invisibleperiwinkle

[invisibleperiwinkle]

I hate when a tiny stupid thing pushes you over the edge and makes you freak the fuck out because it makes you look like a completely irrational tar pit of a human being. Like no I promise this is warranted just maybe not about that specifically I swear I'm well adjusted. Come closer stick your fingers in my cage

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[invisibleperiwinkle]

neil gaimen what are you doing in my falafel?!

It's impressive how Neil Gaiman vanished from the internet. Wish Rowling would do the same.

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lowkey high key wanting to write a chapter tonight. stay tuned.

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how do I explain to normal people that the greatest love story ever written is in a children’s book

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yes yes annabeth has abandonment issues and she loves percy because he's the only one who stayed, but have you considered: she loves him because he has no ambition

(i'm tempted to just leave it at that, but i'm guessing most people will not get what i mean, and i like doing this stuff so let's go)

think about it. for her dad, it was the dream of having a normal family and a nice normal job where he could work on his projects without distractions. it was the desire to make helen happy because she could give him that life even if it hurt his daughter.

for thalia, it was the dream of not being the child of the prophecy. it was finding a family with the hunters, no strings attached. it was maybe even the desire of keeping annabeth and luke alive by sacrificing herself, at least a little bit.

for luke, it was the dream of being a hero. it was the dream of saving the demigods. it was the utter belief that he knew what was best and could achieve that goal, damn the consequences. it wasn't even pride. it was just good intentions marred by ambition and bad influences.

for grover, it was the dream finding pan.

the one thing all of these dreams have in common: they took annabeth's family away from her.

that's not to say percy didn't have desires or dreams or goals or anything, but the difference is that everything he wanted had her in it, and none of it was particularly ambitious.

he didn't want to be a hero. he just did what he had to do til his job was done. even his ambitions now have annabeth written all over them: going to college with her in new rome, trying to live as normal a life as possible, growing old with her, etc. there's nothing he wants that doesn't involve her, and you know what? they deserve that so much, that open-hearted devotion.

which introduces some fun irony: where percy's fatal flaw is loyalty, annabeth's fatal flaw is hubris, and one of the first real things she ever said about herself is that she wants to build something permanent. that is hardcore ambition right there, but it ties right back into her abandonment issues. she wants to build something that won't leave and disappoint her.

in that regard, percy's lack of ambition fulfills her excess ambition because his loyalty gave her something permanent. they love each other so much that they fill in the gaps of each other's fatal flaws, and their ambitions fit like puzzle pieces. they never have to doubt each other because there is nothing to doubt.

she loves him because he has no ambition.

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Percy and Annabeth didn’t just stop being best friends after dating and I feel like that should be remembered more

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Uterusless and slightly drugged up ❤️

[invisibleperiwinkle]

ultimately the truth about frankenstein is that we are all grotesque amalgamations of the best and worst parts of everyone who came before us. and sometimes the people who are supposed to love us because of and in spite of this will not. and we can kill them with hammers for that. and i think that’s beautiful

[invisibleperiwinkle]

hey bffs!!!

couple things!!

1) how have yall been??? check in lmk!!!

2) checked stats on my PJO fics and OMG yall o love you guys so much. i never would’ve imagined that my writing would ever do this well!!!!

LIKE YALL- made my day

3) i’ve been falling back into my percy jackson hyperfixation so maybe fic updates. no promises BUT it could happen as im also off school and have way more free time

4) i love you guys so much and hope everything is going well and if it’s not you have my thoughts and hopes until it does get better (because it will)

much love and many thanks 🩷

- invisibleperiwinkle

[invisibleperiwinkle]

small things we should appreciate more

the chirping of birds in the early morning

the way the sun shines through the trees

nature after it just rained

constantly learning new things every day

libraries, bookshops, bakeries and coffeeshops

[invisibleperiwinkle]

GO READ BFFS FIC

Angels in the Attic

ᰔᩚ summary. clover needs help, so she calls an old friend of the winchesters. only it doesn't go quite as she'd planned.

ᰔᩚ pairing. castiel x original! fmc

ᰔᩚ warnings. maybe some broken ribs, clover being an idiot, cannon typical violence

ᰔᩚ. notes. this is my first time ever posting my writing on tumblr pls be kind! feedback is always appreciated :) thank you to my girlies ava and makayla for quite literally screaming at me to post this. please please let me know if this deserves a pt.2 i've been thinking about it. enjoy!

ᰔᩚ wc. 2.1k +

The attic was quiet except for the low hum of the city outside, muffled by insulation and time. Dust floated in the stale air like tiny ghosts, disturbed only by the occasional flicker of candlelight. Clover sat cross-legged on the cold wooden floor, her palms resting lightly on her knees. Around her, a ritual circle had been etched in chalk and salt, traced with symbols she didn’t fully understand—but believed in anyway.

She was alone. But she didn’t want to be.

Sam and Dean, two of her best friends growing up told her what to do if she ever felt a heavier presence in the air, if the smell of sulfur burned her lungs. She knew anyway. After all, hunting ran in her family too.

Clover had tried to get a hold of them, but with no answer she assumed they were off ganking who-knows-what in some godforsaken corner of the world, leaving her to take their last piece of advice.

"Call for him.' Is all Dean had said after she'd joined the brothers on a particularly grueling hunt one night. There was no explanation, just a name on a crumpled piece of paper. She knew exactly what he meant.

The ritual book lay open in front of her, pages warped from years of neglect and hidden beneath the floorboards of her grandmother’s closet. Clover had found it weeks ago while searching for something—anything—that might explain the dreams, the voices, and the silence that followed her brother's disappearance.

He was gone without a trace. No note. No body. Just the smell of burned ozone in his bedroom, and a shadowy memory that something had been there before he vanished.

Clover inhaled deeply. Her fingers trembled as she picked up the ceremonial knife. The air felt heavier now, thick with anticipation and something far older than time.

Ancient Latin flowed off her tongue in a whisper as she sliced her palm with a sharp breath.

Blood dripped into a black bowl at the center of the circle, steam curling from the heat of the coals beneath it. The room darkened as the flames around her flickered low. She closed her eyes, repeating the name over and over like a mantra.

“Castiel. Castiel. Castiel…”

She waited.

And something answered.

A cold wind swept through the attic, though the windows were shut tight. The flames sputtered violently before extinguishing all at once. Darkness took over—not complete, but dense enough to feel alive. The symbols on the floor pulsed faintly, glowing red where they should have stayed white.

Clover's breath caught in her throat.

A dark figure moved in the shadows—slow, deliberate. And then a man stepped into the candlelight, tall and lean, dressed in black. His eyes caught the dim light and reflected none of it. Just black—black and bottomless.

“Well,” the man said, voice rich and amused. “That’s not exactly how the invitation’s supposed to go, but I’m here all the same.”

Clover’s heart pounded in her ears. Her instincts screamed at her to run, but her body remained frozen. She stared into those hollow eyes, knowing instantly that this was no angel. This was something else.

“You’re not Castiel,” she whispered with fear lacing through her voice.

Her eyes darted toward the book, flipping pages in her mind for a banishment spell she hadn’t memorized. She hadn’t prepared for this—she hadn’t thought she’d need to. Her faith had been misplaced, her desperation too strong.

“I’m Asher,” the demon said, stepping into the circle as the sigils cracked beneath his feet. “And you, darling, just opened the wrong kind of door.”

He moved faster than she could react. One moment he was across the room, the next, his hand was around her throat, lifting her off the ground with terrifying ease. Her feet kicked uselessly as she clawed at his grip.

“Such fragile creatures,” he murmured, tilting his head. “Always reaching for Heaven and landing in Hell.”

With a sudden burst of adrenaline, Clover grabbed a rusted candlestick from the floor and slammed it into his face. The impact did little more than stagger him, but it was enough. She fell to the ground, coughing, crawling toward the book. Her fingers found the worn leather cover and began flipping pages in a frenzy.

Asher was on her again in seconds, dragging her across the floor like a ragdoll. He threw her against the far wall, her shoulder slamming into the beams with a sickening crack. Pain lanced through her, sharp and nauseating, but she bit down the scream.

The demon advanced, slow and savoring the moment.

Then the air exploded.

Glass shattered inward from the attic window. A blur of movement descended from the shadows—tall, trench-coated, with eyes that glowed like thunderclouds about to break. The figure raised his hand and Asher went flying, slamming into the rafters with supernatural force before collapsing to the floor in a snarl of rage.

Silence stretched thin, charged with energy. The newcomer stood perfectly still. His coat fluttered from the remnants of the wind. He turned his head slowly, his face unreadable, stoic.

Castiel.

Clover stared, trying to speak but unable to form words through the pain and fear.

The angel glanced down at her, then back at the demon. “You do not belong here.”

Asher rose, his grin now twisted with fury. “I was summoned.”

“Not by me,” Castiel replied.

Asher charged, but Castiel met him with a wordless force. The two collided like opposing storms—light versus shadow, fury versus restraint. The angel’s hand gripped the demon’s throat and began to burn. Holy light poured from Castiel’s palm, searing through Asher’s skin like a branding iron. Smoke rose in thick clouds as the demon writhed.

Clover, trembling, crawled toward the book again. She turned to the page marked by dried blood—ninety-seven. The banishment rite. Her eyes scanned the lines, voice ragged as she forced the words from her lips.

“I cast thee out… unclean spirit… back to the fire…”

The temperature in the attic plummeted. Frost climbed the walls, creeping over shattered glass and broken sigils. Castiel kept Asher pinned with a silent, unwavering grip.

Clover continued, stronger now. “Bound by truth… sealed by light… you are denied this plane…”

Asher screamed, his voice a mix of rage and agony. His body convulsed, smoke pouring from his eyes and mouth. Light pulsed in time with Clover’s words.

“…and shall not return while my will stands against yours!”

The demon burst into smoke and flame, vanishing with a crack of displaced air and the smell of brimstone.

The attic fell silent once more.

Clover slumped to the floor, too weak to move. Castiel approached, kneeling beside her. His face remained calm, almost blank, but his eyes held something ancient and tired.

“You should not perform rituals you do not understand,” he said.

She tried to laugh, but it came out as a cough. “I wasn’t trying to summon him.”

“You opened a door,” he replied. “The wrong one.”

Clover met his gaze. “I was looking for you. I needed help.”

He studied her for a moment, then slowly nodded. “Then help you shall have.”

Something inside her settled, just a little. Maybe it was the angel’s presence, or maybe it was knowing she wasn’t alone anymore. Either way, she let herself breathe for the first time in days.

Castiel stood, offering her his hand. “There will be others.”

“I know.”

She took it.

[invisibleperiwinkle]

nightmares = romance and that is something only book girls will understand

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PJO FANDOM THIS IS URGENT ‼️

DOES ANYONE KNOW WHO MADE THIS FANART

because i made my prom dress inspired by annabeths dress in this and i kinda need to tell the artist abt it

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my dad was outside feeding the slugs cucumber slices earlier

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tapping out of a fandom and coming back after years is very much disorienting.

I left y'all when we were doing cringe incorrect quotes, wdym they're shipping percy and apollo??

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Last night I dreamt that I played mario kart with Hozier while listening to his music and after a while I realized that he probably doesnt want to listen to his own songs and apologized to him and he turnt to me and said "the music was okay but I really wanted to play Waluigi but you hoged him and that sucked". And then I woke up.

Sorry, mr Hozier, for taking Waluigi from you.