#mull' on lupa

[dick-chugger]

Anteeks, mutta "Edelleen poliittinen ja vitun korrekti" on paras laini missään Palefacen biisissä ikinä

"Life's a bitch, mut mä taistelen sen lutkan puolest" on hyvä kakkonen

#paleface #mull' on lupa #suomi #suomitumppu #suomipaskaa #suomitumblr #suomirap #for english followers: im talking about a finnish singer #snd how his two best lines in any songs are: #'still political and fucking correct' #and #'lifes a bitch but i fight for that slut'

[ruttotohtori]

Mitä ihmettä :o kyl meillä maksettii mun tililtä (jonnekka siis lapsilisät meni) joitain koko perheen menoja (ja äiti siis aina kerto mulle, et "tämä juttu on maksettu sun tilin rahoilla) ja esim. vuonna 2006 ku meiän kuvaputkitelevisio yllättäen hajos ni vanhemmat osti meille uuden, litteän (!) telkkarin mun tilin rahoilla (välil ku oli erimielisyyttä et mitä kanavaa katotaa, ni sanoin, et mä päätän ku mun TV :D)

Hämmentää myös tämä kohta:

Alaikäisen lapsen nimissä olevalta tililtä saa maksaa hänen harrastusmaksujaan tai vaikkapa ajokortin kulut. Autonkin voi ostaa, kunhan sen rekisteröi lapsen nimiin. Sen sijaan sisaruksen uutta polkupyörää ei saa maksaa toisen lapsen tililtä. Vaikka lapsi saisi suuren perinnön tai arpajaisvoiton, hänen rahoillaan ei voi kustantaa koko perhettä lomamatkalle. Oman matkansa osuuden lapsi voi maksaa. Huoltaja ei voi myöskään lainata rahaa oman lapsensa tililtä, sillä edunvalvoja ei voi päättää lainan myöntämisestä itselleen. Jos lainalle olisi hyvät perusteet, huoltajan pitää hakea itselleen sijainen lapsen edunvalvojaksi. Uusi edunvalvoja päättää, onko rahan lainaamisen alaikäisen edun mukaista. Lainaamiseen on myös haettava lupa Digi- ja väestötietovirastolta. Edes perheen taloustilanteen muuttuminen ei riitä perusteeksi siirtää rahoja lapsen tililtä vanhempien tai koko perheen käyttöön. Lähtökohtaisesti vanhemman on vastattava lapsen elatuksesta. Mikäli huoltajan taloustilanne on vakavasti heikentynyt, alaikäisen tilille säästettyjä rahoja voidaan käyttää hänen omaan elatukseensa, mutta ei koko perheen arjen pyörittämiseen.

Yhel tuttavaperheel oli ollu sillee, et vanhemmalle ei myönnetty toimeentulotukea, koska alaikäsellä lapsella oli tilillä paljon rahaa (muut sukulaiset oli siis sen tilin lapselle avannu ja säännöllisesti laittanu sinne rahaa, tarkotuksena, että lapsi saisi ne käyttöönsä täytettyään 18v) ja Kela oli sitä mieltä, että lapsen tilin rahat on ensin käytettävä koko perheen elämän kustantamiseen ja vasta sen jälkeen voi vanhempi saada toimeentulotukea, eli siis Kela toimi väärin?

#yle

[pupucino]

meinasin alkaa viime yönä itkeä, ku mietin vähä liikaa sitä, et mitä jos mun kumppanil on syöpä ja se kuolee

mut sit olinki taas oman elämäni koominen sivuhahmo, ku aloin selittää, et sen täytyy testamentata mut jolleki mun kaverille ja jättää saatteeks joku 500 sivun hoito-ohje, et kui mun kans selvitään, eikä mun kaverit edes aavista, et mä oon niin rajoitteinen, et tarviin tyyliin omaishoitajan (mikä on vain osittain vitsi)

se myös lupas ehdottaa viimisenä toiveenaan mulle uutta nimeä, joka mun on pakko vaihtaa, koska kuolevan viimeinen toive pitää toteuttaa

itkin kuitenki täst puhuessani

#suomeksi #suomitumppu #hullujen hommat

[duckit7]

In a Dire situation 2

The night had a chill to it as Lupa shoved her hands in her pockets and walked down the street to her small apartment. Hans regrated starting out far from her neck. He could feel the warmth radiating off of her but from his current position he couldn’t reap the benefits. Lupa could feel him shiver on her shoulder.

“You know you can move closer if you want. I’m a little warmer than the night.” She said turning her head slightly to look back at the small man. Hans jumped slightly at her words before complying. “This kind of feels like old times.” Lupa said with a smile looking up at the stars.

Hans pressed himself tight against her neck. He nodded and smiled to himself. ‘It did kind of feel like old times’ he thought.

“So what brings you to Camp Saber?” Lupa asked still staring at the sky.

Hans let out a sigh. “I… well… I kinda have a big favor to ask you…” Hans said fiddling with his fingers.

“Oh? And what would that be?” Hans could hear the eyebrow raise in her voice.

“Well um… you see there is this pack of wolves that moved into town about a year or two after you left… and well they kinda have become the mob of the town. All of us have to pay to them or we pay the cost…” Hans said nervously.

Lupa mulled over his words. “I’m guessing the cops are no help?” she asked.

“Correct… Coyotes may be predators, but they are nothing compared to the wolves. The whole pack even has the bear family paying them…” Hans said.

“Mmm…” Lupa said thinking. They were quiet for a few moments before Lupa spoke up, “So you want me to come home and run them out of town basically.”

“Yeah… That’s what we were kind of hoping. None of us stand a chance against them, but we were hoping that you would…” Hans said.

“What will they do if you don’t pay?” Lupa asked.

Hans let out a deep sigh, “Kill the kids one by one till we pay…”

Lupa let out a sharp breath. “When are they collecting next?” there was slight anger in her voice.

“Less than two weeks.” Hans said nervously.

“Alright. I’ll help you.” Lupa said. Hans’s heart stopped. “I work tomorrow, but we can head home Sunday if you want. Unless you need to get back sooner. Did you drive here?” she continued as she unlocked the door to her apartment building.

Hans didn’t answer. Tears started to stream down his face.

“Hans?” Lupa asked as she stopped in the hallway. She could hear soft sobs coming from her shoulder. Lupa brought her hand up to softly wrap her fingers around his small torso, pulling him down to face her. She could see him wince as her thumb touched his chest so she instead cupped him with two hands behind him to support him.

Hans curled into a little ball and proceeded to cry. His body demanded the release. People started walking down the hall towards them so Lupa softly placed Hans on her chest as she walked to her apartment. “Shhh… Let it out. Everything is going to be ok.” She said stroking his back softly. A smile graced her face when she felt his little hands grab the fabric of her flannel as he buried his face into her chest.

He was small. A lot smaller than she remembered. Before he would ride on her shoulders like a child would with their parents. Now he was barely as long as her forearm with his tail. ‘Oh Hans… What happened…’ she thought.

Lupa slid into her apartment, locking the door behind her. She walked to the couch where she laid down with Hans still secured to her. He pushed himself up as he wiped his nose with his sleeve. He then looked at Lupa, tears still falling down his face.

“Hey Hans.” She said wiping some tears away with her paw. “Just let it out. Ok? I’m here for ya.” She said genuinely.

“Thank you Lupa.” Hans said throwing his body against hers in a hug. Lupa softly placed her hand on him as she started mindlessly rubbing his back with her fingers.

They sat there in silence for a long while before Hans pulled away slightly to look up at her and said, “Thank you Lupa. For not changing. I was really worried that when I came you would be different. That you would look at me like all other apex predators did. But you don’t. You never did. You look at me as a person, not just prey.”

Lupa’s heart melted. “Hans, you are my best friend. From now until the end of time. I still remember you were the only one who wanted to be friends with me growing up. Everyone else was too afraid.” She said still stroking Hans’s back. He had stopped crying by now and seemed to be relaxing.

“Looking at you now days they were right to be terrified of you! You are huge.” Hans jested.

Lupa rolled her eyes. “Har Har Har. Yes, I may have grown slightly.” Lupa started.

“Slightly? Slightly is an inch or two. Nah you grew not one, but multiple of me!” Hans said propping his elbows on Lupas chest and resting his head in his hands while looking up at her with a sly smile.

Lupa ruffled Hans’s hair with her paw. “Do I still scare you?” she asked as she started to massage his little body.

Hans shook his head, “No not really. Not anymore. Lupa?”

Hans could feel Lupa hum through her chest in reply.

“I missed you. Even the extra two to three feet I didn’t know existed.” He quipped.

Lupa smiled, “I missed you too Hans. And don’t worry, I’m gonna make sure nothing happens to you. Even if it kills me.”

“I don’t think anything can kill you Lupa.” Hans said with a sleepy smile.

Lupa raised an eyebrow, “If you are anything like the Hans I use to know then you and your antics can kill me. Now I don’t know about you but it has been a long day and some sleep might be good for the both of us.”

“You might be right…” Hans said rolling over wincing at the deep gashes still on his chest. With all the excitement and adrenaline he forgot about them.

Lupa noticed and sat up slightly to get a better look at him. “Hey Hans, what’s the matter? Are you hurt?” worry thick in her voice.

Hans waved her off. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing.” She said skeptically. “Sure you don’t want me to take a look?”

Hans shook his head. “Don’t worry a pretty little hair on your head over me. I’ll be fine. See.” He said patting his torso hard. Wincing when it was harder than he knew he could take.

Lupa narrowed her eyes at him. “Hans you are a shitty liar you know that right? Come on, let me take a look.”

Hans tried to back away but Lupa’s hands were too quick as she held him firm but gently in place and raised his shirt. Hans held his breath as Lupa stared at him in shock. His wound had broken open and there were trace amounts of blood seeping through the gauze that covered his chest.

“Hans what happened?” she asked with growing worry.

“It was nothing… Just a small scratch is all.” He said trying but failing to push Lupa’s paw away.

Lupa sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Look Hans. You can keep your secrets, but this isn’t nothing and I have a feeling I am not going to like the real story behind it. But I wont press further. We should probably clean and rebandage this. That I will not budge on.” she said looking him dead in the eye.

Hans put his hands up in defeat. “Fine. Not like I can stop you from doing whatever you want.” there was a slight bitterness in his voice.

“Hans, I’m not going to force you to do anything. Yes, I am bigger than you but I don’t want to push you around. You are your own person. I’m being pushy with this because I care about you. A lot actually. I’m not trying to be demeaning I’m just worried that if we don’t take care of this it’s going to get worse.” Lupa said trying to keep her voice steady and calm.

Hans let out a long sigh, “You are right… I’m sorry Lupa… I’ve been having bad experiences with predators as of late and unfairly assumed you were doing what they do… Again, I’m sorry…”

Lupa snorted a laugh, “It’s ok. You have been through a lot so I can’t really blame you. Now let’s get this taken care of.”

#g/t #hurt/comfort #angst #Lupa and Hans #dire situation #duck it

[maulz]

TERIMAKASIH!!! Kesan dan pesan tahun 2023

“ Belajar banyak hal, mendapatkan teman baru, saudara baru, dan bertemu banyak orang-orang baru. Tahun 2023 ini akhirnya dihabiskan di kota Yogyakarta. Setidaknya tahun ini sesuai sedikit dengan Impian saya dulu untuk kembali ke tahan jawa yang saya azzamkan di tahun 2018 waktu dalam perjalanan kereta dari kota Malang untuk pulang ke Riau waktu masa magang dan studi exchange ke UB selesai. Pesan: Jangan berubah harus menjadi orang baik dan teruslah belajar banyak hal.”

“ Tetap semangat di tahun 2024 semoga konsisten terus dan bisnisnya lancar terus, kalau bisa buka cabang di Riau”

“Awalnya tidak mengenal, kemudian disatukan di Angkatan yang sama, menjadi salah satu orang yang paling dewasa diantara teman seangkatan. Apalagi Ketika disatukan dalam satu tim bisnis, ya walaupun gak lama, kurang lebih hampir 2 bulan. Disitu ada beberapa hal yang baru aku ketahui. Misalnya dalam hal kepemimpinan, tanggung jawab, rasa kepedulian terhadap oranglain. Tetap semangat, focus pad ahal yang ingin kamu capai, focus dengan tim dan teruslah bertumbuh denga tim saat ini.”

“Semoga bang Langkah-langkahmu selalu diberkati dan dalam naungan Allah SWT, semoga terus kejar itu target dan Impian mu itu semoga perlahan bisa terselesaikan.. aamiin”

“Mas Mulyono itu punya banyak skill, punya sifat positif yang banyak kek gak punya rasa sedih atau episode jelek kalo aku liat”

“Tidak ada kata lain selain baik dan dapat 2 ibu jari tangan (gak bisa lebih karena tangannya Cuma 2) dan masakannya enak”

“Tetap jadi Mulyono yang rendah hati dan berjiwa social tinggi. Aku terkesan pada rasa tanggungjawabmu terhadap apa-apa yang kamu lakukan. Belajar untuk tegas dan kurangi rasa gak enakmu ya. Kita memang tidak bisa membahagiakan hati semua orang, tapi kita harus tetap mengambil semua Keputusan-keputusan hidup atas diri kita dan orang lain, minimal untuk orang-orang disekitar kita. Semangat terus untuk belajar dan bertumbuh di Satyalaksana. InsyaAllah kamu akan memanen apa yang kamu tanam dan semai disini demi peran terbaikmu dimuka bumi.”

“Kesan buat bang Mul apa ya bang.. aku kenal bang Mul tuh waktu jamboree 8 – jadi relawan patah tulang. Tapi ternyata emang jiwa relawan bang Mul tuh melekat ya : ) ) terus pertahankan ya. Pesannya: kuat-kuat bang Mull. Jaga kesehatan, Jangan lupa mengumpulkan bekal untuk di akhirat kelak.”

“Dear mas Mulyono, Aku jarang interaksi ya hehe. Tapi sepenglihatanku mas Mulyono ini baik banget, multitalent juga. Tapi ya kekurangannya kata bang Erpan sih kurang lucu hehe : ) *bercanda. Tapi ya gitulah, semoga semakin dikuatkan di tim yang sekarang ya, semoga makin dikuatkan di Satya juga.”

“Maaf banget, gomenasai. Akutuh baru kenal bang Mul pas piket masak hehe. Lama banget ngapalin nama + muka orang-orang disini, akusih denger-denger kata orang bang Mul ni terlalu baik dan pengalah orangnya apakah benar? >_<”

“Hi Bang Mul

Aku sudah mengakuimu jadi abangku, jadi kamu juga harus ngakuin aku adikmu wokay!! Terimakasih sudah sering membantu aku disini dan juga jadi teman ngobrol aku. Jangan bosan-bosan ya bang! Tetap berada di jalan yang lurus tidak boleh menyesatkan aku.”

“Buat mas Mul makasih mas karena dari mas aku bisa dapat hal yang baru entah itu tentang bisnis/ yang lainnya. Untuk pesannya kapan piket masak lagi mas? Pengen sotonya ._.”

“Aku kagum banget sih sama bang Mul soalnya baik banget, makasih ya bang Mul atas pelajarannya semoga kedepannya bisa sharing-sharing. Terus semangat bang Mul”

“Maaf banget nih bang kalau guyonanku sudah kelewatan. Tapi aku salut banget sih sama pak haji Ahmad ini sudah bersabar banget menjalani hidup-hidup ini, kayaknya aku gak bisa deh kalau aku jadi abang. Karena kekuatannya banyak banget kayaknya masalahnya. Semangat bang Mul, tetap menjadi orang sabar semoga yang disemogakan bang Mul dapat tercapai tetap semangat dan selalu menjadi dirimu yang baik dimanapun kamu ditempatkan.”

“Kesan dan pesan bang Mul jiwa sosialnya tinggi banget, aku terinspirasi atas keikhlasan, rendah hati, samean udah aku anggap abangku. Semoga hal baik selalu menyertai samean dimanapun dan kapanpun.”

#catatan #akhirtahun #2023

[isokarhuni]

Vittu mikä fiilis

Siis ihan helvetin hyvältä tuntuu, että oon nyt vihdoin tekemässä tätä asiaa. Sitä on jotenkin vaikee selittää, että mikä tarkalleen on eri tavalla kuin koko elämäni. Porukat kysyi että kuinka kauan oon tiennyt tän, ja laskin että varmaan noin 28 vuotta oon asiaa tietoisesti ajatellut. Ja miksen sitten aiemmin ole tehnyt asialle mitään? Koska vaikka sukupuoli ei ole itsessään ollut mulle mikään ison kriiseilyn aihe, niin nää on:

- sen myöntäminen, että haluaisin olla toisenlainen ja koen tarvitsevani muutosta

- ympäristön kohtaaminen siinä asiassa

Lisäksi, kun on koko elämänsä elänyt ajatuksella että mulla ei ole mitään väliä, ja mun tarpeet ja toiveet on aina pois joltakulta muulta ja aiheuttaa vaivaa, ei ole ollut mahdollista sanoittaa näitä asioita edes minään tarpeina. Nyt mä olen ekaa kertaa elämässäni siinä pisteessä henkisesti, että mä olen ihan yhtä tärkeä kuin kuka vaan, ja erityisesti että mä haluan tehdä tästä ainoasta elämästäni itselleni niin hyvän kuin vain mahdollista - saada olla sellainen kuin olen. Eikä mun tarvitse pysytellä poissa ja olla mahdollisimman näkymätön ja vaivaton.

Tää mitä teen tuntuu niin syvästi ja juurta jaksaen oikealta, että oon tosi onnellinen kun oon vihdoinkin ymmärtänyt tän asian itestäni. Ja nyt en siis tarkoita asialla sukupuolta, vaan sitä että mä olen arvokas ja validi ja mulla on lupa tehdä tää itselleni.

Se kyllä tosta vaivattomuudesta/vaivalloisuudesta on sanottava, että en oikein tiedä mitä mun pitää tehdä kun joku joka tietää, sanoo mun nimen väärin. Oltiin eilen NL:llä ja se sanoi mun vanhaa nimeä, ja oli siitä hirveän nolona. Se pyysi, että voitteko korjata aina kun se sanoo sen, että se oppisi. Mä sanoin vaan että joo ja ei mitään hätää oikeesti, en mä loukkaannu ja kyl mä itekin sanon sitä ihan jatkuvasti. Huomaan, että siitä korjaamisesta tulee mulle just se tunne että mä oon vaivalloinen ja teen hirveen numeron itestäni. Vaikka siis jos ite sanoisin jonkun toisen nimeä jatkuvasti väärin eikä kukaan korjais, niin oisin ihan vitun mortified kun tajuaisin asian. Mut silti...en vaan haluis asettaa ystäviä sellaseen kiusalliseen tilanteeseen, että skannaan ja osoittelen niitä virheistä. Haluisin välittää kaikille, että mä kyllä tiedän että ne on mun puolella. Haluisin niin kovasti viestiä kaikille, että ei tässä oikeasti ole mitään hätää ja tää siirtymäaika on ihan kaikille, myös minulle, harjoittelun aikaa. Lisäksi musta tuntuu, että käännän keskustelun itseeni ja transasiaan joka tilanteessa, jos korjaan toisen puhetta. Tää on varmaan jotain sisäistettyä "tarviiks sitä hieroo meidän kunnon ihmisten naamaan" ajattelua.

SR sanoi mulle näin:

"tuntuu samalla tosi pahalta, et oot joutunut/joudut ihan kohtuuttoman paljon huomioimaan muita ihmisiä tässä kaiken keskellä!"

Sitähän se kaapista tuleminen on. Alituista tilannearvioo, valmistautumista kysymyksiin ja vastaanottoon, toisen reaktion ymmärtämistä. Lohduttamista ja vakuuttelua siitä, että älä huoli kyllä sä ihan hyvin osaat ja en mä loukkaannu, kyllä mä ymmärrän mitä sä tarkoitat. Mua surettaa, että vähemmistöjen kunnioittaminen on keikahtanut niin vahvasti virheiden pelkäämisen puolelle, ihan kuin se ihmissuhteen dynamiikka muuttuisi salamaniskusta joksikin vitun esteradaksi jossa tulee huutia jokaisesta väärästä termistä. Parilla tyypillä ensireaktio on ollutkin puhdas ahdistus siitä, että tulevat sanomaan asioita väärin ja loukkaamaan mua tietämättömyydellään. En mä oikein osaa sanoa siihen muuta, kuin että kyllä mä osaan erottaa aidon välittämisen ja tietämättömyydestä tulevat mokat pahantahtoisuudesta. Se on ylilauta-oikeistotrollien onnistunutta snowflake-diskurssia, että vähemmistöt olisi jotain vitun kireitä termipoliiseja valmiina laittamaan välit poikki ekasta väärästä sanasta. Niinkun mitä vittua, ymmärrättekste natsit yhtään miten paljon me tarvitaan meidän läheisten tukea ja rakkautta. Ei se ole niin hauras se ihmisten välinen yhteys, että sitä olisi mahdollista rikkoa väärän termin sanomisella. Niinkun oikeesti kertoo ehkä enemmän teidän ihmissuhteista, jos asia on näin.

Ja kyllä mä uskon, että se nimi tarttuu ihmisten huulille ja puheeseen ajan mittaan - itsenikin. Vielähän mä paljon käytän sitä vanhaakin nimee, koska se on edelleen se virallinen ja esim. työelämässä edelleen käytössä. Mun alkuperäinen ajatus oli, että vaihdan nimen ja hetun sitten kun aloitan testot, mutta ehkäpä mä vaan muutan sen sitten, kun nimidysforia käy ylitsepääsemättömäksi, vaikka en vielä ulkoisesti näyttäisikään nimeltäni.

[taking-thyme]

Pagan Holidays: Lupercalia

For those who are unaware, Lupercalia is the Roman origins of Valentine's Day. It doesn't get much press in modern paganism, which has always bummed me out, as someone born on Valentine’s Day. The original Roman holiday was quite bloody and perverse, but that doesn’t mean we can’t put a modern spin on it. So, here’s my personal guide to all those who wish to celebrate it too!

Origins

It was traditionally celebrated by sacrificing male goats and dogs, and the priests who performed the ceremony would be smeared in their blood. It was a holiday dedicated to fertility, romance and sex. Other common celebrations of Lupercalia included matchmaking and “coupling” in the hopes of warding off evil spirits and infertility.

Date: February 13th - 15th

Colors: Red, Pink, White (often represented by Blood and Milk)

Symbols: Lupa (The she-wolf who raised Romulus and Remus), Wolves, Blood, Cupid/Eros, Hearts

Gods and Goddesses: Aphrodite, Pan, Lupa, Dionysus, Lupercus, Bast, Hathor, Inari, Freyr, Freya, Thor

Scents: Rose, Amber, Cherry, Jasmine, Sandalwood

Herbs: Cherry, Peach, Vanilla, Pepper, Bay, Cinnamon, Bindweed, Ivy, Rose, Rosemary, Basil, Pistachio and other nuts and seeds, Violets (Sapphic Love), Peppermint, Pumpkin

Animals: Wolf, Stag, Deer, Horse, Rabbit, Bull, Dove, Dolphin, Ladybug, Swan, Grasshoppers, Robin, Beaver, Duck, Bear, Hare, Fox, Serpents

Food: Goat meat and cheese, Milk, Cinnamon cakes, Dried Fruit, Apple Cider, Mulled Wine, Gingerbread, Chocolate, Oysters, Honey, Hot Chilies, Red Ginseng Tea

Spellwork: Fertility, Love, Lust, Health, Banishing, Attraction, Matchmaking, Blessings, Blood Magic (only if you’re safe and comfortable)

Activities:

Hold a feast!

Play Matchmaker

Eat some lamb or goat meat

Bake some heart-shaped treats with maraschino cherries!

Go on a date

Watch your favorite chick flicks and romance movies! I personally recommend Mean Girls

Play some games with close friends or your partner

Go to a wild animal sanctuary, especially for wolves

Go hiking

Write an enchanted love letter

Compliment people and do something nice for others

Decorate your altar with love symbols for Lupercalia

Make a list of red flags and standards for a potential partner

#lupercalia #paganism #lupercalia paganism #wheel of the year #holiday #pagan holidays #valentine's day #valentine #sabbat #pagan sabbat

[museannexarchive]

@fullofmemories asked: " why do you care so much about me? "

Why did she care so much about her?

Lupa stayed silent as she mulled over an answer - unsure of what to say. She couldn’t say that she saw herself in Katrina because... she didn’t even remember who she was. She saw enough of herself in her because of HYDRA, but that was... it. And that answer didn’t sound like a good enough one to use. Did Katrina remind her of someone she had known? Someone she had lost? She couldn’t even answer those questions, either.

But she did feel for her. She had heard enough about her while they had both still be in HYDRA - heard how she had been tricked into signing on. How she had been a runaway. Although she knew little of Katrina’s personal life, she could tell it hadn’t been a good one. And it was enough for her to want to protect her - to somehow try and make things better for her in whatever ways she could. Because she was a kid and she should’ve been protected--

Had there been someone she was supposed to protect? Was she projecting that onto Katrina? To try and make right to someone she couldn’t remember?

“I don’ r’member anythin’ ‘bout my past, but I think you remin’ me of someo’e. Pe’haps m’self, but I don’ know. I know y’re a good kid, though, an’ I don’ know much ‘bout y’r past, but I know you deser’e bet’r. You de’l’ wi’h a lot, an’ I know wha’ that’s like. I don’ wan’ you goin’ through that alon’.”

#fullofmemories #m; lupa #asks

[movienightstheseries]

How the West was Fun (1994) (Movie Nights)

Mary-Kate & Ashley have to save their great godmother's ranch from evil Martin Mull!

You can support the show (and see videos before everyone else) on Patreon!

Movie Nights Playlist

#mary-kate & ashley #olsen twins #movie nights #martin mull #allison pregler #obscurus lupa #phelous #phelan porteous #how the west was fun

[hargajointsflexa]

Jointsflexa Ulasan Asli - Nyeri Sendi & Dukungan Mobilitas?

Anda tidak harus canggih untuk menggunakan Jointsflexa dan juga Anda harus memberikan hal ini beberapa pemikiran. Akhir-akhir ini saya telah diresapi dengan hasrat nyata untuk Jointsflexa. LMAO, tapi aku menghormati teori yang luar biasa ini. Mereka menggila di sana. Yang pasti, cukup sulit untuk teralihkan. Apa yang saya miliki adalah ketidaksenangan tentang Jointsflexa. Ini benar, apakah Anda ingin mengakui itu atau tidak. Ini adalah banyak pendapat yang merangsang. Akan masuk akal jika aku tidak boleh merunduk sebaik mungkin. Saya ingin berbagi beberapa pengalaman pribadi di Jointsflexa.

Saya menduga Jointsflexa, seperti yang ada saat ini, cukup mengerikan. Itu telah menjadi hadiah mewah. Ada perbedaan. Sebagai ide terakhir saya terbukti, Jointsflexa adalah besar. Jointsflexa adalah yang paling penting khusus. Saya sangat terinformasi tentang Jointsflexa. Mungkin seseorang mungkin mengatakan ini sehubungan dengan Jointsflexa tetapi mereka akan salah. Dari mana remaja melahap dibedakan Jointsflexa hati-hati? Mereka memiliki berbagai pilihan di sana karena saya samar-samar menyebutkan bahwa seperti yang menyentuh Jointsflexa sebelumnya. Berikut cara memperbaiki Jointsflexa. Saya merasa Anda akan menemukan Jointsflexa mudah didekati tetapi juga ini bukan keputusan yang mudah. Ini adalah waktu untuk melangkah ke piring.

Saya pikir Jointsflexa adalah masa depan. Tepat, Anda mungkin perlu berhati-hati ketika mencoba itu. Bagi bos saya, Jointsflexa adalah solusi untuk dilemanya. Aku tidak bisa cukup menekankan ini. Anda memiliki sedikit kesempatan dalam hal ini. Mari kita jaga agar pendapat kita tetap ramah. Jointsflexa adalah klasik yang mapan.

JointsFlexa adalah crème de la crème. Itu datanya. Itu hanya untuk memastikan bahwa Jointsflexa Anda tidak berakhir di tong sampah setelah beberapa hari dan saya tidak semua yang akrab dengan Jointsflexa. Kontinjensi ini menunjukkan pasar yang mendukung pembeli Jointsflexa dan kami akan berpikiran luas. Semua orang membenci Jointsflexa yang membosankan. Aku tidak bisa memahaminya di zaman sekarang. Inti dari angsuran ini adalah untuk memungkinkan Anda menggunakan Jointsflexa meskipun Jointsflexa kurang ideal. Mengapa Jointsflexa mendesak bagi mereka? Itu studi yang lengkap. Hanya ada segelintir pikiran pintar dalam lingkup kegiatan ini. Ini sangat sehat. Saya memiliki beberapa tanggapan "ya" terhadap pertanyaan saya bersama dengan smattering tanggapan "tidak". Ini adalah pasar Jointsflexa baru.

Tolong lakukan apa yang kau bisa untuk mengakhiri kegilaan. Ini adalah kata-kata kasar yang jelas terhadap pengulas yang menganggap bahwa mengacu pada Jointsflexa. Aku tidak sabar untuk mencoba Jointsflexa. Terlepas dari segalanya, tidak masuk akal untuk hanya menemukan bahwa Jointsflexa tidak akan dapat menangani Jointsflexa. Aku harus mengundurkan diri dari melihat seolah-olah aku malas. Jointsflexa akan menjadi momen yang menentukan dalam sejarah Jointsflexa jika ada cukup waktu. Ini adalah pilihan sederhana. Kami hanya ingin melihat apa hasilnya. Saya lebih radikal daripada kebanyakan orang ketika itu berkaitan dengan Jointsflexa.

Bisakah Jointsflexa memberi Anda gaya hidup yang layak Anda dapatkan? Pembangunan Jointsflexa adalah salah satu aspek yang membuatnya berdiri terpisah dari Jointsflexa lainnya. Yang disebutkan di atas hanyalah beberapa contoh pengetahuan umum. Ini baik flip atau terbang saat ini. JointsFlexa harus beradaptasi untuk berkembang. Sejujurnya, kita bisa melakukannya tanpa pemimpin masa depan melihat perubahan. Ini adalah jenis kebiasaan dengan saya atau saya bukan untuk atau melawan Jointsflexa dalam konteks ini. Anda akan memiliki situasi Anda. Saya mencoba untuk memangkas beberapa dari anggaran Jointsflexa saya. JointsFlexa adalah untuk tawar-menawar sadar. Hei, alter ego saya menegaskan, "Semakin sedikit yang lebih baik." Ini benar-benar mahal. Anda harus mull atas yang dalam selera buruk. Mereka takut.

Namun, jika ada keadaan untuk Jointsflexa menjadi lebih kritis tetapi situasinya adalah bahwa Jointsflexa sangat generik Sehingga Anda dapat membuatnya di mana saja. Saya berharap semuanya tidak rumit seperti Jointsflexa tetapi juga dengan segala cara, ini tidak etis. Itu membuat tulangku kedinginan. Ini mewakili sangat kesempatan bagi kita. Jika Anda tidak bisa duduk dan tertawa keluar dari ini maka Anda mungkin terlalu lelah. Ada gobs dari jalan lain saya mendorong Anda untuk memeriksa menghormati Jointsflexa atau jointsflexa secara harfiah menggandakan nilai Jointsflexa Anda.

Di mana orang kepercayaan dapat mengungkap sesi Sterling Jointsflexa? Aku malu dengan Jointsflexa-ku. Aku pernah dibakar oleh Jointsflexa di masa lalu. Aku lupa apa yang kulakukan beberapa hari yang lalu. Saya berharap saya bisa kembali untuk tidak peduli relevan dengan Jointsflexa dan jika boleh, saya kira untuk berbicara dengan berani merujuk pada Jointsflexa. Ini adalah bagaimana menangani Jointsflexa. Aku ingat pergi ke seminar Jointsflexa beberapa bulan yang lalu.

https://www.jointsflexa.com/

#jointsflexa #jointsflexaulasan #jointsflexaharga #jointsflexakapsul #jointsflexaasli #jointsflexaindonesia

[flightfoot]

Useful Tyrant’s Tombs quotes

So I know I’m gonna be writing analyses on this book in the future, so I decided to go ahead and pull potentially useful quotations now so I don’t have to hunt for them and type them up later. I figure others might get some good use out of them too though, so I wanted to share them! (I’ll admit though, some of the quotations aren’t ones I think I might use, a few I just put because I really like them)

This song really wasn’t about me at all. (I know. I could hardly believe it, either.) It was “The Fall of Jason Grace”. In the last verses, I sang of Jason’s dream for Temple Hill, his plan to add shrines until ever god and goddess, no matter how obscure, was properly honored. (46)

I realized they weren’t just grieving for Jason. The song had unleashed their collective sorrow about the recent battle, their losses, which - given the sparseness of the crowd - must have been extreme. Jason’s song became their song. By honoring him, we honored all the fallen. (47)

I shuddered. “A caffeinated Meg. Just what I need. How long have I been out?”

“Day and a half.”

“What?!”

“You needed sleep. Also, you’re less annoying unconscious.” (55)

Her expression closed up like a hurricane shutter. “Nightmares. I woke up screaming a couple of times. You slept through it, but...” She picked a clod of dirt off her trowel. “This place reminds me of... you know”

I regretted I hadn’t thought about that sooner. After Meg’s experience growing up in Nero’s Imperial Household, surrounded by Latin-speaking servants and guards in Roman armor, purple banners, all the regalia of the old empire - of course Camp Jupiter must have triggered unwelcome memories. (56)

“Meg and I have been talking, the last day or so, while you were passed out - I mean, recovering - sleeping, you know. It’s fine. You needed sleep. Hope you feel better.”

Despite how terrible I felt, I couldn’t help but smile. “You’ve been very kind to us, Praetor Zhang. Thank you.” (58)

Frank must have read my pained expression.

“It would’ve been much worse if it hadn’t been for you,” he said, which only made me feel guiltier. “If you hadn’t sent Leo here to warn us. One day, out of nowhere, he just flew right in.”

“That must have been quite a shock,” I said. “Since you thought Leo was dead.”

Frank’s dark eyes glittered like they still belonged to a raven. “Yeah. We were so mad at him for making us worry, we lined up and took turns hitting him.”

“We did that at Camp Half-Blood too,” I said. “Greek minds think alike.” (63)

Frank took my arm gently. “One foot in front of the other. That’s the only way to do it.”

I had come here to support the Romans. Instead this Roman was supporting me. (71)

Millennia ago, I’d killed four of my father’s favorites because they had made the lightning bolt that killed my son Asclepius. (And because I couldn’t kill the actual murderer who was, ahem, Zeus). (73)

I had never been a fan of felines. They were self-centered, smug, and thought they owned the world. In other words... All right, I’ll say it. I didn’t like the competition. (76)

No. Of course. The legion had no high priest, no pontifex maximus. Their former auger, my descendant Octavian, had died in the battle against Gaia. (Which I had a hard time feeling sad about, but that’s another story.) Jason would’ve been the logical next choice to officiate, but he was our guest of honor. That meant that I, as a former god, was the ranking spiritual authority. I would be expected to lead the funeral rites. (87)

The golden eagle of the Twelfth loomed over my shoulder, charging the air with ozone. I imagined Jupiter speaking through its crackle and hum, like a voice over shortwave radio: YOUR FAULT. YOUR PUNISHMENT.

Back in January, when I’d fallen to earth, those words had seemed horribly unfair. Now, as I led Jason Grace to his final resting place, I believed them. So much of what had happened was my fault. So much of it could never be made right.

I meant to keep that promise, if I survived long enough. But in the meantime, there were more pressing ways I needed to honor Jason: by protecting Camp Jupiter, defeating the Triumvirate, and, according to Ella, descending into the tomb of an undead king. (88)

I began to speak, the Latin ritual verses pouring out of me. I chanted from instinct, barely aware of the words’ meanings. I had already praised Jason with my song. That had been deeply personal. This was just a necessary formality.

In some corner of my mind, I wondered if this was how mortal felt when they used to pray to me. Perhaps their devotions had been noting but muscle memory, reciting by rote while their minds drifted elsewhere, uninterested in my glory. I found the idea strangely... understandable. Now that I was mortal, why should I not practice nonviolent resistance against the gods, too? (91-92)

In the center, behind a marble altar, rose a massive golden statue of Dad himself: Jupiter Optimus Maximus, draped in a purple silk toga big enough to be a ship’s sail. He looked stern, wise, and paternal, though he was only one of those in real life.

Seeing him tower above me, lightning bolt raised, I had to fight the urge to cower and plead. I knew it was only a statue, but if you’ve ever been traumatized by someone, you’ll understand. It doesn’t take much to trigger those old fears: a look, a sound, a familiar situation. Or a fifty-foot-tall golden statue of your abuser - that does the trick. (94-95)

“My time,” I said. “For what, exactly?”

She nipped the air in annoyance. To be Apollo. The pack needs you.

I wanted to scream I’ve been trying to be Apollo. It’s not that easy! (95)

I stared up at Large Golden Dad.

Zeus had thrown me into the middle of all this trouble. He’d stripped me of my power, then kicked me to the Earth to free the Oracles, defeat the Emperors, and - Oh wait! I got a bonus undead king and a silent god, too! I hoped the soot from the funeral pyre was really annoying Jupiter. I wanted to climb up his legs and finger-write across his chest WASH ME! (98)

Lupa’s message seemed too good to be true. I could contact my fellow Olympians, despite Zeus’s standing orders that they shun me while I was human. I might even be able to invoke their aid to save Camp Jupiter. (98)

I studied the old prophecies set in the floor mosaic. I had lost friends to the Triumvirate. I had suffered. But I realized that Lupa suffered, too. Her Roman children had been decimated. She carried the pain of all their deaths. Yet she had to act strong, even as her pack faced possible extinction.

You couldn’t lie in Wolf. But you could bluff. Sometimes you had to bluff to keep a grieving pack together. What do mortals say? Fake it till you make it? That is a very wolfish philosophy. (99)

Seeing her again, my heart twisted. She had once been a lovely young woman - bright, strong-willed, passionate about her prophetic work. She had wanted to change the world. Then things between us soured... and I had changed her instead.

Her appearance was only the beginning of the curse I had set on her. It would get much, much worse as the centuries progressed. How had I put this out of my mind? How could I have been so cruel? The guilt for what I’d done burned worse than any ghoul scratch. (105)

“Put on your sheet.” Meg threw a toga in my face, which was not the nicest way to be woken up.

I blinked, still groggy, to the smell of smoke, moldy straw, and sweaty Romans lingering in my nostrils. “A toga? But I’m not a senator.”

“You’re honorary, because you used to be a god or whatever.” Meg pouted. “I don’t get to wear a sheet.” (108)

I got dressed, trying to remember how to fold a toga, and mulled over the things I’d learned from my dream. Number one: I was a terrible person who ruined lives. Number two: There was not a single bad thing I’d done in the last four thousand years that was not going to come back and bite me in the clunis, and I was beginning to think I deserved it. 

The Cumaen Sibyl. Oh Apollo, what had you been thinking?

Alas, I knew what I’d been thinking - that she was a pretty young woman I wanted to get with, despite the fact that she was my Sibyl. Then she’d outsmarted me, and being the bad loser that I was, I had cursed her.

No wonder I was now paying the price: tracking down the evil Roman king to whom she’d once sold her Sibylline Books. If Tarquin was still clinging to some horrible undead existence, could the Cumaean Sibyl be alive as well? I shuddered to think what she might be like after all these centuries, and how much her hatred for me would have grown. (109)

No one laughed or called me crazy. Gods didn’t intervene in demigod affairs often, but it did happen on rare occasions. The idea wasn’t completely unbelievable. On the other hand, no one looked terribly assured that I could pull it off.

A different senator raised his hand. “Uh, Senator Larry here, Third Cohort, Son of Mercury. So when you say help, do you mean like... battalions of gods charging down in their chariots, or more like the gods just giving their blessing, like, Hey, good luck with that, legion!?”

My old defensiveness kicked in. I wanted to argue that we gods would never leave our desperate followers hanging on like that. But, of course, we did. All the time. (119)

Frank looked crestfallen, which made me feel bad. I hadn’t meant to take out my frustrations on one of the few people who still called me Apollo unironically. (121)

I had loved everything about her - the way her hair had caught the sunlight, the mischievous gleam in her eyes, the easy way she smiled. She didn’t seem to care that I was a god, despite having given up everything to be my Oracle: her family, her future, even her name. Once she pledged to me, she was known simply as the Sibyl, the voice of Apollo.

But that wasn’t enough for me. I was smitten. I convinced myself it was love - the one true romance that would wash away all my past missteps. I wanted the Sibyl to be my partner throughout eternity. As the afternoon went on, I coaxed and pleaded.

“You could be so much more than my priestess,” I urged her. “Marry me!”

She laughed. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am! Ask for anything in return, and it’s yours.”

She twisted a strand of her auburn locks. “All I’ve ever wanted is to be the Sibyl, to guide the people of this land to a better future. You’ve already given me that. So, ha-ha, joke’s on you.”

“But - but you’ve only got one lifetime!” I said. “If you were immortal, you could guide humans to a better future forever, at my side!”

She looked at me askance. “Apollo, please. You’d be tired of me by the end of the week.”

“Never!”

“So, you’re saying” - she scooped up two heaping handfuls of sand - “if I wished for as many years of life as there are grains of this sand, you would grant me that.”

“It is done!” I pronounced. Instantly, I felt a portion of my own power flowing into her life force. “And now, my love-”

“Whoa, whoa!” She scattered the sand, clambering to her feet and backing away as if I were suddenly radioactive. “That was a hypothetical, lover boy! I didn’t agree- “

“What’s done is done!” I rose. “A wish cannot be taken back. Now you must honor your side of the bargain.”

Her eyes danced with panic. “I-I can’t. I won’t!”

I laughed, thinking she was merely nervous. I spread my arms. “Don’t be afraid.”

“Of course I’m afraid!” She backed away farther. “Nothing good ever happens to your lovers! I just wanted to be your Sibyl, and now you’ve made things weird!”

My smile crumbled. I felt my ardor cooling, turning stormy. “Don’t anger me, Sibyl. I am offering you the universe. I’ve given you near-immortal life. You cannot refuse payment.”

“Payment?” She balled her hands into fists. “You dare think of me as a transaction?”

I frowned. This afternoon really wasn’t going the way I’d planned. “I didn’t mean- Obviously, I wasn’t-”

“Well, Lord Apollo,” she growled, “if this is a transaction, then I defer payment until your side of the bargain is complete. You said it yourself: near-immortal life. I’ll live until the grains of sand run out, yes? Come back to me at the end of that time. Then, if you still want me, I’m yours.”

I dropped my arms. Suddenly, all the things I’d loved about the Sibyl became things I hated: her headstrong attitude, her lack of awe, her infuriating, unattainable beauty. Especially her beauty.

“Very well.” My voice turned colder than any sun god’s should be. “You want to argue over the fine print of our contract? I promised you life, not youth. You can have your centuries of existence. You will remain my Sibyl.I cannot take those things away, once given. But you will grow old. You will wither. You will not be able to die.”

“I would prefer that!” Her words were defiant, but her voice trembled with fear.

“Fine!” I snapped.

“Fine!” she yelled back.

 I vanished in a column of flame, having succeeded in making things very weird indeed.

Over the centuries, the Sibyl had withered, just as I’d threatened. Her physical form lasted longer than any ordinary mortal’s, but the pain I had caused her, the lingering agony... Even if I’d had regrets about my hasty curse, I couldn’t have taken it back any more than she could take back her wish. Finally, around the end of the Roman Empire, I’d heard rumors that the Sibyl’s body had crumbled away entirely, yet she still could not die. Her attendants kept her life force, the faintest whisper of her voice, in a glass jar.

I assumed that her jar had been lost sometime after that. That the Sibyl’s grains of sand had finally run out. But what if I was wrong? If she were still alive, I doubted she was using her faint whisper of a voice to be a pro-Apollo social media influencer.

I deserved her hatred. I saw that now.

Oh, Jason Grace... I promised you I would remember what it was to be human. But why did human shame have to hurt so much? Why wasn’t there an off button? (131-134)

I had ruined every one of my relationships, brought nothing but destruction and misery to the young men and women I’d loved. (135)

“I appreciate a good boon as much as the next person. But if I’m going to contribute to this quest and not just cower in the corner, I need to know how” - my voice cracked “how to be me again.”

The vibration of the arrow felt almost like a cat purring, trying to sooth an ill human. ART THOU SURE THAT IS THY WISH?

“What do you mean?” I demanded. “That’s the whole point! Everything I’m doing is so-” (138)

I was tired of others keeping me safe. The whole point of consulting the arrow had been to figure out how I could get back to the business of keeping others safe. That used to be so easy with my godlike powers.

Was it, though? another part of my brain asked. Did you keep the Sibyl safe? Or Hyacinthus and Daphne? Or your own son Asclepius? Should I go on?

Shut up, me, I thought back. (140-141)

He laughed. “Just take care of yourself, okay? I don’t think I could handle a world with no Apollo in it.” 

His tone was so genuine it made me tear up. I’d started to accept that no one wanted Apollo back - not my fellow gods, not the demigods, perhaps not even my talking arrow. Yet Frank Zhang still believed in me.

Before I could do anything embarrassing - like hug him, or cry, or start believing I was a worthwhile individual - I spotted my three quest partners trudging toward us. (142)

As we passed a silver lake nestled between the hills, I couldn’t help thinking i as just the sort of place my sister would love. Oh, how I wished she would appear with her Hunters!

Despite our differences, Artemis understood me. Well, okay, she tolerated me. I longed to see her beautiful, annoying face again. That’s how lonely and pathetic I had become. (146-147)

What sort of parents would let their children ride such nightmarish creatures? Maybe Zeus, I thought. (150)

I now understood the lines from the Burning Maze: I would face death in Tarquin’s tomb, or a fate worse than death. But I would not allow my friends to perish too. (166)

Then I wondered if Lavinia simply felt more at home in the wild than she did at camp. She and my sister would get along fine (169)

Also, the way she was looking at me, I got the feeling that her grumpy facade might collapse into tears faster than Tarquin’s ceiling had crumbled. (169)

I saw and heard nothing, but I took Hazel’s word for it. “Go. You’ll move faster without me.”

“Not happening,” Meg said. (170)

Home. Such a wonderful word.

I had no idea what it meant, but it sounded nice.

[...]

I dreamed of homes. Had I ever really had one?

Delos was my birthplace, but only because my pregnant mother, Leto, took refuge there to escape Hera’s wrath. The island served as an emergency sanctuary for my sister and me, too, but it never felt like home anymore than the backseat of a taxi would fell like home to a child born on the way to a hospital.

Mount Olympus? I had a palace there. I visited for the holidays. But it always felt more like the place my dad lived with my stepmom.

The Palace of the Sun? That was Helios’s old crib. I’d just redecorated.

Even Delphi, home of my greatest Oracles, had originally been the lair of Python. Try as you might, you can never get the smell of old snakeskin out of a volcanic cavern.

Sad to say, in my four-thousand-plus years, the times I’d felt most at home had all happened during the past few months: at Camp Half-Blood, sharing a cabin with my demigod children; at the Waystation with Emma, Jo, Georgina, Leo, and Calypso, all of us sitting around the dinner table chopping vegetables from the garden for dinner; at the Cistern in Palm Springs with Meg, Grover, Mellie, Coach Hedge, and a prickly assortment of cactus dryads; and now at Camp Jupiter, where the anxious, grief-stricken Romans, despite their many problems, despite the fact that I brought misery and disaster wherever I went, had welcomed me with respect, a room above their coffee shop, and some lovely bed linens to wear.

These places were homes. Whether I deserved to be a part of them or not - that was a different question. (171-172)

Meg huffed, “It’s still light outside. You slept all day.”

“Not turning into a zombie is hard work.”

“I know!” she snapped. “I’m sorry!”

[...]

Just a few minutes ago, Meg had been happily insulting me and gorging on jelly beans. Now... was she crying?

“Meg.” I sat up, trying not to wince. “Meg, you’re not responsible for me getting hurt.

She twisted the ring on her right hand, then the one on her left, as if they’d become too small for her fingers. “I just thought... if I could kill him...” She wiped her nose. “Like in some stories. You kill the master, and you can free the people he’s turned.”

It took a moment for her words to sink in. I was pretty sure the dynamic she was describing applied to vampires, not zombies, but I understood what she meant.

“You’re talking about Tarquin,” I said. “You jumped into the throne room because... you wanted to save me?”

“Duh,” she muttered, without any heat.

I put my hand over my bandaged abdomen. I’d been so angry with Meg for her recklessness in the tomb. I’d assumed she was just being impulsive, reacting to Tarquin’s plans to let the Bay Area burn. But she’d leaped into battle for me - with the hope that she could kill Tarquin erase my curse. That was even before I’d realized how bad my condition was. Meg must have been more worried, or more intuitive, than she’d let on.

Which took all the fun out of criticizing her.

“Oh, Meg,” I shook my head. “That was a crazy, senseless stunt, and I love you for it. But don’t beat yourself up. Pranjal’s medicine bought me some extra time. And you did too, of course, with your cheese-grating skills and your magical chickweed. You’ve done everything you could. When we summon godly help, I can ask for complete healing. I’m sure I’ll be as good as new. Or at least, as good as a Lester can be.”

Meg tilted her head, making her crooked glasses just about horizontal.”How can you know? Is this god going to give us three wishes or something?”

I considered that. When my followers called, had I ever shown up and granted them three wishes? LOL, nope. Maybe one wish, if that wish was something I wanted to happen anyway.

[...]

“I don’t know, Meg,” I confessed. “You’re right. I can’t be sure everything will be okay. But I can promise you I’m not giving up. We’ve come this far. I’m not going to let a belly scratch stop us from defeating the Triumvirate.”

She had so much mucus dripping from her nostrils, she would’ve made Buster the unicorn proud. She sniffled, wiping her upper lip with her knuckle. “I don’t want to lose somebody else.”

My mental gears weren’t turning at full speed. I had trouble wrapping my mind around the fact that by “somebody else,” Meg meant me.

[...]

Now, aside from all the bad memories the Roman trappings of Camp Jupiter might have triggered for her, she was faced with the prospect of losing me. In a moment of shock, like a unicorn staring me right in the face, I realized that despite all the grief Meg gave me, and the way she ordered me around, she cared for me. For the past three months, I had been her one constant friend, just as she had been mine.

[...]

What a horribly insufficient friend I had been.

“Come here.” I held out my arms. “Please?”

Meg hesitated. Still sniffling, she rose from her cot and trudged toward me. She fell into my hug like I was a comfy mattress. I grunted, surprised by how solid and heavy she was. She smelled of apple peels and mud, but I didn’t mind. I didn’t even mind the mucus and tears soaking my shoulder.

I’d always wondered what it would be like to have a younger sibling. Sometimes I’d treated Artemis as my baby sister, since I’d been born a few minutes earlier, but that had been mostly to annoy her. With Meg, I felt as if it was actually true. I had someone who depended on me, who needed me around no matter how much we irritated each other. I thought about Hazel and Frank and the washing away of curses. I supposed that kind of love could come from many different types of relationships. (188-192)

Some of the pandai were young enough to have pure white fur, which made my head hurt, reminding me of my brief friendship with Crest, the youthful aspiring musician who’s lost his life in the Burning Maze. (193)

No matter what happened over the next twenty-four hours, I would not add to Meg’s worries. I would tough it out until the moment I keeled over.

Wow. Who even was I? (195)

she hesitated, then generously decided not to add except for Apollo, who slept through it all (199)

A third group sledded down a dirt hill on their shields.

Hazel sighed. “That would be my group of delinquents. If you’ll excuse me, I’m off to teach them how to slay ghouls.” (203)

I cleared my throat. I’d faced much bigger audience. Why was I so nervous? Oh, right. Because I was a horribly incompetent sixteen-year-old. (205)

I shot at the nearest target - then at the target next farthest out, then at the next - firing again and again in a kind of trance.

Only after my twentieth shot did I realize I’d landed all bull’s-eyes, two in each target, the farthest about two hundred yards away. Child’s play for Apollo. For Lester, quite impossible.

The legionnaires stared at me, their mouths hanging open. We’re supposed to do that?” Dakota demanded.

Lavinia punched my forearm. “See, you guys? I told you Apollo doesn’t suck that much!”

I had to agree with her. I felt oddly not suckish.

The display of marksmanship hadn’t drained my energy. Nor did it feel like the temporary bursts of godly power I’d experienced before. I was tempted to ask for another quiver to see if I could keep shooting at the same skill level, but I was afraid to press my luck. (205-206)

I’d spent a lot of time worrying about the fate of New Rome and Camp Jupiter, the Oracles, my friends, and myself. But these hackberries and crabgrasses deserved to live just as much. They, too, were facing death. They were terrified. If the emperors launched their weapons, they stood no chance. The homeless mortals with their shopping carts in People’s Park would also burn, right along with the legionnaires. Their lives were worth no less. (215)

Honestly, I didn’t know much about dryad life cycles, or how they protected themselves from climate disasters. Perhaps if I’d spent more time over the centuries talking to them and less time chasing them...

Wow. I really didn’t even know myself anymore. (216)

“Why does a strong friendship always have to progress to romance?” (228)

Whether I died today, or turned into a zombie, or somehow managed to live, I would rather face my fate with my conscience clear and no secrets. For one thing, I should tell Meg about my encounter with Peaches. I should also tell her I didn’t hate her. In fact, I liked her pretty well. All right, I loved her. She was the bratty little sister I’d never had. (232)

I crossed my arms. “Well, I’m glad we had this talk, so I could unburden myself of all the things you already knew. I was also going to say that you’re important to me and I might even love you like a sister, but-”

“I already know that, too.” She gave me a crooked grin, offering proof that Nero really should have taken her to the orthodontist when she was younger. “S’okay. You’ve gotten less annoying, too.” (243)

“Lester, I need intel,” she said. “Tell me how we defeat these things.”

“I don’t know!” I wailed. “Look, back in the old days, ravens used to be gentle and while, like doves, okay? But they were terrible gossips. One time I was dating this girl, Koronis. The ravens found out she was cheating on me, and they told me about it. I was so angry, I got Artemis to kill Koronis for me. Then I punished the ravens for being tattle-tales by turning them black.”

Reyna stared at me like she was contemplating another kick to my nose. “That story is messed up on so many level.”

“Just wrong,” Meg agreed. “You had your sister kill a girl who was cheating on you?”

“Well, I-”

“Then you punished the birds that told you about it,” Reyna added, “by turning them black, as if black was bad and white was good?”

“When you put it that way, it doesn’t sound right,” I protested. “It’s just what happened when my curse scorched them. It also made them nasty-tempered flesh-eaters.”

“Oh, that’s much better,” Reyna snarled.

“If we let the birds eat you,” Meg asked, “will they leave Reyna and me alone?”

“I- What?” I worried that Meg might not be kidding. Her facial expression did not say kidding. It said serious about the birds eating you. “Listen, I was angry! Yes, I took it out on the birds, but after a few centuries I cooled down. I apologized. By then, they kind of liked being nasty-tempered flesh-eaters. As for Koronis- I mean, at least I saved the child she was pregnant with when Artemis killed her. He became Asclepius, god of medicine!”

“Your girlfriend was pregnant when you had her killed?” Reyna launched another kick at my face. I managed to dodge it, since I’d had a lot of practice cowering, but it hurt to know that this time she hadn’t been aiming at an incoming raven. Oh, no. She wanted to knock my teeth in.

“You suck,” Meg agreed.

“Can we talk about this later?” I pleaded. “Or perhaps never? I was a god then! I didn’t know what I was doing!”

A few months ago, a statement like that would have made no sense to me. Now, it seemed true. I felt as if Meg had given me her thick-lensed rhinestone-studded glasses, and to my horror, they corrected my eyesight. I didn’t like how small and tawdry and petty everythin looked, rendered in perfect ugly clarity through the magic of Meg-O-Vision. Most of all, I didn’t like the way I looked - not just present-day Lester, but the god formerly known as Apollo. (252-253)

“But you’re the- you used to be the god of music, right? If you can charm a crowd, you should be able to repulse one. Pick a song those birds will hate!”

Great. Not only had Reyna laughed in my face and busted my nose, now I was her go-to guy for repulsiveness.

Still... I was struck by the way she said I used to be a god. She didn’t seem to mean it as an insult. She said it almost like a concession - like she knew what a horrible deity I had been, but held out hope that I might be capable of being someone better, more helpful, maybe even worthy of forgiveness. (255)

I wanted to sing for Reyna, to prove that I had indeed changed. I was no longer the god who’d had Koronis killed and created ravens, or cursed the Cumaean Sibyl, or done any of the other selfish things that had once given me no more pause than choosing what dessert toppings I wanted on my ambrosia.

It was time to be helpful. I needed to be repulsive for my friends! (256)

I sighed. “You two are horrible influences on each other.”

Without taking their eyes off me, Reyna and Meg gave each other a silent high five. (265)

THOU HAST FOUND THY GROOVE. AT LEAST THE BEGINNINGS OF THY GROOVE. I SUSPECTED THIS WOULD BE SO, GIVEN TIME. CONGRATULATIONS ARE MERITED. (266)

“What did you do to him?” Meg asked.

I tried to look offended. “Nothing! I may have teased him a bit, but he was a very minor god. Rather silly-looking. I may have made some jokes at his expense in front of the other Olympians.”

Reyna knit her eyebrows. “So you bullied him.”

“No! I mean... I did write zap me in glowing letters on the back of his toga. And I suppose I might have been a bit harsh when I tied him up and locked him in the stalls with my fiery horses overnight-”

“OH MY GODS!” Meg said. “You’re awful!”

I fought down the urge to defend myself. I wanted to shout, Well at least I didn’t kill him like I did my pregnant girlfriend Koronis! But that wasn’t much of a gotcha.

Looking back on my encounters with Harpocrates, I realized I had been awful. I somebody had treated me, Lester, the way I had treated that puny Ptolemaic god, I would want to crawl in a hole and die. And if I were honest, even back when I was a god, I had been bullied - only the bully had been my father. I should have known better than to share the pain.

I hadn’t thought about Harpocrates in eons. Teasing him had seemed like no big deal. I suppose that’s what made it even worse. I had shrugged off our encounters. I doubted he had.

Koronis’s ravens... Harpocrates...

It was no coincidence they were both haunting me today like the Ghosts of Saturnalias Past. Tarquin had orchestrated this with me in mind. He was forcing me to confront some of my greatest hits of dreadfulness. Even if I survived the challenges, my friends would see exactly what kind of a dirtbag I was. The shame would weigh me down and make me ineffective - the same way Tarquin used to add rocks to a cage around his enemy’s head, until eventually, the burden was too much. The prisoner would collapse and drown in a shallow pool, and Tarquin could claim, I didn’t kill him. He just wasn’t strong enough. (269-270)

The emperors would’ve considered Harpocrates just another dangerous, amusing plaything, like their trained monsters and humanoid lackeys.

And why not let King Tarquin be his custodian? The emperors could ally themselves with the undead tyrant, at least temporarily, to make their of Camp Jupiter a little easier. They could let Tarquin arrange his cruelest trap for me. Whether I killed Harpocrates or he killed me, what did it matter to the Triumvirate in the end? Ether way, they would find it entertaining - one more gladiator match to break the monotony of their immortal lives. (273)

“Would that count?” Meg asked. “I mean, if Reyna doesn’t open the door herself, isn’t that cheating the prophecy?”

Reyna shrugged. “Prophecies never mean what you think, right? If Apollo is able to open the door thanks to my help, I’m still responsible, wouldn’t you say?” (274)

If Harpocrates was indeed waiting inside this shipping contained, I would make sure the full force of his anger fell on me, not Reyna or Meg. (276)

The god glared at me. He forced painful images into my mind: me stuffing his head into a toilet on Mount Olympus; me howling with amusement as I tied his wrists and ankles and shut him in the stables with my fire-breathing horses. Dozens of other encounters I’d completely forgotten about, and in all of them I was as golden, handsome, powerful, and powerful as any Triumvirate emperor - and just as cruel. (279)

Just because we both hated the Triumvirate did not make us friends. Harpocrates had never forgotten my cruelty. (280)

She sent Harpocrates her life story, captured in a few painful snapshots. She knew about monsters. She had been raised by the Beast. No matter how much Harpocrates hated me - and Meg agreed that I could be pretty stupid sometimes - we had to work together to stop the Triumvirate.

Harpocrates shredded her thoughts with rage. How dare she presume to understand his misery? (281)

Harpocrates was unmoved. He bent his will toward me, burying me in his hatred.

All right! I pleaded. Kill me if you must. But I am sorry! I have changed!

I sent him a flurry of the most horrible, embarrassing failures I’d suffered since becoming mortal: grieving over the body of Heloise the griffin at the Waystation, holding the dying pandos Crest in my arms in the Burning Maze, and, of course, watching helplessly as Caligula murdered Jason Grace.

Just for a moment, Harpocrates wrath wavered.

At the very least, I had managed to surprise him. He had not been expecting regret or shame from me. Those weren’t my trademark emotions. (282)

For the emperors, the potential loss of their fasces apparently didn’t outweigh the potential benefit of having me destroyed... or the entertainment value of knowing I’d done it to myself. (283)

They had left me the starkest of choices: run away, let the Triumvirate win, and watch my mortal friends be destroyed, or free two bitter enemies and face the same fate as Jason Grace.

It was an easy decision.

I turned to Reyna and Meg and thought as clearly as I could: Destroy the faces. Cut him free. (283-284)

Harpocrates rage pressed down on me, making my knees buckle. The air pressure increased, as if I’d plummeted a thousand feet. I almost blacked out, but I guessed Harpocrates wouldn’t let that happen. He wanted me conscious, able to suffer. 

He flooded me with bitterness and hate. My joints began to unknit, my vocal cords dissolving. Harpocrates might have been ready to die, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t kill me first. That would bring him great satisfaction.

I bowed my head, gritting my teeth against the inevitable.

Fine, I thought. I deserve it. Just spare my friends. Please.

The pressure eased.

I glanced up through a haze of pain.

In front of me, Reyna and Meg stood shoulder to shoulder, facing down the god.

They sent him their own flurry of images. Reyna pictured me singing “The Fall of Jason Grace” to the legion, officiating at Jason’s funeral pyre with tears in my eyes, then looking goofy and awkward and clueless as I offered to be her boyfriend, giving her the best, most cleansing laugh she’d had in years (Thanks, Reyna.)

Meg pictured the way I’d saved her in the myrmekes lair at Camp Half-Blood, singing about my romantic failures with such honesty it rendered giant ants catatonic with depression. She envisioned my kindness to Livia the elephant, to Crest, and especially to her, when I’d given her a hug in our room at the cafe and told her I would never give up trying.

In all their memories, I looked so human... but in the best possible ways. Without words, my friends asked Harpocrates if I was still the person he hated so much. (288-289)

“Good-bye, Apollo,” said the Sibyl’s voice, clearer now. “I forgive you. Not because you deserve it. Not for your sake at all. But because I will not go into oblivion carrying hate when I can carry love.”

Even if I could’ve spoken, I wouldn’t have known what to say. I was in shock. Her tone asked for no reply, no apology. She didn’t need or want anything from me. It was almost as if I was the one being erased. (291)

Anger swelled in me. I decided I was done with the ravens’ bitterness. Plenty of folks had valid reasons to hate me: Harpocrates, the Sibyl, Koronis, Daphne... maybe a few dozen others. Okay, maybe a few hundred others. But the ravens? They were thriving! They’d grown gigantic! They loved their new jobs as flesh-eating killers. Enough with the blame. (295)

Reyna must have noticed my worried expression.

“You did good back there,” she said. “You stepped up.”

Reyna sounded sincere. But her praise just made me feel more ashamed.

“I’m holding the last breath of a god I bullied,” I said miserably, “in the jar of a Sibyl I cursed, who was protected by birds I turned into killing machines after they tattled about my cheating girlfriend, who I subsequently had assassinated.”

“All true,” Reyna said. “But the thing is, you recognize it now.”

“It feels horrible.”

She gave me a thin smile. “That’s kind of the point. You do something evil, you feel bad about it, you do better. That’s a sign you might be developing a conscience.”

I tried to remember which of the gods had created the human conscience. Had we created it, or had humans just developed it on their own? Giving mortals a sense of decency didn’t seem like the sort of thing a god would brag about on their profile page.

“I- I appreciate what you’re saying,” I managed. “But my past mistakes almost got you and Meg killed. If Harpocrates had destroyed you when you were trying to protect me...”

The idea was too awful to contemplate. My shiny new conscience would have blown up inside me like a grenade.

Reyna gave me a brief pat on the shoulder. “All we did was show Harpocrates how much you’ve changed. He recognized it. Have you completely made up for all the bad things you’ve done? No. But you keep adding to the ‘good things’ column. That’s all any of us can do.”

Adding to the “good things” column. Reyna spoke of this superpower as if it were one I could actually possess.

“Thank you,” I said. (299-300)

“We’re going to make it,” I said, like a fool.

Once again, I had broken the First Law of Percy Jackson: Never say something is going to work out, because as soon as you do, it won’t. (306)

When had I last felt “whole”? I wanted to believe it was back when I was a god, but that wasn’t true. I hadn’t been completely myself for centuries. Maybe millennia.

At the moment, I felt more like a hole - a void in the cosmos through which Harpocrates, the Sibyl, and a lot of people I cared about had vanished. (316)

I laughed - actually laughed - with satisfaction. It felt so good to be a decent archer again, and to watch Meg at her swordplay. What a team we made! (322)

This was how it ended, I thought bitterly. Not fighting threats from the outside, but fighting against the ugliest side of our own history. (323)

There had only ever been one choice. Deep down, I’d always known which god I had to call. 

“Follow me,” I told Ella and Tyson.

I ran for the temple of Diana.

Now I’ll admit I’ve never been a huge fan of Artemis’s Roman persona. As I’ve said before, I never felt like I personally changed that much during Roman times. I just stayed Apollo. Artemis, though...

You know how it is when your sister goes through her moody teenage years? She changes her name to Diana, cuts her hair, hangs out with a different, more hostile set of maiden hunters, starts associating with Hecate and the moon, and basically acts weird? When we first relocated to Rome, the two of us were worshipped together like in the old days - twin gods with our own temple - but soon Diana went off and did her own thing. We just didn’t talk like we used to when we were young and Greek, you know?

I was apprehensive about summoning her Roman incarnation, but I needed help, and Artemis - Sorry, Diana - was the most likely to respond, even if she would never let me hear the end of it afterward. Besides, I missed her terribly. Yes, I said it. If I was going to die tonight, which seemed increasingly likely, first I wanted to see my sister one last time. (332)

Ella rummaged in her supply pouches, pulling out herbs, spices, and vials of oils, which made me realize how long it had been since I’d eaten. Why wasn’t my stomach growling? (333)

The emperors obviously wanted to send a message: they intended to dominate the world at any cost. They would stop at nothing. They would mutilate and maim. They would waste and destroy. Nothing was sacred except their own power.

I rose unsteadily. My hopelessness turned into boiling anger. I howled, “NO!” (340)

A few months ago, I would have been happy to let Frank take this hopeless fight on his own while I sat back, ate chilled grapes, and checked my messages. Not now, not after Jason Grace. I glanced at the poor maimed pegasi chained to the emperors’ chariot, and I decided I couldn’t live in a world where cruelty like that went unchallenged.

“Sorry, Frank,” I said. “You won’t face this alone.” I looked at Caligula. “Well, Baby Booties? Your colleague emperor has already agreed. Are you in, or do we terrify you too much?”

Caligula’s nostrils flared. “We have lived for thousands of years,” he said, as if explaining a simple fact to a slow student. “We are gods.”

“And I’m the son of Mars,” Frank countered. “praetor of the Twelfth Legion Fulminata. I’m not afraid to die. Are you?” (345)

Commodus punched me square in the chest. I staggered backward and collapsed on my butt, my lungs on fire, my sternum throbbing. A hit like that should have killed me. (348)

My first punch left a fist-size crater in the emperor’s gold breastplate. Oh, I thought in some distant corner of my mind. Hello, godly strength! (352)

Commodus fought, but his fists were like paper. I let loose a guttural roar - a song with only one note: pure rage, and only one volume: maximum.

Under the onslaught of sound, Commodus crumbled to ash.

My voice faltered. I stared at my empty palms. I stood and backed away, horrified. The charred outline of the emperor’s body remained on the asphalt. I could still feel the pulse of his carotid arteries under my fingers. What had I done? In my thousands of years of life, I’d never destroyed someone with my voice. When I sang, people would often say I “killed it”, but never meant that literally. (360)

I cobbled together the last shreds of my courage. I channeled my old sense of arrogance, from back in the days when I loved to take credit for things I didn’t do (as long as they were good and impressive). I gave Gregorix and his army a cruel, emperor-like smile.

“BOO!” I shouted.

The troops broke and ran. (362-363)

I grinned at the newcomer. “Hey, sis.”

Then I keeled over sideways. The world turned fluffy, bleached of all color. Nothing hurt anymore.

I was dimly aware of Diana’s face hovering over me, Meg and Hazel peering over the goddess’s shoulders.

“He’s almost gone,” Diana said.

Then I was gone. My slipped into a pool of cold, slimy darkness.

“Oh no, you don’t,” my sister’s voice woke me rudely.

I’d been so comfortable, so nonexistent.

Life surged back into me - cold, sharp, and unfairly painful. Diana’s face came into focus. She looked annoyed, which seemed on-brand for her.

As for me, I felt surprisingly good. The pain in my gut was gone. My muscles didn’t burn. I could breathe without difficulty. I must have slept for decades.

“H-how long was I out?” I croaked.

“Roughly three seconds,” she said. “Now, get up, drama queen.”

[...]

I beamed at my sister. It was so good to see her disapproving I-can’t-believe-you’re-my-brother frown again. “I love you,” I said, my voice hoarse with emotion.

She blinked, clearly unsure what to do with this information. “You really have changed.”

“I missed you!”

“Y-yes, well. I’m here now. Even Dad couldn’t argue with a Sibylline invocation from Temple Hill.”

[...]

I checked my stomach, which was easy, since my shirt was in tatters. The bandage had vanished, along with the festering would. Only a thin white scare remained. “So... I’m healed?” My flab told me she hadn’t restored me to my godly self. Nah, that would have been too much to expect.

Diana raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’m not the goddess of healing, but I’m still a goddess. I think I can take care of my little brother’s boo-boos.”

“Little brother?”

She smirked, then turned to Hazel. (382-384)

I suppose I’d been too focused on Thalia, wondering whether or not she was going to kill me and whether or not I deserved it. (388)

“You also saved me,” I said. “You’re here. You’re actually here.”

She took my hand and squeezed it. Her flesh felt warm and human. I couldn’t remember the last time my sister had shown me such open affection. (389)

“It’s just a guess,” I admitted. “Frank went into that tunnel knowing he might die. He willingly sacrificed himself for a noble cause. In doing so, he broke free of his fate. By burning his own tinder, he kind of... I don’t know, started a new fire with it. He’s in charge of his own destiny now. Well, as much as any of us are. The only other explanation I can think of is that Juno somehow released him from the Fates’ decree.” (393)

“How did you survive the fire?” Hazel asked.

“I don’t know. I remember Caligula burning up. I passed out, thought I was dead. Then I woke up on Arion’s back. And now I’m here.” (395)

“Hey, Apollo, you- you know the difference between a faun and a satyr...?”

[...]

A moment later, his body collapsed with a noise like a relieved sigh, crumbling into fresh loam. In the spot where his heart had been, a tiny sapling emerged from the soil. I immediately recognized the shape of those miniature leaves. Not a hemlock. A laurel - the tree I had created from poor Daphne, and whose leaves I had decided to make into wreaths. The laurel, the tree of victory.

One of the dryads glanced at me. “Did you do that...?”

I shook my head. I swallowed the bitter taste from my mouth.

“The only difference between a satyr and a faun,” I said, “is what we see in them. And what they see in themselves. Plant this tree somewhere special.: I looked up at the dryads. “Tend it and make it grow healthy and tall. This was Don the faun, a hero.” (398-399)

She folded her arms and stared at the fire. “I don’t blame you, Apollo. My brother...” She hesitated, steadying her breath. “Jason made his own choices. Heroes have to do that.” (402)

“It seems so cruel,” she continued. “We lose someone and finally get them back, only to lose them again.”

I wondered why she used the word we. She seemed to be saying that she and I shared this experience - the loss of an only sibling. But she had suffered so much worse. My sister couldn’t die. I couldn’t lose her permanently.

Then, after a moment of disorientation, like I’d been flipped upside-down, I realized she wasn’t talking about me losing someone. She was talking about Artemis - Diana.

Was she suggesting that my sister missed me, even grieved for me as Thalia grieved for Jason?

Thalia must have read my expression. “The goddess has been beside herself,” she said. “I mean that literally. Sometimes she gets so worried she splits into two forms, Roman and Greek, right in front of me. She’ll probably get mad at me for telling you this, but she loves you more than anyone else in the world.”

A marble seemed to have lodged in my throat. I couldn’t speak, so I just nodded.

“Diana didn’t want to leave camp so suddenly like that,” Thalia continued. “But you know how it is. Gods can’t stick around. Once the danger to New Rome had passed, she couldn’t risk overstaying her summons. Jupiter... Dad wouldn’t approve.”

I shivered. How easy it was to forget that this young woman was also my sister. And Jason was my brother. At one time, I would have discounted that connection. They’re just demigods, I would have said. Not really family.

Now I found the idea hard to accept for a different reason. I didn’t feel worthy of that family. Or Thalia’s forgiveness. (403-404)

“My whole life, I’ve been living with other people’s expectations of what I’m supposed to be. Be this. Be that. You know?”

[...]

“But you showed me. When you proposed dating...” She took a deep breath, her body shaking with silent giggles. “Oh, gods. I saw how ridiculous I’d been. How ridiculous the whole situation was. That’s what healed my heart - being able to laugh at myself again, at my stupid ideas about destiny. That allowed me to break free - just like Frank broke free of his firewood. I don’t need another person to heal my heart. I don’t need a partner... at least, not until and unless I’m ready on my own terms. I don’t need to be force-shipped with anyone or wear anybody else’s label. For the first time in a long time, I feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. So thank you.” (405-406)

As we stood to accept the legion’s thanks, I felt strangely uncomfortable. Now that I finally had a friendly crowd cheering for me, I just wanted to sit down and cover my head with a toga. I had done so little compared to Hazel or Reyna or Frank, not to mention all those who had died: Jason, Dakota, Don, Jacob, the Sibyl, Harpocrates... dozens more. (413).

Usually I was against re-gifting, but in this case, I was overwhelmed with gratitude. I couldn’t remember when or why I’d given the legion this bow - for centuries, I’d passed them out like party favors - but I was certainly glad to have it back. I drew the string with no trouble at all. Either my strength was godlier than I realized, or the bow recognized me as its rightful owner. Oh, yes. I could do some damage with this beauty. (415)

We’d have to trust the gods for some good luck. (Insert HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA here.) (422)

#ttt spoilers #for future reference #the trials of apollo #trials of apollo #the tyrant's tomb #toa #toa spoilers

[fookinfreezin]

i was tagged by the lovely @rosegoldeyelids to post five songs from my country that are awesome and i think everyone should listen to! i liked this challenge a lot :’)

here’s some of my fave finnish songs, some old and some new 💙🤍 (brackets have the english translation of the title + the genre)

1. kiitos ei ole kirosana – haloo helsinki! (“thank you isn’t a curse word” / soft rock)

2. mull’ on lupa – paleface (“i have a permission” / rap)

3. aatelisii – ellinoora ft. gasellit (”nobles” / pop with a rap verse)

4. huono juhlissa – negatiiviset nuoret (”bad at parties” / pop punk)

5. aamuisin – zen cafe (”in the mornings” / rock)

i don’t know how many of my mutuals have been tagged already but i tag @bluegreenlouie @finewalls @onlyforthebravee, my fellow nordic pals!

#i desperately wanted to write about each song's meaning separately #but i don't want to be too annoying #gdnjghjds #but i love all of these songs very much #i was tempted to include some apulanta or klamydia but 5 is such a small number of songs #ANYWAY i will stop now #love you all <3

[trillhouse-lh]

Writer’s Block (Sin Adults)

> “Daaad… hey, Earth to dad.” > “Mmm,” Bobby grunted, not really paying attention as he typed away at his keyboard. At the doorway stood his daughter, wearing her usual overcoat and an irritated scowl on her face. > “Mmm?! That’s all you have to say?!” Robbie snapped. “Where the hell WERE you?!” She crossed her arms and tapped her foot as she waited for an answer… only to receive none. In fact, the man didn’t even seem to notice that she was talking to him. With a growl of frustration, she stormed across the study to her father’s chair. “HEY! Are you LISTENING?!” > “Not right now, sweetheart,” Bobby mumbled as he typed, not even glancing up from his screen for a moment. “Daddy’s worki-” Before he could finish, Robbie grabbed the back of his chair and spun him around to face her. “Hey!” > “Don’t you ‘hey’ me!” The girl barked. “You were supposed to pick me UP, you jerk!” > “Roberta Elizabeth Loud! Do NOT call your father a… wait, what time is it…?” Bobby glanced at the clock, his brow furrowing as he saw it was only 2:17 PM. “It’s… Roberta, what on Earth are you doing home this early?” > “It’s a HALF DAY, dad… we got out at NOON! I’ve been telling you all week!” Robbie shouted. “Do you have any idea how long I was waiting for you?!” As his daughter’s words sank in, Bobby’s look of confusion shifted to one of remorse. > “Oh… oh, geeze…” Bobby groaned and buried his face in his palm. He’d gotten so wrapped up in his writing that he’d completely forgotten he had to pick Robbie up from school, let alone pick her up early. “I’m sorry, sweetheart… I wasn’t-” > “You weren’t paying attention. Right,” Robbie huffed, looking away from him with a scowl. “What else is new…”

> “Robbie, I…” Bobby began, only to hang his head and sigh. “Why didn’t you call…?” > “I DID,” The girl shot back. “You didn’t answer.” Bobby cocked an eyebrow. > “You… hang on,” He said as he snatched his phone off his desk. “I never got any-” As he checked his phone, the man’s heart sank; there were fifteen missed calls. FIFTEEN, twelve of which were from his awaiting daughter… not to mention a slew of unnoticed text messages. “...Oh, shit…” He muttered. “I had it on silent...” > “OH! You had it on silent! Great!” Robbie said with a sarcastic roll of her eyes. “Never mind that I had to walk my ass all the way over here, it was just a mistake. And here I thought you were just ignoring me! Well, glad we cleared that up!” > “You WALKED? Honey, why didn’t you call Lemy?” > “Because he’s busy with job interviews all day. You know, like you TOLD him to do?!” She spat, making her father wince. “And before you ask, mom and aunt Lupa were at work.” > “I know, I know… ugh.” Bobby lifted his reading glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Robbie was right to be mad at him… he’d messed up, bad. With another sigh, he lowered his glasses and looked at his daughter apologetically. “Robbie, I’m really sorry. I was writing, and I-” > “You think that’s an excuse?!” > “No… no, of course not,” Bobby assured her. “This is my fault, simple as that. I swear, I’ll-” > “‘I’ll make it up to you’. I know,” Robbie grunted. She knew her father was being sincere, and she knew he hadn’t MEANT to brush her aside like that… he never did. > But it still stung. > “Whatever… I need some water,” Robbie said with a scoff, turning and skulking out of the room with her hands jammed into her jacket pockets. “Had a long walk, y’know?” Bobby sadly watched her go, then slumped back in his chair with a groan.

> “Nice, Bobby… nice,” The man grumbled under his breath, lightly beating his fist against the side of his head. He took a few moments to wallow in his own guilt before taking a deep breath through his nose and exhaling. He’d have to figure out a way to make things up to Robbie, but that could come later… for now, there was another matter to attend to. > Bobby frowned as he looked down at his phone. While the brunt of the missed calls had been from his daughter, there were also several from an ‘Alan’. Alan Douglas, specifically... Bobby’s literary agent, and the reason WHY he had put his phone on silent in the first place. > Alongside his many other projects, for nearly six years ‘R.J. Loud’ had been plugging away at one novel in particular: Memoirs of a Technician. Title pending. Something of a high-concept tale, told from the perspective of a lowly technician aboard an intergalactic freighter. It was one of his earliest ideas, and one he’d kept close to his heart for years… possibly even his magnum opus. Just a few weeks prior, he’d submitted his proposal to Alan. And now? Now, he was dodging the man’s calls as he continued writing his third draft. > Bobby chewed his lip, his thumb hovering anxiously over his agent’s name. Despite his best attempts to remain optimistic, he’d been through this song-and-dance far too many times before… he’d show them his finest work, work he had poured his very soul into, and time and time again it would be cast aside as though it were nothing more than rubbish. This time, he tried to tell himself, would be different. This time, his hard work would pay off. This time, people would finally be able to read the story he’d always wanted to tell. > So why was he hesitating?

> ‘Alright, Bobby… alright,’ He thought, taking a moment to collect himself. ‘Just get it over with. Whatever happens, it’s fine.’ Bobby took a deep breath and, finally, pressed down on Alan’s name to return his call. His leg bounced anxiously as he waited for the man to pick up. > [Alan Douglas speaking,] A clean and business-like voice spoke through the earpiece. > “...Hey, Alan.” Bobby said, trying his best to mask the lack of enthusiasm in his voice. “It’s me.” > [Oh, Robert! I’ve been trying to get in touch with you.] > “Yeah… I noticed. Sorry about that.” Bobby spun back around to face his computer and tried to get back to work, as though it would distract him from the bad news he no doubt was about to receive. “Well, let’s hear it.” > [You don’t sound particularly optimistic,] Alan said. His client merely gave a short, humorless laugh. > “Should I be?” He asked; Alan made a vague, indecisive noise that spoke volumes, and Bobby let out a sigh. “What’d they say?” > [Nothing, actually…] The agent said. Bobby stopped typing mid-sentence, his brow furrowing in confusion. > “Nothing…?” > [Well, no…] The man paused to clear his throat. [...That is to say, I haven’t actually spoken to a publisher yet. In fact, I only just finished looking it over today. Busy schedule, you know how it is.] > “Oh… I see.” Bobby muttered. This was somewhat unusual… usually if Alan had any feedback or suggestions he’d reach out through email. “Well, what did you think?” For a few moments Alan said nothing, seemingly mulling over his words. > [Right, well. It’s… different, to say the least,] Alan said in an unusual tone, as though forcing himself to sound supportive. [Not quite what one would expect from the genre.] Bobby slumped back in his chair and rubbed his temples, already beginning to feel a pit forming in his stomach.

> “...Is that a BAD thing, Alan?” > [No, not inherently…] The agent replied. [I just think it needs to be… REFINED a bit more before we can-] > “Look. Alan. Let’s not beat around the bush, alright?” Bobby cut in, his voice quiet and sullen. “Just give it to me straight. What did you think.” There was a heavy silence, broken only by Alan’s faint breathing; after what felt like an eternity, the man gave a deep sigh. > [Alright. To be frank, I have no idea how you expect me to sell this,] Alan said plainly. [Don’t get me wrong, it’s well-written, but-] > “But WHAT, Alan.” Bobby snarled. > [...BUT, if I’m being completely honest, it’s just… I honestly have no idea what you’re going for, here.] Alan said. [I mean, who’s this meant to appeal to, exactly?] > “It’s cerebral science fiction, Alan.” Bobby grunted, his fingers rapidly tapping against the armrest as he fought to keep himself calm. “It’s a niche genre.” > [You think I don’t know that?] Alan retorted. [There’s cerebral, and then there’s… whatever the hell THIS is. For God’s sake, you sent me over a hundred pages of a mechanic talking to himself about repairs and space economics.] > “It’s called WORLDBUILDING.” > [Rob, there’s over fifteen pages dedicated to explaining some kind of… cyber capacitor thing.] > “Cyclonic reduction capacitor,” Bobby corrected him. “It’s a crucial component of the ship’s… look, you’re only going off of three sample chapters here. In the full story-” > [Does anything change?] The man interjected. [Do things pick up? Is there any sort of call to action for our protagonist? Does anything HAPPEN in this story, Robert?] Bobby tried to answer, but all that came out was a faint croak. Suddenly, his mouth felt very dry.

> “That’s…” He began, pausing to wet his lips. “...I-it’s a character study…” He heard another deep sigh through the earpiece. > [Right… case in point.] Alan’s said. Bobby couldn’t help but find his tone similar to that of a disappointed parent. [Rob, listen. I like you. I wouldn’t keep doing this if I didn’t. But NO publisher would want to touch something like this. Hell, based on what you sent me, I doubt anyone could even get THROUGH it. There’s no hook, no sense of pacing, no structure… there’s a fine line between ‘methodical’ and ‘boring’, and you’ve crossed it in the first five pages.] Bobby grit his teeth and dug his fingers into the armrest. As much as he’d tried to prepare himself for disappointment, he hadn’t been ready to have his work critiqued so harshly. That his agent’s tone was calm and matter-of-fact, free from hostility or condescension, somehow only served to anger him further. > “...I’ve spent six years on this, Alan. Six years,” Bobby hissed. “And you’re telling me it’s BORING?” > [I’m telling you the TRUTH, Rob. You’re writing for an audience that simply doesn’t exist,] His agent replied. [I’ve told you time and time again, this isn’t what readers want. There needs to be excitement, something to capture the reader’s imagination, especially in THIS genre. You’ve done it before, Rob… you can do it again. Why not continue Sons of Dawn?] > ‘Sons of Dawn’. Bobby clicked his tongue in irritation at the mere mention of it. It had been his second novel after Voice of the Cosmos, as well as his second--and last--to be published. While the first had received a somewhat mixed reception, Sons of Dawn had proven to be a moderate success, and to this day he STILL got fan mail asking him to continue the story.

> But they had been nothing more than generic space adventure shlock to him, the sort of thing one might find in an airport convenience store. He’d slapped both together in the span of a single year for no other reason than to get his foot in the door, and while he’d initially been pleased with the unexpected success, he’d long since grown to resent his early work. Was it marketable? Yes. Was it what he wanted to write? > “...No.” > [Rob-] > “I’m not going to sit here and let YOU tell me what I should write. I’ll fucking publish it MYSELF if I have to.” > [Robert, please, be reas-] > “I think we’re done here, Alan.” Bobby said before the man could get a word in edgewise. “Goodbye.” Without another word, he ended the call. His nostrils flared with sharp, quick breaths, and it took everything he had in him not to hurl his phone across the room in anger. With a growl of frustration he haphazardly tossed the device onto the desk before leaning forward and burying his head in his hands. Rejection was one thing… he was more than used to it by now. But to have the very nature of his work torn apart so thoroughly hit far harder than he had expected and, quite frankly, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt so sick to his stomach. > “Sheesh, sounds like THAT didn’t go well.” The silence was broken by none other than Robbie, standing in the doorway with a curious expression on her face. “Turned down again, huh?” > “...How long have you been there, Robbie?” Her father asked, not so much as glancing up from the desk as he spoke. She simply shrugged and sauntered in.

> “Long enough. Been a long time since I’ve seen ya so pissed off,” The girl said calmly. She walked over to the desk, flicking a magnetically-floating model of the Enterprise and watching as it spun around in the air. “So what’d they say this time? Too emotional? Too complicated? ‘Too optimistic for the current political climate’ or whatever? That one’s always been my favorite.” Bobby sighed, removing his reading glasses and setting them aside. > “Sweetheart, please, not now.” He grumbled as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’m not in the mood to-” He was cut short as Robbie leaned over his shoulder, her cheek pressing against his as she looked at his computer screen. > “‘Gerald frowned as he withdrew the... tri-conductive relay processor… from the smoking chassis of the… quasi-biotic dexometrical… hex… nani the fuck am I READING, here….?” > “Roberta, LANGUAGE,” Bobby snapped, gently pushing the girl away and minimizing the document. “Don’t you have homework to do, or something?” > “Nah, not on a half day.” Robbie replied with a shrug. “But hey, looks like you’ve got time for a break now, right? C’mon, let’s do somethin’.” > “I told you-” > “C’moooon. I’m bored.” The girl grabbed onto her father’s arm, tugging on it to try and coax him out of his seat. But the man wouldn’t budge, jerking his arm from her grasp with a huff. > “Robbie. PLEASE.” He repeated. “Not now. Go play a game or something, alright? I’m sure Lemy will be back soon-” > “I don’t WANT uncle Lemy right now,” Robbie shot back, shooting her father an annoyed scowl. “We never get to hang out any more. You’re not busy, so-” > “I. AM. Busy.” Bobby growled. His daughter fell silent, seemingly taken aback by his demeanor; He knew he was being cold towards the girl, but right now he was too worked up to deal with her. “Now, please. Go.”

> “Yare yare... you really are in a mood, aren’t you?” Robbie grumbled, her father letting out an audible sigh as she flopped into a nearby chair. “Y’know, aunt Lupa’s right… you ARE too uptight.” > “Right, because she’s SO well-adjusted…” Bobby muttered bitterly. > “Hey, at least she has a real job.” > “Writing IS a real job!” Her father snarled. Robbie scoffed and shot him a cocky smirk. > “Then how come mom’s the one paying the bills?” She joked; unfortunately, her father looked less than amused. His hand curled into a tight, trembling fist, and he had to shut his eyes and take a deep breath to calm himself. > “...BECAUSE, Robbie,” The man hissed through clenched teeth. “This whole damn industry’s run by IDIOTS that wouldn’t know a good story if it kicked them in the teeth. Now are you going to leave me alone, or-” > “Sounds to me like you’re just not a very good wri-” > “That is ENOUGH!” Bobby roared, slamming his fist against the desk as he stood from his chair. The rage in his voice was enough to silence Robbie in an instant, and the amused smirk faded from her face as he wheeled on her with fire in his eyes. “I’m not about to let a CHILD talk about me OR my work like that, ESPECIALLY not my own fucking daughter!” > “G-geeze dad, chill!” Robbie stammered as she too stood from her seat. “I was just jok-” > “I am not a fucking JOKE, Roberta, and neither is my WORK! Now I’m not going to say it again: GET. OUT! Do you UNDERSTAND me, Roberta?!” For several moments neither spoke, nor moved… Bobby stood with his arm outstretched, pointing towards the door as his chest heaved with heavy breaths.

> Robbie chewed her lower lip and averted her eyes, her face scrunching up as though she were fighting off tears, but Bobby didn’t falter; then just as he was about to shout at her again, she let out a growl of frustration and snatched the lamp from her father’s desk. She threw it with all her strength and it struck the wall with the loud CRASH of shattering glass. > “ROBERTA ELIZABETH LOUD!” > “Yeah! I know! I’m fucking grounded, what else is new?!” The girl spat, turning on her heel and storming out of the room. She paused a moment in the doorway to shoot one last glare over her shoulder. “...Asshole…” She muttered under her breath before skulking away to her room, being sure to slam the door so hard that a nearby picture crashed to the floor as well. > For some time Bobby stood there, his gaze fixed towards the door, before looking down at the broken lamp lying on the floor. Finally he groaned and slumped back into his chair. > “Fuck’s sake, Bobby…” He muttered to himself; Bobby ran his hand through his hair, sitting in silence as he let his heart rate return to normal. It wasn’t like him to get so worked up, let alone to the point of screaming at his daughter, no matter how out-of-line her comments may have been. He knew she hadn’t meant it, of course… she’d simply pushed the wrong buttons at the wrong time, and instead of handling it with maturity he’d exploded at her. Perhaps he was simply taking out his anger on her. In any case, he’d fucked up for the second time that day. > He REALLY wished Loan let him keep alcohol in the house.

> Bobby let out a deep sigh as his gaze fell upon his monitor. Six years of effort down the drain… not merely dismissed, but downright savaged. Granted, it was only one man’s opinion, but his criticism had been so thorough that even Bobby couldn’t help but dwell on his words. Now that the anger had faded, he only felt a deep sense of inadequacy. He wondered if this was how Lemy felt about his own failures… a musician that couldn’t play. A writer that couldn’t write. > Pathetic. > Bobby opened up the document again and stared at it, weighing his options. Perhaps he could salvage it… cut back on the exposition, come up with some kind of plot, some POINT to the story he was trying to tell. But perhaps that was the problem… there was no point. There never had been. The stories he wanted to tell simply weren’t what anyone else wanted to read. They were simply wasted efforts, and nothing more than that. > “...Fuck this,” Bobby muttered. He took a deep breath and closed the document, clicking ‘no’ when it asked if he wanted to save. > Back. > Right click. > Delete. > Are you sure you want to delete this folder? > Yes. > Right click. > Empty recycle bin. > ...Yes. > Once he’d done the same for his online backup, Bobby leaned away from the keyboard, withdrawing his trembling hand from the mouse. There… it was done. He wasn’t sure how he should feel… part of him wanted to laugh, part of him wanted to cry, and another part of him wanted to vomit. Instead, he sat in silence with naught the tick of his wall clock and gentle hum of the AC unit keeping him tethered to reality. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there; perhaps five minutes, perhaps thirty, perhaps an hour. It was the growl of his stomach that finally snapped him from his stupor, and it suddenly dawned on him that he hadn’t had so much as a bite to eat since breakfast.

> “...Alright.” Bobby unsteadily got to his feet. As he made for the door, he felt something crunch beneath his foot: the glass from the lamp. He’d completely forgot about it. “Thank God for slippers…” He said with a sigh of relief. > After a quick detour to the utility closet, he returned to his office and swept the brunt of the glass into a dustpan. He’d vacuum up the smaller flakes later… once he’d dumped the glass and bent remains of the lamp into the trash, he made his way down the hall towards his daughter’s bedroom. Before he could even think about food, he had to apologize for his behavior. > “Robbie…?” He called, gently knocking on the door. “Can I come in?” No response. Bobby frowned and gave another knock. “...I’m not mad,” He assured her. “I just want to talk.” > “Go away,” Came the muffled voice of his daughter from the other side. > “...I’m coming in,” He said. Robbie said nothing further as he turned the handle and stepped inside. The room was dim, but with the light from the doorway he could see his daughter lying in her bed, completely covered by her bedsheets. “Robbie… are you alright?” Again, no response. Bobby frowned and approached the bed, nearly tripping over the girl’s hastily discarded jacket in the process. “Look… I wanted to apologize,” He said softly. “You were right. I was being an asshole, and I’m sorry.” No response. The man sighed and scratched the back of his head. “Robbie, please,” He pleaded, taking hold of the blanket. “Talk to… me…?” > As he pulled the blanket aside, he found nothing more than a small pile of pillows lying beneath. He barely had a moment to process this before an attack cry rang out from behind him; he yelped in shock as his daughter leapt onto his back, wrapping her arms around his neck and wrestled him to the ground with a THUD.

> “Sorry?! You really think that’s gonna cut it?!” > “R-Robbie, get off…!” Bobby struggled in the girl’s grasp, but he was far from a strong man; Robbie easily flipped him onto his stomach and sat down on his back before he could get back to his feet. The man cried out in pain as she took his ankles under her arms and bent back his legs, putting him into a boston crab. > “Or what?! You’ll ground me?! Too late for that!” She snarled with a forced, aggressive drawl appropriate for a delinquent.“You forget to pick me up, you YELL at me, and now you expect me to just FORGIVE you? Ain’t happenin’! I ain’t forgivin’ you till you’re BEGGIN’ for it!”   > “OW! Okay, okay! Please, I-” Robbie applied more pressure, earning her an even louder whine of pain from her father. “ROBERTAAAA! PLEASE!” But the girl did not yield; knowing her, Bobby doubted she even INTENDED to until she was satisfied. If he wanted to get out of this, he’d have to play by her rules. “F-fine…!” With a grunt of effort, Bobby managed to push himself upwards. > “Whoa…?!” Robbie gasped in surprise as she found herself being lifted upwards. She may have been strong for her age, but she was still far smaller and lighter than her father; once her feet were off the ground he twisted his body, flipping her off of his back with a yelp. He grunted as her back hit the ground and, to her surprise, she quickly found herself trapped in a cradle pin. > “Now what?” Bobby asked with a cocky smirk. “Let’s see you get out of…?!” His apparent victory didn’t last long; with an amused snicker his daughter managed to slip free from his hold and the next thing he knew, he was once again on his stomach, gagging as Robbie trapped him in a chokehold. That was it: he desperately tapped her arm in submission and she released him.

> “Not bad, dad.” Robbie said with a smirk as her father gasped and panted for air. “That’s the first time you’ve pinned me in, what, two years?” > “Y-you…” Bobby managed to gasp out between breaths. “You’re way too rough, you know that…?” Robbie simply shrugged, apparently unmoved by her father’s plight. He tried to push himself up again, only to find himself pushed face-first down to the ground. > “Apologize again,” Robbie demanded. Bobby sighed. > “...I’m sorry.” > “For?” > “Everything,” Bobby muttered. “Really… I mean that. I’m sorry.” The girl narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips as she considered her father’s words, then gave a small nod. > “...Me too,” She said. Robbie climbed off his back and let him sit up, wincing as he rubbed his sore neck. “For the stuff I said… and the lamp.” > “No, it’s… ugh, hang on…” Bobby flexed his neck a bit, letting out a grunt as he heard a loud POP. “There we go… anyway…” He paused to clear his throat before continuing. “It’s alright. Given the circumstances, anyway… I’ve been a real jerk, today. It’s just…” He frowned and averted his eyes, taking a deep breath before shaking his head. “...I wasn’t mad at you. I was just… mad.” > “What happened?” Robbie asked; her father furrowed his brow, then groaned and flopped onto his back. > “What HAPPENED is that I’m a hack,” He grumbled, raising a hand to massage his temples. “Asimov, Wells, Clarke, Ellison… my whole life I’ve wanted to be like them, you know? One of the greats. Hell, I even deluded myself into thinking I COULD be. But… I was wrong.” > “Hey, don’t… don’t say that,” Robbie said softly, inching a bit closer. “I mean, you got published before, right? It could happen again.” Her father simply shook his head and gave a dry, humorless chuckle.

> “Those were rush jobs, nothing more than that.” Bobby muttered. “There was nothing special about them, hell, I barely even THOUGHT about them while I was writing them. It just... happened.” The man scowled slightly, his tone growing bitter. “...I wanted to tell stories like the ones I grew up with. To make people feel the same way I did when I read them… and the only time I came close was a complete accident. What a joke.” Robbie averted her eyes and pursed her lips in thought. > “Well… I won’t pretend to know much about writing,” She said, scooting to her father’s side before lying on the ground beside him. “But maybe that’s the problem?” > “...Eh?” Bobby pushed himself up on his elbows and looked at his daughter with a raised eyebrow. “What do you mean?” > “I mean… maybe you’re thinking too much,” The girl suggested. “You always told uncle Lemy that he was so worried about what he wanted to be that he ignored the things he was actually good at… maybe it’s the same for you?” Her father furrowed his brow in thought. “Y’know… you always were good at making things up off the top of your head. Remember those bedtime stories you used to tell me?” > “...Prince Nebula.” Bobby chuckled, a nostalgic smile crossing his face. “How could I forget?” He used to lie with his daughter at night, weaving tales of an alien prince and his quest to save the galaxy from the evil Baron Galacticus. They’d been simple, cheesy stories, made up entirely on the spot despite their ongoing narrative. But nonetheless Robbie was always eager to hear what adventures came next for the intrepid prince, and Bobby had cherished those moments above all else.

> “Well, those always meant a lot to me, soooo… I dunno…” Robbie muttered, “Maybe they could mean something to other people too?” Bobby stared at the ceiling in silence, mulling over his daughter’s words. Putting his old bedtime stories into writing was something that he’d never even considered. He still remembered them well enough, and it wasn’t as though he had anything to lose. > “Not a bad idea…” Bobby sat up with a grunt, then got to his feet. “...It’s something to consider, at least. But that can come later… right now, all I want to do is spend some time with my daughter.” > “Really…?” Robbie asked, raising her eyebrows in surprise. “But I’m grounded…” > “Tell you what,” Her father said with a grin, offering the girl his hand. “You don’t tell your mom I forgot to pick you up, and I’ll forget about the lamp… that thing was ugly, anyway. Deal?” Robbie looked at him in silence for a moment, then grinned and took his hand. > “Deal.” Her father helped her to her feet and she dusted herself off. > “Now I don’t know about you, but I could go for a burger… what do you say?” He offered. “And maybe afterwards, we could swing by the comic shop.” > “Seriously?! Damn, I should break shit more often,” Robbie said with a snicker as she followed her father out of the room, being sure to pick up her jacket along the way. > “...Don’t push your luck,” Bobby huffed, shutting the door behind them. “And watch your language, okay?”

#sin kids #sin adults #Bobby Jr. #bobby loud #robbie loud #trillhouse #my work #fanfiction #greentext

[kelkkamonologi]

Tuhlaajapoika

Modern au, teinikapina!Lammio. Tää idea lähti, kun mietittiin ainakin @trevardes ja @violasmirabiles kans Lammion teinivuosia :D

hahmot: Lammio, Lammion isä, äiti ja pikkuveli

sanamäärä: ~1300

varoitukset: ei oo? Ehkä kiroilu

disclaimer: Lammioo ketuttaa, kun porukat ei ymmärrä

vastuuvapaus: en saa rahaa, ja Lammio kuuluu Väpälle

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Herätyskello soi. Tai tarkemmin sanottuna kännykän herätys. Henrik Lammio hapuili kännykän käteensä ja torkutti huomatessaan kellon olevan puoli kahdeksan. Koulu alkaisi vasta yhdeksältä, ei hänellä mikään kiire ollut. Hän painoi silmänsä kiinni ja koetti nukahtaa uudestaan.

Kului pari minuuttia, kunnes ovi avautui ja kuului tuttuakin tutumpi ääni: ”Henrik! Vaihda vaatteesi ja tule aamupalalle.” Se oli isä. Henrik mutisi jotain vastaukseksi ja painoi päänsä tyynyyn. Voisi se mulkku pitää välillä turpansa kiinni ja opetella koputtamaan. Henrik kyllä tiesi, että oli ihan turha pyytää isää tai äitiä koputtamaan. Vastaus oli aina sama: ”Mitä piiloteltavaa sinulla muka on?”

Se ärsytti juuri 18 vuotta täyttänyttä poikaa. Oli hänellä paljonkin piiloteltavaa. Asioita, joista ei kotona puhuttu. Tai puhuttiin, mutta hyvin negatiivisesti. Ei hän yhtään tietäisi, miten selviäisi loppuelämänsä, kun pitäisi piilotella. Ja kun vielä pikkuveli oli niin kultapoika, Henrikillä alkoi palaa pinna. Mikaelilla oli jo 14-vuotiaana tyttöystävä ja kirkkaat tulevaisuudensuunnitelmat. Henrikillä ei ollut mitään. Hänen tulevaisuudensuunnitelmiinsa kuului vain intti lukion jälkeen. Ei hän yhtään tiennyt, mitä halusi opiskella.

Henrik veti päälleen mustat, polvista revityt farkut, harmaan liian ison t-paidan ja tummansinisen neuletakin. Farkkujen hän jätti juuri lantion alapuolelle ja tunki t-paidan niiden sisään. Neuletakin hän jätti auki. Kiharat hiuksetkin sojottivat mihin sattuu, ja hän ratkaisi ongelman vetämällä pipon päähänsä. Onneksi oli viimeinen koulupäivä ennen joululomaa. Ainoa huono puoli oli se, että hänen piti lähteä Lappiin perheen kanssa huomenna. Kyllä hän lumilautailusta piti, mutta ei hän sitä viikkoa jaksaisi tehdä. Ja vielä Mikaelin ja vanhempien kanssa.

Hän löntysti keittiöön ja istahti pöydän ääreen. Ei hänellä ollut edes nälkä, kouluun voisi ihan hyvin ottaa vaikka proteiinipatukan evääksi. Hänen edessään oli muumimuki ja mehutölkki, josta hän kastoi mukiin ja joi Pohjanmaan kautta.

”Miksu, tuuks sä kyydil?” Henrik kysyi pikkuveljeltään, joka voiteli leipää sivupöydällä.

”En. Äiti lupas jo viedä”, Miksu hymyili vähän Henrikille. Henrik hymähti vastaukseksi ja lähti keittiöstä yhtä nopeasti kuin oli tullutkin.

Ulkona isä oli putsaamassa autoaan lumesta. Niin, ei kai upouudella Mersulla voinut ajaa, jos katolla oli pieni kerros lunta. Henrik katseli isän touhuja kulmiensa alta ja sytytti tupakan. Ei isä voisi siihen puuttua, hän oli täysi-ikäinen ja itse osti tupakkansa. Vanhemmat eivät vain tuntuneet tajunneen sitä. Kai hän oli heille edelleen se 10-vuotias vanhempien kultamussukka, joka totteli joka asiassa eikä sanonut mihinkään vastaan ja puhui yleiskieltä. Henrik ei ymmärtänyt, mitä väliä hänen puhetyylillään oli ja miten se vaikutti vanhempien elämään. Ei kukaan hänen kavereistaankaan puhunut yleiskieltä, vaan stadinslangia, ja sieltä hän oli sen keksinyt. Ehkä ärsyttääkseen vanhempiaan entistä enemmän tai jostain muusta syystä. Ei hän enää jaksanut elää vanhempien kasvatuksen mukaan. Ei siinä ollut mitään hienoa. Hän halusi aloittaa oman elämänsä ennen kuin oli liian myöhäistä.

”Henrik, mikä tuo on?” isä kysyi ja laittoi harjan auton takakonttiin.

”Rööki. Ei oo herra prikaatikenraali ikinä röökannu tai röökiä nähny?” Henrik sanoi ivallisesti. Kyllä hän tiesi, että isä ei tykännyt siitä, että kutsuttiin prikaatikenraaliksi kotioloissa tai siitä, että poika oli kuluneen syksyn aikana lopettanut yleiskielen puhumisen.

”Tumppaatko sen? Äläkä kutsu minua herra prikaatikenraaliksi. Olen isäsi, Henrik. Kutsu minua isäksi”, isä huokaisi.

”Ihan miten vaan. Mä oon täysikäne. Et sä voi mul duunaa midist tän röökin takii. Iha laillisesti mä röökaan. Enkä oo diilannu Miksulle. Sitähän sä pelkäät”, Henrik puhalsi savut ulos ja avasi autonsa ovet. Hän tiputti poltetun tupakan maahan ja talloi sen kengänkärjellään. ”Se on morjens”, hän vielä jatkoi ennen kuin meni istumaan autoonsa ja lähti kotipihasta.

****

Koulusta kotiin päästyään Henrik pakkasi putkikassiin vaatteita. Pari hupparia, kollarit, neule, chinot, toppatakki ja -housut, boksereita, sukkia, t-paitoja sekä alusasun. Pipo ja rukkasetkin löysivät tiensä kassin päällimmäisiksi. Vetoketju ei meinannut mennä kiinni, mutta minkäs teet. Hän pakotti vetoketjun kiinni.

Pakattuaan hän avasi huoneessaan olevat television ja pleikkarin. Hän alkoi hakata Assassin’s Creed - Odysseyta. Hän oli saanut sen paria viikkoa aikaisemmin syntymäpäivälahjaksi. Pari kaveria oli kysynyt, että eikö ollut tyhmää että syntymäpäivä oli itsenäisyyspäivänä, mutta ei se Henrikiä kiinnostanut, koska hän oli syntynyt.

”Iha sama se mul on. Faija varmaa diggaa, ku se on saatana ammattisotilas, ja poika syntyny itsenäisyyspäivänä. Sai muute faija just ittensä prikaatikenraaliks.”

****

Lammion perhe oli ollut viisi päivää Lapissa. Henrik ei ollut kapinoinut yhtään, ja muut olivat siitä hämmentyneitä, mutta samaan aikaan iloisia. Ei pojan kiukuttelua kestäisi kuunnella lomalla.

”Henkka, hypätäänkö tuosta hyppyristä?” Miksu kysyi poikien ollessa rinteessä.

”Joo. Kymppi vetoo. Jos sä saat alas bäkkärin alas, ja mä en, ni mä annan sulle kympin. Ja toistepäin”, Henrik virnisti. Hän oli selkeästi parempi laskija kuin Miksu ja luultavasti saisi hypyn onnistumaan. Pikkuveljestä hän ei ollut yhtään varma.

”Käyhän se. Entäs, jos molemmat onnistuu?” Miksu kysyi ja laski lasinsa silmilleen.

”No sit molemmat pitää massit itellään.” Henrik naurahti ja lähti laskemaan hyppyriä kohti.

Hän onnistui hypyssään, mutta alastulo epäonnistui. Hän tuli alas liian kyykyssä ja kaatui siitä selälleen. Hän tunsi oikeassa polvessaan muljahduksen. Miksu oli huomannut Henrikin kaatuneen ja oli heti veljensä vieressä, jos tuo kaipaisi apua.

”Mitä kävi?” Miksu kysyi huolestuneena.

”Ai saatana! Sattuu polveen”, Henrik nielaisi ja nousi ylös, että saisi oikean jalan siteet avattua.

”Soitanko mä isälle? Että tulee parkkipaikallr. Ei me tähän voida jäädä. Keskelle rinnettä”, Miksu huolestui lisää. Hän kyllä tiesi, ettei Henrik yleensä myöntänyt että sattui.

”Miten vaan. Saatana!” Henrik kirosi noustessaan ylös. Hän otti Miksun olkapäästä tukea, ja tuo sai laskettua heidät alas.

Henrik irrotti vasemman jalkansa siteet parkkipaikalla ja meni istumaan autoon pelkääjän paikalle. Miksu laittoi lumilaudat auton katolla olevaan suksiboksiin ja istahti takapenkille.

”Mä soitin isälle. Sano, että tulee kohta. Kuulemma pitää sua käyttää lääkärissä”, Miksu huokaisi.

”No miten pahasti mulle muka ois käyny? Vähän vaan muljahti. Ai vittu, ku sattuu”, Henrik kirosi ja etsi hanskalokerosta särkylääkettä. Hän tiesi isällä olevan kätkö hanskalokerossa pahan päivän varalta. Hän ei kuitenkaan löytänyt purkkia, ja se ärsytti. Hän sulki hanskalokeron ja hieraisi polveaan.

Kipu ei ennen autoon istumista ollut paha. Mutta nyt Henrikiä alkoi oikeasti sattua. Vähän niinkuin joku olisi tukkinut polvea puukolla auki. Ei hän sitä paremmin osannut kuvata. Toppahousujen alta hän ei nähnyt oliko polvi turvonnut, mutta niin hän arveli. Hän nojasi päänsä taaksepäin ja puri hampaansa yhteen, ettei huutaisi. Ei hän halunnut säikäyttää Miksua.

****

Henrik pääsi nopeasti lääkärille. Yksityiselle sai nopeasti ajan, ja hän oli jopa iloinen, että isällä oli rahaa. Muuten ei varmaan olisi ollut mitään toivoa päästä lääkäriin niin kaukana kotoa.

Magneettikuvista näkyi, että eturistiside oli katkennut ja oikeassa sivusiteessä osittainen repeämä. Henrik ei ollut uskoa korviaan. Niin mitättömästä kaatumisesta iso vahinko. Ja lääkärin mukaan polvi pitäisi leikata.

Henrik sai jalkaansa järeän tuen ja kepit. Pariin viikkoon hän ei saisi astua jalallaan, ja sen jälkeen alkaisi fysioterapia, jonka jälkeen leikkaus ja lisää fysioterapiaa. Paranemisarvio järkytti Henrikiä.

”Kuudesta yheksään kuukauteen? Ei saatana! Mun pitäis mennä inttiin heinäkuus”, Henrik pudisti päätään lääkärille. Lääkäri selitti asiasta enemmän, mutta Henrik ei jaksanut kuunnella. Isä tappaisi hänet, kun hän ei pääsisi inttiin heti lukion jälkeen.

Autoon päästyään Henrik painoi päänsä kojelautaa vasten. Ärsytti, vitutti ja kaikkea siltä väliltä. Polvi pitäisi saada kuntoon nopeasti. Nopeammin kuin puolessa vuodessa. Heinäkuussa jalan piti olla täydessä kunnossa. Mitään muuta Henrik ei halunnut.

”Ei se inttiin meneminen niin tärkeää ole, Henrik. Sen aloittamista saa siirrettyä hyvällä syyllä. Ja sulla on hyvä syy. Tärkeintä, että sä olet sielä terveenä. Turha sinne on puolikuntosena mennä. Ymmärrätkö sä?” isä laski kätensä pojan olkapäälle.

”Ärsyttää. Jos toi ei tulekaan kuntoon. Mitä mä sitte teen?” Henrik nosti päänsä kojelaudalta ja katsoi isää silmiin.

”Tulee se. Ja sitä paitsi… En mäkään menny suoraan lukiosta inttiin. Mulla oli sillon käsi paketissa. Talvella vasta. Ihan hyvin säkin voit niin tehdä”, isä hymyili.

”Oikeesti? Ehkä mä sitte… Ethän sä tapa mua?” Henrik naurahti.

”Miks mä niin tekisin?” isä pudisti huvittuneena päätään.

”Emmä tiedä. Kai mä selviän tästä. Ja kai mä haen sitte kadettikouluun intin jälkeen. Emmä enää jaksa äksyillä sulle tai äitille. Kiitti, kun sä uskot muhun ja kestät mua”, Henrik hymyili vähän. Yksi asia hänen tulevaisuudestaan oli isän tiedossa. Se saisi riittää ainakin hetkeksi aikaa.

”Kyllä sä sinne pääset”, isä nyökkäsi ja taputti poikaa olalle. Muulla tavoin hän ei oikein osannut osoittaa rakastavansa poikaa.

#lammio #modern au #teiniangsti #tuntematon sotilas

[leukaleimaoona]

Life's a bitch mut mä taistelen sen lutkan puolest, tässois pyssynpiippuihinne päivänkakkaroita Sillä voimalla ku voimalla on aina vastavoima

Paleface - Mull’ on lupa

#paleface #mull on lupa #Finnish Music #lyrics #sanat

[cyabae]

Fanfiction & EU:n uudet tekijänoikeuslait

(Dear non-Finnish followers, this post contains a translation of a post that explains why a new copyright directive planned in the EU has some issues, especially in terms of fanfiction. Feel free to ignore & thanks for your patience!)

Eipä ole tullut postailtua suomeksi aiemmin, mutta tällä hetkellä toivoisin, että mahdollisimman moni suomalainen ottaisi asiakseen tutustua EU:n alueella kaavailtuihin tekijänoikeuslakimuutoksiin, jotka sisältyvät osaksi Euroopan parlamentin ja neuvoston direktiiviä tekijänoikeudesta digitaalisilla sisämarkkinoilla. Paketin 13. artikla on fanitaiteen kannalta hieman ongelmallinen. Näin täällä Tumblrissa postauksen, joka kiteytti hyvin sen, miten kyseinen direktiivi saattaisi vaikuttaa esimerkiksi AO3:n käyttöön EU:n alueella. Käänsin postauksen, koska fanfiction on mulle sydämen asia ja vaikuttaa siltä, että ko. direktiiviin olisi hyvä saada pientä hiomista ennen kuin menee läpi. Alkuperäinen versio on @eatingcroutons -nimisen käyttäjän käsialaa ja lupa käännökselle on. Suosittelen tutustumaan siihen, jos englanti taittuu, koska mikään ammattikääntäjä allekirjoittanut ei ole!

Euroopan kaavaillut tekijänoikeuslakimuutokset ovat uhkana fanfiction-sivustoille

Tiedän, että teillä on luultavasti jo jonkinlainen kuva asiasta, mutta rehellisesti sanottuna ne ovat todella, todella huonoja. Varsinkin, jos tykkäät fanfictionin julkaisemisesta AO3:n tapaisilla sivustoilla.

Tällä hetkellä laki on muotoiltu tavalla tarkoittamaan todennäköisesti sitä, että kaikki mitä julkaiset Euroopassa mille hyvänsä sivustolle, joka sallii käyttäjiensä tuottamaa sisältöä, täytyy automaattisesti tutkia tekijänoikeusrikkeiden varalta.

Onko YouTuben automaattinen sisältöfiltteri teille tuttu? Kuvitelkaa se koko internetin kattavaksi. Tiedämme jo tekijänoikeustrollien hyödyntävän YouTuben järjestelmää lukuisilla tavoilla ja tienaavan sisällöllä, johon heillä ei ole varsinaista omistusoikeutta, sekä toimillaan lakkauttavan sääntöjen mukaista käyttäjäsisältöä.

Vaan tässä asiat pahentuvat: sivustot, jotka ylläpitävät käyttäjien tuottamaa sisältöä – mukaan luettuna fanfictionia –, ovat jatkossa vastuussa noiden filttereiden lisäämisestä ja niiden ylläpitämisestä.

Tämä laki edellyttäisi erittäin todennäköisesti AO3:a toteuttamaan järjestelmän, joka valvoisi kaikkia Euroopasta palvelimille ladattuja teoksia tekijänoikeusrikkeiden varalta ennen kuin ne voitaisiin jakaa Archivessa.  

Puhutaan täydestä ”robottisesta sensuurijärjestelmästä”, kuten Electronic Frontier Fedestration muotoilee.

Se ei olisi ainoastaan vastenmielistä ja tunkeilevaa. Se ei pelkästään jättäisi huomaamatta tekijänoikeuslakipoikkeuksia, kuten Fair Dealing -lakia. Sitä ei olisi ainoastaan helppoa hyödyntää tekijänoikeustrollien taholta. Se olisi lisäksi suuren suuri taakka kokonaan vapaaehtoisten pyörittämälle organisaatiolle. Työmäärä, jonka AO3:n koodarit, huoltajat ja seuranta ottavat niskoilleen – täysin ilmaiseksi ja omalla vapaa-ajallaan – on jo nyt tyrmistyttävän iso.

Ja vaikka AO3 on melko vankkarakenteinen arkisto ja saattaa kuin ihmeen kaupalla löytää resursseja mukautuakseen tähän naurettavaan lakiin, on olemassa monen monta pienempää sivustoa, jotka joutuisivat todella ponnistelemaan. Muut yleishyödylliset kirjastot ja arkistot joutuisivat joko automatisoimaan sisältöfiltterinsä aivan alusta asti tai todennäköisemmin maksamaan suoraan hyllystä ”ratkaisuista”, jotka ovat ylihinnoiteltuja ja tehottomia.

ORW tekee parhaansa taistellakseen tätä muutosta vastaan ja tässä EFF:n postauksessa on linkkejä, joissa on lukuisia tapoja, joilla sinä voit henkilökohtaisesti lobata tätä kamalaa lakia lakia vastaan.

Euroopan parlamentin lakikomitea on juuri äänestänyt (kesäkuussa 2018) lain edistämisen puolesta, mutta meillä on todennäköisesti aikaa ainakin alkuvuoteen 2019 ennen kuin koko parlamentti äänestää. Ajoitus ei voisi olla parempi – seuraavat EU-vaalit pidetään toukokuussa 2019, joten meidän MEP:t huolehtivat uudelleenvalinnoista juuri, kun meidän täytyy painostaa heitä (eli nyt!).

Eurooppa on onnistunut huonon lainsäädännön lyttyyn lyömisessä aiemmin. Me pystytämme siihen uudestaan. Tee voitavasi sanan levittämistä varten tai liity vastarintaan!

#suomipaskaa #suomeksi #suomitumblr #suomiperkele #vittu #vittu mitä paskaa #paska #perkele #suomitumppu #käännös #politiikka #suomennos