This Is So Funny I Never Get Tired

As for the fanfic where Thalia is sent to the school of mortals - very interesting!! Tell everything! You can ask for it somewhere

So the synopsis goes something like this: After the war and so many dead or dying, the camp needs to find more demigods, to keep them protected and out of the way of Kronos’s followers who survived the war. So Artemis enlists some of her hunters to go into the mortal world- more specifically their schools- and find those demigods. 

It would take place in Manhattan/Washington Heights, and Thalia has to blend in with the other students. What she doesn’t count for is people being interested in her past, and she needs to protect her identity and her past- which is quickly catching up to her.

Thalia soon falls for a girl, and she deals with the emotions of both liking someone, and the wrath she will face if Artemis finds out.

She makes new friends and makes amends with old ones. But the real question is, who should she trust? When the war has just finished, there are those who seek to relight the match and make the fire burn even brighter. 

It is Thalia’s job to stop that from happening.

The Pevensies are foreign when they return home.

The streets no longer know them. They do not seem to fit in their own bodies as they stroll the cobbles, Lucy’s hand tucked carefully into Peter’s, Edmund trailing watchfully behind Susan like a shadow. Their eyes are sharp, their smiles crooked, and those who see them cross to the opposite side of the road, afraid of the ancient gleam they see reflected back at them that does not belong in the eyes of a child.

Water murmurs to Lucy when she flits past, and lamplight follows her wherever she goes, even in broad daylight when the lamps are unlit. Their flames sputter into existence when she walks by, flickering at her in a way that seems to whisper I know you. Lucy looks at them with feral teeth and smiles, and vines twist from the cobbles at her feet. She laughs like a wild thing, eyes glowing, but a moment later she blinks and it is gone. Her feet hardly seem to touch the ground at all as she darts through the alleys.

The sky is clearer when Peter walks the streets, clouds vanishing like they were never there at all. His eyes are too much like a lion’s, struck through with gold and filled with a brooding fierceness, yet he laughs as he twirls Lucy around, and claps Edmund on the back as they share a stupid joke, and smiles with Susan when she tells him of the bow she plans to carve. He is all warmth and friendliness, but there is something about his eyes. There is something about all of their eyes.

The sun caresses Susan as she moves about, and she is graceful, too graceful, her hair seeming to be alive of its own accord as she steps lightly along the streets. Her skin is pale like ice, and sometimes her gaze appears almost silver as she stands by the river, gazing into its depths with a distant, siren-cold smile. She is gentle, but her fingers look a little too long sometimes. Her laugh is a little too unsettling.

Trees lean towards Edmund when he walks past, branches scraping his clothing, leaves showering around him. Books and journals and pages covered in notes perpetually fill his arms, spilling from his grasp but never quite falling. His voice is even-keeled, quiet, but there is something wild about it, something unhinged. He speaks of things none have ever heard before, dark hair falling into his eyes, mouth unsmiling and hands perfectly still, and for a moment he seems to be someone else, fangs beneath his lips, dirt on his tongue. He tilts his head just a little too far, sometimes.

The Pevensies are foreign when they return home. They do not fit their bodies. They do not fit the streets. People who encounter them cross to the other side of the road to avoid them, terrified of the oldness they see in the children’s faces. Such depth does not belong in the gaze of a child.

And yet four sets of eyes, ancient and deep and flickering like candlelight, stare out from the children’s faces, and their smiles are sharp, too sharp. Their laughter is a little too wild as they walk, the oldest and youngest hand-in-hand, the middle children trailing each other like shadows.

There is something about those children’s eyes.

There is something about those children.

You know how companies used to make flour sacks with pretty flower patterns on them because mothers would make dresses out of them for their daughters? We should bring that back. Paper bags designed to be reused as wrapping paper. Jars of jam designed to look nice filled with pencils or homemade sauces. Fabric that's high quality enough to use as a patch.

Give things a second life!!

You know what?

I love you, fics that take months to update. I click on the newest chapter and have no memory of this place and get to go back some chapters and rediscover how much i love everything about this story.

I love you, fics that take years to update. I think of you fondly, and know your names, go search for you and see an update from this year and scream, diving in uncaring of any missed details (i will finish the update and read you in reverse because this is a treat you have bestowed)

I love you, fics that probably will never update again. Thank you for being a roman empire for my mind, thank you for teaching me about the ephemeral fandom experience, for inspiring a thousand million what if-s, for being a comfort read and a nostalgia read and a reread.

I love you fic writers, who jump into projects and stories with enthusiasm. I love you when you succeed in pumping out those chapters and that love doesn't go away when you stop.

I love you fic writers who post and then get in your own head and never feel confident enough to update, whether it's at all or whether it's just that one story.

I love you fic writers, who have a fandom or media hurt you to the point of abandoning or having a hard time with their WIPs.

I love you fic writers, who lose interest or have life changes or illness or bad memory. Thank you for being part of the fandom, a core part of the fandom. Thank you for the time spent in the fandom.

I love you, fic writers who try out something new and then stop. You're so valid.

I love you, WIP fics that may or may not ever get finished. Thank you for brightening my day in the way only you could have.

So my new favorite things is taking Six screenshots wildly out of context and then adding captions. These are my favorites.

This is why writers abandon stories. It’s not that we don’t love them, it’s because we don’t want to love them alone.

PERCY JACKSON FANS HEAR ME OUT!

It’s season 3 of the PJO show AKA The Titans Curse. Percy (Walker) is sitting in front of Aphordite Goddess of Love and Beauty who just so happens to look like an older version of his best friend Annabeth (Leah) totally unrelated we’re sure.

Then he blinks and the beautiful woman in front of him changes….now she has brown hair and blue eyes she smiles, its Alexandria Daddario movie Annabeth. Just a split second cameo and then she’s gone.

Now a different woman is sitting in front of Percy, a woman with blonde hair and hazel eyes Kristen Stokes Lightning Thief Musical Annabeth. She shifts and changes again.

The final and last woman we see before Percy has curly blonde hair, tanned skin, and stormy grey eyes it’s book Annabeth.

Percy doesn’t realise it but we do. The Goddess of love shows him every version of the girl he loves from every universe he loves her in. It’s beautiful, it’s cinema, it needs to happen.

her armpits would NOT be clean shaven