#i wrote it so it has to be

[mmavverickk]

theoretically, i understand the appeal of having percy, annabeth, and grover go to college. annabeth wants to be an architect, percy wants to be with annabeth, and grover's gonna need some kind of degree backing his environmental preservation efforts. but like, i just can't see it happening.

annabeth was tasked with redesigning olympus after the destruction of the second titan war. that project is her child. she eats, sleeps, and breathes her designs for the palace. as soon as she graduates high school, that is her number one priority. this is her monument that will last forever, this is what her hubris is driving her to accomplish. college and mortal qualifications can wait until she's finished, until olympus is perfect, until her designs are real and tangible and ready to last a thousand ages, until she's made her mother proud and her father regret pushing her aside. and if she's building a family on the side, one strong enough to withstand two wars, one who will never leave her, never let her fall alone? that will last, too.

percy never had a childhood. he can barely remember a life before his abusive stepfather gabe, before he had to grow up too fast to protect himself and his mom. he never got to celebrate getting rid of the bastard, because by then he'd been thrown headfirst into the mythological world, into the expectations that come with being a child of the big three. he's twelve years old and already the fate of the world is in his hands, and he won't fail. he's fourteen, and the weight of the world rests on his shoulders, turns his hair grey. he's sixteen, and he has to make a choice, to trust someone who had betrayed him time and time again, but he doesn't know if the outcome of that choice will be the end of the world or its only hope. he graduates high school, having lived longer than he'd ever dreamed, and does not immediately throw himself into college. it's time to experience the world that he's sacrificed so much for.

grover is the lord of the wild. he spent his whole life searching for the one being who could save the planet, could keep it whole and healthy and alive. he found him, found pan, and had his hopes crushed. pan was dying. he was giving up on the planet and the people who'd believed in him for millennia. pan put all of their hopes on grover's shoulders, made it his responsibility. he stepped up to the challege, used his passion for searching and made it passion for fixing. he started immediately, despite how dire the situation was, despite all the others telling him he was wrong, that pan was still out there, that he needed to believe in a dead god. yes, he needs to find a way to get the mortals to see the effect they're having on the wild, on the environment, on the planet, but first he needs to find out how bad things truly are. he's traveled north america, he's gathered nymphs and dryads and spirits for war against the titans, but north america isn't the only place in danger. the world is his domain, and grover will rise to the challenge.

[inkskinned]

this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.

good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.

sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.

so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.

one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

the fact that shakespeare was a playwright is sometimes so funny to me. just the concept of the "greatest writer of the English language" being a random 450-year-old entertainer, a 16th cent pop cultural sensation (thanks in large part to puns & dirty jokes & verbiage & a long-running appeal to commoners). and his work was made to be watched not read, but in the classroom teachers just hand us his scripts and say "that's literature"

just...imagine it's 2450 A.D. and English Lit students are regularly going into 100k debt writing postdoc theses on The Simpsons screenplays. the original animation hasn't even been preserved, it's literally just scripts and the occasional SDH subtitles.txt. they've been republished more times than the Bible

[ao3-crack]

(x)

[lazylittledragon]

'i'll just do a couple of doodles of mombin™/platonic stobin parents' nevermind, borderline graphic novel

[neptunezo]

The idea of the batkids scaring Bruce with “a new grandchild” to only show an animal is so funny to me, because imagine Bruce is so used to it that when Jason wants to introduce him to his new grandchild Bruce almost falls out of his chair when there’s an ACTUAL KID!

Dick: You’re a granddaddy now Brucie!!!

Bruce: WHAT?!? Who?? When??? How??? Actually don’t tell me how. Who is she??? When did she give birth???

Dick: What? No, meet my kid *holds up a cat* her name is biscuit and shes the love of my life!

—

Steph: Cass and I are adopting…

Bruce: Holy shit, actually???

Cass: Yes, it was a tough choice, but we want to adopt

Bruce: Do you need any help with paperwork and stuff? It’s kinda my thing. Also consider the fact that you might be too young.

Steph: Too young…?

Bruce: Yes, I mean you’re only in your 20’s, are you sure you can handle a kid?

Cass: Too young for an iguana?

—

Damian: It happened again, I have a kid.

Bruce: What do you mean AGAIN?!?

Damian: This is my second kid, duh

Bruce: Are you talking about goats?

Damian: Of course I am father

—

Tim: BRUCE YOU’RE GOING TO BE A GRANDFATHER!!!

Bruce: Tim I didn’t think I was going to have to tell you this again after the whole thing with Stephanie, but just kissing someone doesn’t get them pregnant

Tim:

Bruce: Is it a dog?

Tim: No it’s a tiger

—

Jason: I have something to tell you

Bruce(not looking up from his paperwork): Okay, what’s up?

Jason: I have a kid, I want you to meet your granddaughter

Bruce: I can’t possibly imagine what type of animal you’ve gotten, but I’d love to meet her

Jason: What the hell are you talking about?

Bruce (looking up to see an actual child): You actually have a kid????

Jason: Yeah, Roy and I thought it was time I adopted Lian

Lian: Hi Grandpa!!!

Bruce: I’m going to faint, grab me some ice will you?

[a-rabbit-obsessed-queer]

Aspec men deserve much more respect and recognition in the aspec community than they receive. They often face a different form of aphobia specific to them ("men are naturally sexual they can't be ace" "all men are unromantic that's not unique") this rhetoric is spouted by many, even members of our own community and I hope for a day where that is no longer the case. As an ace and demiro woman (demigirl but that's beside the point) I want to encourage folks to take the time to give the aspec men in their lives support and to the aspec men reading, you are who you say you are no matter what people say and you deserve the world. I'm sorry for the ways in which toxic masculinity has harmed you. You are a valued member of the aspec community and the queer community as a whole. No ace or aro person is broken and neither are you. I'm sorry if anyone has ever told you otherwise.

[introspectivememories]

was it casual when i sat in your lap in public? was it casual when i said "recently my heart is crying because you're leaving"? was it casual when we decided how your last name would fit with mine? ("yuki tsunoda-gasly" / "no tsunoda, only gasly" / "yuki gasly?") was it casual when we sang adele's "someone like you" together at your going away party? was it casual when i knew it was you just by touching your ass? was it casual when i knew it was you by smell alone? was it casual when "will you miss me?" / "for 2-3 minutes maybe" / "i'll take that. even if it's just 2-3 minutes, i'll take that"? was it casual when that bus was completely empty and we still sat right next to each other, all the way in the back? was it casual when i picked you up multiple times so you could dunk a basketball? was it casual when i begged to come over to your house multiple time and then you finally let me and we cooked fried rice together? was it casual when we played christmas twister together and i said "your big eggplant is touching my ass"? was it casual when we were pressed up against each other on a scooter going two miles per hour? was it casual when-

[aslyran]

Visions

[beloveds-embrace]

tf 141 with a reader who loves jewelry >>

It’s not a particularly visible obsession; all your boys know is that they’ve never seen you without jewelry. Be it pretty, delicate earrings, a lovely necklace that rests in between your cleavage, or a gleaming set of rings and bracelets. They are eye-catching, on occasions, and other times they blend so nicely into whatever outfit you have adorned yourself with.

They don’t realize it, they don’t make the connection until you’ve invited them into your house, and then you are leading them deep, deep into the basement until they are in front of a closed room. The entire thing is suspicious, honestly alarming because Ghost did so much research into you but never knew anything about this- but you look so nervous and hopeful, emotions bared.

They aren’t prepared to enter a room stuffed full of jewelry. A room practically glittering, gleaming like you’ve brought yourself a corner of the starry universe. Rows upon rows, cabinets and closed glass cases. And then you are smiling, stepping into the room and urging them in.

“I… I’ve always loved jewelry,” you clear your throat, voice soft and hushed. You look around, an unmistakable look of fondness and happiness in your eyes. “Necklaces, earrings.. anything that can be put on the body to adorn it more than clothes could. Ever since I was a child, I was, well, obsessed with collecting them. I love collecting them, and every piece here is precious to me.”

Your cheeks turn pink, and you look away from their gazes. “…but you are more precious to me, and I trust all of you. Which is why I feel happy, showing this part of me to you. And…”

You grin now, opening a cabinet with a simple key you put away to pull out four jewelry boxes. “-And that is why I got these!”

You open the first box, showing John a beautiful necklace that holds a single garnet shaped into a delicate teardrop. Garnet, for his birthstone. John, John, John- a man who will always have your heart. John, who treats you like a jewel even more delicate than the one in your hands. You’ve never had anyone hold you quite as he does, so full of love.

The second box is for Soap, for your Johnny. A dangling pair of earrings that would brush across your skin should you wear them, almost as sweetly as his kisses across your body. A stormy blue, much like his eyes.

Third box is bigger- the biggest. This one, you had custom-made. Not cheap at all, but worth every single dollar. Made entirely out of diamonds, the shoulder pieces would drape so elegantly across your shoulders and dangle off your back, like a never-ending embrace. Your most expensive piece to this day, and yet you would so easily swear that it did not compare to Gaz’s beauty anyways. It was based on him, on how you looked at him, on the sheer love you felt for and from him.

The last piece is a necklace. It curls around your neck not like a collar, but like a hissy cat seeking warmth. Three rows of pearls, shiny and pretty, and in the middle sits a round red jasper. You don’t remember when it had been, but you’d read that red jasper meant courage, preseverance, and healing. Perfect for your brave, incredible Si, whom you’ll always admire and adore.

But in your enthusiasm of describing how and why you chose each piece, you are blind to the way they look at you:

In a room full of gems, jewels and stars, you shine the brightest to them.

[basslinegrave]

pin-up

b&w originals

[corpsentry]

pick your battles

[inkskinned]

so while i was writing the book, i became violently suicidal.

this was mostly due to the fact that i had a very bad reaction to some meds and my brain stopped producing any serotonin. also i was in the last semester of grad school where it's actually illegal to feel anything but dread. so it wasn't going well.

somewhere in the fog of it i became aware i needed help. nobody was taking clients or my insurance. i didn't want to do inpatient care - it wasn't right for my needs. there's not really an "in between" stage between "inpatient" and "no care," but i was trying to do the right thing. i was trying to activate the chain of command that was my emergency plan. i knew i needed help now.

i used betterhelp.

i know, i know. i'm a straight-A student and so smart and so clever, how could i ever use something so blatantly bad. to be honest with you, i didn't feel particularly keen on it from the getgo - things that seem too good to be true usually are. also, if something online is free, the price is usually your privacy.

the thing is that there was kind of a global pandemic happening at the time and i worked 5 jobs alongside of being a fulltime student and also like writing a book on the side. it is a miracle that i even thought about getting help. i would love to tell you i had the mental wherewithal to like, process whether this was the right choice for me. mostly i was desperate. i was so suicidal that i was trying to find a reason to stay inside of fortune cookies. i was the kind of suicidal that looks like splatterpaint. i hadn't been that bad in an entire decade.

they took my data. i gave them it freely. somewhere out there, they have a dossier on me. on everything i survived. my story in little datapoints, scattergraphed beautifully.

the first woman told me that really i should be grateful, because (and this is a direct quote): "at least you're not anne frank." i said that i felt that statement was antisemitic, as anne frank's life and experience shouldn't be compared to like, a nonbinary lesbian in western massachusetts. the therapist said that i should try to use lucid dreaming to try to picture myself in an actually scary situation, like running from nazis.

i applied for another therapist. i was willing to accept the possibility that there was a bad apple in the bunch. the next therapist and i even laughed about how inappropriate that statement was. and then, in our next session: the new therapist said if i was struggling with body image issues, i should just work harder on my appearance. she spent 3 sessions in a row talking about how she was grieving, and made me memorize facts about her grandmother so "she can live on through my clients."

i am a three's-a-charm kind of person. okay, so what if the last person made me uncomfortable. i figured it was just a misunderstanding of priorities - she had felt she was sharing with me, i had felt like i had to take care of her. i applied for another therapist.

the last woman asked me to help her pray. she bowed her head. i stared at her, frozen, while she said: lord, i beg you: cure her. take the pain of being gay away from her.

i spent somewhere between 2.5 and 3 months on betterhelp. in that whole time, i was not getting the professional help i so desperately needed, even though i was fucking trying.

in the end, i survived this because i finally could get off the meds that were literally killing me. a request for a real therapist finally went through. i survived because my friends saved my life. because nick let me sob myself dry in his arms. because maddie took the razors out of my room when i asked them to. because grace slept over in my bed for like 3 weeks in a row since nobody trusted me not to hurt myself when i was alone. i survived because i got fucking lucky. because even when i was desperately suicidal, i was too old and too self-aware to take "you need to be prettier" as good advice.

the thing is that there's a 19 year old me who isn't like that. who would have heard "just think about how grateful you should be" and said - oh, i see. i would have assumed that is what it means to be in therapy: the same thing my abusers used to tell me. that i am just pretending and lazy. that i am ugly and unworthy.

betterhelp positioned itself to take advantage of an incredibly vulnerable community. it preys on desperation. it knows it is serving people who are not doing well mentally. it saw that there is a huge need for real, immediate, compassionate mental health care: and then it fucking takes your money and privacy.

i still get their ads on instagram. last night i watched as a woman in a pool pretends to talk to a different woman. they discuss her anxiety.

there's a 19 year old version of me, and she didn't survive this. she was too tired, and drowning. i almost fucking died. this thing almost fucking killed me.

in the ad, the woman playing the therapist takes a note on a clipboard and then nods once, sagely.

i have to admit it's a pretty scene. the steam and light coming off the pool water lands on the actresses. like this, it almost looks baptismal, holy.

[iheartmonaco]

HI CAN YOU PLEASE WRITE A FULL FIC ON THE VERSTAPPEN GOOD BOY TEXTS PLEASEEE

Good Boy

MV1 X GN!reader

Summary: max verstappen with a praise kink that's it that's the fic

Warnings: suggestive

Inspired by these texts

It started as a joke, really, when you said "you're such a good boy" to Max for the first time.

What shocked you was his reaction to it— the Dutchman, blunt as ever, replied, "I want to hear that in your actual voice, not through texts."

So here you were, with Max's head in your lap, petting him like he does to the cats. A soft sigh left his half-open mouth. You couldn't help but think of it as the perfect opportunity to try out what could be an amazing new addition to your sex lives.

As Max was coming close to the end of his ramble about the day's race, you ran your fingers through his hair and spoke softly, "You did so good today, baby. I'm so proud of you."

It was barely the starting, just typical praise you would always give him after a race, but his reaction was always so adorable you couldn't help but melt. Featherlight pink dusted his cheeks. "Mhm," he replied, lips pressed together in a small smile.

"Such a good boy, always making me so proud."

Heat rushed to his cheeks, cherry red now, as he struggled to keep a straight face. "Thank you, schatje."

You resumed patting his head, cooing softly, "You like that, baby? Like when I call you a good boy?"

Max was looking up at you with sultry eyes and his pupils blown wide. "Yeah," he whispered.

"Then why don't you get on your knees and give me a good reason to call you that, hm?" Max moved instantly, on his knees in front of you in what seemed to be 2 seconds at most. "You know what to do, right, pretty boy?"

He nodded, lips parted as his chest heaved for oxygen. He looked a little dizzy, pupils blown out and blushing down to his chest, and you were loving the effect the simple words had on him.

"Words, baby."

He swallowed dryly, his breath on your thigh. "Yes, schatje, please. Let me please you."

You decided to tease him a while longer, cupping his chin with one hand. "And why should Iet you do that, baby?"

His fingers toyed with the waistband of your sweatpants. "Because I wan— I wanna be a good boy. For you."

You lifted you hips, letting him take your pants off. "Oh, you already are, Max...

"you're such a good boy."

[morganbritton132]

Steve walks in to Eddie’s studio during one of his live-streams and Eddie stops strumming to ask, “Hey, did you see that email I forwarded to you?”

Steve: Huh? No…gimme a second *checks email* Hawkins High wants you to give a commencement speech at graduation?

Eddie: Isn’t that insane? Why would they ask that?

Steve: You should do it

Eddie:What? No-

Steve: Not because of the speech. I don’t care about that. If they’re dumb enough to think you wouldn’t pull shit, that’s on them.

Steve: You should do it and we should bring Robin with us because Tammy Thompson is the choir director there.

Eddie: I…I’m not following

Steve: Robin had a massive crush on her. She couldn’t even talk to her. I wanna see if she still gets flustered and awkward around her

Eddie, considering it: Wait a minute, didn’t Tammy Thompson have a massive crush on you? What if she still does?

Steve: Eddie, that’s a given. She’s only human

[shinynewmemories]

Listen to me Suzanne Collins did not have to give Katniss and Peeta a history before the games. She did NOT have to do that. She could have just had their story begin when Peeta's name was called. She could have had them be total strangers until the moment of the reaping.

Like: "And the boy tribute is... Peeta Mellark!" Katniss: Who's that? Or she could have made them vaguely familiar with each other! Peeta's name is called and Katniss just thinks, Oh, I know that name! He's in my class, actually. Poor boy... Anyway!

Either way, SC could have written the rest of the story exactly the same! I think many authors would have done that! Because if Peeta's purpose in the book was to be Gale's competition, to be one of the 3 corners of a love triangle, THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN THE WAY TO DO IT!! But that's NOT how she did it because that's NOT what Peeta is.

And who is he? To Katniss, Peeta's someone who saved her and her family and received nothing in return except a beating. Peeta's someone she has had her eye on but has never worked up the courage to talk to. Peeta's someone she associates with kindness and hope. And all this before the start of the events of the book! Just because WE, the READERS, met Gale before Peeta and immediately felt a connection with him does NOT mean that was Katniss's experience! And that's what SC is trying to tell us!

To dismiss Katniss and Peeta's past as unimportant or inconsequential compared to whatever Katniss and Gale have in the present is to fundamentally misunderstand Katniss as a character and, as a result, condemn oneself to never fully understand the choices she makes in the future.

Suzanne Collins wrote it that way on purpose because she had something to say. And no one will ever be able to convince me that something wasn't "It was always going to be Peeta".