#it kind of feels like the writers weren’t totally sure what to do with roman towards the beginning of the show

[ravenkings]

one thing i’ve been thinking about is roman helping kerry pick up her things when she’s kicked out of logan’s townhouse by marcia in 4.04 vs the situation in the pilot when, during the family softball game, roman mockingly tells a caretaker’s son that he’ll give him $1 million if he hits a home run (which he, of course, does not.) i’m not sure whether to read this as part of the general inconsistencies with roman’s character at the beginning of season 1 (for instance, the ambiguity over whether or not he had a daughter, etc.) or if he’s somehow developed since that point or if he’s just mercurial (all of which are possible/accurate.)

[stevesharrlngtons]

i measure time by days spent away from you.

roman godfrey x reader

summary: while you’re off on a girls weekend, roman is left missing you.

word count: 5.9k

a/n: ingredients: just sweetness. instructions: read when you are feeling sad. results: good feelings resulting in feedback 4 the writer (-:  

“I can’t believe you’re being such a baby about this.” 

“Fuck off,” Roman grumbled in reply, moving to lay flat against the mattress with a huff. 

You just laughed and continued to fold clothes into your bag. You were very meticulous when it came to packing, wanting everything in your suitcase to be stored efficiently to maximize space. Roman always teased you about it. Although, each and every vacation taken together, he always complained that he couldn’t fit everything he wanted to bring in his suitcase. You’d counter his irritation by offering to help him pack next time, and he’d always roll his eyes stubbornly.

But, you wouldn’t have to hear his snarky comments or annoyed ramblings this trip, because you were leaving Roman behind in Pennsylvania. 

Destiny had invited you to her bachelorette party in Atlantic City for the long weekend, and you had happily accepted. You had been awaiting this girls trip for weeks and you were excited that it had finally arrived. You didn’t have many female friends anymore, having grown apart from the ones you made in high school and college, so the opportunity to have some good old fashioned girl time was overdue. While you and Destiny were close, you had never met any of her other friends. You were silently hoping to come out of the weekend with some new buddies, a few good stories, and plans for future adventures. 

“I just don’t understand why it’s three days…” he said, watching you riffle through the closet for a party dress. 

“Hardly,” you snorted, “I’ll be gone tonight, tomorrow and Sunday morning. You’ll barely even notice.”

The sound of you moving hangers around covered Roman’s pouted not likely.

Roman had been dreading your departure all week and now that it was here, he was stewing in self pity and pubescent angst. He didn’t want you to fly to New Jersey and go partying with a bunch of rowdy women, he just wanted you to himself. Which he knew was selfish and borderline unhealthy, but he didn’t really care. He liked you right by his side, slung under his arm, safe and sound. He wasn’t used to you going out with friends and especially not for so long. If you were out for an evening, you were back and in bed snuggled to his chest well before dawn. 

“I just don’t see why you can’t fly out Saturday morning, do whatever Destiny wants, then fly home in the evening,” Roman sighed, waving his hands lazily in the air. 

“What kind of loser does that? It’s like showing up for the birthday party and leaving before the sleepover,” you took a dress from the closet and walked to the mirror to pose with it infront of your body. 

“You hated sleepovers as a kid,” he argued. 

“I never wanted to sleep in a sleeping bag on the floor,” you shuttered, “but when I’m promised a nice mattress, along with tons of drinking and dancing? Count me in for the sleepover and all the party favors.” 

“So, what?” Roman pushed up to rest on his elbows, “You’re just going to get wasted and dance? You could do that here, y’know?” 

“You wanna go dancing with me, Rome?” you shifted your eyes from the dress to look at his reflection in the mirror. 

“You know I’d go with you if you asked…” 

“Then, we should totally go dancing next weekend, baby.” 

You turned to place the dress you had been modeling in your bag and Roman groused petulantly. He watched closely as you folded the slinky designer dress on top of your other clothing and toiletries, smiling when it fit perfectly. You mouthed your checklist to yourself, counting off on your fingers that you had everything you needed, before you zipped the suitcase shut. When you had finished, you shuffled around on your knees to look at him.

“What if I fly down with you and we could get our own room? Have some hotel fun?” he raised an eyebrow and you just shook your head at his pleading. 

“Ro, this is a girls weekend, meaning no boys allowed. Including you.” 

He once more threw himself back down on the mattress in theatrics. 

“You do know that Peter lives here now?” you walked over to the bed and hopped on to straddle his hips, “How can you be mad at me for leaving you to have a fun weekend with your best friend?”

“Peter has plans.” 

“I know for a fact that he doesn't,” you took Roman’s face on your hands and pivoted his chin to look at you, “so go out with him. Have some fun, get drunk, do whatever you can’t do when I’m here.”  

Roman let you handle him completely, his neck limp and suggestible. He stared up at you with sad emerald eyes. 

“What if I make some calls and get the jet? I could get it here in an hour and you could go to New Jersey and be home before dinner?”

You just smiled and leaned down to kiss him softly, “I love you.” 

“Is that a yes?” 

“It’s a no, but I still love you.”

Again, Roman slumped and sulked.  

You looked down at your moping boyfriend and kissed his jaw affectionately. You knew that Roman loved you, but you weren’t entirely sure why he was throwing such a fit about your leaving? Sure, he liked being with you, doing things with you, fucking you; but he wasn’t one of those partner’s who was lost without their other half. Roman did plenty of things alone, even went on the occasional business trip all by his lonesome and never put up this kind of fight before. 

You had mentally chalked it down as him being a possessive worry wart, which is why you already had plans to text him often to ease his mind. 

As you continued to lay soft kisses to his skin, there was a honk outside followed closely by a buzz of your phone. Your car had arrived to pick you up. Roman groaned as you sat up. 

“I gotta go, baby.” 

“Five more minutes?” 

“I don’t think I can ask the driver to do that,” you hummed as you pushed yourself off him. 

You went to the door and you looked over your shoulder to see Roman still laying down, a scowl on his face. 

“Are you gonna walk me down, at least? I’d like to say goodbye to you.”

Roman’s scowl deepened before he released a deep breath and pushed up from the mattress and walked to you. When he reached you, you made a move to grab your bags, but Roman beat you to it. He picked up your luggage without any haste and left the bedroom without a word or backward glance. You just rolled your eyes at his childishness and followed him, catching up with his long legged strides to wrap your arms around his waist. You pressed your cheek firmly to his back, and wound your fingertips in the fabric of his shirt. It made walking down the stairs a struggle, but Roman didn’t move to peel you off, which you appreciated. 

“You off?” Peter asked from the living room, lifting the remote to pause whatever he was watching on TV. 

“Sure am,” you said from behind Roman, giving him a gentle squeeze. 

“Have fun, will ya? Say hi to D for me.” 

“I will,” you grinned as Roman stayed silent. 

You could see Peter's face screw up with confusion on Roman’s stoic behavior, but kept his mouth shut on the matter, something you were thankful for. There was another honk from outside which prompted you to start to drag your oversized boyfriend to the front door. 

“Have fun!” Peter called again, his voice muted by the closing door. 

Once outside, Roman handed off your suitcase to the town car driver. The man took your luggage, then opened the backseat door swiftly for you to enter, waiting expectantly. 

“Give us a minute,” Roman said, dismissing the driver with a little too much hostility. 

The driver gave no indication of being offended by Roman’s tone, as he nodded and went to put your bag in the trunk of the car and then returned to the driver's seat. When he was out of sight, Roman looked you in the eyes. 

“You really sure you wanna go?” 

“Really sure,” you responded with a quick nod. 

“I guess I can’t talk you out of it then, now can I?” he frowned. 

“Roman, I promise you everything is going to be OK. I’ll be fine there, and you’ll be fine here.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” he slumped his shoulders. 

“Then what is it?” 

Roman just shrugged. Too stubborn to admit how much he would miss you. 

You sighed, “Well, whatever it is… I’m going to miss you.” 

Roman took his hands from his pockets and placed them on your hips. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll miss you, too.” 

You slid your hands up his chest to meet behind his neck, pulling him close. 

“I love you very much,” you placed a chaste kiss to his lips, which Roman chased. 

“Love you, too.” he returned, giving you a much longer, more passionate kiss. 

When you pulled apart, Roman spoke again. 

“Text me when you get to the airport, when you board the plane, when you take off, when you land, when you actually get off the plane, what kind of car you're taking to the hotel, get me the driver’s info if you can --” you interrupted his rambled list. 

“I will, I will do all of that and I will tell you when we get to the hotel.” you said in a soft, placating voice. You smoothed your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and felt tiny goosebumps form along the skin underneath. 

“Fine, fine, OK.” Roman’s jaw tightened. 

You leaned up and pressed your lips to the tensing muscle, “I love you and I promise to keep you posted, but I gotta go. I don’t wanna miss the flight.” 

Roman nodded stiffly, but said nothing. 

You began to wiggle away from his hold, when Roman decided to swoop down one last time to kiss you. You were sure the driver was retching by the sheer amount of times you both had done so, but you didn’t care. You loved this silly man and would drown him in smooches to his heart content before you left. 

When your final kiss ceased, you both with labored breathing and gloss swollen lips, Roman let you enter the backseat of the town car and shut the door behind you. 

As the car drove away, you unrolled the window and leaned out the opening, blowing him a dramatic kiss as you swayed your arm in the wind like a 19th century on looker to a parting ship. Roman watched you with a stilted smile until you disappeared down the road. 

When Roman came back inside the house, Peter was waiting for him.

“So, the ol’ ball and chain is out for the weekend. What are your plans?”

Roman said nothing to him as he began to march up the stairs, hand clenching the rail. 

“I’m thinking strippers? Huh? Could be fun?” Peter walked to the staircase and watched Roman until he receded into the hallway without a reply. 

“Maybe rent the fight on pay-per-view? Get some beers?” he called louder. 

Still he only received silence. He rested his chin on the banister and waited a moment before he yelled, “Fine, be a pussy and cry that your girlfriend is gone!” 

The sound of a door being thrown open was Peter’s first response, followed by a verbal one. 

“I never said no, Jesus! So fucking fine, let’s go to the strip club, asshole.” 

Peter smirked as he heard Roman’s indiscernible grumbles before he shut himself right back into his bedroom. Roman liked to pretend he was complicated, but Peter could play him like a fiddle. 

Roman was surrounded by body oil, neon lights and gyrating women. A few years ago, this would have been his heaven, his domain. But now, it all felt trivial and antiquated. It felt played out and pathetic. With the neck of a beer bottle cradled lazily between his fingers, he watched on as the beautiful women of the club stripped from their skimpy costumes and revealed themselves in new and arousing ways. 

Peter, who sat next to him at their small circular table, was transfixed by the women around them. Reclined in his seat with a smile on his face, his eyes followed the dancers as they spun around poles, as they groped and shook themselves. Roman knew that he should have the same appreciation for the dancers as his friend. He knew that he should be calling over the ones who eyed him up and down with lust, he knew that he should be paying for private dances until his bank account ran dry. But he didn’t want to. He didn’t feel like it, at all. 

Peter picked up on his friend's lack of enthusiasm when he found him slipping his phone from his pocket every few minutes to check for notifications. He let out a snort through his nose, one that was muffled under the booming music, but still heard by Roman. 

“What?” he asked as he tried to discreetly put his cell back in his front pocket. 

“Nothing,” Peter hummed, raising his eyebrows, “Just find it funny.” 

“Find what funny?” 

“That you’re so whipped.” 

“Fuck off,” Roman scoffed, taking a swig of his beer. 

“Sure, sure, whatever. It won’t make you any less whipped, though…” Peter smirked. 

“I am not fucking whipped.” 

“Yeah? Then why do you look like you just put your fucking dog down when you should be looking like a kid in a candy store? Huh?” 

“I’m just not feeling it, OK? These girls are ugly. If I see one more cesarean scar I might vomit,” he sneered. 

“These girls are all tens and you know it! You’re just being a pouty little whipped boy because your girlfriend’s gone.” 

Roman’s face hardened as he turned to glare at Peter, “Fine, y’know that? Fuck you, you goddamn prick. Have fun with these busted bitches. I’m out of here.” 

Roman shot from his seat and slammed his beer on the table, causing a few other patrons to look over. He was already gathering his things to leave. 

“Hey, hey, hey, cool down, bud,” Peter said, trying to pacify a Godfrey level tantrum, “I was just joking around, OK? I’m just bustin’ your balls, that’s all.”

Roman’s mouth pressed into a thin line as he loomed over the table with a glower in his wide eyes. 

“C’mon man, just sit,” Peter pleaded, “Don't be weird about it, just sit.” 

Roman eventually relented after a long pause, collapsing his long limbs back into his chair with a loud sniff, his posture rigid. Roman picked his beer back up and took a pull from the bottle. 

“Look, I really was just kidding around, alright? Don’t take it to heart or anything,” Peter said, leaning toward his friend so he wouldn’t have to talk over the music. 

“Yeah, Ok. Fine,” Roman replied, refusing to make eye contact by letting his gaze wander around the club. 

Peter sighed, “I get it, alright? I do. When you’re in love, things are different. You have blinders on to everything but that one person, and as easy as it is to make fun of, it’s not a bad thing, Roman. It’s good, and it’s a good feeling to have.” 

Roman finally looked over the table to Peter, whose gaze had wilted and saddened. He could practically see him thinking about Letha, her face forming and twisting in his irises. 

He swallowed thickly before he slapped Peter on the shoulder in a search to break the tension, “No hard feelings. I’m gonna head out for a smoke, yeah? And I promise when I get back I’ll have a better time. OK?” 

Peter pursed his lips in an attempt to ward off the bubbling curse of his fallen love's memory and nodded, quickly downing the remainder of his drink and calling a waitress over for another. 

Roman took his jacket from the back of his chair and headed for the exit. Once outside, he collected his pack of Marlboros from his pocket, then a cigarette and the lighter that fit snuggly beside each other. 

As he sucked on the filter under the club’s awning and fluorescent flood lights, he felt his phone vibrate. He scrambled to retrieve it from his jeans and read the text hurriedly. 

just got to dinner and im ordering a vodka soda and thinking of you. miss u already, ily!

Roman’s heart flipped and fluttered in a way that made his cheeks tinge with pink, while a smile fought to curl on his lips. As he quickly typed out a reply, a little voice in the back of his head told him that maybe Peter was right, maybe he was whipped. 

drink slow, baby, remember what happened in ibiza when you had to many lol

And immediately after

i love you too, keep me posted

When he pocketed his phone once more, Roman pondered. Flicking the ash off of the end of his cigarette, he decided that there were worse things in life than being in love with a woman, and being devoted to her. If that made him whipped, then so be it. Though, he would never admit that to anyone but his consciousness (even a bit painfully at that).  

The sheets were warm with body heat and Roman had lost the cool side of his pillow hours ago. He tossed and turned. He shucked off the blankets, just to retrieve them moments later. His limbs danced under the sheets in search of comfort and a portion of the bed that wasn’t sticky with his sweat and a high temperature. His hips hurt from laying on his sides and his shoulders hurt when he rolled on his back. He was crawling out of his skin with discomfort and soreness as the moon illuminated the bedroom. Around 1AM, he had tried to close the blinds, but they only ever budged for your magic touch, and Roman had only mangled them into an unrelenting slope. 

Roman had checked his phone every ten minutes since he got under the covers. He had texted you a succinct good night around eleven and had received a jumbled good night in response. He had typed out a text that had bordered on passive aggressive, asking about how your night had been going and how much you had had to drink, but deleted it before he hit send. He was doing his best to avoid playing into the overbearing, resentful boyfriend role that he felt he was in. You deserved to let loose, he just wished he was by your side as you did (and not thousands of miles away).

He had typed another text out just after midnight, then another after the blinds incident, but deleted those as well. Part of his pouting was pretending that you didn’t want to be bothered by his messages, so he would just lock his phone and return it to the night stand each time. But, that was before the irritation had set in on his bones and just the thought of trying to fall asleep made his skin waver and blister. 

But he still didn’t text you. 

Because this time he called. 

He shuffled around as he listened to the phone ring in his ear, squirming under the covers as the top sheet seemed to be holding his ankle hostage. He felt an overwhelming urge to snap and strip the bed of its clothes and throw them all out on the lawn, when he heard you begin to pick up.

“Ro?” you shouted into the receiver, the loud blare of club music accompanying your voice. 

“Hey, you’re still out?” he asked, twisting his leg around erratically until his ankle was free. 

“I can’t hear you! Hold on,” you said loudly again, followed by muffled shuffles as you moved through the crowd.   

“Wait! Hold on! Roman! Wait!” he heard your far away voice say as you exited the club. 

The music grew further away and the static shuffle ended, Roman could finally hear your voice and only it. 

“Sorry ‘bout that,” you giggled.

“Having fun?” Roman asked, trying to mask his interest. 

“Yeah,” he could hear your shrug, “dancing is lots of fun.”

“You sound like you’re having fun.” 

“Well, I can be lots of fun after a few Moscow Mules,” you chuckled at your own joke. 

“Switched from vodka sodas?”

“Yeah, the other girls were drinking them so I thought, ‘Hey! Why not?’”

Roman could hear the sound of your high heels echoing on the pavement. 

“How are you getting along with them? No bad blood?” 

There was a beat of pause on your end before you sighed, “It’s hard to make new friends, Rome.”

“Did something happen?” Roman felt a flare of anger in his chest. 

“No, no,” you replied, “they’re nice girls, I think I’m just in my head about it.” 

“Are you sure, baby?” 

“Yeah, everything's fine, really. I am having a lot of fun.” you reassured. 

“You sure?” 

“I mean, they’re nice. They are… but they’ve all been friends for years, and I’m just this new girl coming in and trying to fit in with them. That’s the only bad part; feeling like I have to prove myself or something… I don’t know. Girls are weird,” you peeled away at the skin on your lip as you spoke. 

“They’re excluding you? The fuck is wrong with those fucking women? Who the fuck do they think they are?” Roman’s heart beat began to accelerate and suddenly sleep was the last thing on his mind. 

“No, of course they aren’t excluding me. Destiny wouldn’t let that happen and you know it,” you said, “it’s just… they all have inside jokes and years of history together and y’know, here I come, Destiny’s new friend whose main bond with her is weird vargulf trauma.”

“I swear to God, baby, if I hear anything about them bullying you, no one will ever find the bodies. I’ll drain those snotty bitches for you,” he swore. 

You replied with a light hearted giggle, “I highly doubt that will be necessary. But is there something very wrong with me, that you threatening homicide for me, sorta turns me on?” 

Your comment was the pin to burst the anger that had begun to balloon in his chest. 

Roman snickered, “No, at least not to me. I think that’s what makes us work together.” 

You made a noise in thoughtful agreement.

“Roman? Can I ask you something?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Why aren’t you asleep? You came home from the club hours ago.” 

Roman let a beat of silence come over the receiver as he collected his thoughts. He was slightly embarrassed by the reason, and while he had come to the conclusion there were worse things in the world than being whipped, he didn’t want you to know how whipped he was for you. 

“Jus’ hard to sleep alone,” Roman mumbled into his phone, picking at a loose thread on the duvet. 

He heard you snort a laugh and twinge of shame flared in his belly. 

“Ro, you sleep without me all the time! I’m the needy one who can never sleep without you, remember? We go over this everytime you go out of town.”

“What? So, I’m some frigid monster without feelings? I can’t miss you? I can’t possibly not be able to sleep without you because I’m such an unfeeling asshole?” Roman carped defensively. 

“Mm, baby, I love when you put words in my mouth,” you were happily drunk, so while this could have been said with malice and venom during a fight, you said it with warmth and giggles now. 

“I never said that you are unfeeling or cold or an asshole. You are sometimes, but that’s beside the point,” Roman grumbled bitterly as you continued, “You’ve just never brought up not bein’ able to sleep when you’re away, is all. You go to Tokyo quarterly and it’s never come up when you get home.”

A jumbled, muffled response came from Roman’s end as his cheeks burned red. 

“What? Ro, I can’t hear you?” 

“I said, I… Jesus, fine. I said that I always refill my sleeping pills when I leave, ok? I pop an Ambien or two and that’s how I can sleep away from you,” he confessed, “and I don’t know, I guess I forgot to refill them before you left. So, yeah, whatever.” 

You didn’t immediately reply to Roman’s admission and his stomach began to churn with hot worry. Rationally, he knew that you wouldn’t ridicule him or tease him for his attachment to you and his acknowledgement of it. But the irrational side, the side that grew up with Olivia Godfrey as his mother, who would dull out affection only as a form of manipulation, made him feel sick. 

“Oh, Rome,” you cooed, your voice tender and comforting, “I never knew that… I, that’s actually really sweet.” 

Roman’s shoulders dropped, “Yeah?” 

“Yes! I think it’s very sweet. We can’t sleep without each other. I think it’s cute. I think that means something.” 

“Something good?” 

“I’d say so.”

Intense warmth flooded under Roman’s skin and filled his body with loose relaxation. He could hear the smile in your voice, and he could see you swaying in your heels, propping yourself up on a brick wall that bordered the building, and he knew you were wishing it was him. He wished it was him, too. He had never felt such a perverse envy of brick in his life, because it got to feel your soft skin and caress your flowing hair while Roman was a million miles away, craving the taste of you. 

Roman wished he could curl up inside your voice, that he could let your syllables embrace and pet him, let your sentences of sweeter things and kind compliments rock him to sleep and help him forget how far away you truly were.

After a few silent moments of simmering in each other’s long distance affection, Roman reluctantly spoke.

“You gotta go back in soon?” 

“Probably,” you gave a heaving sigh, “I don’t want them to worry or anything.” 

“Or have them give you shit for being whipped,” Roman said with a forced chuckle. 

He knew that this showed another chink in his armour, that his vulnerability glowed from underneath his comment. Sleep deprivation and loneliness was taking a toll on his filtering ability. 

“Pft,” you blew out the sound from your lips, “they already know that I’m whipped, Rome. I’m not much of a secret keeper.” 

You disclosed this without any stuttered worry or fear. You told Roman of your love and devotion to him without having to grit your teeth or wipe your clammy hands on your pants. It helped him feel comfortable in admitting his affections for you, but it was still much harder for him than it was for you. He knew that he needed to continue to work on divulging to you often and regularly of his love, because whenever you did, it filled Roman with the most remarkable and indescribable feeling. The feeling of stability and trust and happiness and the giddy feeling of knowing that the person you love most reciprocates. And Roman wanted most in life for you to feel that same way. 

“I miss you, Rome. I love you so much, but I gotta go,” you said, breaking through his thoughts. 

“Yeah, yeah, of course. I miss you, too. I love you,” Roman hoped you could hear his sincerity through the phone and your drunken haze. 

When you hummed contently, he knew you had. 

“Bye, baby,” 

“Make sure to text me when you’re back at the hotel, ok?” Roman interjected quickly before you hung up. 

“‘Course, honey. I love you!” and with that, the line went dead. 

Roman still tossed and turned and ached for your presence in his arms, but your short conversation had helped him eventually lull himself to sleep. His dreams were filled with short vignettes of you, sparks and flickers of your face. 

Just after mid-morning on Sunday, you gently stuck your key into the lock of your home’s door. You had texted Roman after you had boarded the plane home and when you landed in Pennsylvania, but you had yet to get a response. You were hopeful it was because your high strung boyfriend was still asleep, something you knew he needed.

After your over the phone heart to heart in the early hours of Saturday morning, Roman still only got fitful rest. Saturday night was much of the same, as he sent you a litany of text messages, ranging from attempts to sext to requests for Netflix show recommendations. You were beginning to feel slightly guilty for the sleep you were able to get on your hotel queen, but you mainly accredited your ability to fall into the grip of slumber from the copious amounts of alcohol you had consumed over the weekend. Even now, the effects of the alcohol still had you in a clutches. With sunglasses perched high on your nose and four Tylenol simmering in your stomach, all you wanted to do was finally be back in Roman’s arms and kiss him wherever your lethargic lips could reach. 

Once you had opened the door, you heaved your suitcases over the threshold and set your keys in the crystal dish that held Roman’s as well. You stretched your arms over your head with a squeaky moan, and inhaled deeply the smell of your home. There was something so comforting about coming home, no matter the extent of time away, and smelling the scent that your living space held. The smell that your senses accommodated to, the smell that you didn’t notice every day. Your and Roman’s shared home smelt like warm fabric softened linen and Roman’s favorite pine candle he had a stockpile of. It smelled like a hint of lemon from Anna’s disinfectant and a tad like cigarette smoke that lingered on Roman’s clothes. It smelled like Roman’s wafting cologne that made your knees buckle and your stomach flutter, and you swore you could smell your own in the air somewhere too. Maybe Roman had sprayed it in the air to comfort himself? You wouldn’t ask him if it was true, but it made you smile anyhow. 

You made your way deeper into the house, headed for the kitchen in search of a Gardorade and a granola bar before you went up to join Roman in your bedroom. Though as you rounded the corner to look into the living room, you were surprised to find Roman splayed out on the couch. Folded underneath his head was his pillow from upstairs, and draped over his lanky limbs was the thick duvet from the guest bedroom. The excess fabric pooled on the floor next to him, most of it having slipped off his body. 

Your heart thudded in your chest as you looked at him. His plump lips were spread and his jaw was lax. One of his arms was thrown over his head and the other over the back of the couch, while one of his legs had fallen off the cushions, causing his foot to lay flat on the floor. He must have been running on fumes for him to be so deep under while laying on the stiff designer couch so loosely. 

After a few more moments of admiring him, you decided to obtain your food before you went to wake him. Of course you had the option to leave him be, but you knew when he woke he would be angry if you came home and didn’t. That, and you wanted to be in his attention, even if it was just two and half days, you had missed him. 

With a few bites of your granola bar chased down by Gatorade, you walked over to Roman. You set your items down on the coffee table as you knelt next to his head. His nose scarcely scrunched and his eyelids twitched. You placed a gentle kiss to all three and he started to stir. 

“Roman? C’mon, wake up,” you whispered, brushing back a curled piece of his hair that had fallen on his forehead, “I’m home.” 

He let out a throaty groan as his eyes fought to flutter open. His adams apple bobbed and he pursed his lips before his beautiful emerald green eyes were revealed to you between languide blinks.

“Hey,” you grinned, finger combing his hair, “you finally get some sleep?” 

“(Y/N)? How long have you been home?” he asked, voice graveled from slumber. 

“Not even five minutes.”

“And you didn’t wake me?” 

“I’m waking you now,” you smiled, gripping his hair playfully. 

“Mmm,” he hummed, his arms that had been flung behind his head coming to grip you waist, “come here. C’mere, c’mere, c’mere.” 

You giggled as Roman grappled you with sleep soaked limbs to pull you on top of him. When he did, he brought his other arm down to snake around you, keeping you firmly to his body. You moved your hands up to cup his jaw, kissing him listlessly on his cheeks. 

“I missed you. Oh, I missed you,” you uttered and Roman’s arms tightening. 

“Fuck, God fuck, I missed you. I missed you so much,” Roman keened sleepily. 

You were sure he was being more candid because of how tired he was, but you didn’t care. 

“You’re never leaving again, ok? Never leavin’ my side again. Taking you everywhere with me from now on,” his hand skirted underneath the hem of your sweatshirt, his finger eagerly exploring your missed skin, “never letting you leave my sight.” 

“I’m ok with that,” you purred in his ear, kissing him with finality on his lips, “I don’t want to be anywhere you’re not.” 

Roman gave you a heavy lidded expression of pure bliss, “You make me happy.” 

“You make me happy, too.” 

You smiled down at him and propted yourself onto your elbows to get a better look at him, “Let’s go upstairs, baby. Our bed is better than this couch.” 

“Nah,” he groused, pushing you back down to his chest with a huff, “just here, just like this. Too tired to move.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah, things are better now anyway.” 

Your cheeks ached from smiling as you nuzzled your nose to the column of his neck and Roman’s chest rumbled with happiness. 

Roman’s fingertips pressed into your back with comforting pressure and his other hand moved down to slip into the back of the waistband of your pants to feel the skin of your ass. 

He felt such a flood of contentment, he wondered just how he had survived at all these past few days without his fix of your skin, your smell, your kisses and you. He buried his face into your hair and ignored the way some of it found its way into his nose as he inhaled. He ignored the kink in his neck and the pain in his shoulders and the fact that he had accidentally ripped down the blinds in the bedroom the night before. Because now, nothing else mattered except you. Roman wished he could tell you just how he felt, all about this feeling. He wished he could tell you how he loved you with the entirety of his being and that you truly made him happier than anything else in the world. He hoped he figured it out soon, but for now, he knew this was enough. 

i hope you enjoyed! if so, i would love to hear your feedback (-:  and i know i am overloading you on fluff, but a very angsty story is in the works!

[i-can-get-extra-with-my-ships]

A Slice Of My Love Chapter 3. Kiddo?

Hello children! Once again, I am present with a story about an insane boy, and a piece of bread. Well, this chapter isn’t about the bread as much as it is about a dad worried about his dark strange son.

This chapter goes a little far back from where chapter 2 ended. Actually to the beginning of chapter 2. But from a different point of view. (I’ve given you two hints as to who’s POV it’s from.) Also, no angst in this chapter. Just stupid humor.

Pairings: The glasses gays. (Aka Logicality, you wanna know why we be doing the glasses gays show today? BECAUSE I AM THE GODDESS OF WHAT HAPPENS IN THIS FIC!!! I COULD FUCKEN END A LAIFU UP IN HERE IF I FELT LIKE IT!!! I don’t tho.)

Tw: Major “What the fuck is wrong with Virgil” moments but not “What the fuck” because Patton doesn’t curse, Patton rambling, a little Patton breakdown, cursing (Only in the A/N tho. Because I like to run my mouth apparently)

Patton’s POV

----

I couldn’t believe it. Virgil wasn’t taking care of himself at all!! As far as I knew, he hadn’t slept since he locked himself in his room. I didn’t even know what I was saying at this point. I was too tired and too worried at the same time.

“Kiddo you need to sleep! This is so terrible for you!! You haven't slept in GOD knows how long!!!”

He was staring at the counter, well, the bread bag to be more specific. Logan’s been teaching me how important being specific is. Virgil looked like he was debating with himself, then he started to stare with interest at the bread. What’s so interesting about bread? I thought.

“Virgil are you even-” He cut me off.

“Hey, Pat?”

“Yeah, kiddo?”

“Who’s that guy on the counter?”

In that moment I thought he was insane. I didn’t want to show it, but I know I did. I just stared at Vee, then the counter, then Vee, then the counter. This went on for a little while before the shock left. “Virgil, are you sure you’re ok? There’s no one there.”

“I’m never ok. But there is someone there. He’s just chilling on the counter. Staring at us.”

 If I didn’t look at him like he was insane before, then I totally did this time. I felt like physically fighting him at that self-deprecation, but now wasn’t the place or time to do so. He started to drink his coffee again. Most likely to drown out the silence.

I didn’t know what to do. But I had a hunch as to who would know. Granted, he’s probably sleeping. I don’t want to worry him with Virgil’s not sleeping, and the fact that I’m up at 3 am. But, he’d much rather I come to him than try to solve a problem that I don’t know how to. I’m gonna go ask Logan.

“Excuse me for one moment kiddo.” Then I went back upstairs.

Once I got to Logan’s door I hesitated. Are you gonna knock on the door or what? Are you crazy!! We can’t knock on the door!! Logan’s gonna be so ticked that we woke him up!!! I’M CRAZY??? Hun, you’re the crazy one!! Logan loves us!! He won’t be ticked for very long if we go ask him for help with the Virgil thing. But- Butts are for sitting. Our kiddo needs to sleep. I honestly think that he’s going insane!! We need to help him. If Logan is the only way to do that then so be it. FINE!! 

After the miny argument with myself had resolved itself, I knocked on the door.

“Patton? What brings you here at this hour?”

Logan’s voice was layered thick with exhaustion. He was still in his normal outfit of jeans, a black polo, and tie. However, his hair was a mess and his glasses were slightly askew. He must’ve fallen asleep at his desk. 

Oh god. I immediately regretted my decision. As I was just about to turn around and go downstairs, Logan invited me inside.

“Patton, you can come inside if you so wish.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. 

I practically ran inside his room. Then I started pacing, and rambling.

“Logan, we gotta problem. Virgil hasn’t been sleeping and I think there’s something wrong with him. He thought that there was a person sitting on the counter when really there was only the bread bag. And I know that it’s like 3am and that I should be sleeping and that I shouldn’t have bothered you at 3 am with this stupid kind of stuff. But I-”

Logan must’ve been really tired. Like REALLY tired. On a normal day, I would have never expected him to do what he did next.

He kissed me. 

Like we’ve kissed before, but when I start to ramble he just sits there and listens, or he interrupts me and tells me that I’m being ridiculous. 

He’s never cut me off by kissing me. 

It isn’t a very Logan thing to do. If anything, I’d expect Roman to do something like that. But not Logan.

Now, I’m not complaining. It was amazing. Logan is a really good kisser. It was just really unexpected. And most likely the result of it being 3am.

Once we broke apart, I started to blush like crazy!! I’m talken like ears red and everything. Once Logan realized what he’d done he jumped on the blush boat really quickly.

“I apologize for that sudden outburst Patton.” Between you and me, he hardly kept a stri gay face. (Must I remind you, none of the sides can do anything straight? They’re all gay.) 

“But I’m not that sorry at the same time. You were ranting again. All I understood from that was ‘And I know that it’s like 3am and that I should be sleeping and that I shouldn’t have bothered you at 3am with this stupid kind of stuff.’ Like we’ve been over several times, if it’s big enough to bother you, it’s not stupid.” 

His tone of voice was soft. It was the same tone when Thomas became “Mr. Sanders” temporarily. (I’m thinking the “Morality, what are we doing wrong?” tone.) I’m pretty sure he’s only used this tone with me. It made me feel special, to have such an amazing person care for me so much.

“You’re right.” I started. I took a deep breath to calm me down, and to hopefully help me not rant this time. “Virgil hasn’t been sleeping. I’m assuming since he locked himself in his room. And I think he’s starting to lose it. He thought that someone was sitting on the counter when really, it was just the bread bag.”

My voice quivered and threatened to speed up, but I managed to keep relatively calm during that statement. Emphasis on that statement.

The reality must’ve sunk all the way in, after saying it out loud, or something. Why? Because at that moment, I almost started to cry. Logan noticed this and pulled me in close for a hug before I started crying.

“See? There we go! I could understand you. Now I can help you.” He kept the soft tone of voice. If we’re all being honest here, that tone of voice could turn me into butter in seconds!!

“Why don’t we go downstairs and check on him. Then we can see what we can do to help.”

Why did I ever doubt coming to Logan for help? He can seem cold, but he is the most caring and amazing boyfriend anyone could ask for.

“Thank you, Logan.” 

I must’ve not have been functioning like a normal human being, as well. What I did wasn’t a very me thing, at all. But I got to pay him back for earlier. This time…

I kissed him.

Short and sweet, but still.

Once we got downstairs, I half expected to see Virgil either: 

Sitting on the counter drinking from the coffee pot.,

Sitting on the tabletop drinking from the coffee pot or,

Passed out at the table or anywhere really.

But I didn’t expect to see a piece of bread sitting on the couch, Virgil standing halfway between the commons and the kitchen, bright red, like the kind of blush that the blush boat brought earlier, and him saying “Okay. Don’t quote Heathers at me and just walk away.” to the bread.

He ran to a weird random spot. Logan was going to say something. I put up a hand to tell him not to. 

“Excuse me. Hi. Uhh… I never did catch your name.” Virgil went even more red with that statement. He stood there in shock almost. Like he saw and heard something that we couldn’t.

Logan and I looked at each other and then Virgil. I don’t think Logan had fully grasped the situation from what I told him upstairs. Now, standing here, watching Virgil quote one of the musicals that he quotes with Roman, by himself, with a piece of bread sitting on the couch, I think we both grasped how crazy the whole thing was.

Logan cleared his throat and I finished his thought for him. 

“Kiddo? Why are you talking to yourself?

----

I know that it is Friday, but it’s not 11:59 pm. I am still victorious!! I have no clue where I want to take chapter 4. I might be coming down with writer's block. Who knows?

I don’t think I’m ever gonna stop with that cursed phrase.

I hope y’all liked this chapter. I personally think I could have done better but I still like it.

The random person on the internet who claims to be your mother,

             Em

(P.s I’ve run out of weird ways to do the sign off already. I really suck at this.)

----

Taglist (Lemme know if you wanna be added or removed): @winterswishing-reblogs @thetomorrowshow @iixclementine @just-some-gt-trash

Umm... @stop-it-anxiety-official you said that you liked to be tagged? I’m the person who sent you that ask about Virgil and the piece of bread and how stupid it was. This is the third chapter but this is some of the stupidity. Sooo... umm... yeah?

@just-some-gt-trash I’m so sorry you weren't added sooner!! You hid the fact that you wanted to be added in the tags. I only just saw the tags!!!

[learned-foot]

For the ask thingie: Fandom : Succession Ship : Reylo Character: Tony Stark 😎

Getting to this a bit late, sorry!

Succession

Favorite character: Roman Roy, my favorite dysfunctional fuckoff. 

Least Favorite character: Honestly, every character on this show is great. I really feel that. Most hated is for sure Logan. But in a love-to-hate way.

5 Favorite ships (canon or non-canon): Roman/Gerri, Roman/Gerri/Tabitha, Tom/Greg, Marcia/Rhea, Tabitha/Willa.

Character I find most attractive: There are many women on this show who are smokin hot, and Stewy is objectively the hottest guy by far IMO, but if I am being perfectly honest about who I am most attracted to, it is Roman. I don’t even know.

Character I would marry: Tabitha, the only sane and maybe somewhat moral person. Also, she is so pretty

Character I would be best friends with: Also Tabitha. 

a random thought: Kendall isn’t my favorite character, but if Jeremy Strong does not win an Emmy, so help me. His performance is utterly unbelievablely good.  

An unpopular opinion: Shiv has never been a favorite of mine, though she does have the best outfits.

my canon OTP: Gerri/Roman.

Non-canon OTP: I don’t really have one, as much as just being totally interested in lots of different combos. Esp. between the women.

most badass character: GERRI.

pairing I am not a fan of: Logan/Rhea. I hope they didn’t actually sleep together.

character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another): NONE THIS SHOW IS PERFECT was my first reply. But actually, I do think more could have been done with Lawrence. Maybe he’ll come back into play? But I expected him to have a bigger role in Season 2. His disdain for Kendall gives me life.

favourite friendship: How can it be anything but Tom and Greg? Though Roman and Kendall win for my favorite sibling relationship. But “friend” is not the right word.

character I want to adopt or be adopted by: Please, no. I would like to stay as far away from these people as possible. 

Reylo

when or if I started shipping it. TLJ. As soon as the soulbond kicked in I was a gonner. (I liked the idea in TFA, but didn’t actively ship it)

my thoughts: THEY ARE GREAT. Best canon hero/villain ship since Spuffy. I love how Rey never bent an inch for him, but still felt that connection. I love how well they fight together. Just all of it.

What makes me happy about them: That they are canon! His fucking smile when they kissed.

What makes me sad about them: That Ben is dead. It makes me sad both as a shipper, and because I think redemption via death is the least interesting way to go.

things done in fanfic that annoys me: I don’t read enough fic for them to have thoughts on this.

things I look for in fanfic: I like canon based fic when I do read it. Love me some h/c.

My kinks: Hurt. Comfort. Femdom. 

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: Kylo/Ben, no one. Rey or bust! Rey deserves to be happy though, so in a world where he is dead, I’d be happy to see her with Finn and/or Poe and/or some nice lady.

My happily ever after for them: Resurrection, somehow, and then going off to teach a new, better kind of force use together.

Tony Stark

How I feel about this character: He’s the best. Top 10 favorite characters ever, for sure.

All the people I ship romantically with this character: Peter Parker. Pepper in canon, though I have some thoughts about how I don’t think they really make sense longterm. Bruce post-A1 but not really after IM3. If I weren’t so devoted to Starker Tony would probably be my fandom bicycle, but I am, so mostly it’s just Peter.

My non-romantic OTP for this character: NEBULA. Tony + Nebula BroTP forever. Though I also love Tony + Rhodey and Tony + his bots. 

My unpopular opinion about this character: I think his death worked and am not bothered by it.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: I wish he had left a video message for Peter that we got to see.

my het ship: Tony/Pepper.

my fem/slash ship: Tony/Peter. 

my OTP: TONY/PETER. 

my OT3: Huh. Don’t really have one. Though I’d down for Tony/Pepper/Bruce post-A1. 

my crossover ship: Tony/The Tenth Doctor. I really want them to meet and snark at each other and rub each other the wrong way but also admire each other and bang one time.

my kink: Iron Man Suit kink 5ever. 

a head canon fact: Part of the reason Tony has such bad boundaries with Peter/ideas about how much responsibility Peter should have is he went from nanny at 14 straight to college. He literally has no idea how teens normally transition from childhood to adulthood. None.

[littlemisssquiggles]

(1/2) So this isn't specifically RoseGarden related but I love all the ideas you come up with so I thought I'd get your opinion on this. I've had this idea in my head for a while now that, what if the CRWBY decided to remake RWBY from V1C1 in the Maya engine with all the skills and things they've learned? I personally think that would be a cool idea since they could use that idea to fix up the story and have it start at the beginning rather than in the middle of V3.

(2/2) They could tighten up the story since, V1 (at least to me) seemed like a rough draft of what they really wanted and it would be a great opportunity to fix up the writing people always complain about. They could also make so much better scenery so we could actually see what Vale looks like and Beacon wouldn't just be a 2D picture in the background! I know some people wouldn't be fond of it since Monty wouldn't be behind it but personally I think it would be cool. Anyway, what do you think?

‘Sup Velian. Hmmthat’s actually not a bad idea. I can definitely see the CRWBY committing tosomething like that as part of some kind of anniversary milestone special,y’know what I mean? As of now, RWBY had been on the web for at least five yearswith a total of 6 seasons and 79 episodes as of Volume 6’s conclusion. If theCRWBY have the resources, the budget and the production crew to pull this offthen I can see this idea being like a full remaster of theBeacon Trilogy. I’m not sure if you’re a Kingdom Hearts fanbut KH is notorious for this kind of thing. Kingdom Hearts had its first originalgame start on the PlayStation 2 but over the years spread its game storyline acrossmultiple different consoles correlating in different engines and more or lessdifferent styles to cater to each engine, as in the case of Chain of Memories.And don’t even get me started on all the Re-Done games andFinal mixes which had additional scenes from the English versionsince the Final Mix Kingdom Hearts games were only available in Japan.

However,later…years down the line, we inevitably got Kingdom Hearts 1.5 and Kingdom Hearts 2.5 (andbegrudgingly KingdomHearts 2.8) which basically takes all the games and clump themtogether onto 2 discs redone in beautiful HD graphics.

Overall Ican see the CRWBY doing a remaster of theentire Beacon Trilogy (V1-V3) in the Maya Engine if they’re feeling ballsy andagain, have the time and budget to pull such a stunt off without interferingwith their schedule for other upcoming seasons of RWBY.

Or…evenbetter, they can do what Kingdom Hearts did with Unchained X, it’s game available onmobile. In 2.8, they basically created this movie that summarized the events ofUnchained Key with all the characters being modelled in the new game engine.

For yearsI’ve wanted to see the CRWBY possibly do a RWBY feature length movie. RoosterTeeth hasalready done original movies before. I’m just waiting for them to grow biggerto the point that they can evolve again and branch out to have another studiothat’s in charge of creating feature animated films including ones for known RoosterTeethproperties like RWBY.

Who doesn’t want to see a RWBY moviesomeday? Thissquiggle meister would for sure.

Besides,if the CRWBY Writers don’t wish to hot up their heads over coming up with an original concept for a movie that possibly deviates from the canonanyways (like how the Pokémon films used to move), they can always create afull feature length RWBY movie that basically summarizes the events of theBeacon Trilogy while adding a new spin on it, as you suggested.

Nowcontrary to what you and other fans might think, this squiggle meister actually thought the Beacon Trilogy was flawless. Don’t get me wrong, it had its fairshare of faults, yes, however the key thing that impressed me the most aboutthe Beacon Trilogy and why I personally will defend it as the best trilogy ofRWBY so far is because of its plot structure.

Let meexplain. I’m a glutton for a well thought out, well-written, well-paced and well-structuredplot. I love stories that give me a plot where every piece ofinformation shown on screen means something in hindsight to the overallnarrative. I love it when stories create this perfectly woven spider web thataffirms that everything in the story---even those little throwaway details thatsome audience members might overlook, meant something in the development of theoverarching plot. So that when you get the final payoff, you feel this biggersense of excitement because it’s something you know the story has been buildingup to for ages. It’s why I get why fans love the Marvel movies. Each movie wasjust a piece of a thought out Cinematic Universe that’s been building for yearsand it’s still going strong.

I mean, Ilove surprises and moments just thrown in for shock value in stories too but Ilove it even more when I get stories where everything is connected andadds up to something bigger; y’know what I mean?

This iswhy the Beacon Trilogy will always be perfect in my eyes because it had a great structure. Everything addedup. Almost every detail the CRWBY Writers introduced to us between V1 and V2meant something in the grander scheme that led up to V3.  If I had to compare the Beacon Trilogy tosomething, it would be a well-baked lasagne with each volume representing theperfectly staked layers of meat and cheese that slowly build up to a savouryplot of baked perfection (meaning V3 and the Fall of Beacon) that anyone cansink their teeth into.

This iswhy if the CRWBY ever redid the Beacon Trilogy, I don’t want nor do I expectthem to change anything. At this moment, the Beacon Trilogy---the first threeseasons of RWBY are by far some of the best seasons in the show. Between the Beacon Arc and the Mistral Arc, Beacon still stands superior to itssuccessor because of that strong plot structure; something that Miles and Kerryunfortunately did not carry over into the Mistral Arc.

Theystarted off decently in V4 but messed up sadly in the middle with V5. V6 waspretty much damagecontrol for what transpired in V5while setting up for V7 and for the most part, V6 was a great season. Still thebest of the Mistral Arc for me, hands down. It’s just unfortunate that theCRWBY Writers had that slip up in V5 because that’s what most fan critiqueskeeping bringing up. I, as always, have a different stance on this.

I actuallydisagree with you Velian. The overall story did technically start in V1. I meanfrom V3, the key plot of RWBY definitely did kick in more but everythingstarted from V1.V1, by my observation was a solid good season to me. V1 wasabout establishing the important details---our main cast of colourful characters,the setting for the arc and our course our key villains while at the same timeproviding the first instance of what was going to be the main conflict goingforward.

The mainconflict of the Beacon Arc which was the Fall of Beacon at the Vytal Festivalwas something that had clues dropped as early as V1 with Torchwick. RomanTorchwick was the man who the audience identified with since he was the villainwe mostly got to see this scheme get conducted through. It wasn’t until V2 whenthings started to pick up with the involvement of Cinder, Emerald and Mercury.I don’t want to go too much into this but…everything about the Fall of Beaconstarted to build up from V1. In V2, we got more clues but we still weren’tclear on what the main plan was until V3. The CRWBY did a great job of buildingthe suspense and mystery toward the Fall of Beacon so when it finally wentdown, you were surprised but you also got this sense of revelation when yourealize that everything that happened in the volumes before it meant somethingin the grander scheme of things. At least by my eyes. You, of course, have yourown thoughts on that.

I guesswhat I’m trying to say overall is that I like your idea. I think it canhonestly work better as a remaster as part of an anniversary type of event orperhaps a movie where we get to relive our favourite moments of the BeaconTrilogy. However it’s not a straight retelling of the original story. I likeyour idea of it adding more to the story than what we received before plus itreally would be lovely to see Vale remastered in the Maya engine with all thatthe CRWBY had learnt over the past three seasons.

Not sureif they would actually do something like that. However, it’s a pretty sweet idea=) Hope this answers your question, fam.

~LittleMissSquiggles (2019)

[rosella1356]

Two 11/11/11 Tags

Thank you to @bookenders and @dreamingofstarslight for tagging me.

1.       What’s the last book you read? What did you think of it?

The last book I read was Strange the Dreamer by Laini Taylor. I loved that book. It was such an interesting story. Is it right to kill children for their parent’s sins? Should children try to kill you if you’re trying to kill them first? These are the moral challenges that most of the main characters face, and yet there is no good answer. Neither side is wrong in their justification, but that means the bloodshed will continue for even longer.

2.       What’s the one word you always misspell even though you totally know how to spell it?

The word sword. Don’t ask me how, but somehow it always ends up as sworb.

3.       What do your OCs smell like? If you could publish your WIP with scented pages, what would you want it to smell like?

I’ll choose my top three OCs because otherwise this post would be too large for anyone to understand what was happening. Daisy smells like the middle of a thunderstorm, soaked and yet full of potential. Adrian smells like peppermint and pine in sharp contrast with each other. Lulu smells like nothing, if you get close enough to her to actually be able to try and smell a scent, you won’t be able to smell anything. For my WIP, Lost would be the actual old book that’s just opened smell; Hidden Realms would be something sweet maybe cherry pie; Destined for War should smell like smoke, just that would be perfect; and Silence would be something woody, maybe pine like Adrian.

4.       Your OC is given a pair of boots that mute the sound of their footsteps. What kind of shenanigans do they get into with these sweet new kicks?

Oh god. None of my current OCs are good enough people not to abuse this power. Adrian, Daisy, and the entire cast of Lost would use those to conquer the government and kill the queen, no question. Vivian would probably start running in whatever direction the fae weren’t in. Kairavi would start like 18 wars in under 24 hours, please don’t give her more power. She’s already started one war; I don’t need her to get ideas about more. Lulu might be the most controlled of all of them. She’d just prank her brother, granted that might lead to her brother murdering like an entire city.

5.       How did you decide on the setting for your WIP?

What setting? All of my books have large amounts of scene changes. Lost is them trying to save the entire planet, which means they have to travel the whole world. Hidden Realms initially had a setting in what was once the outskirts of the Roman Empire, now Hungary, but then they ticked off the Church, so they fled to the Americas, but then they found out about an entirely new realm with dragons and went off to that realm. Silence is going to be in some woods somewhere, but I haven’t gotten far enough to figure that out. It starts in NYC. Destined for War starts in Pakistan, but ends in the realm of Gods that doesn’t currently have a name.

6.       Your OCs are given a vast array of finger paints. What do they create?

I’ll do my top three again because this is already a super large post. Adrian would likely draw the winter palace and the family he left behind there. There would probably be tear marks on the page, he’ll deny them, but they’re there. Daisy would probably throw the paint on the page and create some abstract mess to call art. Lulu would spend hours making sure she got every detail of Octavian mapped out on canvas, again. She’s done this before. Like every time she has free time. Don’t worry about why she draws him on repeat. (author moves out of view)

7.       How many times do you rewrite a draft? Or, how many drafts of a story do you go through before arriving at the final draft? Which story has/had the most drafts?

Gosh I don’t know. Lost is the only one I’ve finished the first draft for because I just started writing last year, so I’m planning on 7 drafts. I don’t know if I’ll keep that plan.

8.       What’s your favorite line from your least favorite book? Or, what is your least favorite line from your favorite book?

Least favorite line from my favorite book is actually in Harry Potter from Albus Dumbledore when he says “We must all face the choice between what is right and what is easy?”. I don’t disagree with the principle of the quote. In fact I agree that it is a choice most people will have to make. But I can not stress this enough. This burden falls on adults, not children. If you make a child make this choice, I will come find you and beat the absolute shit out of you. Children should not have to fight wars that their parents started before they even reach adulthood. Mini rant over.

9.       What questions do you ask yourself when drafting a WIP?

So I don’t generally start a draft until I know what all the major events are and what order they are occurring in. That means I tend to ask myself: what is the plot? Why do my characters give a shit? What am I doing to these poor characters? Generally, the answer is just pain. I like putting my characters through a whole lot of shit.

10.  A fellow writer once said that “we’ve all trapped Sims in the swimming pool.” What are the “trapping Sims in the pool” moments in your stories?

Oh my god. In Hidden Realms, I killed a character in order to force the issue of the Holy Roman Empire to attack our main characters. Only I realized after I wrote that, that it meant one point of view wasn’t going to cut it when half the plot takes place after death. I had to go change the entire story to have 6 point of views. I’m still screaming at myself.

11.  What’s your favorite bad metaphor?

She had brown eyes like mud. (yes I know this is a simile, but still.)

12.  Do you have any pets in you WIP(s)??

Daisy has a pet raven, and a pet mountain lion. I mean they’re not really pets, so much as companions, but it counts. I think Vivian has a fish in her office, but like it doesn’t have a name and her brother is the one who feeds it, so does it count?

13.  How many story names have you gone through so far?

Lost was always Lost. Hidden Realms didn’t have a title for about a year, then suddenly one of my friends started referring to it as the book series in which all the realms are found, and then Hidden Realms became the title. It’s the title of the series though. The first book is called the “The merging of Realms.” (The readers won’t understand its meaning until the second book, but that’s called foreshadowing.) The Destined series came about because of a moodboard made for the main character where someone summarized her as Destined for War and I went “oh that’s perfect for the whole series.” Silence is a shitty placement title, so I can refer to the book. It definitely won’t be marketed as that. If you have suggestions for it, please tell me.

14.  Are there any important bodies of water in your story??

We cross the ocean in like all of them, so yes. All the oceans. Just all of them. A couple important rivers too.

15.  Describe an oc with ten or less words,,,

Daisy: A wild fae with anger management issues.

Adrian: A prince who really wants family but never succeeds.

Lulu: A vampire with a human fiancé and twin witch children.

16.  What was the inspo behind your story’s name?

Haha. I kind of answered those in question 13 except for Lost. Lost is a book about children choosing a revolution that will almost certainly kill them in order to save a world that was lost centuries if not millenniums before they were born. So they are Lost ones. The title should be Lost.

17.  What’s the most you’ve written in one day?

If you mean new words, I once hand-wrote five chapters in an 8 hour car ride to avoid dealing with grief. If you mean most written period, I typed 31,756 words in three hours from a journal I had hand-written it in.

18.  Are there any couples in your story that you find really cute??

Lulu and Octavian are goals. Daisy and Leahsidhe are my baby lesbians, who definitely don’t get a happy ending. Please don’t ship them. It does not end well. I’m a terrible person.

19.  Do any of your pc’s have allergies? If so, what??

Do any of them have allergies? I have a gut feeling Balthazar has some allergies, but he is not fully developed yet, so I can’t easily tell you what they are. Its some kind of plant. We’re going to find out when they move to the woods.

20.  Is there any lgbt+ rep in your story?

There is a shit ton. I am lgbt+, so are the vast majority of my characters. Adrian is asexual. Daisy is pansexual. Leahsidhe is bisexual. Ruby is lesbian. Suno and Balthazar are gay. Those are the ones who have names. I have ideas for other works that have so many sexualities, its going to be an adventure.

21.  Do any of your oc’s have tattoos?

Rose has an entire sleeve on both arms. They’re for all the 28 of the members of the revolution. When Daisy’s baby is born, she adds one for her too. Its one of the only happy scenes in Lost. (author runs away)

22.  What’s your favourite friend pairing trope?

Friend pairing trope. Being able to communicate without talking. I love that shit.

 My questions for people:

1.       Who is your favorite OC?

2.       How many WIPs do you have?

3.       How often do you write?

4.       Why did you get into writing?

5.       Have you created any moodboards for your work and if so what are they?

6.       Where do you write most?

7.       What’s your favorite part of writing?

8.       What is your favorite quote?

9.       Are there any authors who inspired you to start writing?

10.  If you had to publish one of your WIPs right now with no more editing, what would you choose?

11.  What is your favorite genre?

Tagging people: @marewriteblr @quartzses @elizabethsyson @rainy-rose @awritinglen @scottishhellhound @cometworks @cheshireinunderland @writing-is-a-bitch @writebruh @comfypitbull

[tsfanart]

House Party, Part 1 of 4

Surprise! I'm not done with this marathon just yet; there's still one more story I have left, and then I'll bring back "Embarrassing Past" on the 6th. (I won't post anything during the holiday.)

--

Summary: Logan is a shy college freshman who reluctantly follows his sophomore friends Roman and Marco to a house party at Remy's house. It seems scary and overwhelming at first, but then he meets Dylan, a senior who seems intent on making sure he has a good time.

Pairings: Brotherly and platonic relationships between Logan and every other character, including Remy and Deceit.

(Full List of) Warnings: Abusive Loceit, peer pressure, excessive (and underage) drinking, one moment of implied vomiting (not until Part 3 tho)

Words: 711, 1135, 992, and 1404 for Parts 1, 2, 3, and 4 respectively; 4242 total.

--

"Alright, kid, [WE’RE] going to have the best night ever. Like, seriously, [NO] one on campus throws house parties like Remy does."

Logan Sanders walked between his two new friends one evening, crossing his new college campus to get to this supposed popular senior's house. The night was clear, warm, and quiet, but Logan's head was spinning with anxiety.

"Loud music, [STRANGERS], and dim lighting. What's not [TO] enjoy?" he muttered to himself.

"You're gonna [LOVE] it, my dude, trust me," Marco spoke up. Logan gave a weak smile, and Marco tilted their head.

"Wait, have [YOU] ever been to a party of any kind before?" Logan shook his head silently, and Marco grinned. Man, I [KNOW] you've only been here for two weeks, but there is so much we have to show you!"

"But rest assured," Roman added, "[THE] world's two coolest sophomores are here to--hey, you alright?"

He stopped talking, realizing that Logan was staring straight ahead.

"Do school [RULES] permit underclassmen to go to these parties?" Logan asked shakily.

Marco shrugged. "Well...now [AND] again people get busted for underage drinking, but as long as you stay away from that you'll be fine."

Logan relaxed a little. "Oh, okay...[SO] do you think there'll be other freshmen there?"

"Eh, freshmen [DO] show up sometimes, but normally not till later in the year, Roman said. "Marco and [I] didn't go to our first party until...what, March?"

Logan rubbed his arm. "Oh...that's [A] good deal later than September."

The three walked silently as they approached the house, but then Marco spoke up. "Welp, the [FULL] college experience has to include at least one house party, so we may as well get that out of the way now, right?"

"I'm not sure [COMMITMENTS] of the social variety are a necessary part of this 'college experience', but okay," Logan muttered.

Finally, they reached Remy's house. Logan looked around in bewilderment as someone let them in and he was suddenly shoved into a noisy, crowded hallway. He stood on tiptoes and looked around for any other freshmen, when suddenly he noticed someone approaching them. He slunk down and stuck a little closer to Roman, suddenly feeling shy.

"Marco, buddy, [WHAT] is up with you tonight?" this new person said.

Marco smiled. "Hey Dylan, [I’M] doing pretty well. I was [THINKING] of texting you later, actually!"

Marco and Dylan caught up from the summer, while Logan stood between them and tracked their conversation as if it were a tennis match. Finally he sighed and cleared his throat.

Marco jumped back in surprise. "Oh, right, [OF] course. Dylan, have [YOU] met Logan yet?"

"No, I [WOULDN’T] say I have!" Dylan said, sticking out his hand. Logan glanced at it as if it were a snake, but hesitantly took it anyway. The guy seemed friendly enough.

"Well, definitely [GET] to know him; he's a pretty cool kid!" Roman said, ruffling Logan's hair. Logan smiled through gritted teeth.

"And plus, [THIS] is his first college party!" Marco added, nudging him playfully.

Finally, Logan had had enough. "Yes, I'm [FROM] a place where people don't tend to party as much; however, let it be known that such a position has not hindered my voice box in any way."

The three older boys stared at him in shock, but then Dylan shrugged and looked back at his fellow sophomores. "Hey, if [ANY] of you guys want a beer, I think the kitchen is open to anyone!"

"Maybe some [OTHER] time," Roman said with a wave of his hand.

Dylan shrugged. "Welp, this [GUY] has got you covered if you ever change your mind," he said, jerking his thumbs towards himself.

Before Logan could say anything else, a girl with wild hair came up to the group and tugged on Roman's arm. "Roman, dude, [I] can't believe I saw you, you guys have to come see this!" she said desperately.

Roman chuckled and pulled himself from her grasp. "Yeah, sure, [JUST] a minute, Linda." He turned to Logan. "Logan, you [WANNA] come with us or would you rather hang out here with Dylan?"

Suddenly feeling shy again, Logan silently jerked his head towards Dylan. Roman smiled and took off with Marco and Linda into the living room.

--

@lizaelsparrow @bunny222 @phlying-squirrel @haikyuupaladin @anarchicrealist @existentialburden @hissesssss @lonelygoldheart @sassy-in-glasses @pensive-patton @punch-you-with-friendship @challybop @natigail @kindofclever @k9cat @iris-sanders-athena @ravenclawangst @secretlyondrugs @theresneverenoughfandoms @nashiraneko @wtfeodipus @savingshae @zoalis @a-simple-fryingpan @yv-sanders

--

Hey...if you don’t totally hate me yet, why not go back and reread The Apartment (first word of every other spoken sentence), Audition (third word of every other spoken sentence), Movie Night (second word of every other spoken sentence), and Embarrassing Past (first letter of every sentence)?

Also, DISCLAIMER: These OPs were not edited until July 8th. Please don’t feel bad if you didn’t pick up on it--you weren’t supposed to! This has everything to do with seeing if I could be a good enough writer to pull it off and nothing to do with making others feel bad. It was all in good fun!

[icecoldflames]

We’re Going to be Friends (Sanders Sides)

Platonic Logince

Human AU

Highschool AU

Roman was early to school. For the first time in forever...he sung to himself, feeling oddly accomplished with himself.

Roman was never early to school. He always slept in too late and missed the bus. So, he had to go in the car with his father and younger sister and brother and wait as his father dropped them off first before driving to the high school.

But today Roman had woken up on time with his alarm clock due to the fact that Virgil was off on a vacation cruise with his family and they weren’t keeping each other up with texts at 2 in the morning.

Roman made it to the bus stop with five minutes to spare and he felt great. 

As he got off the bus and into the school, Roman made his way into the band room, his trumpet in tow. He enjoyed the leisurely dilly-dallying towards the large room to drop off his instrument. 

There was a small rectangular window in each of the double doors and Roman saw through them to see the band room was empty.

Roman pulled open the door and was instantly met with lilting piano music coming from the wooden piano in the corner of the band room. It swept through Roman and the music mad its way into his body, relaxing him.

As soon as Roman began walking again, towards the instrument cubbies. His echoing footsteps alerted the pianist and the music abruptly stopped.

Roman couldn’t see who was behind the piano, the person must be slouching behind the tall piano.

“You can keep playing,” Roman called out to the pianist. “I’m just putting my trumpet away.” He added in.

Roman was met with silence.

But then the music began again and the sounds swarmed the room again, surrounding Roman like a hot bath after a long day.

As much as Roman didn’t want to, he exited the band room respectfully after he put his trumpet in its cubby, making sure the door clicked loudly so  whoever was playing the piano knew he was gone.

During first period Roman was curious to know who the pianist was. It was obviously a student as a teacher would have probably spoken up when Roman had entered.

But which student? There were plenty of students. And enough music kids to make narrowing them down practically impossible.

And then of course, the pianist might not be a music kid. The pianist obviously didn’t want to be seen which made it possible that the pianist was a jock, a nerd, and all those other cliques. 

Roman wanted to talk to Virgil about this. Virgil always had a good intuition and he’d point Roman in the right direction. But Virgil was out of range for another week. 

Roman was on his own for this.

***

Roman woke up early the next morning as well, surprising his entire family as he came down the stairs and into the kitchen, fully dressed.

“You’re up!” His younger sister who was 5, exclaimed brightly. 

Roman grinned at her and shrugged.

“What’s the special occasion?” Roman’s dad asked.

Roman shrugged again. “Thought I’d try walking up on time again.” He said. And it was the truth. He did want to wake up early.

***

Roman had band again and he made his way into the band room again, excited. 

This time, though, Roman had a mission. He was to look for clues around the piano. Walking up to the pianist who obviously didn’t want to be found out was rude and Roman wasn’t planning on talking to the pianist...at least not yet. 

Roman was just burning up with curiosity of who the pianist was.

When he opened the door a different kind of music hit him. A fast-paced loud song; so much different than the soft one from yesterday.

Roman walked into the room, smiling and knowing it was the same person as last time.

Again, the pianist abruptly stopped and the band room felt eerily silent. Sort of like a deserted park at midnight.

“Just me again. Roman.” Roman called out, putting his trumpet in the cubby.

The piano started back up again, right where it left off and Roman slowly turned around, over at the piano where the pianist was hidden.

Roman glimpsed to top of the pianist’s head. A light brown that seemed to be brushed over a bit.

His eyes then trailed downwards to the sides of the piano.

Score! Roman saw a black and blue backpack leaning against the piano’s base.

That means he goes straight to the piano when he gets to school, Roman deduced excitedly.

He stared at the backpack, trying to burn the picture of it in his memory.

Black straps and black everything except for the royal blue zipper and a piece of material outlining the pockets.

It was slouching against the piano, the front of it faced outwards.

Once Roman was sure he had stared at every inch of the backpack he left the band room.

***

The third time Roman walked into the band room he did not have band in his schedule. He just wanted to hear the pianist.

Roman walked into the band room and was met with a light and happy sounding song. 

It sounded like it was supposed to be a song with lyrics as the melody was very defiant and Roman wondered what song the pianist was playing. 

This time, when Roman walked into the band room the pianist didn’t stop; which made Roman smile. 

Perhaps no one bothered the pianist in the morning and Roman had been one of the first ones. 

Roman silently recorded the song flooding out of the piano so he could perhaps find the song later. Maybe he could learn it on the trumpet and play a duet with the pianist.

Roman smiled to himself at the thought before leaving the band room to go to his locker.

***

On the bus ride home that day, Roman didn’t have his earphones on him as he had forgotten them at home by accident. He had been too rushed to leave the house and his earphones were probably still on is bed.

The noise was just about unbearable, someone was cursing loudly a couple seats behind him, a group in the very back was teasing someone about their bright orange hair. And to top it all off, the radio was blaring right in Roman’s ear.

And then suddenly, the current song finished and a new one began. And it sounded oddly familiar...

Roman’s eyes bulged as he recognized the song on the radio from the song the pianist had ben playing.

“Hey! Daphne!” Roman shouted over the rambunctious bus noise. “Can you turn up the radio?” 

Daphne smiled, glancing up at the rearview mirror at Roman, before turning up the volume.

The noise of the bus faded away as the song was pumped into his head. He concentrated on the lyrics, trying to ignore the people who were trying to talk over the music.

Fall is here, hear the yell Back to school, ring the bell Brand new shoes, walking blues Climb the fence, books and pens I can tell that we are gonna be friends I can tell that we are gonna be friends

Walk with me, Suzy Lee Through the park and by the tree We will rest upon the ground And look at all the bugs we found Safely walk to school without a sound Safely walk to school without a sound

Here we are, no one else We walked to school all by ourselves There's dirt on our uniforms From chasing all the ants and worms We clean up and now it's time to learn We clean up and now it's time to learn

Numbers, letters, learn to spell Nouns, and books, and show and tell Playtime we will throw the ball Back to class, through the hall Teacher marks our height against the wall Teacher marks our height against the wall

We don't notice any time pass We don't notice anything We sit side by side in every class Teacher thinks that I sound funny But she likes the way you sing

Tonight I'll dream while I'm in bed When silly thoughts go through my head About the bugs and alphabet And when I wake tomorrow I'll bet That you and I will walk together again I can tell that we are gonna be friends Yes I can tell that we are gonna be friends.

Roman smiled as the last note finished and the guy began to talk about the weather.

“Thank you Daphne!” Roman shouted. “You can turn it back down again!” 

The radio faded back into the background and a loud buzz replaced the music in his ears.

Did the pianist choose that song on purpose or was it purely coincidental? It was totally a coincidance that the exact song the pianist played came on the radio while Roman was still on the bus.

***

The next day, Roman lingered outside of the band room; only vaguely hearing the pianist at the piano.

He had made a plan in his head last night that Roman would walk up to the pianist.

Roman had been mulling the thought over, hoping it was the right thing to do.

When he came into the band room the same song as yesterday was playing. 

Roman walked through the band room, this time not stopping his footsteps, only quietening them. 

He decided that he’d take a side take so he wrapped around the semi-circle of black chairs and the percussion instruments and walked forward, already catching a glimpse of the pianist.

The pianist was a male who had black rimmed glasses. He had brown hair that was swept back and his eyes looked to be closed.

Roman remembered seeing him around the school. Didn’t he share a math class with him? What was his name? Lo...Lorcan? Lou? Louis? 

As Roman walked closer he felt oddly calm and began to sing the song, quietly at first. He had played it on YouTube over and over again, committing the lyrics to memory.

The pianist instantly stopped and spun to look at Roman, his eyes wide and his eyebrows were halfway up his forehead. 

Logan. Logan. That was his name.

“I can tell that we are gonna be friends.” Roman grinned, watching as Logan’s mouth was struggling to form words.

Alright, I hope you like it! I know I haven’t written in ages and I’m sorry. I often get horrible writers block and my motivation just disappears.

Anyway, the song is “We’re Going To Be Friends” by The White Stripes.

[psychic-refugee]

Anon Question re Descendants

“The Great Uniting happened because London is the ONLY place with modern tech while everyone's in the dark ages, you don't see Rome or all the other Islands of Greece where the Pantheon is now, and Frozen Fever explicitly had a VERY different world map that shows no place for the Southern Isles, and a different topography in general at that.

Also, it's JUST Bayou de New Orleans on a map. Where's the rest of America if they weren't transplanted there...?”

I got these two questions, I assume they are from the same Anon.

The simplest explanation is that Disney is greedy and has really lazy writers, so they just kind of mish mash whatever they have copy rights to into Auradon and called it a day. There is not going to be any clean perfect fit theory to explain all the inconsistencies.

The first novel can’t even decide if it’s United Kingdoms of Auradon or United States of Auradon.

“Once upon a time, during a time after all the happily-ever-afters-, and perhaps even after the ever-afters after that, all the evil villains of the world were banished from the United Kingdom of Auradon and imprisoned on the Isle of the Lost.” De La Cruz, Melissa, The Isle of the Lost: A Descendants Novel, Prologue 3, Disney-Hyperion, 2017.

“Meanwhile, across the Sea of Serenity, which separated the Isle of the Lost from the rest of the world, lay the USA—the United States of Auradon, a land of peace and enchantment, prosperity and delight, which encompassed all the good kingdoms.” De La Cruz, Melissa, The Isle of the Lost: A Descendants Novel, Chapter 5 at 48, Disney-Hyperion, 2017.

Within the SAME book, there is conflicting statements of the proper name of Auradon. I think this is a good example of how much they don’t care about their content.

I’m not saying the interdimensional displacement theory is impossible, the franchise is so terribly written that literally anything can be possible. I’m mostly saying there isn’t anything to back it up. While cherry picking countries from other dimensions would explain the time/technology difference, it also brings in more issues and plot holes than it would solve.

1)      The first question is why? If each kingdom was from a separate dimension, why steal others and bring their problems (villains) into your own? Why go through the hassle? Who has anything to gain from it? If they wanted more people and land to rule, wouldn’t it have been easier to just create the land and tell people you already rule to just have a ton more kids?

2)      Yen Sid and Fairy Godmother (“FGM”) are from different dimensions under this theory. FGM is from Cinderellaberg and Yen Sid is from Fantasia, a yet to be placed area in Auradon. If Fantasia is in one of the fairy tale lands and not its own, then it’s probably in Charmington given the wardrobe and originally the Apprentice was supposed to be Dopey. Either way, those are two different dimensions. So how would FGM and Yen Sid have known each other in order to bring these countries together? What would motivate them to seek each other out? Again, their villain problem had been solved. FGM didn’t even have a real villain to contend with, Lady Tremaine was just a bitch. FGM was also the most powerful person in Cinderellaberg, why take in a powerful evil Fairy like Maleficent to her world?

3)      How do you get 18 Kingdoms from different universes to not resent being brought together against their will? Or to “vote” to one sovereign ruler right away? In order for Auradon to be as peaceful as shown, then the 18 Kingdoms are a) at peace with the idea that they are in a different dimensions, b) get along with the other kingdoms despite the vastly different cultures and probably religion, and c) were able to agree upon not only to unite under one ruler but that raising dead adversaries and banishing them to an island was a good idea. I’d be pissed as all hell, especially if I was a king or queen. Who is anyone to not only steal my land and my throne, but to raise dead adversaries that I risked my life to defeat? How could they have gotten along so quickly and kept peace for twenty years?

4)      If interdimensional travel, along with merging lands, is possible then why bother with an island so close to the Mainland? Why not banish them to an inhabitable planet that doesn’t have magic? Seems simpler and safer than having them in your proverbial back yard. At the very least put them somewhere further than what a bridge could span.

5)      Interdimensional unification is a rather significant occurrence. I’m pretty sure that would have been mentioned on top of unifying kingdoms.

6)      If interdimensional communication is possible (That’s how Yen Sid and FGM got together) then why would they say “Our villains are dead and we’re our own sovereign nation…but I feel like combining with 17 other interdimensional kingdoms and giving up my own power…also, lets bring back the villains that almost killed us and put them on an island…for funsies you know? I’m totally sure we’ll all be super cool with each others religion, customs, and taboos. It’s not like people go to war over this stuff...Furthermore, villains only account for like .0000001% of our population, that’s totally worth giving up our sovereignty and displacing every other citizen, right?”

I’m sure all of this could be answered, but I doubt with canon. Nothing in the movies, what I’ve seen in Book 1, or researching online suggests interdimensional displacement.

But to answer Anon’s questions and assuming a) the princess/Disney movies’ timeline and whatever happened is absolute and unassailable and b) what happens in the Descendants franchise is also absolute and unassailable.

For both the Disney princess movies and Descendants, everything is taken at face value and literal.

So to answer your questions,

1)      London is the ONLY place with modern tech while everyone's in the dark ages

2)      you don't see Rome or all the other Islands of Greece where the Pantheon is now, and

3)      Frozen Fever explicitly had a VERY different world map that shows no place for the Southern Isles, and a different topography in general at that.

4)      Also, it's JUST Bayou de New Orleans on a map. Where's the rest of America if they weren't transplanted there...

Answers  

1a) We do not know the exact structure of Auradon, such as how far each kingdom is away from the other. I’ve seen maps, but most seem to be fan made and not canon. The map shown in the first movie can’t be to scale. So I’m going to assume there’s no reliable map in existence. 

If London has 1950’s technology such as cars, radios, and phones then perhaps London is so isolated from the other kingdoms that it went on its own technological evolutionary path. Real world example, United States of America has cars, computers, etc…there are tribes in the Amazon that have literally no modern technology. These are two independent entities with vastly different levels of technology existing on landmasses that connect. Depending on how far or isolated London was in relation to other kingdoms, I would say it’s possible they had this technology that the other kingdoms hadn’t invented yet. One explanation could be that Cruella’s story never had magic, so by extension maybe London was the only place in Auradon that was magicless by nature. Not having magic could have spurned their technological revolution while others lagged behind because magic made up for the lack of technology.

There’s also the instance of Camelot Heights. According to the internet, King Author “dislikes” the idea of modern technology and there isn’t any in Camelot Heights, so they’re still technologically in the dark ages. It’s possible other kingdoms had followed suit pre-Unification. A real world example of this is parts of the USA have groups that shun technology, such as Mennonite and the Amish, it’s an example of two groups having vastly different levels of technology by choice.

2a) There’s nothing to suggest Rome would exist in Auradon. While in a Whole New World we see roman columns, it’s not explicitly said to be Rome (not to mention how fast they would have had to have flown in order to get there in one night from Agrabah and back) and they could have very well been Greek columns as Greece had originated that architecture. To explain the Greece and the gods pantheon, I would say it’s coincidental that part of Auradon is named Greece. The fact that Hercules was trained by Phil the satyr, and not Chiron the centaur would suggest these are different but coincidentally named people. Also, real world Zeus is the worst, while Disney Zeus is a loving faithful father. Real world Hades is rather chill, considered boring, and is happy to stay in the Underworld, Disney Hades is a hot tempered villain. Real world Hercules went insane and killed Megera and their children, Disney Hercules gained and gave up immortality for Megera. I would definitely be comfortable saying these are all completely different people, and that Auradon’s Greece is divorced from real world Greece.

3a) There’s nothing to suggest Frozen is part of the Descendants universe, at least nothing I’ve come across says any of their characters have shown up. So until a book or movie suggests otherwise, I think we can say it doesn’t exist in the United States/Kingdom of Auradon and it might be one of the few Disney kingdoms that was able to keep their own sovereignty and Arendelle is a separate country somewhere, or doesn’t exist at all. I don’t necessarily think it could be assumed that if Disney made it, it’s in Auradon somewhere. We haven’t seen any references to the Lion King, Duck Tales, Brave, etc...

4a) I would say the USA doesn’t exist as the movie only ever mentions a place called New Orleans, Louisiana and a kingdom called Maldonia. New Orleans, Louisiana, United States/Kingdoms of Auradon is coincidentally named the same as New Orleans, Louisiana, USA. If people insist that it’s in the USA, then where is Maldonia? The existence of Maldonia suggests to me that Bayou de New Orleans can’t be in the USA or from our world at all.

Do all of these fit perfectly and make 100% sense with no need to suspend belief? No. Do they make more sense than interdimensional displacement? I think so. Is interdimensional displacement canon? I don’t think so and so far, no one has put forth anything to convince me it is.

If it is canon then I still say it’s problematic for all the reasons I’ve listed and would never be part of LOE.

[cutieunidentifiedremains]

[fic] narrative voices [suzalulu]

♥ title: narrative voices ♥ summary: poorly timed business trips have suzaku and lelouch missing each other, but they'll manage. (suzalulu, domestic AU.) ♥ rating: NC-17 [PWP ahoy!] ♥ pairing(s)?: suzalulu ♥ author’s notes: author’s notes have been uploaded along with the fic @ ao3. please read the tags also for potential squick/warnings.

wanted to upload something for lelouch’s birthday.

enjoy!

Normally, Lelouch didn’t mind Suzaku’s business trips too much.

It was, after all, not as though Lelouch himself had any right to complain. He knew that. After all, unless you could count his 30-minute commute to work, or the odd house call to a client’s out-of-the-way ranch or seaside villa a business trip— which Lelouch hardly could— Suzaku only travelled for business once a year. And even Lelouch told himself that the yearly Symposium of the American Board Of Veterinary Practitioners (even if it took place in Florida for some Godforsaken reason) was, at least on paper, a more practical reason for travel than, for example, Lelouch’s impulsively booked plane tickets to Italy “for research”. He smiled softly, reminiscing to himself about how he must have spent hours of those two weeks curled up in a Roman hotel, Skyping Suzaku to tell him about the spoils of that day, how he’d gotten lost trying to hail a taxi cab or been mistaken for a tourist.

But you are a tourist, Suzaku had said, warm and sleepy and sipping coffee in his white bathrobe, his voice rough from the call’s static and from the time difference. Aren’t you?

It doesn’t count when you’re a novelist, Lelouch had said, and sniffed. If I were here on vacation, I would have taken you with me.

And it was true, too. He’d missed everything about Suzaku terribly. Lelouch had melted into Suzaku’s arms upon his return, pulling him close by his tie and biting along his jawline the second he got home from work, stopping by his ear to whisper how much he’d longed for his voice, his touch, his hour-long political digressions. Afterward, they’d just held each other, Suzaku rubbing Lelouch’s shoulders and both of them just basking in having the other there again. Yes, the I-missed-you sex was fantastic. But it always came with a price.

Lelouch sat at his writing computer in the office nook of his and Suzaku’s apartment. It was a nice apartment for a couple their age; split-level, with a lofted bedroom to save space, as but a lovely view from the window above their bed. It was located in a middle-class area of town, and as for the interior, Lelouch had mapped out and maintained a calculatedly minimalist aesthetic, with a white-and-off-white color scheme— despite the fact that Arthur, their housecat, had black fur. Lelouch, being that rare, shiny breed of novelist with a flair for storylines both superficially thrilling and timelessly intellectual, actually did make a decent amount of money; which, combined with Suzaku’s pay from his veterinary practice, allowed them to live comfortably. Or uncomfortably.

Today the apartment was silent. The rainstorm of clicking computer keys that normally heralded Lelouch’s alone time was nowhere to be found. It was a Bad Writing Day, and on a Bad Writing Day everything sucked, the weather, the lunch Lelouch tried to cook, the Spotify playlist Lelouch put on, everything. Lelouch glowered at the newton’s cradle on his glass desk, pinched one of the sleek metal balls, and sent it swinging, watching the wonders of earthly physics get to work. Maybe he’d gone stir-crazy. It was going on to the end of the afternoon, and Lelouch had written a total of one hundred words today. Maybe fine if he were a writer of flash fiction, but alas, Lelouch did not work in that form. The worst part about today, he decided, was that Suzaku, his muse, was not here.

Suddenly a coil of furry warmth slithering around his slippered feet. “Arthur,” he said. Arthur mewled in response. Grateful for the distraction, Lelouch picked him up, and Arthur happily began to purr. “You must be hungry.” Lelouch murmured. “Let’s get you something to eat.”

~

Lelouch was just cracking open a can of Fancy Feast when his phone rang.

He had a custom ringtone for his fiancée set in his contact book, so he didn’t even need to look at the screen to know who was calling. Dumping Arthur’s food onto his plate, he smiled as he slid his thumb across the touch-screen surface of his phone and brought it up to his ear. He had missed Suzaku terribly all day, but held back from calling him because he knew he was busy with his conference. The call from his lover was a welcome relief, one like stepping into a warm bath.

“Hi, honey,” Lelouch said, putting the empty can of cat food into the trash. Arthur leapt up onto the counter and began to eat.

“Lelouch,” breathed Suzaku into the phone. “Are you alone?”

Heat flared through Lelouch’s body, but, ever the one to be in control, he decided to play it cool. “Whoa there, tiger. Why the rush?” he said quietly, his eyes shining, a smile already playing on his lips. It wasn’t a serious act of chastisement. It was a flirt; a game. Even as he spoke, Lelouch’s feet were already carrying him to his and Suzaku’s shared bedroom.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I miss you.” Suzaku said plaintively. It was all true, too. He was on the other side of the country, alone in a queen-sized hotel bed, buried in clean white sheets that smelled like detergent and sterility and nothing like Lelouch. He loved taking care of animals, he loved saving their lives, he loved his career, his line of work was exciting but God, there had been one snafu after another and this conference was gradually driving him up the wall. He missed Lelouch. Even knowing he would come home to him soon, he missed Lelouch. He missed being able to show him how much he loved him with his body. “I want to touch you.”

“I miss you, too.” Said Lelouch, his voice and eyes both tender. The room was comfortably dim with sunset. From the angle, it was unlikely that anyone would be able to see into their bedroom window anyway, but Lelouch shut the blinds just in case. “… You know, it’s only been a week.”

“Six days.” Suzaku corrected. “All of them torture.” Which wasn’t exactly true. Suzaku had wholeheartedly enjoyed the first few days, before the tropical storm or the concrete mixer incident, but none of that seemed to matter now that full Lelouch withdrawal had set in.

“But Suzaku,” said Lelouch, sitting down on the edge of the bed and leisurely beginning to unbutton the plaid pajama top he may or may not have been wearing all day, “You love being tortured.”

Suzaku bit his lip and groaned through it. “You didn’t answer me, Lelouch… are you alone right now?”

“Do you think I’d be talking to you like this if I weren’t?” Lelouch said, and his voice was like a whip, how it could go dark and taut all of a sudden, how it could snap sometimes and flit others and reduce Suzaku to a delightful, quivering mess. He could hear Suzaku’s almost-gasp at the change in tone. A smile played at the edge of Lelouch’s lips as he found himself slipping into persona; oh, this could be fun… Suzaku loved being bullied during sex. While Lelouch never felt comfortable going beyond some light verbal teasing, whenever he did get into a dominant, haughty mood, Suzaku found himself coming so hard he saw stars. Their current circumstances, Lelouch realized, created the perfect storm; phone sex depended on dirty talk, and words were Lelouch’s modus operandi. “Do you think I’m some kind of pervert? Answer me, Suzaku.”

Suzaku tripped over himself answering.

“No, Lelouch, never; I don’t think you’re a pervert.” He felt so hot, he couldn’t help but writhe around a little. Before, he’d been touching himself—nothing heavy, just teasing himself with the tips of his fingers, he didn’t want to really start working himself until Lelouch was feeling good too, whenever Suzaku felt good he wanted Lelouch to feel good with him, together— and he was hard, but now he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to do that, yet. Not when Lelouch sounded so pushy and bossy and… and hot. Suzaku pulled his hand away from his dick, involuntarily whining. He tried to be quiet, but Lelouch caught him anyway.

“What was that, Suzaku?” Lelouch’s pajama shirt was completely unbuttoned, but he didn’t bother to take it off yet, instead crawling back over the bed to lean against the pillows. He lifted his hips to wriggle his sweatpants down until they were around his thighs. He was half-hard already. “Did you say something?”

“N— no.”

“No?”

“I didn’t— just say anything.”

“Hm.” Lelouch hummed coldly, like he knew Suzaku was lying, and began to suck on two of his fingers.

“I— I mean,” Suzaku stammered. God, how was it that he was getting harder and harder from this when he wasn’t even touching himself? “I didn’t, it’s just that, I was touching myself before, and I stopped, so…”

There was a wet sound (Suzaku bit back a groan) as Lelouch pulled the two fingers out of his mouth and rested them on his soft, white chest, near a pink nipple.

Lelouch didn’t even bother to touch himself yet. After all, he knew that if he got started now he would never be able to stop. Besides, there was another, far more gratifying game he was interesting in playing first.

“So?” said Lelouch. And normally Suzaku would have taken this cue to jump into a good few paragraphs, written out, of dirty talk just from a stream of his own consciousness, the kind of material that would have Lelouch begging to come if their situations were reversed. But Lelouch had spoken as if prompting serious conversation rather than filling dead air between them, enough to give Suzaku pause— like maybe Lelouch hadn’t heard him?

After waiting a moment that was filled with silence and static, Suzaku, a little awkwardly, said “Ah?”

“So? How’s the Symposium?” Lelouch saw slowly— almost condescendingly, and Suzaku could tell, and— and Suzaku had a million hangups from a probably very traumatic childhood, but God, if Lelouch talking down to him didn’t turn him on. Ah, so they were playing this game. Suzaku groaned, and the first half was clearly exasperated, but the tail end betrayed his full, totally helpless arousal. Heat curled in Lelouch’s belly at the sound.

“Ah… Didn’t I already tell you the other day? Lelouch…”

So Suzaku began, except as he did so he was idly rubbing the heel of his hand against the base of his dick and Lelouch could tell from his breathing because suddenly Lelouch’s voice was dark and militant and commanding: “Don’t touch yourself. Do not touch yourself until I say that you may.” Heat flushed Suzaku’s body, and he pulled his hand back from his dick like he’d been shocked. When Lelouch spoke again, his voice was back to how it had been when he’d first picked up the phone, the way he usually sounded when he spoke to Suzaku, mellow and sweet: “You told me about it yesterday, Suzaku, when I called you to check on you, and wish you goodnight… Remember?”

Suzaku’s hand curled up into a fist as it lay still and helpless at his side. “Yes, I remember.”

“So what happened today?”

Suzaku swallowed and closed his eyes. The memories of the day floated in a hazy wave before his eyelids. It was legitimately hard to think when he was this aroused (what the hell, what the hell) and it felt like he was swimming, trying to find some detail or other to cling to. “Nothing super great,” he heard himself say. “Was giving a presentation and stepped on the foot of— you wouldn’t know his name— guy I really admire—“

“A guy you really admire?” Said Lelouch, all faux-ingénue wounded, and Suzaku tripped over himself addressing it.

“Not like that, I mean, as a vet, Lelouch. Lelouch, please…”

“I’m hurt, Suzaku. Don’t you like your Lelouch best of all?”

“Of course I love you most of all, Sir,” said Suzaku, drunk on heat, and even in the state he was in he couldn’t repress the tiny smirk at the moan he heard Lelouch have to muffle at him dragging out that old pet name. They’d used it a few times before, mostly only when talking like they were. It worked perfectly for the dynamic they played at to get each other off, it rolled easily off the tongue, and they both hated Master. Lelouch wasn’t a master of anyone or anything. And Suzaku really, really enjoyed sir, maybe even more than Lelouch did, because along with that stifled moan was Lelouch’s free hand flying down between his thighs and around his own cock before he could help it because fuck it, fuck it, he hadn’t come in a week, he needed this bad, he was touching himself now.

He would retain some self-control, though, he told himself. And he was a marvelous actor; he tilted his head back and his voice was only slightly strained when he said, “And how much do you love your Sir, Suzaku?”

“So much, sir, that I’d— that I’ll— ah, ah-ha, fuck, I’m no good at this please, please let me touch myself Lelouch please—”

“You’re better at it than you think, Suzaku,” Lelouch breathed into the phone, tone and body shifting again on the phone and the blankets. “But go on, then. Touch yourself. My, what a mouth you have on you. You haven’t jerked off in a while, have you?”

“Please—"

“It sounds like it’s been a few days.”

“Please—”

“I bet your cock looks delicious right now. I’d do anything to be there, to eat it right up. Ah—” Lelouch moaned into the phone. He was coming unhinged, his voice leaping out of his control, and there was nothing in the world more exciting to Suzaku.

“Lelouch.” Too good, too good, Suzaku thought wildly. The second Lelouch had given him permission, he’d started pumping himself at a full clip, and he’d held back so long that every single slide of friction felt like skating across the surface of utter heaven. He kept thinking that the surface tension would have to break sometime soon. Instead the pleasure kept building and building on top of itself and Suzaku felt—  Suzaku was— he was going to— he was going to lose his mind—  but hadn’t he already? He didn't want anyone but Lelouch to hear him, but ah, he was being so loud…

“Suzaku.” Came Lelouch’s voice, clear to Suzaku past all of the haze. Always like a lighthouse to him through fog.

Suzaku felt so much gentleness toward Lelouch and he also— “I wanna—  ah—  fuck you so fucking hard.” It was not what Lelouch had been expecting, and Suzaku took delight in the surprised choke he heard through the telephone. “And I want you to love it. I want you ordering me to never stop. I want to make you come so hard you black out. And then I want to wake you up by kissing you.” Lelouch whined on the other end of the phone, high-pitched and reedy, and Suzaku was stumbling over his own words, was tripping and stumbling the last stretch up the hill. He was almost there, he could taste it, it was on the tip of—

“You’re coming, aren’t you? Suzaku?” Was what came in Lelouch’s breathy, wrecked voice across the phone, and Suzaku’s back arched. His body was scrambling out of his control. He felt his hips twist into his hand on their own, he felt his body arc impossibly, he was moaning and half-shouting nonsense and Lelouch’s name.

When Suzaku came back to himself, he could hear Lelouch was right on the edge, silver tongue reduced to tripping over the three syllables of Suzaku's name in blissful repetition, "Suza-ku, Su-za-ku, Suzaku, Suzaku," his voice itself shuddering with a pleasure his body couldn't contain.

"That's it, Lelouch, you're almost there." Suzaku whispered, voice low and husky with gentle warmth. Lelouch let out a low whine of pleasure of gratitude, and safe in the sound of Suzaku's voice, he came, a short, sharp shout telling Suzaku that his job was done.

Suzaku was perfectly content, then, to sit on the phone, listening to Lelouch catch his breath while he did the same. It always took Lelouch a little bit after coming for his head to clear. He distinctly heard Lelouch say "Wow," at one point, and laughed.

"Yeah. That was really good."

"As usual." Lelouch agreed wistfully.

Suzaku hummed, happy endorphins buzzing through his bloodstream as he sank deeper into the mattress. He was on the phone with his boyfriend, he'd done everything he needed to do for the day and could go straight to sleep, his presentation had gone well, there was… a wet spot on the sheets and comforter above him.

"Oh, crap," he muttered, standing up buck naked. "I got— on the—"

"Again!?"

"Let me live… I have to at least try to clean this up." Suzaku replied, still smiling, as he started walking to the bathroom. “Did you want to stay up and talk, or…?”

“I always want to talk to you,” Lelouch said without thinking, and Suzaku’s heart fluttered because he knew it was true. He wet a washcloth, wiped off his thighs, then rinsed it clean and wet it again. “But,” Lelouch continued, yawning, and Suzaku couldn’t help but smile fondly (even as he scrubbed his own semen stain from the comforter) “I think I may have tired myself out… a little bit, there.”

“Get some sleep, Lelouch.” Said Suzaku. “I’m flying home tomorrow night. I’ll be landing at seven, we can talk then.”

“I know. May I pick you up from the airport?”

“I’ll take a taxi. Make me dinner instead?"

“Mm.” Said Lelouch. In the time after he’d come (they kept a tissue on their bedside table to avoid the exact sort of problem Suzaku had just found himself in), he’d wiped himself off, tossed the tissue in the wastebasket, pulled his pajamas back into order, hit the light switch, and curled up underneath the covers, ridiculously cozy and snug. The soft whir of Arthur’s distant purring grew louder as he trounced up the stairs to the loft, sensing that his owner was no longer distracted, and in fact in the perfect state of mind to snuggle. He jumped onto the bed and headbutted Lelouch’s hand, mewing in appreciation when Lelouch began to pet him. “Roger that, generallll.”

“You are asleep.” Suzaku said. His voice was full of love. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

It was ridiculously early, but they both went to sleep that night with smiles on their faces.

[gotgifsandmusings]

Quick asks roundup

I’m going out of town this afternoon for labor dabor, and probably won’t be around much during the weekend. Thought I’d answer a few asks below--just a grab bag, with a vague focus on S7. Should be able to do a video one of these next week, and Julia and I are eyeing a UBS podcast episode pretty soon too.

Anonymous said to gotgifsandmusings: Have you read David Benioff's book City of Thieves? I'm curious how it compares to GoT.

I haven’t, no. I’m not sure if that’s something I want to subject myself to (it has been mostly positively received from what I know, though not across the board) when there’s so much I’ve been putting off reading as it is.

Anonymous said to gotgifsandmusings: Is cerseï pregananant in the boox?

She’s actually gregnant.

Anonymous said to gotgifsandmusings: Just read your criticism about Fair Game and wholeheartedly agree. You touched on the core of why your (and Julia's and Caroline's and Jess' and Turtle's) GoT analysis are so great: they understand the intersection of narrative flaws and social issues. Sure, some people may complain that they don't want "SJW" stuff, except, y'know, you don't stop being a feminist when you write a review. As you say, media is not produced in a cultural vacuum. Sadly, I admit I feel reluctant to...... Actively criticize GoT with people around me because the ones who dislike it also dislike ASOIAF and fantasy/sci-fi ("The show is bad because GRRM is a bad writer who isn't really character-driven, but it's not surprising since genre stuff is awful"). That sucks :(

Yes, exactly! This is in reference to this piece by myself and Julia, btw. That’s really depressing about that perception of genre fic, especially given what Martin does being so unique. I’ve never particularly understood that attitude; I want to read about cool places and stuff happening as much as I want to read about weighty character journeys, and why scoff at any that pull off both? Though Julia has a piece on that too. 

But absolutely, as we said, it’s asinine to ignore the ways culture shapes media and vice versa, and often the reason the writing is so poor is because it’s so sensationalist or reliant on shitty tropes and stereotypes. “Just enjoy it (or critique) without focusing on social issues” is the ultimate sign of privilege, and it drives me crazy because it’s tossed out as an appeal to “objectivity.” IF YOU’RE IGNORING PEOPLE’S EXPERIENCES YOU’RE ALREADY NOT BEING OBJECTIVE.

Anonymous said to gotgifsandmusings: I'm curious why you guys interpret Cersei's internalized misogyny as nothing to do with gender dysphoria. All because Cersei doesn't break down during her period doesn't mean you must read her as cisgendered. She treats femininity like her least-favorite subject in school, not like part of herself. You're welcome to read her story as about women internalizing misogyny, but her thoughts feel familiarly trans, and outright denying that reading closer-to-earths her

This is really interesting, and my assumption would definitely a result of my own distance with that experience. Are there any metas on it? I haven’t really considered this before (I’ve seen the case argued for Brienne), and I’m not very convinced Martin had much intentionality here, but that’s a reading of her character I’d definitely like to learn/think more about.

Anonymous said to gotgifsandmusings: How can Euron "Crow's Eye, Terror of Pentos" Greyjoy come across as such a wimpy villain that I'm missing Ramsay? Hell, effing Joffrey could have torn that cuddly pooh bear a new one.

But...he’s the storm. You weren’t quaking in your boots when his fleet armada magically descended on Yara’s?

Anonymous said to gotgifsandmusings: I haven't seen anyone else comment on this, but did you notice Cheryl says "You expect me to command our troops to fight beside foreign scum?" almost immediately before telling Jaime she's bringing the foreign Golden Company from Essos to fight beside their troops? Do you think the writers ever make it to second drafts or do they just knock out the first on the back of a Hooters napkin over Natty Ices and fist bumps and say, nah, we're good bro?

A showpologist would tell you it’s clearly demonstrating what a horrible hypocrite she is and actually rather cutting commentary.

It’s really, really hard for me to imagine a world where Operation Capture a Wight received a look-over. A whole lot of what they do feels thoroughly unedited.

Anonymous said to gotgifsandmusings: Hey, I really appreciate all your GoT analysis. 1) Is Cheryl's assistant actually Ezri Dax? 2) Did you see Linda's episode review where she called D&D "smug idiots?" 3) Is it possible to enjoy GoT as schlock? I can't and don't, but It is certainly bad enough and dumb enough. Thanks!

Thank you :)

1) According to wikipedia, Ezri Dax’s actor is currently starring in “Corrupt aka Trust No One” and “Where’s my Baby”, but I’m glad you made me look her up, because the resemblance there is quite uncanny. The maid is played by Sara Dylan, and has actually been a consistent, recurring character since Season 2. Apparently her name is “Bernadette” because why not.

2) Was it her newest review? I do listen to those in the background of work when I’m doing spreadsheet kind of stuff, so I may not have caught that exact phrase, but I did hear the part where she basically said “just don’t even bother writing a plot. Only write battles because everything else is terrible.”

3) I mean, the people enjoying GoT are watching schlock, so it must be possible. I happen to think the ardent defenders/honeypotters aren’t the majority, and most people turn it on to watch dragons for 60 minutes, then talk about how cool the dragons looked the next day at work. It’s just that GoT comes with a stamp of “SMART ADULT SHOW” for reasons that will never cease to amaze me. So yeah, totally, but for me, I have a hard time enjoying something when the more you think about it, the worse it gets.

Anonymous said to gotgifsandmusings: I would bet my right hand that someone in the GoT writers' room probably rewatched season 1 which is why there's so many callbacks to it like Arya's "that's not you", Dany's infertility, Bran's "I told you not to trust me", etc etc. Like it just seems so obvious that they realized they ran out of content and decided to just revisit past seasons to make themselves seem smart and like they planned ahead so much.

Oh 100%. Season 1 was this year’s Lord of the Rings, which they had obviously binged before last year. I love it because then all the critics are like, “ohh my god it’s so well-planned and deep.” But no. It’s essentially grinning into the camera going “remember when?”, completely on par with Gendry’s boat joke.

Anonymous said to gotgifsandmusings: The writers gave up 3 seasons ago, but it feels like no one was really trying this year. The cast looked bored. The wigs were trash: Dany's fire-proof wig is also boatsex-proof and freezing wind-proof. The costumes were either too anachronistic for a so-called prestiege Medievalesque Drama or straight up uninspired: Cersei's modern office wear, Dany and LF are shopping at the same department store, Lyanna S dressed up for a college roman-themed party. I guess the special effects were ok.

I’m very, very hesitant to call out costuming because I know Michele Clapton is like, making up these immaculate honeypots and ordering the finest fabrics from Lithuania to pull everything together. But...yeah, as a viewer everything was kind of clearly ridiculous (Euron’s jacket), and EVERYTHING WAS BLACK with the exception of Deadpan’s coat, that was, I’m sorry, objectively hideous. The reason people fawned over it was because it was actually contrasting the blah they had been seeing all season.

As for the cast, I mean...I think these guys are decent actors who get into their roles when they can. But who could get into anything happening at this point? Stuff happens, don’t question it. The directing was probably fine (I don’t know enough about that stuff), but when the script is fundamentally lazy and uninspired, it’s going to bleed into everything.

Anonymous said to gotgifsandmusings: (Regarding episode 7) So the only leak that didn't come true was "Cersei's" bed of blood prediction and I'm wondering if she'll miscarry next season because morally evil incest women like Cheryl don't deserve babies while morally good (with the help of our friendzoned Saint T🙏) incest women like Deadpan get to conquer infertility and birth a Targ with the help of Jonny Cardboard's magic seed. That would be one boring Aegon 2(3?) infant. Thoughts?

Honestly, I can’t make heads or tails of why she was even pregnant. Larry didn’t need that to stay on her side at all, and the only thing I can think was that it added an extra TWIST for us. Haha, viewer! You thought she might have actually wanted to fight the threat because of her unborn kid and how many times we’ve told you her only redeeming quality is her motherhood, but now she’s EVHUL and even idealized motherhood can’t save her!

I guess it’s...kind of trope busting?

I kind of agree though, I don’t see them letting a BAD woman give birth and mother. At the same time, I don’t see how enough time can even pass where this would be a relevant plot-point to anything. So...I just, I don’t get it. I’ve gotta figure out how to structure my sexism & s7 analysis, and going back and revisiting Cheryl is probably going to be one of the most confused parts of it. I see many paths for how this unfolds, and none of them are really too promising.

Alrighty, gotta cut it here for today. Everyone have a safe labor day weekend (I guess there’s no heightened risk for non-Americans, but a safe weekend all the same), and I’ll talk to you guys later!

[robbiefarlow-sidequestfitne-blog]

New Post has been published on Side Quest Fitness

New Post has been published on http://sidequestfitness.com/9-keys-to-make-your-writing-great/

How to Fuck Up Some Commas: Or, The 9 Keys You Need to Make Your Writing Great

170.

No, that’s not the number of video games I’ve beaten in my life. And it sure as hell isn’t the number of women I slept with before my wife (that was less than 10).

It’s the number of articles I’ve written over a two year period on my site, and across the Internet on sites like:

Roman Fitness Systems

BroBible

MyProtein

AskMen

J Max Fitness

Listen, Money Matters

That doesn’t count all the ghostwriting, emails, e-books, and social media posts I’ve written either.

I’m not writing this as some form of public masturbation about what I’ve accomplished (okay, fine, maybe there’s a little jerking off going on).

What spurred these thoughts are the handful of emails and messages from random people I’ve received in the last few weeks/months asking about writing. Most of these coming from people new to the world of online fitness.

This article serves two purposes then: 1) it’s a bit of a reflective piece for myself, and 2) it’s a piece I can now use when someone asks me about writing or content creation on the Internet.

So to the young bucks who’ve asked me about writing, here’s what you need to know about getting better as an Internet scribe.

  Copyright: Image by StockUnlimited

Do the Work

How do you improve at anything?

Repetition. Repetition. Repetition.

It’s how you get stronger in the gym, how you get better at guitar, and it’s how you improve as a writer. The more you write, the more opportunities you have to improve. And that’s why if you’re an aspiring scrivener, you need to write every day.

Writing every day doesn’t mean you have to publish every day. But unless you completely excommunicate yourself from social media, you’re gonna write something. And as Tim Ferriss has said before:

“How you do one thing, is how you do everything.”

It took me a little while to learn this; and by little while, I mean one soul-burning John Romaniello “goddamn it” look before I realized that everything I write — Tweets; Facebook Posts/Comments; Instagram posts; Text Messages; Emails; FB Messenger conversations — should be treated with the same care and diligence I’d give any article.

There’s another reason why you need to write every day. The online world is saturated with content. And the way you make yourself stand out is to be really fucking good. Not mediocre; not so-so; not worthy of a gentleman’s C.

No. You need have to be better.

And if you want to be better, you have to put in the work.

The simple act of writing every day, and paying attention to what you write—no matter the medium—generates awareness to how you write. And like the awareness that comes from tracking calories, you begin to deconstruct your own writing to see where you suck.

From there, you’re able to improve and get better. Because if you’re not getting better, you’re dying.

Vomit is Better Than Perfection

Some things write themselves.

You know it. You write it. Edit a bit. And, “voila!”, you’re done. But the deep shit—the words you bleed onto the page—sometimes need to come out in whatever way possible.

And if what comes out at first is incoherent babble, that’s okay—the first draft is supposed to suck. Everything sucks the first time.

Don’t try and be perfect. Let your sentences sound like the ramblings of a drunken madman teetering down Bourbon Street. That’s okay. Because you’re getting it out.

Most of the time, that’s the hardest part: getting it out. Your brain wants you to make it perfect; your soul needs to exude it; and your hands are sitting there stuck in the middle trying to placate both parties.

So nothing happens. You stare at a blank screen and tell yourself this is impossible.

Hemingway put it best:

Write drunk. Edit sober.

Let your soul bare itself however it sees fit. Then let your brain clean up its mess and make it sound better. Whatever you do, get the words down. Then go back and clean up the vomit.

The Building Blocks  

Ultimately, writing is a lot like playing with LEGOs.

As a kid, I never claimed the rank of master builder. I pretty much built towers to see how high I could take them before I had my action figures demolish them.

But you can build some amazing shit out of LEGOs. And words are kind of like LEGOs. (And yes, you can choke on both.)

When you write a sentence and break it down—not only grammatically but visually (or how it flows when you read it)—you’ll begin to see how you can alter the structure, meaning, and cadence of a sentence with punctuation or changes in vocabulary.

Take the sentence below that I pulled from my first draft:

There are hard rules about grammar. And you need to know the rules—master them, actually—before you can break them.

If you look at this sentence as LEGOs, and punctuation and vocabulary as LEGO pieces, you’ll begin to see how you can add or change certain pieces that change the sentence completely.

Add a comma after the word “and,” and it adds a slight pause and emphasis for needing to know the rules:

There are hard rules about grammar. And, you need to know the rules—master them, actually—before you can break them.

You could also replace the em dash with parenthesis, which makes the words “master them, actually” more like an aside. But parentheticals only work when you’re able to remove the words within them without jacking up the sentence. In this case, it does; but to me, it loses a bit of oomph.

There are hard rules about grammar. And you need to know the rules (master them, actually) before you can break them.

There are hard rules about grammar. And you need to know the rules before you can break them.

Those small tweaks to punctuation change how you read the words in your mind or out loud. And if you wanted to change the cadence of the sentence, you could do so by adding a few more periods.

There are hard rules about grammar. And you need to know the rules. Master them, actually. Before you can break the rules.

(“them” needed to be changed to “the rules,” otherwise, that would have been a sentence fragment)

I don’t proclaim to be a grammar master. I’m still learning. But, I am experimenting with how to structure sentences, and when, what, and where the right punctuation should go to change the rhythm, emphasis, or spirit of a sentence.

Like the LEGO towers that my action figures shattered in my youth, sometimes a laconic sentence is more useful:

Master the hard rules of grammar, before you break them.

Read a Book, Read a Book, Read a Motherfucking Book

Before 2016, I’d read a total of 25, maybe 30 books. Last year, I read 27.

And besides the fact that many of those 27 books inspired articles or emails, the biggest lesson I learned from reading more books is that it makes you a better writer. Why?

If for no other reason than it’s research. Sure, you’re learning new ways to improve yourself or your business or diving deep into an exciting world full of interesting characters, but more than that, it allows me—as a writer—to see how the best wordsmiths craft their work.

How do they create tension and mood within their writing?

Why did they choose to use an em dash and not a comma?

When, how, or why did they change cadence, and how did that change impact me?

What words do these authors use that will expand my 6th-grade lexicon?

I love reading now. It’s the first thing I do every day. And it’s the one thing I feel—next to writing every day—that’s improved my skills the most.

Write By Hand

(Confession: I wrote this entire section on my phone while on the subway in NYC.)

Listen, I’ll be the first to admit, my penmanship is grotesque. Doctors have better handwriting than I do. Still, something happens when you write by hand.

Over the last decade, a few studies have even shown that there’s a clear distinction between writing by hand or on a keyboard. For instance, one study showed that the brains of children “lit up” when asked to write a word by hand vs using a computer. And some doctors believe that as you age, it’s better to write by hand because it improves motor skills, memory, and acts as a good cognitive activity as you age.

I can read the science and I can agree with most of it. But, for me, writing by hand—even the simple act of taking notes while listening to a podcast or reading an article—spurs something more visceral and taps into a creative vein in my mind that writing in Google Docs or iNotes can’t.

That doesn’t mean I write every word of an email, an article, or social media post by hand. 65-70% of what I write is done electronically. But the stuff that burns, that scratches at my soul, and threatens to haunt me if I don’t put it down, comes out on paper.

Where a word processor has distractions like a toolbar or even the ability for you to open another tab and check Facebook/email, what you write on paper stabs you in the eyes—forcing you to examine and come to terms with what’s on the page.

You can erase it and change it, sure. But the remnants of it—the shadow of your erasures or the strike through of your pen—stare back at you and remind you that those are words you wrote; words you believe.

There’s a cathartic connection—a bleeding—that happens when your mind connects with your hand; you struggle less and write more truthfully.

The Best Form of Flattery

Imitation does not mean plagiarization.

Do. Not. Steal.

That’s wrong, and if you do it, you’re a douche-canoe. 

(Douche-canoe is something my friend Aadam says all the time—yes, he has two A’s in his name, that’s not a spelling error. And though I could have made you think I invented the funny word “douche-canoe,” I did not. Aadam did. See, I’m giving him credit and not stealing it.)

When I taught myself how to play the guitar, the first songs I played weren’t my own. I played everyone else’s. And when I did decide to write my first song(s), I imitated the chord progressions from the artists I was listening to at the time. (Thanks, Howie Day.)

But that’s how everyone who picks up a guitar starts their career.

You play Bob Dylan, Deep Purple, Hootie and the Blowfish, and once you’ve nailed the basic chord progressions of your favorite songs, then you’re more likely to experiment and find your voice and create your own music.

And in a lot of ways, that’s what I’ve done as a writer. Writers that I admire and find extremely engaging have been the ones I’ve tried to imitate. Not because I want to be them. But because I needed to play their chords to find my voice.

That’s one of the first things I’ve told anyone who has asked me for writing advice:

“take something you want to write, and write it as if your favorite author wrote it.”

Examine how they use and shape words. And then try and play their song.

But please, don’t steal. There’s a difference between stealing and imitating.

How to Unblock Writer’s Block

This is the 2nd time, and it won’t be the last, that I’ve mentioned Roman in this article. And it might sound like I’m sucking his dick a little bit (I am), but without Roman, there is no Side Quest Fitness; and really there’s no Robbie Farlow as I stand now.

But when it comes to writing, Roman knows his shit. And he often posts tidbits about the (or his) writing process on Facebook or Instagram. When he does, it’s fucking gold; and I hoard it in a secret folder on my phone.

For instance, this is is a screenshot of a comment he left my friend Aadam Ali when Aadam was struggling with writer’s block.

“So Robbie, what do you do when you have writer’s block?”

My usual response to this question is that I throw on some Dashboard, cast myself on the floor, and scream the lyrics to the heavens while I beseech my muse to return. I’m like half joking when I say that. (Half.)

The other half involves one or two of the following, and these are usually what I recommend others do as well:

Masturbate

Take a walk

Listen to a podcast

Read

Write something other than fitness

Film yourself speaking about what you’re trying to write. Walk around your room with a camera on and just record yourself talking about what you want to say.

Drink whiskey

Play video games

Learn a new song on the guitar

Take a shower

Sing This Bitter Pill as loud as possible

Writer’s block, for me, is usually a sign that I’m fighting something I should be writing. Or that I’m trying to make it “perfect,” instead of vomiting my soul on the page.

Writing What You Know

Before I ever decided to become a trainer or even launch my coaching business, I read articles by the giants in the industry. And these guys are smart. Like, the best of the best. But I’m no Tony Gentilcore, Dean Somerset, Dan John, or Ben Bruno.

Those guys dive deep into the science behind how the body works while you lift. But, me?

I love reading anything written by the best of the best, and (for the most part) I understand the super-sciency terminology they use.

But my friends who first came to me and asked about getting in shape, probably don’t. And the clients I work with don’t really care about the science either. What they want are the exercises that help them feel better, move better, and look better naked.

And it’s my job to take the knowledge I have, and that I continue to seek, and add a bit of a nerdtastic flare to it—providing my readers and clients with a frame of reference they connect with, be it video games, comics, Star Wars, or sports.

Those four things above are what I know. They are who I am; and the lens through which I view the world around me.

I don’t know everything about kinesiology. But, I do know how to connect diet to Indiana Jones, motivation to Lord of the Rings, leadership to Call of Duty, and pretty much everything else to Star Wars or my love for UNC basketball.

So that’s what I’m gonna write about. Oh, and Buffy.

It’s Not the Tool, It’s How You Use It

Before I joined the Roman Fitness Systems Mastermind, I remember having a long conversation with Tanner Baze about how we hated reading sales copy. We felt dirty. Icky.

Like the words we were reading were written by He Who Shall Not Be Named himself.

God, were we stupid.

We were looking at copywriting all wrong. Or, at least, I was (I don’t know about ole dtbaze).

Because the truth is, all writing is copywriting.

Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Rothfuss, King, Shakespeare, every single author who has ever written a story or a screenplay, was, essentially, writing sales copy.

Copywriting—in the sales realm—has one primary goal: to get you to buy whatever product the ad is selling. 

And if it’s good copy, each word will sell you on reading the next line in the sales ad until you buy.

Oh, shit. That’s exactly what good authors do as well.

Each line sales you on reading the next line. Why else would you read a gigantic 1,200-page book if you weren’t buying each line and spending the only currency you can’t get back: time.

And of course there’s bad, smarmy, snake-oily sales copy out there that makes a ton of money selling bullshit.

But hey, someone made a gazillion dollars writing Twilight fan fiction that then became a best-selling series and Hollywood film franchise. So sometimes evil wins. And yes, you can use the power of words in 50 different shades of evil to sell bullshit.

Or, you can learn to harness the power and use it for good. And that’s what a good writer, or copywriter, would do: use words for the betterment of humanity.

The Penis Pen is Mightier

Truth is: I’ve always been a writer.

I wrote my first story on a piece of cardboard I pulled from a trash bin. It wasn’t very good. It sounded like a five-year-old wrote it. Because a five-year-old did write it.

But I stopped writing around the time I got a Nintendo. And only picked the pen back up when I fell in love with poetry as a teen.

My years as a poet ended when a few friends accused me of being a bit too emo (whatever the fuck that means). And from that point, the only writing I engaged in were the mandatory papers I had to write in high school or college.

Secretly, though, I missed writing.

I may never be a Hemingway. Or a Strauss. And I sure as hell won’t ever be a Shakespeare. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t, or shouldn’t write.

Writing every day for two years has improved my quality of life.

I don’t wake up and despise the morning anymore. My thoughts are more clear. I’ve taken more stock into what I think and believe because I’ve been forced to write them down and confront those words face-to-face.

And, above all, I’ve found something that’s galvanized my soul and that I’m driven to improve upon every, single, day.

So if you’re an aspiring writer, whether you want to write fitness blogs, short stories, or a novel. Do one thing, and one thing only—write.

Write like a motherfucker. Then, continually look for ways to improve. Study the authors you read and imitate their style. Treat every word you write on social, in text messages, or in your journal as if it were being published in The New York Times.

And as the great Romaniello once said:

Don’t let the idea of “what your writing may become” interfere with the process of actually writing it.

[clubofinfo]

Expert: I’m beginning to suspect that the self-proclaimed liberals who protest scheduled talks on college campuses across the US are. in fact, conservative students working undercover to foster public disgust with the left. Some of these fiascos have to be staged. After all, it’s difficult to imagine a better way of shoring up conservative politics than by depicting liberals as a lot of hypersensitive scoundrels playing fast and loose with the First Amendment. Residing as I do on the far left of the political spectrum (I don’t usually identify as “liberal,” simply because I personally have no use for the term outside of its economic sense), I’m perfectly content to leave the shameful business of censorship to my counterparts on the right. While they go to extreme lengths—including efforts to pass dubious legislation—to shut down critical discussion of Israel, for instance, it never occurs to me that we ought to respond in kind. They want to offer apologetics for atrocities? Great: There are few things more satisfying than laying waste to their spurious claims and exposing them as the vile demagogues that they are. Suppression of speech is by definition, and without exception, undemocratic. It’s also, as I think most people intuitively understand, totally counterproductive. Just as employing the ad hominem betrays the unsustainability of one’s argument, attempting to suppress another person’s views, however offensive, is a reliable way to, as it were, lose the sympathy of the jury. Moreover, gag someone enough times and, far from disappearing them into obscurity, you’re bound to elevate their status and heighten public interest in whatever it is they have to say. I hold these truths to be self-evident. Perhaps I no longer should. Thanks in part to excessive media hype, the recent blowout at UC Berkeley, where a scheduled speech by conservative firebrand Milo Yiannopoulos was canceled after demonstrations turned violent, represents something of a climacteric with respect to the contemporary debate on free speech, of which college campuses have been the predominant theater. According to university officials, the hooliganism was carried out “by a group of about 150 masked agitators who came onto campus and interrupted an otherwise non-violent protest.” While I’m somewhat serious when I say I think there’s a chance that such incidents are false flag operations, Occam’s razor stipulates that we accept the “masked agitators” as overzealous protestors who are legitimately hostile to Yiannopoulos’ politics. In which case they are doing incalculable damage to their cause. Furthermore, tempting as it is to draw a sharp distinction between these self-styled anarchists and the non-violent protesters whose demonstration they hijacked, the fact remains that, for many liberal students in America and abroad, gagging people like Yiannopoulos is a common goal and has been for years. The means may differ, but the end is essentially the same: Silencing unwanted viewpoints. If this weren’t so, Berkeley Chancellor Nicholas Dirks wouldn’t have felt compelled to pen a 1400-word letter justifying the university’s refusal to cancel the speech in advance. (Contrary to Trump’s idiotic tweet, in which he threatened to cut Berkeley’s federal funding, the administration defended Yiannopoulos’ First Amendment rights every step of the way; they are beyond reproach in this case.) There’s no denying that Yiannopoulos’ enormous popularity, or notoriety, is by and large a consequence of the intolerance he’s met with on his “Dangerous Faggot” tour of college campuses. It’s owing to episodes like the one at UC Berkeley that he’s celebrated, rightly or wrongly, as a sort of free speech martyr. Would he be a total nonentity otherwise? Probably not. But I seriously doubt he would have a $250,000 book deal with Simon & Schuster—news of which, by the way, triggered an avalanche of indignation on social media and led feminist writer Roxane Gay to pull her upcoming book from publication, effectively guaranteeing Yiannopoulos a spot on the New York Times Best Seller list. It’s a vicious cycle, as they say. Consider the following, which Yiannopoulos posted to social media following the cancellation of his speech: I have been evacuated from the UC Berkeley campus after violent left-wing protestors tore down barricades, lit fires, threw rocks and Roman candles at the windows and breached the ground floor of the building. My team and I are safe. But the event has been cancelled. I’ll let you know more when the facts become clear. One thing we do know for sure: the Left is absolutely terrified of free speech and will do literally anything to shut it down. Do you see how it works? Regardless of his views—which, as I understand them, are no more abhorrent than your average Republican’s—Yiannopoulos emerges from the conflict as the sober, sensible party. His fan base swells as people already suspicious of “liberal” motives take another step to the (alt) right. Meanwhile, those of us on the left who feel strongly about free speech are obliged, I would argue, to defend unequivocally his right to express himself and, at the same time, to rebuke anyone attempting to infringe upon that right. But this, of course, will do nothing to stop blackguards like Yiannopoulos from associating the entire left with hostility to free speech. He and his acolytes couldn’t dream up a better scenario. There is, of course, one context in which censorship can be, and almost always is, extremely effective. It’s the one George Orwell wrote about in Nineteen Eighty-Four, after having observed the horrors of twentieth-century fascism. For a state hell-bent on acquiring absolute power and control, imposing uniformity on its subjects is essential; individualism must be stamped out. The first and most important step in doing so is crushing free speech, the purest expression of individual liberty. Where there is no free speech there can be no meaningful dissent. Look, for instance, at what’s happening in Turkey, where President Recep Tayyip Erdogan has used last July’s abortive military coup as a pretext to confer upon himself the powers of a dictator. Predictably, his first order of business was to crack down on free speech (something he had already been doing for years, albeit more insidiously). Mere weeks after the coup attempt Erdogan had shut down over 130 media outlets and arrested dozens of journalists. A Stalinist purge of every element of society, from law enforcement to academia, duly followed. Now, as Patrick Cockburn writes, “the AKP and far right nationalist super majority in the Turkish parliament is … stripping the assembly of its powers and transferring them wholesale to the presidency.” The future looks dark: President Erdogan will become an elected dictator able to dissolve parliament, veto legislation, decide the budget, and appoint ministers who do not have to be MPs along with senior officials and heads of universities. All power will be concentrated in Erdogan’s hands as the office of prime minister is abolished and the president, who can serve three five year terms, takes direct control of the intelligence services. He will appoint senior judges and the head of state institutions including the education system. All of which presupposes the absence of free and open debate, the suppression of “dangerous” ideas, the punishing of vocal dissent, the intimidation of those inclined to speak out. Interestingly, the point of the article from which I quoted above is to draw parallels between Erdogan and Trump, the latter having clearly demonstrated his various authoritarian tendencies. Most notable is his open hostility to the media (going so far as to concur with Bannon’s characterization of them as the “opposition party”), but there are other signs as well. For example, Trump has repeatedly indicated that he believes it should be illegal to desecrate the American flag, suggesting at one point that flag-burners ought to be stripped of their citizenship, First Amendment be damned. (Ironically enough, Milo Yiannopoulos justifies his fanatical support for Trump by citing the latter’s alleged free speech credentials—a categorical absurdity.) The United States is obviously a much more stable democracy than was Turkey (which has seen multiple extralegal reversals of power throughout its history), and Trump obviously lacks the political cunning of Erdogan, but parallels nevertheless exist, and we ought not to be overly phlegmatic about them. Circling back to what I wrote at the beginning of this essay, how can it be that the liberals who want so badly to silence their political opponents are unaware of the fact that they’ve adopted the original totalitarian principle? Don’t they realize that their actions—insofar as they are liable to set menacing precedents—are an aspiring despot’s wet dream? Can they really be so unaware of themselves? Here’s a truism courtesy of Noam Chomsky: “If you’re really in favor of free speech, then you’re in favor of freedom of speech for precisely the views you despise. Otherwise, you’re not in favor of free speech.” Either the liberal censors populating university campuses are unaware of this general truth, or they reject it. I don’t know which is worse. http://clubof.info/

[tessatechaitea]

Justice League vs. Suicide Squad #6

I didn't know Killer Frost could shoot ice sludge out of her vagina.

Eclipso remembers his shitty crossover event!

And then Batman's Suicide Squad rescues the Justice League and they save the world from Eclipso! Probably. It's not like I need to know every detail of this story since it's the last issue. These blog entries are just a way for me to remember each comic from month to month so I'm not thoroughly confused by every new issue. I suppose the other important thing that will happen by the end of it is that Batman will quit the Justice League (again!) to form the Justice League of America and he'll offer Lobo and Killer Frost jobs on his team. Then everybody will think, "Wait a second! How can Batman afford Lobo, the most expensive hitman in the entire universe?! He would need Bruce Wayne money for...OHO!"

Deadshot really dug deep for this insult!

Apparently one of Deadshot's deepest, darkest evil thoughts is that he'd like to kill his daughter so he'll never feel guilty about killing again. I could go two ways on this one with my comments. I could choose to be a childish asshole and discuss how Joshua Williamson is an idiot if he thinks this is good characterization and that Deadshot would ever harbor that evil thought. Or I could be magnanimous and believe what is probably the truth anyway because it's less entertaining to write about: Eclipso is just a lying douchebag trying to convince himself that he isn't forcing people to be evil when he actually is. It allows him to see himself as a heroic god giving people the freedom to engage in their deepest desires rather than a manipulative bastard who just wants to see the world go dark. Deadshot becomes eclipsed and declares he's going to kill everyone. Oh no! Even the other eclipsed people?! And Eclipso?! He might just save the world! Batman eventually comes to the same conclusion I did last issue.

So the delivery systems are different. He wants Superman to look at Eclipso while I wanted Superman to pee on him.

Eventually it's down to just Batman, Amanda Waller, Killer Frost, and Lobo. Eclipso is terrible at triage. He concentrated on eclipsing all the wrong people! You definitely have to get Batman first. Or at least get one of the others to kill him. If Eclipso really makes people's deepest, darkest thoughts rise to the surface, I imagine every member of the Justice League would have killed Batman immediately, the pretentious twat. Batman and Killer Frost get their prism plan underway while Lobo beats the shit out of everybody else. Luckily everybody else complies and only goes after Lobo. Just Superman goes after Batman and Killer Frost. What a stroke of luck!

Batman is faster than Superman's heat vision. Although, I suppose, I've dodge Roadhog's hook on Overwatch enough to realize you begin the dodge before Roadhog even knows he's about to throw the hook. Same principle!

The plan works to free the heroes and villains from Eclipso's control. Judging by the FWASH sound effect, Supergirl could have done this without Killer Frost's help. That's an old joke that only one person reading this blog will understand. Eclipso counters with a FWSSH sound effect which is probably something totally disgusting. I think it amounts to Eclipso spraying his darkness juice via a goat.se pose. But it's too late! Killer Frost has gotten a taste for justice and she turns the tables on Eclipso. He's bathed in sunlight and reverts to Max Lord as the black diamond explodes. I think. I'm sure it exploded so that little black diamonds can litter the Earth causing small Eclipso attackes every few months. The world has been saved and all that is left is for the Suicide Squad and the Justice League to participate in a denouement.

Oh man. Enchantress and Jessica Cruz are so going to fuck.

Batman admits to Waller that Task Force X can work as long as she stops stealing his files out of the Batcave. Also, she needs to let Killer Frost retire so Batman can use her for his new Outsiders team he's going to call Justice League of America. But we all know it's really The Outsiders. Just look at the lineup! Lobo decides to give Batman one free job (not that kind of job! (or that kind!)) for freeing him from Max Lord's control. I'm not sure what kind of jobs Lobo thinks Batman has for him. Hide in Damian's closet to scare him straight? But of course Batman already has a job for him. I bet it's to be Killer Frost's life-force battery as a member of the new Outsiders. Although I can't imagine that job qualifies as a freebie since it's ongoing. Lobo's going to need some of that sweet Bruce Wayne cash to keep that job. Apparently Lobo has to join The Outsiders because he gave his word he'd do a free job for Batman and specified that it didn't matter what the job was. Lobo should be more careful with what he says. Doesn't he know that writers take his "always keeps his word" thing way too seriously?! In the epilogue, Max Lord points out that this whole thing was engineered by Amanda Waller to get Batman to lay off the Suicide Squad. That totally makes sense since it's basically the plot of the Suicide Squad movie. The other characters all get to tie up their loose ends too. Emerald Empress decides to start the Fatal Five so she can hunt down Saturn Girl. Johnny Sorrow's mask is still on Earth waiting for a non-white, non-heterosexual, non-male character to put it on. Doctor Polaris is making out with his helmet. Rustam is going after Havana Waller. And, of course, the Black Diamonds are now everywhere. Then on the final page, Amanda Waller does that reveal thing where the "X" in Task Force X is a number and not a letter. Even though it was a letter just one or two incarnations ago because there were Task Force Ys and Zs or something. It's such a shocking revelation that isn't boring and overused at all! Previously, there was Task Force A-Y. Now there are just Task Force I-XI plus zero which was the first one but I don't think the Romans have a letter for zero. They should have used an O like we do! Dumb-dumbs! What Did I Learn? Amanda Waller is as much a genius as Harvest was. She really knows how to build an overly complicated Rube Goldbergian plot device to take care of fairly simple problems. I'm sure she could have come up with another way to keep Batman off of her back instead of this method that relied on so many unknowable factors that it should never have worked out exactly as she planned. It would have been easier to hire Psimon or J'onn J'onnz to erase Batman's memory of the Suicide Squad. And while they were at it, maybe erase the memory of everybody in the world since they all seem to know about Task Force X and how it's part of the United States government. People knowing about how it works ruins the entire reason for why it works! The Ranking! No change!

[tsfanart]

House Party, Part 4 of 4

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Warnings: Nothing much left at this point, just a hungover Logan and somewhat of a downer ending.

--

Logan managed to sleep for a few minutes, but the next thing he knew, Patton was in the room now, yelling at Remy.

"Look, I [KNOW] you're mad, but I swear I had nothing to do with this," Remy pleaded. "I kicked [THE] rat out of here as soon as I found him and I made sure that Logan had water and a safe place to stay in the meantime."

Patton just shook his head. "This party [GAME] of yours is going to come to an end real soon, bub. Underage drinking [AND] an inability to control your guests is gonna get you in serious trouble with the school.

Remy crossed his arms. "Now hey, [WE’RE] not talking about houses getting trashed or anything like that. If you're [GONNA] blame me for the actions of just one person then that's not fair."

"I don't [PLAY] around when it comes to keeping Logan safe, Remy. I've done [IT] his whole life."

Remy gave Patton a curious look, and the latter clarified, "His brother [AND] I have been best friends since literally forever, and Logan is my little brother just as much as he is Virgil's."

Just then, their discussion was interrupted by a knock on the door, and Patton and Remy turned to see Logan's sophomore friends standing in the doorway.

"Hey guys, [IF] we could interrupt for a minute...um, you should know that Marco and I were the ones who brought Logan here," Roman explained timidly. "So if [YOU] want to yell at someone, yell at us." Marco nodded in agreement.

Patton pulled the sophomores into the room and stared them down. "Let me [ASK] you guys this, then: What in this whole world could have possessed you to invite a sixteen-year-old kid to a wild house party?"

From where he was lying on the bed, Logan clenched his teeth, knowing his secret had been exposed.

Marco put their hands up. "Whoa there, [ME] and Roman had no idea he was sixteen, trust us." Now it was Roman's turn to nod emphatically.

"Not sure [HOW] you missed that, but okay," Patton said skeptically, shooting Logan a side glance.

Remy spoke up again. "Patton, really, [I'M] so sorry for all of this, and--"

"Oh, I'm [FEELING] fine, thanks for asking, everyone." Logan interrupted loudly as he sat up. Patton shook his head and smiled, and wrapped his surrogate kid brother in a hug.

While still in Patton's grasp, Logan craned his head to address Roman and Marco. "Guys, please [DON'T] go spreading my age around. I can't [TELL] you how much I need to keep this under wraps. Everyone treats [ME] like a kid enough as it is," he whined, looking up at Patton pointedly.

"But Logan," Patton cooed, "[YOU'RE] not old enough to be at a place like this--at a house party--and keeping your age a secret could really land you in some dangerous situations."

Noticing the anger mounting in Logan's eyes, Remy spoke up again and stood in the middle of the room. "Look guys, [TOO] much has been going on tonight for one person and I think we just need to get Logan back home."

Patton nodded, and he and Remy helped Logan up off the bed. "I'm not [BLIND], you know," the freshman snapped as the two upperclassmen guided him down the stairs."

"Let's go [TO] Virgil's and my apartment, okay?" Patton said once they were outside. "Tomorrow we'll [SEE] what we can do to keep this from happening again."

Knowing he had no other choice, Logan nodded and stumbled along down the sidewalk, reluctantly approaching his jail cell.

--

When Logan woke up next, it was daylight, and he soon realized that he was lying under a blanket on the couch in the juniors' living room. He sat up a little and groaned, noticing for the first time just how much his head was pounding. From the kitchen, he could hear Patton on the phone, presumably with Remy.

"And he's [NEVER] coming within fifty feet of your house again?...Well, I'm [GONNA] hope they get back to you soon...okay...bye."

Patton hung up his phone and noticed Logan looking at him. He grabbed a plate with some toast on it that was lying in the kitchen, and set it down on the living room table. "I'm gonna [GIVE] you some breakfast now, but afterwards I have to head out," Patton explained without . "But later [YOU] and Virgil are going to talk about this, you understand?" He looked up. "Oh, Virgil's [UP] now."

Patton gathered his things and left the room, and Virgil came over to sit on the couch across from Logan.

"Man, I've [NEVER] seen you so out of it before!" Virgil said with a chuckle. "You're definitely [GONNA] have quite the story to tell at Thanksgiving."

He poked Logan in the side and grinned, but Logan just slumped his shoulders and nibbled at his food. Virgil softened a little, and took his younger brother's hands.

"Let me [LET] you in on a little secret, okay?" he began, as Logan finally looked up. "Logan Sanders, [YOU] are not the first-ever college student to drink too much at a party. Don't get [DOWN] on yourself too much for what happened last night, alright?" He smiled and tapped Logan on the nose.

Logan just shook his head and drew back. "People are [NEVER] going to take me seriously now," he began. "I'm always [GONNA] be the naive, precocious little kid who'll get left out of everything fun or just...normal because he's not old enough. I couldn't [RUN] away from all of that here, even though I've tried." He was starting to become too choked up to talk, but he continued, "Just gotta hang [AROUND] for the next four years and not do anything else too damaging."

Virgil sat patiently for a few minutes, waiting for his brother to calm down and trying to figure out how to help. Finally he spoke up again.

"Hey...Mom [AND] Dad would understand if you changed your mind about this, you know," he said carefully.

Logan looked up at him in horror. "I can't [DESERT] everything I worked so hard for though. I mean, [YOU] do realize that our whole town knows me as nothing more than that weird kid who graduated early, right?" He sat back on the couch and folded his arms. I would [NEVER] be able to live it down if I quit. I'm just [GONNA] stay here and suck it up."

"Logan," Virgil said patiently, "don't [MAKE] your decisions based on how other people would react. I know [YOU] hate that kind of after school special-style advice, but it's true."

He leaned forward a little, waiting for a response, when suddenly Logan finally burst into tears.

"Logan...don't [CRY]...just answer the question," he pleaded, a little startled.

Logan wiped his eyes. "C'mon, I've [NEVER] backed down from anything before; you know that. What, I'm [GONNA] just not go to college at all and do nothing with my life?"

"I didn't [SAY] that," Virgil said, putting his hands up. "Don't say [GOODBYE] to college altogether, just...put it down for a while."

Logan gave him a curious look, so he sighed. "Has it [NEVER] occurred to you that you could defer a year? Because I'm [GONNA] bet that if you go to the admissions office and explain the story, they'd be able to work something out."

Logan frowned, and sat back as the wheels started turning in his head.

"I won't [TELL] you what to do," Virgil said quietly. "It's just [A] suggestion."

Logan took another deep, quivering breath. "Well, I won't [LIE]...that would probably help."

Virgil nodded patiently. Logan's lip started to tremble, and the pitch of his voice raised dramatically as he said, "And you [AND] Patton are still gonna be around next year, right?"

Virgil nodded again, and reached out his hand.

"It's gonna [HURT] to do this," Logan said at last, "but I think you may have a point."

"Then do what [YOU] need to do, and when you're ready, everyone will still be behind you, okay?" Virgil replied. Logan nodded, and finally leaned in for a hug.

As Virgil sat on his couch, holding his baby brother, he knew with certainty that Logan would find his way in life--even if Logan himself couldn't see it yet.

@lizaelsparrow @bunny222 @phlying-squirrel @haikyuupaladin @anarchicrealist @existentialburden @hissesssss @lonelygoldheart @sassy-in-glasses @pensive-patton @punch-you-with-friendship @challybop @natigail @kindofclever @k9cat @iris-sanders-athena @ravenclawangst @secretlyondrugs @theresneverenoughfandoms @nashiraneko @wtfeodipus @savingshae @zoalis @a-simple-fryingpan @yv-sanders @pandilli

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Hey...if you don’t totally hate me yet, why not go back and reread The Apartment (first word of every other spoken sentence), Audition (third word of every other spoken sentence), Movie Night (second word of every other spoken sentence), and Embarrassing Past (first letter of every sentence)?

Also, DISCLAIMER: These OPs were not edited until July 8th. Please don’t feel bad if you didn’t pick up on it--you weren’t supposed to! This has everything to do with seeing if I could be a good enough writer to pull it off and nothing to do with making others feel bad. It was all in good fun!