olympues

After his spurt of growth Nico stopped getting mad at basically everything, but just one very wrong thing can piss him off for weeks like

“ARE YOU USING KETCHUP WITH SPAGHETTI? ARE YOU FuUuUuuuUuCKING SERIOUS? I AM KILLING YOU” *draws sword*

And Will is like

“There we go again”

anonymous asked:

There are many a-student-is-sick-at-school stories but could you please write an emeto fic about a (male) teacher?

This was literally the oldest request in my ask box, and I’m so glad to finally be able to fill it after all this time (like, it’s been in there almost a year).

Will had made it through the lecture completely unscathed. That is to say he made it through without covering himself and the first row of the lecture hall in vomit.

He came in feeling unwell, a jittery uneasiness to his stomach that he had assumed were only nerves. After all, it wasn’t everyday he covered a lecture for the acting professor. She was on maternity leave, and while Will had stood in front of the room before, this time felt like the class was essentially his, leaving him responsible for the content learned and the grading. It was a big responsibility, and as a grad student, he thought he was prepared.

But as the lecture droned on, he realized that he was just downright nauseous. His discussion on ancient European cultures sounded hollow in his ears, occupied as he was by the curdled feeling in his stomach. Several times he had to pause, passing off a queasy hiccup as a cough into his fist, forcing himself to take a drink of water and cringing as it made its way down, settling heavily at the bottom.

More than once he caught the eyes of a familiar student in the back row. His name was Nico and Will had seen him several times outside the professor’s office, asking for extra tutoring or checking on his grades. Will didn’t understand it though; he’d graded several of Nico’s essays and exams before and he always aced the subject matter, so the hours spent in the professor’s office almost seemed pointless.

By the time the lecture was complete, Will was exhausted. An uncomfortable feeling of warmth had spread across his neck and shoulders, leaving his limbs heavy and achy, not to mention that his stomach was still up in arms, sloshing violently with every breath. He made it a point to receive further questions via email and made a beeline for the office, hoping that a break and a chance to sit down would level him out.

Nico found him with his head over a trash can. Without even the strength to hold it in his lap, Will hung his head between his knees, the bin on the floor by his feet.

The nauseous feeling had not abated, and Will was certain his march to his office had made everything worse. He was drained, the task of holding himself up becoming more cumbersome with every passing minute.

If it wasn’t for the light knocking on the doorframe, Will would never have known Nico was there. He forced himself to look up, reaching for a tissue and wiping the strings of drool from his lips.

Nico watched him warily, his eyes hard and calculating. “I have an appointment,” he said matter-of-factly.

Will removed his glasses and swiped his hand down his face. Of course Nico had an appointment and of course it was right when Will felt like throwing up his insides.

“Can we reschedule? I’m not—” he hiccuped sharply, his hand flying to his mouth. “Now’s not a good time.”

Without a word, Nico crossed the tiny office, setting his book bag by the visitor chair, the floor trembling beneath its weight. Leaning against the desk, he lifted the trash can off the ground, holding it steady, and looking completely unfazed by the situation.

“What are you—?”

“Have you eaten today?”

Will groaned, the very mention of food sending a flood of acid into his mouth. He swallowed it back with difficulty, managing to shake his head, his eyes straying to the trash can and knowing he would be needing it sooner rather than later.

“You should have just canceled class,” Nico said. “No one would complain about missing an 8am.”

“I thought it was just nerves,” Will said. His voice was thready, the very act of talking making him want to hurl.

Nico snorted. “Obviously it’s not.”

Will shot him a look, a feeble attempt to retain some dignity when he was so miserable. “Why are you even here?” He pointed to the calendar on his desk. “Says your appointment’s not until 4.”

Nico shrugged dismissively. “Is it wrong of me to want to make sure you don’t drown in your own sick?”

Will groaned as his stomach performed another somersault. He felt something hot rise in the back of his throat, his mouth flooding with acrid-tasting saliva. His throat bobbed convulsively as he tried to swallow it down, his stomach lurching.

“Do you want some water or something?” Nico asked cocking his head, the cool facade fading in light of Will’s growing discomfort.

In his attempt to answer, Will shook his head, a wet gag piercing the air as he scrambled for the trash bin in Nico’s hands. He could feel his stomach creeping into his throat, swallowing becoming more of a task than it was previously. He spit into the hollow bin just as a belch tore through him, with it the taste of food Will hadn’t consumed in hours.

He had not imagined throwing up as being quite so horrible. As he gagged, a wave of sickness pouring from his mouth, he could only think of Nico di Angelo, standing before him, holding a trash can and undoubtedly looking for somewhere to train his eyes but on the increasingly ill assistant professor in front of him.

Will’s eyes streamed with the effort of getting everything up, retching and coughing as his stomach continued to heave. He burped up a surge of something thick, his body shuddering as the stuff fell past his lips.

For just a moment, he felt fingertips grazing his forehead, collecting his bangs and pulling them out of his face. It made a tremendous difference, but Will barely had time to say thank you, let alone be embarrassed by Nico’s soft touch, before his head was back over the trash bin, a ripple of nausea seizing his stomach and forcing more vomit into the bin.

By the time Will’s stomach was finally empty, he was sweaty and clammy, pale-faced, shaky, and exhausted. His insides felt hollow, but he was less queasy, and the prospect of lying down—even the floor seemed better than holding himself up on his dingy office chair—couldn’t have been more welcomed.

He was suddenly aware of a wad of tissues swiping across his chin. He jerked back slightly, looking up with bleary, half-lidded eyes.

“You’re a mess,” Nico said, seemingly talking more to himself than the one whose chin he was currently mopping up.

“I’m sorry,” Will croaked. His voice was hoarse, his mouth moving like it was coated with peanut butter.

Nico met Will’s eyes for the first time in a while. “Sorry?” He looked confused. “Sorry for what exactly?

“For… For this?” Will moved his arm in a sweeping motion, indicating the trash can that Nico had put down and toed towards the doorway. “Maybe—I don’t know. I felt like I should apologize.”

A faint smile flickered across Nico’s face, fading quickly as Will hiccuped sharply, doubling over and groaning.

“You should be at home.”

Will nodded. “I—yeah, that’s a good idea.”

He pushed himself out of his chair, staggering some as a wave of lightheadedness washed over him. He looked up, blinking as Nico wound his arm through his, keeping Will from toppling over.

“Thanks,” he said breathlessly.

“Where are your keys?” At Will’s quizzical look, Nico sighed. “You can’t drive in your condition. Let me take you home.”

Maybe it was the fever, but Will thought there was a faint redness to Nico’s cheeks, almost as if he was embarrassed.

Will fumbled around in his pocket, handing over his keys without complaint. With him barely being able to stand, he knew driving like this would be dangerous. He was also growing increasingly sleepy, and with Nico driving, maybe he could take a little nap.

“Why are you doing all this for me?”

A definite flush crawled up Nico’s cheeks, fanning out to redden his ears. When he spoke, all traces of suave had left him.

“I-I was already over here, remember? You were hunched over your desk, you looked like you needed help.”

“Well, thank you.”

“You said that already.”

Divine Intervention (3/11)

Summary: Percy Jackson-ish Kabby AU. Clarke doesn’t follow directions, even when her mom is the goddess of medicine. Abby will always try and protect Clarke, even if it means a day trip to the Realm of the Dead. Marcus can’t resist the pull of a rescue mission, even if it’s objectively speaking a bad idea.

A/N: Commentary in the tags as always. 

Chapter 3: In Which Our Heroes Have Casual Conversation on the Worst Cruise Ever   


The gate is in It’s a Small World because of course it is.

The line is completely empty and it’s not clear if that’s because of the emptiness of the park or some last minute machinations of Indra but the upshot is that they get an empty boat without having to do any compelling of their own.  

The moment they’re out of sight of the ride operator, Abigail pulls a small knife from her pack and carves an infinity symbol into the flat front piece of the boat. Then, she slices her thumb open and lets a couple of drops fall onto it.

“You next,” she says once she’s done, handing Marcus the knife.

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