My Poor Baby :(

But of course, he's not gay or anything (he definitely is)

Dean Winchester whenever he loses Castiel

Or both

I love how even in fanart Leo is almost never shown in the CHB shirts while everyone else is wearing their camp shirts

Like even in the fandom he doesnt belong with everyone else. He's the odd one out.

And the flip version is how Jason is almost always in his Camp Jupiter shirt in fanart when he wants to be apart of both camps

Even in the fandom he will live and die a Roman. He cant escape.

And thats why they should kiss

Jason smells faintly of ozone like an oncoming storm and Leo is perfectly normal about it, thank you very much

"y'all's" is the best regional solution to the english second person plural possessive problem but "your guyses" is my favorite because it sucks

Don't Let Go - OTP Prompt

Whump Wednesday

Person A: *bursts into the room* "Oh my god—B! I'm here, I’m here, you're okay now—"

Person B: *flinching at the sound, trying to craw back* "Don't touch me-please-"

Person A: *freezes, hands raised* "It’s me. Just me. No one’s going to hurt you anymore."

Person B: *voice shaking* "They said you wouldn't come. That you'd forgotten me. I-I believed them."

Person A: *kneeling slowly, tears in their eyes* "I would tear the world apart before I'd let that happen. I'm sorry it took me so long."

Person B: *finally looking at A, eyes glassy* "I kept calling for you. I thought—I thought if I screamed loud enough, you’d hear me."

Person A: *voice cracking* "I did. I heard you. Every second you were gone, I felt it. I swear."

Person B: *whispers* "It hurts."

Person A: *gently, reaching forward* "I know. Let me help. Please. Just let me hold you."

Person B: *collapsing into A's arms* "Don’t let go."

Person A:*holding them tightly, as though the world.* "Never."

On the second or third day of the Battle of Manhattan honestly, Will Solace couldn’t tell anymore. The memories of those days blurred together like a smeared painting. All he knew was that he had genuinely believed he would die there. Not in some noble, heroic blaze of glory, but clobbered to death by a cyclops wielding a giant wooden club, far enough from his siblings—dead or alive—that none of them would see it happen.

He still remembered holding the limp hands of little Kylie from Demeter, ten years old, obsessed with flowers and Star Trek—even though he’d spent way too much time arguing that Star Wars was superior. Her hands were cold, slick with blood. Her glazed-over eyes stared at nothing, lost in the fog of shock and blood loss.

Will had reached inside himself, instinctively trying to summon healing magic like he always did. But there was nothing. Just emptiness. His usual reserve was gone bone dry, like a well in the middle of a desert long since forgotten.

Most of his siblings were dead now, except for Austin, Kayla, and Jasmine. There used to be twelve of them. Two never made it off the Williamsburg Bridge. The rest were taken by monsters in the chaos of the city streets.

Travis Stoll had been assigned to guard the medics by Jasmine,  head counselor now, by default. But he was busy fending off another cyclops. That left Will, defenseless, magicless. kneeling in a pool of blood, trying to tie a tourniquet on Kylie’s leg with trembling hands.

Guess we’ll all be partying in Elysium together, Will thought grimly, watching the shadow of the club rise over him.

Then, impact never came.

Nico di Angelo burst from the shadows like a knife through smoke. All sharp angles and shadows, the son of Hades was silent and fast, his Stygian Iron sword catching no light from the burning sun. He danced around the cyclops with eerie precision, dodging its every swing, slashing at tendons and knees. The club never touched him. He moved like a blade himself, calculated, deadly. And finally, with one clean thrust, he brought the monster down and finished it off, its body dissolving into dust with a hiss.

Will stared, wide-eyed and a little breathless.

“Thank you,” he managed, cradling Kylie as Nico approached, sword still in hand, back to the sun. “I’d shake your hand, but…” He looked down at his blood-soaked arms. “As you can see, I’m a bit occupied.”

Nico gave a small nod, expression unreadable.

Will couldn’t stop looking at him. The black hair falling in uneven strands across his face, the tired eyes, the quiet way he moved like he was used to being forgotten. He was beautiful, broken-glass beautiful. And maybe it was the adrenaline, or the near-death experience, but Will felt something twist in his chest. Something warm. Something terrifying.

“You need anything else?” Nico asked, his voice quiet.

Will blinked out of it. Kylie was now staggering off toward the Empire State Building, a square of ambrosia clutched in her hand.

“No,” Will said. Then, impulsively: “Wait. If you ever… get hurt. Or need patching up or anything—I mean, obviously, I’m the best medic at camp.”

Nico raised an eyebrow. “Obviously.”

“I’m just saying,” Will said quickly, trying not to sound too eager. “You can ask. I’d help. Any time.”

Nico gave a short, almost imperceptible nod, then turned, already melting back into the shadows.

Will watched him go, heart pounding, and wondered when exactly dying turned into falling in love.

And then I'm like "oh no what could have possibly happened to my skin?????"

bad day? long day? overwhelmed? confused? tired? bored? sad? everything feels weird and bad and you don’t know why? pick at your skin for at least an hour. you surely will not regret picking at your skin for at least an hour. because there are no consequences or open wounds. picking at your skin for at least an hour: try it today. no refunds.

Some fanart for the amazing fic Will Solace and the Socialites of Olympus University by @sarcasmandships!

this was supposed to be done 2 weeks ago, but alas art block and procrastination kidnapped me and shoved my body into the closet

Like what the fuck that person totally fucking missed the point also they basically implied that they've written hate comments before.

so got my first hate comment on a solangelo fic, honestly I don’t rlly care (other than the fact they totally misunderstood the point I was making about Will sometimes giving up control), I just think this person needs to get a fucking grip. Like I’m sorry if my build up was interfering with your jerk off material, but there are better ways to deal with your sexual frustration.

I’ve been posting on ao3 for years, but if I was a newer writer this is exactly the kind of thing that would have shattered my confidence and made me want to stop writing. Like why are you foaming at the mouth cos you didn’t like a smut fic I wrote for free and posted for you to read, for free??

My point is, if you don’t like something, you can literally just stop engaging with it and don’t need to go on an unhinged rant about it.