#then fifty fifty of hitting Roman

[thefairytower]

1 “We could give your spell one more try,” Janus suggested. “Oooh! Maybe if I try it on Ro it’ll work! Cuz she’s more on my skill level!” Remus suggests eagerly. Virgil steps in front of the princess. “Absolutely not. If you want another guniea pig I’ll do it,” they insist. Remus purses their lips. “Hmmm I guess that’s worth a try. Okay here we go!” “Wait!” But it was too late. Remus already cast his spell. It sailed past Virgil and Roman, hit a frame and bounced off all over the place until finally, it hit Remus themself. “Of course he hit themself,” Virgil sighed. The group studdied Remus’ dazed expression. “I think it actually worked,” Virgil muses. “How do we undo the spell?” Ro wonders. “By asking questions. I’ll snap out of it eventually,” Remus tells them with a serene voice. “That’s a little creepy...” Virgil frowns. “Hm. I suppose the spell worked then. And I am curious. What were you going to ask me?” Janus wonders. “I wanted to ask about accents,” Remus shrugged. The two young fairies became beet red, Janus merely chuckled.

#sanders sides #ts sides #ask blog #ask the fairies #fairytower #janus sanders #virgil sanders #remus sanders #roman sanders #this time i roled to see for aim too #there was a fifty fifty chance of Rem missing #and they did #oops #then fifty fifty of hitting Roman #it didn't #you get the drift

[eisforeidolon]

Question: Think back to the first time that you took a road trip unscripted, without your parents, without the school, where were you going, what were you doing, and what happened?

Jensen: I dunno if it was the first time, but I do remember a trip that I took with my buddies. This would have been - we were pretty young, and we rented one of those RVs, the rent-able RVs? Yeah, don't recommend. And packed, like, I dunno, five or six of us in that thing and drove from here all the way to Texas and then up to Arkansas for my buddy's wedding that was happening, and then all the way back through the desert. It was - there were things that probably happened that should not have - certainly illegal. At one point we, it was late at night and people were falling asleep and we were like, 'Hey, that looks like a good field, let's go have a firework war.' We had a whole - we had saw this - stopped along the road there was a fireworks stand, so we bought just way too many fireworks. We pull over to the side of the road, it's night. We send half the guys like fifty yards away and the other half of the guys are on this side. And we started just shooting roman candles at each other and bottle rockets, like, firing them at each other. And then like one of these was like where you shoot it and then it lands, and then it explodes? It was like we were just trying to kill each other for fun. For fun. We had a guy Teen Wolf the top of it? Like driving down the road, he climbed out the, he took off the vent thing and climbed out the hole and was just like [mimes hanging on and waving]. That's not okay. That's -

JDM: That guy was Jensen. Whenever we use the term [finger quotes] that guy? [points to himself, then Jensen, laughing]

Jensen: Asking for a friend. [JDM cracks up]

JDM: I remember my first, I don't know why I remember this so well, but I remember moving to LA and we drove. My friend Billy Burke, who was on that show Fire Country, yeah, and Charlie Swan in the whatever those vampire movies - Twilight, that's it. So he had a hearse.

Jensen: What?

JDM: No joke. He was in a band called Billy Black and something, but you know, he liked dead stuff. And so he drove, that was his car, was a hearse. And we drove this hearse from Seattle to Los Angeles. And - I mean, we didn't have a firework wars, but I think there was people like riding on top of the hearse and shit. But I do remember it really well, and I remember it just because Billy and I both are still standing today and kinda had a career, so yay. That was a good move.

Jensen: Jared and I used to, uh, road trip every year up to Vancouver for the - before we hit the season. So we would, we would - he would hop in his truck and I would hop in mine, and we would take off, you know, a week before filming started. And we'd drive all the way up, you know take the five and take -

JDM: You'd just follow each other? Walkie talkies?

Jensen: Yeah, walkie talkies. Yeah, you know, we'd be cruising along and - what a great way to, you know, bond.

JDM: Hey, let's pull over and have a firework war! [Jensen cracks up]

Jensen: No, it was like, 'I could go for a little beef jerky, some sunflower seeds'. Which is just road trip necessities. And so we did that for, gosh, like several, several seasons. Probably five years in a row we would drive up and then at the end of the season, we would drive our trucks back. And then I think by that time we had just enough coin we could leave our trucks there over the summer -

JDM: There you go.

Jensen: and fly home and have a new car, so.

JDM: That's smart.

Jensen: Yeah yeah yeah.

JDM: It's okay on the way there, on the way home, though, it's like, 'Ohh, this is a long drive'.

Jensen: It's a long drive!

JDM: I need to get home!

Jensen: Well, no, it was just the end of the season, so we were like, "Woohoo leaving it in the dust, been there for nine months, time to get back to life!' But those were -

JDM: Was that from Texas, or when -

Jensen: No, that was when we were in LA. First few years.

#burcon 2024 #jensen & jeff gold panel #long post

[marcusagrippa]

i think that there should be more weird obimaul aus actually. what if obi-wan was a writer who only wrote one bestseller before developing chronic writer's block and maul had severe anger issues, ptsd, a crippling caffeine addiction and a child to look after. what if obi-wan found his muse in the neurotic tattooed psychopath with terrible hair and godawful fashion sense who spilled coffee on him, swore like a sailor, then damn near dropped his baby on the floor before flipping off the entire coffee shop and running outside, before he proceeds to nearly get hit by a car and falls into a manhole. or what if they were fifties noir rival detectives with cigars and dramatic flaring trenchcoats reluctantly forced to work together to investigate a string of homicides. or what if maul was a pirate. or what if they played mariokart. or what if obi-wan was secretly the vessel of a being of unimaginable eldritch power. or what if maul was a roman emperor. or what if they were in a cult but they were both cringe about it. or what if they were professional figure skaters. huh. what then.

#obimaul #im going to explode i want to write these but. no brain no words #stupid murderhusbands......... #maul #obi-wan #<3

[valiantarcher]

I'm rereading Black as Night and have a few thoughts (under a cut for spoilers and because it did get a bit long).

Even thought it's incredibly obvious and his role is obvious, I think this is the first time it's clicked why Hunter is named Hunter.

This is the one book where it feels like I miss a certain amount of nuance and humour because I don't have a good grasp on the structure of the Roman Catholic church (what is the basis of the snub about Benedictines and fruitcake??).

I am again having idle wonderings about what would've happened if Blanche had tried to tell Fish about her feelings of danger before he left for Europe. I'm guessing he wouldn't have really believed her but I also have a feeling that he would've probably tried to give her a ride home from work a few times or checked in, just to set her mind at ease, with the result that he probably would've seen her mystery stalker or otherwise had his sense of danger raised enough for him to start taking it very seriously.

While rereading, I also was struck by the remembrance that, at one point, Regina Doman had been considering retellings of Rumplestiltskin and East o' the Sun, West o' the Moon. It seems unlikely those will happen now (but not impossible, I guess!), which I'm mostly fine with, but I am curious all over again about how those would've worked out.

I'm struck by how frustrated Fish is that Bear makes spur-of-the-moment decisions and gets into trouble without looping him into it. There's an aspect that probably comes from experience (always better to have backup and they learned a lot on the streets as teens) and some that just comes from their differences in personality and strengths, but it's also interesting with respect to Waking Rose, where Fish does get into trouble without Bear BUT always with a plan, usually with backup, and often with having given Bear a heads up or keeping him looped in.

The Nancy Drew reference is common enough, but I'm amused that Fish knows enough about girls' detective stories to know to call Rose Trixie Belden. Also somewhat telling that Fish both has a point in his comment about Rose not surviving to star in a second novel, much less three hundred fifty more, from the perspective of her only surviving SotB (and then WR) because he saved her and also sells her short because she *does* survive three novels where she does detecting. ;))

Also! I had forgotten that Rose is the one who hits the nail on the head as far as motive! Fish is right that it's unlikely but she's correct that it's about jealousy - they're just both missing a couple pieces of the puzzle at that point.

I feel like the Austrian professor is a reference to Fish's later adviser in WR?

I also feel like there's some significance to Mr. Fairston's name being Alistair but going by Jack. Maybe a bit of foreshadowing that his last name isn't really his right name either (though it is legal - which raises the question why he didn't change his first name to Jack when he changed his last name if he hated Alistair so much)?

I appreciate the continuity between Bear trying to talk Mr. Freet out of further murder in SotB and him trying to talk Elaine out of murder in BaN. Granted, the stakes are high in both instances, but he is also genuinely concerned for the consequences of murder on themselves.

The short emergency room scene is good and I like how quickly Fish, upon being thanked, redirects that thanks to Rose and rightly acknowledges her invaluableness to saving both of his surviving family members. (Also, I still kind of wish there had been a parallel emergency room scene at the end of SotB.)

OH MAN. I just caught that Mrs. Foster comes by to read to Bear and Fish's dad! She was so protective of them and rightly upset by how their dad threw them out after they got out of the juvenile detention and yet??? She comes by and visits him and reads to him, something he is appreciative of! She was under no obligation and it would've been really easy for her to just not even stop by and yet!!

I'm really hoping Rose had wandered off by this point in the phone call and didn't hear Fish's "Let's hope Elaine didn't dump [Blanche] in the river" comment.

I'm unexpectedly appreciating the reconciliation between Bear and his dad more on this read than I have before. I know it's critical for Bear's arc and growth, but it just stands out more this time around. (Also, I'm a bit saddened by the realisation that, apparently, his own probable reconciliation didn't have much of an impact on Ben as it never comes up in WR.)

I'm wondering if Fish went out, bought a cellphone for Bear, and pressed it into his hands before he went out looking for Blanche or if Bear is still just carrying around Fish's cellphone. Either seems reasonable and either is just slightly amusing.

#Black as Night #Regina Doman #Fairy Tale Novels #I just was having thoughts about what I was reading and I wanted to encourage those thoughts because that's a good sign #So now it's all y'all's problem now #Unedited and everything

[impositioned]

Jeryd forgot something

“You have your tie?” Roman asks, helping him get ready. The bedroom is a mess.

Jeryd is annoyed. “Don’t be a fucking bitch. I have enough of that at home.”

“Fuck you. If you haven’t fired the last fifty guys. I would be in Morocco snorting coke off a large woman’s breasts.”

Jeryd ignores this. They both know that it's not remotely true.

“Where’s—” Roman deigns to say. “Are you meeting there?”

“What? Who?”

“It’s an Easter lunch, man.”

Jeryd looks at him, not getting it. “So?”

“Man, we gotta get you checked. You’re turning into the fucking Raisin like really fast.” Roman almost smirks. “It’s a Christian event?” Roman widens his eyes at him. “Did you call—?”

It seems like a while that they’ve been staring at each other. Roman waits for Jeryd to get there. Then it hits.

“Fuck,” Jeryd utters. A tone of defeat and acceptance — final.

He was supposed to bring his wife.

#romencken #idk #i cant shut up #set 2 or 3 yrs down the presidency #roman is his wife what do you mean #one shot I'll never fully write #so im throwing it out for 4 notes #succession #blurb #roman roy #roman

[thewidowsghost]

Seeing The Beauty (Piper Mclean x Fem!Reader) - Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Here I am, actually posting something :0

I know it's something a lot of people won't read, but this is a fic I'm passionate about, and what I decided to work on :)

The storm churns into a miniature hurricane. Funnel clouds snakes towards the skywalk like the tendrils of a monster jellyfish.

Students scream and run for the building. The wind snatches away their notebooks, jackets - including (Y/n)'s black bomber, revealing heavily scarred arms - hats, and backpacks. Both Jason and (Y/n) skid across the slick floor.

Leo loses his balance and almost topples over the railing, but (Y/n) grabs his jacket, pulling him back.

"Thanks, man," Leo yells.

"Go, go, go!" orders Coach Hedge.

Piper and Dylan are holding the doors open, herding the other kids inside. Piper's snowboarding jacket is flapping wildly, her dark hair all in her face. Jason thinks that she must've been freezing, but Piper looks calm and confident - telling the others it would be okay, encouraging them to keep moving.

Jason, Leo, (Y/n), and Coach Hedge runs towards them, but it is like running through quicksand. The wind seems to fight them, pushing them back.

Dylan and Piper push one more kid inside, then lose their grip on the doors. They slam shut, closing off the skywalk.

Piper tugs at the handles. Inside, the kids pound on the glass, but the door seems to be stuck.

"Dylan, help!" Piper shouts over the roar of the wind.

Dylan just stands there with an idiotic grin, his Cowboys jersey rippling in the wind, like he is suddenly enjoying the storm.

"Sorry, Piper," he says. "I'm done helping." He flicks his wrist, and Piper flies backwards, slamming into the doors and sliding to the skywalk deck.

"Piper!" Jason and (Y/n) try to charge forward, but the wind is against them, and Coach Hedge pulls them back.

"Coach," Jason protests, "let me go!"

"Jason, (Y/n), Leo, stay behind me," the coach orders. "This is my fight. I should've known that was our monster."

"What?" Leo demands. A rogue worksheet slaps him in the face, but he swats it away. "What monster?"

The coach's cap blows off and sticking up above his curly hair are two bumps - like the knots cartoon characters get when they're bonked on the head. Coach Hedge lifts his baseball bat - but it isn't a regular bat anymore. Somehow, it had changed into a crudely shaped tree-branch club, with twigs and leaves still attached.

Dylan gives  him that psycho happy smile. "Oh, come on, Coach. Let the boy attack me! After all, you're getting too old for this. Isn't that why they retired you to this stupid school? I've been on your team the entire season, and you didn't even know. You're losing your nose, grandpa."

The coach makes an angry sound like an animal bleating. "That's it, cupcake. You're going down!"

"You think you can protect four half-bloods at once, old man?" Dylan cackles. "Good luck." Dylan points at Leo, and a funnel cloud materializes around him. Leo flies off the skywalk like he'd been tossed. Somehow, he manages to wrist in midair, and slams slideways into the canyon wall. He skids, clawing furiously for any handhold. Finally, he grabs a thin ledge about fifty feet below the skywalk, and hangs there by his fingertips.

"Help!" he yells up at them. "Rope, please? Bungee cord? Something?"

Coach Hedge curses and tosses Jason his club. "I don't know who you are, kid, but I hop you're good. Keep that thing busy" - he stabs a thumb at Dylan - "while I get Leo."

"Get him how?" (Y/n) demands. "You going to fly?"

"Not fly. Climb," Hedge kicks off his shoes, and (Y/n) almost has a coronary. The coach didn't have any feet. He has hooves - goat's hooves. Which means those things on his head, (Y/n) realizes, weren't bumps. They were horns.

"You're a faun," Jason exclaims.

"Satyr!" Hedge snaps. "Fauns are Roman. But we'll talk about that later."

Hedge leaps over the railing. He sails towards the canyon wall and hits hooves first. He bounds down the cliff with impossible agility, finding footholds - Hoofholds? (Y/n) wonders - no bigger than postage stamps, dodging whirlwinds that try to attack him as he picks his way towards Leo.

"Isn't that cute!" Dylan turns toward Jason. "Now it's your turn, boy." Dylan ignores (Y/n) for the time being, and (Y/n) uses the moment to pull the pen from her pocket again.

Jason throws the Coach's club. It seems useless with the winds so strong, but the club flies right at Dylan, even curving when he tries to dodge, and smacks him on the head so hard he falls to his knees.

Piper isn't as dazed as she appears. Her fingers close around the club when it rolls next to her, but before she can use it, Dylan rises. Blood - golden blood - tickles from his forehead. "Nice try, boy." He glares at Jason. "But you'll have to do better."

The skywalk shudders. Hairline fractures appear in the glass. Inside the museum, kids stop banging on the doors. They back away, watching in terror.

Dylan's body dissolves into smoke, as if his molecules are coming unglued. He has the same face, the same brilliant white smile, but his whole form is suddenly composed of swirling black vapor, his eyes like electrical sparks in a living storm cloud. He sprouts black smoky wings and rises above the skywalk. If angels could be evil, Jason decides, they would look exactly like this.

"You're a ventus," Jason says, though he had no idea how he knew that word. "A storm spirit!"

Dylan's laugh sounds like a tornado tearing off a roof. "I'm glad I waited, demigod. Leo and Piper I've known about for weeks. Could've killed them at any time. But my mistress said two more were coming - something special. She'll reward me greatly for your death!"

Two  more  funnel  clouds  touch  down  on  either  side  of  Dylan  and turn  into venti - ghostly  young  men  with  smoky  wings  and  eyes  that flicker with lightning.

Piper stays down, pretending to be dazed, her hand still gripping the club.  Her  face  is  pale,  but  she  gives  Jason and (Y/n) determined  looks,  and  he understands the message: Keep their attention. I'll brain them from behind.

Smart and violent, Jason wishes he remembered having Piper as a girlfriend.

Jason clenches his fists and gets ready to charge, but he never gets a chance.

Dylan raises his hand, arcs of electricity running between his fingers, and blasts Jason in the chest.

Jason finds himself flat on his back. His mouth tastes like burning aluminum foil. He lifts his head and sees that his clothes are smoking. The lightning bolt had gone straight through his body and blasts off his left shoe; his toes are black with soot.

The storm spirits are laughing. The wind rages. Piper is screaming defiantly, but it all sounds tinny and far away.

Instinctually, she uncaps the pen still in her hand, and suddenly (Y/n) is holding a sword - a shimmering bronze sword with a double-edged blade, a leather-wrapped grip and a flat hilt riveted with gold studs.

(Y/n) tests the weight of the sword in her hand. (Y/n) can't tell who's more surprised, herself, or the storm spirits.

Dylan snarls and backs up. He looks at his two comrades and yells, "Well? Kill her!"

The other storm spirits don't look happy with that order, by they fly at (Y/n), their fingers crackling with electricity.

(Y/n) jabs at the first spirit; her blade passes through it, and the creature's smoky form disintegrates into golden powder.

The second spirit lets loose a bolt of lightning, and (Y/n) is blasted back into the glass doors.

(Y/n) slides down the doors beside Piper, her sword sliding out of her hand and skittering off the side of the skywalk and into the canyon.

"Shit," (Y/n) curses, staggering to her feet.

Then Coach Hedge leaps back onto the skywalk and dumps Leo like a sack of flour. "Spirits, fear me!" Hedge bellows, flexing his short arms. Then he looks around and realizes that Dylan was the only spirit left - Jason dispelled the other. "Curse it, boy!" he snaps at Jason. "Didn't you leave some for me? I like a challenge!"

Leo gets to his feet, breathing hard. He looks completely humiliated, his hands bleeding from clawing at the rocks. "Yo, Coach Supergoat, whatever you are - I just fell down the freaking Grand Canyon! Stop asking for challenges!"

Dylan hisses at them, but Jason can see fear in his eyes. "You have no idea how many enemies you've awakened, half-bloods. My mistress will destroy all demigods. This war you cannot win."

Above them, the storm explodes into a full-force gale. Cracks expand in the skywalk. Sheets of rain pour down, and Jason has to crouch to keep his balance.

A hole opens in the clouds - a swirling vortex of black and silver.

"The mistress calls me back!" Dylan shouts with glee. "And you, demigod, will come with me!"

He lunges at Jason, but Piper tackles the monster from behind. Even though he is made of smoke, Piper somehow manages to make contact; both of them go sprawling. Leo, Jason, (Y/n), and the coach surge forward to help, but the spirit screams with rage. Dylan lets loose a torrent that knocks the four onto their buts. Jason's sword skids across the glass. Leo hits the back of his head and curls up on his side, dazed and groaning.

Piper gets the worst of it. She is thrown off Dylan's back and hits the railing, tumbling over the side until she is hanging by one hand over the abyss.

(Y/n) gets to her feet, sprinting and vaulting over the side of the railing, grabbing the railing - and Piper's wrist.

Piper stares at (Y/n).

Are you insane?! Piper's gaze seems to say.

Probably, (Y/n) reads Piper's expression. (Y/n) didn't remember Piper, but Piper clearly trusted her, and (Y/n) would not let her die.

(Y/n)'s grip tightens on the railing, and she tries to pull Piper up.

"Hey!" Piper yells, seeing the sweat beading on (Y/n)'s forehead. "We could use some help over here!"

Jason starts towards them, but Dylan screams, "I'll settle for this one!" He grabs Leo's arm and begins to rise, towing a half-concious Leo below him. The storm spins faster, pulling them upwards like a vacuum cleaner.

"Help! Somebody!" Piper yells. And then, her hands slick with sweat, Piper slips out of (Y/n)'s grip, screaming as she falls.

"Jason, go!" Hedge yells. "Save her."

(Y/n) hauls herself up and over the railing, staring down at Piper's figure plummeting towards the little river at the bottom of the Grand Canyon.

The coach launches himself at the spirit, lashing out with his hooves, knocking Leo free from the spirit's grasp. Leo drops safely to the floor, but Dylan grapples the coach's arms instead. Hedge tries to head-butt him, then kicks him and calls him a cupcake. They rise into the air, gaining speed.

Coach Hedge shouts down once more, "Save her! I got this!" Then the satyr and the storm spirit spiral into the clouds and disappear.

Save her? Jason thinks. She's gone! But again, his instincts win. He runs to the railing, thinking I'm a lunatic, and jumps over the side.

. . .

Jason isn't scared of heights. He is scared of being smashed against the canyon floor five hundred feet below. He figures he hadn't accomplished anything other than dying along with Piper, but he tucks in his arms and plummets headfirst. The sides of the canyon race past like a film on fast-forward; his face feels like it is peeling off.

In a heartbeat, he catches up with Piper, who is flailing wildly. He tackles her waist and closes his eyes, waiting for death.

Piper screams.

The wind whistles in Jason's ears.

He wonders what dying would feel like. He is thinking, Probably not so good. He wishes somehow they could never hit the bottom.

Suddenly, the wind dies. Piper's scream turns into a strangled gasp. Jason thinks that they must be dead, but he hadn't felt any impact.

"J-j-jason," Piper manages.

Jason opens his eyes; they aren't falling. They are floating in midair, a hundred feet above the river. Jason hugs Piper tight, and she repositions herself so she is hugging him too. They are nose to nose. Her heart beats so hard, Jason can feel it through her clothes.

Piper's breath smells like cinnamon. She says, "How did you -"

"I didn't," Jason says . "I think I would know if I could fly..." But then he thinks, I don't even know who I am.

Jason imagines going up; Piper yelps as they shoot a few feet higher. We aren't exactly floating, Jason decides. He can feel pressure under his feet, like they are balancing at the top of a geyser.

"The air is supporting us," Jason says.

"Well, tell it to support us more! Get us out of here!"

Jason looks down. The easiest thing would be to sink gently to the canyon floor. Then he looks up. The rain had stopped. The storm clouds don't seem as bad, but they are still rumbling and flashing. There was no guarantee the spirits were gone for good. He had no idea what had happened to Coach Hedge. And he'd left Leo up there, barely conscious, with a most likely guilty (Y/n).

"We have to help them," Piper says, as if reading Jason's thoughts. "Can you -"

"Let's see." Jason thinks, Up!, and instantly, they shoot skyward.

The fact he is riding the winds might've been cool under different circumstances, but Jason is too much in shock. As soon as they land on the skywalk, they run to Leo, (Y/n) sitting beside him, looking dazed and guilty - just as Jason had guessed.

Piper turns Leo over, and he groans. Leo's army coat is soaked from the rain. His curly hair glitters gold from rolling around in monster dust. But at least he isn't dead.

"Stupid . . . ugly . . . goat," Leo mutters.

"Where'd he go?" Piper questions.

Leo points straight up. "Never came down. Please tell me he didn't actually save my life."

"Twice," (Y/n) replies, studying the - possibly hundreds - of scars lacing her arms.

Leo groans even louder. "What happened? The tornado guy, the bronze and gold swords . . . I hit my head. That's it, right? I'm hallucinating?"

Jason had forgotten about his sword. He walks over to where it was lying and picks it up. The blade is well balanced. On a hunch he flips it; midspin, the sword shrinks back into a coin and lands in his palm.

(Y/n) reaches into her pocket, studying her pen before uncapping it, the ballpoint lengthening to the three and a half foot long bronze sword.

"Yep," Leo says. "Definitely hallucinating."

Piper shivers in her rain-soaked clothes. "Jason, those things -"

"Venti," Jason interrupts. "Storm spirits."

"Okay," Piper stares at Jason. "You acted like . . . like you'd seen them before. Who are you?"

Jason shakes his head. "That's what I've been trying to tell you. I don't know."

The storm dissipates. The other kids from the Wilderness School are staring out the glass doors in horror. Security guards are working on the locks, but they don't seem to be having any luck."

"Coach Hedge said he had to protect four people," (Y/n) thinks aloud, touching the tip of her sword with a finger and watching it shrink back into a pen. "I'm ninety-five percent sure he meant us."

"And that thing Dylan turned into . . ." Piper shudders. "God, I can't believe it was hitting on me. He called us . . . what, demigods?"

Leo lies on his back, staring at the sky. He doesn't seem anxious to get up. "Don't know what demi means," he replies. "But I'm not feeling too godly. You guys feeling godly?"

(Y/n) lets out a snort of laughter, but then there is brittle sound like dry twigs snapping, and the cracks in the skywalk begin to widen.

"We need to get off this thing," Jason says.

"Maybe if we -"

"Ohh-kay," Leo interrupted. "Look up there and tell me if those are flying horses."

At first Jason thinks Leo had hit his head too hard. Then he sees a dark shape descending from the east - too slow for a plane, too large for a bird. As it got closer he can see a pair of winged animals - one black and one gray, four-legged, exactly like horses - except each one had a twenty-foot wingspan. The horses are pulling a brightly painted box with two wheels: a chariot.

"Reinforcements," (Y/n) says. "Hedge told me an extraction squad was coming for us."

"Extraction squad?" Leo struggles to his feet. "That sounds painful."

Jason watches as the chariot lands on the far end of the skywalk. The flying horses tuck in their wings and canter nervously across the glass, as if they sense it was near breaking. Two teenagers stand in the chariot - a tall blond girl maybe a little older than Jason, and a bulky dude with a shaved head and a face like a pile of bricks. They both wear jeans and orange T-shirts like (Y/n)'s, with shields tossed over their backs. The girl leaps off before the chariot had even finished moving. She pulls a knife and runs toward the group while the bulky dude is reining in the horses.

"I'm going to kill you," the blonde girl steps up to (Y/n), whose eyes widen with shock.

"What?" (Y/n) asks, looking so utterly confused that the blonde lowers her knife. "Did I do something to hurt you?" (Y/n)'s eyebrows knit with confusion.

The blonde stares at (Y/n) for a moment, her gray eyes are fierce and a little startling.

"What about Gleeson? Where is your protector, Gleeson Hedge?" she asks.

The coach's first name was Gleeson? Jason might've laughed if the morning hadn't been quite so weird and scary. Gleeson Hedge: football coach, goat man, protector of demigods. Sure. Why not?

Leo clears his throat. "He got taken by some . . . tornado things."

"Venti," Jason clarifies. "Storm spirits."

The blonde girl arches an eyebrow. "You mean anemoi thuellai? That's the Greek term. Who are you, and what happened?"

Jason does his best to explain, though it is hard to meet those intense gray eyes. About halfway through the story, the other guy from the chariot comes over. He stands there glaring at them, his arms crossed. He has a tattoo of a rainbow on his biceps, which seems a little unusual to Jason.

"Annabeth," the bald guy grunts. "Check it out." He pointed at Jason's feet.

Jason hadn't thought much about it, but he is still missing his left shoe, which had been blown off by the lightning. His bare foot feels okay, but it looks like a lump of charcoal.

"The guy with one shoe," says the bald dude. "He's the answer."

"No, Butch," the girl insists. "He can't be. I was tricked." She glares at the sky as though it had done something wrong. "What do you want from me?" she screams. "What have you done?"

"Hey there, Boss," (Y/n) hears in her head and she turns to one of the horses, a jet black pegasus.

"Uh, hey," (Y/n) says aloud, stepping over to the horse. She reaches out, and the pegasus nuzzles her hand.

"You got any sugar cubes?" he whinnies.

"No, sorry, bud," (Y/n) pats the pegasus's head.

Leo, Jason, and Piper stare at (Y/n), their eyebrows raised, but both Annabeth and Butch look unfazed.

The skywalk shudders , and the pegasi whinnies urgently. "We'd better hurry, Boss. The glass is crackin'!" the black pegasus says.

"Annabeth," says the bald dude, Butch, "we gotta leave. Let's get these four to camp and figure it out there. Those storm spirits might come back."

Annabeth fumes for a moment. "Fine." She fixes Jason with a resentful look. "We'll settle this later." She turns on her heel and marches towards the chariot.

Piper shakes her head. "What's her problem? What's going on?"

"Seriously," Leo agrees.

(Y/n) stares after Annabeth for a moment before following. She places a gentle hand on Annabeth's arm, and the blonde turns to her.

"I'm sorry," (Y/n) says and Annabeth's expression softens. "I don't remember who I am, or what I've done, but I'm sorry if I've hurt you."

Annabeth nods.

"Come on," Annabeth says. "Let's go home. I'll even ask Chiron to get you a new shirt. For now," Annabeth swings a backpack off her shoulders and pulls out a navy blue and white lettermen jacket, "put this on."

(Y/n) studies the jacket, noticing the last name - Jackson - before sliding it on. "Is this mine?" (Y/n) asks.

Annabeth nods. "You were on the swim team," Annabeth's eyes glow with what (Y/n) guesses is sisterly - pride.

Word Count: 3521 words

Taglist:

@camaddison​​

@steinfellds​​

@p-taryn-dactyl​​

@oculusalien​​

@pink-widows

#piper mclean x female reader #piper mclean x fem reader #piper mclean x reader #percy jackson x sister reader #annabeth chase x sister reader

[atreegrowsinnorthnywrites]

The idea came to me this week and I can't get out of my head, and I thought why not share. Not heavily edited. Just vibes so far!

The tires of the small SUV crunched over the rocky, overgrown driveway. Talia rolled down the passenger window as birch and pine trees ambled past her line of vision. The earthy smell of moss and bark and dead foliage on the forest floor hit her nose. The first snow was still a few weeks off, and the trees desperately clung to their remaining leaves. The land, as they all called it, looked exactly the same. 

“You doing okay?” Will murmured from the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel the other extended towards her. She glanced back at him, at the trace of concern in his honey brown eyes, and nodded. She took his hand. 

It had been three years.

Three years since she had been here. Before dad died. Before he had gotten so bad. Before he was even diagnosed. Before college or her carefree senior year. She had made the drive at seventeen, alone, in her rusty Toyota Corolla that Selene and Roman had driven years before her. One last visit before she applied to college; one last trip to say goodbye. Her dad had stopped coming out to the land long before that. So had her siblings. 

The land was mom’s. Everything about it reminded them of mom. Especially the weathering cabin they approached. 

The roof of the cabin was covered in leaves, pine needles, and various debris. The logs of the cabin’s exterior had seen better days. They had been restored and treated when her parents had originally inherited the land, but northern Minnesota’s winters had battered them down again. The front porch leaned to the right, wood rot likely decimating the stairs and boards of the addition built before she had even been born. The cabin needed more than a bit of work. 

The cabin that was now Talia’s. 

Will’s vehicle came to a stop. Her free hand instinctively reached for the gold necklace at her chest sitting on top of her khaki turtleneck. 

“Do you want a minute alone first?” Will asked, his voice soft. She was still holding tight to his hand and she squeezed it in reply, dropping the necklace. His sharp jawline flexed. He wanted to say more, but he stopped himself. He leaned towards her, his tousled, sandy blonde hair falling over his forehead. 

Talia met him the rest of the way, pressing a kiss to his soft lips. “No,” she whispered against his lips. “I want you to see it.”

They broke apart. Will offered an encouraging smile and Talia opened the passenger door. 

She hopped down and swore as her brown ankle boots met a puddle. Muddy water splashed her blue jeans. She could almost hear her mom’s laugh in the light breeze. Wearing one-hundred-and-fifty dollar boots out here on the land. All the weekends of her childhood spent at the land had included rain boots or hand-me-down hiking boots with long socks tucked over pants. For the mud, for the ticks, for the snow. Never anything she wanted to stay clean. 

Will gave her a wry smile as he came around the front of the vehicle, side-stepping another puddle with his worn sneakers. In a hooded navy sweatshirt bearing their college mascot (Go Otters!) and gray joggers, he looked delicious. 

It was hard not to feel lucky around him. Their chance meeting at the one party she had attended the last day of her freshman year of college. The summer that followed where they talked on the phone every single day in between their summer jobs. Then the first day of sophomore year when he had shown up to help her move into her new apartment. They had locked eyes across the lawn of the house she would be sharing with five other girls. He had approached her, eyes blazing, and kissed her in the door frame to shouts and cheers from her friends’ families. Over a year later and it still felt that good. Will was the steady in the storm of the last year of her life. 

Talia tightened the ponytail containing her thick, auburn hair, and took a steady inhale. Will’s arm slipped around her. She leaned into it, the comfort of his presence, and they approached the cabin that held a million memories. Vines snaked up the columns of the porch and across the roof. The forest reclaiming what their family had given up.

Just before they reached the front steps, Talia tugged Will to the right. She waved a hand down the sloping, wooden hill behind the cabin. There was once a clear view to the pond nestled below, but the woods had gobbled that up too. The waters were still visible through the pines, lapping against the weedy shores in the breeze. 

“You failed to mention you inherited a lake,” Will said with a raised eyebrow. 

“It’s a pond,” she corrected. “For tax purposes, anyway.” 

He snorted. 

She bit down on a smile. The trees that lined the pond were still at full peak, their bright orange and red leaves encircling the pond and holding on to the last bit of autumn.

She led Will back to the porch. Up the creaking stairs that definitely needed some maintenance, and to the century old wooden door with a modern lock. She grabbed the key from her pocket - the one that had been mailed to her by her parents' lawyer, since she had been states away when their will was read - and unlocked the cabin. 

The door creaked open. Musty air greeted them. An ache hit Talia’s chest at the familiar, mismatched couches and chairs arranged around the wood stove in the living area. A cookstove, cabinets, and a makeshift sink were tucked into the back left corner of the room. A tall shelf brimming with books and games was just to their left. Afghans and spare blankets would be piled haphazardly in the cabinet along the far wall next to the hallway. A wooden ladder cut the room in half to reach the loft above. 

Nothing had changed. No. Everything had changed. Only the cabin had not. 

She could still picture her parents here so clearly. Her mom and her fiery red hair would be sprawled across the couch, a hand around one of her four kids, peering over their cards sneakily. She would throw her head back when she was caught cheating, her lips stained from the red wines she indulged in at the cabin. Her dad would have been in motion. Dishing out second-helpings, grabbing another round of beverages, tending to the fire. 

But they were gone. 

The cabin was empty; silent.

“This is…this it it,” she said unsteadily, working to find her voice. Will had been quiet. Waiting. “There are two bedrooms in the back. Kitchen.” She gestured to the corner. “The loft is where us kids would always sleep. There’s some storage up there, too.”

Will nodded, taking it all in. “This is a great space. Needs a little love, but not bad at all.” He walked deeper into the living area, peering down the small hallway. Talia wrapped her arms around herself as he explored. The memories were pressing in on her. “What about the bathroom?” Will said as he returned from his quick jaunt down the hall. 

Talia pulled herself out of her thoughts with a smirk. She stepped towards the window on the left wall and pointed to the small, outlying building down an overgrown path. Will laughed aloud. 

“An outhouse. Really?” 

“Really,” she echoed. “My parents talked about adding running water, but we’re in the middle of nowhere. They couldn’t afford it. Getting electricity out here was expensive enough.” 

Above the sink, a mirror still hung where they used to all take turns brushing their teeth and fighting to get ready. Talia blinked at her reflection, at her hazel eyes, more green than brown. At her full lips and rosy cheeks from the cold. At the bags under her eyes and the smattering of blemishes that had appeared this week thanks to her cycle and the stress over this visit. 

Will came up behind her, his arms wrapping around her shoulders as he met her gaze in the mirror.  “You’re anxious.”

“I-” It was no use lying. “Yeah, I am.” 

“You still think your siblings will be pissed?” Will hedged. 

“Oh, I know they are pissed.” Talia spun around to face Will. “Wouldn’t you be?” 

“You mean, if my kid brother was handed 200 acres and a cabin in my parent’s will and there had not even been a note for me explaining why...” Talia blinked. Exactly that. How the hell could her parents have done this without an explanation for her siblings. Will grimaced. “I mean, I'd be a little pissed.” 

Talia swatted at him and he chuckled. He kissed her forehead, his lips lingering. They brushed across her cheek next, trailing downwards. “Can I help you relax?” 

Her cheeks warmed. “My siblings will be here any minute.”

Will pulled down her turtleneck and pressed his lips to her neck. Her eyes fluttered closed. “I can be really, really fast,” he murmured. He came back up to her lips and she sighed into him, as his tongue swiped across her lips for access to her mouth. 

“Not too fast,” she muttered, and he laughed. He reached for the bottom of her sweater, and she debated which bedroom would likely be the least filled with dead moths. As he began to tug it over her head, they heard the crunch of tires in the driveway. 

“The cavalry has arrived,” Talia said. Will groaned, and she stifled a laugh as they separated. The car came to a stop outside. A pit of anxiety clawed its way into her gut. She adjusted her sweater, ignoring the lingering flush of her cheeks. She laced her fingers through Will’s. “Here we go.” 

“I feel like we’re headed into battle,” he said under his breath as she led him out onto the porch. A brunette with oversized sunglasses stepped out of a Land Rover, frowning up at the cabin. Frowning up at Talia. 

“We are,” she muttered back as her eldest sister Rhea came around her vehicle. 

“I wondered whose SUV that was,” Rhea said without so much as a hello. She donned leggings, a puffy coat, and knee-high rain boots. The passenger door opened and her husband, Kyle, stepped out in a similar ensemble. 

“Hey Rhea,” Talia said with a small smile leading Will down the rickety stairs. 

“Hey, kid,” Rhea replied, taking off her sunglasses. Talia dropped Will’s hand and stepped into an extremely uncomfortable, stiff hug. Thirteen years older, and always happy to remind Talia of the fact, her eldest sister had an unreadable expression as they let go. “You got the key, then?” 

Obviously. 

“Yeah. The lawyer sent it.” 

“Good, good.”

Talia swallowed. “You remember Will?” She gave him a reassuring smile. But he was the epitome of ease as he offered Rhea his hand and a winning smile. 

“We’ve met before, but the circumstances-”

“Our dad’s funeral, you mean.” 

“Jesus, Rhea.” Talia looked up to the sky. 

“Well it’s nice to see you again,” Will added, appearing unaffected by Rhea’s jarring presence.

“Kyle,” Talia greeted Rhea’s husband who came around the Land Rover with arms extended for a hug.  

“Hey kid,” he echoed the family pet name. When he stepped back he was giving her a pitiful, almost sympathetic smile. “Been awhile.”

“AUNTIE TEE?” A shriek from inside the car was followed by the backdoor being thrown open. A nine year old with a head of white blonde hair bounded to Talia and threw her arms around her. Talia pressed her face into her niece, Charlotte’s, hair, swallowing the lump in her throat. 

“I missed you, bud,” Talia said, returning the squeeze just as tight. She watched Will and Kyle reintroduce themselves out of the corner of her eye while Rhea watched the reunion of Talia and her daughter. She was closer in age to her niece than her eldest sister, and their relationship had mirrored that. 

“Why didn’t you come to our Fourth of July party?” Charlotte demanded suddenly, hands on her hips. Talia glanced up to Rhea whose mouth was now in a tight line. The annual party Rhea had put on since she purchased her first home seven years ago. The first of which Talia had not attended. 

“I am so sorry I missed it.” She looked from Charlotte to Rhea. “You know I stayed in Michigan for the summer. I meant to explain-”

Rhea waved away her apology. “Forget it.”

“Rhea.”

But her sister ignored her plea. “Roman was right behind us-” She stopped at the sound of a diesel truck roaring up the driveway. “Ah. There he is.”

Will had returned to Talia’s side, a hand returning to her waist. She had forced him into the lion’s den and it seemed the way he was coping was by keeping her within reach. Fair enough. The truck came to a stop and out hopped her only brother, Roman. Rhea’s twin. The same warm brunette hair. The same hazel eyes all the siblings had, though the twins were more brown than Talia’s green. He wore a flannel, a black vest, and jeans. He grinned at the sight of Talia. 

“Hey little sister.” 

She walked over with a smile, unsurprised when he lifted her into the air with a tight, airless hug. “Ow,” she complained, swatting at his shoulder and he set her back down. 

“Will, Roman. Roman, this is-”

“I remember the handsome college boyfriend,” Roman interrupted as they shook hands. 

Will dazzled with another smile. “Nice to see you again man.” 

Talia’s attention was drawn to Roman’s very pregnant wife, Anna, who had somehow managed to get out of the towering truck and waddle over. “Talia,” Anna beamed at her. Another round of hugs and introductions followed. “Atlas, you remember Auntie Tee?” 

Her three year old nephew cowered behind his dad who had pulled him out of the carseat in the backseat. “Hey Attie,” Talia said, dropping to his level, but the boy would not approach. Why would he when she had barely seen him over the last two years of his life. It stung. The truth of isolating herself; of avoiding them. 

She straightened back up to find Will in a deep conversation with Charlotte about the iPad game she was playing. Kyle was embracing Anna. Roman and Rhea simply observed her. 

“It’s good to see you guys,” she said, challenging her elder siblings stares. She could not wait to see who would bring it up first. 

“It’s good to see you, little sister,” Roman agreed. “We missed you this summer at the fourth.”

“And at Charlotte’s recital and Selene’s housewarming,” Rhea added.

Talia exhaled. “College has been busy.” 

“Right,” Rhea said stiffly. 

Roman looked between them, and wisely changed the topic. “So how late do we think Selene will be? Anyone wanna place bets?” 

“My bet is on an hour,” Kyle called over as he opened the back of his Land Rover. 

“Be nice,” Anna chastised. Will met Talia’s gaze across the driveway with a raised brow. She had warned him about all three of her siblings, but the biggest warning would always and forever be in the form of Selene. As if speaking her name could call her presence, the sound of ridiculously loud music echoed off the trees around the clearing. 

“On time for once,” Rhea observed as a compact sedan barreled down the rocky driveway and came to a screeching stop, dance music blaring. A flock of birds scattered.

“You should turn it up!” Roman yelled as Selene put the car in park, gesturing to his ears. “I don’t think the neighbors ten miles down the road can hear you!” The music cut and the last of the four siblings stepped out of the car with her middle finger raised at Roman.

Behind them, a cough from Kyle sounded suspiciously like a laugh. 

With sleeves of tattoos on both arms, bleach blonde hair, and a nose ring, Selene was all her own. She was wearing heels. Heels. Along with black skinny jeans, a white t-shirt, and a blazer. An obnoxious ski jacket was tucked under her arm. 

“Hey family,” Selene smiled as she sauntered towards them. “And Talia’s boyfriend.”

“Nice to see you again, Selene,” Will said, returning to Talia’s side, a strategic hand placed on the low of her back.

“You don’t have to lie.” Selene winked. Another cough laugh followed, this time from Anna. At least the in-laws were enjoying themselves. “Talia.”

“Selene,” she replied. Neither of them moved in for a hug. 

“Auntie Sel!” Charlotte darted around everyone to reach her final aunt, Atlas at her heels. Both kids launched themselves at her. Selene smothered her niece and nephew in kisses before reaching into her passenger seat and producing a book for Charlotte and a tiny car for Atlas. The kids squealed with delight, and a sinking feeling of jealousy hit Talia. Will tightened his grip around her. 

“So what’s the plan?” Selene asked as the kids scattered to enjoy their toys. She leaned back against her car, a leg propped on the door.  “What are we even doing here?”

Talia’s jealousy shifted, a simmering anger replacing it. “We’re celebrating mom’s sixtieth birthday at her favorite place.”

“Which is apparently your place now, huh?” Selene countered with a tilt of her head, a piece of her blonde hair falling from the clip that held it back.

Talia shrugged off Will’s ever tightening grip and took a step towards her taller, older sister. “Do you have something to get off your chest?”

“Enough,” Rhea cut in, her voice sharp. “It’s mom’s birthday. Can we not for one damn day?” 

“Gladly,” Talia muttered, turning back to Will.

Out of the corner of her eye as they walked away, Talia saw Roman put an arm around their sister. “You are always such a fucking delight, Selene.”

#writing community #writers of tumblr #no prompts #just vibes #fiction writing #contemporary writing #familial drama #actually a start to fantasy #writeblr #creative writing

[mariacallous]

Almost fifty years ago, the philosopher and—because he was first and foremost a philosopher—theorist of international relations, Raymond Aron, wrote a book (1977) with the ironic title Plaidoyer pour une Europe décadente (A Plea for a Decadent Europe). Let me reassure my readers: neither Aron nor I ever embraced an Oswald Spengler-style theory of the decadence of nations and peoples. Neither he nor I were inclined to sing the funeral hymn of a past forever more luminous and intelligent than our present. Neither he nor I are inclined to believe that mankind has become more cretinous over the centuries and suddenly incapable of thought. What we say about the mass of our contemporaries also applies to politicians: no doubt there are few great figures, but it remains unproven that there were more of them before.

What appears today as a form of cretinism in foreign policy must be analyzed in its specificity and radicality. In the end, it can only be illuminated in relation to the present, and not by comparison with past references. An immediate clarification is in order: highly intelligent leaders have been able to make catastrophic foreign policy decisions; politicians who were no less intelligent have sometimes embraced detestable causes. Less subtle thinkers have sometimes been clear and straightforward in expressing the principles they have opposed to criminal regimes.

The question has also resurfaced because Putin has been constantly talking about the supposed decadence of the West ever since he came to power. Admittedly, this rhetoric is aimed above all at the far-right audience in the West, a few credulous Russians dumbed down by the propaganda of the Moscow patriarchate and the most vulgar figures on state television. It is in no way intended to be believed by the majority of Europeans and Americans. This narrative plays on confusion by establishing a link between feminism, the rights of LGBT people, the defense of human rights and the “decadence” of Western civilization characterized by its softness and irresolution. But as much as the first dimension of this discourse is purely ideological and merely embroiders an old-fashioned simplified image-cliché—that of the delights of Capua or the alleged fall of the Roman Empire due to the existence of dissolute morals, which was also played on by Pétain to explain, in an equally historically false manner, the French debacle of 1940—Putin knows he’s hitting a nerve.

Putin has been scoring points for 22 years, and perhaps even now, because the democracies have been unwilling to arm and retaliate. He understands perfectly well that there’s a self-fulfilling prophecy dimension to what he's saying, not to himself, but to his enemy. Except, of course, that this is not due to any corruption of morals, but of intelligence. We may rightly criticize the lack of courage, morality and empathy of Western leaders and their advisors, and sometimes their corruption, but that’s not the main issue: it’s their cretinism, sometimes, and their inability to think against the backdrop of catastrophe, always.

The race to the abyss

The episode of the blocking of American aid by the Senate, beyond the absolute shame represented by the complicity of certain American senators with the Kremlin, sheds a harsh light on this dimension of corruption of a part of the American political class, translates first and foremost something literally incomprehensible. It’s quite simple: if the United States stops giving Ukraine military aid, it won’t be able to keep up the fight for long. Europe, which is far from having grasped the scale of what a Ukrainian defeat would represent, has not taken the necessary precautionary measures to be able to replace the United States, even if only partially and for a few months. For the past two years, its budgetary efforts have remained limited in most countries. If we dare to look at the reality of the situation, the budgetary amounts allocated to Ukraine, whether for civilian or military purposes, represent the thickness of the line in relation to the total expenditure of each European state, whether direct or earmarked for a European fund. Only four EU countries (the three Baltic States and Denmark) and Norway devote more than 1% of GDP to Ukraine. Even if American financial, humanitarian and military aid to Ukraine is fundamental in terms of volume—it is slightly less than that of all EU countries, but its military component is stronger—and can impress by its amount ($75,4 billion from January 24, 2022 to October 31, 2023, or 0.32% of GDP), it pales in comparison with the budget of the world’s leading power ($812 billion devoted to defense in 2022 and $6270 billion in federal spending in 2023). We’re certainly a long way from reaching the amounts the United States spent on the Second World War between 1941 and 1945. We are a long way from transforming the economies of the Alliance countries into war economies. The Allies continue to pretend that the Russian threat is not existential for them.

In short, neither Europe nor the United States is up to the challenge. Their leaders have failed to understand that Washington will need a 1941 moment in order to aim for a 1945 moment. Without the comparison being historically valid for them, European governments still refuse to understand that it is the comparison with the Second World War that is needed, not to compare the USSR and Russia, but Putin’s Moscow and Hitler’s Berlin.

Indeed, Putin has recently begun to sing the tune of victory and, as if to show that he is not afraid of escalating threats, he has explicitly directed his new threats at Latvia, using the same rhetoric about threatened Russian-speaking minorities that he had previously used for both Ukraine and Estonia. It’s worth asking why this targeting of Riga is so significant: because Latvia is a NATO country. Putin is thus giving credence to a hypothesis I put forward at the start of Russia’s all-out war against Kyiv: the moment the Allies show no interest in dissuading Moscow from attacking Ukraine, they ipso facto also lose their credibility in defending a NATO country. We all know that if Trump were to return to power in the White House, he wouldn’t lift a finger to defend Latvians, Estonians, Lithuanians and even Poles, Czechs and Germans.

A sacrifice of Ukraine would mean not only cold-blooded acceptance of the killing of hundreds of thousands more, but also potentially Russia’s domination of a large part of Europe—not to mention Tehran’s and Moscow’s shared domination of several areas in the Middle East, as well as Russian and Chinese control of Africa. China would see—as has been rightly said a hundred times—the West’s caper as a right to realize its dream of political control over Taiwan.

So let’s be clear: the will of the elected Republicans who are blocking aid must be analyzed as a desire to help Putin’s Russia win. The coherence of their discourse must be made explicit: they cannot evade their strategic responsibility, their moral guilt or their betrayal of the principles that are supposed to govern the foreign policy of democracies. They cannot pretend that this is not their intention.

We must also be frank about the responsibility of the Biden administration in this situation, not so much in terms of domestic policy—Biden is not responsible for the crapulence of certain Republicans, even if he could have anticipated it better—but in terms of the situation in Ukraine. I’ve already mentioned this responsibility and even this guilt before history: if the United States, in its main capacity, and the other Allies had wanted it, Ukraine would already have won the war completely, i.e. at least reconquered all the territories occupied by Russia, and Russia would have suffered a crushing defeat. Tens, if not hundreds of thousands, of Ukrainian lives would have been saved. The question of the sordid maneuvers of certain Republicans would not even arise. It would no longer have any impact on this issue. We could already be planning reconquest in Georgia, Belarus, Syria and elsewhere. Instead, we have accelerated our race to the abyss.

Tomorrow is not another day

The reasons for concern are not limited to the blocking of American aid to Ukraine by an active minority in Congress, and the risk of blackmail from Hungary or even Slovakia. They are also due to a strategic hesitation on the part of the democracies. In other words, even if the obstacles were removed in the US Congress, if Joe Biden were re-elected in November 2024, and if the EU countries somehow managed to override the Hungarian veto, it is far from certain that we should be reassured about the fate of Ukraine and, more broadly, about the security of Europe. Olaf Scholz may have become increasingly aware of the direct danger posed by Russia to Germany, but this has not prompted him to unblock the delivery of Taurus long-range missiles, still less to advocate Ukraine’s accession to NATO as quickly as possible.

In this respect, it is far from certain that the NATO summit in Washington in July 2024 will erase the faults of the Vilnius summit. The coalition set up to deliver the F-16s to Kyiv is not yet likely to be able to provide enough of them, in the absence of direct supply by the US, for their arrival to be a decisive change in the counter-offensive. The reluctance of most Allies to allow Kyiv to strike directly at forces stationed in Russia would also have to be overcome. Finally, the security guarantees granted to Ukraine on a bilateral basis are still rather vague, and at this stage it is still more than uncertain whether NATO or the European Union will take the decision to send troops to the liberated parts of Ukraine as I had suggested. One might add that, despite the unblocking of Ukrainian grain convoys, pre-war capacity has not yet been reached.

In fact, as many Western leaders have been doing since February 24, 2022, we cannot assume that the situation will improve tomorrow without taking action today. We are still living in the era of the paradox that has constantly marked their position since the start of Russia’s all-out war against Ukraine. On the one hand, they look to tomorrow with the dangerous formula of “as long as it takes” to refrain from making decisive decisions today; on the other hand, they have not defined a strategy for the future. Perhaps a slight tremor is perceptible on the part of President Biden, who on December 12, when receiving President Zelenskyy, spoke for the first time of Ukraine’s “victory” and not just its “defense” as an objective. By mentioning that a defeat of Kyiv would herald the future need for even more resolute action by the United States, which could force it to send in troops in Europe, he seems to be demonstrating an understanding of the real dimension of the Russian war. We also saw his National Security Advisor, Jake Sullivan, use stronger words than usual. It seems that the radicalization of the domestic political debate in the United States has been a more decisive factor than the strategic realities, which have not evolved. Indeed, the American president took pains to point out, in an unusually direct manner, the way in which Moscow’s propaganda was exploiting the Republicans’ murky game. On the same day, Poland’s new Prime Minister, Donald Tusk, rightly had strong words to say about mobilization.

But going all the way with this observation, which requires both a measure of the risk and determination on an altogether different scale from what has been decided so far, presupposes a new stage in the commitment. I’ve been hoping for this since February 24, but will it finally happen today? This new stage, as we must tirelessly repeat, involves a strategy of defeating Moscow.

If there has been any cretinism, it’s because all this should have happened much earlier. Both the complicity of countries like Hungary and the elements of American domestic politics were perfectly predictable: many of us were sounding the alarm that the proximity of the American elections would make it more complicated to secure continued support for Ukraine. The situation today is in many ways more difficult.

Firstly, while support for Kyiv remains high in the minds of most Alliance countries, which are more aware of the Russian danger, it could be eroded by two factors: the stalling of the Ukrainian counter-offensive, due to a lack of weapons supplied by the West, and a defeatism instilled by Russian propaganda and its relays in the democracies. We can also see certain Western companies, underhand, pressing their governments to resume business with Moscow. From then on, the dreaded music of negotiations and an end to the war, which had never completely disappeared, resurfaced.

Secondly, the United States is facing a greater risk than ever, due to Republican maneuvers, of a total loss of credibility, the impact of which would be global. Joe Biden’s “as long as we can” is a direct allusion to this risk of the collapse of American power. We also see Democrats insisting on the need for the United States to keep several irons in the fire, whether in the Middle East or Asia, and therefore to limit aid to Ukraine. While this is essential for a power that intends to retain a global role—which is certainly not the ambition of everyone in America—the risk is in abandoning what is today the decisive war, in Ukraine, where defeat would spell the end of any further possible action by the United States elsewhere. This is the war that will determine the outcome of all the others, and the possibility of a less threatening international “order”.

Finally, while the EU had shown a relatively united front despite insufficient aid, the return of senseless discussions, beyond the Hungarian case, on the mutualization of expenses to support Ukraine, for which a fund of 50 billion euros had been earmarked—its fate remains uncertain to-date—, reflects the strategic blindness of several countries who are looking at their very short-term industrial interests rather than their historical responsibility.

These multiple problems, which also reflect the absence of a leadership capable of imposing itself to restore order, lead to a loss of all vision of the future: the need to counter Russia for good, the judgment of war crimes, crimes against humanity, genocide and aggression, and the payment of reparations by Moscow. It’s as if the Kremlin were being given a blank check for the future, but also for the present. Many leaders are losing sight of the global catastrophe that would ensue if Ukraine were defeated. The democracies may never recover.

Thoughts on strategic debility

From experience, I know that there’s always uncertainty about surges. I can also measure the difficulties, including at home, of many leaders under attack from their opponents and struggling to achieve high levels of popularity. I can see the isolation of many leaders who are perfectly aware that their political weight on the world stage prevents them from rallying enough nations around them. Finally, as I have already pointed out, many governments, sincerely committed to Ukraine’s cause and having opened their eyes too late to the Russian threat and its ability to expand with the complicity of so-called neutrals, have not abandoned certain pre-February 24 reflexes. In any case, they have not translated the few elements of new awareness into a doctrine of action.

Together, they seem to continue to regard the Russian war against Ukraine as a “classic” form of conflict, although it is not clear what this classicism might mean. This is largely explained by their piecemeal delivery of weapons. They have understood neither the radical nature of the Russian war, nor the fact that it is a zero-sum game: whoever loses can only lose completely, and whoever wins can only win radically. There is no middle way, no possible agreement. Nor did these leaders take the trouble—no doubt because their ideas on the subject were unclear—to alert public opinion to what was at stake, and to ask for their support for an absolute war. The lack of transformation of national economies into war economies, which helps to explain the slowdown in military aid provided in particular by many European countries, is the translation of this lack of awareness. The latest developments in the United States and Europe, which risk leading to the abandonment of Ukraine, are in fact the result of their previous inaction. They reveal a worrying fragility in our strategic awareness. The Kremlin’s propaganda of a territorial and local war, reasonable compromise and the relativity of the conflict, is regaining ground in public opinion. Even the panic of part of the US administration is simply the result of its past inconsistencies.

Some, influenced by this same propaganda, still allow themselves to discuss Ukrainian strategy or tactics, as if they could, given the meagre aid granted and our lack of commitment, indecently give lessons to the Ukrainians. That even President Zelenskyy is obliged to go, again and again, to ask for help is deeply humiliating and an indignity done to Ukraine. Some people to think of war as something external to them.

This is the meaning of debility in its double sense of stupidity and weakness. The stupidity of not having nipped Russia’s destructive and criminal ambitions in the bud, no doubt as early as 2008 (Georgia), and if not in 2014 (Ukraine) or 2015 (the massive arrival of its troops in Syria), then even more so in not having decided to do it for good in 2022, as if we hadn’t understood that its offensive in Ukraine was akin to a 1939 moment. Our profound stupidity was not to have committed ourselves directly to war on February 24, because Russia would certainly have backed down. Our weakness was to have presented ourselves as weak, tragically weak, and to have reinforced our weakness every day with our meagre aid to Ukraine. And the more Western leaders looked away from Ukrainian children murdered, sometimes point-blank, people mutilated and disfigured, women raped and prisoner soldiers murdered in cold blood, the more we counted our support, as if we were ultimately indifferent to all this. Today, there is a hidden sense of shame—or, if there isn’t even a shame, it would be even more frightening—: those who embody strategic thinking and the defense of our principles, which we used to say were sacred, are President Zelenskyy and the Ukrainian people. They are the ones who, alone and even solitarily, carry a future, insofar as we want there to be one. But perhaps, in the end, the world’s leaders will leave it to the radical enemy, as if dazed by intelligence, to murder the future. We sometimes seem to be heading in that direction.

[brookstonalmanac]

Events 5.11

330 – Constantine the Great dedicates the much-expanded and rebuilt city of Byzantium, changing its name to New Rome and declaring it the new capital of the Eastern Roman Empire. 868 – A copy of the Diamond Sūtra is published, making it the earliest dated and printed book known. 973 – In the first coronation ceremony ever held for an English monarch, Edgar the Peaceful is crowned King of England, having ruled since 959 AD. His wife, Ælfthryth, is crowned queen, the first recorded coronation for a Queen of England. 1068 – Matilda of Flanders, wife of William the Conqueror, is crowned Queen of England. 1258 – Louis IX of France and James I of Aragon sign the Treaty of Corbeil, renouncing claims of feudal overlordship in one another's territories and separating the House of Barcelona from the politics of France. 1713 – Great Northern War: After losing the Battle of Helsinki to the Russians, the Swedish and Finnish troops burn the entire city, so that it would not remain intact in the hands of the Russians. 1812 – Prime Minister Spencer Perceval is assassinated by John Bellingham in the lobby of the British House of Commons. 1813 – William Lawson, Gregory Blaxland and William Wentworth discover a route across the Blue Mountains, opening up inland Australia to settlement. 1857 – Indian Rebellion of 1857: Indian rebels seize Delhi from the British. 1880 – Seven people are killed in the Mussel Slough Tragedy, a gun battle in California. 1889 – An attack upon a U.S. Army paymaster and escort results in the theft of over $28,000 and the award of two Medals of Honor. 1894 – Four thousand Pullman Palace Car Company workers go on a wildcat strike. 1919 – Uruguay becomes a signatory to the Buenos Aires copyright treaty. 1970 – The 1970 Lubbock tornado kills 26 and causes $250 million in damage. 1985 – Fifty-six spectators die and more than 200 are injured in the Bradford City stadium fire. 1996 – After the aircraft's departure from Miami, a fire started by improperly handled chemical oxygen generators in the cargo hold of Atlanta-bound ValuJet Airlines Flight 592 causes the Douglas DC-9 to crash in the Florida Everglades, killing all 110 on board. 1997 – Deep Blue, a chess-playing supercomputer, defeats Garry Kasparov in the last game of the rematch, becoming the first computer to beat a world-champion chess player in a classic match format. 1998 – India conducts three underground atomic tests in Pokhran. 2011 – An earthquake of magnitude 5.1 hits Lorca, Spain. 2013 – Fifty-two people are killed in a bombing in Reyhanlı, Turkey. 2014 – Fifteen people are killed and 46 injured in Kinshasa, DRC, in a stampede caused by tear gas being thrown into soccer stands by police officers. 2016 – One hundred and ten people are killed in an ISIL bombing in Baghdad. 2022 – The Burmese military executes at least 37 villagers during the Mon Taing Pin massacre in Sagaing, Myanmar. 2024 - Minnesota officially updates its flag.

#Events

[psalmonesermons]

Love is a weapon Part 2

How should we use love?

Love as a weapon

The concept of love as a weapon is not new as was used to significant effect by Martin Luther King; ‘’ Fifty thousand who took to heart the principle of nonviolence, who learned to fight for their rights with the weapon of love, and who, in the process, acquired a new estimate of their own human worth’’.

God has provided each believer with protection for day to day life and this includes the whole armour of God which describes to us the revelations we need to incorporate into our lifestyles for us to be continually fully protected in our spiritual lives. The weapon known as the sword of the spirit is when we use God’s rhema word as weapon against temptation in its various forms and disguises.

In the church life the weapon of love is displayed in our various actions such as forgiveness, kindness, tolerance, unity, and service (be addicted to service of the saints- tasso).

Are we practicing these day by day? Love is a drug, but it is a good habit.

John 13:35 “By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another,” This is the acid test of our discipleship. Brotherly love is a great witness and highly reproductive. The weapon of love helps us to win people to Christ.

1 John 3:16 “This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers,” Agape love is a sacrificial love.

Romans 13:8“Let no debt remain outstanding, except the continuing debt to love one another, for he who loves his fellowman has fulfilled the law,” You owe me a debt of love and I owe you a debt of love, When we forgive each other in love it releases each other from the bondage of unforgiveness which is the breeding material for Satan’s destruction of our relationships. Love is all about giving and forgiving.

Radical love -Loving our enemies

Luke 6:27 But I say unto you which hear, Love your enemies, do good to them which hate you,

In any given situation if we can demonstrate God’s agape love then we will be wielding our most powerful weapon.

Jesus tells us not to render evil for evil but do good to our abusers and tells us even to pray for them. King David fasted and prayed for his enemies. Pretty radical. Most times we struggle to fast and pray for a friend!

In this life if we can keep showing love when people treat us badly then something must give and where we show longsuffering love it will break through albeit later than we had hoped for.

Some ‘Dirty’ tactics

The late Dutch woman and evangelist Corrie Ten Boom had to forgive a prison guard from Auschwitz where her father and sibling were murdered. She could only do this through the love of God. We need to act in love and just as importantly react in love.

Corrie said this; You never so touch the ocean of God’s love as when you forgive and love your enemies: this is very challenging.

Many years ago a neighbour whose marriage had broken up in the then recent past came to complain about my son hitting her son. We told her that we would investigate and get back to her. We sent our son over with chocolate biscuits for her, befriended her and were able to lead her and her son to Christ. Love is a powerful weapon

Do not underestimate the power of even small kindnesses and ask God to show you how to do them every day in life. Many situations can be turned around by small kindnesses.

A cup of cold water on a hot day, a bowl of warm soup on a cold night?

The Love Weapon in our speech

Proverbs 15:1 A soft answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger

How about telling a sibling you have had an argument with that ‘you love them with love of Lord and that you can see in them the glory of our King’!?

It is hard to fight against such power because the love of God is active in it and will touch their heart!

How to use the love weapon

In the spiritual type of battle we often use the opposite spirit to defeat the enemy e.g. when someone forces us to go a mile, we go the extra mile. They are compelling us be we are submitting to them.

If they ask for our tunic give them our cloak as well.

They are demanding but we are compliant. When people are mean to us, we should be kind to them. Love is giving and love is forgiving.

Matthew 5:40 If anyone wants to sue you and take away your tunic, let him have your cloak also.

Walking in love, repentance, and forgiveness –some people have equated this to wearing the shoes of the gospel of peace- (among our weapons of spiritual warfare) and have suggested that this lifestyle is effective against curses, sickness, and hatred. Perhaps this is worth thinking about!

In personality clashes with people when we respond in a godly way by showing love or forgiveness then this usually turns the situation around. Love is indeed a powerful weapon. When you want to hit them, hit them with weapons of love, forgiveness, and kindness!

Conditional or unconditional- my opinion

This love of God is unconditional in the sense that it does not look at who we are, where we have been or what we have done but focuses on what we will become when we are willing to be changed by the most powerful love of God. The ultimate victory of Jesus Christ’s victory over sin and death has the condition that we must believe it to receive the new birth with forgiveness of our sins and the inheriting eternal life.

Wear your weapon of love and wield your weapon of love each day as a lifestyle

Summary

We need to ask the Lord to continue to pour out the Holy Spirit into our heart’s day by day so that the liquid love of God will flow through us producing fruit in our lives that can be tasted by those around us.

Be continually filled with the spirit. We need to use this agape sacrificial love which is out most powerful weapon.

We might need to 'fight dirty' to win hearts and minds and souls to achieve God’s purposes in our lives!

Amen

Prayer

#christianity #bible study #bibletruth #blog post #blessings #psalmonesermons #faith #victory #love is a weapon

[sebrrari]

The seb running towards mick video fhgshdjb it’s literally seb’s birthday and he’s like I’m gonna spend every second I can with mick!!! Like Mick where are you going without me! On my birthday!!! Wait up! And then mick gets his first points and seb is like so happy and proud, best birthday present ever!! Let me just crash your interview again no big deal, wanna tell everyone how amazing you are!

hello thank you for visiting and yeah it’s deadass the “where’s seb” drivers parade moment in reverse they’re like [nicki minaj roman holiday but just the meme part.mp4] trying to get back to each other

but like what i had in mind was .. uh.. uhm… ahem… [taps mic]

ok i know this gif is pre-race drivers parade but imagine it’s post-moints and like i said to @kritischetheologie

and the way he’s bobbing and weaving across the grid through the paddock zeroing in on mick mick mick his scent his voice his smile his sweat his power it’s all calling to seb so strongly that he’s wet in his fucking race suit like it’s 2010.

literally dripping for mick because he’s so proud of him, and everyone else is too but seb wants to show him just how proud he is: more than anyone else can even imagine being, because he knows what mick has done to achieve this.

every single thing about mick was destined for greatness and to seb, mick is already great - he’s always been, even before they came to know each other like this. but people are getting to see it now and with that comes this spike of mine deep in seb’s gut because that’s what mick is. mick is his. and he’s mick’s.

it’s an open secret in the paddock and god knows people can probably smell his pride on him but he doesn’t care. he’d kneel right now if mick asked him to.

mick wouldn’t, of course. he’s so modern and all about omegas not being there just to kiss their alphas’ feet, but seb would. he would kiss mick’s feet, slip off his racing boots reverently, push his thumb into the arch of mick’s foot to release the tension of fifty two laps spent flying, right here in front of everyone they know and the cameras catching whatever he does.

he has his arm around mick, holding him tightly so their bodies press together in as many places as possible to slow the feverish spinning inside him. and he can tell exactly when mick realizes just how much seb is proud of him, the smell hitting mick’s senses and zapping his brain so hard it shorts out and he has to ask the journo to repeat their question - but not before tossing the mic into his other hand so he can reach up and squeeze seb’s hand that’s thrown over his shoulder tightly.

mick gives seb a nearly-inaudible rumble deep in his chest, a satisfied noise and a gentle grounding to keep them both on this plane of existence before they float away wrapped in the feedback loop of their instincts and their love for each other, in all the ways possible.

#WHOOPSIE tbh i blame c #a/b/o for bls #abo for bls #covering my bases because it’s baby’s first! don’t wanna scare the dash! but i’m living my truth! #smick #answered ask #anon a formal apology if you were going wholesome with this #come back to my inbox and i’ll give you the wholesome au i promise

[romansleftshoulderpad]

Welcome to the Life of Electra Heart

Track Four: Homewrecker

Ship: Creativisleep

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

If you like my writing, please consider leaving a comment! And maybe, buy me a Ko-Fi?

First Chapter / Last Chapter / Next Chapter

Tag List: @poettheythem @iclaimedtobethebetterbard @justablah56 If you’d like to be added to the tag list, please send an ask!

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Every boyfriend is the one

Until otherwise proven

It took some time for Roman to adjust to his new hair, but just as he grew to know the person in the mirror, he had forgotten the person in all his photographs. The bottle had not been one of goo that simply stained his hair and gave it the slightest shine but a potion that had completely transformed him into someone else. 

Someone who had a chance to be better. 

The good are never easy

That’s what Lilly told him, anyway. That’s what he wanted to believe. 

A bell chimed as he entered the small coffee shop and made his way straight to the counter, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waited to be noticed. 

Though Lilly pretended not to see him, she was bad at playing pretend. Her lips were quirked up as she hit ‘start’ on some machine that seemed to scream in protest before she swung around, her high ponytail swishing back and forth in the air. 

“Hello, my dear and darling friend,” Roman said. 

“Hello, complete stranger.”

Roman frowned. “You’re terrible to me.”

Lilly laughed and rolled her eyes, turning back to her workspace where she resumed her role as the master of machines. She pulled metal things and levers faster than Roman could keep track and poured her magic potion into a cup. She topped it with foam and called out, “Cappuccino for Kirsten?” She put the cup on the counter and turned, her hands to the machines in front of her, and her eyes to Roman. “How’d you know I was working today?”

Roman flushed. “I- uh- didn’t. Actually.”

She raised an eyebrow and hit something against a counter with a loud ‘BANG!’

“I’m meeting someone here.”

“A ‘someone’ someone? Or just… someone?”

“Eeeeh?” He tilted his hand back and forth. “I would just call him someone but he definitely isn’t-“ he deepened his voice- “ someone.”

The bell rang above the door and Lilly’s eyes widened. She grabbed a towel and began wiping down the counter- but that wasn’t enough to hide the tension in her shoulders. 

“Oh.”

Roman turned around at the familiar sound of Virgil’s voice. Virgil whose hair was freshly dyed and whose aura was just as terrible as Lilly’s. Oh. 

Lilly’s eyes lowered and she glared as sharp as a blade. 

“Well… this is fun,” Roman said. “I forgot you two knew each other.”

“I wasn’t aware you two had met,” Virgil said awkwardly, trying his best to sound polite. 

Lilly, on the other hand, wasted no chance to be hostile and announced, “I have been Roman’s best friend for five years.”

Please God let me die, Roman prayed. “Well, this reunion has been fun-“

A woman passing by loudly cleared her throat and Lilly sheepishly let go of her glare. “What can I get started for you gentlemen?”

“I’ll have-” Roman started.

Lilly glanced over her shoulder and then leaned in close, almost touching noses with Virgil, as she seethed, “You are going to order and then you’re going to tip at least fifty percent or else I will: Hunt. You. Into. The. Ground. Understood?”

“Small-black-coffee,-please,” Virgil said in a single breath. “With cream?”

“How dark?” she asked, back into her business-as-usual self in the blink of an eye. 

“Uh, you after a day at the beach.” 

She wrote something down on a slip of paper next to her cash register. “One ninety-seven.”

Virgil handed over his credit card and shoved a wad of cash into the tip jar. As soon as the transaction was over, he zoomed over to the Pick-Up counter. 

“Should I ask?”

“Depends,” Lilly said. “Would you like your testicles to remain attached to your body?”

Roman shuddered. “Do you hang out with Remus in your free time?”

“As if,” she said with a less than subtle eye roll, and a half-ass, “No offense.”

“Just ring up the usual.”

The keys clicked like music as she typed his order up. He handed her the exact amount of cash and put a dollar into the jar. He joined Virgil in the Waiting Game. 

“Why here? ” Virgil whined.

Roman raised an eyebrow. “You seem scared.” 

“Scared?” he asked. “I tipped five dollars on a two-dollar drink! Of course, I’m scared.”

“What happened between you two?”

Virgil sighed. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his baggy pants. Though black pants seemed impractical for August, at least he didn’t also have his massive jacket. And the plain white tee looked pretty good on him. (Maybe too good.)

Lilly placed a paper cup on the counter between them. “One Hot Girl Summer for-” She looked at the name on the cup. 

Virgil looked like he might faint. 

She gave a shit-eating grin and announced, “Wiggle?”

For some reason, he gave a sigh of relief.

But Lilly paid no mind to his apparent enjoyment of her terrible nickname. She just picked up a blender that had a cacophony of ingredients and poured in- 

“Lilly, that is an insane amount of ice.” 

She popped on the lid and put it in the machine. She pressed the button that made it loud and leaned close over the counter to be heard. “Do you want a frappe or do you want some liquidy bullshit, Roman? Because less ice would be some liquidy bullshit.”

“Literally none of the other baristas have ever used that much ice.”

“None of the other baristas are your favorite barista.”

Roman twisted his mouth in thought. “I don’t know. If I liked girls, Beth would be about my type.”

“Self-absorbed assholes?” Virgil asked. 

Roman regretted ordering a frappe. He’d need something hot now that his heart was frozen over. 

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Lilly butted in. (Roman wished she hadn’t. Virgil should be sorry.) “He needs to hear it.” She handed over his frappe with a mountain of whipped cream and a chocolate frowny face in place of the usual cross-hatched drizzle. “You need to get laid.”

Well, at least he no longer felt icey. Though, now, the ice seemed to be preferable. 

“Aww, it’s cute when you’re flustered,” she cooed.

“I’m going to kill you one of these days.”

 “What does putting a dick in his ass accomplish?”

“Virgil!” 

“Sorry, sorry. What does putting his dick in someone’s ass accomplish?”

“I think I like you two better when you’re trying to kill each other,” Roman said. 

Lilly loudly cleared her throat. “At best , Janus will see you being happy without him and even feel jealous over what he lost. At worst, hey, you get a distraction.” 

Roman’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the name on the screen. His heart skipped a beat, but his racing mind made up for it. Foolishly, he didn’t hate Lilly’s idea. 

The easy never good. 

And love, it never happens like you think it really should. 

“Hey, meet me at my place tonight?”

Deception and Perfection are wonderful traits. 

One will breed love. 

The other, Hate.

He almost ducked out. He almost got enough sense to text Remy and cancel, go back home, and sleep through the next week. He was almost stupid enough to take a shot. 

Middle grounds are a dangerous place to land. 

“Woah.”

Roman’s head snapped up. 

Remy’s sunglasses were off, tucked into the collar of his shirt. His eyes ran over Roman and he smiled. “Someone is looking vibrant.”

Roman reached up at his hair nervously. “Uh, yeah. It was time for a change.”

“No kidding.” Remy grabbed a seat and spun it around backwards, his chin resting on the back. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a tank top before.”

Roman’s face warmed and he rubbed his hands over his pale arms. Is it cold in here? 

“It’s cute.”

Never mind, it is very very hot!

“Speak for yourself, hot stuff,” Roman said. 

Remy laughed and took Roman’s hand. “It’s okay, you can compliment me without cringing.”

“Can I?” 

“Of course you can,” he said softly. “You know, it’s not just the makeover. There’s been something different about you, lately?”

His stomach turned. “…is there?”

Remy smiled. “I like it.”

“I, uh, well.” Just spit it out, dumbass. “My friend is having a party. Tonight. Did you want to…”

“Are you seriously nervous about this?” Remy teased. “Roman, in the time you’ve known me, when have I ever turned down a party?”

“But… don’t you usually go alone?” 

“Roman,” he said, squeezing his hand, “when have I ever said no to you?”

In another reality, Roman would have blurted, “Do you want to make out with me so I can forget about my shitty ex that I can’t get out of my head?” And Remy would have laughed at him. And maybe, for the first time, Remy would have said no to him. But in this reality, Roman said nothing. 

Maybe nothing was worse. 

You’ll find me in the lonely hearts

Under “I’m after a brand new start.”

Remus was standing in the doorway, doing nothing helpful and being an absolute menace. “Dude, I haven’t seen you this worried about your appearance since-“ He slammed his fist into the side of the door, causing everything near it to shake and several sketchbooks to fall off the shelf next to it. “No! Do not tell me Janus is going to be at this party.”

Roman felt a snake wiggling around in his stomach, making his way up his throat and tightening around his lungs. He squeezed his fists, angry not at the mention of Janus, but at himself for getting so worked up over a name . He took a few deep breaths and said, “ No, he will not be there.” Roman’s eyes were trained on the polished wood dresser in front of him. He couldn’t look Remus in the eyes. He couldn’t even look at his own reflection out of shame. One face, too much disappointment. 

“Good,” Remus said. “Because I’m fully prepared to grab his dick and shove it up his own ass.”

Roman rolled his eyes. “I’m sure that’s someone’s sexual fantasy.”

“Yeah, but it’s also one hell of a way to say ‘go fuck yourself.’

“You’re disgusting,” Roman said. “...but that is pretty funny.”

Remus smiled. “There’s the brother I know and tolerate.”

Roman’s eyes were getting dizzy from so much rolling.

“But don’t think I’ve forgiven you for stealing my title as the Dyed Twin.”

Roman stuck his tongue out at him. “Have fun being the boring bitch of the group.”

Roman’s phone buzzed on the table as an alarm went off. He hit the stop button and took a deep breath. He didn’t bother checking his makeup. If the glitter over his eyes ended up on his cheeks, then he could call it “camp” and move on with his life. He tucked his phone and his wallet into the pockets of his jeans and untucked his black t-shirt for the million-and-first time that evening. Remus tossed his car keys into the air and caught them with a loud jingle. 

Roman’s watch vibrated and he glanced down at the text. “It’s go time. Remy just left.”

Remus stuffed his keys into his pocket and made his way down the stairs with Roman following suit. “Remind me why your guest is meeting you there?

“Same reason I’m going with you. He doesn’t want to leave his car there.”

“And...?”

“He’s, uh, catching a ride with Emile.”

Remus glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. “I didn’t know Em knew Lilly.”

“Me neither,” Roman said, trying to ignore the twist in his gut. “Small world, huh?”

“Too small.”

They opened the front door, the sunlight blinding them. Lilly already had a plan for Emile. Roman just didn’t want to think about what that plan was. He didn’t want to think at all. 

The car ride seemed impossibly long, yet not long enough for Roman to control his racing mind. There were already two cars in the driveway when they arrived, parked on the side of the curb. 

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Remus asked.

Roman answered with the click of his seatbelt before he opened the door and stepped out of the car, into the humid air. Lilly’s house was a bit smaller than his, but her family made up for it with a colorful front garden and a spacious backyard. He stepped on the cobblestones that lead through the garden to the front door and knocked, hearing the sound echo behind the door. Remus approached his side.

After a teasingly long wait, Lilly opened the door. She wore black combat boots and leggings, with a sleeveless gold crop top. She had multiple piercings in either ear and a nose ring going through her right nostril. Even the hairclips she wore around her high ponytail matched. All gold, all begging for the spotlight. 

“Hello, gorgeous,” Roman said.

“What, no welcome gift?” she teased. “Yo, Remus, nice ‘stache.”

“That thing is not a mustache,” Roman said. “Stop encouraging him.”

Remus elbowed his side. “He’s just jealous that I’m the sexier twin.”

“ Please, you look like Billy from Stranger Things.”

“Do you know how many people want to fuck Billy?” Remus asked.

“No one with taste. ”

Lilly laughed. “Speaking of fucking, where’s your hot new loverboy?”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Loverboy?”

“He’s not here yet?”

“You two are the first.”

“Thank God.” Roman pushed past Remus and went inside the house, going straight for the kitchen. “Lilly, girl, bestie, help.”

“You are the epitome of confidence, Roman,” she deadpanned. 

“This epitome needs a fucking drink if I’m going to get through this.”

“Roman, are you sure you’re up for this?” Remus asked.

“Yes,” he and Lilly said in unison. 

Lilly took two bottles out of the fridge and simultaneously poured them into the same red plastic cup. She wrote Roman’s initials on it in gold Sharpie and handed it over. 

Roman took a swig and squeezed every muscle in his face to get through the burn. “Lilly, this thing is more bitter than you are.”

She rolled her eyes. “Cranberry vodka lemonade.”

“Oh great. Because alcohol doesn’t stink enough. Let’s put the two most bitter fruits imaginable in it.”

“The two most bitter fruits are standing in front of me right now.”

He took another big sip. “I hate you so much.”

“Yeah, yeah, maybe we can get your new fling to fuck that stick out of your ass.”

“I’m going to need a drink just to get through this conversation,” Remus said. 

“Which fruit juice do you want spiked?”

“Just get me a beer.”

“Boring,” Lilly said as Roman said, “Gross.”

Roman took the last long swig of his drink and hit the empty cup onto the counter, the plastic crumpled under the weight. “Another,” he said. “I refuse to be sober until the plan is in action.”

Girls and their curls and their gourmet vomit

The party was loud once the sun had gone down. The colorful lights of Lilly’s various themed party lights and mini Christmas lights danced across the walls. Roman was sitting on a corduroy couch in the corner of the room with Remy and Emile next to him. And he was sobering up faster than he would have liked. 

“Hey, sexy bitches,” Lilly yelled, making her way into their corner with two cups in her hand. She handed one to Roman. “Emile, right? Listen, listen, I need your help. You’re like, super tall-”

Remy laughed. 

“-and I need help getting something off a shelf. You up for it?”

“I can help,” Remy offered. “I’m taller than Em anyway.”

Lilly frowned. “No, no, you have short king energy.” She made grabby hands toward Emile.

“I, uh, I’ll catch you guys later,” Emile said. Despite being at a party, he still wore a brown cardigan and had the exact vibe of a well-loved teddy bear. This vibe was only enhanced by Lilly running her hands over his arm and leaning her cheek on his shoulder as she led him out of view. Roman didn’t know if that was part of the plan or if she was just that tipsy. 

He took a sip of his drink, some fruity concoction that didn’t taste alcoholic, but the buzz that went straight to his head said otherwise. He didn’t have time to worry about how sober Lilly was. He needed to make sure that for the next twenty minutes, he wasn’t.  

“Your friend seems nice,” Remy said.

Roman snorted. “When she wants to be.”

“Is conditionally nice your type?” 

“I’m not going to fuck Lilly,” Roman said. “Even if she had a hot twin brother. Or was a guy.” He shook his head and took another sip. “Not going to happen.”

Remy laughed. “My bad. I just meant for friends. I can be a callous bitch too, you know.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Not out loud,” he corrected. 

Roman frowned. “I don’t think you’re a bitch.”

“Well... that’s nice. Makes someone, I guess.” He smiled softly. If one only looked at his mouth, they’d think him happy. But Roman watched his eyes. His gaze was a million miles away. 

Roman took his hand and leaned in close, his nose brushed against Remy’s cheek. “Do you wanna do something stupid?”

Remy raised an eyebrow. “How stupid?”

Roman only smiled. 

Boys and their toys and their six-inch rockets 

Lilly was right, in a way. 

Roman wasn’t thinking about the breakup when Remy’s mouth was pressed against his. He wasn’t hating himself when his fingers were tracing the muscles in Remy’s back.

He wasn’t thinking about anything then. 

We’re all very lovely, ‘til we get to know each other

He woke up on Lilly’s couch with a headache and some sore muscles from being very active in a very small closet. 

Remy was nowhere to be seen.

As he sat up, a pain ran across his neck and over his head. He groaned, which elicited more groans from the many hungover strangers on the floor. Other friends of Lilly’s. It was strange to imagine her having an entire social life without him. Especially after…

An alarm pulled him from his thoughts and made the pissed crowd even more pissed off . People fumbled around to find the evil beeping device. Roman awkwardly pulled himself off the couch and stepped around them all, making his way towards the kitchen. As he crept with his bare feet ( Where did I leave those shoes? ) against the cold tile, he could see a door down the hallway that sat wide open, and Emile was sleeping on the bed. Roman frowned, trying to pull himself back to the coffee pot but finding it hard to move. What happened last night?

He didn’t remember moving to actually get a cup of coffee. He didn’t remember dialing Remus to pick him up. He didn’t remember to find his shoes before pulling himself into that beat-up green Jeep. He just stared out the window idly, his mind stuck on the image of Emile laying on the bed in Lilly’s room. 

As we stop becoming friends

One thing Roman wanted was a dorm. He loved watching dorm tours and looking at tiny room decor on Pinterest. No matter how much Remus insisted redecorating his bedroom was a “waste of time” and “a massive waste of time”, Roman was still determined to make his second year at Western feel like a fresh start. His hair dye was starting to fade, and God knew he needed a do-over. 

His scalp was tingling under the dye and his arms were sore from moving around furniture. But it almost looked like his grand vision. Almost. 

“Why the fuck do you have a bag on your head?”

“Why the fuck do you always bother me?” 

Remus shrugged. His bangs were wrapped in tinfoil. “Twintuition, I guess.”

“Okay, first of all, twintuition sounds stupid as fuck. Second of all, you have no room to judge Wal-Mart Couture.”

Remus rolled his eyes but stepped on his tippy toes to see over Roman’s shoulder. “Holy fucking shit dick, you moved a lot of junk around.”

“Eloquent as always.”

“How much time have you spent on interior design TikTok.”

“None.”

Remus raised an eyebrow and stared right at Roman.

 He couldn’t stand seeing Remus look so tired of him.

Roman looked at the ground sheepishly. “I’ve been on Interior Design YouTube.”

“Of course, you were.” He sat his hands on his hips and said, “You should at least make your skills... useful. ”

Roman made a gasp of offense and gestured to the newly decorated room behind him.

Remus, once again, rolled his eyes. “I meant Emile. He’s moving soon, I figured you’d like to help him.”

“I didn’t know he was moving,” Roman said with furrowed brows.

Remus’s eyes went wide. “Maybe... that was for a reason. Fuck.”

“A reason?” Roman asked. His cheeks were burning but his blood ran cold. 

“Forget I said anything,” Remus said, uncharacteristically quiet. He walked away. 

And we start becoming lovers 

It was two days before he heard from anyone. Two. Quiet. Mindnumbing. Days. But when he finally got a text from Remy he was ready to throw caution to the wind just for the chance to talk to someone. He was out of the house before he’d even had time to panic about whether or not his outfit was right. 

They were meeting at a park just between their neighborhoods. It had a castle fit for the mightiest of knights and a blue sky where it never rained and sunlight that never burned, the home to a myriad of childhood adventures. Roman drove with his childhood self buckled into the backseat and ready to run. 

Dark grey clouds stood in battle formation at the edge of the sky as he pulled into the parking lot. When Roman turned off the ignition of his car, he stood 19 years old and all alone. The sound of his locking car dominated the empty space. He walked along the stained sidewalk that was only distinguishable from the dirt path due to all the scars filled with dandelions and every other flower that grows in the neglect of childhood innocence. He plucked a dandelion from the ground and put it in his pocket. The Castle of Kings was now just old plastic warped into something reminiscent of a house. It was smaller. It must have been smaller because Roman didn’t dare speak the alternative. 

Remy was moving half-heartedly on a rusty old swing. They were not the children they used to be. The ghosts of the past could not imagine the concrete of the future-- stained with dandelion scars. Roman took a seat on the swing next to Remy, who seemed to be lost in thought, and for a moment he did nothing but quietly observe. Remy’s sunglasses were gone, allowing the curl of his long lashes and the sharp corners of his eyes to meet the spotlight. They were close enough to touch, but Roman didn’t dare. He feared everything around him was but a dream and that the one real tie would collapse like sand if he dared disturb it. 

Remy took a deep breath. He met Roman’s eyes. “Your friend knows how to throw one hell of a party, huh?”

He laughed, though nothing was funny. “You could say that. She’s always been the... wilder of the two of us.”

“I don’t know. You and I had a pretty wild time in her closet.”

This time, it was funny. 

But Remy took a breath. “But I did want to ask you about it.” And it seemed that even the wind hid inside his lungs. 

“What... is there to ask?”

Remy reached out, tenderly laying his fingers over Roman’s hand. “Are you sure you’re... ready? I mean, if that was a one-time thing, I get it. But, if it wasn’t, are you ready for a relationship?”

“No,” Roman said, “but I... don’t want that to be a one-time thing, either.”

“So, what do you want?”

Roman’s heart beat like a drummer leading troops into battle. “To kiss you again.”

The metal chains of the swing made music to the beat of Roman’s heart and the accompaniment of thunder rolling. Remy pulled himself, still sitting on the swing, closer to Roman. He held onto the chains above Roman’s head and pulled him closer, letting their lips meet and fighting the natural positions of the swings that one misstep would pull them back to. Roman put his hands on Remy’s waist and held on as tightly as he could. Raindrops fell on his skin as Remy’s tongue traced over his lips. The rain came down hard and fast and Roman leaned in to kiss Remy harder but the plastic swing had grown slick and they both fell to the ground, Remy’s hands on the dirt on either side of Roman’s face. 

Now, this is a view I could get used to, Roman thought, followed by, Fuck, that hurt.

“Are you okay?” Remy asked.

“That depends. Are you going to kiss it better?”

Remy laughed. Their mouths met again. 

And I don’t belong to anyone

They weren’t in a relationship. Not really. But that was irrelevant when they were in each other’s arms, in bed sheets, in nothing but pure escapism. They still had their platonic rendezvous for coffee or thrifted clothes, and moments with friends where everyone sat none the wiser to what happened behind closed doors. For once Roman wasn’t being shown off as he’d once dreamed of being. For once, Roman was happy. 

I’m only happy when I’m on the run

First day of classes. There was something in the air. Hope? Opportunity? Whatever it was, Roman wanted to breathe it in and keep it trapped within his lungs. But instead, he replaced it with a spray of cologne over his clothes, hoping the scent of an ocean breeze would be substitute enough for optimism. He reviewed his outfit again and again. A red polo with beige chinos and a gold chain in place of a belt. He hoped the bright red of his hair wasn’t too much, but also knew he didn’t exactly have time to dye it back to brown. So he took a breath, grabbed his bag (adorned with Disney pins and a shiny gold crown that read “He/Him/His”) and accepted his fate. 

He grabbed breakfast downstairs and led the march to his car, with Remus and Virgil (who had spent the night) following suit. 

I break a million hearts just for fun

They pulled into the parking lot of an apartment complex a block away from campus. Remy’s car pulled in right next to them and everyone celebrated the brief reunion. 

“Where’s Patton?” Virgil asked. “I thought he was supposed to ride with you.”

Remy shrugged. “All he told me was that he got a ride from someone else. I guess that someone didn’t hear about our plan to, you know, celebrate Patton.”

“Celebrating freshmen is overrated anyway,” Remus said. “I’m sure Patton just wants to pretend he’s a been-through-the-mud like the rest of us.”

Virgil furrowed his brow, obviously unhappy with the answer. “Do you think it’s because of the gap year?”

“You mean the one his parents killed?” Remus scoffed. “Can’t imagine it’s related at all.”

A knot twisted itself in Roman’s stomach. He wasn’t sure if it was the reminder of the group history he’d missed out on, or the scowl on Remus’s face that made every part of Roman’s brain scream “DANGER”. He shoved his hands in his pockets and said, “Let’s just find Emile’s place, alright?”

Remy laughed. “Yeah, let’s bring him into this shit show.”

Virgil rolled his eyes, but said nothing. And the group ventured forwards. 

I don’t belong to anyone

Stepping into the apartment, Roman saw exactly what one would expect from a man like Emile. The kitchenette had Disney themed plates and appliances wrapped in prints from various cartoons. The oven mitts bore the faces of the stepsisters from Cinderella and magnets covered the door of the refrigerator. The little couch he had was more decorative pillow than seat and random blankets with lots of colors and designs he couldn’t make out were haphazardly strewn about the place. 

“Killer place, Em,” Virgil said.

“You think?” Emile asked with a smile.

Remy put a hand on his shoulder and said, “This is about the most Emile Picani thing I’ve ever seen.”

“It gets even more Emile Picani,” said Emile Picani. He opened up a door which revealed his bedroom: a small place filled with stuffed animals and covered with posters along the walls. He had a window where an array of small potted plants sat in a line on the sill. Some were in pots shaped like Pokémon or other cartoon characters, while others were in terracotta pots that had been painted with an amount of detail that must have taken hours of work and more attention than Roman had ever held in his life. 

“You were right,” Virgil said. “This did get a lot more Emile Picani.”

Emile smiled proudly. 

“Should we head off to class?” Roman asked.

Virgil groaned dramatically. “How dare you suggest we go to class on the first day of classes? I want this summer to last forever.”

“I don’t,” Roman murmured under his breath. 

I guess you could say that my life’s a mess

But I’m still lookin’ pretty in this dress

With bags slung over their shoulders, the group walked to campus like an image right out of a movie. They looked cool, intimidating, with the wind blowing perfectly through their hair. At least, that was how Roman envisioned it. Perfect. Theatrical. The opening credits rolling in every window they passed. The start of his story- where nothing before it mattered. 

“You know... I can’t help but worry about Patton,” Emile confessed.

“Patton’s smart. He’s not going to have any problem with college classes,” Virgil said.

Emile furrowed his brow. “That’s not... what I meant. I don’t like that he bailed on us without saying anything.”

“Then bail him back,” Remus said. “I don’t have time for anyone who breaks those kinds of promises.”

“That seems... intense,” Emile said. “Come on, can we at least check the campus coffee shop for him?”

Remus sighed. “Fine. You get five minutes, then I’m gone.”

Emile gave a smile, but Roman could see the fear behind it. No one liked Remus being angry. 

At least the coffee shop wasn’t too far away. Though the silence that hung over the group the rest of the way there turned the short walk into a long and treacherous journey. The silence wasn’t even the worst of it. 

They entered the coffee shop with its dusty lamps and stained couches and the smell of burnt espresso that always felt like home. But there were two figures, wrapped up in each other on one of those old couches. A familiar birthmark and a snake tattoo on an arm that wrapped around a younger figure. With faded blue bangs. 

Roman swore he was going to be sick.

“I... guess we found him,” Emile said quietly.

Janus slowly pulled away from Patton and glanced at the group with a smirk. He held eye contact with Roman, clearly attempting some sort of mind control.

Roman froze. The spell was working. 

“Long time no see, friends,” Janus drawled. 

“Hey guys,” Patton said quietly, his cheeks flushed red and his lips swollen. 

Roman was going to cry.

No, he refused to cry. He refused to give Janus any sort of satisfaction. 

He turned his gaze back towards the group. He could pretend to have not even noticed Janus. Better yet, he could have pretended that he did notice Janus but that seeing his ex make out with someone he wanted to call a friend was so minimal that it didn’t even warrant mention. “Remy,” he said, “hurry up and order your coffee. We’re going to be late to astronomy.”

Remy took a sharp breath. “Astronomy. Right.” He headed for the counter and the (confused) trio followed him. 

Roman took his hand, squeezing it tightly, hoping that Janus saw. Hoping that he might be able to withstand his mind falling apart like sand so long as Remy didn’t do the same. 

“Are you alright?” Remy whispered.

“Of course I am.”

I’m the master of deception

If you asked Roman what happened that day in his classes, he couldn’t tell you. 

The attendance records would show that he was there. His professors would tell you that he answered every question they asked of him. 

But Roman could only remember anger. Anger at himself. And a continuous mourning of who he could have been. 

When everything is life and death

You may feel like there’s nothing left

Roman didn’t sleep well that night. 

All he saw was Janus. In his dreams. In the halls. In his nightmares.

Roman didn’t sleep well at all. 

Instead of love and trust and laughter

His parents were going out of town for the weekend. And he no longer cared about civility towards his neighbors. 

What you get is happy never after. 

He was already drunk before the party began. He could remember sobering up, surrounded by lights and sounds and people, and he could remember the crushing anxiety in the back of his mind yelling at him for all that had gone wrong. He took a couple shots. That shut the voice right up. 

Friends of Lilly’s danced around him. Strangers in the intimate space of his home. A girl was dancing with him, flowers in her dark braids and sangria in her cup. Roman didn’t even have sangria in the house. He didn’t question where she got it from. 

The night flowed from bottle to cup to lips. It rushed by in drunk kisses between friends. All Roman cared about was the bliss of dancing wildly and the happy buzz in his brain. A warm hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him away from the heart of the party. He whined in protest and frowned until he saw the black eyes and midnight blue hair. 

He laughed. “Remy, you’re very fun but I’m not in the mood for ‘privacy’ right now.”

Remy handed him a water bottle. “Roman, you need a break. Drink this.” Remus, Virgil, and Emile were standing behind him. 

He groaned. “I’m fine , Rem. I’m having fun.”

“ Roman,” he said sharply. 

The playlist changed and played something with a fast tempo, heavy on the guitar and beating drums through Roman’s skull. He laughed. “I’m not Roman anymore. Roman is dull.” He jumped onto the couch, landing between two boys who seemed unhappy to have their make out session interrupted. “I’m Electra Heart, BABY!” He screamed and the crowd around him cheered loudly. 

“You’re a dumbass,” Remy said. “Come on, party’s over.”

The drunken crowd booed. 

Remus raised an airhorn over his head and announced, “If this house isn’t empty in twenty minutes, we’re calling the cops.”

They booed again. 

He held down the horn and Roman grabbed onto his ears in pain. Before he could even figure out if the horn had blown out his hearing, people were making their way out of the house. 

“I hate you,” he said to Remus. “You’re the worst brother in the world.”

“Roman,” Remy said, holding the bottle out again, “please just drink some water.”

“And why should I?”

“Because you’ll hate yourself when you’re hungover.”

He gave a sharp laugh. “You mean like how I’ll hate myself sober?” He went to take another sip of his drink when Remy’s fingers closed around his wrist, holding his hand in place.

“Don’t do this, Roman.”

“Or what?” he whispered. 

With Remy still holding Roman’s hand in place, Virgil took away the cup. Roman glared at him. 

Emile spoke up, “Roman, this isn’t healthy behavior.”

“Who- fucking- cares?” he spat. “I don’t need a fucking babysitter telling me what to do.”

He took a sharp breath. “Your actions say otherwise.”

“Go fuck yourself, Rat.”

Emile stared at him and the rest of the world melted away. He straightened his shoulders, let out a short breath, and walked out of the house. 

Roman doesn’t remember the rest of that night.

But deep down all you want is love,

He woke up on the couch with a sharp pain in his neck and some medieval torture device tightening around his skull. He pressed his palms against his eyes, but the pressure only gave minimal relief. He ran his fingers through his hair and a surge of light entered the room. He screamed out and squeezed his eyes tightly. 

He heard someone sigh and say quietly, “Get up, Roman.” It was Remus. And he sounded so disappointed. 

Roman groaned. “Get me water.”

“No.”

“No?!” Roman started to sit up but the pain in his head intensified and he lost all ability to think. “Why no?”

Remus spoke calmly- too calmly- and said, “You can take care of yourself, can’t you?”

“You’re a dick.”

“Don’t treat me like a mirror, Roman.”

The pure kind we all dream of

Lilly sat down in front of him, effectively ruining his private moment of peace and quiet. “You look like shit,” she said. 

He couldn’t deny it. He’d barely slept in days and hadn’t even mustered the energy to shower. There was a pile of schoolwork in front of him- more of it overdue and unstarted than he wanted to admit. “Apparently once you fuck yourself over, it’s very hard to unfuck yourself.”

“You could always sell your soul in exchange for getting your virginity back. That would unfuck you.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Very helpful, Lilly.”

“Speaking of getting fucked,” she started. 

Roman didn’t know if he wanted to kill her or himself. 

“How are things going with your lover boy friend?”

“I... think I messed that up, too. I don’t know.” He let his head fall into his hands, his palms pressed against his eyes. “I think I need to start over.”

“With Remy?”

“With life. At least, the past year of it.”

“Well, you could always start over and have someone else as a distraction,” she suggested. “Just not that Soft Boy friend of yours.” 

“Emile?” Roman asked, looking up at Lilly and furrowing his brows. 

“Yeah, figured we’d have a little fun while I had to keep him distracted,” she confessed, “but he said he had... something going on with someone. Denied they were dating, but still told me he didn’t want to feel like he was cheating.”

“I guess I really don’t know Emile,” Roman mumbled to himself. “Who do you think it is?”

She shrugged. “You’d know better than I would.”

Roman silently went back to his work. I don’t think I know anything anymore.

But we cannot escape the past

So you and I will never last

The doorbell echoed before Roman could even make the decision to press it. Better that way , he told himself. He wouldn’t be pathetic. He needed to fight the urge to run. 

The door opened and he swallowed the lump in his throat, ready to word vomit to Remy. But he wasn’t the one behind the door. 

“Um, hi Mrs. Cho,” he said.

She laughed. She was a tall woman with her black hair pinned behind her ears and dangling earrings that matched the shiny black dress she wore. Anyone would assume she was on her way to a night out. Roman knew she was just dressed to watch soap operas or whatever it was that moms did when their sons weren’t home. “Hello, Mr. Barnes. I’ve told you that you can call me Seline.”

Roman squeezed his hands at his side. “I don’t think that’s physically possible, Mrs. Cho. Is Remy around?”

“He’s up in his room,” she said. “Should I tell him to come down?”

“Is it alright if I go up? I need to talk to him and I’d rather not inconvenience him.” More than I already have.  

She stepped back and gestured for him to come inside. He quietly thanked her and hurried up to Remy’s room upstairs- the blue door marked with construction paper stars. He opened the door slowly. At the rate his life was going, he didn’t think his heart would ever stop racing. 

Remy was sitting at his desk with a large pair of headphones that he took off when the door opened. When he saw Roman, time must have frozen.

Roman opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t find a single word. He walked forward and closed the door behind him. He kneeled on the ground in front of Remy, both his knees pressing into the old carpet. 

Remy’s eyebrows were furrowed.

He doesn’t want you here, a voice told him. He hates you now. You’re ruining things even more. You’re pathetic. He choked on the apology trying to rush from his throat all at once. “I’m- Remy, I’m so sorry.”

Remy folded his hands on his lap and stared down at Roman, trying to be expressionless. But despite his best efforts, the concern in his eyes said more than any word ever could. “What are you sorry for, Electra Heart?”

Roman cringed. “For being a drunken idiot. And an arrogant asshole.” He forced a laugh. “And the terrible hangover I got because of it.”

“You deserved that hangover.”

“I did. I really did.” 

‘Cause I’m a homewrecker, homewrecker

“But I had time to realize that... I should have let you take care of me,” he said. His eyes began to burn. “I shouldn’t have pushed away your concern for me- or anyone else’s. Remus made it incredibly clear that no one wanted a thing to do with me after that night.”

(I’m only happy when I’m on the run)

“A- And I get it! I wouldn’t want a thing to do with me either, but- fuck- Remy, you mean so much to me and even if you never talk to me again, I’m not just here to fuck and- okay, I’ll admit it- you are a good kisser, but more importantly you’re my friend and-” Tears were coming out faster than words and he pushed so hard through the sobs blocking his airways. He could barely breathe but that didn’t matter. He’d rather die on Remy’s old carpet than spend the rest of his life being fucked up and alone. 

‘Cause I’m a homewrecker, homewrecker

“Roman,” Remy said sharply.

Roman covered his mouth with his hands and tried to muffle his labored breathing. 

(I broke a million hearts just for fun)

There was a gentle kiss against his forehead and a rush of warmth as two arms wrapped around him. His cheek was pressed against Remy’s chest. He couldn’t stop shaking as his struggle to breath took over his whole body. Remy rocked him back and forth. 

“No one is going to leave you,” Remy said softly. “Remus was just being a dick as always. He’s been... pissed off. At other people. And I won’t pretend you didn’t hurt us, but I also won’t pretend not to know why.”

Roman tried to speak. He tasted the salt of his tears rolling against his lips. 

“Things will be okay, Roman.” 

Roman’s sobs quieted down and Remy continued to gently rock him back and forth. 

“I promise.”

Homewrecker

Homewrecker

#welcome to the life of electra heart #Electra Heart au #sanders sides fic #tss fic #creativisleep #ts roman #ts remy #ts remus #ts sleep #roman angst #roceit #ts creativisleep #ts princey #Roman Sanders #ts virgil #ts Dr. Picani #CT Dr. Picani #MARINA song fic #Marina and the Diamonds song fic #ts song fic #ts multi chapter fic #ts multi ship fic

[rayless-reblogs]

Nine People Tag

Thanks so much for the tag @iffylogic

Last Song:

I'm listening to music right now, "Northern Lad" by Tori Amos. I was aware of Tori for a long time, but only really got into her around 2012ish. My interest can come and go in waves, but right now I'm really into her again. "Northern Lad" is a gorgeous and heartbreaking song, though, given the lyrics, not something you'd slow dance to at a wedding. At least, most weddings.

Last Movie:

I'm feeling really nostalgic lately, so I've been rewatching the 1980s BBC adaptations of the first four Narnia books. They hit this perfect note of being extremely earnest and wholesome and endlessly generous when it comes to making fun of them. The Disney movies are better as far as production goes, but not nearly as fun.

Currently Watching:

Maybe I should've saved the Narnias for this question. I'll switch in what I'm currently playing: The Caligula Effect II. The first one is something of a dark horse for me, so I'm curious to see how this one goes.

Currently Reading:

On my last vacation, I hit an antique store that was so desperate to get rid of its 1970s Harlequin paperbacks they were being sold for fifty cents each. I am easy prey for a) vintage romance novels and b) a deal, so I came away with eight. The Midnight Sun by Katrina Britt is the first one I've opened. Lovely but tragically scared Sabina has gone away with her new husband to a remote manor in Finland. How can he truly love her with her scar? Does he actually love a local college student with a bad attitude? What about the handsome plastic surgeon who's determined to save her from her hideousness? Will Sabina eat lots of Finnish cheese and rice pastries, because that sounds delicious. Whether there's any more plot than that, I can't tell you yet.

Currently Craving:

I'd been wanting some Cadbury hot chocolate, and despite the scorching weather, I had some today. So that makes me happy.

Last Thing I Searched for Writing:

Oh, I have no idea. Things I've recently searched (for different projects) include ancient Roman methods for treating asthma, the definition of "blowzy", and typically Dutch foods.

Three Ships:

My interest has been holding pretty steady on RedBoxer (Transistor), AschNatalia (Tales of the Abyss), and ArcherHakuno (Fate/Extra) for a while now. Though thinking about The Caligula Effect has reminded me that I liked LucidShogo for a hot minute in 2020, and I'm still sad there's so little content for it.

Tagging:

If you'd like to do this, consider yourself tagged! But I'll call out specifically: @deemoyza @pandor-pandorkful @peachyindeed @bibliophileemily @assortedpencils @vangrants @caffeinatedpoltergeist @somacruising and @sweet-suzume

No pressure of course!

#meme

[fantomcomics]

What’s Out This Week? 3/22

Our Spring Cleaning Figure sale is happening RIGHT NEOW! Come grab the ones you’ve been eyeing before someone else does!

The Adventures Of Cthulhu Jr & Friends TP -  Dirk Manning & Scoot McMahon

When a wannabe supervillain is charged with capturing the son of Cthulhu (who just happened to move in across the street for the summer) in order to be admitted into the League of E.V.I.L., hilarity, hijinks, and horror ensues! Both adults and kids alike will find a lot to enjoy in this original graphic novel hailed as "A great comic for all ages!" by Sci-Fi and Scary!

All Talk GN -  Bartosz Sztybor & Akeussel 

Rahim is a suburban kid like any other, a "good kid." Chilling with his boys, hearing the legends of "Immortal Al," the greatest gangster who ever lived, it's hard not to get stars in his eyes. Rahim starts dreaming of becoming a kingpin, idolizing his local gangsters in the hopes of climbing their ranks. But his friends laugh: they say he's all talk, no action. Until one day, he sees an opportunity to prove himself.

Belle Of The Ball GN -  Mari Costa

High-school senior Hawkins finally works up the courage to remove her mascot mask and ask out her longtime crush: Regina Moreno, head cheerleader, academic overachiever, and all-around popular girl. There's only one teensy little problem: Regina is already dating Chloe Kitagawa, athletic all-star... and middling English student. Regina sees a perfectly self-serving opportunity here, and asks the smitten Hawkins to tutor Chloe free of charge, knowing Hawkins will do anything to get closer to her. And while Regina's plan works at first, she doesn't realize that Hawkins and Chloe knew each other as kids, when Hawkins went by Belle and wore princess dresses to school every single day. Before long, romance does start to blossom, but not between whom you might expect.

Colonel Weird & Little Andromeda TP -  Tate Brombal & Ray Fawkes 

Space-faring adventurer Colonel Weird sets forth on a journey to save his superhero colleagues from their rural purgatory by entering the Para-zone only to find himself paired with the much much younger Doctor Andromeda on a series of fantastical adventures through assorted worlds and dimensions.

Comics For Choice: Illustrated Abortion Stories 2nd Edition -  Sophia Foster-Dimino

Comics for Choice is an anthology of comics about abortion. Over 60 artists and writers have created comics that share their own experiences, and educate readers on the history of abortion, current political struggles, activism, and more. This updated edition includes additional comics that address the changing landscape of abortion rights.  

Creepshow Vol 1 TP - Chris Burnham & Adriano Lucas

"The horror fix that fans of the Shudder anthology series have come to expect and appreciate." -CBR   The worldwide phenomenon based on the hit Shudder TV series comes to comics with a collection of can't-miss horror that anthology critics are screaming about!   An all-star roster of comics creators brings readers ten uniquely terrifying standalone stories guaranteed to SCARE YOU TO DEATH!

The Dead Lucky Vol 1 TP -  Melissa Flores & French Carlomagno

San Francisco is changing. Tech consortium MORROW is buying up land, their peacekeeper robots looming on every corner-and wherever Morrow isn't, the local gangs are. Bibiana Lopez-Yang is changing too. The incident in Afghanistan that killed her platoon left her able to control electricity-and haunted by the ghosts of those she lost. With some unlikely friends, Bibi might just have a chance to save her city. But against an enemy this powerful, it won't be enough to be good. She'll have to be lucky.

Dead Romans #1 (of 6) -  Fred Kennedy & Nick Marinkovich

Arminius, a Germanic prince raised in Rome, has sworn vengeance against the Empire that butchers his people. He wants to make a queen of the woman he loves, Honoria, a fellow slave. Now, fifty thousand Romans will die to give her a throne she never asked for...or wanted. Lush, beautiful illustrations bring to life a brutal tale of love and war from the birth of the Roman Empire.

Ephemera HC -  Briana Loewinsohn

A debut graphic novel that poignantly blends memoir, magic realism, and graphic medicine. Ephemera is a poetic and dreamlike take on a graphic memoir set in a garden, a forest, and a greenhouse. The story drifts among a grown woman, her early memories as a child, and the gossamer existence of her mother. A lyrical entry in the field of graphic medicine, Ephemera is a story about a daughter trying to relate to a parent who struggles with mental illness. Gorgeously illustrated, it is a quiet book of isolation, plants, confusion, acceptance, and the fog of childhood.

In Limbo GN -  Deb JJ Lee

A debut YA graphic memoir about a Korean-American girl's coming-of-age story-and a coming home story-set between a New Jersey suburb and Seoul, South Korea.

Ever since Deborah (Jung-Jin) Lee emigrated from South Kora to the United States, she's felt her otherness. For a while, her English wasn't perfect. Her teachers can't pronounce her Korean name. Her face and her eyes-especially her eyes-feel wrong. In high school, everything gets harder. Friendships change and end, she falls behind in classes, and fights with her mom escalate. Caught in limbo, with nowhere safe to go, Deb finds her mental health plummeting, resulting in a suicide attempt. But Deb is resilient and slowly heals with the help of art and self-care, guiding her to a deeper understanding of her heritage and herself.

Joe Death & The Graven Image TP -  Benjamin Schipper

Somewhere between Mignola and A Fistful of Dollars, this tale is an adventurous take on the existential hitman. Set against a dreamy western backdrop populated by witches, spirits, ghouls, and other monsters, Joe Death explores what it means for Death to undo what he does best. More importantly, what is the cost for salvation?

Life Is Strange: Steph’s Story SC Novel -  Roslee Thor

The official origin story of Life is Strange fan-favorite Steph Gingrich featuring LGBTQ+ romance, inevitable heartbreak, and the punk-rock beginnings of Drugstore Makeup.

Little Guardians TP Vol 1 -  Ed Cho & Lee Cherolis

When a strange spirit panther starts following Subira around she realizes she may be more than just the local shop girl.  The village she lives in is under constant threat from monsters, and the appointed guardian, Tane, can't save everyone alone.  Little does Subira know she is actually Tane's daughter and should be fighting alongside him.  Can she discover the truth behind her connection to the spirit world in time to help save her village?  Combining humor with big adventure Little Guardians is a fun-filled all-ages romp for everyone.

Meesh & The Bad Demon Vol 1 GN -  Michelle Lam

A tale of unlikely heroes and myths are made real in this debut graphic novel series about a "bad" demon trying to find her place in the underworld-but she'll have to save it first! Meesh is a bad demon. "Bad" in that she always sees the good in those around her-which isn't how a demon is meant to feel or act. Bullied by the other demons, twelve-year-old Meesh is more likely to be found reading magazines from Plumeria City-the fairy realm-and fangirling about the fairy princesses. But when disaster strikes and all of demon-kind is threatened, Meesh must journey to other worlds in search of help. As luck would have it, she meets a fairy princess right away. Things in the fairy realm aren't so perfect either, though. There's much more to being a demon than she ever realized, and learning to love herself might just uncover the secret to saving her home.

The Neighbors #1 (of 5) -  Jude Ellison S. Doyle, Letizia Cadonici & Miguel Mercado

When Janet and Oliver Gowdie move to a quaint mountain town, their daughter Casey becomes part of a horrific chain of events revealing that their neighbors are anything but what they seem. Soon an unsettling old woman named Agnes Early fixates on Janet and Oliver's other daughter-2-year-old Isobel. It becomes clear that it's impossible to know who to trust... or who is even still human... Steeped in Irish and English folklore and mythology, Jude Ellison S. Doyle (Maw) joins artist Letizia Cadonici (House of Slaughter), and colorist Alessandro Santoro (Bloom) to tread new ground in changeling horror. A tale perfect for fans of Eat the Rich and The Nice House on the Lake!

Pixies Of The Sixties:  You Really Got Me Now TP -  Gihef, Giulio Macaione & Alberto Zanon

In the 1960s U.K., With Swinging London underway, Fairies enter the light of day! Anann: The story of a young fairy who, drawn by the lights of Swinging London, leaves her forest to pursue her dreams of becoming a singer. She meets Stella, a human with whom she quickly falls in love. But her lover's disappearance will make Anann realize that beneath the glitz and glamour of the city, rejection is only a tiny part of what awaits her... Ailith: When she arrives in London to investigate a case of missing persons linked to a strange rite, Ailith gladly accepts help from her childhood friend, Elliot, a police officer who expresses clear Anti-fairy opinions and blames them for all the major problems in London. When the investigation entrusted to Ailith leads her to the heart of the forest, she makes a most disturbing discovery, uncovering with it a deeply buried wound.

Chilling Adventures: Pop’s Chock’lit Shoppe of Horrors One-Shot -  Amy Chase, Frederico Sabbatini & Adam Gorham

Pop Tate is the glue holding Riverdale together, whether everyone realizes or not. His Chocklit Shoppe is the beating heart of the city, where everyone can stop in for a delicious bite and some safe haven-even the worst sorts. And not just the run-of-the-mill rapscallions who recently broke the jukebox. When a young Riverdale couple (Nick St. Clair and Sherry Thyme) attempt to dine and dash on the humble small business owner, they quickly discover the fryer grease isn't the only heart-stopping thing about the Chocklit Shoppe. From tales of mystery meat to the unnatural visitors that dine late at night, this anthology tells stories about the horrors that happen at Riverdale's beloved malt shop-and how Pop Tate is at the center of it all, the most powerful figure in Riverdale providing haven to all sorts of terrors and underhanded villainy.

Popscars #1 (of 6) - Pat O'Malley & Santi Guillen

Popscars is a gritty Hollywood revenge story about a vigilante badass in a pink ski mask and the famous Hollywood movie producer she is out to kill, who also happens to be her estranged father. In Hollywood revenge is best served in front of an audience. As our pink ski masked killer pushes her way through a Hollywood crowd, prepared to take her shot at her movie producer father, she's quickly swept into a brand new revenge plot orchestrated by her own unsuspecting target.

Sugar & Other Stories GN -  Joy San

An amoral creature ensures a girl's blood sugar stays up. A gory ritual creates a woman's perfect smile. An overworked wife is subsumed by violent fantasies. In this collection of short horror comics, Joy San masterfully explores the ways in which we contort ourselves, balancing the bloody with unexpected levity.

The Wicked Ones #1 -  LJ Duey, Paulo Mel & David Mack

After being orphaned in a mass witch burning orchestrated by the US government, Celia Jordan grew up to be Washington DC's darkest secret-she's now wreaks havoc as the city's resident witch... and its most sought-after contract killer. When a politician hires her to kill a beloved and powerful superhero, Celia hesitates, but not for long. No one has been able to catch her yet-why would they now? Featuring a breathtaking cover by world reknowned artist, David Mack.

West Of Sundown TP Vol 1 -  Aaron Campbell, Tim Seeley &Jim Terry

A beautiful vampire must flee monster slayers in New York City and reclaim the ancestral soil that restores her undead flesh. But the world has changed since she was reborn in the New Mexico desert, and now, Constance Der Abend and her loyal assistant Dooley , must adapt to life in the rough frontier town of Sangre De Moro, where all sorts of monsters have settled.

Whatcha scooping up this week, Fantomites?

#What's Out This Week? #WOTW #comic #comics #comic book #comic books #manga #West Of Sundown #The Wicked Ones #Sugar & Other Stories #Popscars #Pop’s Chock’lit Shoppe of Horrors #Pixies Of The Sixties #The Neighbors #Meesh & The Bad Demon #Little Guardians #Life Is Strange #Joe Death & The Graven Image #In Limbo #Ephemera #Dead Romans #The Dead Lucky #Creepshow #Comics For Choice #Colonel Weird & Little Andromeda #Belle Of The Ball #All Talk #The Adventures Of Cthulhu Jr & Friends

[kissmeau]

Roman was part of the Russian Committee for State Security (KGB). He had a high rank inside the special forces Vympel, which focused on espionage and counter-espionage domestically and internationally. Due to his knowledge of the Japanese language, he was sent to constant undercover missions within the Yakuza.

And he was also a cold man with an ambition for money and power. He became a double agent. One of high regard among Japanese gangsters, working closely with Russia and never lifting the slightest suspicion... And vice-versa. He had one of the highest ranks on the Vympel unit.

Roman's behavior was always calm, mannered, polite, and intelligent. Wherever he walked, he had an aura of dominion that fooled everyone into thinking he was the most loyal dog for both organizations. Roman fell for the feeling of glory and status. He was fascinated with the compliments, climbing the ladder with fake charisma, and betraying each and all of his comrades for his sake.

Roman's ambitions weren't driven by any other desire than self-supremacy. He didn't have any ideals; hence he didn't care for any social movement, so resolute among the population of Russia's political scene of the 20th century.

Roman only cared about money and about being the most recognized commander. Of course, this concept was built in his head. He didn't care for medals but to achieve his personal goals. Roman wanted to see how far he could take it before one of the organizations he belonged to noticed. He thrived on his disguise of a reputable man.

He married at 30 years old to a plastic artist. He loved her deeply and genuinely. However, it was still hidden from her that he was a double agent; to his wife's eyes, he only worked for the KGB. But Roman never felt he had a double life with her. Inessa, and Marina —wife and daughter— had the real Roman: devoted, caring, intelligent, strong, yet sensitive, with an appreciation for arts and an accepting mind of different realities.

In 1991, the KGB dissolved. Roman was fifty-five years old, and it has been quite a blessing. He had been thinking of retirement, too. He was more centered, less ruthless, thinking of having a boy with his wife, although the biological clock was ticking for both. Love and age had made him more tactful towards himself.

But, as the KGB was going through investigations and the Yakuzas were losing territories, an invisible tightrope was rolling around Roman's neck. With his guard down, thinking of the lovely future ahead, he didn't sense the danger approaching him. He didn't move any pieces on the board game he had so diligently built for more than 40 years, so the pieces played for him, revealing all his tricks.

It was the Yakuzas who went after him, chasing his wife and daughter on a deadly road. The car tailgated on a cliff. It fell and exploded, creating a two days fire in the woods. There were no remains of bodies, just a melted car, and a sapphire covered in ashes, which confirmed Roman's worst nightmare.

Through his grievances, he believed it had all been a terrible accident. Nevertheless, on the night of the funeral, sitting by his family's grave in their mansion's backyard, he was ambushed by the Japanese. He had no strength to fight back; he let them have whatever they wanted. He was hit with the reality that he had brought death upon his loved ones, and he was more than deserving of punishment. Even if the punishment meant nothing to him. Compared to what he was experiencing, the Yakuza's revenge was leisure. He wished to be killed, but he didn't get that. It's not part of their rituals; it's not how they carry revenge in their inner organization culture.

Roman woke up without an eye, and all his bank accounts in Seychelles were empty. He still had money in Trinidad and Tobago and his properties. But it was the end for him. The ambitions that drove him in the past were mere squandering. And the love? The love was all gone.

Unable to end his life, Roman, dressed with anger and sorrow, left Russia and went to Ireland, where he lived in solitude for three years. Until a stubborn boy begged for training at his doorstep.

#cw: death #cw: mafia #cw: fire #cw: suicide mention #Yes Autumn is irish #He did get a son in the end #I cry #❜ ─ Roman ─ ❛

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

Director’s Cut of Crescent Chapter 5 Revision

This is based off an ask that an anon sent in for this ask meme: ‘What is a line/scene you’re really proud of? Give us the DVD commentary for that scene.’ Except I’m doing it for this whole chapter because it’s my blog, my rules.

If you’re a fanfic writer who is considering tackling a long fic--the advice I can give to you is this: consider the amount of editing you may do for a 3k oneshot. Consider how much an oneshot changes from beginning to end. Now imagine you have to write fifty one-shots that are all have to be interconnected and correlated with one another and the hassle of remembering five plot points has now morphed into seventy-nine plot points and you may start to understand the stress that causes. Unless you are the author that bravely writes everything with minimal editing, to which I salute thee for your unabashed fortitude in your work.

What was my point again? My point being, there is a reason why published novels go through many revisions before they hit the shelves, fanfiction being a hobby art means it’s a lot more messier and noticeable if a writer decides to revise their already published work.

In many ways, I’m proud of the original Crescent--it was my biggest finished work, excluding a few Nanowrimo projects that are technically not finished. For me, however, I’ve always viewed fanfiction as a way to practice my writing for original concepts, so revisions are a part of that for me. It can allow me to have a stronger foundation to pull from for new Gibbous chapters and Crescent Chapter 5 is probably my favorite I’ve done thus far. 

I want to go through a brief comparison of the Original vs. Revision in this post to show how much revision changes a work but also my favorite additions.

The Issue with Roman

See, I’ve always had a bone to pick with Roman in this AU, and primarily it’s because I wanted him to be an antagonistic character towards Virgil (paralleling canon) but I still wanted him to be sympathetic to the readers.

At the time of writing Crescent, I really struggled putting down on paper the image of what that looked like inside my head.  His character felt very two-dimensional, which made the idea of writing some future important Gibbous moments even harder because it didn’t feel well-deserved given the foundation I laid down in Crescent.

Given this chapter is essentially his introduction to the AU, it was my chance to redeem Roman and give him the attention he deserves.

Beginning Paragraphs

Original: 

Roman was not a heartless monster. Like Patton, he couldn’t walk by an injured bird without feeling pity for it. Logan, on the other hand, could stroll by the bird without a passing thought. He’d state it was best to let nature run its course.

“All things die, Patton,” Logan said once, as he comforted Patton after he attempted to save a dying Robin, “It would’ve died regardless if you tried to help it or not. It was too far gone.”

“I—I know that,” Patton gave a rueful smile, “But I had to at least try to save him—at the very least he didn’t die all alone on a cold cement, terrified of what happened to him.”

Logan’s hand on his shoulder tightened. A look was shared between the two of them and Roman had a feeling that Patton wasn’t just talking about the bird.

“And I am sure he is grateful for your actions.” Logan choked.

I really like this bit a lot--in fact I still included it later in the chapter--but it’s a very static opening to me. Roman is barely included in this opening despite being his chapter. I wanted a better peak into Roman’s thoughts at the onset rather than midway through the chapter, however, which why I changed it.

Revision:

As Roman stared at the human’s sleeping form, he couldn’t help but wonder how humans managed to become the dominating species of planet Earth. Without their weaponry or protective garb, they really did look rather frail and unassuming. Roman could dispose of his pack’s intruder within seconds.

“I hope you should know that if I was not a wolf of honor, I’d strike you where you laid.” Roman informed the unconscious human, his words punctuated with a soft growl.

The human did not respond to this, although he did turn his back to face Roman in his sleep. Said werewolf couldn’t help but feel unreasonably indignant at this.

“But be assured, I will not hesitant should you pose a threat,” Roman continued, walking a small loop around the spare bedroom, “In fact I will not rest in my vigilance over you.”

A yawn escaped him then, as if to prove his point. He couldn’t sleep—he couldn’t even concentrate on his art commissions while an intruder prowled around their den. He took another glance at the human, scowling. Perhaps prowling wasn’t quite the right term. The intruder had spent the past day-and-an-half sprawled out in one of their beds, a place he certainly did not belong.

However, the same could be said of Roman. He was not supposed to be here with the human. He’d agreed to let both Patton and Logan handle the human.

An agitated worry gnawed at him all the same. Roman still well remembered the last time they let a human inside their dwelling.

Now this? This is more dynamic, it’s more clear from the onset that Roman is in the spare bedroom because he’s concerned about Virgil’s presence in the house and we even get into “what happened last time a human entered their house”--a throwaway line that was never addressed in the original. 

Debbie

Which then leads to a flashback sequence completely added into the revision process. It actually has inspo from alternate draft for Gibbous Chapter 5

Draft:

It was dangerous living in the city, but the countryside was even more dangerous. Witch hunts for paranormal folk were more frequent. Everyone was constantly suspecting each other to be inhuman. If the cashier at the local mom and pop store had unusually sharp canines, everyone was crying werewolf. And just like the story of the Boy Who Cried Wolf, they were usually wrong.

However, the cashier would pay the price. Despite the Federal Paranormal Agency finding these findings false, it would be on her record. It ruined their chances of finding work. After all, what if the FPA had been wrong? No one wanted to hire a possible paranormal folk.

The exposition isn’t necessarily bad, but you have to consider whether or not it’s more impactful to show that same information through a scene.

Revision:

It was the type of nowhere that the nearest “town” was a gas station and a few other motley buildings. It was the type of nowhere where the nearest neighbor lived far enough that their house wasn’t visible to your own. It was the type of nowhere that was ideal for a few wolves to live undisturbed. Or at least, they’d all assumed so.

...

“Hello! How can I help you?” Patton said, the door opening not fully all the way. Roman could tell this from the door giving out only a short creak rather than a long creaeaeaeaak.

“Why hello Hon! I’m Debbie, I heard from your neighbor Dan that someone finally bought old John’s property and thought I’d drop by and say hello. I brought scones to share with you—I made them from scratch. Won’t you try one?” The intruder said, her voice weathered and frayed with age.

“Aw, shucks! Thank you so much! My name is Patton, it’s nice to meet you.” Patton said. There was a slight pause from Roman presumed to be Patton reaching out for a scone. “Do you happen to be a relative of John?”

“Oh, oh no!” Debbie laughed, “John never had no folks here. Ever since I was a child, he lived here on his lonesome. Bit of a strange one, if you know what I mean.”

“Strange?”

“Well, this is all talk mind you but—” Debbie broke into a whisper, “we think he was a bloodsucker. The fella never did seem to age naturally. Never came into town in broad daylight, always scuttled around twixt dusk and dawn. People don’t like that ‘round here, of course, but there was never any damn cement evidence. Didn’t stop ‘em, I’ll tell ya that.”

Roman did not like where this was going. Patton didn’t like where it was going either—Roman knew by the other’s heartrate accelerating in speed.

“Stop who?” Patton asked, his words muffled from a mouthful of food.

“Out here, people take care of each other. Don’t need the government to dictate how we live or swoop in to fix things, hah!” Debbie said wryly, “Bless his heart, old John didn’t go down without a fight.”

“You…killed him?”

“Oh, oh no!” Debbie chortled, her breath hitching abruptly, “I didn’t kill him. You? Well, hon. That’s a different story.”

It’s up to the reader’s interpretation whether or not Old John was actually a vampire. Maybe he was an anti-social hermit who wanted to avoid people at all costs. Maybe he was indeed a vampire that did his best to keep his head down. Whose to say? Also, writing an old vicious southern lady was a lot of fun.

Debbie, Continued

Roman still had time, he could still come to Patton’s aid. If he could only escape the fabric prison engulfing him. His claws dug and tore away at the quilt in a frantic attempt to escape its grasp. He couldn’t seem to find the ends of the blanket; it was all consuming. He growled anyways. A warning growl, the fiercest one he could muster. A growl that meant Unwanted, Go Away, Leave Now.

He didn’t believe the human would actually listen. He just needed to drive the human’s attention away from harming Patton. As he managed to pop his head from underneath the quilt, the edge of a small thin silver blade raised high above his head.

“Ro—roman.” Patton yelped. But he couldn’t see Patton. All he saw was the beady eyes entrenched in a face wrinkled from anger and bitterness. If Roman was a hero from a sacred tale, this would be the moment he epically saved the day. But that would be a grievous lie.

It did not mean he made a valiant attempt at doing so. Roman lunged at Debbie, snarling. She met him with a swift kick to his face, knocking him asunder. His heart roared in his ears as he stubbornly flung up to his paws. He charged forward in a blind rage. Another kick—this time to his ribs—sent him crumpling down. As he rose up again, a steel-toed boot pressed into his jugular, effectively cutting most of his air supply.

Roman thought he heard Patton screaming his name. It was getting hard to focus. His head pulsated as if brain matter was leaking out of his ears. His vision became a blob of shape and color at this point.

“Shush, don’t fight it.” The human said with bared teeth. A white-hot blade danced across the half-faded scars along his sternum.

“You poor thing, someone did a fucked up job of trying to put you out of your misery,” Debbie cooed, “don’t worry, I’ll finish the job.”

“No!”

“How—”

Blood. Blood everywhere on white pristine tile. A corpse, devoid of all life. A being that would never bask in the Moon’s glow or howl with him to rejoice in a good hunt. A whimper-howl escaped his throat. Patton was dead, he was gone, Roman had failed his pack for a second time—

“Ro—Roman,” A shaky, twitching arm latched itself around him, “I’m here, I’m here. She didn’t use enough wolfsbane—it didn’t taste bitter enough.”

Pack, pack was safe. Roman whined, nuzzling his snout into Patton’s sweater. It was wet and sticky, but underneath was a heart still beating and alive. That was important, that was enough.

“You were so brave, Ro, so, so brave.” Patton murmured.

Logan found them an hour later, huddled inches away from the body of the accursed human. They didn’t end up staying long after that—fleeing under the solace of the Moon’s rays. Patton was right—it wasn’t enough wolfsbane to kill him. But it was just enough wolfsbane to leave him sick for weeks. He’d throw up the slightest thing resembling solids. All because some human decided that peaceful or not, no “paranormal” being deserved to live.

It’s important to me to show Roman’s experience here. What’s more impactful Roman in the original stating he hates humans because of a story he was told and the vague hint they killed his parents? Or the illustrated scene where he was helpless to defeat the human who harmed Patton, just as he’d failed his birth pack, which leads him into refusing to lower his guard around Virgil’s presence in the house?

It also allows me to show a glimpse of the three werewolves and their bond together, because they do care very much for one another even when they disagree.

Debbie, Conclusion

Revision:

Not just some human, it was all of them. Honor meant nothing to them—even if their wolf pack abided by human rules and peacefully resided in their own territory, it did not matter. Sooner or later, a self-righteous vigilante or the Federal Paranormal Agency would be on their land to pay a “friendly” visit. To survive, they were anything but a wolf. Anything meant a normal, average person. A person meant a human being and nothing else.

“It is not fair,” Roman remarked to the still unconscious human lying before him, “What a privilege you have for simply being born a human.”

Of course, Roman wasn’t ashamed for being a werewolf. It was a blessing to be one of the Moon’s children. He was superior in physicality and promised a long natural life unlike this feeble ailing human. But he did harbor a righteous rage for the world that humans carved out of the violence they wrought. Most humans did not grow into FPA hunters—but they still benefited from their hunts. They lived their whole lives without the fear of death looming above their heads, ready to strike at any moment.

It’s important to note Roman’s aware that most humans aren’t actively hunting down werewolves, but by their willingness to say nothing, they perpetuate the violence. He’s upset, after growing up in an environment that celebrated who he was, that he has to play human and pretend otherwise.

Remus’s Introduction

Back when I wrote this originally, his character hadn’t been introduced. Which slightly complicated matters, because Roman’s original backstory hinged on the idea he was his parents’ only child, which is unusual (werewolves usually have twins or triplets). I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to seek a way of including Remus at first, but eventually I settled on an idea. Yes, Roman presumes he is dead--whether or not that’s the case, depends on if I ever finish Gibbous and write the next part of the AU.

Original: 

Looking at the human reminded him of the stories his mother told him as a child. They were much like the fairytales humans fed to their children but instead as being disregarded as mere fantasy, most werewolves regarded them as factual accounts of the times before them. From the moment he said his first words, his parents and other elders of the pack taught the stories to him until he could repeat them verbatim. As much as Roman loved the stories, he loved enhancing them, adding dragon-witches where there hadn’t been before. He was discouraged from this by his father.

“Roman, these stories have been passed down from the beginning of time. It will be your responsibility to pass along these stories to your own pups or to newly-turns.”

“But a dragon-witch is so much cooler than a regular witch though!” Roman protested.

“Perhaps, but by adding that to the story is the same as lying. You are telling people there was a dragon witch when that is not happened. Do you understand?”

“Not really.” Roman hung his head.

“Come here,” His father patted the seat next to him on the couch, “let me tell you the tale of Conan, who had a knack of embellishing tales the same as you.”

“What does ‘embellishing’ mean?” Roman wrinkled his nose as he sat beside his father.

The other chuckled, “Listen to the story and you’ll find out.”

Revision:

Oddly, this reminded him of the sacred tales his parents told him and his brother Remus as children. From the moment the two spoke their first words, their parents and other members of their pack taught them the sacred tales until they could repeat them verbatim. This was because sacred tales were stories passed on from generation to generation, of the history that came before them.

They were real, factual, not like the fairytales that humans fed to their children of the past. It was important that they knew the sacred tales and could repeat them by heart, unaltered in any way.

That didn’t stop Roman and Remus from “enhancing” them. They’d sit under the shade of an oak tree, bouncing ideas back and forth.

“What if instead of booooring humans, Romulus fought off a dragon? A mucus-breathing dragon with six wings and twice as many eyes?” Remus suggested one time.

“What if it’s also a dragon-witch? A dragon that is also a witch who can mind control people and Romulus has to fight them off and free everyone from being mind controlled.”

“Ooh, yeah!” Remus beamed, “and then he gets swallowed alive! And he finds Remus Rex in there, and they both have to stab the dragon-witch from the inside out!”

Their dad wasn’t as amused by their modification of the Sacred Story regarding their namesakes.

“Roman, Remus, these stories have been passed down from the beginning of time. It will be your responsibility one day to pass along these stories to your own pups or to any newly-turns under your guidance.”

“But him beating up a dragon-witch is so much cooler than him defeating some humans!” Roman protested.

“Perhaps, but by changing what actually happened is the same as lying. You are telling people there was a dragon witch when that did not happen. Do you understand?”

“No.”

“Not really.”

The two boys said at once.

“Come here you two,” His father patted the seat next to him on the couch, “let me tell you the tale of Conan, who had a knack of embellishing tales the same as you.”

“What does ‘embellishing’ mean?” Roman wrinkled his nose as he sat beside his father.

“Yeah, does it have to do with making stories cooler?” Remus said, settling on the other side of their dad.

The adult only chuckled at their queries, “Listen to the story and you’ll find out.”

By the end of Conan’s story, Roman truly understood the importance of reciting the sacred stories from memory. Remus, on the other hand, was stubborn. He liked adding onto the sacred tales, if only to see the outrageous looks on the Elders’ faces for doing so. Roman liked the ideas of dragon-witches and manticore-chimeras—he just always made sure to remind his listeners that those stories were entirely fictional unlike the sacred tales.

I gave the werewolves’ oral history a name--sacred tales--and because I wanted to distinguish a difference between the brothers Romulus and Remus of Roman myth and Roman & Remus, they’re referred to as Romulus Rex and Remus Rex by werewolves. In this, Romulus & Remus were werewolf brothers who praised as heroes in werewolf sacred tales and Romulus did not kill Remus like the human legends claim.

The Tale of the Homines

In case anyone is curious “homines” = latin for “people” aka humans. I didn’t change much from the original, mainly changed the ending to include Remus in it.

Original:

“But that’s not all,” Roman gravely said, “Because of their arrogance, the Sun and Moon also cursed the other homines with even shorter lifespans than before!”

“That doesn’t seem very fair though, the other homines didn’t kill the werewolves and vampires!” One boy cried out.

Roman’s eyebrows raised. “Yes, but you see the other homines were just as greedy and committed other unspeakable acts. That is why they are now known as humans.”

It was because of that story and many others, that Roman was guarded by the human’s presence

Revision: 

“But that’s not all,” Roman gravely said, “Because of their arrogance, the Sun and Moon also cursed the other homines with even shorter lifespans than before!”

“That doesn’t seem very fair though, the other homines didn’t kill the werewolves and vampires!” One boy cried out.

Roman’s eyebrows raised. “Yes, but you see the other homines were just as greedy and committed other unspeakable acts. That is why they are now known as humans.”

Gasps echoed throughout the crowd.

“And that is why we wolves always must stay wary of humans—because they’re wily and are always trying to find insidious ways to circumvent the curse they brought upon themselves.” Roman finished, to the applause of his audience.

One person in clapped louder than the rest. At some point towards the end, Remus had shown up and somehow managed to keep his maw shut until now. “Well done, dear brother! But you forgot something important—”

Roman groaned, “No, I did not—”

“You forgot to include that homines could projectile poison acid from their stomachs—”

“No, they did not!”

“And that when they attacked at the banquet, they killed everyone by spitting acid in their faces—”

“Ignore him, that’s not what happened!” Roman insisted, before launching himself at his brother.

“Admit it, it sounds better!” Remus shouted to the rest, as Roman pummeled him to the ground.

The two tussled, holding back laughter as they growled without any true malice. Life was simpler back then—when his greatest worry was keeping Remus from spreading misinformation to impressible young minds.

*holds teenage Remus and Roman gently in my hands* look at how young and untraumatized these two are. Also something to note is I had Roman blatantly give the moral of the story which is “we wolves must stay wary of humans--because they’re wily and are always trying to find insidious ways to circumvent the curse they brought upon themselves”

yes my most favorite trope is non-humans viewing humans as monsters and vice versa.

The Blood

Original:

It was because of that story and many others, that Roman was guarded by the human’s presence. Although, it wasn’t just the stories that caused him to be wary. Roman could never forget the blood that was spilled that day. Blood that stained the snow scarlet red. Blood that dripped down from the gleaming silver of their weapons. Blood that doused Roman’s hair as he laid across his father’s corpse, screaming for him to wake up—

“Uh, can I help you?”

It took every ounce of Roman’s being not to claw the human’s face off, not to mention withhold a scream.

Somewhere during his reminisces, the human awoken. He sat up against the headboard of the bed, arms crossed as he glared up at Roman. He hardly looked like a threat with that greasy hair and boney frame. But Roman knew better than to assume otherwise.

His instincts howled at him that the human was a threat that needed to be eliminated. But Roman refused to be like those homines—he would not kill this human in cold blood.

“Yes,” Roman breathed in as he clasped his hands behind his back, “I need you to promise me something or least I can’t let you leave here alive.”

The human’s eyes widened. “Wh-what—?!”

Revision:

Now Roman had his own sacred tale to tell. It was one he didn’t want to repeat—one he’d rather change its ending to be anything what it was. But he could not change it. Instead, he held onto every detail, unaltered and unmodified. He would always remember the screaming, the howling of that tale.

The blood was not easily forgettable. The image frozen in his mind, not easily thawed. Of the blood that stained the snow a horrid scarlet. Blood that dripped down from the gleaming silver of their weapons. Blood that dribbled from his brother’s mouth as he howled, leading them away from discovering Roman in the underbrush. Blood that doused Roman’s hands as he laid across his father’s corpse, wailing for him to wake up—

“Uh, can I help you?”

It took every bit of Roman’s being not to claw the human’s face or to even withhold a surprised yelp. Somewhere during his reminisces, the human awoken. He sat up against the bed’s headboard, arms crossed as he glared up at Roman. With his greasy hair and boney frame, he didn’t look like a threat.

Roman’s instincts knew better. It growled at him, demanding that he eliminate the intruder that encroached on his pack’s territory. But Roman refused to be like humans and their predecessors—he would not kill in cold blood.

“Yes, actually,” Roman said, inhaling a deep breath as he clasped his hands together, “I need you to promise me something, or at else I cannot allow you to leave here alive.”

The human flinched, “Wh-what–?!”

*claps* look we did it, we gave the overall chapter more weight, because we built up to the whole concept of “Roman grew up being taught oral history by adults in his life with the expectation of passing down their stories/experiences alongside his own to future generations and wow, he has some stories he wish he could change the endings to”

Patton’s in the House

I didnt change too much in this section, other than tightening up some characterization. 

Original:

Patton clasped his hands together, “Fantastic! Now, Roman, would you be willing to check on the cinnamon rolls baking the oven? I’ll let you do the frosting!”

Roman saw past that innocent façade of Patton’s to know the paternal figure was intentionally trying to get him to leave the room. He hesitated a moment, not wanting to let Patton be alone with the human. Patton seemed to pick up on this, as his eyes grew softer and his lips silently formed two words.

Trust me.

He sighed before clearing his throat, “I will save your cinnamon rolls from the fiery furnaces and they shall be the most frostiest cinnamon rolls in all the lands!”

Roman clutched his fist in the air as he struck a triumphant pose. The human simply raised an eyebrow, expectantly unappreciative of Roman’s theatrics. Patton beamed as he leaned over to tussle Roman’s hair playfully.

“Awesome! I knew I could count on you, kiddo!”

“Patton, you messed up my hair!” Roman complained, although there was no real malice to it.

“Aw sorry, it looks like you’re a hairy situation.”

Before Roman could groan at Patton’s pun, a muffled sound erupted from the bedside. The two looked over to see a hand over the human’s mouth as he coughed.

Revision:

Patton clapped his hands together, “Fantastic! Now, Roman, would you be willing to check on the cinnamon rolls baking in the oven? I’ll let you do the frosting!”

It was a flimsy ill-disguised attempt to get Roman to leave the room. He dug clenched fists into his jean pockets. He didn’t want to leave Patton—not after what occurred the last time Patton was left alone with a human in their dwelling.

Patton placed a hand on his shoulder. His lips silently formed two words.

Trust me.

Roman trusted Patton. Time and time again, he proved his loyalty to Roman and Logan. He would not ever choose a human over either of them. He was also capable of defending himself from a human should Virgil attack him. So even if Roman disagreed with keeping a human in their house, he had to continue trusting Patton.

He sighed before clearing his throat, “Alright, I will save your cinnamon rolls from the fiery furnaces, and they shall be the most frostiest cinnamon rolls in all the lands!”

Roman clutched his fist in the air as he struck a pose of triumph. The human simply raised an eyebrow, expectantly unappreciative of Roman’s theatrics. It didn’t matter—all of it was for Patton, an indirect admission of forgiveness—of ‘I’m sorry I upset you, can we be good now?’

Patton thankfully picked up on it. He laughed as he leaned over to tousled Roman’s hair playfully.

“Awesome! I knew I could count on you, kiddo!”

“Patton, you messed up my hair!” Roman complained, although with no real malice to those words.

“Aw sorry, it looks like you’re a hairy situation.”

Before Roman could groan at Patton’s pun, a muffled sound erupted from the bedside. The two looked over to see a hand over the human’s mouth as he coughed.

Something I love writing is characters who are close enough that they don’t need to outright say some things for them to both understand where they are coming from. Also, I don’t think this will ever get picked up on by readers but Virgil coughing at this part? He was most definitely trying not to laugh at Patton’s cheesy pun so he forced a cough instead. 100% canon. 

#werewolf au