😭😭😭😭

Jesper: Why's Kaz in the corner?

Inej: he's in time out.

Jesper:...why?

Inej: he just pitched th idea that instead of discarding amputations, we should let cannibals have them, and that we should legalize cannibalism.

Wylan: ...he had a po-

Inej: CORNER.

Demigods cursed by the enemies of their godly parents

Imagine demigods whose weaknesses depend on their godly parent's enemies. Not like "I hate their kids" but in a "their powers affect me" kind of way.

Zeus' kids with fertility problems, who always happen to see dangerous sea animals at the beach, who are terribly scared of the dark.

Poseidon's kids with asthma, who can only learn how to use one weapon, who have worse dyslexia than other demigods.

Demeter's kids scared of heights, who have alergic reactions to certain metals used for jewellery.

Ares' kids who can't use any technological device, who can't bring themselves to be near a horse/pegasus (let alone ride one).

Athena's kids who never learn how to swim properly, who can't come up with cruel strategies even when their lives depend on it, whose weapons break way too easily.

Apollo's kids who avoid at all costs eating meat, who are scared of thunder, who can't learn a second language.

Hephestus' kids with allergic reactions to feathers and cosmetics, who faint at the sight of blood, who can't read a map even when they know the area.

Aphrodite's kids who break every invention they use, who are allergic to pollen, whose battle plans go wrong.

Hermes' kids who sunburn fast, whose wealth doesn't last long, whose plants dry no matter how much they water them.

Dionisus' kids whose spouses die young.

Hades' kids with celiac disease, who get seasick even in calm lakes, who are unable to get into planes.

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?

writer: this is one of my male characters! he cares about his guy friends and loves them deeply.

tumblr: oh! so he’s gay!

writer: uh…no, he’s attracted to women.

tumblr: ….so he’s bi!

writer: uhh…no…….he loves his guy friends but he’s not romantically/sexually attracted to them.

tumblr: ….so you’re homophobic.

writer:

Both the hunger games before and now the ballad of songbirds and snakes proves that the young adult genre can produce some genuinely good storytelling while also examining social issues without talking down to its audience, which makes the ungodly amount of popular bad ya novels all the more embarrassing.

My neighbour has been trying to learn how to play the trumpet. And I say trying becAUSE AFTER 5 FREAKIN YEARS HE MAKES ME CRY EVERY TIME HE STARTS PLAYING UNDER THE SEA

Like i know i cant sing but thats another level revenge

obsessed with the implication that both Keira Knightley and Orlando Bloom are aware of their influence over baby bisexuals and also approve of it [x]

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annabeth trying to dismantle a GOD's unbeatable machine because her fatal flaw is hubris and percy just knowing he was going to sit on the machine because his fatal flaw is loyalty THIS FUCKING WRITERS ROOM PLEASE SPARE ME

A whole childhood spent drawing Percy Jackson and I never drew this. Feels like I missed a rite of passage somehow, luckily the pjo crowd is still going strong🔱

John Boyega at Hyde Park demonstration #BlackLivesMattter