Last Seen Blogs
evrythigsucks
sapphic icons :)
la-vida-es-un-poema-blog1
LA VIDA ES UN POEMA♡
zykrrsolutions
Zykrr Solutions
kanarkoi
The Land of Randomness
Text
Pearl Dream
Where casual meets classic in the most enchanting way! 🦪✨💓 A must-have for making every day a little more dreamy! („• ᴗ •„)
This set includes 3 items!
DOWNLOAD (Public 10/Mar/24)
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
I don't think we appreciate this conversation enough.
37 notes
·
View notes
Text
headcanon:
because coffee is said to actually help adhd people relax and focus and gabe frequently gambled the jackson’s money away, whenever sally couldn’t afford percy’s adhd meds she would let him have coffee. therefore, percy has been a coffee snob since the ripe age of six
3K notes
·
View notes
Note
hi! I just wanted to say I love your writing 😳
mafia au + enemies to lovers + any prompt you want 💕
It’s been almost three hours now, and Percy feels as if he couldn’t move anymore even if he wanted to. Crouching behind a statue of some forgotten god is wreaking havoc on his back. If this potential lead turns out to be another dead end and he wasted a perfectly good evening staking out some dusty museum, even if that museum is owned by one of his best friends, he might have to officially retire from the private investigating business altogether. He’s only twenty-eight, he’s sure he could probably find some cushy job to pay the bills.
All thoughts of a comfortable office chair and a job where he isn’t shot at on the regular are chased from his mind as a shadowy figure creeps into the room. The movements are graceful, quieter than any normal human being has a right to be. Percy tenses, hand creeping to the gun by his hip. The room is dark, lit only by the slight shine the moon reflects through the expansive skylights above. His breath slows, watching as the lithe form approaches, their face turned upwards to a statue near his own. One more step brings them directly beneath a skylight, and his thief’s face is revealed.
Annabeth Chase.
Percy’s breath catches in his throat. Even knowing all of the dark rumors that follow her like shadows can’t stop him from admiring the cut of her jaw, the curve of her throat as she continues to stare at the statue, unaware of his presence. The most notorious mafia boss on this side of the country, standing less than three feet away from him. She’s dressed in all black, loose joggers and a warm turtleneck. He would laugh at the cliche if it weren’t for how dangerously prepared she looks, pistol tucked into the waistband of her pants.
They’re still for a long moment, each gazing at something beautiful. Eventually, Annabeth lets out a soft breath that sounds almost like a sigh and reaches out with gloved fingers to lightly touch the statue’s upturned hand. Her eyes close as if gathering strength, and Percy takes his moment. He steps out from his hiding spot and trains his gun on the back of her head, hands certain and steady.
“Turn around. Slowly.”
There’s not a twitch from the figure in front of him, no sign that she’s even slightly surprised to be caught here tonight. Still, Annabeth Chase does as he asks, keeping her hands where he can see them, away from her gun. Her eyes are bright under the moon, clever and and almost as sharp as her smile.
“Percy Jackson.”
That was not what he was expecting her to say, and she knows it. Her smile widens into a grin. Silence stretches between them as he waits for her to say something else, but she simply continues watching him, the picture of ease. It’s a challenge—one he quickly loses.
“So, you’re the one who’s been breaking in here almost every night for the past month then. I can’t fucking wait to tell Reyna I was actually right about a potential burglar. Though, I would figure you of all people would be more careful about dust patterns.”
A slender shoulder shrugs, unbothered. “Ah, you got me. Nobody else seemed to notice. Very smart of you.” There’s a hint of satisfaction in her voice, and Percy’s eyes narrow.
“Yeah, well, your casing of the joint is done now, so whatever job you’ve got planned is also finished. I’m bringing you in for breaking and entering.”
Her laugh is soft as she takes a step forward, and Percy’s aim lowers down to her heart in warning.
Annabeth’s eyes widen, too much for it to not be fake. “Alright, easy there. But you will have to come closer at some point if you don’t want to stand here until morning. I'm not exactly going to handcuff myself.”
Percy would be an idiot to trust anything she says, but she’s also right. His arms wouldn’t be able to stay raised like this for long enough, and he’s already tired from the late hour. Wrestling with the decision for a couple more seconds, he eventually moves cautiously towards her, watching carefully.
“Would it be too obvious to say no funny business?”
The smile she gives him is amused, and she watches him right back as he shifts the gun to one hand in order to pull out his handcuffs. “Almost certainly.” As he takes one of her wrists in his—and here he decidedly does not notice how warm and soft her skin is above the glove—she leans forward ever so slightly. She’s close enough that he can smell her perfume, a hint of lemon and something sweet.
“You’re wrong about one thing, you know.” Percy simply raises an eyebrow, bringing the handcuff up. “I wasn’t casing this place at all.”
When he looks back on it, the next few seconds seem to happen in slow motion. Annabeth tugs her wrist backwards, causing him to stumble closer, their chests almost touching. The scent of lemon becomes more prominent, and Percy hesitates. Then she disarms him with a twist of her other wrist, hooks a leg around his ankle to knock him off his feet, and brings her own pistol under his chin. His handcuff is locked around one of her wrists though, and he’ll take whatever win he can get. Percy locks the other side around his own wrist, smirking.
“Probably don’t want to have to drag around a dead body, do you?”
Annabeth quirks one eyebrow at him, and he feels the smugness fade slightly at the sight. Her knee is pressing into his chest just on the side of painful, but it’s positioned carefully to not do any real damage.
“You presumably have the key for these handcuffs somewhere on your person though, don’t you? Wouldn’t take long for me to find it after killing you, I bet.” He huffs, conceding the point. “Luckily for you, I’m not going to kill you tonight.”
“Oh? Do you have another date in mind? I’d love to mark it down on my calendar.”
She presses her pistol a little further into his skin, a warning not unlike his own from earlier. “Listen. I was hoping you’d notice the dust being misplaced, even if it took you longer than I anticipated. Maybe I should have picked someplace you frequent more often, but I suppose I have a soft spot for the Greeks and their art. Infamous, in part because someone made them untouchable, placing them here.”
As he looks up at her, caught in the trap she laid, he can’t help but agree. Chase had always seemed invincible, unknowable, but with her warm breath ghosting across his face, a crack forms in the illusion.
“So, why all this then? What could you possibly need from me that you went to so much trouble to orchestrate this whole thing away from prying eyes?”
There’s a pause, as if she’s debating whether to trust him, her mouth drawn into a frown. For the first time tonight, she seems fully human, uncertainty turning her into something touchable. Percy can feel her muscles are tense in every spot they’re touching, and he finally recognizes her body language. She has nowhere else to turn. She’s cornered, and she hates it. Another crack in the illusion.
“I want to hire you. You’re a PI, are you not? And I have reason to believe my brother is planning to kill me.”
Malcolm Chase, the second in command of her organization and not without substantial power and a devoted following of his own. No wonder she didn’t feel as if she could turn to anyone closer. If her own brother might be plotting her assassination, who else might be helping his betrayal?
“And why should I help you? You’re the leader of the mafia, and, if the rumors are to be believed, a cold-blooded murderer without anything that could even remotely be considered a heart.”
She sits off of him, tucking her pistol back into her waistband. Their hands are still connected by the metal circling them, and her pinky finger ghosts against his palm, too quickly for him to know if it was on purpose. He follows her lead, albeit a bit more slowly, and sits up. Annabeth’s gaze is pointed towards the darker corners of the room, as sharp as ever, but now he can see the desperation behind them.
“Because I’m asking you to. Because you’re the best in the business.”
The unspoken because I might die if you don’t hangs between them. The illusion shatters, and now he’s sitting beside someone knowable. Dangerous, yes, but human all the same.
“Fuck.” Percy reaches into his pocket and pulls out the key for the handcuffs, drawing Annabeth’s eyes back towards him. She looks as if she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, and he can’t tell if it’s an act. He can’t tell if that matters to him anymore. “I’ll help you. Now what?”
158 notes
·
View notes
Text
Struggle
“Stop struggling,” says Whumper, looking at the rope burns on Whumpee’s wrists. “It makes no difference.”
“It pisses you off,” snaps Whumpee. “That’s more than enough.”
93 notes
·
View notes
Text
learned today (after googling it upon seeing the "Sadomasochism Brothers" post) that masochism was named by a psychiatrist who had read Leopold von Sacher-Masoch's erotic writing and was like "I feel safe in concluding that this man had Fucked-Up Freak Sex Disorder, which now until forever will bear his name", while von Sacher-Masoch was still alive. there are accounts of von Sacher-Masoch being like "bro what the fuck" about this
33K notes
·
View notes
Text
psppspsppss thoscheis come get y'all religious symbolism dinner
292 notes
·
View notes
Note
"So you thought it was a good idea to sneak into my house at 2:00 AM and leave a gift basket?" Sally looked down at the somewhat bashful god holding the ruined gift basket.
Poseidon shrugged, "That was the tradition. Although I didn't quite anticipate the screaming amazon attacking every inch of me with a baseball bat." Despite his words, Poseidon looked at Sally with a mixture of pride and amusement.
Sally's cheeks turned a lovely shade of red but she held her chin high and clutched the baseball bat like a sword. "I thought there was a monster attacking. I was just defending myself."
Poseidon shook his head, "You needn't worry. Monsters don't normally go after mortals and if one did, my presence would be enough to drive them away."
Sally just shook her head. "That's not enough. What if you aren't there? I want to be able to defend myself. Actually..." Sally's eyes took on a gleam. "You always carry that trident around-"
"No."
Sally pouted, and oh that combination of her puppy-dog eyes and pout was deadly, but he held firm. For once. After a few minutes, Sally sighed and conceded the battle. "Fine, but how about getting me my own trident then?"
Poseidon smiled indulgently, "Yes, dear."
After cleaning up the mess, Sally gave Poseidon a quick kiss on the cheek before going back upstairs with the basket and Poseidon was left to ponder as he walked back to the shore.
It didn't go quite as planned, but Sally did seem to like the gift basket. This night wasn't a total waste. Poseidon grinned as he thought of his next gift.
Courting Sally was like an adventure, one where he needed to figure out what worked and what didn't, and he never knew what might happen next. There were some mishaps where he came out looking less suave than he would have liked, but for the most part, he seemed to be succeeding in wooing her.
Perhaps she'd like a Viking age sea shanty next time.
guys wake up anon dropped a new Sally/Poseidon drabble <33
50 notes
·
View notes
Text
So I’ve been teaching 6th grade since January, and one thing about my female students which made me upset to realize is how many of them are obsessed with skincare. I've heard the girls in my class discussing the EYE CREAM they use. Like tf you mean eye cream? You're ELEVEN!!! I'm a decade older than you and have never even touched eye cream!! The most skincare a middle schooler needs is cleanser and moisturizer, maybe some acne cream. Who tf is selling you all this other stuff? Who tf told you you needed all this?
It hurts me to see. Their brains are too young for these types of insecurities 😭 no 11 year old girl should be obsessed with wrinkles, I wanna beat tf out of whatever tiktoker made them believe they needed skin that perfect
41K notes
·
View notes
Text
allow me to pitch what i, as a sports fiction writer, find to be a wholly underrated and underexplored genre of whump: sports whump
like. think about it. sports injuries can be devastating and gruesome. cultures of pushing through it and ignoring the pain and often re-injuring yourself much worse. Team Dynamics. the rivalries and alliances built into it. the potential for either whumper-free whump (accidents, stress injuries, bad falls, etc) AND whumpers that can exist in it (what if the whumper was a coach or a teammate or a rival? even a parent if it's school athletics? a journalist who has it out for someone? the potential ways for things to go wrong if you get a Bad Actor in any role are endless). the publicity if it's professional, for those of you who enjoy famous whumpees.
sports whump. that is all.
141 notes
·
View notes
Text
It takes Ford and Tango getting Whiskey a shirt that say “Yes, I’m enjoying myself. Please stop asking.” for Bitty to get over his tendency to interpret Connor’s neutral expression as displeasure that he Must Personally Do Something About. Are You Sure There’s Nothing I Can Get You? It Just Seems Like Theres Something Wrong.
169 notes
·
View notes
Text
i don’t think we talk enough about omgcp characters in terms of being fans of real teams. whiskey is almost definitely an arizona coyotes fan. how is he dealing with the arena mess
114 notes
·
View notes
Text
Mr. D, outside the Dionysus cabin: Everybody lives with their mistakes.
183 notes
·
View notes
Text
i have tourettes where I say sudden funny things but never any slurs because I am good boy 😇 I have OCD but not the one that makes me really concerned about piss and shit but the movie one that makes me line things up properly nice and neat because I am a good boy 😇 I have bipolar but not the one that makes me act embarrassingly in public because I am on the highest point of a downward curving emotional pendulum swing, but the one that makes me creative af via safely utilizing my tendency towards extreme emotions in my art (because I am a good boy 😇) I have autism but it's the one like from the movies where I'm good at math or being a detective, and not the one that makes other people hate me so bad they want to kill me because I am annoying to them. because I am a good boy 😇 I have schizophrenia too but I also don't, because somehow in the cultural lexicon no one who has schizophrenia is a good boy and there is rarely a stylistic bullshit depiction of the condition, but I'm still a good boy 😇 society knows this. society knows this.
27K notes
·
View notes