing him take a tie off, rarity level ★★★★ にあうな~: it suits him~

also please do follow: AraigumaSha: sensei's twitter account marureviere: maru, who does such valuable work highlighting bl manga for an international audience

[viktors-sternomastoid]

Viktor's confident smiles - 2/?

[theoldkyokodied]

Really quick doodles of a few scenes from the stream yesterday. Including combat flirting taunting, gale’s magnificently distracting shoes and.. whatever you wanna call gale agreeing to give 15 gold to astarion 😐😑😐😑😐 (that’s me blinking)

[pissed-whizard]

my blog is a gateway drug to cooler and better blogs (my mutuals)

[tadfools]

You guys are commenting on the fics you read right? You’re at least leaving kudos on the Astarion smut and the pairs that have less than 20 fics for them too? You’re bookmarking stories you really like that are still being updated and ones that haven’t been touched in over a year right?

You know that even the smallest interactions are like cocaine to fic writers right? You understand how important a string of emoji hearts left behind on a chapter at three am is right?? Right????

You’re treating AO3 like a community and not a content factory….right?

[karlyuchka]

Many such cases

"I'm better than you because I have a job!"

↑ doesn't know if the person they're talking to has a job or not

[bloodysparklez]

i'm obsessed with nikki's completely disproportionate response to this situation lmao

giovanni: mansplain manipulate manslaughter

nikki "gentle parenting is always the solution" lastname: how about MANNERS

[musubiki]

balor 🥰

[pearsandrust]

mydei having a library is absolutely heartbreaking symbolism. it's a running gag that the kremnoan language doesn't have many words; there's no word for flee, no word for fear, even no word for love. i know the library was his family's, but still -- it is such a distinct symbol of how mydei wants to break kremnoan tradition. how he openly rejects the idea that violence is the only valid form of communication. how he always dismisses the baseless rumours surrounding his abilities, proving that he values truth over glory. we see mydei try to talk his people into reason. we see him apologize to tribbie for being rude. we even see him (begrudgingly) admit to phainon that he knows how to interpret poetry. time and time again, mydei chooses language -- and truth -- over violence. so when he invites phainon to visit his library in the next life, he's not just expressing hope -- he's asking phainon to remember him by what he really believes in. even if i become the avatar of strife, he's saying, even if you have to kill me one day -- in the next life, please see me as the person i've tried to become.

mydei knows the power of a name, perhaps because his language has so few of them. and that makes it doubly ironic that he personally has so many titles: son of gorgo. the patricidal crown prince. kingslayer. godslayer. the undying. but as krateros points out, the name he prefers is the one he uses with the chrysos heirs. and although mydei doesn't talk much, all his actions seem to say the same thing.

remember me as mydei, not mydeimos.

[azherwind-art]

"Tell your favorite creators that you like their work, people usually enjoy things silently, but hate tends to be loud"

This is a phrase I just heard from Dnd shorts that captures perfectly why I often try to make the effort of commenting on posts and telling people that I enjoy their work and why Even to small creators, I advice everyone to make the extra effort to tell them, I can guarantee it makes all the difference in the world, it's not cringy or obnoxious, it'll just brighten someone's day

[shichidikai]

had a dream where i logged in to ao3 and saw this

so i'm manifesting it for every author who sees this

likes charge reblogs cast, rb to wish kudos and comments upon your favorite fics

[pro-sipper]

Genuinely asking because I want a real answer for once but HOW can antis say with a straight face and no sense of irony that two characters stabbing each other is just silly fun times but rape is what's weird and gross?

BOTH are criminal acts, BOTH are harmful, where does the distinction really lie?

[welcomebacktohoimicraf]

one thing about Joel Smallishbeans is that he's always giggling. I think most people overlook this in the fandom because most of the time his delivery is just so deadpan and sarcastic, but its when he's doing a bit with another person you can always hear him loudly giggling in between sentences trying not to break character. He is ESPECIALLY prone to doing this with Etho. Its so damn cute it makes me insane and I think more people deserve to notice this!!

[tourettesdog]

I am begging people to be normal about completed fics, and in particular one shots.

I am begging people to stop demanding more from authors, and insisting that one shots need to be longer or have sequels.

I don't think yall understand how many fanfic authors are one more "where's the rest of it?" comment away from throwing out any plans they might have had to continue an idea.

Unless an author like specifically says they might write more for an idea, just-- assume something marked as completed is complete, and respect it as it stands, please.

[the-meme-monarch]

i love funny little cartoon characters especially when bad things are happening