Tu Sei Il Mio Soldatino Harry Potter Magical Wand
musesforlife asked:
"Hello? Is this Nico, I'm Dan. A new halfblood of hades" Dan bowed looking at his halfbrother. The 9 year old didnt smile but was happy to find some family, hes a orphan, and hades isn't the most carrying father, he was good enough to claim him







Nico looked over the young demigod claiming to be the son of hades. He hummed in disapproval. “I didn’t know Hades had another son,” he said, crossing his arms almost challengingly. “You’re what, ten? How is this the first time we’ve heard of you?” to be honest Nico was surprised the kid was here at all - not just because he was the son of hades, but because he’d actually managed to survive this long. He sighed, deciding that being a son of Hades at all was tough, to say the least, so he might as well give the kid a break enough to have at least some sort of home. “Nico di Angelo,” he said, holding out a cold hand. “Pleasure to meet you, brother.”

As they got into the big house Chiron looked at Dan. “Who is this Nico?” Chiron asked Nico

Dan shifted a bit looking at the huge horse. Also looking at all of his armor. Where did he get all of that Dan wondered

Nico nodded in greeting, gently giving Dan a small push forward. “Uh, this is Dan Zarate. He’s my brother, apparently,” Nico forced a nervous laugh. Chiron raised an eyebrow and motioned for Nico to continue. He took a breath before speaking again. “Dan is a descendant of Hades as well, and from what I’ve heard has spent some time in the Underworld. He, uh, saw a floating pitchfork and followed it to here.” Chiron waited. “That’s it.”

Chiron looked at Dan “Another decedent…” He muttered “Well nice to meet you Dan Zarate, May I ask how old are you?”

"I’m 10. Turning 11 in a few weeks" Dan said

Chiron looked at Dan “Its good to have another relative of the big three, more strong soldiers, but they may suffer a horrible death, well welcome to the camp.”

Dan walked out waiting for Nico to come with “He seems pretty cool” He whispered “But weird as well, noting the fact that we will suffer a horrible death apparently”

Nico shrugged and sighed. “he’s just being honest,” he said truthfully. “I mean, what’s the point in lying? He’s just…trying to prepare you, I guess. Telling you everything’s gonna be fine isn’t going to stop you from getting attacked by a monster, so you might as well know ahead of time to prepare yourself. So you have…motivation.” Nico ran a hand through his long, messy hair. “It’s time for breakfast now,” Nico’s lips twitched in a small smile. “And you get to sit with me.”

He smiled with Nico at the point that Dan get to sit with him “That’s great.” The little boy said. “So What do they have for breakfast Nico?” He looked around “Also where’s our table?” Dan laughed in his head. Dan also wondered Did Nico sit alone? Or maybe he was with the Hazel girl. Nico deserved company, Hes a nice guy.

Nico couldn’t help but smile when Dan did and chuckled at his questions. “You get to eat whatever you want. See, they have these magic platters, and all you have to do is think about what you want and as long as you give a bit of it to the gods, you can have anything. How cool is that?” he nudged the younger boy. Though he wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, he really liked Dan; he liked having someone, finally. He liked finally having someone to sit with, sleep with, finally not be alone in his big dark cabin and not be the loner sitting alone at meals. He pushed open the door, holding it for Dan and followed him inside. He stood behind him and held his shoulders firmly as he surveyed the scene of the mess hall. “C’mon,” he led Dan to the Hades table and sat down. “Watch.” He pointed as the other kids’ plates started to fill with food. He cracked a smile.

What the Shadows Whisper (Closed RP with the-lone-reader)



Nico sighed once they reached the warehouse and quite stupidly sat down. The second he did, he was leaning against the wall, eyes closed. He could feel himself drifting off, he was so tired. He couldn’t help but think of how unfair this was, that he never slept until he desperately needed to be awake. Just his luck, or lack thereof.

He jumped at the sound of Percy’s voice and nodded groggily, rubbing his face. “Yeah, sorry,” he mumbled, grunting slightly as he pushed himself up. “Uh, where are we going this time?” Nico wouldn’t be surprised if they’d ran out of places to run away to. He stumbled when he stood up and took hold on Percy’s arm again. He leaned on Percy as they walked out, and stayed in silence for a bit. Nico’s head was buzzing and he felt kind of numb; his injuries were getting to him more than they should. He decided that it was probably just the wounds in addition to his malnutrition, ill, weak physique, dehydration and sleep deprivation, so it didn’t really matter. Then something caught the corner of his eye and he tackled Percy just in time for a Harpy to slash the air right where the older boy’s head had been barely a second before.

"Uh, where are we going this time?" 

The question took Percy by surprise. He hadn’t really been thinking ahead, just ‘get somewhere safe and I’ll figure it out later.’ 

"I have no idea." Percy admitted. He felt horrible; Percy was the one who was supposed to know these things. He should’ve planned ahead for something like this. Now they were running away to nowhere, the harpies could be anywhere, and Nico was hurt, and sick, and-


Nico pushed Percy to the ground as a harpy slashed at him. He hit the ground with a grunt and rolled to his feet, his hand already reaching for his pen. Percy knocked the monster away as it lunged for them, and suddenly someone screamed.

Then Percy realized that he was in the middle of a fairly crowded street, and the harpy had fallen backwards into a hot dog cart. 

Over the years, Percy had learned that mortals didn’t see things the way he and Nico did. They couldn’t see monsters for what they really were, so he had no idea what they were seeing, but whatever it was was enough to send them into a panic.

The harpy screeched and burst out of the cart, sending it crashing into a lamp post. People scrambled to get out of the way, and Percy finally grasped the danger of the situation.

"Nico!" Percy brought his sword up to counter the harpie’s talons. "You have to get everyone out of here!" He didn’t know what state Nico was in; Percy was in between him and the harpy and turning around right now would be fatal. 

The monster went in for another slash, but Percy had been expecting it. He ducked to the side and his sword bit into the harpie’s stomach. The harpy let out a blood-curdling screech as the wound began to bleed, but it wasn’t enough devastating enough to kill her completely. 

Enraged, the harpy dove at him, switching tactics mid-strike. She crashed into Percy and pinned him to the ground, her claws digging into his shoulders. With a yell, Percy brought his knees up and kicked the monster off over his head, scrambling to his feet.

Raising his sword, Percy rushed to meet the harpie’s attack.

After knocking Percy, along with himself, over to dodge the attack, Nico was left in a daze. The first time he tried to stand up he fell right back down again, but his heart leapt in his chest when he heard a woman scream. He looked up to see dozens of onlookers screaming and panicking as Percy dangerously fought the harpie. He forced himself to his feet and ran towards the crowd of people, shouting, “Get out! Go! Now!” The group started to disperse, but not fast enough. He glanced back at Percy and cringed, watching the monster pin him to the ground.

There were loud choruses of ‘What’s going on?’s and ‘Oh my god!’s and the occasional curse and threat, and of course the ever-lasting shouts to call the police. Nico cursed. He gave the people light pushes as he urged them on before he stopped and looked down. There was a little kid, crying and clinging to Nico’s leg. Nico didn’t know what to do, what was he supposed to do with a lost little kid in this mess? With a huff, he picked up the child and started running along with the group until he found a woman with two other kids and handed him to her, assuming - or hoping - that she’d at least know what to do with him. He ran back, ushering the last few people away before his exhaustion caught up to him, adrenaline draining. He stumbled, tripped, and fell, not even bothering to try to get back up. He was breathing heavier than he should be, panting on his hands and knees as he took deep breaths to keep himself from vomiting. Vaguely, he heard Percy shouting and then someone grabbed his arm, yelling something at him. He looked up in a daze, “P-Percy? W-what…”

Night Fury: Speed unknown. Size unknown. The unholy offspring of lightning and death itself. Never engage this dragon. Your only chance: hide and pray it doesn’t find you.” 

(via burdge)






Some things I’ve learned in the CBT clinics I’ve been going to regarding anxiety that I thought might be helpful to some.

Pay it forward.

If you play on someone’s phobias for a laugh, I will fucking shank you in the nadgers.


As someone who has diagnosed GAD, Social Anxiety, OCD, a legitimate phobia called Ranidaphobia and other mental health issues such as Depression and Borderline Personality Disorder- posts like these mean a lot. Thanks to the OP x

(via piper-mclean-rp)


I will never get tired of this picture

(Source: interrobangbangbang, via dreamingaboutcaleo)





waterbending at its finest

Dear white people,

Please stop cosplaying as PoC characters.

Thank you.


Dear little-missandry,

Anyone can cosplay as anyone/anything they want. Also, that’s the actual voice actress for Korra. She literally IS the avatar.

Thank you




(via dreamingaboutcaleo)


Rape culture is when I was six, and
my brother punched my two front teeth out.
Instead of reprimanding him, my mother
said “Stefanie, what did you do to provoke him?”
When my only defense was my
mother whispering in my ear, “Honey, ignore him.
Don’t rile him up. He just wants a reaction.”
As if it was my sole purpose, the reason
six-year-old me existed,
was to not rile up my brother.
It’s starts when we’re six, and ends
when we grow up assuming the natural state of a man
is a predator, and I must walk on eggshells, as to
not “rile him up.” Right, mom?

Rape culture is when through casual dinner conversation,
my father says that women who get raped are asking for it.
He says, “I see them on the streets of New York City,
with their short skirts and heavy makeup. Asking for it.”
When I used to be my father’s hero but
will he think I was asking for it? (will he think)
Will he think I deserved it?
Will he hold me accountable or will he hold me,
even though the touch of a man - especially my father’s -
burns as if I were holding the sun in the palm of my hand.

Rape culture is you were so ashamed, you thought it would
be easier for your parents to find you dead,
than to say, “Hey mom and dad,”
It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t ask for it.
I never asked for this attention, I never asked
to be a target, to be weak because I was born with
two X chromosomes, to walk in fear, to always look behind me,
in front of me, next to me, I never asked to be the prey.
I never wanted to spend my life being something
someone feasts upon, a meal for the eternally starved.
I do not want to hear about the way I taste anymore.
I will not let you eat me alive.

Rape culture is I shouldn’t defend my friend when
an overaggressive frat boy has his hand on her ass,
because standing up for her body “makes me a target.”
Women are afraid to speak up, because
they fear their own lives - but I’d rather take the hit
than live in a culture of silence.
I am told that I will always be the victim, pre-determined
by the DNA in my weaker, softer body.
I have birthing hips, not a fighter’s stance.
I am genetically pre-dispositioned to lose every time.

Rape culture is he was probably abused as a child.
When he even has some form of a justification
and all I have are the things that provoked him,
and the scars from his touch are woven of the darkest
and toughest strings, underneath the layer of my skin.
Rape culture leaves me finding pieces of him left inside of me.
A bone of his elbow. The cap of his knee.
There is something so daunting in the way that I know it will take
me years to methodically extract him from my body.
And that twinge I will get sometimes in my arm fifteen years later?
Proof of the past.
Like a tattoo I didn’t ask for.
Somehow I am permanently inked.

Rape culture is you can’t wear that outfit anymore
without feeling dirty, without feeling like
you somehow earned it.
You will feel like you are walking on knives,
every time you wear the shoes
you smashed his nose in with.
Imaginary blood on the bottom of your heels,
thinking, maybe this will heal me.
Those shoes are your freedom,
But the remains of a life long fight.
You will always carry your heart,
your passion, your absolute will to live,
but also the shame and the guilt and the pain.
I saved myself but I still feel like I’m walking on knives.

Rape culture is “Stefanie, you weren’t really raped, you were
one of the lucky ones.”
Because my body wasn’t penetrated by a penis,
but fingers instead, that I should feel lucky.
I should get on my hands and knees and say, thank you.
Thank you for being so kind.
Rape culture is “things could have been worse.”
“It’s been a month, Stefanie. Get out of bed.”
“You’ll have to get over this eventually.”
“Don’t let it ruin your life.”
Rape culture is he told you that after he touched you,
no one would ever want you again.
And you believed him.

Rape culture is telling your daughters not to get raped,
instead of teaching your sons how to treat all women.
That sex is not a right. You are not entitled to this.
The worst possible thing you can call a woman is a
slut, a whore, a bitch.
The worst possible thing you can call a man is a
bitch, a pussy, a girl.
The worst thing you can call a girl is a girl.
The worst thing you can call a guy is a girl.
Being a woman is the ultimate rejection,
the ultimate dismissal of strength and power, the
absolute insult.
When I have a daughter,
I will tell her that she is not
an insult.

When I have a daughter, she will know how to fight.
I will look at her like the sun when she comes home
with anger in her fists.
Because we are human beings and we do not
always have to take what we are given.
They all tell her not to fight fire with fire,
but that is only because they are afraid of her flames.
I will teach her the value of the word “no” so that
when she hears it, she will not question it.
My daughter,
Don’t you dare apologize for the fierce love
you have for yourself
and the lengths you go to preserve it.

My daughter,
I am alive because of the fierce love I have
for myself, and because my father taught me
to protect that.
He taught me that sometimes, I have to do
my own bit of saving, pick myself off the
ground and wipe the dirt off my face,
because at the end of the day,
there is only me.
I am alive because my mother taught me
to love myself.
She taught me that I am an enigma - a
mystery, a paradox, an unfinished masterpiece and
I must love myself enough to see how I turn out.
I am alive because even beaten, voiceless, and back
against the wall, I knew there was an ounce of me
worth fighting for.
And for that, I thank my parents.

Instead of teaching my daughter to cover herself up,
I will show her how to be exposed.
Because no is not “convince me”.
No is not “I want it”.
You call me,
“Little lady, pretty girl, beautiful woman.”
But I am not any of these things for you.
I am exploding light,
my daughter will be exploding light,
and you,
better cover your eyes.



Rape Culture (Cover Your Eyes)

This. This. This.

(via everythingis-impermanent)

(Source: aseriesofnouns, via asteptowardssurvival)


Reading fanfiction that has your otp calling each other “baby”, “sweetie”, “darling” etc. when they really wouldn’t at all. Ever.


(via thedoctorskidneys12)

Believe Me ||OPEN||

Nico sat in the uncomfortable black chair in the AT room, staring off at nothing and trembling slightly. He was thinking about what happened, that terrible, terrible place that haunted his every waking second - torturing him in his unconscious times; the memories that triggered the panic attacks, the experiences that brought blades to skin, the thoughts that tormented him. He jumped, eyes wild and terrified as if he was surrounded by people holding guns at him - he was looking at everyone like they were about to hurt him, and for all he knew, they were. But it was only a nurse, telling him to wake up. Yeah, like that’s going to help. Nico huffed and crossed his arms, hunching over in his seat more. He barely glanced up at the announcement of a new kid who’d just arrived, but flinched when he felt someone sit down next to him. He shifted away, still glaring at the floor, tears stinging his eyes. He hated this, he hated being here and feeling like this; he hated that he had to go through that shit. He hated everything. He felt the person next to him shift and he could feel eyes staring like daggers into him. “Stop watching me. I don’t like being watched.”





dick too bomb

(Source: m1rai, via powerhouse-ketchup)




Can’t hold it back anymore.

This is priceless!

this is it. this is the photo that i’ve waited for. my blog is now complete.

(via bookwormpride)


I’ve pondered this shot since TSOT aired. I kept wondering why we were shown the hug from this angle. At first I thought it had to do with John’s private nature, especially his private feelings about Sherlock: so private he can’t admit them to his therapist after Sherlock’s “death,” so private he makes sure Mrs. Hudson’s not watching before he touches Sherlock’s headstone. Here, he hides his face behind Sherlock’s before hugging him, and we get a private glimpse of his face full of adoration for his friend, but the guests do not.

Then I realized I had it backward. This shot isn’t about John hiding his face from the guests. When I don’t know how to understand a choice of cinematography, I usually think “What would I have meant by that choice?” And I realized that my wedding photography experience could indeed answer this question. It took me a long time to come up with because I don’t usually go behind the altar during the wedding ceremony, but I have done it enough to know that this is the kiss shot. This is the shot I do when the couple kiss. It’s one of the most important photographs to get of the wedding day; couples always, always request it. The usual way to do it is from the perspective of the guests, from the angle that most of Sherlock’s speech is filmed in TSOT, but this is a foreground-background connection: this is the shot I do when I want to show that the couple are celebrating their love in front of everyone they know

That’s what this shot is. It’s John showing how much he cares about Sherlock, in front of God and congregation, in front of and family and friends. Just because his face is hidden doesn’t mean he’s not demonstrating his feelings for all to see, here, for the very first time.

(via itslifeintheair)








hey doesn’t Sherlock have a best friend or something in this show?

John Wazowski



The hiatus continues

(via itslifeintheair)




why is it even called tumblr what does it even mean





We’ve hit the 4th wall

(Source: hashtagugly, via shadowwingwitch)




Ok everybody…..I have this great new idea for a blockbuster movie series…..picture this…..dystopian future…….and teenagers…….

My god… I think you’re onto something…

and to spice things up… a forced love triangle…

(Source: whitepassing, via goodbyeandthanksforallthefish)