Annabeth Is One Of The Most Respected Characters In The Percy Jackson Universe Since Book 1. I Don’t

“ B*tch, this is France. ”

one of the hardest lines that man ever wrote and we just. didn’t get it. because we had to let percy explain the whole situation since he’s mommy’s smartest boy obviously

George Floyd. asphyxiated until he died in Minneapolis, he beg and said that he couldn't breath. a cop had his knee on his neck. he died. the cop has been fired. no prosecuted. not charge with first degree murder.

Regis Korchinski-Paquet. pushed off her own balcony in Toronto. she died at the scene.

Tony McDade. trans man murdered in Tallahassee. the very few news that reported his murder misgender him.

Scream their names. Remember their name. Remember why they died. Remember the anger and the pain. Black Lives Matter. They have ways matter and always will. Silence is violence. Staying silent is not an option. Sign the petitions, text, send mails, donate to their memorial.

i’m gonna cry it’s raining right now and i just passed by a family where both parents were without an umbrella but their kid who couldn’t have been older than like 3-4 was proudly holding this GIANT umbrella whose diameter was as tall (if not taller) as the kid. both the parents were getting absolutely drenched but u could tell the kid was just so happy to have an “adult” task and carry the umbrella themselves and i think that sacrifice is what love is all about

percy, at some point in season three after bumping into a random red haired girl at the Hoover dam: i know who you are. You’re Rachel Elizabeth Dare. You can see through the Mist, and you’re gonna be the next oracle

how do i talk about my loneliness? do i say it’s more a sense of alienation than anything else? do i want to risk naming the thing, to excavate the ruins of my old self? she is still here; a ghost, a haunting. maybe i am just made of echoes, never a real voice or an authentic sound but the remains of something. i am leaning towards the horizon like a flower towards sunlight but i am rooted. do i say that i have even forgotten how to write? words used to bubble out of me when i looked at a blank page, like freed prisoners or escape artists. now the words die on my tongue, like a betrayal. maybe i’m just tired. maybe it’s just weariness, a profound fatigue that precludes everything. i am a smudge. negative space. defined by things unspoken. wordlessness, a loaded silence. a loaded gun. how do i talk about the reasons why i cry myself to sleep at night without turning it into a cliché? how do i talk about the mood swings, the anger, the roiling mess of god-knows-what in my chest and in the pit of my stomach that i am no longer empowered by? where do i put the anger, the mourning? if not released by expression, then can i find a way to be a good cage for my restlessness? can i be a good ruler so melancholy doesn’t curdle into rage? now even the words on the page look hollow, lifeless. i realise i have been giving up for quite some time. it does not feel like relief. this whole time, i have been nursing a revolution inside me. i feel mutinous—against the world, against myself. if i cannot put my insecurities into poetry, if i cannot make my ugliness poetic, then i’m afraid there’s nothing left. do i say that sometimes i am seized by episodes of grief, facing the emptiness and silence pressing in around me, pulsing from within me, until i either suffocate from the claustrophobia or implode like a star? do i say that i am sick of trying, sick of feeling like i should give up, sick of needing to let go when holding on is the only thing i’m good at? do i say that i am a fundamentally hopeless person, oscillating between cynicism and optimism every day until i give myself whiplash? do i say that a scream has been building inside of me, drowning out the silence, perhaps even replacing it, but i do not have the freedom to voice it? do i say that my existence has been lined with incompleteness? do i say that i confuse solitude with agency, anger with redemption, and numbness with respite? do i say what i have never allowed myself to say before—that i am tension yet i persuade myself into thinking i am at peace; that i am always trapped in the push and pull of opposing inner forces, the old coward and the new fool; that i am a contradiction, egoistic yet self-effacing? my life is a perpetual attempt at reconciliation. i crave attention, recognition, care, clout—i know some part of me believes i am owed these things—yet every material accomplishment i am forced to call my own exists to negate this vision of myself, which is a delusion, at the end of the day. i think i am going insane. when push comes to shove, i stumble and fall. there is no rationalising my way out of this labyrinth of desires and dreams and disappointments. i am outlined in discrepancies, built up by expectations and then torn down by reality. is this loneliness? is keeping yourself to yourself strength or denial? the inarticulable parts of me i hate the most, yet they are a spectre that haunts me, a shadow self that i want to fistfight but am too jaded to. i am alienated from myself. i am fragmented, compartmentalised to the point of no return. i never bring my whole self towards anything; i don’t even know what wholeness is. everything matters, then none of it does. i am in limbo, neither heaven nor hell but a kind of purgatory, a small place where only i exist. it’s the solipsism of the depressed that i take refuge in, and at the same time want to disavow. is this loneliness, then? being too ashamed of these unflattering details of yourself to voice them out, so you have to carry them like a burden, and it ends up defining who you are anyway?

Also increasingly aware that a LOT of people "manage" getting through the 40+ hour work week by sleeping less than is healthy and relying on stimulants like coffee and energy drinks to keep them going.

For people who are unwilling or unable to do this...work really does just dominate your life. Like we really should not have to rely on unhealthy practices just to have a social life or keep on top of housework or whatever.

I know I post about this a lot but I'm so TIRED all the time and it's just so depressing that this is how we're expected to spend the one life we have.

At this point I would like to thank all the people out there who write fanfiction. I love reading stories about my favorite pairings and try to write some of my own. You are the reason why my expectations of men and women are so high and I wouldn't have it any other way. 😊❤️

WHEN I TELL YOU I SCREAMED

I would fall into the pits of hell with you rather than face the thought you might suffer alone. A powerful goddess erased all my memories but she couldn’t make me forget the sound of your laugh. You are my tether to mortality and the hand that saved me from drowning. The first time you kissed me I caused a seismic volcanic earthquake. When I met Aphrodite I thought she looked like you. The divine rulers of this universe fear I might burn down the world if you asked. And I would. Without hesitation. Do you get it? Do you understand?