#will solace angst

[bug-hearted]

will solace is slowly forgetting their faces.

[aria-upside-down]

Will Solace is the king of oversharing while keeping way too much to himself

[mediumgayitalian]

every time i write will. no matter in what way. teasing laughing breaking or intimate. he is soaked in quiet grief. no matter what i try. whereas nico when i write nico he can be focused.

i think the difference is like. nicos grief propels him. he has leaned into it as long as hes had it for support. for inspiration. it has always been a thick cloud behind him, to fall back onto should he want to need to. he knows intimately how to deal with his grief because he never tried not to. it does not surprise him or interrupt him, it is so much under his control...because he wants it there. to him it is love. he has never hated himself because bianca was killed. he hated percy. his father. kronos. camp.

whereas will...will shoved his grief down so deep that he has no control when it bubbles up and blows in his face. he does not know how to stop it and it is too far down for him to control it. he is swimming desperately on top of a bubbling geyser and getting constantly burned by the heavy jetstreams. and he blames himself for drowning. you know

nico's grief is a backpack will's is a rock on a chain he drags everywhere and keeps trying only to lengthen the links that continue to make the weight heavier

[loserinahotway]

Hobbies - Will Solace

Will Solace is head doctor. Easily and often shortened to only doctor. So, he thinks, knowing there’s more snide than there needs to be, who would expect him to have hobbies? Apparently, there’s a phase of dating that relies on their existence. 

Nico and Will have only been dating for two weeks. Haven’t kissed yet, have been on a solid three in-camp dates. And Will, on the forest floor with his back to some poor tree, is breathing heavy with the crushing, rock-hard weight of that stupid, too deep question that just. Keeps. Coming. Back.

He’s not stupid. He can see. He knows, logically, rationally, that it’s a standard question. A good and easy icebreaker. An important thing to know about as a partner. Yeah. Totally. Mhm. What do you do in your free time? Solid stuff. Solid. Solid. Good. Solid.

Solid enough to fill his lungs with rocks.

“Shit, what did I- what’s wrong? Will? Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I don’t- what did I do?”

In. Out. In. Out. In, in, in, in-

He wheezes, embarrassingly, and his forehead hits his knees. He can feel, lightly, that Nico’s hand is above his shoulder. Ghosting it. He’d make a joke if he wasn’t so nauseously panicked. It barely brushes him, hesitant in the anxious, heart-stopped way Will can’t afford to be. That’s a mean thing to think, he berates. You aren’t struggling more than he is. Don’t compare.

He thinks it anyway. I can’t afford that. I can’t have that.

Can’t have hobbies, either.

Will hates when he gets like this.

Nico, next to him and out of his sight, seems to have settled his own breathing. You win, Will thinks, and almost laughs. He doesn’t. “Hey, alright, do you-uhm, do you wanna do the breathing stuff you taught me?”

His hand finally drops to touch his back, and Will feels one finger trace an infinite square on his shoulder. He knows the rules. He’s said them to camper after camper. In for the first line, hold for the second, out for the third, hold for the fourth; in, hold, out, hold, in, hold, out, hold in. 

He doesn’t know how long it takes, but his breath does even out. 

And instantly, guilt. 

He shoots right up and turns to his date. Fuck, his date. A picnic in the woods at the edges of camp. What a lovely way to kill romance. With a pointless panic attack. “Fuck, fuck! I’m sorry, shit, Nico, you didn’t do-”

“Hey, hey,” Nico raises his hands, looking right into Will’s eyes. He looks panicked, like he’s not quite sure what to do. Will likes that, somehow. Not in a sadistic way. It’s calming to seem like he’s not the only one all messed up in the moment. Part of him still bites, why aren’t you fixing it. It sneers about his need to nurse everything back to health. Sometimes Will thinks he was born a contradiction. God and mortal swimming in his blood, with all sorts of emotional opposites moving after that. “We just got you breathing again. You don’t need to apologize to me, Will.”

Will just sort of keeps looking at him. He’s not sure how to respond. Not out of shock or anything, just a lack of words. Luckily enough, Nico continues. 

“I said something.” “You didn-”

“Will.” Nico furrows his brows with the name, and Will closes his mouth and cuts off the denial. He remembers, sometimes, that Nico is technically a prince. And the way he ties weights to words really does sound royal. “I’m not blaming myself, or beating myself up, or sad. I didn’t mean to do anything. I’ve got very little reason to get mad at myself. That won’t help. I’ve learned that, by now. I promise.” Lightly, he moves his hand to Wills. He slots their fingers together against the dirt. “But I care about you. A lot. So, if something I did hurt you, I want to know. I want to get at it and learn and- and be good to you. I want to be good to you, Will. Please. Let me?”

He blinks.

And blinks.

And, with tears in his eyes; “I can’t have hobbies.”

A beat. “What?”

And he just fucking bawls, after that. Crumpling impossibly smaller as Nico curses and reassures and gets closer to him, rubbing his shoulders and forearm. Gods. How fucking pathetic, he thinks. You’re supposed to be a doctor.

That line, that last line. It does do something to numb him. He quiets, after another little bit. And eventually he’s just sniffling and leaning half against the tree and half against the sweet, beautiful, surprisingly good with speeches boy he’s supposed to be on a date with. 

“‘M sorry,”

“I’m not mad, though.”

“Probably should be.”

He pauses for just a second. “I don’t think so, Will.”

Now, Will’s voice is monotone and devoid of anything in a way he’s a little sickly proud of. “I’m a freak.”

Nico raises an eyebrow. Will can’t see it, with his head on his shoulder, but he knows he does, because he knows Nico. “For what? Not filling your exceptionally limited free time with extra tasks?”

Will rolls his eyes. “That’s not what hobbies are.”

“Isn’t it?”

They both stop for just a little, sitting close and in silence. It's really quite nice. 

“Is there a reason this upsets you so much?” You know that feeling, where you’re asked a question, and your whole story just sort of unfolds backwards in your brain. You remember everything, see it all, but it’s behind things. It’s blurred and muffled by glass. That’s what happens to Will, there.

Everything Will Solace has read since he was nine has been in a medical textbook. Because godly gifts aside, he needs to know he’s getting things right. He needs to know how to treat the bleeding and coughing and crying children that are in his care. So the Star Wars novels he’d trek through as a kid are gone. Because he can’t read them without knowing that there’s something better he could be looking at. Something  more useful to get into his head. 

He is the son of the music god and a renowned country star. And he has not a drop of musical talent. Musical knowledge, sure. He can read any sheet music, he can tell you any fact about a piece by ear, he could probably even teach you to play any instrument with words. But for the fucking sake of him, he cannot  put anything that sounds good into the air. He gets stressed in low-stakes situations instead of high ones, like he was anxiously programmed backwards. His hands only shake when they’re presented with something that will distract him. Like a guitar. Like a microphone. Et cetera. There’s no instrument that will give him something he needs to have. So why play one?

When he writes, he subconsciously looks for the line he has to sign. The boxes to check. The space for notes. All he’s written in years has been hospital reports and records. Files upon files of them. How’s he supposed to write something without those little guides that have been leading him almost all his life? How would he pen a story, or characters, when all the ideas in his head are organized by urgency? 

Will hates closing his eyes, hates stopping to be with himself. Because then he sees it all. Every mistake. Every brother and sister. Every soaked-through bandage. Every failure. When he looks back into his head, those are the pictures. So what would he paint? Broken ribs? Dead family? Because those are the images he works so hard not to look at. He can’t paint, or draw, because that will bring them forwards.

His hands sewed the shrouds that burned over so many of his siblings. So many. They’ve sewn shut cuts and slices and wounds on almost everyone he lives in proximity to. How can he try sewing, when every needle he’s ever touched has been sticky with blood?

What hobby would you give to Will Solace? Because he really doesn’t see an option.

Still, He’s not really sure how to answer the question. 

“How are you gonna care about me,” He breathes, still internally settling on what he’s going to say. “If I don’t even fucking know me?”

Nico breathes something that sounds sort of like oh, and he pauses. Will sits in that silence, thick and dense, and hysterically, somehow, he’s fucking crying again. 

“Shit. Hey, no- I’m not, like, contemplating you, or being with you, or anything. You don’t need to worry about that. It’s not gonna change. I promise. ”

Will just laughs welty, still crying. Doctor. Doctor. 

The thought isn’t really working, this time. It sort of has a cooldown period. He’s all numb in that cooldown period. He’s good at switching emotions quick, isn’t he? Maybe that could be my hobby. He’s not really present enough to register whether that thought is a joke. 

“I’m just, wondering if that’s something people actually need from a partner. I guess that makes sense, when I think about it. but I never really did before now.”

“You’re the one who asked me. You knew, subconsciously, that it’s something people are supposed to have.”

“Well, maybe. But the questions i’m asking you-“ he breathes a laugh before continuing, “They’re because that’s a part of all the advice I’ve got. Ask him what he likes to eat, and do, and what his favourite colour is. That’s what everyone told me I was supposed to do. I don’t know what I’m doing, here. I’m learning. You’re learning, too. But I’m not learning how to, like, figure out your pastimes. I’m learning how to love you. I don’t need you to have a favourite colour for me to love you, Will.”

“Love me?”

His head is raised, suddenly. Eyes still teary and breathing still choppy. But he’s looking at Nico. His face goes red, but stony as ever, Nico doesn’t falter. “You’re my best friend, even if you’re my boyfriend, too. Of course I love you, Will.” 

Oh.

He’s still. Crying. And that really just makes him cry harder, dropping his head again, his lungs all full of something that won’t go through his blood. 

“Hey. Will. Hey, look at me. Look at me. You know what?”

He looks. 

“Neither do I.” Beat. Beat. Beat.

His heart feels like it’s about to burst. Like it’s full of light or tar.

“Huh?”

“I spent, just, so long. I spent so long seeking kiddie vengeance, and looking for some emotional band aid. I’ve been, like, nothing but angry, for years. I don’t do much, Will. I haven’t picked up many hobbies while feeling like that. So if you can’t be cared for, because you don’t know everything about yourself? then I’m just the same. And you tell me all the time I need to accept care. There’s nothing making you any different from me, Will. You deserve this, too. ”

And it’s light. 

Light.

It’s a stupid thing.

And he’s not fixed.

But it’s every fear in his body made just that little bit smaller, that little bit less loud.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I love you too.”

Nico grins. “I know.”

Will raises both of his eyebrows. “Was that a Star Wars reference?”

Nico laughs. “Gods, what have you made of me?”

Will laughs, too. “You do know me.”

His smile softens. “You know me, too. Hobbies or not.”

And they sit with that, for a bit. Will’s breathing is uneven, but not with panic. It’s a good feeling.

They sit next to each other, right until sundown, fingers entwined, and maybe. Just maybe. This is something Will  can have. Maybe, he’s not too beat down or busy for that. 

He’s one assurance closer to believing it.

[vixen-vibe]

Will Solace but his full name is just Will but as soon as he turns 18 he legally changes his name to William Andrew Solace in memory of Lee because Lee needed him to have a full name to yell out when Will got in trouble.

[a-french-coconut]

Naomi remembers, when she left Will at Camp Half-Blood, years ago. She remembers how her heart broke, how she hugged him fiercely and almost didn't let go, her life suddenly so empty without her little sun.

For their protection, Apollo said, the same night. It is the last time she saw him too.

She remembers every phone call they made, every month, without fault. How she heard his voice change, and followed his growth through the pictures he sent, year after year. Taller, lankier, seemingly hitting a growth spurt between each photo.

It pleases her, looking at the photographs, to see that Will still has her smile. She thinks she sees herself in the shape of his face too, in the unruly pattern of his curls.

They are her most valued possessions, these days. The nights her soul aches for her son, for her precious boy who is miles away, out of her arms reach and embrace, she sinks in her couch and flicks through the dozens of pictures.

He's always grinning, radiating joy and warmth, even through the plastic paper. Very rarely alone, though.

She has learn to put names on the faces, thanks to Will's detailed phone calls. The taller boy Will always looks up to, stars shining in his eyes, is Lee Fletcher, the head counsellor of her son.

He is in almost every picture, and each one, Will is happy. He is laughing when Lee is carrying him on his shoulders. He is ecstatic in his tailored bright new doctor's coat, jumping around Lee who is wearing one, but worn-out, greyish. Lee and Will doing archery, horse-riding, pottery, name an activity and Lee Fletcher will be there, kind eyes and caring smile looking at her son with dearness.

There are other pictures with other siblings. So many siblings, Will has on his father's side. Micheal, Sandy, Dana, Nathan, all as sunny as her son.

He sends her photographs with his friends from other cabins too. Playing chess with an older girl, Annabeth Chase. Judging from the board, Naomi thinks he lost the game, despite the frown of concentration etched on his young face, his lips pursed and focused eyes. There's a blurred picture of him running after two identical boys, who Will has described as funny and apparently not twins. Connor and Travis.

Her favorite photo is, ironically, the most bittersweet one. Will's tenth birthday. It is a beautiful picture, with him at the centre and all his friends and family around him, singing him happy birthday. Her son, face alit by the ten candles decorating the chocolate cake, looks so loved, and happy, it makes her heart swell, and ache at the same time. If only she could have been there with him, celebrating that important milestone.

She is lost in her thoughts, looking at the photo, when the phone rings. It's an unknown number she knows well - the phone of the Big House at Camp, the one Will uses to call her for their monthly catch-up.

Except it's not supposed to be for another two weeks.

Maybe it's not Will, but Chiron, Naomi reckons, reaching for her phone. He does call her from time to time, to keep her updated on Will's schooling and grades, as well as other things.

"Hello ?" She says first, expecting for Chiron's old, but kind, voice on the other end.

"Mama."

Naomi freezes. She has heard him happy, she has heard him wistful, she has heard sad. But this... his voice is meek, hoarse as he has trouble finding the strength to speak. He sounds like he has cried all the tears out of his boy, his breathing ragged and heavy.

She practically leaps out the couch, dread making her skin crawl as she rushes to get her car keys and the first shoes she finds.

"Will ? Will, honey, are you okay ?" She screams into the phone, slamming the entrance door open, chilly air hitting her face.

Her mind is not helping her, engineering dozens of awful scenarios, where her son is hurt, bleeding, in pain. And she is not there.

"Will, baby, please," She begs, strangled, hot tears pooling in her eyes while she turns on the car's engine. The airport is less than two hours away, and she hopes there's a flight to New York leaving soon. "Tell mama what happened."

She knows, of course, that he does not tell everything. His life is one she cannot understand, filled with dangers she can't help with, monsters she is powerless against. But Camp is safe. Apollo promised her it was the safest place for their boy.

At the end of the line, Will is sobbing, words drowned under his tears and hiccups. He is speaking fast, and Naomi only catches a few words - "....battle and- mama, I...him... gone-"

She wants to cry with him. To hear him so hurt, so broken, is worse than any kind of pain she endured before.

"I'm coming, okay baby ?" She says shakily, pressing on the gas pedal with more strength. "I'm coming to get you."

The crying stops, briefly. She hears people yelling, sounding as scared and distressed as her son. Anxiety and fear are eating her alive, trying to understand what happened. Camp is safe, her mind repeats like a broken automat, Camp is safe. Will is supposed to be sheltered from danger. It's the reason she let him go in the first place, has let the world take her son away from her when he was only seven.

"Mama, I- I have to go." Will says suddenly, his hollow voice a little bit stronger than before. "They need me, I have to help."

"No, no, no, Will, stay on the phone with me, tell me you're okay." She pleads, her hands white from gripping the wheel too tightly. "Tell me you're okay first."

She needs to hear him say it. She needs to know her son is not dying while she is miles away from him, on the brink of having a panic attack in her car on the highway.

"I... I will be" Will says after a moment of hesitation, his small voice fizzling out the phone weakly. "I have to go now, mama. I- I'm sorry."

When he hangs up, Naomi breaks into tears. She wishes the airport was closer, she wishes she could just teleport herself next to her son. But under the pain, simmering below the excruciating sorrow turning her blood into ice, there's anger too.

"You told me he would be safe, Apollo. You promised." She cries, alone in car, infuriatingly powerless. She has never felt so useless in her life.

Apollo, as she expected, doesn't answer, or show up. Nothing changes, not the pressure, or the temperature, not even a whisper.

She doesn't notice she is going faster than she should.

When she gets to the airport, a flight leaving for New York is miraculously leaving in the next hour, and she buys an outrageously overpriced ticket, but she doesn't care. The wait in the terminal, as well as the flight, are painfully long. She cannot get out of her head Will's voice, his words echoing in her mind.

He needed to help.

She remembers, when he told her he started helping Lee at the infirmary, using his powers. He had sounded so happy, and she couldn't blame him. Be helpful, she has taught him. She didn't think at the time what it would mean, in the demigod world, to help.

When she lands, she hails the first cab she sees, and gives him the address of Camp. She's trembling in the car, watching the urban surrounding morph into woods, slowly. Until she is in the middle of nowhere, at the same place she was, three years ago.

"Yes, yes, leave me here, please." She insists, jumping out of the taxi to climb the hill, a tall pine tree crowning the top.

Camp Half-Blood. Will. He's waiting for her, leaning against the tree. She climbs up with a new vigor.

"Will !" She yells when she gets on top, and his head snaps towards her.

"Mama !" He cries, tackling her into a hug, burying his head in her chest. Her arms automatically wrap around him, bringing him closer. He barely reached her waist, the last time she saw him.

"Will, oh my baby." She sobs, so engrossed in finally seeing her son again that she misses the gigantic dragon wrapped around the tree, looking at her curiously. "You're okay."

He is warm, the way she remembers him to be. He is alive. But she can tell he's been through something, something harsh, that has taken some of his softness away. His hair is dry and dirty, as he has not showered in days.

But when Will leans back, it's his eyes that shatter her heart. His bright wide eyes that never learned to hide his emotions, the purest reflection of his soul, as blue as the summer sky. At least that's how she remembered them. They're dull now, less lively. The bright blue is gone, veiled under grief and sadness. As if life had deserted them.

It's when Naomi understands. A battle. Someone gone.

"Oh Will." Her voice breaks, pulling him in another hug, "I'm so sorry, my love."

Later, she'll learn it was Lee Fletcher. Later, she'll learn that Will had been the one to found him, and will cry, faced with the cruelty of this world.

Later.

"Mama, I..." Will tries, his face twisted in pain. He is so young. He still has his baby cheeks, the ones she loved to squish.

It is wrong, for him to know that kind of hurt already.

"You don't have to tell me now, my little sun." She whispers, pressing a kiss to his forehead, holding back her own tears. "Okay ?"

Will nods feebly. "Can you hold me, please ?"

"Of course, baby." She says softly, running her hands through his hair, soothingly. "As long as you need."

Around them, the air warms up, imperceptibly. A featherlight weight settles on both their shoulders. Neither of them notice.

[1800-lemon-boy]

I’ve seen a few headcanons (especially in fics) that Will solace actually is naturally brunette but when he was claimed by Apollo his hair turned blonde (weither it’s over time due to sun bleaching or straight away).

And I just wanted to say I love this so much purely because of how heartbreaking some of the implications can be. 🤗

It’s never happened to any Apollo campers before, Will doesn’t know why it had to happen to him, his one sense of normalcy taken away so quickly, his one connection to his previous life- gone.

Will starts to pick up quite quickly he’s not like his other siblings, he’s can’t write and is average at archery. But he can heal, better than anyone else can.

He was different from the start, he was claimed differently, and his gift was different too.

And while still struggling with what to do, at the ripe age of 12 he’s now in charge of a cabin full of kids younger than him, because he was the oldest to survive.

Just imagine how the plague powers would also affect him. Apollo himself said that it seemed Will had gained all of his good qualities and none of his bad.

How would this 15 year old feel that the same hands that can heal can cause harm?

<33

[toustous]

Will solace who is best friends with clarrise. Will solace who aspired to be as confident as clarrise. Will solace who wanted to be as important as clarrise. Will solace who cant even stand to talk to clarrise after the chariot incident. Will solace who cries every night because he lost all his siblings due to clarrise and the rest of cabin 5 refusing to show up to the titian war. Will solace who used to be best friends with clarrise, and now barely talk to eachother.

Clarrise who cries every night because her immaturity and stubbornness caused hundreds of people to die, including the one person she loved. Clarrise who will never love again. Clarrise who lost her best friends. Clarrise who wishes she could have been better.