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Rome S02E04: Testudo et Lepus (The Tortoise and the Hare) or The One Where Atia and Servilia Continue to Vie for the Title of Literal Worst

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April 1, 2016

Content Warning: Rape and Extreme Violence

Okay, so last week, the episode closed with Atia’s kitchen servant carrying a big ol tureen of poison stew to the dining room. But in this episode, we see that the servant sneaks a taste. Once, she’s served the stew to Atia, Atia decides that what she’d really like is an impromptu concert performed by said servant. She begins singing but clearly isn’t feeling the greatest, and when the blood starts trickling from her mouth and she collapses, they realize that someone was trying to poison Atia, and they see that sneaky new serving boy making a run for it.

They capture him, of course, and he gives up Servillia right away, but I guess that’s not a legal confession from a slave unless torture is involved? (Oh, you silly Romans…) so Timon tortures the fuck out of this kid while Octavia and Jocasta stop by, and Jocasta pukes in the hallway. After the torture times, Timon kills the kid, dumping his body in the sewer. He goes home to see the family still covered with blood to find out that his houseguest brother is totally usurping his position with his kids.

Next Atia has Servillia kidnapped and brought to her super cool torture room, and Timon works her over, too, flogging the crap out of her. Servillia is defiant until the end and spits in Atia’s face. Atia screams at Timon to torture her harder and Timon has finally had enough of her shit and cuts Servillia down and sets her free. Pretty sure he handed in his resignation at that point, too.

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Meanwhile, Pullo has come upon all kinds of dead soldiers and is frantically searching the battlefield for Vorenus when Octavian/Caesar (now played by this guy) comes upon him.

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He explains what he’s doing, and Octavian, of course helps him, points him in the right direction to find Marc Antony’s retreating troops and gives him his seal in case anyone tries to stop him. Octavian then gives a rousing speech to his troops and sends Agrippa off to Rome with a message for Octavia and Atia to let them know that he beat Antony.

Agrippa delivers the message and also tries to clue Octavia in to his deep and abiding, hopeless (I assume, because no one gets what they want on this show) love for her, and she delivers an epic brushoff. 1171110409-vlcsnap-594938

Pullo finds Vorenus and gives him the news about his kids and Vorenus, ever the perfect legionnaire, asks Antony’s permission to leave the army to find his kids. Pullo and Vorenus, together again, repair their friendship on the way to save the children, and Pullo counsels Vorenus about the horrors of a slave camp (he was born into one) and warns him that these won’t be the same children he remembers. Pullo also urges him to save Niobe’s son along with his daughters.

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The camp is an unbelievably horrific place, and Pullo insists that he be the one to do the talking. He spins a completely legit sounding story about needing to retrieve three runaway slaves for Caesar and has the seal to prove it. Against his better judgment, the slaver allows them to search the shack where the very young and the very old are kept.

A very emotional Vorenus finds Vorena the Younger and hugs her. Then he sees Lucius, who looks like he’s going to run, but Vorenus has had a charge of heart and hugs him, too.

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He’s very upset when he can’t find Vorena the Elder, and the slaver has caught on at this point that the kids aren’t runaway slaves, but a short sword at his back convinces him to quietly lead them to Vorena the Elder where they discover that she’s been forced into life as a sex slave.

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Vorenus is gutted. They rescue her and kill the slaver.

And now, the questions.

My favorite part of the episode:

This episode was fucking rough. I’m going to have to go with Jocasta puking during the torture of the slave and Octavia’s skillful brush off of Agrippa.

My least favorite part of the episode:

Pretty much the rest of it. The torture was bad, but the stuff with the kids. Fucking awful.

Favorite costume:

Octavia’s Agrippa brush off number. So pretty!

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Team Atia or Team Servilia, and why:

Neither. But this tweet by Jen sums it up, nicely.

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Favorite watch-a-long tweet (obviously used with permission):

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Guess Jess’s head canon:

Pullo and Vorenus have mended their friendship which can only lead to sexy times as far as the Admiral of the Jarmada is concerned.

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What made Jenny super happy?

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Jess’ take on Testudo et Lepus (The Tortoise and the Hare).

Jen’s take on Testudo et Lepus (The Tortoise and the Hare).

Writing: My Strengths and Weaknesses

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March 30, 2016

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Sooooooooooo, it’s come to this.

The inevitable strengths and weaknesses post.

*pushes up sleeves*

Let’s do this thing.

I’m going to hit weaknesses first. Why? Because I’m more comfortable in this arena. More on that in a bit.

Conflict – I struggle with conflict. The first book I ever wrote had zero. Like, literally none. My dear, dear friend, Alex Kourvo, told me something that’s stayed with me all these years. She said, “You have to love your characters enough to grab them by the hair and shove them face-first into the meat grinder.” So, when I feel myself struggling and wondering if I’ve got enough conflict, I hear Alex in my head, and I tighten my grip in my characters’ hair and try to shove a little harder.

Plotting – Ugh. I want to be a person who has an outline and a full-fledged plot. I, however, am not that person. Instead, as I told, Jass Takhar, in this nifty interview she did with me and Jess Jarman last week, I am the pantsiest pantser who ever pantsed. I struggle with plots because I only ever have a sort vague idea of where any given story is going and no real clue on how to get there. I sort of feel my way through the story and blindly shove the pieces together. If they don’t fit, I take them apart flip them around and try something different. Often multiple times. It usually works out in the end, but I feel like I waste a lot of time and energy getting there.

Making writing a priority – Remembering to make as much time for my work as I do everything else in my life is a common problem. Often, I’ll put off my own work in favor of working with a client on an edit, cleaning the house, doing something for someone else that could have waited a bit, making curtains, unclogging the freaking kitchen sink. Though, to be fair, that last one really couldn’t wait. But the point here is that I go through periods of not making my writing as much of a priority as I should – as much of a priority as it needs to be. Then, when I do make the time to write, it’s extra hard to get back into it again.

Out of the three of these weaknesses, this is the one I’ll be working the hardest on.

Okay, I guess it’s strengths time. I want to preface that part, by saying that about a year or so ago, we did a post about having mad skills at various things. This was a really hard post for a lot of us. As women in our society, we’ve been socialized to feel that saying something positive about ourselves is the equivalent of bragging. Even the simple act of saying “thank you” can be painfully difficult. Because saying “thank you” can/is often interpreted as, “Yes, I agree. I’m fucking fabulous.” When faced with a compliment, many women I know, myself included, have an incredibly difficult time, just saying thanks. More often than not, we feel compelled to point out all the flaws in whatever we’ve just been complimented on or explain all the ways it could have been better because we’re so uncomfortable. No one wants to be seen as agreeing about our relative awesomeness.

Interestingly enough, when men say something positive about themselves, they’re usually perceived as being confident. When women do the same thing, they’re perceived as being stuck up or stuck on themselves. They’re bragging. Look at those terms – they’re junior high leftovers back with another heaping helping of questionable self-esteem.

But, in a continuing effort to try to break this fucking pattern, I’m going to list what I feel are some of my writing strengths. And I’m going to do my level best not to point out all the flaws in said strengths or tell you how I could be doing any one of these things better. Even if it kills me.

*deep breath*

Characters – I genuinely like my characters, and for the most part, I think they’re pretty great. I feel like they have realistic strengths and flaws and are far more character than caricature. If they actually existed, I feel like they’d be fun to hang out with. Maybe at some sort of dinner party – nothing too fancy or too hipster – no…a cookout. That seems like a better venue for them.

Dialogue – I feel like I have a good ear for the way people talk. Probably because I’m nosy and, hey, if you’re gonna have that conversation in front of me in the middle of the cereal aisle, I’m probably gonna walk a little slower and “read” the nutrition info on all the boxes of granola.

Actually, that’s not entirely true. I think I do dialogue well because when I’m not feeling especially hermit-y and introverted (hey, it happens) I enjoy talking to people and listening to the way they use language. I find it fascinating that you can have five different people say the same basic thing, and there will be five different underlying meanings because each speaker’s experiences vary so greatly. I love the nuances of language and I like to that shows in my dialogue.

Incorporating a feminist perspective – Over the last few years, I’ve been noticing a lot of tropes in romance that make me uncomfortable: lack of or questionable consent, lack of respect for female characters – often from the “hero”. The heroine only has outside interests or friends until she gets a man. I think the one that makes me most nuts is the every other female is somehow competition for the heroine. She’s constantly comparing herself to other women. The hero compares everyone to her. The pretty girls are all mean. Slut shaming. Everyone is after her man – oh noes! In a lot of romance novels, I’m seeing a lot of internalized misogyny, and that creeps me the fuck out. Most of these books are written by women, and and I feel that as writers we can do a fuck of a lot better than that. I make a very conscious effort to avoid these bullshit tropes, and I try to turn them on their heads whenever I can. Especially in my latest releases, I feel like I’m doing a good job with this.

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Rome S02E03: These Being the Words of Marcus Tillius Cicero or The One Where Marc Antony Shows He’s an Awesome Houseguest by Pissing in a Potted Plant

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March 25, 2016

Content Warning: Sexual Assault, Multilation

This is going to be a real quick rundown because it’s the morning this post goes live, and I have a metric fuckton of client edits on my plate and a book of my own that needs finishing, so quick and dirty – not unlike Rome, itself.

Things are continuing to spiral horribly out of control. I feel like I’m watching a train wreck now, and that nothing good will ever happen for any of these people ever again.

Vorenus, who’s now completely hardened and embittered, is still having nightmares about Niobe dying and ruling the Aventine like a proper son of Hades and he’s got no patience for one of the captains who comes in to bitch about a guy who paid his nephew for oral sex. Vorenus is like…the kid was paid, so no harm, no foul. Pullo thinks it’s a problem and contradicts him in front of the other thugs and Vorenus is furious with him for undermining his authority. A short while later, the man who paid the thug’s nephew for a blow job is brought to Vorenus, bleeding heavily, just having been castrated by the thug’s crew, and his wife demands retribution.

Vorenus is not pleased and tells Pullo to disrespect that guy as he’s disrespected Vorenus, but Pullo refuses because he’s afraid of starting a gang war in the Aventine, so Vorenus sends someone else. Vorenus and Pullo argue about it and Pullo is begging for Vorenus to trust him after all the times he’s saved him and he let’s it slip that he killed Evander on Vorenus’ behalf and Vorenus loses his damn mind because Pullo knew that Niobe had been having an affair and didn’t tell him. They fight and Pullo leaves.

Octavia is hanging out and smoking weed with her new friend, Jocasta (anyone know if this is meant to be Oedipus’ mother/wife?), and Atia’s annoyed that they’re doing it in the house. (Things really do stay the same!) And while Atia joins them, Jocasta bitches about how ghastly Macedonia is and Atia later tells Antony that Macedonia is the literal worst and tells him that if they’re all the way out there Antony will lose his power.

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Antony says he he just wants to live in peace, but this doesn’t stop him from visiting Cicero and demanding that he gets appointed to Gaul instead, whilst being a super special houseguest and pissing in Cicero’s potted plant. Oh, and he also threatens to pour molten gold down Cicero’s throat if he doesn’t get Gaul.

Antony Peeing in the Plant

Brutus and Cassius are in a foreign country trying to raise an army to take back Rome. Brutus is drunk and bitter and things are not working out at all like he’d planned. The next day, he comes to either a river or a lake, strips off and wanders into the water and prays and appears to be ritually cleansing/baptising himself, but maybe he’s just still drunk. Not really sure there.

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Octavia is hanging out, playing the lyre, like you so when you’re bored nobility in Rome and a visitor to the house is clearly quite smitten with her. The visitor, Agrippa, is Octavian’s friend and brings a message from Octavian. Octavia is equally smitten with him. Agrippa delivers his message, chats a bit with Octavia and Atia is rude to him as usual then sends a messenger to tell Antony the enemy is in town and he should probably kill him.

Octavia Lyre

Back at the Aventine, the thug who castrated the the one guy is raped under the orders of Vorenus. Pullo goes to the brothel to apologize to Vorenus and they find the rapist dead in Vorenus’ office. Pullo asks for forgiveness and Vorenus accuses him of having an affair with Niobe, too. Pullo denies it, Vorenus doesn’t believe him, they have the mother of all fights and end up crashing through Vorenus’ office wall and into the brothel below. Finally, Pullo is like “fuck it, I’m out” and leaves Vorenus bleeding and crying on the floor and Pullo and Eriene leave Rome.

Vorenus

One of Atia’s servants, Durro? Duro? shows up at Servilia’s place and Servilia wants to know why the hell Atia is still alive. So apparently, he’s an assassin. He says he could do it quicker if he could kill Octavia, too, but Servilia won’t let him do that. He demands more money because the job is taking longer, and he also demands a kiss from Servilia.

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Lyde (Niobe’s sister) and Vorenus’ kids are miserable and locked in a dark room – or maybe it’s just the slave wagon, still. It was pretty dark. Anyway, Lyde escapes, but isn’t able to take the children with her and runs off into the night.

Lyde

At the Senate, Antony is anticipating hearing that he’s been appointed to Gaul, but Cicero is absent and has some other dude read his message aloud to Antony in front of the Senate. It’s clear that this guy didn’t read the note before hand. If I had, I can only assume he would have declined and left the country. Basically, Cicero rips Antony a new one, and as other Senate members start filing out, Antony is becoming more enraged by the second and eventually kills the messenger with the scroll on a stick thing. There’s a cut to Cicero who’s in a litter on his way out of Rome and is dictating an Antony-related message to his slave/assistant.

Antony

After three months away, Pullo and Eriene return to Rome to find the Aventine pretty much destroyed. He’s returned to try to make amends to Vorenus only to find that he’s joined Marc Antony’s army (again) and is off waging war somewhere. While he tries to figure out what to do next, Lyde comes running up to him and tells him the kids are still alive and we next see him galloping down the road at breakneck speed, presumably to rescue the children.

Pullo

Back at Atia’s, the assassin is in the kitchen and adding poison to the stew while the kitchen slave is attempting to serve Atia something that she doesn’t want. When she returns, the assassin helps ladle out the soup into a tureen, and the last shot of the episode is the servant carrying the tureen out to the dining room.

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And now, the questions.

My favorite part of the episode:

Hmm…probably Antony pissing in the plant and also the look on his face as that dude read the scathing letter to him.

My least favorite part of the episode:

So many things not to like, sexual assault, mutilation, Vorenus truly believing Pullo had slept with his wife…

Favorite costume:

Servilia’s green dress. But really, there were a lot of great dresses in this ep.

Servilia

Servilia dress

Team Atia or Team Servilia, and why:

Boy…I don’t even know. There’s part of me that’s feeling a little bad for Atia. She’s lost her son, she’s lost her power…I mean, she’s still just awful, but shit’s crumbling. And props to Servilia for attempting to take out her arch nemesis.

Favorite watch-a-long tweet (obviously used with permission):

There are a couple tonight.

This:

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And in response to my question, Dylan’s tweet:

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And this made me snort:

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Guess Jess’s head canon:

Pullo returns for true love.

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What made Jenny super happy?

Good, old fashioned, Roman weed.

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Jess’ take on These Being the Words of Marcus Tillius Cicero.

Jen’s take on These Being the Words of Marcus Tillius Cicero.

Dear 16 Year Old Me – We Need to Talk

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27 Comments

March 23, 2016

Content Warning: Assault

Me - 16

Dear Past Me,

It’s Future You, and we need to talk.

Basically, I’ve got some good news and some bad news.

Let’s start with the good. You know that asshat guy in study hall? The one with the pretty green eyes who keeps trying to toss Red Hots candies down your cleavage? Yeah, the one who was holding the open Calculous book that you dumped your Coke on?

Him.

Anyway, he’s going to be one of the best things that’s ever happened to you.

No, really. Stop laughing. This is serious.

This guy is going to be the one who gets you. He’s going to be the one who does ridiculous shit to cheer you up when you’re down. He’ll piss you off immensely, but he’ll make you laugh so hard you cry. He’ll also support your dreams. He won’t always get the whole writing thing, but he’ll understand that you’re happier when you’re writing, and will even surprise you with light up pens for middle of night note taking and waterproof note pads for for ideas from the shower faery. (This is mostly so he doesn’t have to come into the bathroom all the time to take notes when you get a brilliant idea, but it’s still sweet and thoughtful as fuck.)

There will be growing pains – after all, it can’t all be daffodils and teddy bears. But he’ll also have the determination to work through the hard shit and the ability to own his feelings and apologize when he’s wrong. This may not seem like a big deal to you right now, because that’s how our family works, but trust me when I tell you, not everyone’s does, and those are the kinds of things that destroy relationships.

He’ll still piss you off on the regular. You’ll still have nearly polar opposite taste in music. There will be household projects that remain unfinished for years, but he’ll be a great father to your two amazing kids, and he can almost always be convinced to adopt a cat.

And those kids? They won’t be perfect. Who among us is? But they will be perfect for the two of you. Even when they’re driving you batshit crazy, these are the kids you’re meant to have and the kids that will bring you more laughter and wonder and happiness than you ever imagined was possible. Being a mom is pretty much going to be your favorite thing ever.

You are going to end up with some of the most amazing friends known to man. No really – these people are going to be your tribe, and they will have your back like no other. And when you need tough-love? They’ll dish it out, and you’ll do the same for them. Oh, and that little sister you don’t even have yet? (Surprise! Mom is about to get knocked up, again.) That little sister is going to grow up to be one of your best friends, too.

A word of warning, though, which brings us to the bad. You really need to lose this stupid habit of believing what people say when their actions clearly contradict it. Save yourself years of misery and gaslighting. Not everyone wants the best for you, and sadly, you’re just going to have to get used to that and remove yourself from those people who’d rather see you fail than fly.

And related to that – it’s better to figure out now that you can’t save everyone. Technically, you can’t save anyone. You can only be there to hold the hands of those who want to save themselves. When you hold the hands of those who are happy being victims, you just let yourself get dragged down, too. Let them go.

Speaking of things you should do sooner, tell someone. Tell someone way sooner than you did. And when you do, don’t allow yourself to be guilted into silence. What happened sucked, and you will move past it, but remember, it was not your fault. You were a kid.

And speaking of being a kid, you’re about to take, quite possibly, the shittiest job you’ll have in your working career. In fact, that picture up there is you in your uniform. I know the job looks awesome. That little Polish restaurant is willing to work around your play practices and still give you enough hours to earn some money, but dude, trust me on this. The owner is a misogynist asshole, and the guys he has working for him in the kitchen are skeezy, skeezy predators. And when they grab your ass and your boobs and back you into the cooler and into corners, often holding knives and saying, “Nie mówię po angielsku.” while they’re laughing – trust me – they fucking know enough English to know what, “no” and “stop it” mean. I’m guessing you won’t, but dude, I wish you’d call the cops.

And when you talk to the other servers about what the fuck is wrong with the kitchen guys and they say, “Oh, that’s just Domeczek and Piotr. Just ignore them. We can’t say anything, or they’ll get deported.”, say something! They deserve to be deported. And when when your boss looks at you like you’re a freak because you tell him that you’re quitting because Piotr has crossed your last line, don’t feel guilty. Not even a little. And whatever you do, please remember that all this shitty behavior isn’t your fault. You’re a kid – they’re grownass men and perfectly capable of keeping their hands to themselves. This is not on you, and don’t for a minute think it is.

I feel like some of these things helped set the pattern of behavior for allowing yourself to be a bit of a doormat and not standing up for yourself to certain people. You’ll be glad to know, that you eventually grew out of that. Good job, you! Err…us!

Actually, I wish I could go back in time – to at least a couple of those events and help you through those situations. I’d particularly like to take down Domeczek and Piotr. But you know what? Your entire past made you who you are today and helped shape the life you have. And while there have certainly been some shit times, your life ends up being damn spectacular.

So, Past Me, carry on and love your life. It’s an awesome one.

Love,

Future You

PS: Trust me. You’re not fat. I promise.

Check out the other bloggers’ letters by clicking the names.

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Jessica

Flash Fiction #30 – How Long Will I Love You

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5 Comments

March 21, 2016

This week’s flash fiction is based on the Ellie Goulding song, How Long Will I Love You. The song is here, and the lyrics are here, if you want to have a listen/peek.

Content Warning: Domestic Violence

Cara startled at the twisting doorknob immediately followed by the heavily pounding fist on the bathroom door.

“Why the fuck is the door locked?”

“Sorry,” she called out, hoping her voice sounded level and natural. “Force of habit from peeing at work. I’ll be done in a sec.”

“You take that test, yet?”

She closed her eyes at the anger in his voice. “Doing it now.” Her hand shook as she watched the slightly fainter “positive” line form next to the bright blue indicator line, and her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach.

As Mitch banged on the door again, she quickly swapped out the positive test with the one she’d begged a co-worker to take for her, shoving the baggie with her test into the hole in the lining of her purse and tossed the packaging in the trash.

“Be right out.” She finished up then quickly washed her hands before opening the door.

“Well?” he demanded, holding out his hand.

She passed him the test and watched the for the relief she expected to see in the brown eyes she’d once thought were so warm. It was strangely absent.

“See?” he said, reaching past her to toss the test in the trash. “I told you going without the condom would be fine, and you had to pitch such a big fit about it.”

She didn’t respond. She knew better than that by now. Her cell phone chimed, and she reached into her purse for it.

“Who the fuck is that?”

She forced a smile she was far from feeling. “Won’t know ’til I check.”

Blinding pain blossomed against her ear as his fist made contact with the side of her head and she fell against the bathroom counter.

“Don’t get smart.”

If she’d been smart, she never would have agreed to have coffee with him in the first place. She certainly wouldn’t have agreed to dinner. As she pushed back to a standing position, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. The circles under her eyes were as dark as bruises, though they weren’t–he was careful never to hit her face. Small mercies, she supposed.

Her phone chimed again.

“You gonna get that, or what?”

Turning away from the reflection she hardly recognized anymore, she reached into her purse and swiped her thumb across the screen. Before she could even see who’d texted, he yanked the phone from her hand.

“Who the fuck is Kassie?”

“A girl at work.” It wasn’t. But he didn’t need to know that.

“She wants you to cover her shift.”

She sighed. “That means a double.”

“Do it.” He tossed her phone on the counter where it landed with a clatter. “We need the money.”

She nodded and quickly texted Kassie back. Tossing her phone back in her purse, she quickly ran a brush through her hair, trying not to wince as the bristles coasted across the still-throbbing spot above her ear. Carefully, she pulled it back into a ponytail and quickly braided it before pulling her uniform shirt over her t-shirt.

“What time will you be home?”

Never. Cara shrugged. “Depends on how busy we are at close. I should be home by eleven, though.”

“No later,” he warned. “And make sure you bring me something to eat.”

She nodded, waiting for him to move from the doorway. When he did, she went into the bedroom.

“Now, what the hell are you doing?”

“If I’m working a double, I need my meds and my phone charger. Without it, I won’t be able to text you to find out what you want for supper.”

“Good thinking.”

She shoved her phone and the pill bottle where she’d been squirreling away as many of her tips as she’d dared into her purse and grabbed her hoodie. “See you tonight.”

He didn’t respond, but she didn’t expect him to. He was already scrolling through his phone.

She forced herself to keep a normal pace as she descended the stairs to their walk-up and down the sidewalk, knowing he’d be watching out the window like he always did. As soon as she was out of sight, she called Kassie.

“Where are you?” her friend, Lainey, asked. She’d changed her name to Kassie in Cara’s contact list since Mitch hated her and had insisted they not see each other.

“Heading toward the train platform.”

“Was it positive?”

Sudden tears clogged her throat. “Yeah,” she choked out.

“Goddamnit,” Lainey muttered. “What can I do to help?”

Cara sniffled. “Meet me at the clinic on Fourth?”

“Of course. You sure that’s what you want?”

“No…but I can’t be tied to him for the rest of my life, and I can’t risk a another life, either. And somehow, he’d find out. He’d find out and hurt a kid to hurt me. I can’t do it.”

“Okay. Whatever you need.”

After hanging up with Lainey, Cara got on the F Train for the short ride to the clinic. There was a part of her that suspected that Mitch had been hoping to knock her up as a way to insure she’d stick around. She’d been trying to save enough to get a bus ticket across country and get as far away from him as possible.

She’d known she was pregnant before she’d even taken the test. She hadn’t planned on saying anything to Mitch, at all–she’d just planned on leaving– but he’d heard her throwing up a few too many times. She’d tried to play it off as the flu, but he’d insisted she take a test, and that’s when she knew she needed to up her timetable whether she had the money or not.

She stuck her earbuds in and hit shuffle on her playlist and the haunting strains of a single piano filled her head, and she blinked back the sadness and anger that swirled through her. She’d always wanted to be a mother. Not now while she was so messed up and couldn’t even care for herself, let alone an infant–and definitely not with Mitch. She did want a child of her own someday. But it couldn’t be this child or this day.

As she pushed her way through a small, but vocal, throng of protesters to meet an obviously pregnant Lainey near the doors, the line: How long will I love you? As long as stars are above you. reverberated through her head, and she knew that the best thing she could do for this child was to let go with all the love she had.

Check out what the other bloggers came up with by clicking their names.

Jessica

Kris

Rome S02E02: Son of Hades or The One Where Vorenus Finds Meaning in Life Running a Brothel and Intimidating Lesser Men

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3 Comments

March 19, 2016

The Aventine has gone to hell. Everyone is robbing everyone and beating the shit out of everyone and Vorenus is sitting in his bed staring at Erastes decaying head and grieving Niobe and the kids while Titus and Eriene take care of him.

Marc Antony is getting ready for Cleopatra’s arrival, listening to Atia complain, dodging every single question Octavian asks about his inheritance from Caesar, and being forced to deal with the complaints of Roman citizens.

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Cleopatra shows up and brilliantly throws shade by claiming that she doesn’t remember meeting Marc Antony. She’s there to negotiate Roman protection in exchange for grain and to insist that her son publically claimed as Caesar’s and Antony apparently tries to trade sex for the paternity claim and Cleopatra slaps him. As she’s leaving she recognizes Pullo (who’s likely the actual father of her son) in the crowd.

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Pullo is waiting to speak with Antony about helping Vorenus, and Antony goes to Vorenus’ place to tell him to shape the fuck up. After berating Vorenus, Antony puts him in charge of getting the Aventine under control.

Atia has yet another party where she’s clearly planning to have Servillia killed, but Octavian thwarts those plans by threatening to tell Antony, so Atia has to cancel her plan. Cleopatra and entourage shows up, Cleo opening flirts with Antony in front of Atia, and Atia wants her dead – as usual.

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Vorenus calls a meeting of the crime lords fucking up the Aventine and while they’re under some sort of truce under the patron goddess of thieving, murdering rapists, he smashes her statue and declares himself the Son of Hades and intimidates them all into behaving themselves. Pullo’s worried that Vorenus is going to piss off the gods, but Vorenus figures they’ve already done their worst by taking his wife and kids. This is a man who has zero fucks to give.

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Octavian demands his share of the inheritance to appease common people and when he doesn’t get it, borrows money from a money lender and Atia and Antony lose their damn minds and Antony beats the shit out of Octavian.

Timon, Atia’s faithful servant, discovers that his zealot brother Levi has left Jerusalem to stay with Timon and his wife and children.

Later, Octavian leaves to stay with his friend Agrippa and leaves Atia a I’m-running-away-from-home note. On his way out of town, they pass slavers, and in one of the wagons are Vorenus’ children – miserable, but very much alive.

And now, the questions.

My favorite part of the episode:

I did rather enjoy Vorenus going off on the thugs. I enjoyed that a lot.

My least favorite part of the episode:

Seeing the kids in the slave wagon.

Favorite costume:

I can never find a decent picture of what I want, but I wish I was smaller chested so I could wear stuff like this in the summer.

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Team Atia or Team Servillia, and why:

Atia is still the literal worst at momming, but it was pretty ballsy of her to threaten a queen.

Favorite watch-a-long tweet (obviously used with permission):

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Guess Jess’s head canon:

More of Pullo looking after Vorenus. I think she particularly enjoyed this bit.

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What made Jenny super happy?

Octavia coming into her own.

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Jess’ take on Son of Hades.

Jen’s take on Son of Hades.

Your ROME post has been temporarily relocated to Saturday

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March 18, 2016

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So here’s the deal. Jen’s blog was on hiatus for a week, so she was all, “Sorry, guys, I can’t do my Rome post.”

However, we knew she was just trying to weasel out of work while she recovers from her Jamaican vacation. So catching her on a technicality, we decided to switch the Rome post day to Saturday…when her hiatus is over.

Because that’s what good friends do.

Wordless Wednesday: Sadness

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March 16, 2016

As per usual, my Wordless Wednesday has words. Just a few.

There are a lot of things that make me sad. A fuck of a lot, really. But this pretty much makes me the saddest.

This picture was taken around the autumn/winter of 1997. On the left is my nephew, Zane. On the right is my son, Corwin (and also my brother, Andrew).

And this was taken a few years ago at the Tomorrow’s Child Memorial Baby Garden in Lansing, MI. The wording is from a poem my brother asked me to write (and read) for Zane’s funeral.

For more Wordless Wednesday posts, click on the other bloggers’ names and see what they’ve got for you. Bet some of them have words…

Promptly Penned: No Abduction Policy

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March 9, 2016

Prompt:

Person A: “I thought I’d made it clear we have a no abduction policy.”

Person B: “She wasn’t cooperating. What did you expect me to do?”

Welp…this was a surprise… But hey, these writing exercises are meant to get us thinking outside the box. This is way outside.

Izzy stared open-mouthed at the struggling, fabric-swaddled bundle Samantha had hoisted over her shoulder. “I thought I’d made it clear we have a no abduction policy.”

Samantha shrugged as well as she could while still carrying what looked like a large dufflebag full of angry octogenarian. “She wasn’t cooperating. What did you expect me to do?”

Sam was going to be the death of her. Izzy’s father always insisted that she’d die in a lab accident. But she knew better. Sooner or later, Sam was going to give her a goddamn aneurysm. “I didn’t expect you to resort to breaking the law and kidnapping an Associate Justice of the Supreme Court, you fuckwit.”

A muffled-sounding, “Language!” came from the bag.

Izzy sighed. “Well, get her out of there before she suffocates. The last thing we need is kidnapping and manslaughter charges.”

“Murder,” the bag’s occupant snapped.

“Murder,” Izzy agreed with a sigh as Samantha slowly lowered the duffelbag to the floor.

Dropping to her knees, Samantha untied the drawstring then stood and tugged the bag off her victim. And there stood all five feet of Ruth Bader Ginsburg in all her Harvard educated glory.

“Seriously, Sam? She’s still in her robes.”

Ginsburg adjusted her glasses which were slightly askew and brushed both real and imaginary lint off the black fabric. “Of course, I’m still in my robes. This one,” she gestured toward Samantha, “accosted me in the bathroom. Now, what is it you two want?”

Izzy sighed and gestured to the table and chairs in the conference area outside the lab. “Would you care for some coffee?”

“As long as it isn’t laced with arsenic, I suppose.” Ginsburg perched on one of the molded plastic chairs and smoothed a few loose hairs back into place then accepted the cup of coffee Izzy offered her.

“Now, back to the question at hand, what’s so important that you felt the need,” she turned to glare at Samantha, “to abduct me?”

Nerves in a tangle, Izzy set down her cup. “It’s about Trump.”

The older woman snorted. “I don’t know what you think I can possibly do about him. I have no control over the election.”

Samantha sat across from Ginsburg and leaned forward excitedly. “But what if it were possible to give you that control.”

The Justice frowned. “What on earth are you talking about?”

Izzy spared a glance at Sam then looked back at Ginsberg.”We’ve made an amazing break-through with some technology we think has the potential to change the upcoming election.”

“In what way?”

“What would you say if I told you that by using our newly developed brain scan, we can project your thoughts and belief systems into another mind. That we have the capability of changing dangerous, harmful thought patterns. That we can turn hatred to compassion.”Izzy took a deep breath. “We can eradicate Trump’s racism, misogyny and xenophobic rhetoric and replace it with acceptance and equality.”

“And you’re telling me this why?”

“We need your brain,” Sam blurted.

“Not your brain! Just a scan of your brain,” Izzy corrected.

Ginsburg raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

Twisting her hands in her lap, Izzy fought the urge to bolt. They’d kidnapped a Supreme Court Justice, for fuck’s sake. “Trump is a nightmare.”

“Agreed,” Ginsburg said, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Our thought was that if he gets the GOP nomination, we project the scan of your brain into his. It won’t hurt you. Or him. We’ve done it ourselves.”

“Yeah,” Sam muttered. “I was a vegan, lesbian, Ani DiFranco groupie for almost four months.”She smiled brightly. “As it turns out, I’m not quite as straight as I thought I was, but the more important thing here is that cheese and I are back together, again.”

“The point is, it’s not permanent, no one was harmed, and with this technology, we’ll be able to prevent the sort of Trump presidency that’s looming closer every day.” Izzy cleared her throat. “With your thought patterns and core beliefs superimposed over his, he’ll be prochoice, pro-equality, pro-imigration and liberal as fuck.”

Ginsburg gave up all pretence of drinking her coffee and folded her hands on the table. “I’m listening.”

“When the presidential debates start, a huge portion of his supporters will jump ship. They either won’t vote at all, or they’ll pick the democratic candidate as the lesser of two evils,” Izzy said.

“Or vote libertarian,” Sam added. “Either way, it’s a win for us.”

“And if Trump manages to make it into office?” Ginsburg asked.

“Whenever the effects start to wear off, we just give him another dose.”

“You both realize this is not only illegal…or, it should be. It’s also immoral. And unethical.

Izzy nodded. “We know. If there were another way…”

“So,” Sam said, “you in?”

Ginsburg fixed them both with a level stare. “I’m in.”

That’s all from me, today. Go check out the other bloggers’ writing prompts and see what they came up with.

Flash Fiction #29 – Handprint

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4 Comments

March 7, 2016

Claudia pulled into her sister’s driveway and parked behind Addie’s beat-up volvo that was in dire need of a wash. She was obviously home if her car was here.

Claudia’s fury simmered beneath her skin. And if Addie was here, she could damn well answer her phone. Over a week of calls going to voicemail, and Claudia’d had enough. Addie wasn’t even picking up for her parents or her friends.

But, it wasn’t like she hadn’t done this before. She’d get a new video game and spend forty-eight hours doing nothing but leveling up. It wasn’t unheard of for her to call in sick to work when a new MMO released. But she’d never been out of contact for an entire week before.

A small niggle of worry twinged in Claudia’s chest, but she crushed it as she picked her way up the plant strewn front steps, wrinkling her nose at the odor of tomatoes rotting on the vine. It was just like her sister to waste perfectly good food because she was too damn lazy to pick it.

Fitting the spare key into the deadbolt lock in the front door, she turned it, and the tumbler slid over with a resounding clunk, and she let herself in. Nearly tripping over the pile of flip-flops and boots by the door, Claudia shut the door behind her, groaning at the mess covering every horizontal surface in the living room. If the front room was this bad, she’d likely need a HAZMAT suit to enter the kitchen

“Jesus Christ, Addie. If anything ever happened to you, the cops wouldn’t know what were signs of a struggle and and what was your normal decorating scheme.”

No answer. Not even a “fuck off”.

“Addie,” she called again, carefully maneuvering through the piles of mail, dirty dishes and baskets of laundry that might be clean…or might not.

Nothing.

“Adelaide,” she called louder. It was a single story house. There was no way her sister didn’t hear her–unless she was asleep. Bitch slept like the dead. A chill skated along Claudia’s spine at the thought, and she rushed through the dining room that Addie used as a home office.

The computer was on, and the screensaver, a bouncing Apple logo, had been activated. Her cellphone sat between the keyboard and a nearly full cup of coffee on the desk. As she got closer, she saw a cluster of furry, whitish-gray mold floating on the heavily-creamed surface.

The worry she’d tried to suppress earlier bloomed into full-fledged fear as she turned the handle on her sister’s bedroom door. Please let her have the flu. Please let her have the flu. Please let her be okay.

But the bed where she’d hoped to find Addie was empty. And there was no sign of her anywhere. The bathroom door was ajar, and a narrow triangle of light spread from the bathroom onto the bedroom floor. Claudia raced toward it, both hoping and fearing her sister was in there.

She shoved open the door, and it bounced off the towel rack behind it, the tiled room echoing emptily.

“Addie?” Her voice cracked on the word as she stepped into the room. The bathroom was just as void of life as the rest of the place had been. Addie’s usual array of sticky notes bordered the sides of the medicine cabinet mirror. Girl couldn’t use a planner like the rest of the population, she kept track of everything with sticky notes on the mirror.

Creeping closer, she peered at the notes, hoping the one of them would give her a clue to her sister’s whereabouts. She was crossing her fingers that there was one that said “Emergency Camping Trip” or something else that would explain where the hell she was and why she couldn’t be reached.

As she moved closer to the sink, the bathroom door slowly swung almost shut like usual. She scanned the notes. Random phone numbers, a doctor’s appointment, a half-finished grocery list, a reminder to pay the internet bill–due today. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing that looked any different from any other time Claudia had used Addie’s bathroom.

Straightening, she gasped as she saw movement behind her reflected in the mirror. She whirled and found herself staring at a cheap, full-length mirror mounted to the back of the door. She didn’t remember seeing it before, but a mirror wasn’t all that unusual an addition to a bathroom. The movement must have been a trick of the light, because there was nothing there.

She took a deep breath, trying to gather her nerves to look for some sign of Addie down the basement. The one Claudia had insisted was a “murder basement” when Addie had moved into the house. Reaching for the door knob, Claudia screamed as it was jerked from her fingers and the door slammed shut.

Grabbing hold of the knob, she twisted back and forth, but the thing hardly budged. “Addie, this isn’t funny,” she hollered. “Let me out, goddamn it!” She shook the door in its frame, and when that didn’t work, she kicked at it. “C’mon! Let me out! This is bullshit!”

From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of motion in the mirror on the door. Releasing the handle, she took a step back, watching in horrified fascination as billowing steam seemed to fill the mirror, obscuring the reflection of not only her, but the room, too.

All at once, she caught a glimpse of Addie in the mirror. Wearing a dirty, yellow sundress, her red hair a tangled mass around her head she seemed to be tearing toward Claudia from inside the mirror.

“Addie?” she whispered.

The door shook with the force of the impact as her sister slammed into the inside of the mirror. But someone…or something seemed to yank her backward, and the fog closed in again, leaving only her handprint on the glass.

Okay, so that’s it for me. Be sure to check out what the other bloggers came up with when they looked at this picture.

Kris

Kayleigh

Paige