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Anonymous

Anonymous asked:

I think a lot of people are surprised by your age because you're really mature for 12

demigod4life:

fangirlingoverdemigods:

demigod4life:

fangirlingoverdemigods:

I get that a lot. Adults say I am extremely mature for my age, and it turns out that my hormones produced earlier and gave my body different reactions. But it was a different type of hormone, a very rare one.

Was it… The demigod hormones?

Err…sure. ;)

Welcome to camp cousin, have you been claimed yet? If not you can stay in the heroes cabin until you’re claimed

I have been claimed by Athena. ANNABETH IS MY SISTER! F*CK YEAH!

Anonymous

Anonymous asked:

I think a lot of people are surprised by your age because you're really mature for 12

I get that a lot. Adults say I am extremely mature for my age, and it turns out that my hormones produced earlier and gave my body different reactions. But it was a different type of hormone, a very rare one.

imnotbatmanbutyoureclose asked:

Sorry if some ones asked this before, but have you read Kane chronicles? And what did you think of the pjo movies?

I haven’t read the Kane Chronicles. I started to, but eventually got bored and people at school said they weren’t really great. I’m thinking about trying again, since I saw the new books Rick has written with Percy and Carter, and Annabeth and Sadie.

I hated the movies. They didn’t follow the book AT ALL. And I’m absolutely happy they cancelled the third movie.

Abused

(THIS STORY IS NOT BASED OFF OF A REAL LIFE EXPERIENCE. MY FRIEND WANTED ME TO WRITE SOMETHING THAT HAPPENED TO HER IN REAL LIFE TO SHOW AWARENESS. SHE WAS ABUSED AND HURT. THIS CONTAINS EXTREMELY DIRTY LANGUAGE, AND IF YOU ARE LIGHT HEARTED I SUGGEST JUST SCROLLING PAST. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!)


I peeked around the corner as my step-dad hit the dog. Again, and again, and again. I wince every time I hear my dog yelp.

I want to run out there and protect my dog, Charlie. But I’m scared. Scared that I will become the dog once again. Whipped, unable to do anything.

I don’t. But I find myself leaning around the corner more. To see how bad he’s hurting Charlie. I let out a small sigh as I see. No blood. Good.

But I lean too far out-

"Ow!" I yell as I hit the ground. I tripped over an empty bottle of beer. They were littered everywhere. My step-dad, Simon, was almost always drunk.

He let’s go of Charlie’s collar, and Charlie, taking his chance, runs.

"No! You let the little bastard get away!" Simon yells angrily, throwing his belt on the ground. He points a finger at me, "You!"

I scramble back, far enough to hit the wall. I look to my sides and find that he somehow managed to corner me. The only way out…is to get past him.

"You fucking dumbass!" He screams. His voice piercing my ears, and all I want to do is get away. Get away get away get away.

"I-," but I’m lost in words. How to explain why I was watching.

"Well then…" he says, rubbing his chin as if thinking up a brilliant idea, "you will have to take Charlie’s place now."

He nods to himself, pleased. Simon takes his left hand off of his chin, and reaches to grab the belt with the right.

I could run. My stomach lurches. What if he caught me? Definetly even worse punishments. Its worth a try though.

I press myself up with my hands, pushing my back up against the wall, and run.

I get about five yards away, before I hear the sound of a bottle break right next to my ear. I scramble in my tracks, and slip on a piece of glass.

I fall with a shriek, and look up at my arms. They are bloody, pieces of glass in the wounds.

Before I can react, Simon grabs my arm embedded with glass, and pulls me up hastily. His grip tight, he pushes the glass even deeper into my skin. I see black blotches in front of me, then its gone as he throws me back toward the table. He once again, has me trapped.

I stumble backward and hit my head against the edge. I see more black spots, then my vision clears. He has his belt raised, ready to strike.

But before that he pulls me up by my hair, and it feels as if my lifes being ripped apart. Piece by piece. I stifle a scream. He dangles me in the air for three seconds just by my hair, then shoves me down. I end up keeping my balance, and not falling over.

"Bend over!" He snaps.

I do as told and know what is happening next. He hovers the belt over his head and brings it down.

I scream out, then remember his rules. No yelling while getting beat.

"Uh-uh! That deserves four more extra punishments." He shakes his finger testily at me. Like I’m a puppy who just wet the floor, not a fourteen year-old girl getting abused.

But I’m screming inside. I don’t know what for. The pain? The anger? The fear?

All three.

He brings the belt down four more times, then kicks my rump, sending my toppling to the floor. I lay in an awkward fatal position, my hands and arms sprawled and bent in a way that I didn’t think was possible.

The school nurse will surely ask about the scars tomorrow. And I’ll have to lie.

Tell her that I self-harm. Then she will, once again, suggest a counselor. And Simon will come in for a meeting, looking all elegant and polite, nothing compared to where he is right now.

He’ll explain how much worse I’ve been getting, and that the counselor (that’s not real) is stepping my medications up. Antidepressants.

I don’t take the drugs that would overdose me. Instead, Simon does, which has made him worse over the past year.

And once again, tomorrow, I will have to explain to my best friend, Natalie, where the scars came from.

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