One Of The Hardest Lines That Man Ever Wrote And We Just. Didn’t Get It. Because We Had To Let Percy

Grover being all sweet innocent cinnamon roll reasurring Percy and Annabeth that he'll be okay staying behind with Ares like he isn't planning 5D chess psychological warfare on the god of war be like

say what u want but the last olympian was the fucking book!! the end of the world starting at the first line!! the reintroducing of our character faves!! the reading of the great prophecy!! the percabeth angst!! the sally jackson and may castellan parallel!! the percy jackson power up (with a dash of percabeth)!! the point of no return once the city falls into an endless sleep!! the actual war that took four books to set up taking place!! the percabeth!! the cursed blade!! the percabeth!! the payoffs!! the percabeth!! the setup for the next book series!! no book will ever hit as hard for me as that one!!

“Nico drew his sword—three feet of wicked sharp Stygian iron, black as a nightmare. “I don’t agree.” The ground rumbled. Cracks appeared m the road, the sidewalks, the sides of the buildings. Skeletal hands grasped the air as the dead clawed their way into the world of the living. “(Percy Jackson- The last Olympian) - - - I stand for one EPIC ghost king! 🖤 You can’t deny….Nico’s got style. This scene blew my mind. It’s SO epic! I had to do a comic about this. -

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?

guys we’re gonna have new content we can make GIFSETS we get to hear “look I didn’t want to be a half-blood” brb im crying 

pjo fans when there's no poodle for percy to say hello to:

pjo fans when percy is a wanted terrorist:

me: dress how you want!! gender is fake!!! nothing matters!!!!!!

trans person: i like gender tho

me: hell yeah i respect that!!!! i apologize and don’t mean to dismiss your identity with my optimistic nihilism!!!!!!!

also sorry but i'm not sold on "they only have 8 episodes" as a defense for why the show is falling flat as both a show and an adaptation. 8 episodes is roughly 5 hours. that's 3 hours more than most movies lol. that should be plenty of time to adapt all the most important things, they're just not using their screen time as well as they could be. sorry i don't think it should actually be this hard to fit the essential core of the lightning thief's story and characters into 5 hours. the movie and musical were both 2 hours give or take and they still did certain things better. skill issue

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