This-is-all-sorry - I'm Not Much, Sorry - Tumblr Blog

I'm not a big fan of Percabeth. But, I'm still open to see different sides of a thing. So, I would like to ask what do you see in the couple? What made you like Percabeth? Was the ship important to you when you were a child/teenager? Can you list the positive things that you may remember about Percabeth, please? If you can't, it's okay too. For the last one: What is the thing you love the most about them?

Oh my god I could go on and on about this question. I will try to keep it as short as possible. Basically, I just love how deep their relationship goes. There are so many things about them that makes them such an incredible pairing to me

1. There is so much mutual respect and support between them. They are battle partners. They respect each other's strengths and capabilities to the highest degree. Annabeth deeply values Percy's bravery and loyalty, while Percy deeply values and admires Annabeth's intelligence and strategic thinking. They support each other no matter what. No one respects Annabeth more than Percy, and no one respects Percy more than Annabeth. They trust one another explicitly. And that deep-rooted trust and respect is what separates them from so many other pairings.

2. They perfectly complement each other. Their contrasting personalities balance each other out so beautifully. Percy is impulsive and unpredictable, and Annabeth is thoughtful and strategic, which makes them an incredibly strong team. In any situation, whatever one of them lacks, the other has in abundance. Percy gets angry and worked up easily, but Annabeth can calm him down. Annabeth overthinks things and stresses herself out, but Percy can simplify things and bring her back down to earth. They keep each other level on a deep mental/emotional level. And the biggest one, in my opinion: Annabeth’s biggest fear is being betrayed and abandoned, and Percy’s defining trait is unwavering loyalty. They are like two different puzzle pieces that fit perfectly together.

3. They’ve been through so much togeher. The two of them share a history that no one else could possibly understand. They have learned and grown so much together. They started going on dangerous quests together when they were little baby 12 year olds, and have been fighting by each other’s side ever since. From going on quests, to being part of a prophecy, to dealing with the complexities of their identities as demigods, the challenges they’ve faced have impacted them both tremendously. And no one else would understand exactly why they’re the way they are. And you know, there’s the fact that they literally walked through hell together. Their experiences deepen their connection and understanding of each other more than words can describe. No one else could possibly understand them like they understand each other.

4. The chemistry is off the charts. The heat and attraction between them is abundantly clear, which adds a layer of realism and excitement to their relationship. In PJO it’s mainly tension - that’s clear in their banter and arguments and angsty thoughts - but when they’re older and together, it’s shown more through attraction and physical affection. Let me give some examples. When Annabeth touched his back in TLO, Percy says he feels as if jolts of electrify course through his body. In the demigod diaries, Percy mentions how beautiful she looks while in combat. There’s also a scene where he can’t focus because he’s literally staring at how her camp beads lay against her throat. Annabeth is constantly wanting to hug him and be in his arms. When she sees him in MoA, she literally has to restrain herself from continuously kissing him. And when they are about to fall into tartarus, to either death or torture, her dominating thought is how handsome he looks. Throughout all of HoO, they are super touchy and affectionate with each other, always touching and cuddling and kissing one another whenever they can. And of course, I have to mention the time that they literally made out in front of Piper in BoO, and Annabeth makes “grunt-whimper” sounds. I just love how down bad for each other they are. No one who can read can deny it. There is so much heat and attraction and affection between them.

5. Their loyalty to each other is unwavering. They consistently prioritize each other's well-being over anything and anyone else. They always have each other’s backs, both in battle and verbal interactions. They quite literally go across the country/world to find each other when they each get kidnapped. No distance, no person, nothing will stop them from finding each other and protecting each other.

6. They are equals. Given they are both legendary greek heroes who will go down in olympian history, it’s hard to find someone who compares. But they are both so equally extraordinary. Sure, they have different strengths, but neither is better than the other. They are both incredibly brave. They are both super witty. They both would do anything for their friends. They are both leaders. They just GET each other. They are on another level - and it’s the exact same level.

There’s more too. I could go on and on and on. (And on.) There is so much I didn’t say. But all of those elements combined is why I love them. They were made to love one another. They choose to love each other, every single moment of every day.

And my favorite thing? Probably that above all, they are best friends. There are all the things I mentioned above, but at the foundation of their relationship is an unwavering friendship. They just love being together. They love joking around together and hanging out, but also holding each other when times are rough. They take care of each other. I love that they are BFFs. Two besties who also happen to be soulmates, together against the world.

Ugh I just love them. I need to stop talking

i know hearing people on this website love to pass around those posts with links to free sign language lessons but you know you need to actually put effort into learning about Deaf culture, too, right?

Do you have pjo fic recommendations?

I've recommended a few in the past but it's been a bit so I'll recommend another round of fics-

Red Tide by @alicekumori - An excellent fic where Ares takes offense to being beat by such a tiny kid and starts training Percy. New chapter coming soon (I just finished updating it)!

Buzzfeed Unsolved: Demigods by @asexy-phoenix - Buzzfeed unsolved Percy Jackson!

MISSING: Tales from the life of a private investigator by StopIWantToTalkAboutCheese - a very fun series of fics from the perspective of a private investigator that keeps getting involved in the Godly world

Be Sure to Tip Your Waiter (For He's On His Last Dime) by inkncoffee - Poseidon keeps having dinner at the diner that Percy is working at

you with the sea in your eyes (you have the ocean at your fingertips) by SenjuMizusaya - I've recommended this fic many times, it's fabulous, a fem!Percy time travels to the past and gets involved in history stuff

The Mafia Conspiracy by @justafanwarrior - Reddit freaks out over Percy Jackson

Son of the Western Sea by @Mac_Ceallach - a classic, most people that have been in the fandom for a few months know about this one. It just updated recently and my server blew up. Percy has a ship and sails the world, so much more than it sounds

Percy did what? by TheImaginativeBabbler - the longest running read the books fic I know, pretty well done though I'm very picky about things

🦚Hera🦚

do any of you ever reach a point in your hyperfixation where you like it so much that you start feeling like you actually can't interact with it because of how much you like it. does that make any sense at all. like the idea of watching the show becomes unappealing not because your love for it is flagging but because you feel like you don't have the strength that day to contain your own excitement about it so you have to wait for a day where you don't feel so wholly consumed it makes you sick

I loved this book!! Maud is the absolute best! In this book is a collection of stories revolving around Maud, a single elderly woman, and the fact that she could and would murder you. 😂 It only takes about 2 hours to read. It is translated from Swedish, so there are some words in the book that I used a dictionary to define. Overall, I loved this book and will be asking for the sequel for Christmas. Solid 10/10.

i love working with my wife on our gay comedy passion projects because we enter a loop of feeding each other’s unhinged lunacy

2pm Poem

Circle White

I came across the question

Circle if you identify as white or African American or American Indian

or Latino or Hispanic

We all have, this time I stopped to think about it

I grew up white

My skin is white I look and speak white

But my grandma, my nana, looks Hispanic

Looks Mexican but she also talks white

I remember asking her what it was like for her

Growing up

She told me stories about her family how her

Dad would work so much how he had a firm hand

Her mom would stay at home and cook

How one time she opened the oven and

Saw a lamb’s head cooking

(terribly scary I was told)

My favorite stories are

When she talks about seeing her parents dance

around the kitchen before dinner

Where she learned to make tamales

Standing around the tina

Watching it slowly empty

Laughing and joking with

Family

But when I look at movies today

I see the celebrations

The quinceaneras

The dia des los muertos

The legends, the family

That they have and I wonder why my nana

Didn’t tell stories like that

Why she doesn't have them

My great-grandma, my grand-nanny, was half Hispanic

(Mexican) half Native American

(Apache Indian)

My great-grandpa (dead before I met him)

Was Mexican

They did all they could

To raise their children Caucasian

(white)

My grand nanny

Didn’t celebrate the day of the dead

She didn’t have an ofrenda

She didn’t throw her daughters

A quinceanera

She wasn’t Mexican enough

She didn’t want her children treated

Like Mexicans

My nana married white

White as can be

Red hair and freckles white

Her kids were whiter in turn

They had a large family

Six kids

They lived in a small town

Never treated like they were less

My mom married white

Utah white

So I came out white

So strikingly white

I grew up white

But no matter how white I am

Some heritage peaked out

Some things refused to be smudged away

Tamales made as a family

Made in mid-December

The hands that touched the masa

Not allowed to leave without risk

Of ruining the whole pot

Making dozens upon dozens

Of pork, chicken, cheese, sometimes sweet tamales

To freeze and have on Christmas or Easter

My heritage Is enough

I’m not saying it isn’t

I just look at what I could

Have had. At what I am missing

Because my great-grandparents were

Boiled down to a color

A color they didn’t want to force

On their kids

So I look at the question

Circle if you identify as white or African American or American Indian

Or Latino or Hispanic

And I want to circle Latino, circle Hispanic

But my skin, name, speech is white

I am treated white

So even though I wish it was different

I circle white

7pm Poem

Home is

I can tell you what home is

But before I do here are some things

You might have missed

Home isn’t

Where your family is, they are

Wherever you can get in an argument

Home isn't

Where you lay your head

You can do that wherever it’s convenient

Home isn't

Where your clothes are

Those could be on the side of the road if I’m blunt

Home isn’t

Where your mother is

She could be in the ground, she’s that ancient

Home isn’t

Even where you grew up

Sometimes that place is nonexistent

Now that that is out of the way

I can tell you what

Home really is

Home is where you trust the toilet seat

3pm Poem

Chocolate Chip Cookies

When most people talk about home

They refer to Chocolate Chip Cookies

They’re warm they’re gooey they’re so sweet

The smell, divine the house becoming

A home

Children running in

Cheering at the smell

I hate it

Chocolate Chip Cookies are always

Burnt or raw

The children scream

Crying at the disaster

The awful stench seeps into

The ground the walls

Your heart

Empty houses smell like Chocolate Chip Cookies

They decay, they mold and fester

When you reach for a Chocolate Chip Cookie

You infallibly burn your hand

Even if you don’t right away when the Chocolate Chip Cookie

Touches your tongue

It will turn to ash flavored sweetness

The poets will glorify the beauty the simplicity

The love in Chocolate Chip Cookies

But we all know they are anything

But they are tedious, they are ugly

They are simply, the worst

Type of cookie out there

I hate Chocolate Chip Cookies

2am Poem

Can he tell I'm in love with him?

He smiles and I do a little dance inside

He laughs at my little remarks

And shit, I think I'm in love

I could listen to him for hours

I could talk to him for more

And shit is this love I feel

I could stare at him think

I could pick him out in a crowd

And shit, I want to call this love

I could stare I could talk I could listen

But I don’t

Because shit, what if he thought I was in love

I want to be swept away in a dance

Breathing in time with the song

And shit I can imagine his arms around me

I can imagine us watching all the shows he hasn't seen

He's terribly behind

And shit if I wouldn't educate him

I take his hand and we race to the car

The rain pouring down around us

But shit that's in my head

We are so wrong together

We really don’t match

But shit, what if

No! He belongs with someone else

He’s with someone else

And shit, I think he’s in love

He is so happy when he’s talking about her

So happy

But shit, it makes me love him more

I hate that I wrote this

I hate that I feel this way, jealous

And shit, I hate that he’s gorgeous

Am I the female equivalent to a “nice guy”

Because I want him to be mine

But he isn’t

I hope he can’t tell

I hope no one else can either

because, well, shit

Because I want him to want me too

6am Poem

***Sad Poem, Sorry***

It's dark in here

I know it will only get darker from here

I think its because I'm dead

I remember thinking I was still asleep

No

I was waking up

I was in the hospital with my mommy and my daddy

No

my mom and dad

When I sat up

No

When I opened my eyes I saw my dad’s silent tears

Drop drop drop

It was strange because mom was throwing her papers around

Her precious papers

The ones with names and dates and insurance and…

Ha

I had never seen the pictures with them

The hand-drawn ones

Mom was a hurricane

She screamed and cried and not a tear fell

I can't quite see the clock on the far side of the room now

My hand

No something that used to be my hand

Was in my dad’s

That was the last bright thing I would see

I looked around for…

Well I suppose for someone to guide me

There was no road away no specter to take me

So I stayed

Mom and dad went into a fury to find who did this to me

Who was to blame for six months in a coma

For my… for the end

For some reason, the doctors lied

They said it was an accident

Someone hit me and I crashed

I can hardly see the edge of the table now

For a moment I could see what I did like a red brand on my chest

I drank and drank and drank

And drank

I drank myself to the edge

Somewhere; somewhere deep inside of me had already jumped

But I still drove

Drove off the road

Drove down the cliff

Drove right into a tree

My pain…

I don't want to talk about the pain

Not now that I can only see this paper

I remember wanting to say goodbye

To say I love you one more time

I guess I can

like this

On a page on my desk

But I don't think mommy and daddy will come into my room

They won't find this

I can't see anythin

love your little girl

5am story

On a hill in the middle of town there is a museum filled to the brim with history. This museum is called something perfectly normal, something like the national museum of history or the museum of some important things or something like that. At least on the outside of its building there is a perfectly normal name, but everyone who has actually been inside, everyone who has actually seen it calls it something quite different; they simply call it, “The Museum on the Hill.”

Every few years there will be a ceremony where the museum will receive another artifact or piece of art or something of great value. No one truly knows how big it is either. One day the building will have four floors rather than the three it had just a day before. The size of each floor is also up to speculation, some floors endless, others limited. The Museum on the Hill isn’t in a grand city or in a place specific to history but people flock to it all the same. Philanthropists tend to migrate to the museum whenever the exhibits start to get stale. They come when the curator starts talking about wanting something new, almost as if he calls to them.

There is something to be said about the curator for he is an odd fellow. He is tall, almost insultingly so. He looks down on every one of his patrons as if they should be groveling at his feet just to get a glimpse inside. He dresses in a red suit and if that wasn’t eccentric enough he has it stitched with a scale like design. He has dark black hair that almost turns red under particular lights. The adults that meet him would say that his nose is too long and his ears too high and his mouth too small for his face to be likeable, not that he is likable at all.

While all of this being true for grown ups, the perspective children have is altogether different. The nose and ears and mouth together make him look like a character from their story books. The dark red hair mixed with dark red eyes make him seem otherworldly. His clothes are not eccentric in their eyes but the only sensible choice. He does not sneer at them but gives them a conspiratorial wink.

While opinions on the curator vary, everyone agrees that he loves his museum. He brings each exhibit to life, each artifact has its own story. With every tour he leads he makes people feel like a part of history, part of its story. He answers all questions with intimate knowledge; almost like he was there. Many times he has been asked if he was there watching history unfold to which he would only smile.

The people in the city next to the museum often wonder where the curator came from and how old he really is. They wonder if he has friends or family, someone to visit. The people have never seen him leave his museum nor have they heard about where he goes when the museum is closed. The oldest people know that he was there even before they were young and he will be there long after they’re gone. Because while they grew tall then old he remained the same as if time had overlooked him and the things in his museum. 

The old tend to know more than the young; if only the young knew how to listen. Once or twice a generation a teen will try to take something from The Museum on the Hill. Sometimes it’s a single gold coin from a large pile, taken during the day, in the sunlight. The curator would ask for it returned and then banish the thief from returning. Nothing more, nothing serious. Sometimes they would try to take more and try to take it in the dead of night. When they do, they find no security system, no patrol, they can just walk in unaware of what awaits them.

As soon as their hand closes around their prize they can hear a whisper, “Leave before I keep you here forever.” It’s soft, like it could be in their head. At this point if their nerves get the better of them and let go the growling stops and they can leave without consequences. But as soon as they take the prize from its spot the voice comes back louder and turns into laughter. There is no use in running now the curator appears albeit changed. His suit is now a pair of great leathery wings, his face longer and more raptillian like, and his body now covered in scales. 

The people know that to steal from a dragon is begging for death but the young do not listen and the curator gets hungry. The Museum on the Hill isn’t like other museums, it is far more vast and far more dangerous and that is just what is above ground. I didn’t even talk about what’s in the basement.

3am story

**kind of dark, sorry**

I am a powerful villain at least that is what they tell me. I live to be entertained.  It started with simple stories of romance, of young love but, I can still remember the day, I found Romeo and Juliette. The feuding families piqued my interest and the forbidden love kept me from abandoning it. While that was well and good it was the ending that branded my heart; the senseless death the spectacle of suicide. Oh, it woke something I can’t put into words inside me. 

From that point on I lived for tragedy and for heartbreak. There are plenty of stories and plenty of songs. We humans will often dwell on those things I find. But all too quickly I ran out of stories ending in true sadness but by then my heart had turned a shade colder. I wanted to see pain, not just loss and sadness but true pain. 

Generally, people shy away from pain. They fear it but I find that pain is quite delicious. I can see it in their eyes, something alive, something that is eating them. I found that bones breaking, the snap is its own music. After all, to really make bones sing I have to break it in just the right place with just the right pressure. It is an instrument that takes much practice. 

This isn’t to say that feeling my own pain is not splendid itself. I quite enjoyed my own cuts and burns. I find that the feeling of blood gushing out of me is rather satisfying. Watching the liquid drip drip drip onto the floor making art on the ground, pressing the knife ever so slowly deeper deeper. I love losing feeling in my fingertips as hands wrap around my throat; I love the stars I feel all across my body as my vision fades to black. But alas the body can only feel so much before it goes numb with it.

So, I turned to watching others feel pain. This is where I began to amass a following. As I said before, most humans shy away from pain, seeing it, hearing about it, feeling it, but there are always a few who don’t. I know that just because they don’t fear it like other humans doesn’t mean they care for it. Of course, this love is something that is learned. And who is a better teacher than I?

Now is when I start to become a villain. No, no, pain is natural, pain is alive and what makes a villain is Death. I remember clearly when I first met Death. I had always taken great care to inflict pain in a way that would last, pain demands to be felt. But Death would call to me like Juliette to her Romeo because for me Death too was the sun. Death comes much too quickly too younger beings I find. When I first met Death the lucky thing was hardly old enough to remember the pain I would give it. Death swooped in before I was halfway done. It was beautiful. Like nothing I had seen before, the eyes so alive I could see the moment they stopped.

The followers that had gathered were just as in awe as I was. So again and again I beckoned Death to my presence. Soon far too soon, Death was just another thing in my audience. I got to thinking why don’t I join my spectators and watch someone else for a change. It was magical; like watching it for the first time again and again with each new person. 

Often the pure love of pain wasn't fully instilled in one of the follower’s essences so I would carve it into them; make them do it to themselves I found others stop questioning me after a few of these. It wasn’t long before the creatures wanted new pain. It wasn’t my idea when they wanted to build a stadium or rather a colosseum but I liked it. I liked the idea of watching creatures willingly cause pain to others but I loved the idea of watching them do it to themselves.

So here I sit watching these games unfold and I quite like the villain I’ve become.

A young man accidentally begins streaming the video game he is playing to a popular service without knowing. Over the next months, he attracts a following to his channel, not because of his mediocre gaming skills, but because of his incredibly interesting (supposedly) private life.

When you were seven, you held a fake wedding by the swings with a kid you met at the park. You never saw your childhood “spouse” again after that day. Today you received a letter summoning you to a foreign country… where your wedding to the heir to the throne twenty years ago is seen as valid.

If only I could find someone to say this to 😭

you know what!!!!!!!!!!!!! i don’t care anymore!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i enjoy things and i am going to enjoy things and i don’t care if other people don’t enjoy the things that i do!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i do not have to defend myself about every single thing i have ever liked!!!!!!!!!!!! i do not have to preface every opinion with “i know it’s garbage” for it to be valid!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i like things!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and i like liking things!!!!!!!!!!!!! and i don’t care what other people think!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A comic about the spectrum of responses to stress - we talk alot about the more extreme ends of this and trauma, but the more subtle and every day responses can be harder to spot. if we can understand our own and other’s responses better, problems Are easier to confront and blaming is less likely to happen :) hope it’s helpful!!