the-ghost-king - Tumblr blog

[the-ghost-king]

d&d with the big 3 boys

[the-ghost-king]

whats the fucking point of having laws if people can keep making led headlights

[the-ghost-king]

Hades hiding Nico and Bianca away so one of them could be the child of the initial prophecy never really made a ton of sense to me but the more I think about it him hiding them away after Maria's death to keep them safe like he promised. She didn't want her children to live in the Underworld and so he didn't do that, but also maybe at some point after she died and he failed to protect her he realized that nowhere would truly be safe for Nico and Bianca as the war raged on and he tucked them away in the Lotus Hotel because the safest place for them to be is at the end of the war. But then the pact was made, and he wasn't supposed to have anymore children and his brothers probably thought all of his were dead already because they didn't realize he'd hid cards up his sleeve, and so he just had Bianca and Nico in the hotel for all those years less because he didn't want them out, and less because he wanted one of them to be the child of the prophecy and more so because he was just waiting for his brothers to fuck up and break their pact and have kids so then he could be like "well if you don't want me to be mad at you and destroy your children your not supposed to have then you can't destroy my children either" kind of deal... also thinking about how Hades wanted Bianca to be the child of the prophecy, or maybe just expected it to be her, so he uses Nico more as a pawn and more as collateral which is kind of a whole thing in the plot.... idk if this is even anything

[the-ghost-king]

“What are your parameters for loving me?”

Careful to keep her head locked forward, Naomi glances over at her son. Will’s picked-bloody fingernails scrabble at the worn bandage around his wrist, twisting until his knuckles turn white. The car shakes with his violently bouncing leg, out of time with the shuddering engine and rumbling dust roads under the wheels.

“There aren’t any.”

“There have to be — some.” The bandage is longer than she thought, unspooled in his lap. He winds it back up again quickly, hands blurring; darting around his wrist, tapping on his knees, flexing and locking, flexing and locking. “I mean, what if I became a misogynist?”

She snorts. “I think you’re good, honey.”

“No, Mom, what if? Think about it for real. You’d stop loving me, right?”

“I might knock you around a bit, but it’d pretty hard to stop loving you completely,” she teases. She pinches the stubbornly-clinging baby fat of his cheeks between her knuckles, ruffling his hair when he ducks away.

“Seriously, Mama.”

“I dunno, Will. I’d send you to work for your Auntie Di for a while, probably. Reckon she’d straighten you out good.”

“Okay.” He nods, twice to himself, chewing on his lip. The bandage is wrapped around his elbow, now, pulled tight enough that she can hear the groan of his joints. “Okay. What if I killed someone?”

“Be a pretty hefty secret for the two of us.”

“An innocent person. Cold blood, just because I wanted to.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I could, Mom. People are — unpredictable.” He picks at a hole in his shorts until it’s wide enough to slide three fingers through, pulling the bandage in after them. It looks yellowed next to the green of the fabric, worn. “Sometimes you think you know someone but you don’t.”

“I know you.”

She pushes on her turn signal, slowing to a near stop. Will’s twitching fingers unconsciously synch up, cri-tap, cri-tap, cri-tap. The rusted rims groan as her tires amble around the bend, quieting as she lurches forward. They both duck as she hits a pothole, narrowly avoiding the warped ceiling.

“Cold blood, Mama.”

“I’d — it would scare me, I guess.” The next few potholes are smaller — she can avoid them with some manoeuvring. A mouse darts out onto the road, rushing out from the surrounding cornfields, and she slams on the break, thrusting her arm out to the passenger side. Will’s hands come to cup over her forearm as he slams into it, grunting softly. The mouse sprints across the rest of the road, tail swishing behind it, disappearing into the stalks. She settles back into her seat, brushing across Will’s seatbelt as she does, and presses the gas again. “More for you than of you. For what would happen if someone came knocking.”

“You wouldn’t report it?”

“No I wouldn’t report it, Will, Jesus.”

“But I — but I did something evil.”

“This is a hypothetical, baby.”

“And in the hypothetical. You’re —” He scrubs his hand down his face, eyes squeezing shut. “You’re a good person. You have — morals.”

“I’m a person, Will.” The GPS beeps at her — twenty-five miles to the Tennessee border. “And I’m a mother before that.”

“So if I — you would just — just like that? You’d — forgive me?”

“I’d love you,” she corrects.

“But you wouldn’t forgive me.”

She shrugs. “Honestly? I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.”

“So how do you know you’d still love me?”

“Because there’s nothing you could do, baby. I mean it.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“Not even if I was a bully? Or a landlord? Or if I — liked boys?”

He says it quickly, or tries to, but he stumbles over his words, tripping over the syllables. Naomi sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, biting it hard.

“You would still love me, if I — if I —”

Keeping her movements steady, she removes her boot from the gas. Will glances, fast, at her tightening knuckles on the steering wheel, looking quickly away. She guides the car to the shoulder of the road, pulling into park, and kills the engine, unclipping her seatbelt and turning ninety degrees to face her son. Will crowds into the corner of the seat, hunching in on himself, shoulders tense and curling, hair failing over her lowered head.

“Oh, Will.”

His body shakes as she pulls him into her, hands trembling so bad they spasm, twitching out of the fists he makes. She shifts until both of her arms wrap tightly around her torso, ignoring the burn of the trench, tucking his forehead into her collarbone, dropping her lips to press against his temples, his cheeks, the crown of his head.

“It’s okay, baby.”

“It’s — not. I’m still, I can still —”

“Sh.” His tears drip onto her shirt, her skin. He chokes back a sob and she tightens, reflexively, pulling his whole body even closer to her, somehow, making space for his too-long legs, knees hitting his chest, feet dangling off the seat, gearshift shoved into his thigh. His chest heaves with the effort of keeping his cries locked up in his throat, hidden behind clenched teeth, squeezed shut eyes. His fingers cling onto her shirt, twisting the fabric so hard it warps. Her own fingers clutch desperately at the ridges of his spine, the inside of his elbow; squeezing, holding, bruising. His voice is rough as raw grit and reedy as pond scum, barely above a whisper.

“I like boys, Mama.”

“I heard you.” She rests her forehead on his shoulder, her own breaths shuddering. “I heard you, sweetheart.”

“I like — a boy.”

“Okay.”

“For a long time.”

Her swallow constricts her throat, shoving the air back in her lungs. How long, she cannot bring herself to ask — when was it, exactly, that he decided he could not trust her with this? When did she lose that privilege? Was it when he started protecting her from the pain in his life, or before? When he lost everyone close to him at once, or when he broke down and told her about it? When was she no longer the person he ran to when he was scared, nervous, afraid?

He used to come to her for everything.

“I love you,” she whispers, voice wet as it slides against the lump in her throat. She squeezes him again, and this time, he squeezes back, pressing his face into her skin. “Will Solace, you are what keeps me going, do you understand that? Come up here, baby, look at me.”

His eyes aren’t hers. He takes after his father, really; after his older brother once upon a time. But he speaks like she does and smiles like she does and stands like she does, and when he cries he gets that same look, like the ocean has emptied itself inside of him. She cradles both palms to his wet cheeks, thumbs pressing under his eyes, kissing his forehead, his cheekbones, wiping the tears away.

“Fifteen years long you’ve been the light of my life. I need you to understand that, Will. I have never loved anything like I love you and there will never be anyone who comes even close. There is no hypothetical, no situation, no anything that could change that. There are no parameters. None. You understand me?”

“Everything stops,” he croaks. “Everything has a limit.”

“Not me,” she says firmly. “You ain’t a baby no more, baby, but you’re gonna have to pretend for a moment that I know everything again. I am telling you that there is no boundary. And I am not giving you the option to disagree. You are my son and my sun and that’s final, Will. That’s final.”

His face crumples. She pulls him close again, sighing, letting him curl up in his lap like he’s ten years younger than she should be, instead of the ten years older he acts. She runs a hand through he knotted hair and another down his back and presses her lips to his temples, holding him every place she can reach, and rocks them, even though there’s no room to do it, humming slow and low under her breath.

“We’ll get there,” she promises, tapping a beat on his shoulders, pressing a kiss to his hair. “Okay?”

He nods into her neck. “Okay.” His voice is small but not cowering, thankfully; small like he’s hiding in her instead of from her. She fights the urge to sag into him, to burst into tears of her own.

“I love you, Will. No matter what and forever.”

“I love you too, Mama.”

[the-ghost-king]

antwithabindle.com/careers

[the-ghost-king]

Reblogging would be a great help, but don’t feel pressured to

[the-ghost-king]

Just checking.... We all pronounce Miette like My-TAY in our heads, right?

[the-ghost-king]

would love genuine suggestions for other vegetables and ways to cook them. if you're an asshole about it not being a lot of vegetables or about it taking work from me to get into vegetables as a class i will explode you badly. i am allergic to peppers

[the-ghost-king]

“I’m going to drive through Appalachia, should I be scared of the inbred hill folk and the cryptids? 😱😱😱😱” no bitch, be scared of sliding off a mountain into a valley and not being found for months or years.

[the-ghost-king]

tumblr should have a feature where if it’s someone’s birthday there’s a little party hat over their avatar so their followers can see it’s their special day

[the-ghost-king]

right person, not enough time.

(not a ship. hopefully, this was obvious.)

[the-ghost-king]

If I ask nicely who will rb this telling me what is the last song u listened to 🥺

[the-ghost-king]

Context: A few months ago I made a post mentioning my idea for this, and it’s picking up some traction. The event would involve parents of demigods & magicians, including the gods, and insight into to their thoughts about their children. This is in the vein of my anticlea series which focuses on the parents of demigods. I’ve noticed this is a very niche but popular space and I’d like to fill it out. There would not be a sideblog created but an Ao3 collection would be made and works would be grouped together like that. I would also be reblogging any other type of submission and making it a featured tag, although the tag #riordanverseparentsweek would be where it all should go.

[the-ghost-king]

god if there was a book of forbidden spells I wouldn’t even hesitate

[the-ghost-king]

the problem with having a decade old tumblr blog is that there are posts on it from a decade ago

[the-ghost-king]

imagine writing this. imagine writing percy increasingly losing himself to his anger and his resentment, sympathizing with Luke, spiraling, being immensely powerful, burning away at his mortality, and not knowing how to deal with any of it. Desperate for help and the one time he breaks down enough to try and get it (Jason) his worst thoughts and perceptions of himself are inadvertently affirmed. He never talks about it to Annabeth. He never talks about it to his mom. Oh but everyone is aware of it. Aware of his anger. Afraid of his anger. Concerned for him and by him. They give each other looks, worried, because they recognize what a danger he could be — to himself, to others, to the gods. But no one says anything, at least not to Percy. No one helps him. No one intervenes. They don't know how to, it seems. (Or maybe they're afraid to). And so they all pretend everything is fine. Percy pretends, bottling it all up inside until the pressure gets too great and that anger boils over and he loses it all over again. He's so desperate for normalcy that he'll take anything, believes in all of the sweet, sugar-spun tales of New Rome and looks away from the rotting underside. He lets himself believe that once he's there the gods will have to leave him alone, because he's done with it all, he's retired (and the gods always keep their promises don't they?).

Imagine writing what is arguably the well-plotted, compelling, and tragic beginnings of a fallen hero arc for percy and none of it being intentional.

RR's penchant for Percy to be explosively angry and scarily powerful, alongside characterizing him as jaded and resentful and desperate, mixed with his refusal to write any in-depth emotional resolution to any time Percy snaps has created an enthralling narrative of a hero just about to fall from grace. and it's all seemingly an accident.

Oh, and another, amazing, unintentional coincidence? if you're taking RR's word that Percy is still 17, that's also the age Luke was when he failed his quest, marking the beginning of his fall as a hero. Like. The narrative parallels are all there. And without any meaning for them to be.

[the-ghost-king]

I know Percy's desperately trying to escape the godly world but not only do I think the gods aren't going to leave percy alone once he's in New Rome, I also think Percy's in the situation now where he can't refuse at all because like, if he was in the mortal world at a mortal college he at least would be able to try and be like "sorry I can't do a quest right now I've already used up my three excused absences this semester try again in the spring :/" but in New Rome? They will be like "Percy! It is an honor to be hand-selected for a quest. And by the gods no less! Stars above, you should be grateful! I don't know what your little greek camp has taught you but here in Rome, we respect the gods' requests. Your absence will be excused. Now go."