#think I'm gonna title this one

[triscribeaucollection]

New installment of my PJO Trade AU in the works:

So, apparently demigods didn’t get sick very often.

But when they did?

Hoooo boy did they pull out all the stops.

Thalia readjusted the thick cloth tied around her face and tucked into her shirt collar, before hefting up her latest pair of buckets filled with ice water. Almost made her wistful for the invisible spirit servants on Ogygia, honestly.

As best they’d been able to figure, it started in the Hermes cabin. Three separate new arrivals had come in the week before and been shuffled into the catch-all cabin, though only one stayed there as an unclaimed demigod, the other two heading off to Apollo and Demeter’s cabins, respectively. But regardless, at least one of them came in with some kind of nasty bug without showing any symptoms, and the Hermes kids were the first to get taken out.

Luke wasn’t the senior half blood by any means, but when the Head of the cabin went down puking her guts out, he took charge pretty quick. As soon as he realized more kids than not were dealing with the dizzy spells that preceded the sniffling and then vomit, Thalia’s best friend closed up shop, turning the whole cabin into a quarantine zone. Unfortunately, that practically guaranteed any camper inside who hadn’t caught the bug yet was screwed, but they all obeyed Luke’s orders, reluctantly agreeing to it for the greater good.

Then a daughter of Dionysus collapsed in the dining pavilion, and everything went downhill from there.

Twelve cabins housed all of Camp Half Blood’s demigod population. Three stood empty most if not all of the time (Artemis, Zeus, and Hera); that left nine full of teenagers ripe for infection. Five filled up with feverish groans fairly quickly. The Athena kids tried to close up shop before any of their members could get sick, but missed the mark, and within two days more than half of them were bedridden, including Annabeth. Thalia didn’t dare set foot inside, but she’d at least spoken to the younger girl a little through a closed window, and promised something special once Annabeth felt better.

“But if you die, I get to keep it,” she warned, only to laugh when the eleven year old petulantly stuck out her tongue.

The Apollo campers, gods love ‘em, emptied out the Big House infirmary and went mobile. Those who fell ill were banished back to their cabin, but the rest maintained the closest they could get to hospital protective gear and delivered soup, drinks, and other necessities to everyone else. Kids caught in the spiked fever phase were wiped down repeatedly with cold wet washcloths, while those wracked by dry heaving got the same pressed firmly against the backs of their necks.

But that meant a lot of cold wet cloth constantly warming up and drying out, which meant a fresh supply of ice water was badly needed.

Hence Thalia, decked out like a background extra in a post apocalypse film, lugging heavy buckets up to the cabins again and again and again. She wasn’t the only one by any means; the magical beings employed by Chiron as security and cleaning crew and whatnot were all pitching in too, since they couldn’t get sick like demigods. But that meant Thalia needed to dodge around other folks and their buckets on her back-and-forth trips, which felt progressively trickier as the fourth day of Camp versus Plague dragged on and warmed up.

At some point in the early afternoon, as she set down her empty buckets for another refill, an Apollo kid decked out in yellow vinyl gloves and an actual medical facemask came scurrying up to try and shove two wrapped sandwiches into her hands. “I just need one, thanks,” Thalia told him. Her stomach twisted; maybe make that only half of one.

But the kid shook their head. “The other’s for Percy.”

“Yeah, no, that’s gotta wait, I don’t set foot in our cabin until the end of the day, after I’ve scrubbed my skin down to the cellular level.” Like Tartarus was Thalia tracking germs home to infect her little cousin.

Above the line of their mask, the Apollo kid’s eyes scrunched. “But he’s not at the Poseidon cabin?”

“...what.”

“I saw him helping with laundry, just a little while ago. Looked like he was past ready for a break, too. Like you,” the kid added pointedly, before they successfully maneuvered the sandwiches into Thalia’s unresistant grasp. She only blinked as the twerp took off again, before tipping her head back with a groan.

Percy, helping out with laundry. When Thalia specifically ordered him to stay put in their cabin, away from fevers and vomit and all the camp-wide nastiness. For a moment she idly wondered if losing Poseidon’s favor would be worth strangling the self-sacrificing idiot.

...nah. Probably not.

Sighing, Thalia abandoned her buckets and went to find Percy.

If only so she could throw him headfirst into the lake.

[sysig]

You're still standing off to the side. Somehow, center stage has shifted from under your feet without you realizing, and you're standing in the wings, performing to no one.

Starring Role (Patreon)

[raticalshoez]

i'm having hyperfixation drought so i did what i did best and created a crossover episode

[quentinfiletmignon]

» THERE ARE SOME THINGS YOU JUST CAN'T EXPLAIN «

PAUL LANDERS & RICHARD Z. KRUSPE • RAMMSTEIN

A4 • STABILO point 88 liners

[verstpn]

how they'll find me if max verstappen isn't a 4 time wdc by the end of this weekend

[mintjeru]

duke of the north the fortress of meropide

open for better quality | no reposts

[goldenblu]

anyway as celebration for the start of the anime egghead arc here's a snippet from the zosan au i'm writing where sanji gradually loses his emotions post-wano

(edit: link to the fic)

//

“Can’t you get your shitty self back up on your own?” Zoro grumbles, but he reaches down to grasp Sanji’s hand anyways.

This turns out to be a mistake, because the next second, Zoro finds himself yanked off the boat, splashing ungracefully face first into the bay. For a moment, all he can see is bubbles. The saltwater burns in his nostrils. He resurfaces, sputtering and wiping water out of his eyes. “What the fuck was that for?”

Sanji is too busy cackling at him to answer, his laughter loud and breathless and delighted, echoing across the water. That shitty fucking cook, he hates him so fucking much, see if he’s going to help him with anything ever again, he’s going to kill him, he’s going to—to do nothing, actually, since Zoro suddenly has a new favorite sound.

He wants Sanji to keep laughing like that, so gleeful and happy that it makes Zoro’s promise seem like a ridiculous impossibility, a half-forgotten dream. How could Sanji ever think he would become a Vinsmoke when he’s so, so warm, like fresh-baked bread, like the scent of spices, like the ember at the end of his cigarette, a pinprick of light in the darkness? Maybe it’s foolish, but Zoro wants to be the one who makes Sanji laugh like that, the one who eases the weight of the world off his shoulders, who brings out his strength and his kindness and his passion, who is allowed to lean in just that bit further when they’re butting heads until—until—

Shut up, brain, he tells himself. Focus. Now is not the time for that. Now is the time to take his revenge.

[destinywillowleaf]

one of a kind living in a world gone plastic

baby you're so classic

@most-tragic-character-tournament

(all my thoughts in the tags)

[james-stark-the-writer]

alright, we're finally at the entire reason for me starting my DCEU (re)watch. now seated for Cathy Yan and Christina Hodson's Birds of Prey and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn. let's see how it's held up since i saw it in theaters.

[kaisollisto]

(Based off of the reality of having a metal ring in your back as a constant reminder of your fate and how that affects you as a person set in the Switzerland arc)

“Does it hurt?” 

Ava’s pressed face down into the pillow sleep curling around her limbs. She hums, she can’t remember what she says, she’s exhausted. Her arms are tangled beneath her pillow. She holds her fingers tightly between each other, her bones ache from the pressure but her hands no longer shake. Ava hasn’t experienced this before, a fear that haunts her at night. (She finds she cannot stop dreaming about dying. It’s stifling in the cover of night trying to figure out where she is.) 

She slowly opens her eyes and squints in the darkness. Beatrice is facing her a furrow in her brow that Ava knows she’s doing unconsciously. Ava’s lip quirks a smidgen, Beatrice looks funny. It’s a bit silly to her, Beatrice no doubt working out a solution to an unknown problem that Ava has yet to see in the middle of the night. In her sleepy state she wants to laugh at the imaginary cogs churning in Beatrice’s head. 

Beatrice scooches closer and Ava panics, her skin can taste the dust of Bea’s forearm. She hoists herself up on her elbows, turning to face Beatrice. “Wha?” Ava’s shaking off bits of sleep from her mouth when Beatrice repeats herself. 

“Does the Halo hurt?” 

She doesn’t know if she wants to answer that. Ava peers over Beatrice squinting at the harsh light of the digital clock on Beatrice’s side. Ava loves it, it reminds her of the early 2000’s and the aesthetic of waking up to an alarm to go somewhere. The clock blinks an innocent 1:43 Am, and Ava debates on letting her head thump back down. 

She turns her body on her side, she can feel the halo shifting in her back and it makes her want to throw up. The sides of the halo press against her shoulder blades and Ava resists the urge to yank it out. She grits her teeth and settles ignoring the skin of her back pulling tight to accommodate for the ring. Beatrice is still expecting an answer and Ava can’t lie to her, she pulls the covers of the sheet up to her chest hoping to bide more time for an answer. 

"Everything hurts Bea," Ava smiles, "getting my ass handed to me is hard work."

Beatrice frowns displeased but looks at her through her lashes, it's unguarded, the stress and worries of the world stay out of their room in the dead of night. Her lashes are so pretty and Ava wants to curse the soft glow of the moon. There’s just enough moonlight to illuminate her eyes but overshadow her freckles. Ava swallows down the taste of defeat, she can’t win, she thinks. 

Her gaze is soft, Beatrice is looking at her and it’s different yet the same. The same feeling in her chest constricting her lungs, the same soft gaze of Beatrice. Beatrice who likes what she sees in Ava when Ava can barely see where she begins. She doesn’t like to dwell on it, the truth of the matter being what belongs to Ava.

If she closes her eyes she can pretend just a little longer. She can give herself the hope of the future and what comes after all this. She can put down the fighting and the artifact and live. Ava doesn't want to think about it anymore, at least not tonight when Beatrice is here with her. 

Beatrice is soft. She knows it from hours and hours of training. She's felt it when Beatrice corrects her form, in the way she talks. She speaks from a place of care like she has turned the harsh words in her brain over and over to soften the syllables spoken to Ava. And Ava doesn't linger on it, the meaning behind it, (Ava didn't think she'd make it this far, finding a person who cares quite like Bea does.)

And Ava's got it bad, she knows she's fucked because Beatrice doesn’t say anything about her language and Ava can't not tell her the truth. She looks down, her hand fiddling with the bed sheet underneath them. 

"It doesn't hurt," if she thinks about it she can feel the fibers of the cotton between the pads of her fingers. "But it's very uncomfortable." She doesn't want to find the response in Beatrice's eyes, content to hear it from her voice. The soft British lilting accent that holds her just as soft as a touch. 

She waits, she can picture Bea’s mannerisms with her eyes closed but maybe she should check just to be sure. Ava peers up at Beatrice and she’s suddenly closer. Her eyes really are pretty, there’s a depth to them that Ava wants to spend an ungodly amount of time studying.

“Can I help?”

[tricoufamily]

pretty neat game

[msommers]

she felt very old and mature and wise— which showed how young she was.

[templates: 1, 2]

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

genie in a lamp

write a poem. write another poem.

write a song. write another song.

write words that aren't songs but could be and write poems that don't make sense. write another poem.

turn it into a song. concentrate and ask again.

maybe it will make sense this time. maybe it isn't supposed to. someone will understand anyway.

write another song, or a poem, or both or neither. will it work this time? is there a way to survive?

reply hazy, try again.

write another poem. call yourself a poet, even though you don't think you are one.

write another song. don't let anyone see it. let someone see it.

write a book. write a poem. write a song. try again.

do we make it?

without a doubt

~xoxo, Love yoU

[apricusapollo]

cody "nothing in the world belongs to me but my love mine, all mine" wan

[chiarrara]

new scene, inspired by this art, which set me off on another daydream. this is recollection, not writing:

I'm starting to imagine more and more scenes that don't fit exactly into the outline I have, which is fun because i think the story is developing and getting better because of it. I don't know how it's gonna turn out, or if I'll even use everything. But I'm having a good time, and I like where it's going.

this iteration of megumi is really interesting to play with. it's like the most extreme version of everything that makes him him and how he confronts it when those things are baked even deeper into his dna

[lieutenantselnia]

Because my new f/os made me wonder about this ...

If you have an f/o who's not usually referred to by their first name, but instead their last name, a nickname, or something like a title or honorific, how to you refer to them? This can apply both to how they are addressed in-universe in their source material and/or how they are commonly referred to in the fandom.