hardcore-solangelo-19
Welcome to the heat death of sanity.
Pan Under 18She/HerPfp credits to @demonicxrocker
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therapy costs $100/hour but it costs 0 dollars to get your ass kicked by a 13 year old programmer trying to make a corgi gun
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rb this and tell me what ur accent is. this has no purpose except the fact i just realized i could have like... mutuals with cockney accents or newfoundland accents or something and thats just wild
#Its like-#uh#im indian#bht its not the standard indian accent#its more like general american???#but ceratin words i have a strong accent#like in ‘morning’ and ‘supervisors’#idk man
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Sons Of The Labyrinth or The Things Our Fathers Do To Us
#tentatively unprivating to post this...might have to private again if the bots attack#death //#icarus#minotaur#daedalus#comics#greek mythology#pulled out my old classic greek myths book to go over the mythology for this and man...#daedalus was kind of a piece of work huh#art tag
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Reblog if you didn’t write My Immortal
We’re going to find the author by process of elimination.
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hades explaining that he’s the god of the dead, not the god of death
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Min and Ryan have been stuck in North Carolina for three days. Pray for them 💜💜💜
#I WANT ONE#oh my goodness#I live in Washington 😭😭#free them from ups#infinity train#min gi park#ryan akagi#Rymin
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“What are your parameters for loving me?”
Careful to keep her head locked forward, Naomi glances over at her son. Will’s picked-bloody fingernails scrabble at the worn bandage around his wrist, twisting until his knuckles turn white. The car shakes with his violently bouncing leg, out of time with the shuddering engine and rumbling dust roads under the wheels.
“There aren’t any.”
“There have to be — some.” The bandage is longer than she thought, unspooled in his lap. He winds it back up again quickly, hands blurring; darting around his wrist, tapping on his knees, flexing and locking, flexing and locking. “I mean, what if I became a misogynist?”
She snorts. “I think you’re good, honey.”
“No, Mom, what if? Think about it for real. You’d stop loving me, right?”
“I might knock you around a bit, but it’d pretty hard to stop loving you completely,” she teases. She pinches the stubbornly-clinging baby fat of his cheeks between her knuckles, ruffling his hair when he ducks away.
“Seriously, Mama.”
“I dunno, Will. I’d send you to work for your Auntie Di for a while, probably. Reckon she’d straighten you out good.”
“Okay.” He nods, twice to himself, chewing on his lip. The bandage is wrapped around his elbow, now, pulled tight enough that she can hear the groan of his joints. “Okay. What if I killed someone?”
“Be a pretty hefty secret for the two of us.”
“An innocent person. Cold blood, just because I wanted to.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I could, Mom. People are — unpredictable.” He picks at a hole in his shorts until it’s wide enough to slide three fingers through, pulling the bandage in after them. It looks yellowed next to the green of the fabric, worn. “Sometimes you think you know someone but you don’t.”
“I know you.”
She pushes on her turn signal, slowing to a near stop. Will’s twitching fingers unconsciously synch up, cri-tap, cri-tap, cri-tap. The rusted rims groan as her tires amble around the bend, quieting as she lurches forward. They both duck as she hits a pothole, narrowly avoiding the warped ceiling.
“Cold blood, Mama.”
“I’d — it would scare me, I guess.” The next few potholes are smaller — she can avoid them with some manoeuvring. A mouse darts out onto the road, rushing out from the surrounding cornfields, and she slams on the break, thrusting her arm out to the passenger side. Will’s hands come to cup over her forearm as he slams into it, grunting softly. The mouse sprints across the rest of the road, tail swishing behind it, disappearing into the stalks. She settles back into her seat, brushing across Will’s seatbelt as she does, and presses the gas again. “More for you than of you. For what would happen if someone came knocking.”
“You wouldn’t report it?”
“No I wouldn’t report it, Will, Jesus.”
“But I — but I did something evil.”
“This is a hypothetical, baby.”
“And in the hypothetical. You’re —” He scrubs his hand down his face, eyes squeezing shut. “You’re a good person. You have — morals.”
“I’m a person, Will.” The GPS beeps at her — twenty-five miles to the Tennessee border. “And I’m a mother before that.”
“So if I — you would just — just like that? You’d — forgive me?”
“I’d love you,” she corrects.
“But you wouldn’t forgive me.”
She shrugs. “Honestly? I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.”
“So how do you know you’d still love me?”
“Because there’s nothing you could do, baby. I mean it.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
“Not even if I was a bully? Or a landlord? Or if I — liked boys?”
He says it quickly, or tries to, but he stumbles over his words, tripping over the syllables. Naomi sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, biting it hard.
“You would still love me, if I — if I —”
Keeping her movements steady, she removes her boot from the gas. Will glances, fast, at her tightening knuckles on the steering wheel, looking quickly away. She guides the car to the shoulder of the road, pulling into park, and kills the engine, unclipping her seatbelt and turning ninety degrees to face her son. Will crowds into the corner of the seat, hunching in on himself, shoulders tense and curling, hair failing over her lowered head.
“Oh, Will.”
His body shakes as she pulls him into her, hands trembling so bad they spasm, twitching out of the fists he makes. She shifts until both of her arms wrap tightly around her torso, ignoring the burn of the trench, tucking his forehead into her collarbone, dropping her lips to press against his temples, his cheeks, the crown of his head.
“It’s okay, baby.”
“It’s — not. I’m still, I can still —”
“Sh.” His tears drip onto her shirt, her skin. He chokes back a sob and she tightens, reflexively, pulling his whole body even closer to her, somehow, making space for his too-long legs, knees hitting his chest, feet dangling off the seat, gearshift shoved into his thigh. His chest heaves with the effort of keeping his cries locked up in his throat, hidden behind clenched teeth, squeezed shut eyes. His fingers cling onto her shirt, twisting the fabric so hard it warps. Her own fingers clutch desperately at the ridges of his spine, the inside of his elbow; squeezing, holding, bruising. His voice is rough as raw grit and reedy as pond scum, barely above a whisper.
“I like boys, Mama.”
“I heard you.” She rests her forehead on his shoulder, her own breaths shuddering. “I heard you, sweetheart.”
“I like — a boy.”
“Okay.”
“For a long time.”
Her swallow constricts her throat, shoving the air back in her lungs. How long, she cannot bring herself to ask — when was it, exactly, that he decided he could not trust her with this? When did she lose that privilege? Was it when he started protecting her from the pain in his life, or before? When he lost everyone close to him at once, or when he broke down and told her about it? When was she no longer the person he ran to when he was scared, nervous, afraid?
He used to come to her for everything.
“I love you,” she whispers, voice wet as it slides against the lump in her throat. She squeezes him again, and this time, he squeezes back, pressing his face into her skin. “Will Solace, you are what keeps me going, do you understand that? Come up here, baby, look at me.”
His eyes aren’t hers. He takes after his father, really; after his older brother once upon a time. But he speaks like she does and smiles like she does and stands like she does, and when he cries he gets that same look, like the ocean has emptied itself inside of him. She cradles both palms to his wet cheeks, thumbs pressing under his eyes, kissing his forehead, his cheekbones, wiping the tears away.
“Fifteen years long you’ve been the light of my life. I need you to understand that, Will. I have never loved anything like I love you and there will never be anyone who comes even close. There is no hypothetical, no situation, no anything that could change that. There are no parameters. None. You understand me?”
“Everything stops,” he croaks. “Everything has a limit.”
“Not me,” she says firmly. “You ain’t a baby no more, baby, but you’re gonna have to pretend for a moment that I know everything again. I am telling you that there is no boundary. And I am not giving you the option to disagree. You are my son and my sun and that’s final, Will. That’s final.”
His face crumples. She pulls him close again, sighing, letting him curl up in his lap like he’s ten years younger than she should be, instead of the ten years older he acts. She runs a hand through he knotted hair and another down his back and presses her lips to his temples, holding him every place she can reach, and rocks them, even though there’s no room to do it, humming slow and low under her breath.
“We’ll get there,” she promises, tapping a beat on his shoulders, pressing a kiss to his hair. “Okay?”
He nods into her neck. “Okay.” His voice is small but not cowering, thankfully; small like he’s hiding in her instead of from her. She fights the urge to sag into him, to burst into tears of her own.
“I love you, Will. No matter what and forever.”
“I love you too, Mama.”
#WHY ARE THERE ONLY 57 NOTES?#NUH UH#also staying true to my user for one#pjo#pjo headcanon#naomi solace love of my life#percy jackson and the olympians#hoo#heroes of olympus#pjo hoo toa#will solace#will solace angst#naomi solace#naomi solace & will solace#hurt/comfort#autistic will solace#coming out#my writing#fic#longpost#nico pjo
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Caves are weirder and more varied than you think
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one of the funniest bits in action, for me at least, was beth's "glow up era" of her having her braces removed and immediately getting a boyfriend because of it. mostly because, in the canonical timeline, there was only a span of like three days between the island special and the first episode of action. especially when her boyfriend turned out to be real.
beth met a guy at the orthodontist, rizzed him up, immediately left him alone for ~8 weeks to compete on a reality tv show and he still came to see her at the finale. queen behaviour.
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we need more kid shows where trans teens kill cops
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Remember how Lindsay had called out Heather in TDI?
If only Owen had a similar scene with Alejandro in TDWT, before Owen had gotten eliminated...
That would've been so satisfying to watch, and Alejandro would've totally deserved it...
Owen: "You really are mean! And all the bad stuff Heather said about you is true! Like how you are a two-faced, backstabbing, lying little (censored)!"
Owen: "I always thought that she misunderstood you! I tried to convince myself that you were a great guy, because I thought you only had some rough edges, like Noah once did! But she's right! You really are a two-faced, backstabbing, lying little (censored)!"
Owen: "And guess what? I don't want to be friends anymore! I'd rather spend the day exercising with Izzy and Eva, than hanging out with you! And PS: That soul patch makes you look old!"
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Sorry i couldnt submit my homework on time, you see i got mad at my mom then i got on the therapy train for a month-
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So when Giles Grimm says "the Storybook of Legends is a hoax" (roughly, since it's in riddlish), what does he mean??
Does he mean the fake one?
Does he mean the assumption that it has control over what happens is wrong?
Does he mean it's literally a hoax, as in it's useless and actually doesn't do shit? What would that imply?
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I've got 99 problems and they all manifest in green on my hand because I got on this magic train that's supposed to help me work through all 99 of my problems
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no bc careless whisper is such a rymin song you dont understand
HELP PLEASE
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