Forgot I Made This.

Lee does not immediately suspect something when he hears screaming.

That's his bad.

He will make it abundantly clear in his defense that the core value of this camp is violence. That is It. Not safety, not training, not worship or hard work or discipline or anything. It's violence. Didn't get the last croissant at breakfast? Violence. Someone used up all the hot water? Violence. Someone got in close to your face and insulted your dead mother? Violence. Can't decide whose nail polish colour is more well suited to their outfit?

You guessed it.

Violence.

His cabin is not immune. In fact, the Apollo cabin may be technically from some perspectives worse than every other. It is a little known fact that the solid gold walls of hubris are, in fact, sound proofed, and yet the midnight trombone continues to echo gently and unkindly over the midnight breeze. So when he hears, one beautiful and sunny July afternoon, intense, bloodcurdling screaming echoing from his very place of residence, he thinks: ah. Someone has once again used Leanna's sheet music practice and she is responding with brute force. Good for her.

But then, of course, the screaming pitches up high enough that four windows shatter and his hearing starts to go, and he thinks, again, ah. And then immediately begins to sprint.

"Whatever you're doing, cut it the fuck out," he barks, sprinting up the porch, and then very quickly turns to the side to wheeze silently. "Leave him -- oh, for the love of the gods."

Fortunately, his youngest brother is not being teased or tortured or in any other such way bothered. Technically. Unfortunately, the brother who he should have been more concerned about is pinning said baby brother to the floor, needles shining in hand, shrieking, "Sit still! Sit still! I swear to the muses, asswipe, sit still or I am going to end up impaling your brain!"

"It hurts, it hurts, it hurts --"

"I have not fucking done it yet!"

"Michael," Lee says, dragging a hand down his face, "watch your fucking language."

Michael bares his teeth. "He pestered me for twelve fucking days, Lee. He is getting his ears pierced or I am going to pierce him between the eyes from a hundred fucking feet."

"He's torturing me!" Will hollers, straining away. "He's -- sticking me like a pin cushion --"

"That is how piercing works you little shit --"

"I'm reporting you to child services!"

"Good! Call 'em now! It'll take them half a fuckin' hour to get here, I'll have lots of time to kick your ass!"

On one hand, Lee is Practically and Adult. He is seventeen whole years old. He can vote, if he chooses to break the law. Hell, in some countries he's legally allowed to kill people with no consequences.

"None of that is true," says Diana from her bunk, flipping a page in her magazine.

On the other hand, it is a truly beautiful day. He could just...leave. He could take a walk along the beautiful shoreline and reflect upon the days when he was an only child of a neglectful mother, blissfully lonely and unbothered. Oh, those were the days.

"Hold still!"

On the mysterious third hand, it is really kind of funny to watch Michael wrestle with a nine-year-old and lose.

"Move over," Lee says, walking over to his sister's bunk. She does, giving him approximately one square millimeter of space. Wow. She's feeling generous today. "Wager?"

"Twenty-six minutes at minimum," Diana says. She pats around until her hand hits maybe the massivest bag of sour gummi worms Lee has ever seen, shoving at least nine in her mouth at once. "And its uneven."

Lee reaches for a gummi worm. She kicks him in the spleen. He pulls his hand away.

"I'll take that. He's getting some leverage, I think he'll get them pierced in twenty-four."

"You're on."

They shake, then settle into observe. Diana passes him a set of rubber ear plugs, which he gratefully accepts just before Will screeches so loudly Michael's ear drums genuinely begin to bleed. At least he got closer, this time.

(It takes Michael thirty-two minutes and he somehow manages to pierce one ear twice. Lee accepts his gummi-worm winnings with grace and integrity and anything Diana claims otherwise is because she is a bitter sore loser who likes to start rumours and discredit his good name.)

(Obviously.)

-- -- --

based on this and this drawing by @cometjuice

more cabin 7

Barty: I’m about to expose the men. Whenever you ask a man’s height, he’ll add an inch. So if he’s 6 foot, he’ll say he’s 6'1 and if he’s 6'2, he’ll say he’s 6'3. Barty: Not me though. I subtract 4. I say I’m 5'9. Especially when there’s other men in the room. And then I just watch them panic. Not only have you exposed his lie, but now he thinks he’s 5'3. Barty: What I do is not a crime, but it should be.

Person A: "Well pleasure to see you too."

Person B: "Don't mind me."

Person A: "Mighty difficult to do when you are scaling my walls."

random life question but does anyone know what tf I do with my lil brother (teenage) bc he's depressed bc none of his friends are free today and let's be honest they're all either boring as fuck or just play video games all the time (which he's not into so much) so I'm trying to think up things to do with him and coming up blank

the life of an older sister smh

Heyy!! Where do you get your motivation or the ideas for your fanfics lmao 😭😭

hi!! <333

ooh good question

to be honest, my motivation comes from the fact that I a) have no life and nothing better to do and b) that I actually have about sixteen wips in progress, so when I don't feel like working on one, I work on a different one

sometimes it makes updating unreliable or getting a certain storyline done slower, but in general, it works for me :)

and in terms of ideas.... to be honest I'm just hit with it at the most random times, normally when I have something else simple distracting the loud bits of my brain

For example, when I'm walking. When I'm on my school bus and looking out the window. When I'm sat in bed in the middle of the night and crocheting or listening to music and staring at my ceiling. It helps having a certain part of my brain stimulated for the ideas to flow

I also tend to ponder over a new idea for a day or two, refining it and figuring out which version of it I want to use. Sometimes I don't like the original idea I come up with but I do like what I made from it, so I switch the storyline around in my brain a lot before writing anything down.

And the ideas themselves can come from anything. A conversation I heard on the bus, this certain part of another book I've read that's given me a whole load of new ideas, a new topic I started learning in my history class, whatever. As long as I can pull a story from it, it works. And, honestly, sometimes I'm that out of ideas that I resort to OTP generators and the like. (Basic, I know, but it works :D )

So yeah, that's what works for me, but everyone formulates ideas differently. And as for the motivation... I only write if I want to. It shouldn't be a chore. It should be a passion :)

hope that helped! <333

Rewatching the extended fellowship of the ring compelled me to make this shitpost video of Legolas and Aragorn being besties

^almost died laughing

dru after recommending a horror movie to kit knowing she's going to have approximately 37 increasingly distressed text messages waiting on the phone in the morning

Reblog if you honestly have NEVER sent anon hate.

It pains me that only 14,000 people can honestly reblog this