I Wasn't Aware Of This One, So I'm Trying To Spread The Word.

Don’t Call It A Comeback • mob au 

Annabeth sits at her desk that belonged to her mother before her and admires the intricate carvings that mark its edges. She smiles to herself, having missed the feeling of sitting behind it, reminded of the power that seems to emanate from its mahogany. Her hands are flat on its cool surface, as if asking it to forgive her for her absence. As she reacquaints herself with it, there is a gentle rap on the door, and she looks up to see Charles poke his head in.

“Hey boss,” he says with a sweet smile. “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” she says, leaning back in her chair.

“Saying hi to an old friend, I see,” he says with his usual charming smile.

“I missed her so much,” she says in a whiny tone. “I mean, my desk in Elysium is great, but this one… it’s special.”

Charles laughs as he sits down. “Well, once you two are done having your moment, can we talk about what you would like to do today?”

Annabeth takes a deep breath, leaning back in her chair and folding her hands in her lap. “This desk surely isn’t the only one who has been missing me these past few years.”

“Certainly not.”

“I figure I should… make the rounds. Say hi. Remind people who I am.”

“And why they stay in line,” Charles adds with a look of pride.

“Precisely.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Where would you like to start?”

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The Olympic Tribune 

Leaving Los Angeles had never been in Piper’s plan, but a torrid affair with an actor and a classic car taking a nose dive into a swimming pool had chased her across the country to seek refuge.

Being out of a proper big city had been a hard transition at first, but after six months, Piper felt she was finally getting into a groove. Her apartment wasn’t far from downtown, a simple studio that she rented from a nice old lady, and she had finally perfected her morning routine: A bagel from Demeter’s Dough Bakery, a coffee from Hestia’s Hearth Cafe, and on the odd morning when she actually woke up on time, it included a walk through a small park in the neighborhood to say hello to the swans.

The Coeus building, which stood twelve stories tall and had a panoramic view of the city, was home to The Olympic Tribune, a well respected paper in the great state of New York. Founded the same year as the city of Olympic Harbor, the paper had always been a paragon of journalistic integrity, which is part of what attracted Piper to it so much. Well, that and the fact that they were the only paper out of twelve she applied to who called her back.  

The paper was housed on the building’s top floor, the editor’s office taking up the south east corner and facing the city’s namesake harbor which was dotted with the countless ships that used it daily.  

“This story is big,” Piper said as she looked out at the water, her arms crossed. “And I have a reliable source, the info is good.”

“Piper,” the editor began. “I respect your instincts, but you’re not here to be an investigative journalist.”

“Investigative journalist is a bit of an oxymoron, don’t you think, Lee?”

Lee Fletcher, who had been editor at the paper for ten years, rolled his eyes and joined Piper at the window. “Believe me when I say this story is not worth it, Piper.”

“So you admit there is a story there,” she said mischievously.

“The only thing I’m admitting is that you’re out of bounds.”  

“You sound scared,” she said, her tone inquisitive.

“And you sound naive,” Lee said, turning to her. “A story like this will never get printed in this paper. So do yourself a favor and drop it before you get dropped.”

“Are you saying you’re gonna fire me?” she asked, her tone playful as she tugged on his tie.

“No,” he said, pulling his tie from her hand. “I’m saying you’re new here, and there’s things about this city you don’t know yet.”

“Well then why don’t you enlighten me.”

Lee shook his head and sat back down in his brown leather chair, keeping his eyes on the city’s landscape as he began to squeeze the life out of a stress ball. “There’s a gallery opening Saturday night and the who’s-who of the city will all be there. Pick up your press pass from Mitchell, and grab a photographer to go with you. I’d recommend Lacy, she’s great with the blue bloods.”

“So what I’m hearing you say is keep covering my beat and bring you this mob story once I’ve got more of the info vetted.”

“Piper,” he said in a warning tone.

Piper walked briskly out of the office, waving to Lee as she went. “Great talk, boss!”

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We are sharing some of our favourite gifs each day this month for Antifa International’s fifth anniversary. Today: Nazi monuments being destroyed after the defeat of Nazi Germany.

It's gonna be such a funny mess when Donald Trump dies of a stroke on April 1st, 2024.

Naturally everybody will think it's fake because of the date only to lose their minds (both positively and negatively based on their opinion of trump) when realizing it's real

There will be massive celebrations in the streets and on social media and lots of predictable "don't speak ill of the dead" discourse about those celebrations

Weird evangelicals will pull some weird number trick talking about how Jesus was conceived on April 1st and that makes Trump a sort of messiah and people will make fun of that

The Republicans (after they're done with the faux-sadness and faux-outrage) will stomp over each other to be his successor but none of them will succeed. They'll tear each other apart and have no single nominee for the November elections.

There will be discourse about if Biden and the living former presidents should go to his funeral (they won't, he was a traitor insurrectionist)

The Ukraine-Russia War immediately goes in favor of Ukraine as morale in the Kremlin is reduced. China similarly backs off from its threats on Taiwan.

Ten thousand new memes are made, some sticking around for years to come.

Not a month later a bunch of unofficial biographies of Trump hit the bookshelves, many with new details about just how awful he was.

Meme history

In memes where text or panels are edited the originals are always the funniest, case in point:

Here it is: Best stuff first

Extremely handy if you follow a lot of people and hate missing anything good. 

Best Stuff First moves the best stuff on your dashboard—mhm!—right up to the top. 

It’s rolling out this week on iOS and Android, and comes with this Help Center article.  

Thanks! ✌️

If Dr. Seuss Books Were Titled According to Their Subtexts

Riptide Chapter 4: Super Percy

As the sun begins to touch the treetops, the surface of Lake Naiad shines like a million miniature diamonds are dancing along its surface. Percy stands on the edge of what has become his favorite body of water, jeans cuffed above his ankles, as he listens to the soothing sounds of the lake lapping at his feet, birds making their ways back to their nests for the evening, and the bickering of the sister spirits who routinely kick his ass.

“Mother said to keep training into the evening, do you want to disobey her?” Cordelia says curtly.

“It is not about disobeying mother, but about knowing we are dealing with a human, Cordelia. He needs rest, he is not like you or I,” Hali says back.

Cordelia scoffs. “Well that’s glaringly obvious, given his skill level. Or lack thereof.”

“Why must you be so petulant!”

“Why must you be so lax!”

They have been at it for about twenty minutes, discussing Percy’s training regimen and if it’s enough to get him ready to be a full-fledged champion. Percy has no say in the matter, and even he knows getting between sisters is a bad idea, so instead of chiming in, he decides to simply enjoy the scenery as the water slowly heals every scrape and bruise he has collected over the course of the day. Luckily, being a New Yorker, the sounds of two people bickering is one that really does make Percy feel like he’s home.

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you’re a symphony (i’m just a sour note) chapter 1

by @jasonsmclean

The room is filled with noise, the sound of string instruments being played consuming all other sounds. There’s the occasional shuffling of sheet music, or the frustrated sigh, and whispers lie just beneath the peaceful hum of music. It’s a comforting loudness, one that would soothe over any stressed soul.

Once the clock hits six, silence takes over the once pleasantly noisy room. It’s almost ominous, the hearing equivalent of watching clouds cover the sun. A hush falls over the musicians, putting their instruments in resting position, their expectant eyes immediately focusing on the black-haired conductor in front of them.

Only Reyna isn’t ordering them to pull out a particular piece yet. Her eyes stare at the clock, almost in disbelief that the time has the audacity to hit six. By the time a minute passes, the orchestra shifts uncomfortably because Reyna never starts practice late. It’s evident nobody knows why she hasn’t started.

Jason knows. He can’t help but to look past Reyna at Annabeth, who has an emotionless look on her face. “He’s late,” he informs her.

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i am no orpheus

percabeth | angst with a happy ending | 4k | commissioned by @random-hallucinations 

major character death but not really

Ω

Hubris and loyalty. Fatal.

When Percy and Annabeth’s wars are won and the prophecies are about other people, it’s almost easy to forget. Hubris becomes Annabeth refusing to admit she’s wrong. Loyalty becomes Percy’s tendency to put the needs of others before his own. Peace lulls memory into rest, slowing the mind and the heart until they are fickle things. Peace itself is a fickle thing.

They still train—they are still demigods. War is in their blood, running through their veins alongside humanity and divinity. It’s never over.

Cold rain pelts Annabeth’s skin, soaking through her t-shirt and jean shorts. Her boots slip in the mud as she hauls a petrified fourteen-year-old girl toward Half-Blood Hill, brandishing her Drakon-bone sword to ward off the hellhounds in the surrounding woods. Their presence is scarce save a muddy paw print or a pair of gleaming red eyes in the treeline.

It’s not the hellhounds Annabeth is afraid of; she’s killed more of them than she cares to count. It’s the reason the hellhounds won’t move in, the looming figure shaking the slick earth with heavy footfalls.

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