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Pomegranates are the most dramatic fruit ever.

Bitch you are a piece of fruit why does it look like I murdered you. Why do you leave my fingertips red and stained. Why do you run down my hands to my elbows when I tear you apart. Why must I rip your body into bloodied chunks to get what's inside of you. Why do you sound so lovely when I crack you open. Why must I eat you with a knife and my bare hands. Why is there so much of you and why is there never enough.

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take figures out of their boxes btw. sew patches on your favorite jacket. go to bed with your favorite plushes. wear the pants you usually save for special occasions. draw something cool on your wall. put a sticker on your laptop. dye your hair and pierce your lips. glass is meant to break, metal is meant to rust. items are meant to be used. that's how the world knows that somebody loved them.

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PLEASE ...PLEASE

I need just a small bit of confirmation that if i ever do start writing again that people would be interested in reading a story about my world hopping OC looking for his family in the various different games and shows that I am currently obsessed with ...Oc

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“how’s the writing going?” i’m glad you asked! my room has never been cleaner and i’ve decided to take up baking

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There are times where I wonder if Luke asked Dionysus to cure his mother, you know, what with Dionysus being the god of madness.

I like to believe that Luke had offered to steal the best bottle of wine there is to be stolen in the world, a solemn promise from the son of Hermes.

"No one would know," he whispered earnestly.

Not even the gods.

And maybe Dionysus had laughed at the idea, no matter how intriguing it was, because of course a demigod of mere fifteen would be so bold yet naive to strike deals with gods so much bigger than he. He shut the child down on the spot. He wouldn't fall for such nonsense.

"And risk my father's wrath? You mock me," he drawled. He had made it a point to omit the fact he was not going to tamper with his uncle's curse either. It was off-limits after all, just like that troublesome nymph. He flicked the dirt from his nails, ignoring the way Luke shook on the spot.

"Well? If that's all you better get going, Lucius," he had said.

And Luke's wrath bubbled over in return.

"What good are you gods for, if you won't help us? You're so useless," he scoffed.

Dionysus's eyes lit up in purple at the jab and he got up from his chair. The ground shook as vines broke through the earth. Something felt off yet familiar with the way Luke did not cower at the display of power. Tch, heroes and their bravado.

"We gods do not owe you mortals anything."

"Yes, you do?" Luke retorted with incredulity, dragging a chair to the side as he inched on Dionysus, uncaring of the purple flames that had begun to circle them, the vines that were dangerously close to tugging him by the ankle.

"You owe your entire existence to humanity! We wrote your stories and remembered you! We fought your battles and we died for you!"

"And?" Dionysus laughed, though there was no humor behind it, "I don't care. You can come up with a thousand sob stories, Luis, and I still won't care. I've seen it all and it's all the same. You demigods are nothing but mayflies, destined to die early since the day you were born."

That seemed to silence the boy.

"Of course, I'll make sure to tell all of that to Castor and Pollux. I'll tell them Pops doesn't give a damn if they die now or later, because apparently it doesn't matter anyways. Tell them how he knew what demigod life would be like for them and still went ahead and brought them into this world anyways."

Or not.

"Take their names out of your mouth, boy," Dionysus warned, vines seizing at Luke's wrists and knees.

"Or what? You're gonna drive me insane just like Mom?"

Dionysus wanted to tell him that he was pretty much halfway there, with the way Luke wore that look of hysteria that bordered on madness. It was so faint yet tangible all the same. Dionysus wanted to push the kid to the limit, see him snap.

"Oh, but that would be too easy!" he sneers, "no, I was thinking more of that little sister of yours you so adore, Annie Bell, her name was? Yes, yes I think madness would look absolutely delicious on a daughter of Athena."

There was absolutely nothing to back up that threat, but it seemed to hit the mark.

Luke had crumpled completely, like something hit him hard in the stomach. Dionysus's lips twitched up in victory. If the boy wanted to play dirty and mention family, then it was only fair he would too.

"Fuck you," Luke whispered, tears cornering in his eyes.

Before the god could act on his threat, however, the sound of trotting hooves nearing towards the Big House made their way through the windows.

Dionysus sighed, raising a hand to release the vines' hold on Luke. He did not want to listen to Chiron's lecture on how threatening the lives of demigods isn't "Camp Director" like.

Luke, on the other hand, slammed the door behind him, scaring off the harpies perched on the roof of the Big House. Dionysus had half a mind to choke the kid with grapevines for the act of insolence.

Chiron came through that same door, placing a hand on the side of it while he looked backwards.

"With that anger, he will get himself killed too early," he murmured with concern. Dionysus snorted, letting the vines return to the soil, the flames around him dying down.

"They all do."

Oh, how he would eat those words, watching Castor's shroud burn.

He was too young. Too young.

A nagging voice reminds him that so was Luke. So was Thalia. So was Annabeth. So was Percy. So was Nico. So was nearly everyone that huddled around the pyres, holding each other and sobbing. Gods, they were crying. War was never kind.

Even that daughter of Ares, who would rather be caught dead than vulnerable, let slip a few tears, and her hissed out "are you happy now?" as she shoved herself past the god of wine will haunt him for millenias to come.

If only he had tried to save May Castellan, given her back to Hermes the way he was supposed to, maybe his son would be standing here with him and watching the pyres light up the night.

Instead, all he could do was listen to Pollux's hysterical screams while Hermes pulls Castor up by the hand, taking the newly deceased to a place where Dionysus can no longer follow.

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I once read a fanfic and half way through i realized that i didn't like the main ship that was being written, you wanna know what i did? I stopped reading it. I didn't try and find other things wrong with it so i could yell about it on twitter, i just stopped reading it.

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thinking about writing many different things all at the same time and updating them weekly, i cannot do this, but I'm definitely thinking about it

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I don't want Michael Afton smut, I want humorous, silly slice-of-life fanfiction of a slowly rotting Michael just dealing with things like neighbors and chaotic animatronics.