#....i guess um. in the defense of some of the blogs that i click away from.
Text
Spiral
Pairing: Hotch x fem!reader
Summary: you received some life-changing news the day before, now you’re trying to keep focus and get a confession out of an unsub. Keeping focus has never been so hard, with your mind spinning and Hotch sending you further down the rabbit hole. Somehow things get even worse when the psychic unsub announces your news for all to hear.
Note: italics are reader thoughts
Warning: anxiety/panic attack, break down, swearing
Word count: 1.7k
Category: angst(?)
A/N: this is not based on the cm with a psychic. Def channelling my own breakdowns while writing this, I hope it comes off how I intended.
I might do a second part where we learn of Hotch’s and reader’s relationship and we then jump to his reaction
Back story: in my mind the reader and Hotch like each other fucked, it became awkward and here we are
Other blog: @mac99martin
Masterlist
---
Fuck psychics, sitting there all-knowing when everyone knows they’re full of shit, you don’t like psychics on normal days, when they’re unsubs, you hate them even more. Fuck psychics.
Ok maybe your new found hate for psychics isn’t totally about them, (although the one in front of you definitely plays a part in it) you may have found out some very stressful, very shocking, life-altering news yesterday and you also may not be dealing with it very well. And by not dealing with it well, you mean not dealing with it at all. You've been avoiding and ignoring it, the rational part of your brain is telling you that this is not something you can ignore, but the other part of your brain is absolutely terrified and is using the case as an excuse not to deal with it. And you are using your dislike for psychics as an outlet for your emotions, is it right? No. is it healthy? No. but it’s helping and you’re freaking out so what are you going to do?
Speaking of not helping, Hotch is with the unsub now. Not only is he not getting anywhere with her, but he is also so horribly distracting. You seriously need to focus but looking at him, all it’s doing is sending you into a spiral. All you want to do is put this unsub behind bars but your mind is fighting with itself: one part actively fighting to keep your brain far away from the topic that will remain nameless and unthought about. The other going in circles of panic and anxiety and terror. The unsub is helping the first, she’s a handy distraction. Hotch is helping the latter, you so much catch a glimpse of him and you revert into the frenzy that is your mind. Fuck, this fucking sucks, ok come on can’t focus on that, you can’t cry or stop breathing that can wait till later, now you need to focus.
And that’s where the loop starts all over again: Focus-Hotch-Spiral-Focus-Hotch-Spiral...
-Focus You’re so lost in the war going on in your mind you completely lose all sense of reality only noticing that Hotch is not only no longer in the integration room when he calls your name.
You try your best to snap out of it and control your breathing, but looking at Hotch, Hotch looking at you, you feel like you're shaking while your body remains perfectly still, your heart is pounding and you stop breathing. Okokok-breathe, focus, what’s going on right now.
“Sorry, what was that?” Ok not bad that sounded pretty normal if you do say so yourself.
“I asked what you thought.” His voice was stern and annoyed but his face looked worried.
Snap. The. Fuck. Out. Of. It. “Oh um,” wait who’s said what, shit I really should have been paying attention. “Well clearly she wasn’t responding to you,” ok pretty good, actually now that you think about it she wasn’t responding to any of the male officers when they arrested her, “and she didn’t respond to the male officer earlier, anytime she talks to a man she becomes confident and flirtatious” Flirting: Hotch-Spiral, Focus “we should see how she reacts to a woman.”
Ok, so you had your ups and downs but all in all that went pretty well. You avert your eyes from Hotch’s, focus focus focus focus… “Ok you’re in.”
“Wh- me?”
“Yes… you.”
You know what? this can be good, small room, nothing to focus on except the case, no Hotch, ya I can do this. You give a nod, pick up your file and walk into the room.
“Hello Ms.Shaw, I’m ssa Y/N Y/L/N.” you look down at your file making a show out of opening it while also keeping an eye on her.
When Hotch entered earlier, doing something similar, she straightened her back and leaned forward, making a show out of her breasts, she half smirked and half-smiled when she looked up at him.
When you introduce yourself she sat back in her seat, crossed her arms and glared at you. Unlike when she saw Hotch, she looked very displeased with you.
You sat down across from her and gave her a smile, she narrowed her eyes and furthered her glare towards you. She eyes you up and down for a second before practically sneering at you, “what do you want”
“I just want to talk” you put simply
Maintaining eye contact she leaned forward “Bet you do”
At this point, with Hotch, she had a smile on her face, enthusiastic to speak with him. Right now, she’s almost challenging you, she’s even getting defensive.
“Probably want to talk about those murders you think I did”
“The murders you did do” you respond all while having a sweet smile on your face. Won’t that just piss her off, and it does.
She just hums in response, her face stone cold, staring you up and down, and then, she smiles, “I think we should talk about you.” She says it almost sweetly but you can tell that there’s mischief behind it.
“Oh?”
“Ya, you’ve been… busy lately…”
you really couldn’t guess where she was going with this at this point, nowhere good so, “as have you” you retort back.
“Hmm, but in different ways,” she smirks
Hell ya in different ways, I’ve been working my ass off and you’ve been murdering people.
“See I’ve been busy working, as a psychic, I use my power to help people, it’s very time-consuming-”
Right power, helping, you don’t have and you don’t do shit
“While you,” she looks you up and down again, “have been getting a very different sort of busy, haven’t you?”
….wh- what is she- what is she even implying right now?
Busy like- and that’s when you’re reminded of your… state. Remembering hits you like a ton of bricks, solely because you had forgotten, the thought has your mind clouded again and your anxiety spiking.
You’re back down a spiral, get back on topic this isn’t the time, “I’m not sure what you're getting at.” Breathe, “Oh come on, you know,” and she looks down again, if the table wasn’t in the way, you would say that she’s looking at your stomach, no no she’s not why would she- how could she- your mind is biased, it was already thinking about that and it jumped to conclusions, get back on topic. You can’t be thinking about this now. -focus.
She leans in but doesn’t lower her voice, glancing up at the mirror, she’s very aware that people are listening in, and she doesn’t mind, “you’re pregnant”
Wtfwtfwtfwtf no no no no, how could she possibly know that, you just found out, it’s not like your showing, she can’t know, how the fuck did she know that?
She can see it all over your face, your mind is jumbled with thoughts again and you’re freaking out.
She just sat back and smiled watching you break down, but she wasn’t done yet.
The people behind the mirror couldn’t see your face to see how bad you’re freaking out, that mixed with their own shock, they weren’t helping, not that they nor you would know how they would help.
“You looked surprised that I know that, you doubt my skills” skills- what- psychic- whatever
“Or maybe you’re just in shock, you just found out recently right,” she clicks her tongue, “must be quite the surprise.” You feel so overwhelmed, this was supposed to get you away from all of that, your spiralling again, unable to pull yourself out of your break down that has been going on since you found out. Once again just the thought, the reminder, has you feeling like you can’t breathe, like you're going to be sick, like your head is spinning. “I can see this is a lot for you, but I think you’re forgetting one thing,”
Spiral-spiral-spiral forgetting? Wha- wh- spiral-spiral-spiral-Hotch
Your heart stops, you look her dead in the eye, you can see it, the mischief, she knows, she opens her mouth to say something- “SHUT UP” you stand up and yell at her. You’re panicked and desperate,
Your outburst shocks everyone behind the mirror, but it only makes her smile wider, “what you don’t want everyone to know?”
“STOP” your losing it
“Or you don’t want him to know?”
(ok fine, maybe she is psychic)
“SHUT UP” you scream, your voice is cracking and your breaking
“What you don’t want everyone to know your pregnant and that one of them got you-”
“STOP!” You slam your hand on the table and your eyes are watering.
Morgan busts through the door, taking you into his arms and steering you out of the interrogation room and into the viewing room, only giving the unsub a glance as he slams the door behind him.
Once you are in the viewing room you turn away from your team, your eyes still glossy, you’re shaking, you can barely breathe, that panic attack-mental breakdown you’ve been putting off, it’s finally catching up to you, and your feeling every second of the overwhelming… you don’t even know, just everything, and still trying to hold it in as you hyperventilate and remember the people around you.
You do your best to hold in your emotions for a little longer as you go to leave the room, away from people. You hear Derek’s voice, “how much of that was true?”
One more second one more second one more second,
In out, in out, in out, “every word” is all you get out before you lose it and you basically run away.
“Shittt,” the event weighs heavy on the team’s mind as they make sense of what just happened, “well, it wasn’t me.” Morgan, trying to lighten the mood best he can
The team looks around the room “Well it certainly wasn’t me” Rossi horrified at what has just played out in front of him
Spence's face goes absolutely red when Derek looks at him; he doesn’t have to say anything because as hotch speed walks out of the room, it is very clear who the father is.
“Shitttt”
---
Tags: @spencers-renaissance @averyhotchner
(I’ll tag anyone in part 2 who asks for it in the comments😘😘)
#aaron hotchner x reader#criminal minds#criminal minds fic#criminal minds x y/n#criminal minds x reader#aaron hotchner x y/n#aaron hotchner x you#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds fanfiction#hotch x y/n#hotch x you#hotch x reader#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner fanfiction#Aaron hotchner fanfic#aaron hotchner angst#criminal minds self insert#Cm#cm#bau reader#bau!reader#bau x you#bau x y/n#bau#aaron hotchner x female reader#Aaron hotchner x fem!reader#criminal minds x female reader#FTOLfic
310 notes
·
View notes
Text
cauldron bubble
I needed something to distract myself until trick or treats could start and @notsuchasecret gave me BokuDai+ accidental baby acquisition. So here we go.
Click here to read on my blog and not on the dash (it’s almost 4k)
The cauldron in the fireplace rattles and Daichi gives it an unimpressed stare.
“Look,” he says as it shudders and clanks against its stand, “I don’t like doing my job sometimes either. But do you see me wiggling and grumbling about it? No. Just calm down okay?”
The cauldron rattles again and then goes still. Daichi has just enough time to smile in relief at the quiet before the contents suddenly start bubbling over the top of the cauldron.
“Shit,” he sighs. Foam starts oozing down the side of the cauldron and dripping into the fire, causing it to spit and crackle menacingly. “Well that’s not good.”
He grabs a poker from next to the fireplace and taps at the cauldron cautiously. It’s not supposed to do this. Nothing he put into the cauldron should make it do this. Why is it doing this? Maybe he shouldn’t have gotten a used cauldron. But the new ones are so expensive and after already having to replace most of his ingredients, two pairs of enchanted gloves, and his favorite formal scarf in the last two weeks he had been running a little short on funds.
The fire goes out with a puff of smoke and Daichi eyes the cauldron warily. If it explodes it’ll probably take out his entire fireplace. Which would suck. Because he does not have the budget for extensive home repairs right now. Clearly. Seeing as how he’s using a discounted, pre-owned, gently used cauldron that’s probably actually some cursed object of some kind. Which would actually pretty much be par for the course in terms of how his life has been going these last few months.
The cauldron rattles.
“I don’t think it’s supposed to do that.” Daichi whirls at the voice in his ear, heart thumping wildly in his chest and fire poker raised like a weapon. A warm hand catches his wrist before he can do any damage with said poker. Unfortunately.
“Koutarou how many times have I told you not to sneak up on me like that?”
Koutarou tilts his head and grins. “But it’s just how I am. I sneak. I’m a sneaky sneak.”
“You’re a giant pain in my—”
The cauldron hits the floor with a bang and they watch as it rolls across the floor towards them. It rolls to a wobbly stop a few steps away and they glance at each other. Daichi taps the cauldron again with the fire poker in his hand. Something inside the cauldron taps back.
“What did you put in there?” Koutarou whines in his ear.
“Nothing that should be able to do that.”
The cauldron wobbles again and Daichi raises the fire poker defensively. The cauldron tips over and a bundle of blankets tumbles out of it. A wriggling bundle of blankets. Daichi and Koutarou shuffle backwards and the bundle of blankets wriggles towards them. They shuffle again and the blankets wriggle faster. Koutarou’s back hits the wall and Daichi’s back hits Koutarou and the blankets wriggle and wriggle and wriggle and—
“Is that a baby?” Koutarou peers over Daichi’s shoulder curiously. “Why did you put a baby in your cauldron?”
“I did not put a baby in my cauldron.”
“Then why is there a baby in your cauldron?”
The baby in question crawls towards them and pats questioningly at Daichi’s foot.
“I don’t know. Nothing I put in there should have produced a baby.”
The baby peers up at them and giggles.
“Then where did it come from?”
“I. Don’t. Know.” The baby blinks at his irritated tone and it’s chin starts to wobble and Daichi sucks in a sharp breath. “No no no,” he hushes as he crouches down. “It’s okay. I’m not upset with you at all.” The baby blinks some more and reaches up towards Daichi. It coos happily when Daichi picks it up and stands. “See. It’s okay.”
“You’re a natural,” Koutarou says. He reaches over Daichi’s shoulder and taps gently at the baby’s nose. The baby giggles and then sneezes out a cloud of sparkles. Then it giggles at the sparkles. It reaches for them and Daichi spots something shiny hanging from it’s tiny neck.
He and Koutarou both reach for it, fingers brushing the warm surface. He should have known better. After all one of the first rules they’re taught is not to touch strange objects.
And yet.
Warmth sweeps through him as the magic in the medallion searches out his own and settles into place. The baby in his arms giggles and pats at his arms.
“Um,” Koutarou mutters. “Do we have to tell Akaashi? Cause I think he might get mad at me. I’m not sure what we just did but I definitely feel like it’s something Akaashi will scold me for.”
“I won’t tell Akaashi so long as you don’t tell Suga.”
“Deal.”
—
Daichi adjusts the bundle slung across his chest and knocks for a third time.
“Asahi,” he calls softly. “I know you’re home. Please let me in.”
“I know that tone,” Asahi calls back, just as soft. “You did something and want to drag me into it.”
“Come on Asahi.” He doesn’t beg. But he might whine a little bit. Which apparently works because Asahi’s door swings open and Daichi steps inside.
Asahi barely even glances up from the fabric spread across his table as Daichi pads into his workroom. Daichi hovers in the door, uncertain if his magic would disturb whatever Asahi is working on. He only needed to make the mistake of messing up Asahi’s work once to learn his lesson. So he just shifts from side to side, slowly rocking the bundle against his chest, and watches Asahi work. The gentle ebb and flow of Asahi’s magic as he turns the fabric piles into a really intricate bag soothes Daichi. Sometimes he forgets, in the chaos of loving Koutarou, just how soft other people’s magic can be.
Asahi finally finishes the bag and pushes himself up from the table.
“What did you do?”
“Okay you can’t tell Suga.”
Asahi narrows his eyes. “I won’t go running to him. But if he asks me I’m not going to lie to him. Not even for you Daichi.”
“That’s fair.” Daichi gestures out of the room and Asahi follows him. “So. Here’s the thing.” He explains what had happened, from the used cauldron right up to the magic of the medallion washing over him and Koutarou, and Asahi just listens quietly, gaze flickering down to the bundle against Daichi’s chest a few times.
“Okay,” Asahi says slowly. “So you used this pre-owned cauldron and somehow summoned a baby and then you and Koutarou both touched the mysterious medallion around it’s neck and felt some kind of, I’m guessing, binding magic lock into place around you three.”
Daichi grins sheepishly. “Yeah. That about sums it up.”
“And you don’t want to tell Suga.”
“No. I do not.”
“And you want me to do what?”
“Help me figure out if it’s just a human baby or if it’s, you know, extra magicky?” Daichi continues before Asahi can even open his mouth. “And yes I know that Suga would probably be a better choice but Suga is still kind of upset with me over the whole eye of newt Incident and I really don’t want to risk him trying to actually, literally, turn me into a sentient mushroom like he keeps threatening to do. So please help me?”
Asahi stares at Daichi long enough that Daichi starts to squirm.
Asahi groans. “Give me the baby.”
“Thank you,” Daichi sighs. “Thank you.”
He hands over the baby and watches as it coos and grabs at Asahi’s long hair, immediately trying to shove the strands into its mouth. Asahi laughs softly and gently pries his hair free, giving the baby his finger to gnaw on instead. He hums softly as his magic fills the air around them all. Daichi closes his eyes and lets the magic wash over him.
“Congratulations,” Asahi eventually says. Daichi pries his eyes open. “You and Koutarou are the proud parents of a baby human.”
“Parents?”
“The magic of the medallion was a sort of adoption bind. This little guy’s magic sees you two as his caregivers and will continue to do so until he is of age or is claimed by his biological family.” Asahi smiles down at the baby. “Do you have the medallion on you?”
Daichi hands over the medallion and takes the baby. He’s a parent. He, the man who just a few weeks ago nearly set fire to his cabin because he got distracted by the crows outside the window, is a parent. Is responsible for a tiny little human. Holy shit. Not just him. He and Koutarou. He loves the man dearly but Koutarou is even more of a disaster than Daichi is.
They’re both responsible for a baby.
Daichi looks up at Asahi in a panic that Asahi, the jerk of a friend he is, laughs when he catches sight of Daichi’s face.
“Well at least you don’t have to name him. According to the medallion he’s called Kei.”
—
Daichi watches Kei crawl across the floor, chasing the colorful reflections of the wind chime hanging up outside the window. He and Koutarou had tried childproofing his cabin once they realized Kei would be with them for awhile. They had started softening corners and locking drawers and enchanting the nooks and crannies. It had all been going well until they turned around and found Kei suddenly inside the glass front cabinet that Daichi stored his ingredients in that had been — and still was — locked. Then a few minutes later Kei was sitting in Daichi’s cauldron on top of the workbench. After that he and Koutarou had decided that childproofing the cabin was probably a bit of a waste of time with whatever magic Kei seemed to have and it wasn’t like Daichi really got up to anything too wild or left any dangerous tomes lying around that just anyone could stumble over and accidentally read and summon a demon like some of his friends were wont to do.
Kei seems content to crawl around and pat at the colors on the floor for the time being so Daichi spreads out a pile of papers on his table and starts skimming through them. He’s got three different research projects going on that he needs to start getting sorted out and now is the perfect time in his mind. It’s not like he’s about to start wandering around the woods or into town with some random baby that he kind of maybe somehow summoned in his pre-owned cauldron. He could do without a random kidnapping charge on his record or dealing with a hundred questions about where he got a baby all of a sudden thanks very much.
He pauses in the middle of leafing through a small pile of notes on enchanted toadstools in the western part of the woods and wonders if maybe he should get hold of Suga even though he already got the info he needed out of Asahi. Suga’s a hunter. He knows things. Maybe he would know where the baby came from if nothing else.
“Hey babe,” Koutarou says, stepping out of the shadows in the corner. Daichi throws the large spellbook he’s been referencing at Koutarou on instinct. Koutarou, of course, catches it easily.
“Bokuto,” Daichi hisses.
“I’m home?” Kei makes a happy noise and crawls towards them as Koutarou kisses Daichi’s cheek in greeting. “How are my two favorite guys doing?”
“I don’t know. How are Kuroo and Akaashi doing today?”
“Ouch.” Koutarou gives him a betrayed pout as he picks Kei up and cuddles him to his chest. It shouldn’t be endearing at all but it is. It really, really is and Daichi is a weak, weak man when it comes to Bokuto Koutarou and, apparently, little baby Kei in his arms. “That’s harsh.”
Daichi rolls his eyes but tells Koutarou about their day.
—
Daichi doesn’t mean to not tell most of his friends about the baby. Really he doesn’t. But he was already kind of a hermit before the whole pre-owned cauldron baby summoning thing and his cabin is really deep into the woods. Then Kei came along and, really, Daichi felt it was better for his sanity to not have to explain to a mob of angry townspeople that he suddenly had a baby in his care and had no idea how that happened. So he just… stays home. He takes on a lot of research projects and writes tome after tome on bizarre theories and niche arcane magic. He visits with Asahi and Kuroo through various spells and channels. He throws things when Koutarou appears out of thin air like the sneaky jerk he is and before he knows it over two years have passed.
Koutarou can never stay for too incredibly long. But that’s okay because Daichi knows that no matter how soon Koutarou has to leave he will always come back to Daichi. Well. Daichi and Kei now.
He hears Kei and Koutarou laughing and he smiles to himself. Nothing had been missing or wrong before but the moment Kei came into their lives something had clicked into place, a puzzle piece they had never realized there was room for.
Small thuds sound through the cabin and Daichi turns in time to watch Kei come running into the room, nimble as any three year old can be, and spot him.
“Oh no!” Kei yells. “’tarou’s coming!”
“He is?” Daichi gasps in concern. “Do we need to hide?”
Kei shakes his head but makes a beeline for Daichi, crawling into his lap and burying his face against Daichi’s neck.
“You keep me safe.”
Daichi’s chest tightens with emotion. “Of course I will,” he whispers. “I’ll always keep you safe.”
“Good.” Kei wriggles closer when they hear Koutarou’s heavy footsteps approaching. Daichi knows it’s all for show — Koutarou can be completely silent when he chooses to be after all — but he plays it up for Kei’s benefit. He gasps quietly and hugs Kei tighter. He holds his breath when Koutarou’s footsteps stop outside his door.
He yelps and kicks Koutarou’s shin when he suddenly appears next to them out of thin air instead of coming through the door.
“Koutarou,” he hisses.
Koutarou and Kei laugh in unison and Daichi groans when he realizes he’d just been set up.
“Got you,” Kei crows happily, face still smushed into Daichi’s neck.
“Got you,” Koutarou teases, pressing a kiss to Daichi’s cheek in apology.
After a moment Daichi turns his head and Koutarou obliges his silent request and kisses his lips softly. “Just what are you teaching our son,” he mutters against Koutarou’s lips.
“How to be an amazing sneaky sneak like his dad. Just like you’ll teach him to be an amazing researcher who blows stuff up once we get him reading.” Koutarou kisses him again. “Between you and me we’ll make our boy unstoppable.”
Daichi kisses Koutarou softly, gently, nothing more than expressing their love for each other, until Kei starts squirming.
“Before we make him truly unstoppable I think he needs a snack.” Kei stills for a moment and then squirms harder. “How does some strawberry cake sound Kei?”
“Please!” Kei slides off Daichi’s lap and flies out of the room as fast as he can run. “Cake! Please!”
“You spoil him,” Koutarou murmurs against Daichi’s lips.
“So do you,” Daichi murmurs back.
“No kiss!” They break apart and share a laugh when they look to the door and see Kei peering in with a pout. “Cake please!”
—
Kei is just short of five years old the first time Daichi catches him trying to read one of his spellbooks. He promptly takes it away and gives Kei something closer to his skill level.
(A week later Kei has found the spellbook again and nothing Daichi does convinces him to return it.)
—
Kei is seven when he and Koutarou shuffle into the cabin, both covered in vines and leaves and a mysterious ooze that Daichi chooses not to recognize. Koutarou gives Daichi a brilliant grin that, after a moment, Kei mimics with startling accuracy.
“We finished the contract,” they both say cheerfully and Daichi’s heart twists wickedly in his chest.
—
Kei is eight and a half when he narrows his eyes in concentration and Daichi’s kitchen window shatters into thousands of pieces.
“Oh,” Kei says, eyes wide and surprised. “I think I read it wrong.”
Daichi peers over Kei’s shoulder and shakes his head. “I think we need to get you glasses.”
—
Kei is just a little over nine when he stares up at the starry sky through the trees and asks Daichi, “Why are you so sad sometimes? Who are you missing?”
Daichi swallows hard, heart suddenly trying to climb up his throat, and pulls Kei into his lap. Kei struggles playfully but sinks happily into Daichi’s hug a moment later.
“An old friend,” Daichi answers truthfully. “I haven’t seen him in a long time. Sometimes it feels like he just vanished without a trace.”
Kei nods and twists so he can look into Daichi’s eyes. For a moment Daichi feels like he’s looking into the eyes of someone much, much older. Then Kei blinks and grins and Daichi is looking into the face of a nine year old again.
“I’m sure you’ll see him again soon. Nobody really ever vanishes.”
—
Daichi can hear something rattling and he glances around the cabin, trying to place the noise. The noise gets louder and he stands cautiously. The last time he heard something like this a baby had popped out of a cauldron. He eyes the fireplace warily but he had replaced that pre-owned cauldron years ago with a brand new, never used one and shoved the pre-owned monstrosity in a cupboard.
Kei steps into the cabin and hangs up his jacket and the rattling gets even louder. He looks up, golden eyes flashing behind his glasses in the early morning light, and frowns.
“What is that?”
He’s eleven years old and nearly as tall as Daichi with a sharp mind and even sharper tongue and Daichi couldn’t be prouder of him. Especially in moments like these when the rattling grows so loud the cupboards start shaking and Kei simply raises his brows and shifts himself into a stance Daichi knows Koutarou had taught him. Easy to defend himself or launch an attack if needed.
“I’m not sure,” Daichi says loudly, trying to talk over the rattling. “Let’s find out.”
It’s, obviously, the cupboard with the damned cauldron in it and Daichi has enough time to wonder just why he hasn’t gotten rid of it yet before the cauldron explodes in a cloud of smoke and dust and shadows and broken shards flying at him. The shards bounce harmlessly off the shield Kei throws up as he steps in front of Daichi and Daichi waves away the smoke and dust.
“Was that—?”
“Yeah,” Daichi answers. “Your cauldron.”
They had never lied to Kei about the cauldron, about how they got him, about how his magic adopted them. And he had accepted it with the grace of a child, curious but never overly worried about it. Now Daichi wonders if maybe they all should have been a little more worried, a little more proactive in finding out about the cauldron and the baby that had crawled out of it.
A knock sounds at the door and they share a cautious look. When they don’t immediately react there’s more knocking, louder and more insistent, and Daichi sighs. It’s been over a decade but he recognizes that knock. He gestures for Kei to stay in the kitchen, out of sight, and makes his was towards the door.
“Come in Suga,” he calls out. “The door is always unlocked for you. You know that.”
The door swings open and Suga stands in the doorway, leaves swirling around his feet noisily.
“Do I?” Suga asks. “It seems there’s a lot I don’t know about you Daichi. Like the fact that you and Bokuto have a child.”
Daichi laughs awkwardly. “Yeah. About that—”
Suga shakes his head and raises his hand, cutting Daichi off.
“About eleven years old. Golden eyes. Slightly curly blond hair. Probably tall for his age.” Daichi glances over his shoulder but Kei is still tucked out of sight. He turns back to Suga. “Fairly pale skin, sunburns easily. Magic that has the potential to overpower even yours. Sound about right?”
“Um.”
The leaves are still swirling around Suga’s feet so Daichi doesn’t step any closer. Suga has never hurt him and he doesn’t think he ever would. But it’s been ten years since they saw each other and Suga looks really, really irritated with Daichi.
“You magicked a baby out of a cauldron Daichi!”
“I didn’t mean to!” Suga glares at him and Daichi makes a helpless gesture. “He just kind of appeared! How do you know all this anyway?”
Suga sighs heavily, like the entire world is on his shoulders and he’s disappointed in everything everywhere ever, and steps into the cabin. Standing behind him is Kei. No. It’s a young man who looks a lot like Kei. He’s got the same chin and nose and eyes, though his are a little darker than Kei’s. His hair isn’t quite as unruly as Kei’s but it’s the same pale blond color.
“This is Akiteru,” Suga explains. “He came to me about six months ago, not long after he turned sixteen. Now that he’s of age with his magic and on his own he asked me to help him find his little brother.”
There’s a shuffling noise behind him and Akiteru’s eyes widen as Kei steps out of the kitchen and stops at Daichi’s side. Daichi pulls Kei into a side hug and can feel the way he trembles ever so slightly. He meets Suga’s eyes and—
Koutarou steps into existence at Daichi’s other side, already talking.
“You’ll never believe what’s— Oh. Suga. Hi.” Suga’s eyes narrow. “Shit.”
The bits and pieces of the cauldron scattered around the kitchen begin to rattle and clank against the floor behind him and Daichi braces himself for whatever is going to happen next.
14 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Challenge
A/N: So I literally woke up this morning and this idea for a drabble just popped in my head. But this ended up being way longer than I intended so I guess it’s a oneshot? Hopefully when I get this out of my brain I can get some inspiration for the next part of Prague. Also I’m not putting any links on this because of tumblr’s fucked that up for everyone, so if you want to check out my masterlist, which only has two stories right now, please go directly to my blog and click on the link there! Reblogs will be greatly appreciated!
Warnings: Just all the fluff. A swear or two.
“How about you? Any luck lately?”
“Not at all. It seems I’ve hit a dry spell on the dating front,” You sigh heavily and take a long swig of wine. You’re about to put your glass back down on the counter when you see the pity written all over Wanda’s face. Another healthy gulp held your annoyance at bay. It wasn’t Wanda’s fault you weren’t seeing anyone and couldn’t seem to get past the first date. But listening to her gush about Vision for the past few minutes was too much to bear. “I’m just tired of putting myself out there all the time. I just want a guy to like... do all the work. Just ask me the fuck out. And to like be cute about it too. Make the first time he asks me out memorable.”
“I think you’re expecting too much,” Wanda said, raising a brow.
Sighing, you nod in agreement, “I’ve come to the conclusion that all men suck and I’m doomed to be single forever.”
“That’s the spirit,” the faux cheeriness in Bucky’s voice was not lost on you. He strode around the corner, clad in grey sweatpants and a black tee that was annoyingly too tight. Not that you cared to notice. A hair tie kept those chestnut locks in place low on his head, though he always looked better with his hair hanging free, framing his face. Not that it mattered to you anyway.
“I don’t recall inviting you to this conversation,” you huffed. Bucky ignored you. He opened the fridge, grabbed the milk, and drank a third of it straight from the carton. You and Wanda watched, horrified. “You’re proving my point y’know.”
“You can’t use a glass?”
Bucky rolled his eyes, “Relax, I bought this for myself,” he turned the carton to the side where in big, bold letters was written BUCKY. The smaller script underneath read Wilson if you even look at this milk you’re dead. He wiped his perfect lips- not that you thought they were perfect, nope- with the back of his hand, and sat on the island, right next to your glass, “What point am I proving again?”
You rolled your eyes, “Just that all men are terri-”
“... terrible and you’ll be single forever. Right.” His smirk was so slappable. Yet so dreamy. Bucky threw his hands up when he caught sight of your death glare, “Hey, I’m just repeating what you said.”
“Still unnecessary,” you grumbled, “Anyways, I don’t see you bringing home any... what’s the term you like to use? Dames, lately.”
“You keeping track of my dating habits?” His eyebrows waggle suggestively and his mouth curves back into that fucking smirk and you want to die a little bit.
“I’m observant, it’s part of the job,” you take a long gulp of your wine, hoping the glass hides the blush that was hot on your face. You finally put the glass down, maybe a little too forcefully. Some precious wine spills from the glass and it takes every fiber of your being not to whine aloud at the loss, “Doesn’t change the fact that you’re in the same boat as me.”
“Well,” he begins, hopping off the island and standing far too close, “First of all, I’m just biding my time, waiting for the opportune moment and the right girl. Quality is more important than quantity. Which means,” He smugly refills your glass for you, only he can pour smugly, “I’m in this boat by choice, As are you. Because your choice of men, if you can call them that, is absolutely horrible.”
Your mouth hangs open for just second as you realize what that means, “So you’re keeping track of my dating life?” The tick in his jaw barely visible. His cocky demeanor falters ever so slightly and the feeling of making Bucky Barnes squirm, even just the tiniest bit, is glorious.
“Besides,” Wanda pipes up, coming to your defense. You almost had forgotten she was even there, “Her taste in men isn’t horrible. What about that field agent...what’s his name... Nick!”
“See, now you’re proving my point,” Bucky crosses his arms, “Nick is an asshole.”
“What makes him an asshole?”
“He’s a shitty tipper, not a fan of animals of any kind, stares at himself in the mirror while he’s working out,” Bucky is listing all the traits off on his fingers, “But the most telling thing is his ‘locker room talk’. Disgusting. Steve and I used to kick guys’ asses for talking like that. Well, Steve tried to anyway.”
You distinctly remember Nick showing up for dinner with a black eye once. He refused to tell you what happened. It was incredibly hard to bite back your smile, so more wine it was, “Well that’s just one guy. I am perfectly capable of getting a quality guy to ask me out. You, on the other hand,” pointing at him at him with the same hand that was holding your glass, “might have a hard time getting a date acting all presumptuous and shit.”
Bucky’s beautiful blue eyes- not that you really find them beautiful, they were objectively pretty of course, but blue eyes always are, right?- look you up and down, a look of delight crosses his face, “Is that a challenge?”
“You know what? Yeah, it is,” A sudden confidence overwhelms you, (wine’ll do that to you) and you dared to take a step forward, practically toe to toe with the super soldier, “I know I can get a quality guy to ask me out before you can get a girl to agree to go on a date with you.”
“We’ll see about that.” You’re too busy polishing off the last of your wine to notice, but Bucky shifted uncomfortably. Worry clouds his features extremely briefly; it’s gone before you put your glass back down.
“Oh we will,” you begin to strut away, alcohol-induced confidence evident with every step, “Better get to work Barnes.”
Bucky huffed sharply, then called, “Hey, Y/N?”
“What,” You spin around on your heel, “Don’t tell me you’re chickening out al-”
“You free for dinner tomorrow?”
You mouth hung open. Wanda’s brows were at her hairline. Everything all of a sudden seemed far too quiet. Bucky’s arms were crossed, his shoulders slightly hunched, and his lips were pressed into a thin line.
You couldn’t decide what was more unbelievable to you; the fact that Bucky Barnes had just asked you to dinner, or that he seemed nervous to hear your answer.
“Um, what?” was all you could manage.
“You wanna go to dinner with me tomorrow night?”
“What are you doing?” a dumb question, but you couldn’t stop yourself from asking it.
“I’m asking you the fuck out. Doing all the work. Trying to make it memorable,” He answered plainly. Jerk.
“I... yeah, I do. Sure.” You looked to Wanda to affirm that this actually just happened, but she was typing away on her phone, no doubt texting Nat what had just transpired.
“Great,” the nervousness has disappeared, and he was back to his normal, irritatingly cocky self, “I know a place you’ll like. Does seven work for you?”
“Yeah,” you were still dazed.
“See you then,” he treated you to one last smirk as he walked past you to his room. You couldn’t move. The last minute was a complete whirlwind that you were still trying to process, and the wine wasn’t helping. The first time it had let you down. As you watched him walk down the hall, and watching him go was pretty great, you had a thought. Good for you.
“This better not be because you just want to win some stupid chall-”
“Like I said earlier,” He turned to you, hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, “I’ve been biding my time, waiting for the opportune moment and the right girl. Quality.”
Smooth.
“Doesn’t mean you win,” You didn’t know what else to say. If he couldn’t see you were blushing before, he had to have noticed now.
“Actually,” Wanda clarified, “He got a girl to agree to go out with him and you got a guy to ask you out, so it’s a tie.”
“Whatever,” Bucky called over his shoulder as he continued to make his way to his room, “Got what I wanted anyway.”
You didn’t see it, but he was sporting the biggest, cheesiest, giddiest grin ever.
A/N: Please, please, please reblog and let me know what you think!
#bucky barnes#the winter soldier#james buchanan barnes#bucky barnes one shot#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky x reader#bucky x you
84 notes
·
View notes
Text
Manipulation (part 5)
NSFW lite -- 2950 words. Hints/mentions of rape.
(FYI: This story is a sequel/companion piece to Assimilation, which can be found in the Rick Fic Masterpost link in my blog’s description along with additional chapters of Manipulation. Or, you can click the #manipulation tag in this post, within my blog, to access all additional chapters.)
*****
“Now approaching planet Earth,” the ship’s autopilot declared in its choppy monotone, awaking me with a start. It hadn’t seemed to disturb the woman asleep in the passenger seat in the slightest and I sighed in relief. Not only did she obviously need as much rest as she could get, I also didn’t particularly want to sit in awkward silence while what had transpired between us – or, rather, between me and Unity – ran on a loop in my head.
Taking a moment to come to my senses, I located and unscrewed my flask only to find it woefully empty. “Shit,” I cursed, recalling that I’d drained the last bit before setting the autopilot and passing out. I supposed I would be forced to reminisce on my new found status of a naive dumb ass after all. And, right on cue, my mind began to replay Unity’s letter time and again, lingering on one particular sentence –
“Please understand that I kept her from you so that you wouldn’t end up hating yourself more than you already do.”
Of all the downright shitty and absolutely fucked up things that Unity had done during the weekend, that one sentence was the only statement of truth. Because, I wouldn’t have just hated myself a bit more than I pretty much have my entire life. I would have finally had the perfect excuse to eradicate myself from this universe once and for all. So, was I grateful to Unity for preventing me from raping one of the very few people in my life that I didn’t despise? Grateful may be too strong a word considering it had ended up raping her itself to prove, once and for all, that I was a low life piece of shit and always would be. I could have told Unity that myself and saved us each a fuck ton of time and effort. So, no, I supposed I wasn’t grateful, after all.
But, at this point, what was done was done. From what I’d gathered from my time with Unity, most of its assimilated victims eventually regained their memories. Sometimes it took hours; sometimes it took days, weeks, or even years dependent upon the amount of time the subject was assimilated. Of course, I’d only learned this after the last time Unity and I split for good. Somewhere along the line, I’d become curious – or perhaps guilty – about the lives we ruined when Unity assimilated unsuspecting beings to commit various crimes and then leave them to deal with the consequences. Tracking down a number of those assimilated victims had taken years in itself but almost all of them confirmed that, eventually, their memories of assimilation had returned.
So, I was essentially screwed.
I was almost certain, as her eyes continued to dart this way and that, she was dreaming of what had transpired while Unity assumed control of her body. Once she regained even a tenth of those memories, she would despise me. And, perhaps that was a good thing. Perhaps, then, I could finally free myself of this unhealthy obsession.
“Now entering atmosphere of Earth,” the ship declared, jolting my focus back to landing properly. Glancing toward her, she stirred slightly but remained fast asleep.
As I brought the ship in for a landing in the driveway, I punched the garage door opener and extended a hand to shake her awake. Groaning, she clapped her hands over her ears as the screech of the garage door assaulted her aching head as well as mine.
“Hey. We’re here – w-we’re back,” I said, only glancing her way as she swung open the passenger side door and literally fell out of the ship. Hopping out of the driver’s side, I made my way around as quickly as I could without appearing concerned, throwing in an exasperated sigh for good measure. She’d apparently landed flat on her ass as indicated by the way she was leaning against the side of the ship and the way my lab coat bunched around her thighs.
“I don’t even know what day it is, let alone what time. Are they here?” she asked, staring straight up at the ceiling.
“Yeah,” I confirmed, guessing she was referring to the remainder of her – our – family.
“I can’t walk through the house wearing nothing but your lab coat.”
“You aren’t – you have other, uhh, things… on your body,” I said, immediately wanting to stuff the ignorant sentence back down my throat. “I’ll distract them so y-y-you can sneak through.”
“Thanks, Rick,” she said in a tone so grateful that I began to doubt my earlier assumption that memories were returning to her as she slept. How could they have been if she weren’t currently trying to claw my eyes out?
When she began to haul herself from the floor, the hem of my lab coat rode even higher on her hips, exposing those lacy panties that I demanded she get nice and wet for me just mere hours prior. Averting my eyes, I exited the garage into the kitchen and then made my way to the living room.
“Hey,” I greeted the family as they all sat watching that brain dead show where desperate girls fight over some lame ass loser. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted her crawling toward the den.
“Dad,” Beth began as she stood and rounded the couch to block my path. Oh great, here we go, I thought as she carefully continued. “I – um – Jerry and I were looking for our weed wacker and found your subterranean lair…” At this point, I tuned her out and gave the impression I was listening by nodding now and then. When the final word she spoke pitched higher in tone than the rest of them, I answered whatever question she’d asked with, “Okay.”
“Okay?” she confirmed, appearing shocked. Only then did I wonder what I’d actually agreed to while walking toward my room. That is, until Summer decided to interject.
“Grandpa Rick, what happened with Unity?”
“Who?” I asked a little too defensively before rebounding with, “Oh, Unity. Yeah, well, I-I-I mean honestly – we – we’re talkin’ about an entity that thrives on enslavement and deceit, you know? It’s not cool. Fun’s fun, but who needs it? I – uh – I’ll be in my room.”
Thankfully, that seemed to drop the subject and they allowed me to retreat to my small room without further objection. Once inside, I locked the door and plopped down on the rickety cot. No matter what happened from this point, I knew for a fact that things had changed irrevocably. Eventually, she would regain her memories and then the chips would fall where they may.
How long had it been since I’d discovered I wasn’t the only Rick in the multiverse with the hots for his daughter’s best friend? A decade? I had no sooner invented the inter-dimensional goggles and slipped them over my face for the first time before I flipped through the eyes of Rick after Rick until I landed on dimension C-69. Because, that Rick, who’d I’d crossed paths with at the Citadel a time or two, was fucking someone doggy style. So, of course, I watched. A perfect POV experience unlike any porn site around, I mentally congratulated myself when the breathy moans and cries of the woman, as she rocked to and fro, enhanced the experience tenfold. But, when C-69 spoke to his female companion, every muscle in my body went rigid and I had literally stopped breathing.
“Mmm, baby girl – that’s right. You like this dick, don’t ya? Fuckin’ tell me you love it, Chicken.”
“Rick!” the young woman exclaimed with a laugh, lowering her head to the mattress as he continued to plow into her. “I told you not to call me that while we’re fucking! You know I can’t stop laughing.” Then, she looked back at me – HIM – with those god damn stunning eyes.
Feeling like my heart would explode; I had hastily removed the goggles and forced myself to leave them off until the intense wave of nausea subsided. However, it had only seemed to intensify when the undeniable fact kept resurfacing again and again, no matter how many pulls I had taken from the nearby whiskey bottle –
I wasn’t the only one. Not even close. And, if Rick C-69 had managed to fuck her at that point in time, than so had an infinite number of our counterparts.
Eventually, after extensive ‘research’ using the goggles, I had discovered that when I had run off into the great wild yonder, my counterparts had either stayed to be with her or they took her with them. Of course, that was years before she got married, so the Ricks who were too chicken shit to make a move sooner, myself included, ended up suffering through an affair or soul crushing unrequited ‘love’.
“Love,” I mumbled and scoffed to myself. What a pile of horseshit.
Coming back to the here and now, I decided that I had better ways to occupy my mind. What good would it do to stew in my bedroom when I could hear her voice just on the other side of the wall, lying about why she hadn’t come back home when the kids did? So, I shrugged into one of my spare lab coats and portaled into the garage to resume my latest project. But, not before smashing a few empty beakers, you know, just for the hell of it. Fuck those beakers.
----------
After cleaning up the one billion tiny shards of glass from the beakers that could just burn in hell for all I cared, I had refilled my flask and emptied it all over again in the span of fifteen minutes. So much for resuming projects that I’d had fuck all concentration to finish over the last month. I supposed passing out at my work station again was the only viable alternative and now I was waking up to the not so surprising gift of stiff joints and cottonmouth.
Standing from the shitty stool to crack my spine, I spied the inter-dimensional goggles dangling from a nail next to the cork board. Suddenly curious if any of my counterparts were experiencing the same nightmare I was, I plucked them from the nail and slipped them over my face. Just as I was flipping through dimensions, there was a knock on the door from the kitchen side.
“Go away, Jerry!” I shouted, paused briefly on C-69 to watch as he woke up next to her counterpart in the bed they shared.
“Uh, yeah. Not Jerry.” Her small voice leaked toward me through the particle wood and I nearly tripped over the stool on my way to the door, swiftly yanking it open before even removing the goggles.
“Oh, uhh. Hey – hey there,” I greeted her. She looked startled and I realized how odd I must have appeared before ripping the goggles from my face.
“You have another lab coat?” she asked before quickly adding, “I’ll wash the one you let me borrow, by the way.” A blush rose to her cheeks as she fidgeted, bunching her hands in the hem of her blouse.
“Don’t – don’t do that. There’s shit in the pockets I don’t want ruined,” I began before thinking better of it. Even if she did wash the coat, it would forever be the one I let her borrow after she had been assimilated, raped, pranced around, and manipulated. No thanks. “Actually, j-just throw it away,” I instructed, retrieving and unscrewing my flask.
“What? You just said you didn’t want the stuff in the pockets ruined.”
“I changed my mind.” Taking a swig, I dismissed her with a wave of my hand while I resumed my place at the workstation, hoping like hell that she would just leave me to my misery. But, no dice. When she continued to stand there with her hands still bunched in her shirt, I put on my most intimidating ‘what the fuck do you want now’ face and turned back toward her.
Taking a deep breath, she began, “Look. Rick, I need to talk to you.”
FUCK! Fuck, shit, fucking mother fuck!! Well, this was it…
“Stop – stop right there,” I said, throwing up a palm to interject as I stood and took a step toward her. She stepped back. I stopped and narrowed my eyes. “W-what the – you think – I’m not gonna bite you!” I nearly shouted, as if she had any reason to trust me. Then, reigning myself in, I continued. “Can you let me explain?”
“How can you possibly know –” she began but I cut her off, determined to nip this in the bud; to throw her off my scent before she detected the stench of repressed ‘feelings’. Ugh, fucking kill me.
“I – I told you I didn’t fuck you. And, that’s true.”
“I know,” she interjected. Holding her gaze, I waited for her to continue. “I’ve had these… dreams. I don’t know if it’s just my head fucking with me or if it happened or if only some of it happened. Regardless, I believe you,” she finished, her expression sincere.
Shaking my head at my previous hopefulness that maybe she wouldn’t regain the memories so soon, I gestured for her to take a seat on a nearby stool while I did the same.
“I’ve been doing some – some research,” I lied, not really seeing the benefit in informing her that I’d sought out others who had also been released by Unity long ago and, therefore, already knew how this would play out. “Apparently, people who – who’ve been assimilated into a hive mind or had their consciousness hijacked by a parasite usually recover memories at some point. Dreams are – uh – are a common method.”
Watching the realization wreak havoc on her features, I pulled my flask again and took a large gulp before holding it to her in offering. Without a second of hesitation, she snatched the flask from my hand and tipped the contents down her throat.
“Jesus Christ, Rick!” she cried, coughing like the greenest of lightweights. “Is this gasoline or something? Fuck!”
She was so goddamn cute and I laughed as she continued to cough for several more seconds.
“Don’t – don’t ask,” I warned as I plucked it from her hand and took another drink. Fuck knows I was gonna need it.
“So, MY dreams?” she said, thrusting me back into a conversation I wasn’t keen to continue.
“Most likely memories,” I confirmed. “Sssooo, that’s why I need to explain.” Her face completely deadpan, she blinked in response. At this point, I had no way of knowing what memories she had regained, exactly, but thought, fuck it – better to pay the piper now so I wouldn’t have to suffer his collection song later.
“You’re fuckin’ hot, alright!” I practically yelled, throwing my hands in the air. “Y-y-you can call me a pervert. What the fuck ever. But, I can’t – I’m not gonna pussy foot around here.”
Again, she blinked.
“You expect – expect me to just – uh – you know, r-r-reject some hot young thing when she climbs – straddles my lap, huh?” Tripping over my words the way I do when my mouth has trouble catching up to my brain, I resisted the urge to gulp the remaining contents of the flask right then. But, when she only blinked again in response, I began to lose my patience. “What the – w-w-what’s wrong with you?”
Appearing to finally come back to her senses, she shook her head before replying. “Rick, I’m not just ‘some hot young thing’. You’ve known me since I was fourteen years old. I’m your daughter’s best friend!” Her voice rose in pitch with each word as she grew more and more upset, which only served to frustrate me.
“Fuck, you think – think I don’t know that?!” Reflexively, I slammed one palm on the counter of my work station, causing her to flinch.
“Don’t fucking yell at me, Rick!” she defended herself and I almost felt proud. “This is really fucking with my head right now, okay? I just need…” She trailed off, furrowing her brow.
“A good dicking?” I filled in, condescension dripping from my lips. “Yeah, well. Y-you already got it and it was – wasn’t from me so get a grip.”
“But, you would have, Rick. If you’re saying that my dreams are memories then you would have.”
Her words confirming that I’d been correct to divulge more information than she’d initially asked for, I knew it was time to end this sick fantasy of mine once in for all. She hadn’t once pointed the finger or accused me of taking advantage of her. In fact, it appeared that she was only looking for assurances on if her dreams were, in fact, memories. Even if she appeared, understandably, shocked that I’d admitted to finding her sexually attractive, she didn’t appear disgusted or put off – only confused. She could have so easily called me a perverted old man, a borderline rapist, a delusional piece of shit. But, she didn’t. She was giving me the benefit of the doubt and I knew that if I let her, it would eventually ruin her.
So, my resolution absolute, I crossed my arms defensively and readied myself to say the most despicable thing possible in hopes of pushing her away –
“Like I said – hot young thing and blah blah blah. Get – g-g-get over yourself already. I fucked a giraffe. You aren’t special.”
Her face remained placid as she quietly stood from the stool and exited the garage without another word. Mission accomplished.
To be continued…
P.S. For those who have already read Assimilation and would like more information on Rick/Reader C-69, please read Welcome to Miami in my Rick Fic Masterpost. :)
73 notes
·
View notes
Photo
THE SIMSELF TAG featuring yours truly and her wonderful assistant, antoinette
1. WHAT IS YOUR FULL NAME? mia and thats all ur getting out of me
2. WHAT IS YOUR NICKNAME? oh god we have some embarrassing ones but jordan and jords are nicknames of mine and u might be able to guess the other obvious ones dgjhfdj
3. BIRTHDAY? february 25th babey
4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE BOOK SERIES? OH uhh princess diaries by meg cabot probably
5. DO YOU BELIEVE IN ALIENS OR GHOSTS? not to sure about those funky alien dudes but ehh yeah i believe in ghosts
6. WHO IS YOUR FAVORITE AUTHOR? i’d say michael morpurgo but that’s probably because his books were shoved down my throat at an early age DKJDFGJ if you can have a favourite poet i can answer this: atticus and lang leav
7. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE RADIO STATION? radio one probably!!
8. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE FLAVOR OF ANYTHING? the purple one. like, starburst? purple. wine gum? purple
9. WHAT WORD WOULD YOU USE OFTEN TO DESCRIBE SOMETHING GREAT OR WONDERFUL? being the millenial i am probably Uh...li...litty
10. WHAT IS YOUR CURRENT FAVORITE SONG? OH Hm i’d say ocean eyes by billie eilish
11. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE WORD? Hm!
12. WHAT WAS THE LAST SONG YOU LISTENED TO? copycat by billie eilish!!
13. WHAT TV SHOW WOULD YOU RECOMMEND FOR EVERYBODY TO WATCH? LIE TO ME IS THE UNDER APPRECIATED SERIES OF THE CENTURY
14. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE MOVIE TO WATCH WHEN YOU’RE FEELING DOWN? oh uhh i don’t watch films a lot and especially not if i’m feeling?? sad
15. DO YOU PLAY VIDEO GAMES? never heard of them
16. WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST FEAR? OH jesus lets say. being forgotten or making no difference in the world
17. WHAT IS YOUR BEST QUALITY, IN YOUR OPINION? oh Jesus not a lot of these GJFDH over the past mm month or so i’d say i’ve grown a lot as a person in the fact that i have more respect for myself than i used to, and if i have an opinion on something i evaluate it and decide Do People Really Need To Know? (DPRNTK)
18. WHAT IS YOUR WORST QUALITY, IN YOUR OPINION? EASY my weird. defense mechanism thing. i’ve gotten a bit better in my opinion but the reason i’m usually in so much trouble is because as soon as i’m attacked, i act with anger? its some weird defensive wall that i put up and regret later because i’m not really thinking like a rational person. i just see that i’m being attacked and my first thought is to fight back
19. DO YOU LIKE CATS OR DOGS BETTER? OH cats because i haven’t had one in ages. one of our cats was run over and the other was taken by our neighbours and now he doesn’t even remember us or respond to his name so thats really fun
20. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE SEASON? SUMMER because my skin turns olive in the summer and right now. a bitch is pale! also school is so much nicer in the summer... the whole yeargroup feels like much more of a community because we all sit together outside n it’s just overall very fun and makes me nostalgic of year 7
21. ARE YOU IN A RELATIONSHIP? bitch u really thought-
22. WHAT IS SOMETHING YOU MISS FROM YOUR CHILDHOOD? still in it but. because of a lot of things i was forced to grow up very fast. something i miss is having everyone in the house (my siblings are both a lot older than me so they’re never around) and not having to worry about fitting into certain stereotypes or WASHING MY HAIR!!!!!
23. WHO IS YOUR BEST FRIEND? oh god ok so i have a “best friend” but we don’t. agree on a lot of things and she takes everything i say 100% seriously so even though we’re not close i’d consider this group of boys from my school my best friends. and online ofc i have Many Many good friends which i would name but i dont wanna leave anyone out bc i talk to A Lot of people DGHDFJ
24. WHAT IS YOUR EYE COLOR? blue blue blue
25. WHAT IS YOUR HAIR COLOR? blonde babey
26. WHO IS SOMEONE YOU LOVE? my brother
27. WHO IS SOMEONE YOU TRUST? would say myself but sometimes i’m not even sure i can trust HER
28. WHO IS SOMEONE YOU THINK ABOUT OFTEN? i think about people loads because im a lonely romantic so. i’d say Love Interest and i think about myself a whole lot too like who does this bitch think she is
29. ARE YOU CURRENTLY EXCITED ABOUT/FOR SOMETHING? all the time i’m looking forward to things bc. not a whole lot happens in my life so if Love Interest looks at me a certain way i’ll look forward to going to school for the next couple weeks FDJGHFDJ
30. WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST OBSESSION? i think of the future way too much. she’s a dreamer
31. WHAT WAS YOUR FAVORITE TV SHOW AS A CHILD? oh god uhhh i used to cry at in the night garden all the time when it ended bc i hated that iggle piggle sailed away on his boat DJHFD it was probably still my favourite though
32. WHO OF THE OPPOSITE GENDER CAN YOU TELL ANYTHING TO, IF ANYONE? i had a best friend who moved away after year seven and i feel like i could but. who knows we haven’t seen each other for years
33. ARE YOU SUPERSTITIOUS? sigh i think so like does it count if my tarot deck says not to do something because. i trust those tarot bitches with all my soul if i have one
34. DO YOU HAVE ANY UNUSUAL PHOBIAS? don’t like the dark, i have a fear of holes, can’t sleep without the door open, can’t sleep when i can see in a mirror (fun fact theres a mirror in my room but it’s on a shelf which i can barely see at night like. i can see a glimpse. but knowing it’s there freaks me out so its flipped and has something covering it)
35. DO YOU PREFER TO BE IN FRONT OF THE CAMERA OR BEHIND IT? oh ummmm in front i guess because 1. i look horrible in photos other people have taken of me 2. technically being in front of it. you can still take selfies and 3. the people i know take pictures from really weird angles
36. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE HOBBY? we love a bit of vidya games but i love reading poetry because i’m a whore and also i like singing but that doesn’t mean im good at it!
37. WHAT WAS THE LAST BOOK YOU READ? UHHH god i really dont read uhh probably lullabies by lang leav
38. WHAT WAS THE LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED? romeo and juliet (the blessed one featuring young leo dicaprio)
39. WHAT MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS DO YOU PLAY, IF ANY? i can play the guitar, the recorder, a bit of the piano
40. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ANIMAL? GIRAFFES it’s really sad that they’re now endangered. if ur talkin domestic pets i love guinea pigs, cats and (i’ve never had them but rats
41. WHAT ARE YOUR TOP 5 FAVORITE TUMBLR BLOGS THAT YOU FOLLOW? don’t. this’ll turn into a follow forever and i won’t get any clout bc it’s in such a long post !
42. WHAT SUPERPOWER DO YOU WISH YOU HAD? OH hm. i thought as hard as my tiny brain could about this and i think teleportation would be interesting but if we can choose ANY superpower. is magic one? that’d b pretty wack
43. WHEN AND WHERE DO YOU FEEL MOST AT PEACE? when i’m walking to school at half 7 in the morning and no one’s there and i can hear the trees lining the field rustling in the wind in the distance. it was rainng this morning and even though my whole ass was exposed from the wind and i was soaking it was really peaceful. also there’s a red kite that’s resident to our school field and i love to stand there in the morning and watch it sometimes
44. WHAT MAKES YOU SMILE? feeling included DGJHDJ doesn’t happen a whole lot
45. WHAT SPORTS DO YOU PLAY, IF ANY? i play a lot of sports because i’m in school obviously but i’m really good at rugby bc a bitch is Tactical and Nimble. i love hockey and badminton and stuff though
46. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE DRINK? i LOVE smoothies and milkshakes and everything ugh. i’d be bold enough to say i love drinks more than i love food. like apple juice orange juice MIXED juice smoothies BROWN BAG MILKSHAKES! BITCH! THE STRAWBERRY ONE IS SO GOOD UGH
47. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU WROTE A HAND-WRITTEN LETTER OR NOTE TO SOMEBODY? oh jesus um. 4 years ago
48. ARE YOU AFRAID OF HEIGHTS? fuck yeah brother
49. WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST PET PEEVE? UGH A LOT OF THINGS like. people biting their nails. people tapping their foot on my chair. people not listening when you’re explaining something THEY needed help with. tapping a pen on a desk or clicking it on and off
50. HAVE YOU EVER BEEN TO A CONCERT? nop
51. ARE YOU VEGAN/VEGETARIAN? my mother is a vegetarian so i eat a lot of vegetarian meals. sometimes i get really put off meat but like. a bitch is 13 and doesn’t pay for her own meals so she doesn’t really get a say in what she eats
52. WHEN YOU WERE LITTLE, WHAT DID YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GREW UP? always wanted to entertain people and be nationally recognised. take that as u will
53. WHAT FICTIONAL WORLD WOULD YOU LIKE TO LIVE IN? TOO MANY let’s go... the arcana so i can marry the 1 (one) love of my life dr julian ilyushka devorak... chill in the hanged man’s realm...
54. WHAT IS SOMETHING YOU WORRY ABOUT? i don’t worry about a lot not gonna lie to u
55. ARE YOU SCARED OF THE DARK? cheers i’ll drink to that broe
56. DO YOU LIKE TO SING? if the screeching sound i make to a slight tune counts as singing then. yes
57. HAVE YOU EVER SKIPPED SCHOOL? not illegally but i’ve had days off sick where i wasn’t sick bc i couldn’t be asked
58. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE PLACE ON THE PLANET? alone
59. WHERE WOULD YOU LIKE TO LIVE? somewhere safe
60. DO YOU HAVE ANY PETS? yeah i have a dog and a cat but as i said m cat got taken by my neighbours and doesn’t even remember us so sjfhdjg
61. ARE YOU MORE OF AN EARLY BIRD OR A NIGHT OWL? night owl but if i’m rested well enough i love being up early
62. DO YOU LIKE SUNRISES OR SUNSETS BETTER? sunsets
63. DO YOU KNOW HOW TO DRIVE? no a bitch is 13
64. DO YOU PREFER EARBUDS OR HEADPHONES? probably headphones bc i can’t lose them and the sound quality is better but i’m not a MONSTER so earphones. also headphones automatically make old people scoff at u and hate u more
65. HAVE YOU EVER HAD BRACES? nah
66. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE GENRE OF MUSIC? whatever’s poetic enough to be On Brand
67. WHO IS YOUR HERO? don’t really have one
68. DO YOU READ COMIC BOOKS? no
69. WHAT MAKES YOU THE MOST ANGRY? the holier than thou attitude Often showcased on simblr by some. familiar faces
70. DO YOU PREFER TO READ ON AN ELECTRONIC DEVICE OR WITH A REAL BOOK? it doesn’t really make a difference
71. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE SUBJECT IN SCHOOL? computer science (mainly for the people because right now we’re just making fucking. powerpoints) or english bc of the people again
72. DO YOU HAVE ANY SIBLINGS? yee a brother and a sister
73. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU BOUGHT? christmas presents and some perfume & a purse for me
74. HOW TALL ARE YOU? 5′4
75. CAN YOU COOK? not well
76. WHAT ARE THREE THINGS THAT YOU LOVE? attention DFJHGSDJ uhh being kind to people who deserve it and hard work paying off
77. WHAT ARE THREE THINGS THAT YOU HATE? patronization, people who believe their opinion is the only opinion and people who cause minor inconveniences for you for no reason
78. DO YOU HAVE MORE FEMALE FRIENDS OR MORE MALE FRIENDS? more female probably but i prefer guys
79. WHAT IS YOUR SEXUAL ORIENTATION? i say bisexual but no one’s ever been close enough to let me find out
80. WHERE DO YOU CURRENTLY LIVE? party in the UK
81. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TEXTED? kyla rosymiel
82. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED? UHHH i really can’t remember i know me and kyla were talking about something and i started crying JGFHDGJ
83. WHO IS YOUR FAVORITE YOUTUBER? oh god umm probably smii7y but i also really like all his friends like. kryoz etc
84. DO YOU LIKE TO TAKE SELFIES? when i look good FJDHSJD
85. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE APP? would say tumblr but she’s gone ! right now i’m really feeling zepeto bc It May Be Tracking Me but it lets me take pics with all my online friends and i have some sort of weird following on there SDFHSDJ
86. WHAT IS YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH YOUR PARENT(S) LIKE? i don’t think i’ll ever be able to fully confide in them, i really like my dad but there’s elements of him that don’t really float my boat. same with my mum but i’m less close with her
87. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE FOREIGN ACCENT? probably australian or. is it swiss? might be swiss.
88. WHAT IS A PLACE THAT YOU’VE NEVER BEEN TO, BUT YOU WANT TO VISIT? france and ofc america
89. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE NUMBER? 4
90. CAN YOU JUGGLE? with like 2 things skdghsd
91. ARE YOU RELIGIOUS? not really but i believe in a higher power of some sort and a life after death. i believe there’s something out there that is listening but i prefer to think it’s the stars
92. DO YOU FIND OUTER SPACE OF THE DEEP OCEAN TO BE MORE INTERESTING? i find the ocean really ineresting but man will always romanticise space
93. DO YOU CONSIDER YOURSELF TO BE A DAREDEVIL? im a 13 year old white girl how ruthless can i be
94. ARE YOU ALLERGIC TO ANYTHING? sesame seeds
95. CAN YOU CURL YOUR TONGUE? nop but everyone else in my family can
96. CAN YOU WIGGLE YOUR EARS? nope
97. HOW OFTEN DO YOU ADMIT THAT YOU WERE WRONG ABOUT SOMETHING? whenever i realise
98. DO YOU PREFER THE FOREST OR THE BEACH? forest
99. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE PIECE OF ADVICE THAT ANYONE HAS EVER GIVEN YOU? it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission
100. ARE YOU A GOOD LIAR? i lie all the time but i am. SO terrible ASJDFHJ i would love to lie less but it’s so easy to slip into one
101. WHAT IS YOUR HOGWARTS HOUSE? gryffindor
102. DO YOU TALK TO YOURSELF? hell yea brother
103. ARE YOU AN INTROVERT OR AN EXTROVERT? kyla put ambivert so i looked that up and. yeah
104. DO YOU KEEP A JOURNAL/DIARY? did when i was younger but i guess tumblr is somewhat of a personal diary
105. DO YOU BELIEVE IN SECOND CHANCES? depends
106. IF YOU FOUND A WALLET FULL OF MONEY ON THE GROUND, WHAT WOULD YOU DO? turn it in most likely
107. DO YOU BELIEVE THAT PEOPLE ARE CAPABLE OF CHANGE? “yes, but you should never forget about their past” thanks kyla
108. ARE YOU TICKLISH? only monsters aren’t
109. HAVE YOU EVER BEEN ON A PLANE? nope
110. DO YOU HAVE ANY PIERCINGS? i have my ears pierced. WILD i know
111. WHAT FICTIONAL CHARACTER DO YOU WISH WAS REAL? UGH FUCK DR JULIAN ILYUSHKA DEVORAK!! it’d be illegal for him to marry anyone but me though
112. DO YOU HAVE ANY TATTOOS? yep! i have a tattoo on my back. i plan on getting a lot more tattoos in the future, but i don’t want anymore in the near future
113. WHAT IS THE BEST DECISION THAT YOU’VE MADE IN YOUR LIFE SO FAR? being outspoken and not. watching things pass by
114. DO YOU BELIEVE IN KARMA? of course
115. DO YOU WEAR GLASSES OR CONTACTS? nopee
116. DO YOU WANT CHILDREN? oof i really don’t know because of what’s happened to me i don’t know if i could knowing i could never protect them from everything. idk pregnancy seems very nice but once the kid gets annoying thats It for me
117. WHO IS THE SMARTEST PERSON YOU KNOW? “i think everyone is smart in their own way” thanks kyla
118. WHAT IS YOUR MOST EMBARRASSING MEMORY? i started laughing once in drama and i pissed myself a lil and i was like ehh thats fine i do that all the time and then i didnt stop pissing and someone was like ‘whats that wet on the floor? they were like mia have u pissed urslef i was like nOSDJF so i had to ask the teacher to leave. u coiuld see the piss down my leg
119. HAVE YOU EVER PULLED AN ALL-NIGHTER? have u SEEN these bags. she’s seen hell
120. WHAT COLOR ARE MOST OF YOUR CLOTHES? like varying tones of beige and then grey/black
121. DO YOU LIKE ADVENTURES? of course
122. HAVE YOU EVER BEEN ON TV? oh uhhh i feel like maybe when i was younger but i’ve. repressed that memory if i have it
123. HOW OLD ARE YOU? 13 years young
124. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE QUOTE? oh jesus something poetic and by atticus probably let’s see
after spending more time searching for a quote than i did on literally this whole tag, i decided on this. and then i realised. it will always be ‘YOU ARE A SAD BOY’
24 notes
·
View notes
Text
TGF Thoughts: 2x11-- Day 478
(This is the ep from two weeks ago; I am behind on recap writing. Aiming to have 2x12 up before the finale!)
What’s the strategy behind using previouslies on a streaming show? CBS must expect that at least some viewers will wait until all the episodes are up and binge them, right? I’d be shocked if they had a feature that skipped previouslies the way Netflix does. I mean, just now, I tried to open up the app and play this episode, and CBS played that insanely long Klingon scene that opens Star Trek: Discovery (no, I don’t watch it—just the pilot) for me three times before it let me actually watch TGF.
The static on the TV to rain falling is a cool graphic match.
Diane is waiting for a car at 710 N Hart St. It’s not a real address, obviously. But at first glance it looked like it said McHart street so I’m pointing it out.
Diane is waiting out in the rain. The point of this scene is what happens while Diane waits, but I would LOVE to know what Diane was doing that she’s waiting in the rain.
Her ride is initially supposed to arrive in one minute. Then it jumps to 10, so she and her not-at-all-wet hair run into a laundromat. Guys, her hair looks totally dry. She was holding her bag over her head, and her hair somehow looks perfect. Like, she’s been standing out in the rain and her hair still looks better than Alicia’s hair did for all of season 7.
(I was going to compare her hair to what my hair does when it rains, but y’all don’t know my hair and you DO know the awful Alicia wig.)
Now Diane’s car is 15 minutes away. #Relatable
OMFG, CBS, I PAUSED TO TALK TO MY ROOMMATE, OPENED THE APP AGAIN, AND WHAT DO I GET? KLINGONS. Fix this.
Diane hears grunting and fighting going on in the laundromat, so she goes to investigate. I thought she was going to get mugged in this scene the first time through, to be honest. It turns out that… wait hold on, Diane is wearing heels… she just walked through a puddle in heels?
As I was saying. It turns out that Diane has stumbled upon some sort of underground aikido class. This feels surreal, but I’ll roll with it.
“It’s beautiful,” Diane remarks. The instructor tells her to come back on Tuesday, but Diane says, “It’s not me.” “It is,” the instructor replies. “My life is pretty full right now,” Diane protests. “I know you think that. But it’s not,” the instructor counters.
I am resuming my rewatch, and wouldn’t you know? KLINGONS. I tried so many times I had to switch over to watching on a different device. Not a huge problem, but not a great user experience, especially on a service I’m paying for…
Diane’s phone rings. It’s Jay. He and Marissa have come up with a different suspect in Adrian’s shooting and now they think it’s a neo-Nazi. Even though last week Jay and Marissa believed the shooter was not targeting Adrian, this week they think he’s coming for Diane next, so she needs to be careful.
Diane goes back to watch more aikido. Aaaand credits.
We pick up with a two people on a date. This is A Choice. If there were ever a case that did not need a flashback illustration, it was this one. Unless these are memory pops and I didn’t recognize them as such—hell, even or especially if they are memory pops—this story does not need visuals.
The dude on the date is named RON, a giant subtitle informs us. Is it me or are some of TGF’s structural/storytelling risks verging on dumbing things down for the audience? I’m writing this after 2x12 and that may be on my mind because of 2x12…
Now the couple is at Ron’s apartment, making out. He reaches for a condom and she asks what he’s doing. “Can we just not do that… yet…?” she says.
The woman on the date is named EMILY.
RON and EMILY are in depositions, with Alma Hoff on one side and Liz and Maia on the other.
More flashbacks. RON makes a skeevy comment about EMILY’s age.
“She was laughing. There was no discomfort,” Ron says in the deposition. Yeah. Because Ron gets to decide how comfortable Emily was.
Now there’s a flashback of Emily and Ron kissing. I really don’t get what these flashbacks are supposed to tell me. I don’t want an objective retelling of this encounter because the issue isn’t what did/didn’t happen; it’s how Emily felt. An objective, visual retelling weakens her case unnecessarily. This episode makes it far too easy, I think, to wonder what the issue even is. I’m rereading the Babe.net article about Aziz Ansari, which this episode is obviously about, and there are some pretty striking omissions from the TGF version. In the account reported to Babe, Aziz is much more persistent than “Oh, are you really going to leave now?” and doesn’t give “Grace” clear opportunities to leave. He repeatedly moves her hand towards his penis (not just once while they’re making out) even after she pulls away. He follows her around the apartment and keeps making advances. When she says they can have sex “next time” he pours her another glass of wine and calls it their second date. She flat out says to him that she “doesn’t want to feel forced.” And he tries it again. And again. There’s also the weird fingers-in-throat-porn move.
What I’m saying is that the original situation is gray enough. It doesn’t need to be diluted even more. People already have a hard time buying Grace’s story as sexual misconduct rather than a bad date. Why remove all of the most troubling parts? The parts that best illustrate that this is about rape culture, not just rape? I’m reminded of Jill Filipovic’s opinion piece in The Guardian, which argues that Babe.net’s reporting was an issue with the Ansari story, because “instead of telling this particular story with the care it called for, it was jammed into a pre-existing movement grounded in the language of assault and illegality.” She continues: “As a result, we’re arguing about whether Aziz Ansari is a sexual assailant, and missing the more relevant conversation about sex, male entitlement and misogyny in the bedroom.” Sadly, The Good Fight misses out on this more relevant conversation, too.
(Ron thinks Emily is going to the bathroom to put in a diaphragm. Feels a bit outdated to me, but maybe not?)
The issue that’s brought all of these people to RBL is the blog “Assholes to Avoid” which appears to be the Shitty Media Men list but in blog form. I understand combining these two stories so there can be a legal case, but it feels like the show is conflating actual whisper networks (the Shitty Media Men list was a Google doc, not a blog) with an unknown news outlet sensationalizing a story for clicks. Both are controversial, but only one was meant for public consumption.
According to the Assholes to Avoid home page, you are not supposed to send the site to any men.
I have no issues with Emily’s explanation for putting her story on Assholes to Avoid: she wants to warn other women so they don’t have the same experience.
But Ron was fired (meaning he was penalized more than Ansari, whose face, gallingly, was still on my goddamn Netflix home page the day after the article ran) so now he’s suing the blog! He wants an apology and for Emily to make it clear it’s not true. Um, dude, I don’t think a LAWSUIT is the way to get her to do that. He has now tracked her down (because I assume she made the posting anonymously), forced her to relive a traumatic experience, and put a resource that has potentially helped many, many women avoid dangerous situations in jeopardy. And HE wants an apology from HER? He would’ve had a better chance if he’d just asked her to clarify that non-consensual oral whatever did not mean rape.
“How many male lawyers are at this firm?” Alma asks as she’s leaving negotiations. Liz doesn’t know. Alma continues that she finds it odd that “at a firm with 60% men, a female partner and a female associate have graced us with their presence.” You know what I find odd? That a firm with Diane Lockhart’s name on the letterhead—and, I would guess, Liz Reddick’s name—would take on this case. Does RBL have an identity? Or do they just take whatever cases seem like money and then not question them? (I’m still a little peeved about the fact that “being a defense attorney” on this show seems to mean the inability to ever make choices based on anything other than money.)
“I guess we can turn this into a gender thing,” Liz says. Oh please. Like it was actually unintentional that there were two women assigned to the case. As sure as I know that this show believes defense attorneys are amoral-because-pragmatism, I know that this show believes that lawyers always, always, always think about the optics.
“We can’t win this one. We need to let it go,” Liz tells Adrian, who is still in the hospital. Thank you. Adrian, condescending as ever, asks if this is about gender politics. SO FUCKING WHAT IF IT IS? SO WHAT IF IT IS ABOUT WOMEN NOT WANTING TO BE THE ONES ARGUING AGAINST SOMETHING THAT COULD, I DUNNO, GIVE A YOUNG LAW STUDENT A HEADS UP ABOUT HER STARFUCKING PROFESSOR? Adrian asks this like “gender politics” are silly, some kindergarten boys vs girls battle. Feminism is not silly.
“There is no defamation,” Diane says. Adrian says okay. He wants to be helpful, so he offers to reach out to Bishop and Sweeney or to help with the merger. Diane and Liz are like, “we got it” and that makes Adrian feel useless. “Waltzer went after our clients, so we went after his,” they explain. “What are you two, the Mafia?” Adrian asks disapprovingly, even though he would’ve done the same damn thing if it had been his call. “I didn’t approve of that,” he continues. I will excuse this only because I can understand someone who was just shot and nearly killed feeling like he isn’t needed and being frightened by that notion.
Marissa and Jay then present suspects for the shooter. They include Felix Staples even though they literally just said he had an airtight alibi. I know it’s too much to ask for consistency on timelines or Lucca’s pregnancy, but can we at least get consistency within an episode?
Adrian thinks it’s the neo-Nazi.
Liz casually mentions that the police had their client list and Adrian—TOTALLY understandably this time—freaks.
As soon as his visitors leave, Adrian gets on the phone with the litigation financiers and tells them to make a move if they don’t want the case against Assholes to move to a different firm. Dude, I know you want some power over your life but can you please find a way of asserting power that is productive and does not involve assisting rapists? (No, Ron isn’t a rapist. But if this goes public? Women would be afraid to share their stories, lest they be deanonymized and brought into a lawsuit. And those women might have stories about rapists.)
I find debate over the methods and the specific interpretations of the events interesting. I can see how there is room for debate there. Could Ron have misinterpreted Emily’s actions? Maybe. Could he have understood them but not understood that no means no, because so often in the media “no” means “just try again and then you’ll get the girl”? Sure. Are there reasons a public site like Assholes might cause more trouble than it prevents? Debatable. But Adrian is not debating anything, which is why I’m being tough on him. This isn’t a conversation. He is taking actions that have consequences when he could be recovering or doing something productive.
(I feel like I need to bring out the old “understandable =/= justified” line here because I am not criticizing the writing of Adrian. I believe that he’d do this shit. I just don’t think it’s okay.)
Jay and Marissa go to the police with their leads, and the police are being useless.
Back at the firm, Diane’s accountant Anthony Rapp is waiting for her. And also Diane rehires Jay “with a 10% raise.” “Liz and I approve. It’s done,” Diane says. Awww, Diane got her female-led firm. Kinda.
(My roommate and I got to 5x17 in our rewatch yesterday and she’s excited about the possibility of a Diane/Alicia firm. I’m not spoiling her, but I have so many thoughts about that partnership.)
(I think where I was going with that is that the Diane/Liz partnership makes way more sense to me than Diane/Alicia ever did, at least after I really thought about it.)
Marissa takes this as an opportunity to ask for a raise. Diane ignores her. Marissa’s stepping right into Kalinda’s boots, isn’t she?
Oh hey Lucca!!! Lucca’s on the phone with Colin. They’re on opposite sides of something, again. “OW!” she says loudly in the middle of the conversation. Whether it’s fake pain or real pain, she’s using it strategically. Maia rushes over and helps her. (And by helps her, I mean she helps her stand up and she helps her trick Colin. Again, Maia’s only strength seems to be tricking people via phone.)
As Maia and Lucca talk about how many weeks Lucca has left (four!) (but we all know it’s going to be two so she can go into labor in the finale, but also timeline lol), Colin RUNS down the stairs and into Lucca’s office. She’s shocked to see him. He explains that he was in the elevator. “You’re just fucking with me, aren’t you!?” he exclaims. Maia excuses herself from the argument, taking Lucca’s shoes with her. She doubles back once she realizes she still has the shoes, then leaves again. I wonder if that was scripted or if Rose just forgot to put down the prop.
The litigation financiers tell Diane, Liz, and Julius to keep the depositions going. The financiers are willing to put $2.1 mil behind this case because of a class action in the works.
When Diane says the name of the site, Jer winces because he doesn’t like swearing. “Well, neither do I, but that’s its name,” Diane says. Please, Diane. You fucking love to swear.
“This is Adrian. I know him. He is bedridden, and he’s trying to assert himself,” Liz says, correctly. Julius is tempted by the money. Diane is on the fence.
Lucca’s four weeks from giving birth and she and Colin are just now having a discussion—during the work day, of course—about how they’re going to raise the baby.
You know what I don’t understand about this Colin-wants-Lucca-to-move-to-D.C. plot? Isn’t it typical for congresspeople to keep their primary residence at home, where their constituents are? Even if just for optics?
Also ffs, Colin, Lucca is not uprooting her life because of your career. And unless we are doing season three of TGF in D.C., I’m gonna need Lucca to stay in Chicago.
“This law firm takes you for granted, and you know it,” Colin tells Lucca. Last season I wouldn’t have agreed with that, but this season, yeah, I see it.
“In D.C., you will be the significant other of a Congressman,” Colin says. I mean she would also be that in Chicago, and she already resides in his district.
“Am I broke again?” Diane worries when she meets with Accountant Anthony Rapp. I think his name on the show is Glenn. That is easier to type. “A year and a half ago you were,” he replies. “Oh, I know. I remember that meeting,” Diane responds. Hee. Apparently Diane is now “whole.” She made her money back—all of it!!!—and can now retire and buy her house in France and all of that. Glenn attributes this to Diane not losing as much as they thought (um, how), smart investments, and Diane saving money. And also Trump. I do not buy it for a second. You do not go from losing everything to being where you were after 40 years of work in one and a half years. That is silly.
Can I take another moment to mourn the Diane bankruptcy arc that never was? The writers could’ve and should’ve done so much more with that last season, and now it’s gone.
Kurt’s accountant (Diane is surprised such a person exists) has contacted Diane’s accountant, and the accountants have decided that it’s time for Diane and Kurt to make a decision about divorcing or not divorcing because finances. So… “I won’t be that woman” just means “this particular argument is over let’s go back to marriage limbo like I’m Alicia Florrick”? Coolcoolcool.
“Isn’t that what you want?” the accountant asks Diane when she seems surprised to hear the word divorce. What DOES Diane want? I don’t think Diane knows. (“I don’t know,” is Diane’s next line, as a matter of fact.)
A dude puts a swastika on Marissa’s latte, at her request, idk, it’s weird and kind of amusing. It’s also an effective ploy.
Diane phones Kurt and gets his voicemail. “I wouldn’t mind getting a drink tonight,” she says casually. She’s also unwrapping an aikido robe (is that the right terminology).
On her computer, there’s a story about Trump signing an order allowing “the planting of firecrackers in the rectums of grizzly bears.” This is not a hallucination—and that’s the best (and most affecting) part. The absurd stories could easily be true. Speaking of, did anyone else see @Poniewozik’s tweet? This week there was a very similar story… but in reality.
OMG CAN I RANT FOR A MINUTE ABOUT A DIFFERENT CRITIC ON TWITTER WHO KEEPS INSISTING THAT TGF HANDLES SOCIAL ISSUES WELL WHILE TGW NEVER DID? The Debate was one episode. Yes, TGF is doing a fantastic job capturing the absurdity of the Trump era. But this was TGW’s wheelhouse too. I think I will rant about this more in my 2x12 comments. It bothers me that he keeps saying (he’s tweeted it like three times now) TGW failed at this when being timely and topical was always one of the things critics acknowledged as one of the show’s strengths.
The neo-Nazi didn’t shoot Adrian either! Now Jay and Marissa think it’s time to work with the police. Marissa volunteers to look through case files, but Diane pulls her onto the Assholes to Avoid case. “I thought we were dropping that,” Marissa responds. “We got an injection of cash,” Liz explains. “Seriously? Don’t we hate this?” Marissa questions. (Good question. And nice use of “we” even though you’re a newly minted investigator talking to two name partners.)
“I wouldn’t say hate. We’re obligated,” Diane says. Ohhh yes this is a new pet peeve. Y’all are not obligated. You were not assigned this case. You chose to take it for the money.
Liz asks Marissa to look into Emily’s past dates. “So we’re blaming the victim?” Marissa rephrases.
“Why do you think she’s the victim? What about him?” Jay chimes in, unhelpfully. “Oh my God, seriously?” Marissa responds. I feel that, even as weird as this specific case they’re debating seems to be. I’m just pretending it’s the Aziz story because it’s so obviously meant to be.
Anyway this devolves quickly into Marissa and Jay fighting about consent. I believe it from Marissa—tbh I’d be shocked if she behaved any other way—but Jay is more of a stretch. I totally believe him taking the guy’s side but I don’t really see him picking a fight with Marissa in front of the partners.
“Marissa. Can you do this, or should I give it to Jay?” Diane interrupts sternly. “No, I can do it. I just can’t turn my opinions off as I do,” Marissa replies.
“What do you think about this?” Liz asks Diane after Marissa and Jay leave. “I think there’s gonna be a lot of strong opinions there,” Diane responds. I don’t get why this firm still has this case. Is $2.1 million really enough to get Diane and Liz to go against their principles (or at least what I thought were Diane’s principles), put RBL on record as the law firm that went after Assholes to Avoid, AND cause internal chaos?
It’s not like RBL isn’t doing well. DIANE JUST MADE BACK ALL HER MONEY, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD. And the sketchy settlement a few weeks back—you know, the one the firm just had to take even though it kept corrupt cops on the force—gave them millions. If RBL is going to be LG, can they at least own it?
“We represent murderers and embezzlers but it’s always this stuff,” Liz says. Fair point.
“It was a bad date, that’s all,” Maia says to Marissa over coffee on the 22nd floor. Oh, Maia. I wish I could say I was surprised that Maia feels this way, but Maia holding this opinion is… consistent with pretty much everything about Maia. If Maia started quoting feminist writers, honestly, I’d be shocked. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Maia doesn’t seem like the type to question anything, especially not power structures or systems of any kind.
Anyway, Maia and Marissa’s conversation devolves into an argument among several lawyers, including some dude who calls warning other women against dating an asshole “revenge porn.” I know this is just an escalating nonsense argument but DUDE. DUUUUUUUDE. Revenge porn is posting private nude photos of someone you were once intimate with for the world to see specifically to hurt them. This? Is not that.
“It looks like she was trying to punish him because she was disappointed in herself,” Maia chimes in. Save it for the depositions, Maia. How the fuck did you get that?
Wasn’t there a Maia revenge porn plot last year? I can’t decide if I think it would make her more or less sympathetic to Emily. On the one hand, she’s been in a similar spot to Ron and could see him as a victim. On the other hand, what Maia did—literally just exist and date someone who wasn’t her asshole ex—is nothing like what Ron did (something beyond just existing), and what asshole ex did (revenge porn) is not really like what Emily did (an anonymous comment shared with a network meant for other women), so I could see her having a hard time empathizing with Ron, too. Oh, Maia.
“No, she’s disappointed in the whole fucked up dating scene where guys think they can get away with anything,” Marissa counters. And that’s the closest we come to discussing rape culture (again, that’s the thing this ep needs to be discussing). “He’s not getting away with anything. He can’t get a job,” the dude who was talking about revenge porn says. YEAH. THAT’S THE WHOLE POINT. Women are sick of guys getting away with anything so they are coming together to say that no, men cannot get away with anything. That no, it is not acceptable to ignore verbal and non-verbal cues and signs of discomfort on a date. That no, you should not continue to pursue someone after she’s told you “no.” And so on.
Also: part of the point is that these lines shouldn’t be so blurred. Emily shouldn’t be afraid of losing her job if she rejects Ron’s advances. The way society thinks about “bad dates” is a huge part of the problem. A guy being too pushy is not a one-off “bad date.” That guy is probably being pushy because he’s been taught—by society, by the media—that guys are supposed to be pushy. THAT is a large part of what needs to change.
This is a bit tangential, but how many women, over the years, have lost out on jobs because men told each other the women in question were “bitches” or “crazy” or “cold” (in addition, of course, to flat-out misogyny and discrimination against mothers and all the various other reasons men with hiring power might not hire women)? Probably a lot, since it doesn’t take much for a woman to get slapped with one of those labels. I dunno if this is relevant here, but if we’re going to talk about men losing their jobs because women shared their experiences, it feels like we should also talk about how accepted it’s been for women to lose out on jobs because of men sharing their experiences. This is what I mean about structures being the core issue here. I don’t know what that means for this lawsuit, but I do know I am not a fan of anything that upholds sexist structures. And if Assholes to Avoid wins this lawsuit, that’s exactly what’ll happen. I mean, we know there’s a class action in the works. Taking on this case and fighting for Ron, against the website (not Emily!)? That’s not just about what Ron did or didn’t do. That’s about fighting to keep a system in place.
Liz goes to talk to Ian at the police station. She wants to know why the police think Adrian’s shooter was black when Adrian identified him as white.
Is dumpster a proper noun? I have come across three separate works (two books and the captions on this show) in the last two weeks that have capitalized it. Apparently Dumpster is a brand name and thus a proper noun.
Now Adrian’s doubting his recollection. Maybe the shooter was black.
Hey, Adrian and Jay are friendly again!!!! Yay!!!
Liz brings Adrian dinner (possibly not actually dinner but rather a cupcake? Or a parfait with whipped cream on it?) and they both lick frosting or whipped cream or whatever off their fingers it’s cute unfortunately this scene then turns into a debate about #MeToo and Adrian is very very wrong.
“How’s the Assholes case coming?” Adrian asks. “You really boxed us in on that one, didn’t you?” Liz responds. Didn’t you decide to take the money? But point taken. “Not intentionally,” Adrian says. What part of calling the litigation financiers so the case doesn’t get dropped was unintentional?
The litigation dudes are named TOM AND JERRY? Why didn’t I remember this?
“Maybe #MeToo has gone too far, Liz,” Adrian suggests. Nah.
“I think good causes start out being good and end up becoming mobs,” Adrian explains. He does not, however, explain in what way #MeToo has become a mob. “Like Black Lives Matter?” Liz counters. “No. I don’t understand,” Adrian replies.
“Women join together, and all of a sudden, men all over the world are worried about mobs or witch hunts, but you don’t have the same worry about Black Lives Matter hurting white people’s reputations,” Liz explains. Pretty solid point. (Would also like to add that I saw a lot of people complaining that #MeToo would become a witch hunt after the Babe article… but I saw much less, um, you know, witch hunting.)
“Liz. It was a bad date. Anybody could have a bad date,” Adrian deflects.
“Yeah. But we’re not just stopping at the date. Now we’re trying to destroy the website,” Liz points out. (Yep.)
“A website that destroys reputations,” Adrian counters. “Of men,” Liz adds.
“Don’t make me out to be some kind of cartoon male chauvinist,” Adrian accuses. Liz is doing nothing of the sort, Adrian. She is pointing out that you’re behaving like all the other well-meaning men who perpetuate a system that sees a man’s reputation as more important than a woman’s thoughts and feelings.
And then the argument cuts out. This episode’s point seems to be that this is a contentious topic that people love to debate and can’t agree on, but does it have anything more to say? (I know I obviously have strong views about this, but I’m not really sure why the writers chose to do an episode on this and ended up basically just saying that people disagree. How… important.)
Marissa’s interviewing other people who dated Emily, and another guy has a similar story (he also seems like he’s suggesting that if he buys a girl dinner she should fuck him). Marissa dismisses it as “bullshit gossip” when she relays the info to Maia. “She just seems normal,” Marissa says.
Jay has found another potential suspect!
Diane is back in the aikido class! I am intrigued but have very little to say!
Diane showers and then heads to a bar to meet Kurt. I like that her hair is wet during this scene—it conveys how comfortable she is around Kurt.
Kurt says “sorry about your partner” and Diane doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He means Adrian, and since Adrian is fine, Diane is fine. Funny how Diane’s been paranoid all season when she wasn’t being targeted and now her firm’s being targeted and she’s fine.
“So. Um. You want a divorce,” Diane begins the hard part of the conversation. “What?” Kurt replies. Diane repeats the information from the accountants.
“What do you want?” Kurt asks Diane. “Kurt. We see each other, what, thirty days out of the year?” Diane replies. “We’re both working,” Kurt says. “I know, but that doesn’t make for a marriage, so if you want a divorce, I’m fine,” Diane says. I don’t know how to read this. The first time through I was annoyed that Diane’s position is that it’s up to Kurt when Kurt is the one who cheated. But now I’m wondering if this line is actually Diane stating what she wants from their relationship: a marriage where they actually see each other regularly and support each other. I can see how the physical distance between them could lead Kurt to cheat (though I don’t think it’s a valid excuse), too.
Kurt asks if this is about Tully. I guess he knows about Tully now. Good. Diane says it’s not about Tully, “it’s about what you want.” But what does Diane want? Even if Diane is subtlety requesting that Kurt move to Chicago so they can live together full-time, she’s not saying whether or not she forgives Kurt (I guess the forgiveness is implicit?) or talking about the challenges they’ve faced. I do not understand why this is about what Kurt wants. Would Diane just go along with whatever? If Kurt came back and said, “I want to live in the middle of nowhere and fuck pretty young blondes while you live here and remain my wife” would Diane go along? Or does she think that giving Kurt space and choices is the best approach, knowing that if he makes a decision she doesn’t like, she’ll leave?
Kurt, wisely, replies: “Diane… I’ve been trying the past year to make things up to you, to… I’ve been a prisoner on probation. I’m tired.” “Kurt, that’s the most you’ve talked about it in two years,” Diane replies. Awwww, talking! “I’m not a big talker,” he replies. “Uh, I know. But I need you to be. I need you to tell me what it is you want. And if it is a divorce, then I understand, and if it’s not…” she says. “I’ve been telling you…” he starts to say, but Diane interrupts. “No, you’ve been telling me that we should spend the weekend together, that I should come to your cabin.” “That we should move in together,” Kurt adds. “As roommates. I’m too old to be a roommate, so if we’re divorcing, well, let’s just do that. I’ve spent too much of the last year drifting, letting events happen to me, and I’m not gonna do that anymore,” Diane says. “Okay. I’ll call you tomorrow. […] Because you want a real answer,” Kurt says as he leaves the bar.
As always with D/K scenes, I am not sure I understand what they’re talking about (Kurt’s felt like a prisoner on probation? Why? What Kurt wants is the most important thing? Diane has been drifting and wants to stop and wants a decision, but that decision is Kurt’s? Kurt wants Diane to be his roommate? Huh?) but I love that they’re talking. This reminds me of those Alicia/Peter scenes not in content but in the way that the writers had a knack for screwing up the build-up and then absolutely nailing the conversation, even if it came years too late.
A Mr. Rose is at the firm to see Lucca. “You are pregnant,” he informs her. “No, no, just fat,” Lucca snarks. He is a headhunter out of D.C., and he wants to find Lucca a job. “Colin called you?” Lucca asks. She also says she’s not moving. Mr. Rose gives her job offers from five firms. Damn, Lucca. I know she’s getting most of these offers because of her political ties, but just think: three years ago she was a bar attorney. (The more Lucca’s situation parallels Alicia’s the more I want Lucca to talk to Alicia. And y’all know I already wanted that badly.)
Lucca is walking around the office barefoot. Alright. I have not ever seen any of the pregnant employees at my office walk around barefoot, and my office is super casual, but OK, writers.
Lucca calls Colin, angry. But Colin didn’t call Mr. Rose. His mom did—or at least that’s what Lucca and Colin suspect. Guys, this sounds just like every conversation Eli ever had about Jackie Florrick.
Now a woman named Gretchen, who is supposed to be Moira Donegan but also supposed to be the Babe writer who sent that tirade to a reporter about “second wave feminism,” is in depositions. That’s a weird hybrid. She say the goal of her site is to get men to realize their behavior will no longer go “unnoticed and unremarked.”
“So your blog is about scaring men?” Liz twists her words.
“Look, this is not a man-hating site, Diane,” Gretchen says suddenly. “I didn’t say a word,” Diane says. “You didn’t have to. You’re representing the people suing us,” Gretchen says. Fair.
“So we should all just march behind you, right? Because only you know what’s best for all women?” Diane replies, weirdly. Gretchen may be a little arrogant—and, as she makes clear with her next line, she actually does believe she knows more than “second wave feminist” Diane—but I have a hard time hearing this line from Diane. I don’t have a hard time believing it, necessarily, I just think it’s unnecessarily harsh and it feels like the main reason Diane is being so confrontational is that Gretchen just named her personally.
“I know more than you second-wave feminists. You just want to get along now. Don’t hurt the men, they might hurt us back. You have made the way for the next generation. For us. Thank you. Now you can take a rest,” Gretchen continues. Nah. I don’t think that’s how it works.
Gretchen also accuses Diane and her generation of enabling Weinstein and Charlie Rose (who guest starred on TGW, for anyone who forgot!)
“You know your problem? You’re too busy name-calling to realize how much we agree with you,” Diane replies. “And you’re too confident of your feminist credentials to realize we don’t need you,” Gretchen counters. Please make this scene stop. I don’t know what the point of it is, except to make Diane look good by making Gretchen insufferable and ageist???
(That’s not to say this isn’t true to life—the writer at Babe basically said the same thing—but rather to say that I think the writers could have used this screentime to do something more interesting.)
Another woman shares her experience of her date with Ron. She says he was pushy, overeager, tried a move on her he’d seen in porn, and tried to use force (nice of the writers to mention this in passing at the 37 minute mark when they could have made these points in the flashbacks we had to watch.)
Now Maia gets to question! She asks this woman why she didn’t go on Assholes to Avoid. “If I wrote about every date that ended like that, there wouldn’t be any guys left,” she explains. That’s depressing!
But this woman also doesn’t blame Emily for writing about her experience—they just made different choices. Exactly.
Maia shares Marissa’s research (the research Marissa told her to dismiss, the research that obviously was not going to be dismissed because… I’ve seen this show) with Liz and Diane, then questions Emily about it.
Marissa’s suddenly in the room for this, and she’s disgusted. “I thought we agreed it was bullshit gossip,” Marissa accuses. Maia says she’s just doing her job. She is, and Marissa should know that.
Maia also says she’s “trying to show that there’s another side to the issue.” Sigh.
“You talked the same way about you and Amy. To me. You said that Amy was paranoid about you and Carine, that she was crazy,” Marissa fumes. OH GOODIE. Important conversations happened offscreen and Maia ranted about her gf being paranoid when Maia actually cheated. You have a Maia problem, show. If Maia were just unlikable, I could deal with that—I find unlikable protagonists fascinating. But Maia is unlikable, unintelligent, and boring all at the same time! Apart from her friendships with Marissa and Lucca and the dynamic she has with Diane (or supposedly has, since it’s never on screen), I don’t have a reason to care about Maia. And all the reasons I just listed? I’m sure this will come as a surprise, but I care about the Marissa, Lucca, and Diane halves of those relationships infinitely more than the Maia half.
“So when I’m being deposed, maybe they can use that against me,” Maia responds. Careful, Maia. You might not know it, but we know you were caught on camera…
Liz and Jay go to Ian with their new suspect, and then they find out that Detective Whitehead (the corrupt cop!) is highly involved in the investigation, and BAM, they instantly realize he’s guilty and he’s arrested on the spot! Alright. (I was obviously very invested in figuring out who did it…)
Diane is at another aikido class!
Split screen phone calls remind me of Lizzie McGuire so they feel weird on TGF.
Also, there are a few shots that were clearly filmed to be split-screened (exactly half of the frame contains nothing of interest, like on texting scenes on Jane the Virgin before the texts pop up on screen) and it bothers me.
The entire 22nd floor begins to argue about sexual harassment.
Lucca finds Rod Habercore (from 2x01!) in her office. He offers her a job! And then Lucca sets off the singing dog that’s still in her desk drawer! Heh.
Lucca asks if Colin sent him. He didn’t—he just knows others are after her. Lucca smiles after he leaves. The only reason I want Lucca to stay at RBL right now is that the show is at RBL.
So wait, Ron is suing Emily and the website?
Diane, Liz, and Maia choose this moment—as Emily and Gretchen are deciding whether or not to settle—to question their litigation financiers and what they’re actually doing here. A little late.
Diane is practicing aikido moves in her office. I love that Diane found a new activity that makes her happy!
Gretchen shows up at her office door. “My guess is you’ve never thought of yourself as a traitor,” she opens. “Is that a question?” “What do you think?” “No, I have never thought of myself as a traitor,” Diane responds. “I’m closing Assholes to Avoid. So, thanks a lot,” Gretchen reveals. “You’re welcome,” Diane says. “You know why this happened? Because we were adding one of your litigation financiers to our list. Jerry. Asshole to Avoid. And you did his dirty work. You closed us down,” Gretchen explains. (Wow, who would ever have thought…)
“You know what your problem is? Women aren’t just one thing. And you don’t get to determine what we are. Next time, hire a lawyer and do your list right,” Diane replies. Am I supposed to be cheering Diane on? If this scene is meant to show that a woman who is fighting against sexual harassment can also be arrogant and ageist, while a woman who can champion feminism can also side with men who harass women because she wants to make a profit, then I like this scene. Diane is right: women aren’t just one thing. But why does Diane get to be right? (And I think this scene, if it wanted to frame Diane as being right-yet-wrong, could’ve done a much better job of making that point.) How is Assholes to Avoid, as a site, saying that women are just one thing? Is it? And Diane hints that there is a legal way to create a list of assholes to avoid—now that’s interesting! Why didn’t we hear more about that? What is a way to make a site like this that doesn’t wind up with a defamation suit? No judge ruled that she committed a crime (this was a civil case!) and the only reason she settled was that she would’ve gone broke if she opened herself up to further lawsuits. I’m genuinely curious: what actions does Diane think she could’ve taken here that would’ve prevented this outcome?
When I watched this scene, I definitely saw it as a triumphant moment for Diane. Rewatching it, it feels less triumphant and more fraught. I am trying to imagine the scene I would’ve wanted instead, and I wouldn’t want something clean (these issues are complex), I wouldn’t want something unearned and out of character (like Diane dismissing Gretchen and then donating money to a charity), and I wouldn’t want something too didactic. Now I’m wondering if the problem is that Gretchen is written as being so unreasonable and aggressive while Diane is a familiar face, so the scene comes across like Gretchen is a villain and Diane put her in her place.
Diane watches Tom and Jerry high five, so I do think we’re meant to question her actions.
Kurt appears! “I like seeing that side of you,” he says. “I like showing that side,” Diane replies. “So where are we, Kurt?” “I have my real answer,” Kurt says. And his answer is that “we haven’t tried being married. We’ve tried balancing career and marriage, and we can’t. I’m getting a job with the FBI in Chicago. It means not traveling. It means staying here. I’m asking that you sell your apartment and we look together for a larger place and we move in permanently together. We stop pretending that we can do this part time. And we live together until we die,” Kurt says. SOUNDS GOOD! I love it when characters have conversations. And this sounds like what Diane and Kurt both want.
I would like a little more closure on the Holly of it all, but I’m also fine without it since I don’t really believe that Kurt cheated and I’m totally fine acting like the only issue is that Kurt and Diane were too distant from each other to make each other happy.
Diane then asks Kurt if he voted for Trump. He didn’t (yay!). Diane give him a huge hug. “I wrote in Ted Cruz,” Kurt explains. Heh. That’s not much better, but I’ll take it.
Adrian’s out of the hospital!!! Everyone welcomes him back to the firm. Maia is front and center. Why? Marissa I would understand, but Maia? Front and center?
Adrian announces that the firm is a family. (No, it’s not, but I’ll say awwww anyway.)
20 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hireath -part 5 (Epilogue/Valentine special):
Daddy!CEO!Luke
A/N: Here it is :’) the last last part. *sigh* this took a while, it was actually supposed to be for last year’s Valentine but life just had other plans :’) um, I guess this is a thank you to anyone who has ever read the story, anyone who has ever liked it or reblogged or left a comment. I can’t ever begin to express how thankful I am for that. I am so so grateful for the time I spent here,and the community that surrounded my blog. Thank you for all the love, and for all those lovely people who still cared about the story and asked about it.
Here it is.
Thank you.
Word count: 3.2k
Plot: A divorce is not so easy to go through when your lingering feels and son keep getting in the way.
part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4
The tentative rays of sunlight peeked through the colossal windows taking up the whole walls, falling smoothly against the desks and chairs lettering the office in an organized puzzle. The atmosphere was still quiet, unbelievably quiet in comparison to the usual commotion shaking up the office, in the form of footsteps shuffling around, phones ringing periodically and voices merging into an undeciphered chaos.
As your heels clicked against the flooring early in the morning, you were only met with soft good morning’s, voices still partly heavied down with sleep and with the fresh, mouthwatering smell of coffee seeking to kickstart the day with a much needed dose of caffeine.
With the office still drowning in the quietness and slowness of a sleepy morning, it was hardly surprising to see that the red circle marking today’s date on the calendar remained ignored. Even more so, you would easily expect it to remain that way an hour later, when the office comes back to life, regaining its full, hectic atmosphere and falling into its usual fast pace.
But the little heart marking your own February calendar has been present on your mind for the past week, making your footsteps livelier and much more energetic than the whole office combined.
Your original destination changed halfway through the long corridor leading towards the grand office, the unmistakable gold plate stapled to its door. It was the slightly ajar door that lured you in, making you peek your head inside, fingers following (right on tow) to knock on the wooden surface.
“Good morning!” Your voice chirps happily through the office, pushing the door open and making your way inside.
Ashton’s head shoots up from his morning paper, a smile stretching his lips to greet you.
“___!”
His hands work on folding the newspaper in his hands, attention focused on you -more precisely,on the gleeful tone in your voice. “I wonder what’s gotten you so cheerful this early in the morning.”
There's a teasing glint in his eyes, but you're hardly bothered. Instead, you move closer to sit down, smile still bright.
“I can list a thing or two.”
Ashton seems to let this slide, despite the way his eyes narrow and a chuckle leaves his mouth. The conversation falls into a pleasant talk about how his family’s doing, before you're leaning against your elbow, on the wooden desk and ask;
“So, you’re still up for babysitting Jace tonight. Right?”
Ashton’s face suddenly breaks into a huge grin, and it's almost like a lightbulb went off inside his head.
“Aaah, I get it now.” He manages between breathy laughs, adding with a wink, “A little valentine date, with Mr. CEO?”
Your only reply is a chuckle, because you can’t really deny that he is actually right. But even that is enough to get him smiling wider, highly amused by this conversation.
“But aren't you guys past the dating stage?” He comments, lifting his hand up and pointing out his ring finger, “Like, way past it?”
That draws a scoff from you, almost in defense. Because you know that, technically, the papers had never been signed. You were still
But Ashton was very right. Your relationship did not fall under the category of your typical married couple, and the reason behind that was more than just you living separately. It was the late night dates, driving you home and kissing you at the door. It was the random movie dates, and daily texts. It was the slow restart, the tentative steps and the fear of diving in too soon.
It was all the little things you had lost the habit of doing, along the way.
It was, as Ashton pointed out, everything that made it seem as if you were a new couple still basking in their honeymoon phase, rather than a husband and wife with a long line of history.
Yet, despite the accuracy of Ashton’s words, you only lift a hand up to shoo him away, eyes rolling; “we are not dating.”
“Oh really?” He taunts, seeming to take that as a challenge, leaning over his desk on his elbows. “Cheesy dates on the weekends, flirting shamelessly on the phone -during work hours, mind you. And let’s not forget,” He stops with a smirk you know well enough to dread whatever’s coming next, “Hot, steamy, not-so-secretive sex in his off-”
You most certainly don't allow him to finish his words, interrupting him with a loud shout of his name and threatening to throw the closest thing at hand -the framed picture on his desk, hardly effective as a weapon- at his face.
“Ashton! What are you- where did you even get that from?” the flustered face you make, along with the way you trip over your words only manage to rile Ashton up further. And not even the hard stare you shoot him (or at least try to, unable to fight back a smile) makes his incessant laughter come to an end, as he seems to find immense pleasure in your reaction.
Ashton only gives you a knowing smile, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against his chair. “Like I said, not so secretive.”
“Ash!” You try to sound scalding, but a chuckle still breaks your frown, Ashton joining you as well. “Would you not?”
“Anyway,” You are quick to add, getting up from your seat and fixing your skirt, “I have to get going. I’ll wait for you tonight!”
Protests from Ashton follow you even as you close the door, about how you’re ignoring your friend to go flirt, and you can barely hold back a laugh at his words.
~
The light knocking on the door makes Luke lift his head up from his papers scattered over his desk, and a smile quickly takes over his face when your face comes into view.
“Good morning~” You greet, stepping inside and closing the door behind you. Getting up from his desk, Luke meets you halfway, arms wrapping around you naturally and bringing you into a hug.
Pulling away just slightly, Luke’s lips meet yours with a kiss.
“Happy valentine’s day, baby.” The words are whispered against your lips, Luke’s hand moving to hold your face, before leaning in for another kiss, deeper this time. And it’s only when he’s had enough that he pulls away, his hand holding yours, leading you back towards his desk. Luke sits down on his chair, facing you as you settle on top of his desk.
“Did you sleep well?” You ask, lifting your hand and running it through his hair, just the way you know he loves it.
“Yeah”, Luke nods, eyes momentarily closed, enjoying your touches. “I had to stay up late, but that’s ok . Did you n Jace have a good night?”
Before you manage to reply, the ringing on his phone breaks through the silence, getting him distracted momentarily by it. But Luke only spares a single look at the caller ID, before he silences it. Turning back to you with a smile, his hand moves to rest on top of your thigh.
“Do you want some coffee? Some breakfast?”
“No, no need.” You answer, “I need to get to work in a bit.”
Your reply draws an involuntary frown from Luke. One he doesn’t notice, but you do, making you lean in for a kiss. You keep it short, leaning away too quickly for his liking.
“Baby, I think you need new blinds for your office.” You whisper, making Luke’s eyes open.
“Why? What’s wrong with these ones?” He asks, genuinely confused.
His eyes move away from you, focusing on the mentioned blinds behind you. But your hands cup his face, redirecting his attention back on you, and explain; “Apparently, they let out our steamy, hot sex out to the open.”
Luke’s startled for a moment, before he breaks into a laugh. Getting up from his chair, he leans over, settling his arms on each side of where you sat.
“Baby, I think it’s more about your state when you walk out.” Luke whispers, lips touching yours with every spoken word, before he gives in and goes for a deep kiss. Eyes closing, your arms move from his face, to wrap around his neck and pull him closer,legs opening up just a little bit more to bring his body closer. It’s almost as if time freezes, and everything else escapes your mind, until Luke pulls away.
“Say,” another kiss, “did you talk to Ash about babysitting tonight?”
“Yeah” you nod, “he’s talking Jace over to yours, so we-” you pause, a flirty smile on your face and your hands moving back to Luke’s face, -”can can go back to mine and have it to ourselves. All night.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
~
Leaving Luke’s office, that day, was something you couldn’t get out of your memory. The moment you had stepped a foot outside, all eyes fell on you. It had taken a solid minute of silence for everyone to look away and carry on with their work, trying to act subtle. But you knew that everyone had heard what was supposed to happen in the privacy of Luke’s office. Sympathetic smiles followed you as you exited, along with concerned eyes and hopeful hearts.
It was a while before Luke’s assistant went into his office, too worried to be barging in too soon. The whole office walking on eggshells, holding their breath and sharing hushed murmurs about what had went on.
On Jace’s birthday, Luke had showed up, but almost an hour late. You had opened your door to find him breathless, cheeks flushed and words of apology rushing out, explaining how the traffic had been slower than he expected.
Truly, Luke had expected you to shut the door at his face. Because you had given him only one task and he had failed it already.
But you smiled at his state, and lead him inside.
A loud evening was promised, of birthday songs and happy wishes, of little kids giggling and running around while adults lounged around and exchanged their news. But when night came and everyone had left, your little birthday boy soundly sleeping in his room, Luke stayed back, offering to help you out with the cleaning.
Luke had never felt as hesitant as he did that night. He only knew to keep enough of a safe distant, waiting for you to determine the next move, to choose where to go. But, as he let his eyes linger on you, standing oh so close to him, drying the dishes he finished washing; it had filled him up with an overflowing feeling of homeyness, making him want act upon it. He had wanted nothing more than to have his hands rest on your waist, and lean in to kiss your lips until it was all marked into his memory.
But he did not kiss you that night.
Or the next time he saw you, when you had invited him for lunch. It was at a restaurant close to his office, and you had picked up Jace from his school as well.
Or the time after that, when you had all met up at Calum’s house for a little gathering.
He was walking on thin ice, Luke knew that. And he would be damned if let himself ruin things again. But he was determined to work hard to prove himself, to be there for whatever his family needed. Until then, he would let you lead, at your own pace, and hope that you wouldn’t want to push him away.
Luke had only gotten a taste of your lips the night he stayed over for a movie night, helping put Jace to bed.
It had felt like the first drop of water he had in a year of drought, making his whole body come back to life. You had pulled away far too soon for his liking, but then you asked him for a coffee date at his office, and Luke’s heart felt like bursting at your words, oh-so sweet to him.
~
As expected, the tables were crowded with couple holding hands and making oaths for forever, the waiters rushing back n forth, from table to other. Rose petals decorated each and every table, along with red candles and heart shaped candies.
But your table was in the far back, private enough to feel like it was just you, and just him.
The lace dress you wore was a gift from Luke, chosen with care and left on top of your bed for you to find, along with more packages that you didn’t get the time to go through just yet. It suited you to a wonder, and Luke couldn’t have felt any more blessed, his hands finding it harder to stay away from you for too long.
“It’s been a while since we last celebrated Valentine’s this way.” The comment leaves your mouth without much thought, smiling in contentment. But then your eyes lift up from the menu you were reading, and the look on Luke’s face instantly makes you regret it.
It’s a look you see on his face more often than you wished. It was a look that betrayed his thoughts whenever he was falling into the pit of remorse and regret.
Last Valentine, you couldn’t even remember the day clearly. You’re sure that it was nothing but a delivered bouquet of roses and chocolates that had a card too bland to be personally sent by Luke. You knew that it was a last minute order after his assistant -most likely- reminded him of which day it was. You’re not sure if the year before that was that special either.
It had indeed been long since you both celebrated the day this way. You knew that. And he knew that.
“Hey,” You whisper, frowning. Your hand reaching out to hold his, giving him a gentle squeeze. But Luke only shakes his head, replacing the look on his face with a smile instead.
He knew that he wouldn’t find a way out of the maze of regret any time soon. He knew that his mind would always go back to little details and remind him of every wrong decision he wasn’t aware of at the time.
But for tonight, Luke wants it to be special. He wants it to overpower the memories of times he didn’t take the time to celebrate special days with you.
For tonight, he just wants it to be just you.
~
The lights in the living room are kept to a low dim, an old record softly playing in the background.
Once dinner was over, exquisite dishes savored and sweet desserts shared, it was time for you both to go back home and enjoy a little more privacy. The ride back was just you two and your wandering hands, the driver disposed for the night.
Your drinks remained on the table, long forgotten as you got drunk on each other’s lips instead.
“I don’t like this house very much” Luke breaks slightly away from your lips, his mouth moving to pepper light kisses on your jaw.
“What?” You ask after a little too long, his lips distracting you from his words, “why?” You draw out, pulling away a bit more and looking around your apartment. “I think it’s fairly nice.”
Luke hums, resting his arm on the back of the couch, around your shoulders.“It is nice. But it's not home.”
A minute of silence follows his words, Luke’s eyes simply gazing into yours and studying your reaction. The beats of his heart drum against his ear, so loudly that it drowns out the music still playing from the corner of the room.
Fear slowly makes its way into his heart, sending strings around it and caging it in, making it throb painfully in his chest. It’s the same fear that keeps creeping up on him; the fear of taking a wrong step, taking it too fast and potentially breaking down everything you have been rebuilding. The fear that he would once again risk losing you.
But then you look into his eyes, with that special way of yours, and the words just tumble out of his mouth.
“Come back home.”
Your heart flutters again at his words, stronger this time. Not only because it’s the first time he bring this up, but it’s in the way he spoke his words. Hesitant and unsure. Just like the very first time.
“I- I don’t know. Are you sure?” You question, mind feeling unprepared.
The look Luke shoots you is enough to tell you that he is more than sure. And the small smile on your lips knocks a little more confidence into him.
“Come on, think of all the positives.”
You squint your eyes at his words, smile getting wider and your hand moving towards the side of his neck, allowing your fingers to run through his hair.
Luke’s smile grows at your words, lifting his hand to rest on your forearm. His thumb moves in little circles against your skin, his head turning slightly to meet the patch of skin and land a soft kiss, before he leans away. “Hm..” he pretends to think, “We get to have breakfast in bed?”
“I don’t think you really thought this one through,” You tease, “Mr. I-wake-up-in-the-ass-crack-of-dawn.”
Luke chuckles at that, shaking his head, “On Sundays then, how about that?”
An attempt to tame your smile goes down the drain, so you simply let it be.
“Carry on..”
“No more driving late at night, or having to pack clothes.” Luke continues, “We’re always over at each other’s anyways.”
You lift your eyebrows, slightly nodding your head, a teasing smile still playing on your lips. Luke shakes his head with a laugh, just as amused by your behavior. Deciding to play along, his head dives in, lips finding the skin of your neck and leaving featherlight kisses.
“You get to wake up to this lovely face every morning.” He hums against your skin, kisses punctuating his words. “Slow, early morning sex before-”
A loud giggle falls past your lips, your hands holding Luke’s face and pulling him away. But he still goes for a kiss on your lips, before leaning back into the couch.
“___, …”
The tone of his voice drops all its playfulness, getting serious. With honest eyes never once leaving yours, he speaks; “I mean it, I want you to come back home. I miss you being home. It’s not the same anymore. You don't have to do it anytime soon, I’ll wait. But I just need you to think about it.”
His words knock the breath out of our lungs, leaving you struck for a moment too long, before warmth overtakes your heart. You can feel tears starting to pool in your eyes, and your hands reach out to pull him in for a deep kiss.
A little shaky, teeth clashing and breaths mixing together. But it’s nothing short of perfect.
“Ask me again” You mumble against his lips, hands still holding his face.
“Please come back home.”
Your answer comes in the form of another kiss.
~
(Bonus: Luke proposes again, 6 months later.)
#I hope this is acceptable :') sorry :') I was behind schedule#thank you everyone#goodbye~#Hireath#luke hemmings#5sos#5sos writing#luke hemming imagines#5sos fics#luke imagine#ceo!Luke#daddy!Luke#ceo!5sos#mine
49 notes
·
View notes
Text
Beautiful Things
Request: Nah.
Word Count: 1665
Summary: Reader is in Peter’s photography class and very bitter about their less than optimal grade, especially compared to “Perfect Parker.” One night he hand delivers them the perfect way to an ‘A’.
Ships: Peter Parker x Reader
Warning: None. Enjoy your fluff.
Tag List: @morgiee @justinbiberlover12
Join My Tag List!!
A/N: Some of this fic was co-written by @problemforfuturetech . I really recommend you check out their blog!!!!!
You wandered around Queens, hoping for anything to get you a passing grade in photography. Maybe your teacher, Mr. Nichols, would be a more lenient if “Perfect Peter Parker” turned in one bad photo. No, every single one of his pictures was an awesome shot from an interesting angle. Most were from impossible heights. How could you compete? But, of course Peter set the standard.
It was past midnight, and you were hoping for some human interest. Unfortunately, most “human interest” out at this hour was a bit… sketchy. So far more than six people had asked you for money, and you’d quickly jogged past too many dark alleys with ominous sounds of drug deals and drunk men at the end.
Suddenly, you heard sirens in the distance that you chose to ignore. To your right you found a truly rare sight indeed: a dark alley with nothing ominous down it. Maybe there’d be a cat asleep swathed in orange street lights you could photograph. Curiously yet cautiously, you silently stepped down it.
“Fuck,” a distinctly familiar voice mumbled angrily. Peter Parker. What was he doing here? You ducked behind a dumpster to watch, and remained silent. You snapped a picture, hoping the click wasn’t too loud. There was certainly something interesting about to go down, and Parker’s surprising abs as he slid off his shirt certainly looked human. You took another picture. Just in case.
Peter quickly hopped out of his jeans. He was wearing Spiderman boxers. You started planning your escape route in case Parker had some weird alley hobbies, but luckily he picked up a heap of lycra. He stepped into it, and it fit him like a potato sack. You took a few pictures. He looked dorky enough that this could potentially be used to embarrass him. He pressed his hand to his chest, and suddenly the sack became a very attractive form-fitting Spider-Man suit. You took more pictures, and including ones showing him putting the trademarked mask on. This was far better than human interest, this was super-human interest.
“Parker!”
“Uhhhhhh…. Who’s Parker?” Peter tried his best, but he was an awful liar.
“How the fuck have you kept this a secret for so long?” You laughed, and Spidey’s eyes narrowed. You swore you could vaguely make out him pouting through the mask. “Wait! This is how you get all those cool pictures! You fucking cheater!”
“What, what pictures? I have no clue what you’re talking about, ma’am. Have a good evening, I’m off to fight crime now!” Before you could get another word in, he shot off into the night, probably towards the sirens.
The next day at school, you slipped a stack of photographs printed out to Peter. “If you wanted pictures of me shirtless, you could’ve asked. I probably would’ve said no, but it’d be less creepy.”
You rolled your eyes. “Please, Parker. I wouldn’t want to look at your chest if God themself had sculpted it. Stop deflecting. We both know what these pictures prove. I still have all the originals. Start talking, Parker.”
“Talk about what? Photography? Your angles could really use some work,” Peter chided. You glowered in response.
“Fine. I suppose the New York Times won’t have much of a problem with my angles when I send them these pictures identifying Spider-man.” He stayed composed, but his fidgeting gave him away.
“You can’t!”
“Why not, I don’t see why you would care. I mean since that’s not you. You shouldn’t care who has these pictures. Right?”
“I don’t,” he started defensively, “but I also don’t want to get harassed by people like you who think it’s me.” You scoffed. He could pretend all he liked, you knew what you saw.
“Fine then Peter, say you aren’t Spiderman, you still don’t want these pictures to get out, right?”
“Yeah,” he conceded. “Look, my aunt and I don’t have a lot of money, if that’s what you’re after, and Tony Stark doesn’t really take my calls.”
“I don’t care about Stark. Or money. I care about the fact that somehow this is the only class I’m getting below an A in, and it’s your fault.” Your voice got a bit louder in anger, and Peter glared at you.
“My fault? How is that my fault?!”
“Mr. Nichols is practically in love with you! Every picture you turn in might as well be covered in gold for how much he worships you. Next to your pedestal, everything else might as well be garbage.” Peter actually looked surprised. He’d genuinely never noticed the kind of favoritism he got. Somehow, Peter never seemed to notice how easily the world loved him.
“So, if I take pictures for you for the rest of the school year, you promise you’ll destroy these pictures?” He held up the stack you dumped in front of him.
“Of course not! I want your help. I’m not taking credit for anyone else’s work, but maybe you’re right. Maybe my angles, my composition, my lighting, and everything else needs work. Will you help? We can do it during lunch so you still have plenty of time after school to not be Spider-Man.” Despite the huge upper hand you clearly had, you were nervous. He probably hated you right now. Why should he agree? He could always deny the pictures, say they were photoshopped.
“Fine. Every lunch I’ll help you. I’ll make sure your grade in this class goes up. Then at the end of the year I watch you delete those pictures. Deal?”
“I’ll do you one better, Parker. The second my grade reaches a 90 or better, I’ll delete them. After which you can decide to keep helping me or not.”
“I guess we’ve reached an agreement then. See you at lunch?”
“Guess so. By the robotics lab?”
“By the robotics lab,” Peter affirmed.
The rest of your morning classes passed in a blur, and by lunch time your stomach had twisted in more knots than a thousand headphones. You stood by the robotics lab, camera in hand, waiting for Peter Parker. After an eternity slipped into five minutes, he finally arrived. “Sorry, you haven’t been waiting for me long, have you?” He actually sounded sorry, and any resentment slipped away. You could sort of see it. Why everyone who met him was so protective of him. You just couldn’t stay mad at him; it was like kicking a puppy.
“Nah, don’t worry about it, Spidey.” You playfully punched him on the arm, but you regretted it the second you did it.
“What was that?”
“I’m not sure, I think MJ’s rubbing off on me.” Peter let out a giggle, and you knew then you would never turn him in. The pictures were as good as deleted. “So, you wanna to start?”
“Sure! We should probably go outside though, the lighting in this school sucks.” You walked next to him towards the football field in less-than-comfortable silence. The second you stepped outside, away from the constant chatter and buzz of the lights, he lightened. You took a few candids of him, each more startled than the last.
“What, what are you doing?” He didn’t sound defensive, more bemused.
You laughed in response, prompting a smile. “I like to take pictures of beautiful things,” you responded, if only to make him blush. He did indeed, each cheek as pink as the cherry blossom petals littering the path out of the school.
“Oh, um, thank you? I mean, only May calls me ‘beautiful’, and why are you being so nice to me-” His rambling stopped when he saw the playful smile on your lips.
“It’s nice to see you’re not always so cocky. I’d much rather see you blush than without a shirt.”
“Well, you didn’t seem to mind me without a shirt. You even took pictures.” His words certainly carried an air of confidence, but he stared at the ground, and his cheeks grew redder with every word.
You scoffed. “When you say it like that it sounds kind of stalkerish. You were the one getting undressed in a random alley! Taking pictures of strange occurrences has become something of a second nature.”
“And me in sunlight just now is a ‘strange occurrence?’”
“No, seeing you relaxed. Indoors, especially around loud technology, you look perpetually stressed. Maybe that’s why you’re such a dick sometimes.” Your casual tone left him awkwardly laughing so hard he couldn’t quite breathe properly.
His laugh gave way to speech. “I’m, I’m a what?”
“Your casual comments about my angles? That cocky little smile? Sometimes, you’re the most infuriating person I’ve ever met. Then you can’t even be bothered to properly be a bad person! You’re actually kind of nice. Especially considering the situation.”
“Oh. I didn’t realize-”
You never do, you thought, but all you said was, “Don’t worry about it, Parker. C’mon, the football field has some interesting if not tacky leading lines.” You took his calloused hand and led him astray.
You slid a singular piece of paper over to Peter Parker. He curiously glanced at it, not a single trace of worry. You’d grown to trust each other, and somewhat comfortable. After the thousandth slip-up, he’d finally confessed to being Spider-Man. Plus, your best grade was in anatomy, and you were first-aid certified. It helped after a particularly bad fight to go by your place, and have you stitch him.
Peter held up the paper. “Your grades? Why would you give me this? I already know your GPA is insane.”
“And yours is only struggling because of your extracurricular. Look at Photography.”
Peter’s eyes bulged. “A ninety-six? That’s amazing!”
You poked his cheek teasingly. “All thanks to you, Parker.” There was no question of the pictures. He didn’t care if you still had them or not. He trusted you with them.
“Hey, um, would you want to still hang out around lunch?”
“‘Course, Bug-Boy. Being around you gives me another beautiful thing to take pictures of. Us.”
#peter parker#peter parker x reader#spiderman#spiderman x reader#spider-man#spider-man x reader#spiderman: homecoming#homecoming#spider-man: homecoming#x reader#imagine#fic#read this#fic rec#problemforfuturetech#peter parker fic#spiderman fic#spider-man fic#tom holland!peter parker
224 notes
·
View notes
Text
GarrusxReader Pt. 3
Continue under the cut for the next part of this story!
Anon requested GarrusxReader so I took it and ran with it, haha
So, I’ve written all the way to part 8 so far and its still not done...so, I hope you guys like the new serial novel I’m putting up on my blog :D
I appreciate any likes/reblogs and feel free to drop me an ask!
A Citadel Love Story
Garrus/Reader
Pre-ME1, though it may start to spill into ME1 events
Warnings: hints of an abusive past relationship, some stalking (i’ll add more as I go along since the story isn’t finished yet)
FIRST - BACK - NEXT
“You know, I usually make a guy buy me dinner before I let him come back to my apartment,” You said, and tried to hide your nerves behind your joke, “But I think I’ll let this slide, since you’re upgrading my security and all.”
“Very gracious of you,” He responded, before he asked, “Do you always hit on turians you’ve just met, or am I just lucky?”
Almost all of his focus had been on his omni-tool, but he looked up at you as he asked this; his eyes seemed to study your face, probably trying to piece together your tone and facial expression the same way you had to puzzle through his stoic voice and mandible twitches.
You shifted on your perch, which was a stool you normally had near the laundry area, and shrugged, “I’m not good with things like deep conversations; it’s either the weather or I hit on you--which would you prefer?”
Garrus watched you for a moment, and you kept your mouth firmly shut when you felt his eyes dip to glance over your body--if he had been human, you’d have probably shown him the door immediately, but it was different with non-humans; they didn’t understand tact the way humans normally expected it. Besides that, you reasoned, he might be like you in that he never considered dating outside his race.
Wait, where did that thought come from? Dating outside your race? Were you actually considering something like that with a cop you just met?
You shook yourself in time to tune into his response.
“Well, the weather would only be fun for as long as we could go on about the one moderate temperature in the whole of the Citadel,” Garrus looked back at his omni-tool, but you could tell more than a portion of his attention was now squarely on you, “Though, I have to admit, getting hit on by a human is a new one.”
“What, never had a human try to get you into bed before?”
“No,” He answered.
You blinked for a moment, taken aback by his direct and honest answer; then you started to giggle, the sound leaving your throat unbidden and immediately impossible to control.
The sharp click of his mandibles was almost unmistakable irritation and...maybe embarrassment? You could only guess as his tone finally changed when he spoke.
“Oh, and you have a line of turians outside waiting for me to leave?” The unmistakable sarcasm made you bite your lip.
“I’m sorry, no, I mean it, I shouldn’t have-” You cleared your throat and adjusted your position on the stool, “I’m sorry I laughed, I just...Having you in my apartment has let me relax for the first time in two weeks and-”
You felt your face heat up as you realize how what you said sounded, “I mean, ‘you’ cause you’re a C-Sec officer, not because--I mean, not that you’re not a reassuring person, I just-”
“I’m going to stop while I’m ahead,” You finished weakly.
“What makes you think you're ahead?” Despite his words, you could hear the chuckle in his voice and you raised your eyes to meet his to find a noticeable twinkle in his eyes; he was laughing at you, good and proper, but you just smiled in response--you deserved to get some after dishing out your share so far.
“How long have you been with C-Sec?” You asked after a short silence where he went back to his checking and double-checking of your security system.
“Long enough to hate it,” He said easily, “Not long enough to quit and try something new.”
“Well, that sucks,” You pulled one of your legs up and wrapped your arms around it as you watched him work, “What would you do if you could?”
Garrus actually stopped to consider your works, his eyes not leaving his omni-tool, but he wasn’t working on it anymore; just when you thought he was going to answer, he cleared his throat and suddenly said, “I thought you didn’t like to go too deep?”
“Sorry,” You ducked your head a little, “I didn’t think it was all that deep, talking about work.”
The turian hummed, “Maybe for other people.”
Your eyes traced his back, following the hard lines and edges; despite it being true about hating to talk about deeper subjects, you really wanted to hear what Garrus had to say. Maybe it was the deeper tones of his voice, or the way he seemed to wear everything so close to the surface and was just so honest.
It was really no surprise when you opened your mouth and asked, “So, why is it such a deep question for you? Had to give up a dream and C-Sec was your plan B?”
Garrus didn’t answer at first, and you tried your best to take the hint, but then the turian spoke.
“It wasn’t a...dream; more of an opportunity,” He said quietly, “I was apart of the Spectre training not long after I finished my mandatory enlistment with the turian army.”
You felt your mouth fall open, “You were going to be a Spectre? What happened?”
Garrus sighed and closed his omni-tool; you couldn’t read his expression well, but despite his being finished working on your security system he didn’t rush out of your apartment.
“My father has friends that are pretty well off politically, even though my father doesn’t like playing those sorts of games himself,” Garrus explained in an even tone, and you felt a small bubble of dread hit your stomach; you could almost guess his next words, “He didn’t--and doesn’t--approve of Spectres in general and was completely against my becoming a spectre; he had me barred from finishing the training.”
Your hands shot up to cover your mouth, aghast, “B-but, he shouldn’t get a say in your future like that!”
Garrus’s mandibles widened outward and slowly clicked inward; his tone as he spoke helped you interpret his surprise.
“...Most people don’t have that opinion when I tell them that story,” He said quietly, his eyes watching you, “I’ve stopped telling it because I normally get some patter about my father knowing best or respecting my elders.”
“Well, you won’t hear that from me; at least, not about choosing your own path in life,” You said, “I’m sort of the living embodiment of disobeying expectations.”
You laughed and even managed to make Garrus chuckled, a sound that rumbled pleasantly in his chest before freeing itself through his mouth.
“Would it be too ‘deep’ for me to ask why?” Garrus asked, his tone and mood seemingly lifted.
The part of you that had been curious enough to push him for his responses now chided that it was only fair that you reciprocated.
“I-um, well, I come from a pretty hardcore Alliance family--mom, dad, and all of my siblings are enlisted; and they’re careers to boot,” You explained slowly, “I’m the youngest and when my turn came to join up, I said ‘no way’.”
Garrus paused before speaking, “How’d your family take that?”
“A couple of my sisters understood, but everyone else…” You shrugged, “There’s a reason I’m living on the Citadel alone.”
“And they’re refusing to help you with your ex?” Garrus seemed offended at the idea and you couldn’t stop the smile that spread on your lips; it was sweet how defensive he seemed to get over that.
“To be fair to them, I haven't mentioned it when any of them call,” You admitted, “Most of them are stationed to far away to visit casually, and the only ones who are close enough wouldn’t actually be able to do anything without getting trouble.”
“So why bother them,” Garrus finished your line of logic for you and you nodded in agreement.
“Exactly,” you confirmed, “So, I came to you.”
“But why me?”
His question made you hesitate for a moment before you answered, “Well, when you first intervened, it was the first time a C-Sec officer was willing to ignore Bryan’s position as an Alliance officer and actually do something.”
Garrus took your words in and nodded, “You heard what I said about red tape--I hate it and I hate crooks getting away because of it. I just couldn’t let it go once I saw how many times he’d gotten off.”
You nodded, but pressed your lips together; that explained why he went through with the whole situation back then, but you quietly wondered what had made him bother in the first place even though he was off-duty.
Still, you thanked him for his work and took his information--his office number and work email ‘just in case,’ he said--and watched him as he walked down the hall toward the elevator. You felt a small pang of regret, though you were happy to know him a little better.
“That’ll be the last I see of him,” You said quietly to yourself, locking your door, “I should have asked him to coffee...or something.”
Ah well, you reasoned, he probably wasn't into humans anyway.
#mass effect#garrus vakarian#garrus x reader#purplemom requests#past abusive relationship#hints of stalking
118 notes
·
View notes
Text
(Artichoke) Hearts Chapter 1
banner by styleslegends
Read here or on 1DFF
You UV Blue me away
***
If I had to pinpoint the root of all my problems it would be the YogaWorks Brentwood prenatal yoga class of 1994.
Now, in their defense, Janet Cleveland, Laura Adams, and Heather Franklin (now Heather Baranoski) had no clue the havoc their actions would reek on my life at the time. They were all just hormonal pregnant woman who wanted to tree pose and breathe and whatever else you do in prenatal yoga class. But after meeting in class and bonding over vomiting on yoga mats and the whole having unborn children in their wombs thing, these four mothers became the best of friends and simultaneously caused all of my problems for the past 21 years and probably for the rest of my life.
John Quincy Adams was born at 7:41PM October 31, 1994
Grover Cleveland was born at 3:15AM November 2, 1994
And finally Franklin Delano Roosevelt was born at 10:52PM November 4, 1994 followed 9 minutes later by his twin sister Teddy Roosevelt. Me.
Why, you ask, did 3 severely pregnant women decide that naming all of their children after dead US presidents was a good idea? Well, that you’ll have to ask them because I have no clue. All I do know is that being the youngest—no matter if its only weeks, days, or mere minutes—of a group of boys who don’t understand that just because you’re all named after some dead guys doesn’t mean you have to be together all the time was a recipe for disaster.
And I’m a cook so I should know.
Not a professional cook though. College took up way too much time for that, but I did have a food blog that was doing pretty well. (Artichoke) Hearts was organized by season (fall, spring, summer, winter, and holidays), meal time (breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snacks), and type (meat, vegetarian, vegan—my mom wanted me to add a kosher section, but that would mean I would have to actually cook kosher). It wasn’t hugely popular—like say, I don’t know, an up-and-coming currently touring band with two #1 singles on iTunes—but BuzzFeed Food used a good number of my recipes and I had a solid following of moms who appreciated my organization, food photography skills, and my clever analogies in my pre-recipe articles.
Oh, the recipes were pretty good too.
Not that anyone in my family would know. They were all terrible besides Isabelle, but I’m not at all related to her so she didn’t count. Holly was getting pretty good at being my kitchen assistant, but she was eight and technically only related to Isabelle (and a sperm donor with an IQ of 167 and no family history of medical problems). But my father, brother, and mother were still learning how to boil pasta. How I was born into a family of non-cooks I would never know, but it was probably the reason I was so good at cooking.
At seven I was tired of take-out, frozen food, and PB&Js so I learned to make eggs and pasta.
At ten I was making snacks for my brother and the boys after school.
At twelve I was making dinner every night (except for Wednesdays and Saturdays when my brother and I stayed with mom and Isabelle), even though my dad insisted I didn’t have to.
At sixteen I catered the Dead Presidents’ Society Sixteenth Birthday Bash (JQ still says it was his birthday party because we threw it on Halloween and I’ve stopped arguing with him at this point).
And at eighteen (on February 9th at 10:08PM), under the influence of a little too much wine and the encouragement of Pia and Astrid—who were under the influence of a little too much wine and my fried mac-n-cheese balls—I started my blog.
It took awhile, but with consistent posting, a pretty and easily navigated layout, and solid recipes, soon enough (Artichoke) Hearts had become one of the most successful food blogs out there.
Which, as the youngest member of the Dead Presidents’ Society—and the only one who doesn’t play an instrument—gave me just a bit of leverage over those absolute eggheads.
“C’mon Ted, I’m starving,” FDR complained, the WiFi connection a little slow so his voice came through before his pout did.
“We’re starving,” I heard Grover call somewhere off screen.
“We’re starving,” FDR repeated. “C’mon sis, you can’t let us starve to death. You’d be the only Dead President remaining. You’d have to take over all of our jobs to keep the society alive.”
“You can’t play any instruments, it would be very difficult,” Grover added as he sat down on the couch next to my brother, both of them with well-practiced pouts on their faces. But I’d been a main recipient of those pouts from all three of them for the past 21 years so I was completely desensitized.
“I highly doubt that me catering your welcome home pre-show party in three weeks will help with your current starvation problem,” I told them.
“The human body can survive three weeks without food,” Grover pointed out.
“You make an excellent point. But you can still get literally anyone else to do it.” I hummed with a self-satisfied smile on my face. “Oh don’t give me that…” I scolded as the pouts deepened. “Based on Quinn’s most recent report, you boys haven’t done anything that would warrant me cooking for hours for you and your friends.”
Quinn was the Dead Presidents’ Society’s manager extraordinaire and, even though I wasn’t a member of the band, I was her favorite. It might’ve been because I was the first one she met or because I was the one who convinced the boys to pick her over the three other companies who wanted them, but it was probably because I was her secret weapon to get the boys to do whatever she wanted them to.
Or, more specifically, my food was.
“But you love cooking,” FDR whined.
“I cook for people not pigs,” I stated, getting confused frowns in response. I rolled my eyes and blew out a puff of air before continuing. “Your tour bus stinks, you haven’t done laundry for the past month and a half, and you haven’t been eating any of your vegetables,” I listed, recalling my chat with Quinn yesterday when she called to enlist my help in keeping the boys of The Dead Presidents’ Society alive.
“Not true,” FDR argued. “JQ and I had mashed potatoes with dinner last night.”
“Potatoes are nutritionally a starch not a vegetable,” I corrected him.
“Well…um…you’re a starch not a vegetable,” FDR said. It seemed that his time on the road really hadn’t taught him any new comebacks from when we were seven.
“Good one,” I deadpanned.
“How can I be clever when I’m starving to death?”
“If you’re really that desperate for food then go eat some carrots,” I told them both sternly. I might be the youngest of the group (and constantly reminded of it), but I’m really the only responsible one. “And an apple or two.”
“You’re no fun,” FDR pouted.
“Well how can I be when I have to take care of the three of you from LA?” I asked. “Speaking of, where’s the other one?”
I didn’t even know why I still asked about JQ on these Skype calls, it’s not like he’s been present for any of them. But I wasn’t able to completely stop caring about someone I’d known my entire life (unlike him), so I still had to ask.
“JQ’s working on a song down the hall—”
“No, Q was flirting with that bartender,” FDR corrected and I wasn’t surprised at all.
“Yeah, but you went to pee and he left her to go work on a song,” Grover told FDR then turned back to me. “He’s written like five just this week for the next album. I think we’re going to test a couple out at the welcome home show.”
“Another reason you should cater it,” FDR added.
“Not going to work,” I sang.
“You’re the wor—”
“Hey, can we meet early to work on a few new songs?” I knew it was JQ’s voice from the first word.
He might not’ve spoken to me in months, but I’d watched all of their interviews and listened to every song the band had released since last fall. Not to mention I’d heard his voice almost every day of my life growing up.
“Yeah we just have to finish up with Ted,” FDR replied. “Say hi to JQ, Teddy!”
“Hi to JQ, Teddy,” I mocked because actually saying hi to him like a normal adult was too much to ask.
“Hey Teddy,” he replied, but the camera was still facing FDR and Grover so I had no clue what JQ was doing. “I’m going to go tune my guitar.”
I guess he was leaving.
“I should tune mine too,” Grover added after the door clicked shut behind JQ and pushed himself up off the couch. He grinned broadly and waved at the camera. “Bye Teddy.”
“Bye Grover.” I waved back and watched as he disappeared off my screen.
I guess he was going too.
“I should get going anyway,” I said after I heard the door click shut on the other side. “Pia just got back and roped us all into helping her move in.”
“All six of you?” FDR asked.
“Rose isn’t back yet, but yeah pretty much. Pia’s got a lot of stuff you need more than one person to carry. Plus she bribed us with free Indian food.”
“How much do you want to bet the Kapoors just didn’t want to help Pia move in and the food was their idea?” FDR smirked.
“Oh one hundred percent,” I agreed and smiled at my brother. “Ajinder and Rajpreet Kapoor would never give out free food unless they got something out of it.”
“You on the other hand…” FDR trailed off and suddenly the pout was back.
“Look, if you all clean up your act for the last few weeks of tour and stop making Quinn think she’s wrangling pigs not managing a band, then yes,” I gave in and FDR’s pout was immediately replaced by a shit-eating grin. “But final word comes from Quinn!”
“Thanks Teds, we won’t let you down!”
“You better not, mister,” I narrowed my eyes. “I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”
“Talk to you later,” He replied. “Love you.”
“Love you too.”
FDR hung up with a final cheesy grin and wave, leaving me alone for approximately 30 seconds until the familiar sound of a door opening and two collars jingling signaled two dogs and a dad (mine, to be specific) had come back from their walk.
“You just missed FDR,” I told my dad as he rounded the corner and knelt down to let the dogs off their leashes. Fairbanks was a perfect gentleman (obviously) and patiently let Dad take off his leash before trotting over and sitting in front of the couch, next to my feet. Cactus Jack was too busy swinging around a large stick he found because, even though my brother hadn’t been here for months, his dog still behaved exactly like him.
“Eh, I talked to him yesterday,” my dad shrugged after he finally got Jack’s collar off.
“Glad to know you really care about your only son,” I snorted and Fairbanks thought it was a weird sneeze so he jumped up on my lap and put his nose in my face to investigate. Despite how much I loved him, I didn’t really want to french kiss my dog so I pushed him back down pretty quickly.
“John Nance Garner pooped four times today so I’d much rather spend the night with my lovely daughter and her even lovelier dog who only pooped once,” he said as he sat down on the other side of the couch. I could tell dad and CJ weren’t on speaking terms by my dad’s use of his full name. When Dad used his kids’ (or his kids’ dogs’) full names, you knew he was annoyed.
As if to prove a point, Cactus Jack jumped up on my dad’s lap and proceeded to chew his stick from his new perch.
“While I’m honored I’m the favorite, I’ll need to take a raincheck on daddy-daughter time tonight. Pia is moving her stuff into her and Astrid’s apartment today so we’re all going over to help.”
“She promised you all food, didn’t she?” he asked.
“Free food. From Tandor,” I answered.
“Well I can’t argue with that. I’d ditch you for the night if the Kapoors bribed me with food,” Dad stood up—causing Cactus Jack to flop to the floor, but he was too busy with his stick to look upset for more than a few seconds—and kissed me on the top of the head from behind the couch. “Have fun with everyone. Do you need me to watch the pups tonight?”
“I mean, I can bring them with me if you want, but it would probably be easier. I think I might sleep over at Pia’s tonight.”
“You planning a wild party?”
“I’m not, but I’d be surprised if Reese wasn’t,” I answered honestly.
“Well then make sure to take a shot for me and the dogs then,” he said. “But only one. I’d rather not hear about my daughter getting shwasted and running through campus.”
“Dad, I thought you knew me better than that. You’d never hear about it.”
***
“Astrid, you know you’re the one who actually lives here. You could, oh I don’t know, help,” Dom huffed after he and Cole put the couch down in Pia and Astrid’s new living room.
“I carried a box in before you got here,” Astrid said through a mouthful of Chana Masala.
“Well I’ve carried a couch, a table, and two boxes and I haven’t even gotten any food yet,” Dom threw back with his hands on his hips. His face was getting red and I was pretty sure it wasn’t because of carrying a couch in the L.A. heat.
“That’s not my fault,” Astrid shrugged and had another mouthful of food. Dominic’s face was getting redder and it definitely wasn’t because of the heat.
“Okay, why don’t we all take a break,” I interrupted the fight that was definitely about to happen and put down the box I’d carried up behind Cole and Dom.
“Reese is carrying up the last two chairs and there’s only two small boxes left that I can get later so let’s just call it a night,” Pia added in and put down her box next to the door before collapsing on the couch the boys just brought in. “Cole, bring me a tub of chicken korma, will you?”
“Yeah, want anything else?” Cole asked over his shoulder as he walked to the kitchen where the Kapoors had put all of the food they brought us before quickly making their escape.
“Rice and naan would be appreciated. Did my parents bring samosas? If they did I’ll have one of those too,” Pia replied.
“Coming right up.”
We all (excluding Pia who was examining her nails because she decided it was a good idea to get a manicure the day before she moved in to her apartment) watched over the counter top separating the kitchen and the living room as Cole carefully loaded everything Pia asked for onto a plate and what he wanted as well. As Cole came around the counter with two plates of food, Astrid and Dom made a whip sound at the same time, but—after the numerous times at least one of us has done this to Cole over the past few years—they barely earned a glance from him. Out of our group of seven, Cole is definitely the push-over, but when it comes to Pia that trait is definitely pushed to the extreme.
Cole put his and Pia’s food down on the coffee table Astrid brought when she moved in a couple days ago and I went to the kitchen to get my own food just as Reese came up with the last two chairs.
“Are we taking a break?” He asked and sat down in one of the chairs.
“Nope we’re done,”Astrid replied, not even looking up from her tub of food.
“Well it must be because of how much you helped, Astrid,” Reese commented sarcastically as he stood up again and made his way over to me in the kitchen. “What a team player.”
“Slow your roll, my little theater nerd,” Astrid looked up and squinted at him, following his path across the room with her fork. “Dom already tried to pull that shit and I can’t fit both of you up my ass.”
“Don’t have a lot of faith in yourself then, do you?” Reese joked.
“Hardy-har-har,” Astrid deadpanned. “I’ll have you know—”
“I don’t want to know this,” Cole piped in because he’s both the pushover and the sweet, innocent cherub of the group. He just wants to study rocks and pine over Pia from afar.
“I’ll have you know,” Astrid repeated without sparing Cole a glance. “I have it on good authority that I have an excellent ass—a direct quote from one Jason Graham: ‘that was the best anal I’ve ever had.’”
“Yeah, I didn’t want to know that either,” I commented and scrunched up my nose in disgust as I came back into the room with my food and joined Cole and Pia on the couch.
“Too bad neither of us like your genitals,” Dom said. “Right, Reese?”
“Correct, Dominic.”
“An ass is an ass is an ass is an ass,” Astrid said dramatically.
“You know, I love you Astrid, but I don’t actually want to hear about your ass while I’m eating dinner,” Cole said and Pia snorted in response.
“Only while you’re eating dinner?” She laughed. “Maybe you should live with her instead of me.”
“No, I’m fine with boys plus Rose,” he replied.
“Speaking of boys plus Rose,” Reese interrupted and glanced between Dom and Cole. “Rose gets back tomorrow and the semester starts the next day and her reign of fun-sucking will begin so we have to have a party tonight.’’
“I don’t think Rose would appreciate knowing you called her a fun-sucker,” I pointed out.
“Teddy,” Reese looked over at me with his hand to his chest. “You know I love our dearest, sweet Rose, but do you know how many parties we could’ve had last year if she didn’t have to study?”
“It’s true,” Dom piped in. “There were at least six parties that should’ve been.”
“At least,” Reese repeated for emphasis. “We have to have one to make up for all of the lost parties last year. We owe it to ourselves—”
“To the UCLA students,” Cole interrupted.
“Dare I say, the entire world,” Reese finished and I knew they had rehearsed this speech. Cole may be a geo major, but Reese was theater enough for the two of them.
“Stop being so dramatic, Reese,” Astrid rolled her eyes. “It’s just a party.”
“Just a party,” Reese gasped dramatically. “We bought a banner, Astrid. A banner.”
“It says ‘Happy Retirement’ on it,” Cole added.
“Okay that’s cute—dumb, but cute,” I said. “I’m in.”
“I don’t know why y’all are making such a big deal. It’s not like any of us wouldn’t go,” Pia said. “You literally could’ve just said we’re having a party tonight. None of us are going to argue with that.”
“Fine,” Reese huffed. “We’re having a party tonight and you’re all coming.”
“See? Simple.” Pia shrugged. “Now let’s finish this food quickly and get alcohol because I refuse to take room temperature shots.”
***
Pia and I were splitting a handle of UV Blue and I felt like we were back in freshman year—which was exactly what Reese had intended.
Reese had decided that, in honor of our last first party of the school year, we should all drink the alcohol that defined our freshman year. I thought it was adorable and reminiscent until Reese said mine was definitely UV Blue because I drank it the night that I sucked Reese’s freshman year roommate’s dick then vomited off of their 4th story balcony.
Then it wasn’t cute anymore.
But then I had six shots and we started talking about how that was when Reese and I became friends and how our whole group followed shortly after, which meant my dick sucking and vomiting story was a key moment in the making of our friend group. And then it was cute again.
“You know, I’m so glad we did this,” I said, mid-group hug in the middle of Rose’s empty room. Since she couldn’t be here tonight we decided it was only right to pregame in her room.
“You doubted me, Theodore Roosevelt, but I’m always right. Y’know, I should’ve been president instead of you,” Reese replied and I knew he was getting drunk because he was breaking out the dead president jokes.
“Reese, you would be a terrible president,” Dom said. “Actually, I’m pretty sure we’d all be terrible.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Reese stepped back from our group hug to go grab another shot.
“Maybe you should slow down, babe,” Astrid said as she took the shot glass from him. “You took one like two seconds ago, maybe wait like five minutes?”
“Yeah, Niall and two of his friends are coming and they should be here soon. You could take it when they get here as a welcome to our home shot,” Dom added in, looking up from his phone.
I’d met Niall a few times through Dom because they’re both film majors and he was nice enough. He was Irish and I could barely understand him sober, let alone drunk, but everything that I could understand was always nice.
“That sounds good. I’m such a good host,” Reese said mostly to himself.
Despite his insistence that he’d wait until Niall & Co. got here—because that’s what a good host would do and he was ‘practically a ninteen-fucking-fifties housewife level host,’ Astrid kept his shot glass because Reese had a habit of sneaking shots. Which is funny when we laugh about it the next day, but not funny when you have to leave the person you’ve had your eyes on the whole night and are finally hooking up with to rub Reese’s back while he pukes. It’s a little ridiculous the number of times that’s happened to one of us.
“Which roommates?” Cole asked.
“Liam and Harry, I think?” Dom replied. “He was going to bring some girl he was seeing, but I don’t think she could make it.”
“Good. I don’t want any competition,” Reese said.
“There’s no competition, Reese,” Astrid said. “Niall’s straight.”
“So is spaghetti until it gets wet,” Reese replied easily and wiggled his eyebrows because he’s dumb.
“Who’s Harry?” I asked to change the subject.
I definitely knew Liam—a little too well because Pia doesn’t understand what TMI means—but I didn’t think I’d ever heard of Harry before.
“He lived with Niall in the fall last year while you were abroad and then went abroad when you came back in the spring so you probably haven’t met him,” Dom explained. “He’s cool though, you’ll like him.”
“You don’t have to suck his dick and vomit off the balcony again though, we’re all already friends,” Reese said because he’s probably the biggest shit I know. “Also I don’t think our landlord would appreciate someone vomiting off the balcony.”
“Gee thanks for the advice,” I deadpanned. “I’ll try but there’s no promises.”
“That’s all I ask,” Reese shrugged with a smirk on his face.
“They’re downstairs, I’m going to buzz them in,” Dom said, looking up from his phone again.
“Astrid!” Reese called even though she was only a few feet away. “Make the welcome shots. I’ve got to be ready to serve my guests.”
“You’re an idiot, you know that, right?” Astrid asked.
“You’re just jealous that I’m a better host then you,” Reese replied.
“It’s not even my house, Reese,” she said. “I’m not the host.”
“You’re both dumb to me,” Pia said and sipped a glass of wine because apparently she’d given up on our bottle of UV and gotten wine at some point. But I was six shots in so those details were lost on me.
“Hey! What did I do? I’m your roommate, you’re supposed to be nice to me!” Astrid complained.
“And I’m your favorite, you should be even nicer to me,” Reese added in.
“Her favorite?” Astrid turned to look at Reese. “That’s such a lie—I’m her favorite over you.”
“This is why I think you’re both dumb,” Pia said. “And I’m blatantly my own favorite.”
“Honey, we’re ho-ome,” a familiar Irish voice called, announcing Niall & Co.’s arrival and putting an end to Astrid and Reese’s bickering—at least for a little while.
“My guests!” Reese exclaimed excitedly as they appeared in Rose’s doorway. “Come take a shot with me!”
“What do you have?” Liam asked.
“Not even going to say hi then, Liam? Really?” Pia asked.
“Sorry P,” Liam laughed and hugged her. “How’re you then?”
“Good,” she shrugged and pushed him away playfully. “That’s all I needed. Now go get your alcohol.”
As soon as Liam replied with a flirty laugh and some dumb response, I found myself tuning out. I absolutely love Pia, but listening to her flirt with anyone—which meant flirting with them and anyone else with a dick so they knew they’d have to work for it—didn’t interest me in the slightest. Especially knowing that I’d have to spend at least an hour in a post-hookup debriefing with Pia tomorrow and then another hour listening to Cole complain about Pia hooking up with someone while pretending it’s not just because he’s completely in love with her.
“Hi,” an unfamiliar voice said and suddenly some boy I’d never seen before was standing in front of me. “I’m Harry, I don’t think we’ve met.”
“I don’t think we have. I’m Teddy,” I replied and shook his outstretched hand.
I took a second to look him over quickly without being too obvious—even though I probably was because there’s no discreet way to check someone out when they’re right in front of you. But he smirked and looked me over a second later so I assumed it was cool that I did it. And I’m glad I did because he was much more attractive than any of the guys I’d been around this summer. His jeans were a bit tight and would probably be a pain to take off—okay, slow down there, Teddy.
“We definitely haven’t met. I would’ve remembered you,” he said and the amount of vodka I’d had really hadn’t prepared me for this.
“Madame President,” Reese called. “Stop distracting my guests. I’m trying to welcome them into my home.”
“Madame President?” Harry quirked an eyebrow at me.
“It’s a long story,” I replied.
“Well then, I guess I’ll have to find you later so you can tell it to me,” Harry smirked and, even though I’d spent most of my time with my dad and dogs (and sub-par men, but they really aren’t important at this moment in time) this summer, I knew he was definitely flirting with me.
At least I’m pretty sure he was.
“I guess you will,” I smirked back in what could be a flirtatious manner, but could’ve also looked really fucking weird.
“Harry, stop flirting and come drink with me.”
So I guess he was flirting.
***
“Wait so you and your brother and two of your friends were all named after ex-presidents?” Harry asked and took the joint we’d been passing between the two of us for the last few minutes.
He’d found me in the kitchen stealing Reese’s Hot Cheetos from the cabinet about ten minutes ago and wasted no time reminding me that I still had a story to tell him. In the two hours since he’d gotten here, pretty much every other senior that I knew (and a lot of whom I didn’t know) had crammed into Rose and the boys’ apartment, making it a lot hotter and louder than before. Which prompted me to suggest we go outside. Which then prompted Harry to take the joint out of his pocket so we could smoke it while I told him my entire life story.
Or at least the interesting part—which revolved around being named after a dead president.
“Yep,” I nodded. “Pregnant women are weird and very hormonal.”
“I just don’t understand how three women, all with the same last names as ex-presidents, ended up in the same prenatal yoga class.”
“Divine intervention,” I deadpanned.
“You think?” Harry asked in awe and I wasn’t sure if he was an idiot or just high. “Like you were chosen or something?”
“What the fuck?” I laughed. “Chosen?”
“Wow, I’m definitely higher than I thought I was,” he giggled.
“I think I’ll have to agree with you there,” I nodded. “Pass me the joint.”
He held out the joint for me and I took it from him, our hands brushing as I grabbed it.
“Y’know,” he said, looking up from our hands to see me taking a drag. “If this was a RomCom that would’ve been a pretty big moment there.”
“What?” I laughed.
“We had an adorable bonding moment of you telling me the origin of your name. Then I said something dumb, but hopelessly endearing,” he lifted one side of his mouth when he said that and he probably thought he was being cute. He was right. “Which made us both laugh. And then our fingers brushed,” he explained.
“Well then,” I said and took a second drag because I didn’t know what else to do.
“But if this was a proper RomCom—I assume we’re going for genre accuracy, correct?”
“I’d be upset if we weren’t,” I confirmed.
“Then this would be the part where I take your hand,” he took my hand. “And—”
“Have either of you seen Pia?” Cole asked and leaned his body out the doorway, holding it with one hand.
“Not for awhile,” I frowned. “She’s probably around here somewhere. Have you checked Reese’s room? He always makes at least one of us shit talk with him at some point.”
“Yeah he’s got Astrid with him, but no Pia,” Cole said because he’d probably spent the last twenty minutes wandering around the party looking for her.
“She might be with Liam,” Harry interjected and looked at me. “I was with him when he was getting them both drinks when I saw you.”
“Cool,” Cole replied shortly and turned around to leave. I could tell he didn’t think it was cool at all, but he was the idiot who refused to tell her how he felt so I didn’t feel anything sympathy. “I’ll see if I can find them.”
“Oh wait,” Harry said, looking down at his phone, and Cole paused. “Liam texted me like 5 minutes ago. He left with Pia and just wanted Ni and I to know so we wouldn’t look for him.”
“Oh,” Cole said. “That was thoughtful of him. I’ll see you two later.”
Cole turned around and left, closing the door behind him.
“I should go check on him,” I said because even though I said I had no sympathy for Cole, I definitely did. Because I knew first hand how much finding out the person you like just left to hook up with someone else sucks. “He…um…he…”
“Likes Pia?” Harry finished for me. “It’s pretty obvious—does Pia know?”
“No, she’s pretty much the only one who doesn’t,” I said. “Which means moments like this aren’t too uncommon.”
“You’re a good friend,” Harry said. “And I admire that—even if it’s stealing you away from me.”
“You’re a shameless flirt, you know that right?” I commented because the alcohol and the weed (and the compliments) were making me a lot more confident.
“What’s the shame in flirting?” He threw back with a smile and I laughed before turning around to leave.
“Oh, Teddy?” He said and I turned around. He kept eye contact with me and took my hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing the back of it. He pulled back and smiled in a way that momentarily made me rethink leaving to go talk to Cole. “Couldn’t let you leave without finishing our RomCom moment. What a cliffhanger that would be?”
#wow it's almost like me posting the preview yesterday was a hint or something#strange#anyway come talk to me about this#fic:(a)h#(A)H chapter 1#harry styles fanfiction#one direction fanfiction
85 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
msl13
MSL
parallelspdx
/PARALLELS/
sairtv
Main Is A Dumpster Fire
grace-werethesame
We're the same
study-coffee-chicago
Studying, Coffee, & Chicago