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#sophie writes mediocre fics
moonchildmarauder · 3 years
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A Ruke Flower Shop au I guess.....
(this was living in the notes section of my phone and I think it's kinda cute)
Reggie didn't mind working at his grandma's flower shop, Grow Get It was small and generally wasn't too busy. Thought by grandma he meant his neighbour Miss Matthews. She'd looked after him when his parents fought and fought and fought and eventually divorced. They fought over the car but not over him, he was left behind. He lived with her until the social workers found him a foster family, the Molinas. He still visited her flower shop on weekends, she insisted he call her grandma because she had no grandkids of her own (but he thinks she just felt sorry for him). She taught him the meanings of flowers and how to craft a bouquet that had something to say. Now he was seventeen and worked there part-time to save for college.
The morning had been slow and Reggie sat behind the desk writing some lyric ideas in his journal when he heard the bell above the door chime.
"Hey, do you need any help" he smiled and waved, the guy looked up from the bucket of daisies near the door.
"Uh yeah. What flowers say I'm sorry for waking you up in the middle of the night" he said as he shoved his hands into his pockets.
" Well, that's specific. I would probably go with white orchids for regret, purple hyacinths which say please forgive me and baby's breath for love and also because they're tiny and cute" Reggie said as he walked around the store pointing to his suggestions.
"That sounds perfect, how did you know what they mean?" The guy asked as he watched Reggie pick up the flowers he suggested and move towards the desk.
" My grandma taught me, she owns this place. Can I ask why you woke someone up in the middle of the night?" Reggie looked up from his work.
"Yeah my band was rehearsing and we didn't realise what time it was and Willie's  parents woke up" he rushed a blush spreading across his cheeks; he was obviously embarrassed.
"Oh you're in a band" Reggie asked as he wrapped the bouquet in brown paper.
"Yeah, our bassist just quit though and we lost our rhythm guitarist a few months back" he said as he leaned on the counter "we've been practicing without them but it's not going well so far" he laughed as he scratched the back of his neck.
"Well if you ever need someone to fill in I play bass and a sister who kills on piano" Reggie held out the bouquet for the mystery boy to take.
" This looks great, and seriously dude?"
"Yeah, here's my number in case you need someone to fill in" reggie scrawled his number on a scrap of wrapping paper.
"I'm Luke by the way" the boy in the beanie said as he took out his wallet.
"I'm Reggie and it's $12 for the bouquet"
"Cool" Luke smiled as he exchanged his cash for the slip of paper with Reggie's number.
"See you around then?" Luke asked as he moved towards the door.
"Yeah hopefully" Reggie laughed, his face turning a slight bit pink as he wondered if he would ever hear from Luke again. 
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samingtonwilson · 4 years
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Mac and Cheese
Summary: Bucky takes the last box of frozen mac and cheese, takes your phone, and makes you fall in love with him. The audacity of that man.
Prompt: “This has been a very bad week and you just grabbed the last box of my favorite comfort food at the supermarket” 
Pairing: bucky x reader
a/n: i wrote this and was fully done formatting it and everything, like, 6 months ago. i didn’t post it because it’s approx. 82% nonsense but i figured why not post it now when it’s still 82% nonsense but im struggling to finish everything else. so taal, long time vegan, writes a story about mac and cheese and, listen, idk what this fic is either. can i write a fic without adding sam to it? no.
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Mac and cheese. That’s all you want. Disgusting, frozen, usually-quite-mushy-if-not-microwaved-correctly mac and fucking cheese. 
The kind with the layer of cheese on top. The kind with that real elbow pasta, not rotini or penne or seashell pasta— real macaroni. The kind you try to only eat one serving size of before you eat everything in the package. The kind you always gravitate to when your eyes are stained red, swollen, and too proud to be anything other than dry.
You take the subway. You switch lines. You endure the smell of the F train during rush hour when you aren’t sure where your thigh ends and the thigh of the woman sitting beside you begins. All for that one Trader Joe’s, out of many, in Brooklyn the hipsters abandon before six because the coffee shop next door closes at five.
Your feet ache in your boots and you’re pretty sure a rock has somehow lodged itself between your toes, it’s starting to rain and you have no umbrella, you don’t think your throat has ever felt so parched. 
But you tuck your phone into your back pocket and march into that store with the hideous overhead lighting that makes your skin look like it hasn’t seen a bottle of toner in days like you’re Hades, the box of mac and cheese is Persephone, and Trader Joe’s is Mount Olympus.
You aren’t planning on smiling at anyone in greeting. You aren’t planning on making eye contact with anyone. You aren’t even planning on waiting politely behind whoever is inevitably idly standing in front of the pasta section of the frozen aisle— you’re going to say, “Excuse me.” Like the badass, New Yorker, on-the-verge-of-tears bitch you are and you’re going to toss that mac and cheese into your basket like you’re Steph Curry at the NBA Finals.
Lines are long when you walk in, cashiers bored-looking and tired. The produce section is a jungle of stay at home fathers and people who make their own pressed juice, the salad display a mess of college students trying to eat healthy. 
Your eyes accidentally meet those of a toddler who is slyly plucking a grape from a bag he had no intention of spending his allowance on and you smile.
You hold your basket like a designer handbag and dilly-dally only for a moment to pick up some yogurt for breakfast tomorrow. 
And some inauthentic babka because there’s no way in hell you’re going to endure Zabar’s after this. 
And a package of olive oil popcorn, a bottle of three dollar chardonnay, and string cheese. 
But that’s it. Self-control.
You feel the chill of the frozen aisle before you step into it. You feel the magnetic pull of that box with only one step in its direction. You stop for just a second to grab the mini mango and cream pops.
You almost roll your eyes to yourself when you see that someone is indeed standing right in front of the frozen selection of pasta. He’s staring at two boxes— a red one in his gloved left hand and the one in his right hand green.
As you grow closer you notice behind his curtain of dark hair that his eyebrows are knit together and he’s frowning at a decision he must be forcing himself to make. 
Sophie’s Choice, but involving mediocre excuses for Italian food and no Nazis— hopefully. Because who really knows these days?
He wears a forest green hoodie under a black leather jacket, black jeans tight around thick thighs. Boots, too. You think you might swoon.
And you wait behind him. You tap your foot, shift your weight, and chew on your bottom lip. You don’t say anything.
He looks over his shoulder when you curse under your breath and set the heavy basket at your feet. He’s apologetic— and handsome— by the looks of it, blue eyes slightly widened and lips downturned. “Shit,” he says as he takes a few steps to the right. “I’m sorry.”
You shrug. You kick your basket with the toe of your boot until it lightly smacks against the bottom of the freezer. “No problem. It’s a big decision.”
His eyes lift from the boxes and he smiles. “Biggest one I’ve gotten to make in a while.”
Setting your hands atop the cold metal railing, you stare down into the freezer. You see farfalle with roasted tomatoes, rigatoni with pesto, ricotta and spinach ravioli, roasted vegetable lasagna, cauliflower gnocchi, chicken parm, and… an empty space. 
You tilt your head.
You lean away and crouch to read the description cards, looking for the bubble letters to tell you where on Earth your saving grace is. When you spot the card, you stand again. The indicated space is empty, your heart is empty, your will to live is—
A box of organic pesto tortellini is tossed back into the freezer and you look up. Your eyes might lose their prideful dryness at any moment, even in public next to that handsome stranger with the nice jacket and,
the box of mac and cheese.
You gasp audibly and leap backwards. You point at the box in his left hand.
With an expression of panic, he holds his hands— and the box— up in innocence. “It’s okay. I’m not—”
“What the fuck is that?” you shout to gain the attention of customers you don’t even perceive, waggling your finger at the box. Your wide-eyed stare, and bared teeth, and messy hair must be terrifying. You hope they are.
He looks down at his hand. An eyebrow lifts. And, confusedly, he asks, “The box?”
“Yes, the fucking box!”
“It’s mac and—” he meets your gaze again. You’re wearing your anger like armor. But you aren’t scared. Bucky thinks he might never have felt such relief at a woman’s anger. “It’s mac and cheese.”
You shake your head. Wildly. Your neck hurts. “It’s the last box of mac and cheese!”
He glances at the box, then back at you. He jabs his thumb over his shoulder. “They might have some in the back—”
You shake your head again. A hint of devastation cracks your voice as you say, “It’s Monday night. Trader Joe’s restocks Tuesday night. This is usually all they have left.”
“I—” He pauses. “Is this shit really that good—”
“No, it’s not but that’s not the point!” you’re shouting again. And crying. Oh, God, you’re crying. In public. “The point is my building is going co-op!”
He tilts his head. “Your building is—”
“And I have to buy my apartment if I want to keep it! And they don’t give raises at my job to women unless they’re willing to suck something I won’t say in front of that kid right there,” you nod toward a little girl in a pink raincoat with her pin straight black hair in pigtails who stares at you in bewilderment. You sniffle. “So I quit. And I’m proud of myself for it. Because I have integrity, and I have self-respect, and I have no gag reflex, so the rejection should kill my boss dead.”
He cracks a small smile when you let out a short, watery, pathetic laugh. Easily, he holds the box out to you. “I hope your boss is dead, too.”
You laugh again and don’t hesitate before taking the box. You wipe your cheeks with your sleeve. “Thank you. You’re nice.”
“Not a popular opinion, but one I’ll certainly take.” He’s smiling and it’s warm. “Sorry— about all that.”
“You’re apologizing to me? I just screamed at you in the Trader Joe’s freezer aisle over mac and cheese.”
He shakes his head and picks up his own basket when you grab yours. “Your building’s going co-op and your boss deserves to burn in hell. You should get all the mac and cheese you want.”
You reach into the freezer for that green box of tortellini he’d thrown in, tossing it into his basket with a smile. Steph Curry at the NBA Finals. “Still. I’m sorry for yelling and I hope the tortellini doesn’t suck too bad.”
“It’s frozen pasta. My expectations are low.”
You hum a laugh and walk past him to the crowded lines at the registers. “As they should be.”
It’s when you’re lost in the sea of customers and Bucky is deciding between frozen palak paneer and frozen lamb vindaloo with basmati rice that he feels a tug at the hem of his jacket. 
He looks away from the green and orange boxes, lowering his gaze to meet curious almond-shaped eyes beneath blunt black bangs. He smiles and she returns it. “Yes?”
She reveals her right hand, which she had hidden behind her pink raincoat, and holds a phone up to Bucky as far as her arm will let her.
“Is that your phone?”
She shakes her head and giggles. Loud, happy, and squeaky. “Yelling lady dropped her phone.”
Bucky’s eyebrows knit together until a woman, much closer to his height, steps behind the little girl. She takes the phone the girl holds out and offers it to Bucky when he straightens his posture. Her smile looks like the little girl’s. “We figured you would have a good chance at getting it back to her.”
He takes the phone and nods his thanks. Pressing the power button reveals a picture of you and a dog, a large, fluffy dog with its pink tongue hanging low. You’re smiling brightly and, oddly, it seems like the dog is, too.
“So you just took her phone? Didn’t even ask an employee to keep it there in case she came back for it?”
Bucky, watching the tray of pasta rotate in the microwave, scowls. “I would’ve if I’d known that was an option. And stop eating my fuckin’ chips.”
Sam tosses back another handful of kettle-cooked barbecue potato chips in defiance so the obnoxious crunching echoes through the kitchen. He smiles sarcastically when Bucky snatches the bag and rolls it up. Half is already gone. “You come up with how you’re gonna get it back to her?”
“Thinkin’ about asking Pepper to post a picture of it like it’s a missing child to that ‘Tweeter’ nonsense,” Bucky replies dryly. He’s glaring at Sam as he leans his hip against the counter. “You and I both know I haven’t come up with shit.”
Sam snorts and is smiling in amusement, deep brown eyes alight. Bucky hates the sight. “Tweeter. You’re so fuckin’ old.”
It’s been hours since Bucky took the phone from who he learned is little Vivienne and her mother, and he is no closer to getting it back to you. 
He’d tried looking for you at the store but there were too many people for a Trader Joe’s that Yelp claimed was the least busy in New York for that to yield results. So he returned to the Tower. He thought about asking Tony to look into the doohickey but figured an invasion of privacy should be the last resort.
He pulls the tray from the microwave with nimble vibranium fingers and sniffs the pasta before setting it down on the counter. He removes a bowl from one of the cabinets and dumps the steaming pasta in it, a sprinkle of freshly grated parmesan from a tub he’d bought— also at Trader Joe’s— a finishing touch.
“She’s cute,” Sam says when the screen lights up with an incoming text notification.
Bucky spins his fork between his fingers as he walks around the counter to sit on the barstool beside Sam’s. He glances at the phone as well. “Very cute,” he agrees. “She had a shitty day. Something about her apartment goin’ co-op. Whatever the hell that means.”
Sam frowns. “Means she’s gotta buy the place. And with New York real estate prices right now,” he shakes his head with a sigh. “She better have a well-paying job.”
“Quit that today, too.” Bucky takes a bite of the pasta and hisses as it burns his tongue. “Boss is a creep that asked for some action in exchange for a raise.”
“Jesus. Poor girl.”
The tortellini isn’t great. It’s a little bland, a bit too dry, and there isn’t enough filling— but it’s better than Bucky had expected. He takes another bite. “Yeah. And I took the last box of mac and cheese. Which is what she went to the store for.”
“I’m surprised your head wasn’t chopped off.”
Bucky smiles. “She yelled— a lot. Was crying, too, ‘til she said something and made herself laugh.”
Sam then begins teasing Bucky juvenilely for having a crush until both men are laughing and shoving one another to see who falls off their stool first, Sam only relenting when Bucky hands the potato chips to him again as a peace offering.
The bowl is in the sink and the chips are down to just crumbs when a loud ringtone— an instrumental version of an R&B song Bucky recognizes from Sam’s many plays of the original— shocks the two of them.
It’s from an unknown number and Bucky is unsure if he should pick up until Sam swipes answer and puts the call on speakerphone. “Hello?”
A sigh. Bucky doesn’t know if it’s one of relief or frustration. “I’m hoping whoever this is found my phone and didn’t steal it.”  
Sam shoves Bucky’s shoulder with a toothy grin and Bucky rolls his eyes. “The little girl you almost traumatized in the freezer aisle found it and gave it to me.”
Another sigh— the relief in this one is obvious— and you’re laughing. “It’s you— tortellini dude. Must’ve fallen when I crouched down.”
“Seems like it, yeah.”
“So are you gonna ask for my address or do I have to schlep over to Avengers Tower?”
Bucky and Sam exchange a look. “Avengers Tower?”
“You weren’t exactly in disguise— I realized who you are the minute I left the store. Would’ve recognized you right away but I was in my own head and you aren’t my favorite Avenger.”
Bucky smiles. “Yeah? And who is?”
“Falcon.”
Immediately, the phone is taken from Bucky’s hand. “Hi, baby, you’ve got Falcon.”
A gasp, a pause, then you laugh. Audibly stunned laughter. “You guys actually hang out with each other? That’s cute.”
Before Sam can reply, Bucky flicks his forehead— in reply to which Sam elbows Bucky’s ribs— and takes the phone back. “I can bring your phone to you whenever you’re free.”
“Awesome. I’m unemployed now so any time tomorrow is fine.”
You tell him your address before hanging up and he wishes you a good night. Your laughter is the last thing he hears before three beeps signify the end of the call.
Bucky takes the subway. He switches lines to the F train. He tries not to mind the overpowering smell of stale B.O. and deli meat leftover from rush hour, the skittering steps of a rat across the floor in the adjacent empty car. He ignores those who stare at him intensely enough to burn the fabric right off his skin. All for that one apartment in SoHo.
He thinks the gash below his ribs might still be leaking as the warm, moist subway station air blows past him. He can feel that cluster of bruises above his knee— the one from the pipe the hostile operative had ripped off the rickety walls of a nearly destroyed Hydra base— every time he takes a step, more so as he climbs the stairs.
He knows he must be quite a sight with combat boots and tac pants worn and dusty, a simple bomber jacket thrown over a ripped, sliced, stained compression tank. His mind is blank, his eyes shadowy, the ghost of something terrible lurking behind blue and grey. 
Posture stiff and muscles cold, steps crisp despite the ache, he follows the familiar path and manages to form the thought of turning around. Not bringing this all to a threshold— or, more accurately, a windowsill— he’s only crossed three or four times. He’s too weak, though.
It takes one rap of his knuckles against the third-story window for a lamp to flicker on, gauzy drapes pushed aside. You smile as he lifts the window open, stepping aside as he enters the apartment with careful grace. He feels less guilty when he sees that your bed is still made and your hair isn’t the tangled mess it usually is when he bursts in at a late hour.
“I have a door.”
“Okay, show-off.”
It’s when he steps into the light of the standing lamp in the room’s corner that your quiet laughter gives way to a soft gasp. 
He doesn’t like the widening of your eyes or the way you gently lift the right side of his jacket, fingers light against the torn fabric. But you laugh again, and it shakes in nervousness. “You know I’m not a doctor, right? Or a nurse? Or even a pharmacist with high self-efficacy?”
He nods and, despite himself, there’s a smile pulling at a corner of his lips. His eyes brighten a little. “It’ll heal itself.”
“Confidence. I like that in a burglar.”
Before he can take a step further into your bedroom, you click your tongue against the roof of your mouth and point at his feet. “Boots.”
He kicks them off with a sigh and a groan when the shifting of his knee sends a tremor up his leg. His jacket is tossed aside as well, and he catches the black t-shirt you throw to him. You’d washed it, folded it, and put it in your closet. 
Just a little more brightness. “You owe me mac and cheese.”
“Oh, I owe you mac and cheese? We’re really holding onto shit from four months ago?”
He nods again and pulls his tank off, withholding a wince.
Eyebrow raised, you cross your arms over your chest. You’re giving him a narrow look but, because you’re clearly struggling against a smile, it’s one of his favorites of the expressions you’ve ever offered him. 
You give him a towel next— pastel blue. “Shower and then we’ll see about me owing you something.”
He wants to say thank you, do more than smile. 
But he knows if he so much as opens his mouth while you’re looking at him the way you are, he’ll tell you he’s fallen in love with you over the last four months, that maybe he’s been in love since you screamed at him in the freezer section of Trade Joe’s. 
He’ll go to say thank you, but the words of a Byron poem he’d learned to impress a girl in his English class more than eighty years ago will come pouring out or he’ll simply kiss you like he wishes he could on the nights he can’t sleep or during the missions he can just barely endure. 
He’ll go to say thank you, and then tell you with no clarity whatsoever that you’re what he finds comfort in when he’s had a hard day. That the disgusting, mushy, nothing-compared-to-fresh mac and cheese is just an excuse.
But he just smiles. And nods. And takes a shower.
His hair is still wet as he stands across from you at the kitchen counter. There’s a bowl of steaming pasta between you, a spoon in his hand and a fork in yours. “You’re dripping onto the counter.”
With a cocking of his eyebrow, he shakes his head and you sputter a laugh, shoving his shoulder. “Bucky!”
He laughs then, fully and happily, as he reaches over to wipe the drops from your cheeks and forehead. You only smile back, the gleaming of your eyes making him feel warm all over.
“This shit’s terrible, by the way,” he says after a minute of staring.
You shrug a shoulder. “Told you.”
“And you fought me for it. Publicly.”
You shrug again and laugh. You lean your elbows atop the counter to match his relaxed posture, dragging a noodle through a particularly large puddle of melted cheese. 
Looking up, your nose nearly bumps Bucky’s and you hope he doesn’t hear your breath stall. You try to smile. “Makes me feel better when I need to fill that hole in my heart.”
“With cholesterol?” he jokes.
“Yes. It’s excellent. It’s like spackle.” As he laughs and you roll your eyes, you push off the counter to stand straight. “I’m glad you’re back.”
“Yeah?”
You hum. “I’m seeing an apartment I want tomorrow and need the rent lowered. And you’re the Winter Soldier.”
He considers that for a moment and you burst into laughter just as his eyes narrow into a fond glare. “You want me to scare them into lowering the rent?”
“Don’t think of it as you scaring them,” you begin, rounding the counter to stand next to him, hip leant against the marble, “think of it as you being an amazing friend and helping me.” A moment later you add, “By scaring them.”
He chuckles and shakes his head. He glances at the bowl to avoid the risk of staring at you for too long. “Fine.”
You grin. “You really take no convincing.”
A snort and he meets your gaze. “Only when it comes to you. I’m afraid you’ll start crying again.”
“So I could ask you for anything and you’d probably say yes?”
He shrugs a bit, then nods. Who is he kidding? You could ask for his right arm and he’d give it to you.
“Okay. Go on a date with me then.”
There’s a pause— in the conversation, in his chest. “A what?”
“A date. It’s like dinner, or coffee, or a movie, or something.” You grin when he takes half a step in your direction and his hands grip onto the counter at either side of you. “It’s this thing people do when they like each other.”
Something much more than like is in the sparkling of your eyes and the tilt of your head. Something that might match exactly what’s in his eyes whenever he’s around you. His insides burn at the thought.
“I know what a date is.”
“They had those back in your day?”
He nods and leans forward. “Not from the Stone Ages.”
Your lips brush lightly against his, hand set on his chest to feel the rapid beating beneath. You smile and he thinks he might melt. “Could’ve fooled me with that hair.”
Laughing, he presses his lips to yours a little harder.
Apartment littered with unpacked boxes, misplaced books, and askew furniture, you sit on top of the counter where Bucky works. He’s twirling a knife through his metal fingers, arranging sprigs of chives on the cutting board with the flesh ones. 
He smiles when he catches you staring at the pan cooling on the stove. “S’not done yet.”
You sigh. Loudly, heavily. “You took it out of the oven. That means it’s done.”
“It needs to cool for a few minutes or you’ll burn off your taste buds. You want to burn off your taste buds?”
“You want to burn off your taste buds?” you repeat in a high-pitched, taunting voice. You’re scowling and, somehow, look to be on the verge of snatching the knife from him to stab it through his chest. “Maybe I do.”
Less than a minute later, you groan and add, “I don’t care how good you are in bed. I’m about ten seconds from dumping you.”
Swiftly, he chops the chives and turns around to sprinkle a bit into the baking dish. “You know, most people would say thank you.”
“Most people don’t have to wait an hour while their boyfriend attempts to make mac and cheese when there’s a perfectly good box in the freezer that would take four minutes.”
“It’s worth it.”
In all honesty, he doesn’t know if it’s worth it. 
He’d asked Sam for a recipe and did his best to follow it despite the autocorrect which had changed “gruyere” to “grape year.” But he trusts it since Sam generally knows what he’s doing in the kitchen. Unlike Steve who had continuously attempted to chime in with useless suggestions such as, “Maybe don’t add the paprika.”
“Just trust me,” he urges as if replying to the growling of your stomach which has interrupted his search for the plates he could’ve sworn he’d unpacked. He’s crouched and searching the lower cabinets as he adds, “You’ll fall in love with me after you try it.” 
“Who says I haven’t already?” 
He stops searching.
He peeks his head above the edge of the counter and, his eyes wide, he sees you pulling two plates from a box placed on the small nook table. Your smile is small and a bit sheepish— the latter something he’d never seen from you. 
“You never took them out,” you tell him, the clatter of ceramic on the wooden surface loud when you set the plates down. As you approach and he stands to his full height, you sigh and roll your eyes at the look he gives you. “Yes, I love you. It can’t be that shocking.”
“It isn’t.” 
“Someone should tell your face that.”
Chuckling over the heavy thumps in his chest, he leans forward to kiss you but pauses just to say, “I love you, too, by the way.” 
When an empty dish sits between the two of you, Bucky’s stomach warm and full of over three-quarters of it, you stand from the table and walk to the freezer. 
Shooting a smile over your shoulder, you grab the familiar red box and toss it into the stainless steel trash can. Steph Curry at the NBA Finals. “I’m never eating that shit again.”
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evilwickedme · 3 years
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ok so to sum up my feelings for leverage: redemption, season 1(a): (long post warning, there’s a tl;dr at the end)
I knew that Hardison wouldn’t be in most of the season due to Aldis Hodge being a busy bee nowadays, but I didn’t realize that meant he’d only be around for the first two episodes. He was sorely missed, not only because of my attachment to him, but also because he’s usually the grounding factor in the group dynamic, and his role as info guy and tech guy was split evenly between two characters who had their own issues.
That said, Hardison is absolutely a highlight of the two episodes he’s in. his speech about redemption was everything I could’ve hoped for (plus, more evidence for the Jewish!Hardison pile...). I wish we’d gotten to see more of his dynamic with Breanna because what we saw was funny and sweet and we don’t generally get to see Hardison taking care of somebody who so desperately needs taking care of. I hope that Aldis Hodge is around for more episodes in 1(b), because what we’re left with feels a little hollow.
Sticking to original leverage characters for now, for the most part the leverage crew still felt true to the original series as characters, even if the show itself was a little bit confused at times. The actors understand their characters and embody them so well that I think one could give them the trashiest script ever and they’d still sell it. Sophie is a particular focus in 1(a) because of Nate’s death, and she’s particularly well written as a result.
That said, I’m super bitter that we saw little to no mastermind!Parker. Parker’s character being given the mastermind role was a big deal and it feels like they’re walking it back because they feel uncomfortable with it. It is eventually given an in-text excuse, but literally in the last episode, and it was not a particularly convincing reason, and in fact contradicted moments from previous episodes (Sophie leaving for a client meeting and ignoring Parker in ep3 comes to mind). It’s frustrating, it makes the end of the original leverage feel pointless, and letting Parker make a decision once in a while is not the same thing at all. The original series repeatedly showed us that while everyone in the team had their strengths, Parker works problems and solves them in unique, interesting ways, and other characters’ days in the limelight tended to be comedic or even failures. It’s a broken promise, and a pretty major broken promise at that.
On a more positive note, Parker’s dynamic with literally everyone was fantastic. She’s possibly the best written character this season. They’ve taken the autism out of the subtext and into the text (although obviously still undiagnosed), and given her coping mechanisms that were taken seriously in the text even when they were played for laughs, which I appreciated. Her attempts to mentor Breanna were sweet, her friendship with Sophie was electric and at times (CRIMES) hilarious, and as usual, she has a fantastic dynamic with Eliot that makes my heart burst. If you don’t think they’re romantically involved, at least acknowledge there’s a life partnership here. They’ve spent the last decade together.
(We’ll get to Harry.)
Eliot isn’t given much arc-wise, which is frustrating since he’s my favorite. He’s being presented as the goal at the end of a redemption arc, ie to keep working at it every day until your soul heals or whatever, and it doesn’t reflect the message they’re trying to convey via Hardison’s speech and our two new characters. He’s got his moments, but I think they under utilized his potential.
Breanna!!! Breanna’s my new favorite, except for Eliot. She’s hilarious, she’s insecure, she’s nerdy and excited in a way that’s similar to Hardison but still distinct in its inherent teenage-girl-ness and I LOVE IT. Unlike the previous series, where Hardison’s “age of the geek” was often a joke played on Hardison, we’re at the point where Eliot and Parker are both right there with him, and so they accept and even appreciate Breanna’s nerdiness. Also, canon gay character? In YOUR Leverage? It’s more likely than you think.
(No, I never thought they’d make ot3 canon on screen. I hoped, but I didn’t think it would actually happen.)
I think Breanna’s the character that will be the most interesting to see grow. She’s got a lot of potential and a list of crimes a mile long (or more). I adore her with all my heart. I want to see her tiktok account.
Harry. Oh, Harry.
It took me a while, but I do like Harry. It took a while, because the narrative positioned him at the same level as Nate back in episode 1 of original Leverage. But in episode 1 we didn’t know the other characters. We had Nate as the POV character, and so we cared about him because we were seeing the world through his eyes. (This is TV Studies 101. I know this, because I took TV Studies 101 in 2019.) In Leverage: Redemption, we no longer have a POV character, for several reasons:
Nate, previously the POV character, is dead.
As it is, by mid-season 3 of leverage Nate was no longer a POV character. This is, coincidentally, the point where the leverage writers realized they had four other characters in the main cast they could do something with, and in-universe, Nate accepted that he was a thief, not a special Good Man.
Sophie is sort of a POV character for the first episode of the revival, but only for the first few minutes. Afterwards, the series settles into the groove of seasons 3-5, i.e., the entire crew is our POV. We know our crew, and we love them as is.
Narratively, however, Redemption insists on positing Harry as the POV character, because it is his redemption we are pursuing most vehemently. And I think they really relied on us already knowing the actor - I’ve never seen him in anything before, so to me he was a completely fresh face and they put almost no effort into selling him to me. Beyond being competent and consistently mildly baffled by the antics of the leverage crew, I honestly don’t know who this man is by the end of EIGHT episodes with him. I have a much better handle on Breanna by the end of 1(a), and I can tell you I knew all five of the original leverage crew better by the end of the first episode of the original series than I do Harry. What’s the name of his daughter, John Rogers. Is he still married. How old is the daughter. Why is none of this worth mentioning. Give him a sense of humor that isn’t reacting to other people’s shenanigans. I’m so frustrated. It’s bad writing.
I did manage to grow to like Harry by the end, but I’m pretty sure this is down to Noah Wyle’s charismatic portrayal of an under-developed character, at least partially. And I never stopped being frustrated at not knowing who this man is at all.
The two highlights of the season are undoubtedly episodes five and six. Episode five was the first time I felt like the episode was more than a collection of good moments between the main cast and mediocre moments between the main cast and also the main plot. The issues with pacing and tone that I suffered through for most of the season were mostly non-existent in ep5 and 6, and at least in episode 5 I attribute that to the pared down cast. They had time to focus not only on our actual characters - Sophie, Parker, Breanna - but also on the case. This is the only client from 1(a) I am going to remember next week without googling it first, mark my words.
Episode six worked for the exact opposite reason - it completely disregarded the client and plot and immersed itself in the characters. Breanna gets a moment to shine, but everybody else gets their bits and I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the script that was most fun to write. The characters felt natural, real, and captured the found-family dynamic that’s been missing all season for the first time.
While episode 2 is the weakest episode, I don’t actually have much to say about it. I am disappointed in episode 8. For a mid-season finale, I really expected them to do something. Instead, it was an episode about Nate Ford that copped out of being about Nate Ford (both with fake-Nate and with the new version of him being relayed to us). I would have told the writers to give that energy back to episode 1 and write an episode that’s about anybody who isn’t Harry, oh my God. I know I said I grew to like him but so many episodes were about Harry. He’s the newbie! Why didn’t Hardison get an episode that was actually about him, considering he was only around for two episodes? Why does Eliot have to be the butt of the joke when the theme of the series should directly tie back to him in a much more meaningful way? The last episode parodies their own tagline by saying Eliot isn’t just a hitter, but it deftly avoids noticing that they’ve turned him into nothing more than very muscly comic relief, including in that very episode!
Also, I hated the Marshal. Eliot actively looked uncomfortable around her.
tl;dr
The season took a while, that’s definitely true. But it did find its footing eventually, and by the halfway mark of 1(a) it finally felt cohesive again. The characters were played fantastically even when they weren’t well-written, and if nothing else, the humor landed every time. It still has its kinks and problems to work out, but if you look at it as a brand new show rather than a continuation of one that went off the air over eight years ago, it’s actually doing rather well. I’m choosing to judge it in both lights - according to its own standards, it establishes its identity in episode five; according to Leverage standards, it establishes its connection to its roots in episode six. Either way, I thoroughly enjoyed 1(a), and continue to have high hopes for 1(b).
fic writing will commence in three, two, one...
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rebamacncheese · 2 years
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If there weren’t the parameters of ‘classic Disney pop song’ in THSR, what genre(s) of music would the main cast enjoy/sing? I don’t know why, but Marie gives me queer pop (comp het Marie) and/or hard rock/heavy metal (doesn’t give a shit anymore Marie) vibes.
Specific artist vibes I get from the main cast are MUNA (comp het Marie) and Plush for Marie, Meg & Dia for Anna, Jake Wesley Rogers for Kristoff, and Haywood for Elsa. (Silk Chiffon Elsa and Marie duet??? 👀👀)
Oh shit. This is maybe my favorite ask I've gotten :D
I'm going to have to look all of those people up, but your guess sounds not wrong. So much of what I listened to while writing Marie's story is SOPHIE and Against Me!, so it's hard for me not to think of them as bound to her. Also the new Miley Cyrus rock album Plastic Hearts, with Joan Jett and Billy Idol cameos, really felt in-sync for her disaster villain era - also the Weeknd.
I think Kristoff is *intensely* into the Mountain Goats, to the point where he doesn't talk about it much, because its so personal to him. He's a bit of a rock snob besides that - he'd have thoughts about Oasis albums - but also knows all the words to Cher's Heart of Stone.
Elsa I genuinely get like, Kate Bush/Tori Amos/Bjork vibes from. She is absolutely a Mitski girl. I think she really goes for *voices*, deep cuts for her are Dusty Springfield and Minnie Riperton, and whenever Adele releases a new album, she's indisposed for a few days. She and Marie can talk for hours about Marina and the Diamonds - though they like different songs of hers. Elsa felt disappointed by Ancient Dreams, Marie thinks its the best one yet.
Anna and Ryder I think have a bit overlap, with both being into more mainstream poppier music. Anna really likes Lizzo. Ryder loves Lil Nas X. Carpool karaoke is an adventure between them and Kristoff. Ryder/Kristoff crossover is vintage David Bowie and Prince. Kristoff/Anna crossover is recent Harry Styles (she's liked Harry since one direction, and it's killing Kristoff to admit that he thinks he's good now). Anna/Ryder crossover is Charli XCX, and he's getting her into Dorian Electra.
Anton likes ABBA. Tosia likes video game soundtracks. Olaf likes Lemon Demon.
(this is all heavily colored by my personal taste, lol - the world of music the vast, and I'm sure there's a lot that I haven't considered that would be good too!)
For music they play, Kristoff and Marie have guitar man vs piano person rivalry vibes. One scrap of Marie lore that never made into the story is that one of her older brothers is a musical prodigy, and he taught her how play piano. She considers herself to be quite mediocre by comparison - she can play decent covers, where her brother is composing symphonies for his muse.
I do have a THSR playlist I've been meaning to post for a while - made of all the songs I put in the "suggested listening" notes of the fic, and some additional tracks.
https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PL6mA_7_doNMzcVL-iU6_1GbLBpYB0CuHQ
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sporesman replied to your post “maddie i was wondering what your favorite episodes of tng are, ive...”
i totally agree the more cerebral and weird lonely kind of episode were the best, this selection represents u rlly well!
rascals was so good and fun i even tried to find some fan fic kind of stories about it, picard back at star fleet academy!, but as u can image people decided to write slash kinds of things for it ;/ EW
thats exactly how i feel about masks, there were so many compelling aspects like brent spiner's acting, with an equal number of bad writing aspects. probably why people feel torn about the episode! but i feel like the general vibe... is really cool
silence has it's lease was super freaky especially that 'trying to be humanoid' face. the plot didnt really make sense though if i recall
sub rosa was also the worse episode of all time maybe of all star trek.
sorry i took so long to respond lol! i had to look up a few of the episode names and forgot! u have great taste as always
you know i love the weird horror-y character based stuff!! “where silence has lease” is a kinda thin episode overall (it’s a bottle show and you can certainly tell), but man if worf and riker seeing themselves through the doors of the other bridges and running through only to end up in the same loop isn’t truly creepy........the rest of the episode is mediocre but that particular scene has always stuck with me “rascals” and “disaster” are the light flip side of those types of episodes because they’re still character driven but there’s obviously much more of the fun element in those plots; also HOW has no one written a straightforward fun approach to picard returning to the academy to become wesley’s roommate and hang out with boothby.........must i do everything myself..........
“masks” really was like watching bad theatre that both takes itself too seriously and throws caution and any sense of rationality out the window, which makes it both terrible but enjoyable sdfjkdsjfkl; like you said though i think there are quite a few compelling elements that i think are worth watching the episode for; on the other hand “sub rosa” is actual garbage and should never be watched by anyone ever!! the only other episodes that i despise that much are “the paradise syndrome” and “turnabout intruder” from TOS (just truly unsalvageable, horrible writing) and “shades of grey” from TNG (why would we ever do clip shows ever)
and omg no worries with taking time to respond, sophie!! you always have such great insight into media and i just enjoy hearing everything you have to say ✨
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lesbian-sora · 6 years
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Only Fools
Summary ~ School is hard. School is harder when you’re a loser who has more bullies than friends. School is even harder when you have a crush on the most amazing guy in the world, even if your friends can’t see it. School is damn impossible when your friends coerce you into participating in the school play with the most amazing guy in the world. 
Dan and Phil’s experience falls into the impossible category, but maybe together (with some help from the King himself) they can make it out alive and well.
Tags ~ Fluff, high school AU, friends to lovers, theatre kids, mutual pining, slow burn, slight angst, not actually unrequited love
Words ~ 7106/~35K
Warnings ~ Swearing
Rating ~ Teen
Author’s Note ~ Hi guys! This fic was originally supposed to be one of my fics for Phandom Big Bang 2016, but things came up. I recently blew the dust off of it, and I really liked it, so it’s getting revamped and published! Updates will most likely be once a month for the next 4 months (I may up that posting schedule if writing/editing goes well and people actually like it) and I look forward to all of you getting to read it! Also, this will be my first chaptered fic that I’m posting one part at a time, so that’s exciting!
Prompt me!
Buy me a coffee!
Next chapter!
Read on AO3
                                                     Act I Scene I
There honestly weren’t very many people Louise Pentland disliked. She was bubbly and personable, meaning she got along with just about everyone she came in contact with, and she quite liked it that way. Everything from her approachable smile to her mothering attitude made it so people were drawn to her and she to them.
That being said, she absolutely despised Phil Lester.
Was it unfair, petty, and totally unreasonable? Absolutely. In all honesty, Phil would probably be voted nicest guy in the school, if anyone were to take a poll. Was he was a bit weird? Most certainly.  However, it was a completely harmless weird. It was quirky and odd like that store on the edge of town that dealt solely in the manufacture and sale of cat-themed gnomes. If she were to be straight with herself, she would admit that Phil had never knowingly or unknowingly harmed, damaged or even seriously upset herself or anyone she remotely knew, simply because that wasn’t the type of person Phil was. No, her dislike of Phil wasn’t his fault, and he had no idea it was even happening. Her dislike boiled down to one thing and one thing only.
“Louise! You’ll never guess what Phil did today!” Dan gushed, collapsing in the seat next to her.
Louise didn’t bother to look up from her compact where she was very carefully reapplying her lip gloss. She knew Dan was flushed lightly with a wide, dopey smile and that his eyes shone as if every star was compacted down into glitter that was dumped into hot chocolate. He always looked like that when Phil was brought up. Which was a lot. “I’m guessing from your normal reports that he was walking down the hall and breathing.”
“No,” Dan scowled and wadded a bit of paper into a tiny ball and flicked it at her, offering a sheepish grin after it landed in her makeup. “I actually talked with him a bit today.”
“Dan, we’ve discussed this before. Saying ‘Hi, Phil!’ and then hiding your face and running away before he can respond doesn’t count as talking to him.”
“Someone’s in a mood,” Dan pouted. “And I’ll have you know this was a totally real and legit conversation we had. Some dick head knocked into me on the way out here and Phil saw and helped me pick all my stuff up and everything. He even gave me his hand to help me stand up!”
Louise cocked a brow. “Really? Honestly, Dan I almost didn’t think you had it in you,” she said, ignoring his squawks of protest. “What all did you boys talk about?”
“He saw my piano book and asked if I played,” Dan said dreamily, the look on his face making it more than apparent that he was reliving the moment in perfect clarity again and again until it was ingrained in his memory. “And so I told him yeah, but I was awful and then I thought he was going to just leave but he walked with me almost the whole way here and he saw me in the play last year, Louise! He saw me and remembered me and told me I did a good job! Oh my god, it was probably the best moment of my life.”
Louise rolled her eyes, but smiled good naturedly, more than pleased over how happy her friend was. However, there was one thing that always bugged her about the whole situation. “Dan, darling, why Phil of all people? I mean he’s nice and all, and, sure, he’s not awful to look at, but he’s just so strange. Saying you could do better is probably the understatement of the year.”
Dan looked at her, glaring at her as if she’d just spat in his mother’s face and told her that her cooking was a disgrace (which she hadn’t) and he was personally offended (which he probably was). “Okay, first of all,” he started and Louise took a deep breath, already regretting her words and preparing for the sermon that was soon to follow. “Phil Lester is an unusual beauty so rare and perfect and we don’t deserve him. Second, he’s got an absolutely brilliant mind and we should all count ourselves lucky to hear anything that brain decides to gift us with. Third-”
“Mr. Howell,” Mrs. Bronwell interrupted from the front of the room, “as much as I’m sure we’d all love to hear you expound on the virtues of Mr. Lester, I, personally, get paid to teach you math, and I’d quite like to do so at this moment. If that’s not an imposition on you, of course.”
Dan blushed bright red all the way from his collar bones (and possibly farther, who knew) to the very tips of his ears. “Sorry, Mrs.,” he said, sinking down a bit more in his chair. “I’m done.”
“Oh, I highly doubt that,” Louise scoffed, quite unintentionally. There were a few scattered titters around the room and Dan gave Louise a long, hard, stare. The whole school probably knew about Dan’s crush on Phil just from him talking loudly and passionately about how wonderful the other boy was at any chance he got, so it’s not like there was any new gossip being delivered so he didn’t really feel the need to be properly embarrassed. But, the sting of betrayal was still there and he was sure to let her know he felt about it.
“Thank you for your contribution, Miss Pentland,” Mrs, Bronwell smiled, “but we really must get on with our lesson. Now, today we’re studying logarithms - James, don’t you roll your eyes at me. Yes, I saw you just fine.”
Now that the lesson had begun and he was finally free of all judgement, Dan let himself drift off quite happily into his thoughts, where his daydreams once again found themselves centered upon the subject of Phil Lester. How kind his smile was when he was offering him help. How he seemed genuinely interested as Dan flushed and fumbled over the explanation of his mediocre piano skills. How his hand was so soft but sure and he held Dan’s own and pulled him to his feet. As his teacher went on about the ins and outs of math things he didn’t care about Dan drew little doodles, of hearts and Phil coming to rescue him from the horrors of sports. He sighed happily and looked out the window thinking about Phil Lester, unknowing that somewhere in the school Phil was sighing happily and looking out a window thinking about Dan Howell.
                                                     Act I Scene II
“I found out he plays piano, Peej!” Phil beamed, waving his hands around for emphasis. “That’s so impressive, honestly. I wonder if he can play anything else.”
“I think I heard somewhere that he plays drums, but that could just be a rumor.” PJ paid the conversation little mind, far more focused on the poster he was designing for the school play.
“Eh, he seems the type,” Chris added helpfully. “You know: loud, obnoxious and in your face.”
Phil scowled at his now snickering friends. “He is not. He’s always really sweet and quiet when I talk to him.”
“Yeah?” Chris challenged. “Well, I had a history class with him one time and his own friend asked the teacher if he could change seats because Dan was distracting him too much.”
“Sean said that one time when they were taking a chemistry exam Dan started singing the periodic table. Out loud,” PJ added helpfully.
“He’s boisterous, maybe,” Phil conceded, “But he’s probably hilarious which is why his friend was so distracted and besides, learning a song to memorize the periodic table is pretty smart.”
Chris rolled his eyes. “Mate, we could tell you that Dan killed Mother Theresa and you’d just say ‘I mean, she probably deserved it.’” PJ chuckled next to him and Phil simply shot him another dirty look. “Anyway, as much as you love talking about Dan we really ought to move on because me and Peej, well, we don’t enjoy it near as much as you.”
Before Phil could argue PJ chimed in with a, “Help me decide on which one of these posters is better. Mr. Walters wants them up by this afternoon so people have plenty of time to sign up before auditions next month.” He showed them a couple of hand drawn posters, one featuring a more 60’s theme with psychedelic rainbow patterns and little people scattered all around doing various theatre things whilst the other  was more focused on space, complete with little aliens all over it. Both said in clear letters “Join this year’s spring musical! All You Need Is Love: A 60’s space drama written and produced by PJ Liguori and Sophie Newton. Auditions after school in the auditorium on 8/8”
“I like the space one,” Phil said.
“No, no. The 60’s is way better,” Chris argued. “It’s more fun looking and approachable. Everybody likes the 60’s.”
“No, everybody likes space,” Phil insisted.
“No, you like space, you big nerd.”
“I think we should ask the cards.”
“Phil,” PJ groaned, “you can’t rely on your tarot cards for every decision you have to make.”
“Yes, I can. I asked the cards and they said it was fine,” Phil smirked, pulling out his deck of Pokemon cards. He was honestly rather proud of them; he had spent an entire afternoon dedicated to learning each of the 56 cards in the full tarot deck and assigning a Pokemon to each one, then an entire month (and more money than he’d care to admit) collecting every single card until his deck was finally complete. He closed his eyes and focused. “Alright, we’re just doing a yes or no question so we can just use the Major Arcana, or would you rather do a full reading with all the cards?”
PJ rolled his eyes, but said, “Just the Major is fine. You can do a full reading when it’s more important decisions.”
Phil nodded, separating out the twenty two cards needed. “Okay, PJ, I’m going to start shuffling. Focus really hard on your question and when you think it’s time, tell me to stop.”
PJ closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply and said, “Stop.”
Immediately, Phil quit shuffling and laid the cards out in a neat row. “Is this good, or do you want me to shuffle again?”
“That’s fine. My question is ‘Should I use the space themed poster?’”
“Alright, choose a card.”
PJ chose one fourth from the left and Phil flipped it over, revealing a card of Mew. Phil grinned, before announcing: “You got The World, which talks about your conscious and unconscious joining and how you’re facing an important juncture that will make your path for the future clear. It also means that you’re going to gain true insight to the nature of yourself.”
“Yeah, yeah, but is it a yes or a no?” Chris said impatiently.
“It’s a yes,” Phil said with a smug smirk.
“And how do we know you’re not bullshitting us to get your way?”
“Well, if you think about it there was the whole conscious, unconscious thing, and he clearly preferred the space one, considering how much time he spent on it.” They looked at PJ for confirmation who shrugged and nodded with a sheepish grin. “Plus if you have the play be ‘you’, having this decision be insight into the true nature of yourself makes sense since it’s really more about space with a sixties flair than sixties with space themes.” Chris frowned thoughtfully, slowly nodding his head before Phil grinned and added, “Also, you don’t.”
“Why you absolute-”
“Stow it,” PJ hissed. “Mr. Bedsole just walked in.” And with that, the three quieted down to focus on the droning lecture about World War II.
                                                    Act I Scene III
“But you said we were going out for coffee today!” Dan pouted at Louise, who, in her defense, looked absolutely heartbroken denying him.
“I’m sorry, Dan,” she said. “I really am, but Chummy says there’s a huge sale going on in Brighton today and I really don’t want to miss it. I promise we can go tomorrow.”
“I do swear that it’s a one day sale,” Zoe added earnestly, looking almost as remorseful as Louise. “I’ll buy you a drink tomorrow to make up for it.”
“That’s all well and good for tomorrow, but what am I meant to do for today?” he whined.
“You could always come with us?” Louise suggested weakly. “We can get coffee at the station to have on the train?”
Dan sighed, quietly enough that the two girls didn’t hear . “As much as I do honestly enjoy going shopping with you two, I’m really not up for a two hour train ride today. However, if you see anything you think I’d like, I wouldn’t say no to some more peace offerings for bailing on me today.”
“You cheeky thing!” Zoe laughed, gently pinching his cheek. “You’re a right mess and a half, you are.”
He batted her hand away with a smile. “Yeah, yeah. Seriously, though. What am I going to do today? My mum's going to be out until five or later and I left my key at home. Do you want me to just wander around Reading lost and alone that whole time?”
“Oh, please,” Louise laughed with an eye roll. “Tyler exists, so you know there’s no way you can be bored for too long.”
“My ears are on fire right now,” Tyler sang, joining them at their table. “What are we talking about? Besides me, of course.”
“Well, someone ditched me to go look at- What is it exactly that you’re after?”
“Clothes,” both girls said in unison.
“Going to that Brighton sale?” Tyler asked with a knowing smirk. “I’d join you, but honestly, I don’t want to.”
They all laughed together before Dan piped up, “Anyway, they’re leaving me for clothes and have put my afternoon activities in your command.”
Tyler winced. “I’m sorry, Dan-”
“No!”
“I have a date!” Tyler defended. “And, boo, you know I think you’re the best thing since sliced bread, but you third wheeling me isn’t going to get me laid.”
Dan cast him a betrayed look. “So, basically what you’re telling me is I’m basically screwed? Carrie’s busy with theatre, you’re going on a date, these two would rather pet garments they can’t afford then get coffee with me, and Sean is probably off sucking face with Signe.”
“You could always just follow Phil home and sit outside like a lost puppy and hope he lets you in,” Tyler suggested, somewhat helpfully.
“Why don’t you actually fuck off?” Dan snapped,as his face turned scarlet. “That was one time, okay?”
“You stood outside his house in the rain for an hour pretending you thought it was someone else’s house before you realized nobody was home.”
“That was two years ago!”
“I still can’t believe it happened at all.”
Dan buried his face in his hands to hide his blushing cheeks. “You guys are the absolute worst people in the world and I hate every single one of you,” he groaned.
Tyler reached over and patted his cheek fondly. “Oh, boo, we know that’s not true. Who else would listen to you wax poetic about Phil?”
Again the three laughed together. “I’m still without anything to do this afternoon,” Dan pointed out.
“Can’t you just break in?” Tyler suggested. “I do that at my house all the time.”
“My mom routinely locks all the windows so mine is the only one open and there’s no way I can get to the second floor.”
“You could hang out with Sean and Signe,” Louise offered. “I’m sure they’d at least try to contain themselves while you’re around.”
“Yeah, but even when they’re not trying to climb into each other’s mouth I still always feel like I’m third wheeling so fucking hard. And not like tricycle third wheel either.”
“Why don’t you just go hang out at the coffee house on your own or go nerd shopping?” Zoe recommended. “You have your phone and headphones, right? Just sit in a corner and ignore everyone.”
Dan let out a long suffering sigh. “I guess that’s my only option, unless I want to go to the library or something.” He sighed and complained, “Why is there nothing to do here?”
“There’s plenty to do, you’re just too immersed in your laptop to experience any of them,” Louise laughed. “Chummy and I can always find plenty to do.”
“You have no idea what a town with nothing to do looks like, sweetheart,” Tyler scoffed. “Jackson was like a third this size and a good hour away from anything even remotely interesting.”
“Yeah, well, this place being better than your hometown is zero help right now. Somebody give me something to do.”
“You could just Google it and do the tourist-y things that pop up,” Zoe beamed. “Me and Alfie did that one time and it was loads of fun.”
“That sounds like a really great date,” Dan agreed, a dash of sarcasm in his tone. “However, since I’m a sexually ambiguous nerd who can’t properly talk to anyone outside of you guys, there’s very little chance of me getting a date any time soon. Plus it’s pouring and I wouldn’t want to wander around Reading in the rain even if I had a date.” Tyler took this moment to mutter about how he’d done it for Phil before, but quieted down when Dan gave him a stern glance.
“Well, whatever you decide to do, I wish you luck,” Louise said, taking out her phone to check the time. “However, Chummy and I must be getting on as our train leaves in less than an hour.”
“Bye, Louise. Bye Zoe,” Dan and Tyler chimed together. The two girls laughed and gave their final farewell hugs before leaving, leaving Dan and Tyler alone.
“So, who is this guy, anyway?” Dan asked, picking at his fingernails.
“Uh, his name is Michael and I met him on Tinder.”
“Phil’s middle name-”
“Is Michael. Yes, I know,” Tyler teased. “You’ve told us all more than once.”
Dan merely rolled his eyes and said, “So, Michael. Is this a guy you might actually like to date or is he just a casual hookup?”
“I don’t know, honestly,” Tyler shrugged. “He seemed nice enough while we were messaging but not exactly my kind of guy, you know? I may just keep in contact with him to hang out with on Fridays when I’m bored because somebody is too invested in Mario Kart to go party with me.”
“Please. You and I both know that I’m probably the last person you’d want to go with you to a party. I’d just stand awkwardly in a corner playing on my phone all night and making everyone who dared to talk to me feel bad because they wouldn’t understand a single word I mumbled.”
Tyler cast him yet another sympathetic look and Dan swore he was going to rip his eyebrows out if another person looked at him as if he was the dog they were leaving behind at the shelter. “Have you considered hanging out with Carrie this afternoon? Like, I know you said you weren’t doing theatre this year-”
“The four hours I spent locked in a janitor’s closet for being in the school play said I wasn’t doing theatre this year.”
Tyler narrowed his eyes at the interruption, but continued. “Anyway, you said you weren’t going to be in the play, but I’m pretty sure they’re just doing like pre-pre-pre-play stuff today. Hanging up posters and the like. I mean, it’s something at least.”
Dan considered his options for a moment. While he had sworn off acting for the year, he really liked most of the theatre kids he hung out with last time. Besides, it was completely harmless and he did always enjoy spending time with Carrie. “Yeah, I suppose. Anyway, if it is horrible I can always pretend my grandma is in the hospital or something to get out of it.”
“That’s the Dan Howell spirit we all know and love,” Tyler grinned, clapping him on the back.
This will be fine. What could go wrong?
                                                    Act I Scene IV
There was no way this was happening.
“PJ, I can’t go in there,” Phil hissed, physically keeping his friend by his side and out of that room. For in that room sat none other than Dan Howell, looking perfect as always whilst he lounged next to Carrie, who was laughing along at something he said. “I thought you said he wouldn’t be here today!”
PJ shrugged, clearly not seeing the problem and Phil had never felt so betrayed. “He said he wasn’t coming back last year, but maybe he changed his mind. Or maybe he’s just helping a friend hang posters. Who knows? You might if you go in there and talk to him.”
“I can’t let him see me like this,” Phil refused. “I took out my contacts last lesson because my eyes were all itchy and the redness still hasn’t gone down and I look terrible.”
“Maybe he’s into the whole robot look.”
“You’re not helping!”
“Look, mate,” PJ sighed. “You can stay and help or you can go home and sulk, but either way I’ve got to be in there to take charge of this whole shindig and I can already feel Sophie glaring at me for being late. I know you don’t look one hundred percent your best ever but it’s a Monday afternoon after school and nobody looks great, and I swear to god if you tell me Dan looks amazing I will never let you borrow my Legend of Zelda games ever again.” Phil gave him a sheepish grin. “And for what it’s worth your face shape works really well with those glasses and the redness is pretty much gone.”
Phil smiled softly at his friend. “You always know what to say, Peej.”
PJ smirked and winked back at him. “It truly is a gift. Now come on, let’s go hang some posters and get some theatre nerds hyped about a play.”
As the two walked in a kind of hush fell over the gathered students and Phil couldn’t help but notice the panicked look Dan gave Carrie as he passed by them, taking a seat next to Chris and Alexandra. He leaned over to point it out to Chris, but he merely shot him a look before pointedly focusing on PJ and Sophie at the front of the room. Phil huffed; he knew why he was being shushed, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.
“Okay, everyone, thanks for being here!” PJ beamed at the eight students sprawled across various chairs and desks. “We really appreciate your help. Does anyone have any questions?”
“Why don’t you tell them what exactly it is that they’re helping with?” Sophie suggested from behind him with a smile and a fond roll of the eyes.
PJ gave her a crooked grin in thanks before returning his attention to the crowd. “Right, I should. Well, as you all should know the school puts on a musical every spring, and if you didn’t know then you do now. Anyway, as this is our last year Mr. Walters has agreed to put on a play that Sophie and I wrote, and he’s put us in charge of everything from production to advertisement. Today we’re putting up posters around the school to let everyone know about the auditions that are happening next month, giving them plenty of time to pluck up the courage to sign up since that’s probably the hardest part of school plays for a lot of us.” There were a few scattered chuckles, and PJ carried on. “Since there are ten of us and five main areas we need to put these up, we’re going to be splitting into teams of two, and each team is going to get twenty posters to hang up. Yeah, it sounds like a lot, but we want these everywhere. I don’t want there to be a single person at this school who doesn’t know about this play. That means staple them to bulletin boards, hang them up on those weird clothes pin things outside the art room, tape them on every door and stairwell you can find. So yeah, I mean it when I say everywhere.”
“Alright then,” Sophie chimed in. “After that rousing speech, everyone pick a partner and we’ll arm you with a stapler, tape, clothespins, blu tack and more posters than you’ll know what to do with. Go!” Phil swore he saw PJ, Carrie, and Chris all share a look, but he brushed it off to partner up with Chris, only to find that he had already linked arms with Alexandra. He glanced around the room to see that PJ and Sophie were obviously in each other's pockets, Carrie was chatting with Matt, and Tom and Gi were leaned against one another playing some kind of app on Tom’s phone leaving-
“Uh, hi again?”
Phil whipped his head around to see Dan standing in front of him with a bit of red tinting his ears. “Your friend abandon you, too?” Phil chuckled. When Dan didn’t answer and just continued blinking at him, Phil flushed bright red immediately starting to back track. “Not that I’m saying- Well, what I mean is more that- You see what I’m trying to say is-” he finally sputtered to a stop. “Sorry?”
Dan blinked at him a couple more times before realization dawned on his face and he blushed to match Phil. “No, no it’s fine, I promise! I’m not offended or anything! Carrie did totally ditch me to partner with Matt. I was just really distracted by your glasses; I didn’t know you wore them.”
Phil chuckled nervously, scratching behind his neck. “Yeah, they’re- yeah. They’re kinda big and dumb looking so I try not to wear them at school too much.”
“It’s not that,” Dan mumbled, looking down and to the left while shooting Phil looks from beneath his lashes. “They actually really suit you. They make you look really smart I guess.” He flushed a bit darker before adding, “I like them.”
Well, if Phil wasn’t about to pass out before from how adorable and shy Dan looked he definitely was now. Dan liked his glasses. Dan Howell liked his glasses. He took a moment to gather himself before he could blurt out that he was about to call the optometrist and tell her to cancel all his contact orders from now until forever because Dan Howell liked his glasses. “Thanks, that means a lot,” he said instead. “I don’t really like them all that much so they can use all the love they can get from other people.”
Dan sputtered out an abrasive laugh which garnered a couple people’s attention and made Phil’s chest feel like it had been filled with warm helium before Dan slapped his hands over his mouth to muffle it. Phil considered telling Dan his hands would would better suited in Phil’s instead of quieting the music that was his laugh, but decided that was maybe a little forward. “If you don’t mind me asking, why are you wearing your glasses if you hate them so much?”
“Oh, sometimes my contacts can bother my eyes and last period they were really itchy and so I took them out instead of trying to rub my eyeballs into the back of my skull.”
Phil mentally slapped himself for actually saying that out loud, but Dan just giggled. “Well, I hope they’re feeling better. I noticed you had some red in your eyes, so I’m glad it’s nothing serious.”
At the mention of red Phil slammed his eyes shut and covered them with his hands. “PJ said the red was all gone!” he whined.
Dan immediately started flapping his hands nervously. “No, no it’s fine! It’s hardly noticeable at all! I only noticed because I was staring at your face up close, and oh my god, I can’t believe I said that out loud. Someone please stop me.” By the end of his sentence Dan was a darker red than Phil previously thought possible and looked  just about ready for the world to split in half and swallow him whole. He was adorable, and Phil was about to die.
“Nah, I get it,” Phil chuckled with a smile. “You said the glasses were distracting so it makes sense for you to stare.”
Dan opened his mouth like he was about to argue Phil’s point, but there was a cough behind Phil and they both turned to see PJ standing there with a stack of flyers in his hands and a knowing smirk on his lips. “Well, since the two of you were too busy - um, let’s say talking - to come up and pick an area to work in the only one left is the gym and lunchroom, so I hope the two of you brought umbrellas.” Dan looked absolutely panic stricken at the thought of needing an umbrella, much to Phil’s confusion, but PJ simply carried on. “Sophie has the stuff to hang these up with so you two need to get going or we’re still going to be here when school lets in tomorrow.”
Phil groaned melodramatically and accused PJ of forsaking him and throwing him to the depths of hell, but still smiled and thanked Sophie - who was giggling behind her hands - when he got their tools. The only problem was that Dan was strangely quiet the entire time, and not in the adorably shy way he was earlier that afternoon when they were walking to class together. No, this was more akin to the silence of a man being lead to the gallows, and that just wasn’t going to work in Phil’s book. “Hey, are you okay?”
Dan gnawed his bottom lip for a moment before sighing and saying, “I’m really not sure if I want to tell you. Like on one hand it’s really not that big of a deal, and avoiding it is only going to make it way worse, but on the other hand it’s really embarrassing, and I don’t like talking about it.”
Phil hummed in thought, tapping his chin and looking Dan up and down through squinted eyes. To most it might look like he was just observing the younger boy to come up with some sort of plan, but in reality he was just taking the opportunity to check him out. “What if I hum and then you say it really quickly and if I hear you, I can pretend I didn’t understand and if I didn’t hear you then you at least got it off your chest and you don’t have to worry anymore.”
Dan laughed and smiled so hard his eyes were almost completely closed. “You are such a strange person, Phil Lester,” he said with what Phil was adamantly interpreting as fondness.
“You know, you’re actually not the first person to tell me that.”
Dan rolled his eyes but he still had that grin so Phil didn’t take it to heart. “Unfortunately, that plan won’t work, so I’m just going to tell you, but you can’t make fun of me, okay?” Phil nodded eagerly, knowing that there was no way he could ever deliberately make Dan feel bad about himself. Dan took a deep breath and quickly said, “MyhairisnaturallyreallycurlysoIstraightenitbutwhenitgetswetitgetscurlyagainandit’srainingandIdidn’tbringanything.”
Phil blinked, trying to process what he just heard until it finally clicked and he beamed. “Why didn’t you say so?! You can borrow my coat.”
Dan’s eyes bugged out at the very idea. “I can’t just take your coat! What are you going to wear? It may be a short walk, but you’ll still wind up soaked by the time we get inside.”
Phil shrugged. “Well, any way you look at it, one of us is going to look like a drowned rat by the end of this no matter what. You seem to be a lot more worried about it than me, so why shouldn’t you be the one to stay dry? Besides, I have a change of clothes in my bag since I’m meeting up with my family for dinner after this. Take the coat, Dan.”
“But Phil-”
“Too late!” he sang, pulling his arm out of the sleeve. “I’m  taking it off and I’m not going to put it back on until it’s time to leave. If you don’t take it then the poor coat will just sit here and be useless while we both get wet. Do you want my coat to feel that way, Dan?”
Dan giggled at his overreaction, but took the coat with a gentle smile. “Thanks, Phil. I mean it.”
“No problem,” Phil smiled back. “But now you do have to hold the flyers and stuff. Just shove them under your jacket so they don’t get wet.”
Dan nodded and took the papers. “Alright then, let’s do this.”
                                                    Act I Scene V
“Oh my god, Louise, it was amazing,” Dan gushed over the phone. He had tried texting Louise but he was way too excited and his fingers kept slipping and pretty much everything he wrote had more exclamation points than actual letters. “How do we have so much in common and I never knew it?”
“Maybe because you only ever stalked him instead of talking and sharing your interests?” she teasingly suggested.
“You can’t tell but I’m giving you a dirty look right now,” Dan pouted, tracing his finger over the numbers written on the Post-It note Phil had given him. “And there will be plenty of actual talking between the two of us now, since he gave me his number.”
Louise squealed across the line. She had never made it a secret that Phil wasn’t her first choice for Dan’s big crush, but she had to admit that the fact that Dan was so over the moon for him was precious, and anything that made Dan happy made her happy. “Oh my god, really? What happened?”
“Well, we had to go out to the gym to hang posters and since it was pouring I was complaining about my hair-”
“Like you always do.”
“Shut it. Anyway, he insisted that I used his jacket to keep dry and at the end of the day it was still raining so he told me to keep it and I could text him about returning it later,” Dan sighed happily, reliving every moment of the afternoon in perfect clarity. “Louise, it was amazing. He’s amazing.”
“Have you texted him yet?” Louise demanded. “You have to tell me everything when you do.”
“I don’t want to return his jacket yet,” Dan admitted. He hadn’t told Louise that it was warm and smelled like Phil and that was why he didn’t want to lose it but he was pretty sure she knew. “What if I text him and all he wants to talk about is getting his coat?”
Louise sighed and Dan knew she was her rolling her eyes. “You’re being ridiculous, you know that, right? Of course he doesn’t want to just talk about that. Giving someone your coat as an excuse to keep talking to someone is one of the oldest tricks in the book. I’m pretty sure it’s been a thing since coats were invented.”
“I don’t know, Louise,” Dan said, biting his thumb nail. “I mean, Phil’s just a really nice person. He was probably just giving me his coat because it was nice. He’s not really the type to play tricks like that.”
“Everyone play tricks, even if it’s subconscious,” Louise dismissed. Dan could almost see her nodding sagely. “He probably did give you the jacket because you needed it, but the phone number was just so the two of you can talk. If he really was only interested in the coat then he would have just set up a time to get it back when he gave it to you.”
“You really think so?” Dan asked nervously. “What if I make a fool of myself and he never speaks to me again?”
“Number one that won’t happen. Number two, even if it does are you really in any worse of a boat? It’s not like you were actually talking to him before this anyway.”
“You’re being super unhelpful and also the absolute worst.”
“You love it. Now text that lion loving nerd and make sure I’m your maid of honor at the wedding.”
“What do I even say?” Dan whined.
“Just introduce yourself, you complete dollop head. Just say ‘Hi, this is Dan!’”
Dan sighed dramatically, flopping back and extending out three of his long limbs. He winced when they all settled into that nice stretched feeling and quickly changed phone hands so he could do that last one as well. “Fine, I’ll do it as soon as I get off the phone with you.”
“Oh, well, in that case my mother has been calling me to come downstairs for about five minutes and I’m definitely not making this up so you have to text Phil.”
“Louise I hate you!”
“Love you, too!” she cackled, sending a couple kissing noises across the line before hanging up.
Dan groaned and glared at his phone for abandoning him, hoping that Louise would somehow be able to feel it. After a moment he sighed and pulled up messages and tapped “Compose”
To: Phil 5:44
hello! this is dan the guy u left your coat with this afternoon lol.
Dan closed the app to open YouTube, not expecting a response any time soon, but before he could finish pulling up his subscription box his phone buzzed.
From: Phil 5:47
Hi!! How was your walk home? Did you stay dry and everything? I would have given you a ride, but I was already late to meet my parents. I’m sorry. :(
Dan took a moment to breathe calmly but quickly gave up in favor of squealing in delight as he rolled back and forth, clutching his phone to his chest. He just had to tell Louise.
To: The Mum Friend 5:49
omg hes so nice. like he asked if i stayed dry on the way home and apologized for not driving me home himself  #phillesterangelconfirmed
To: Phil the Actual Angel 5:51
dw about it ^-^ i stayed pretty dry. yhanks to you i don’t look like a hobbit reject.
From: Phil the Actual Angel 5:54
Lol any Hobbit that rejects you is missing out on making their Hobbit village cuter than all the other ones. You can come join my elf city and we can be too tall together.
To: The Mum Friend 5:57
LOUISSE HE CALLERD ME CUTER IM DYING SEND HELPP
To: Phil the Actual Angel 5:58
lets be honest wed both be loners. im too tall for the hobbits and ur too clumsy for the elves.
From: Phil the Actual Angel 6:00
Why must you crush my dreams Danyul? :’< I’m not that clumsy
To: Phil the Actual Angel 2:02
i think the paint still stuck in my hair from where u knocked me into the art supplies in the prop room would beg to differ.
From: Phil the Actual Angel 2:04
Okay, I GUESS that’s a fair point. And hey, as long as we’re outcasts together that’s not too bad in my book. ^-^
To: Phil the Actual Angel 2:04
my my phillip r u flirting with me?
From: Phil the Actual Angel 2:05
That depends entirely on if it’s working :D Hey, by the way, what lunch do you have?
Dan frowned at the sudden topic change, but shook his head and went along with it for now.
To: Phil the Actual Angel 6:06
i have 2nd y?
From: Phil the Actual Angel 2:07
You do? That’s the same one I have? How come I’ve never seen you? D:
To: Phil the Actual Angel 2:08
probs because i sit with my friends and we try to avoid human interaction lol
From: Phil the Actual Angel 2:10
Same, honestly. Do you think you and your friends would want to come and eat lunch with me and mine tomorrow? We usually sit out under the tree next to the front office.
To: Phil the Actual Angel 2:11
i am so sorry can i answer you in a sec my mum wants me
Dan took a deep breath, trying not to panic. He quickly dialed up Louise and waited with bated breath as it rang again and again and again and again and ag-
“Dan? What can-”
“HE ASKED ME TO EAT LUNCH WITH HIM TOMORROW!” Dan shouted before she could finish her greeting.
“Wait, hold on a minute. Who did what now?”
“Phil! He asked me to eat lunch with him tomorrow!” he repeated in a much quieter but no calmer tone. “Well, actually he asked me to ask all of you if you might be interested in eating lunch with his group tomorrow. What should I even say to that? ‘Yes, I’d like to eat lunch with you tomorrow and every following day for the rest of our lives’?”
“You could always just say you’ll ask,” she said with an underlying laugh. “I don’t see a problem with us sitting with them, though. All of us like meeting new people so it should be fun.”
“You mean it? Everything will be fine?”
“I’m sure of it, and if anyone says otherwise, I’ll wallop them on the head.”
“You’re the best, Louise.”
“I know it. Now go set up your lunch date already.” And with that the line clicked dead and Dan was once again left alone with his phone.
To: Phil the Actual Angel 5:14
sorry! my mum is v demanding sometimes T_T but yeah lunch tomorrow sounds great! all my friends like meeting new people so it should be lots of fun
From: Phil the Actual Angel 5:16
Don’t worry about it! ^-^ So you want to just meet at the tree or in the lunchroom or what?
To: Phil the Actual Angel 5:18
i think we can find our way to the tree so that should be fine ^-^ see u tomorrow!
From: Phil the Actual Angel 5:20
It’s a date!
Dan gaped at his phone for a moment before calling Louise yet again to scream.
17 notes · View notes
illbefinealonereads · 4 years
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Blog tour day! Allow me to tell you more about Husband Material by Emily Belden, as well as share an excerpt from the book.
Husband Material : A Novel Emily Belden On Sale Date: December 30, 2019 9781525805981, 1525805983 Trade Paperback $15.99 USD, $19.99 CAD Fiction / Romance / Romantic Comedy 304 pages
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Told in Emily Belden's signature edgy voice, a novel about a young widow's discovery of her late husband's secret and her journey toward hope and second-chance love.
Twenty-nine-year-old Charlotte Rosen has a secret: she’s a widow. Ever since the fateful day that leveled her world, Charlotte has worked hard to move forward. Great job at a hot social media analytics company? Check. Roommate with no knowledge of her past? Check. Adorable dog? Check. All the while, she’s faithfully data-crunched her way through life, calculating the probability of risk—so she can avoid it.
Yet Charlotte’s algorithms could never have predicted that her late husband’s ashes would land squarely on her doorstep five years later. Stunned but determined, Charlotte sets out to find meaning in this sudden twist of fate, even if that includes facing her perfectly coiffed, and perfectly difficult, ex-mother-in-law—and her husband’s best friend, who seems to become a fixture at her side whether she likes it or not.
But soon a shocking secret surfaces, forcing Charlotte to answer questions she never knew to ask and to consider the possibility of forgiveness. And when a chance at new love arises, she’ll have to decide once and for all whether to follow the numbers or trust her heart.
Advance Praise for Husband Material
“Tackling thorny questions of widowhood and dating after trauma, Belden's second novel is witty, full of heart, and blindingly au courant. Packed with pop-culture references, it will appeal to fans of Sophie Kinsella, Rosie Walsh, and Plum Sykes. Belden writes twists and turns to keep readers hooked.” —Booklist
“Charming.” —Publishers Weekly
“Sensitive, thoughtful, and touching.” —Library Journal
“In this touching, witty, and timely book, Emily Belden deftly explores the complexities of human relationships in our increasingly tech-obsessed world. By turns heartbreaking and laugh-out-loud funny, Husband Material beautifully demonstrates that you can't reduce love to a bunch of 1s and 0s.”
—Kristin Rockaway, author of How To Hack a Heartbreak
Buy Links: Harlequin Amazon Barnes & Noble Indie Bound Kobo Google Books
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Author Bio: EMILY BELDEN is a journalist, social media marketer, and storyteller. She is the author of the novel Hot Mess and Eightysixed: A Memoir about Unforgettable Men, Mistakes, and Meals. She lives in Chicago. Visit her website at www.emilybelden.com or follow her on Twitter and Instagram, @emilybelden
Genre: Romance, Chick-Lit
Rating: 4/5 stars
Review: This was a very fun read for me. Belden writes in a style that I really enjoy, it feels fresh and light. Though the book tackled some heavy subjects, none of it was felt in the writing. The plot was paced well, and the way it progressed felt natural. The idea behind the book was beautifully executed. The characters were well developed and set up in a way that kept the book dynamic and entertaining. Though the characters aren’t relatable, straying from most books in the romance genre, Husband Material didn’t need to rely on that to make the book as enjoyable as it was. All it needed was the wit that Belden incorporated in it, and that was enough for me.
Excerpt:
Well, that’s a first.
And I’m not talking about the fact that I brought a date to a wedding I’m pretty sure didn’t warrant me a plus-one. I’m talking about grabbing a wedding card that just so happened to say “Congrats, Mr. & Mr.” on my way to cele­brate the nuptials of the most iconic heterosexual couple since George and Amal. This—and a king-sized KitKat bar from the checkout lane—is what I get for rushing through the greet­ing card aisle in Target while my Uber driver waited in the loading zone with his f lashers on.
It’s Monica and Danny’s big day. She’s my coworker, whose gorgeous face is constantly lining the glossy pages of Luxe LA magazine. Not only because she’s one of the leading ladies at Forbes’s new favorite company, The Influencer Firm, but because this socialite-turned-CEO is now married to Dan­iel Jones—head coach of the LA Galaxy, Los Angeles’s pro­fessional soccer team. If you’re thinking he must look like a derivative of an American David Beckham, you’re basicallythere. Let’s just hope their sense of humor is as good as their looks when they see the card I accidentally picked out.
Before I place it on the gift table, I stuff the envelope with a crisp hundred-dollar bill fresh from the ATM. Side note: I think wedding registries are bullshit. Everybody wants an ice cream maker until you have one and never use it, which is why I spring for cold, hard cash instead. I grab a black Sharpie marker from the guest book table, pop the cap off, and attempt to squeeze in a nondescript s after the second “Mr.,” hoping my makeshift, hand-drawn serif font letter doesn’t stick out like a sore thumb. I blow on the fresh ink, then hold the pseudo Pinterest-fail an arm’s length away. That’ll do, I think to myself.
I lift a glass of red wine from a caterer’s tray as if we cho­reographed the move and check the time on my Apple Watch, which arguably isn’t the most fashionable accessory when dressing for a chic summer wedding. But aside from the fact that it doesn’t quite match my strapless pale yellow cocktail dress, it serves a much greater purpose for me. It keeps my data front and center, right where I want it, not on my phone buried somewhere deep in my purse. Bonus: the band, smack-dab on the middle of my wrist, also covers a tattoo I’ve been meaning to have lasered off.
Other than telling me the time, 7:30 p.m., it also serves up my most recent Tinder notifications. I’ve gotten four new matches since this morning, which isn’t bad for a) a Saturday, since most people do their Tindering while zoning out at work or bored in bed at night; and b) a pushing-thirty New York native whose most recent relationship was the love-hate one with a stubborn last ten pounds. That’s me, by the way. Charlotte Rosen.
Though present and accounted for now, the battle of Tide pen vs. toothpaste stain went on for longer than I intended back at my apartment, causing me to arrive about half an hour late to the cocktail hour. Which means I for sure missed Monica and Dan’s ceremony in its entirety. I, of all people, know that’srude. I’m someone who is hypersensitive to people’s arrival ten­dencies (well, to all measurable tendencies, to be honest; more on that later). But I’m sort of glad I missed the I Dos, as there is still something about witnessing the exchange of vows that makes me a little squeamish. I got married five years ago and, well, I’m not married anymore—let’s put it that way.
The good news is that with time, I can feel it’s definitely getting easier to come to things like this. To believe that the couple really will stay together through it all. To believe that there is such a thing as “the one”—even if it may actually be “the other” that I’m looking for this next go-round.
Late as I may be to the wedding party, there are some perks to my delayed arrival. Namely, the line at the bar has died down enough for me to trade up this mediocre red wine for a decent gin and tonic. Another perk? Several fresh platters of bacon-wrapped dates have just descended like UFOs onto the main floor of the venue, which happens to be a barn from the 1800s. Except this is Los Angeles, and there are no barns from the 1800s. So instead, every creaky floorboard, every corroded piece of siding, and every decrepit roof shingle has been sourced from deep in the countryside of southwest Iowa to create the sense that guests are surrounded by rolling fields, fragrant orchard blossoms, and fruiting trees. The reality being that just outside the wooden walls of the coveted, three-year-long-wait-list Oak Mill Barn stands honking, gridlocked traf­fic on the 405 and an accompanying smog alert.
As I continue to wait for my impromptu wedding date, Chad, to come back from the bathroom, I robotically swipe left on the first three guys who pop up on Bumble, another dating app I’m on, then finally decide to message a guy who looks like a bright-eyed Jason Bateman (you know, pre-Ozark) and is a stockbroker, according to his profile. We end up matching and he asks me for drinks. I vaguely accept. Wel­come to dating in LA.
I’ve conducted some research that has shown that after the age of thirty, it becomes exponentially harder to find your fu­ture husband. What number constitutes exponentially? I’m not sure yet, but I’m working on narrowing in on that because generalities don’t really cut it for me. Thinking through things logically like this centers me, calms me, and resets me—no matter what life throws my way. All that’s to say, I’m officially in my last good year of dating (and my last year of not having to include a night serum in my skin care regimen), and I’m determined not to wind up with my dog, my roommate, and a few low-maintenance houseplants as my sole life partners.
“Sorry that took so long,” says Chad, returning from the men’s room twenty minutes after leaving. “Did you know the bathroom at this place is an actual outhouse? Thank god it was leg day at the gym—I had to squat over the pot. My quads are burning nice now.”
Confession. I didn’t just bring a date to the wedding, I brought a blind date.
No worries, though. Monica knows how serious I am about the path to Mr. Right and supports the fact that I go on my fair share of dates to get me there quicker. Plus, he isn’t a total stranger; she knows him—or, she met him, rather. He attended her work event last week at the LA County Museum of Art and is supposedly this cute, single real estate something or other. Of course he tried to hit on her and, unlike most beau­tiful people in Los Angeles, Monica actually copped to being in a committed relationship with Danny. (Who doesn’t like to brag they’re marrying Mr. Galaxy himself?) So she did the next best thing and gave him her single coworker’s Instagram handle and told him to slide into my DMs. It’s a bold move on her part, but I appreciate her quick thinking and commit­ment to my cause, Operation: Reclassify My Marital Status.
Since Chad first messaged me a week ago, I’ve done my homework on him. And I’m not talking about just your basic cyber stalking. I’m talking about procuring and sifting through real, bona fide data. It’s essentially a version of what I’m paid to do for a living—track down all the “influencers,” people with a lot of fans and followers on the internet, and match them to events we plan for our clients so they can post on so­cial media and boost our clients’ profiles.
Some may think my side-project software, the one that com­putes how much of a match I am with someone, is a bit…much, but I don’t see it that way at all. I’m on the hunt for a man who is a true match for me—one who won’t just up and leave in the blink of an eye. I left things up to fate once and look how that turned out. I’ll be damned if I do it that way again.
While I studied up on Chad, I conducted a hefty “image search,” yielding about a hundred photos of him that have been uploaded across a variety of social platforms over the years. In real life, I’m pleased to say he checks out. Chad is over six feet tall, tanned, and toned, with coiffed Zac Efron hair that’s on the verge of being described as “a bit extra.” From the shoul­ders up, he’s an emoji. A walking, talking emoji. But as I step back and admire him in his expertly tailored suit, he looks like a contestant on The Bachelor. In retrospect, Chad is just the right amount of good-looking to complement my physical appearance, which can be described as a made-for-TV version of an otherwise good-looking actress.
“Something to drink, sir?” one of the caterers asks Chad.
“Yes. A spicy margarita. Unless… Wait. Do you make the margarita mix yourselves? Or is it, like, that sugary store-bought crap?”
Eek. I had forgotten my discovery that Chad is a bit of a…wellness guru. I guess so is everyone in LA, but I can’t help but be taken aback when I hear that there are people who actually care about the scientific makeup of margarita mix.
“Fuck it. Too many calories either way,” Chad announces before giving the waitress a chance to answer his question. “I’ll just take a whiskey.”
“Splash of Coke?”
“God, no. So many empty calories.”
With his drink order in, Chad rolls his neck around and pops bones I never knew existed. Then, one by one, the joints in his fingers. The sound makes me a bit queasy but I’m try­ing to focus on the positive, like his beautiful hazel eyes and the fact that cherry tomatoes and mini mozzarella balls with an injection of balsamic vinegar are the latest and greatest munchie to hit the floor.
Chad turns to me with a smile, his palm connecting with the small of my back. “Should we find our seats? What table are we at?”
Good question, I think to myself. I’m at table six. Chad is…on a fold-up chair we will have to ask a caterer to squeeze between me and Monica’s great-aunt Sally? I kind of forgot to mention to him that I didn’t really get an official okay to bring him tonight.
“Table six,” I say pleasantly with a smile.
“Six is my lucky number. Well, that, and nine, if you know what I mean,” Chad says with a wink accompanied by an ac­tual thumbs-up.
The waitress comes back with his whiskey neat, and he proposes we clink our glasses in a toast to meeting up as we make our way to the table. Still not over the lingering effects of his immature, pervysixty-nine joke, I reluctantly concede to do the cheers with the perpetual high-schooler.
“So, what did you think of Monica’s event?” I say to break the ice as we take our seats at the luckily empty round table.
“Well, I don’t really know what she does for a living, but she is fine as hell. I mean, that’s why I hit on her last week atthe LACMA. Sure, I saw the ring on her finger, but couldn’t resist saying hi to a goddess like her. My god, that woman is something else.”
I nod in agreement. Partly because, yes, Monica Hoang needs her own beauty column in Marie Claire, stat. And partly because I’m too shocked by his crass demeanor to really do or say anything else. Did I say Chad reminded me of a contes­tant on The Bachelor? I think I meant he reminds me of a guy who gets sent home on night one of The Bachelor.
“She said you’re a real estate…attorney, was it?” I awk­wardly segue. “What’s your favorite neighborhood in Los Angeles?”
It sounds like I’m interviewing him for a job, which in a way, I am. But had I known the conversation was going to be like forcefully wringing out a damp rag, just hoping to squeeze out something semidecent, I would have never invited him to join me at the wedding. In fact, I likely wouldn’t have gone through with a date, of any kind, at all. Conversation skills rank high on my list of preferred qualities in a mate. Looks like he’s the exception to the rule that attorneys are good lin­guists, because my app sure as shit didn’t predict this fail.
So how does my software work, then? Well, it’s all about compatibility. My algorithm is programmed to know what I like and what I’m looking for in the long term. So to see if a guy is a match, I comb through his online profiles, enter the facts I find out about him, and generate a report that indi­cates how likely he is to be my future husband or how likely we would be to get a divorce, for example. One of the most helpful stats is how likely we are to go on a second date. I’ve determined that anyone scoring above 70 percent means that chances are good we’d go out again. And, well, a second date is the first step to marriage. You get the point. Anyone below a 70, I ignore and move on. Chad pulled a 74, which is a solidC if you’re using a high school grading system. Not stellar, but certainly passable with room for improvement.
As it’s turning out, there’s a lot of room for improvement.
“Huh? I’m not in real estate,” he says with a confused look on his face.
“Oh, Monica said you were an attorney at Laird & Hutchin­son?”
“Well, yes, that’s the name of our firm. The Laird side is real estate. But they acquired Hutchinson a couple years ago, and that’s the side of the practice I work on.”
“What kind of law is Hutchinson?”
“We’re the ‘Life’s too short, get a divorce!’ guys. You’ve probably seen a few of our company’s billboards.”
Chad slides his business card my way, and as soon as I see the logo, I picture those billboards slathered all over the bus stop benches down Laurel Canyon Drive and feel physically ill. Not only because he’s in the business of making divorce seem cheeky, but also because I’m wondering what other things I might have missed or gotten wrong about Chad.
“Wait. So have you ever been divorced?” The question pops off my tongue involuntarily. As soon as the words come out, I remember he reserves the right to ask me the same question in return and immediately regret posing it. I’m not ready to explain the demise of my first marriage.
“Me? Nah. Never married.”
Luckily, a server reappears to take our dinner order. But let it be known that if Chad had asked, I would have explained that I didn’t give up on my life partner because I was frus­trated he failed to load a dishwasher in any sort of methodical way. I didn’t just get bored and say “screw it,” chalking the whole thing up as just a starter marriage (google it, this is a thing now). In fact, if anyone abruptly left anyone, he aban­doned me out of nowhere.
“Would you like the chicken and veggies or the short rib and scalloped potatoes?” the caterer asks me.
“Short rib and potatoes,” I say, a game-time decision made entirely by my growling stomach.
At that, Chad looks at me like I rolled into the Vatican wear­ing a tube top. “You sure about that, Char? There are so many hidden carbs in potatoes,” he whispers with a hint of disgust.
First off, Char is reserved for people with a little more ten­ure in my life, thankyouverymuch. And secondly—
“Yes, I’m sure. An extra scoop of potatoes if possible,” I say, loud enough for our waitress, who jots down the special instruction.
“Chicken for me. Extra veggies,” my 74 percent match re­quests.
There it is. His wellness obsession flaring up again. I’m racking my brain for what to say next to a guy who screams “dead end” to me.
 Excerpted from Husband Materialby Emily Belden, Copyright ©2019 by Emily Belden. Published by Graydon House Books.
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moonchildmarauder · 3 years
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Reggie likes that his friends are in love...
(I had this idea a while ago and just blurted it our now. I honestly think that even though Reggie might be the biggest flirt he definitely would care more about his friends being happy than anything else in the world).
Reggie loved watching his friends fall in love, it made his heart warm to know they were happy.
He knew Alex had a rough time at home after he came out to his parents, and he used to let him crash at his place on the nights when it all got too much. He went with Alex to the first and only GSA meeting he ever went to (they had all left school at that point). Knowing all of that Reggie just wanted to be sure that Alex was in good hands, so he made a point of hanging out with Willie. He wanted to make sure his best friend was going to be okay. Alex was really confused one day when he had agreed to meet up with Willie and found him with Reggie laughing and trying to skate on the sand at the beach (that part had confused him more than anything). Alex asked him later on that night what was going on, Reggie couldn't help but laugh and say nothing. Alex didn't believe him and Reggie told him that he just wanted to make sure that Willie wasn't a jerk who would try to break his heart. Alex smiled and told Reggie that he was being an idiot, which Reggie knew was his way of saying thank you.
Reggie had seen Luke crush on plenty of people before, the girl who worked at the coffee shop they used to try to get gigs in, the guy at the video store. Luke had a serial crusher streak or at least he used to. After he left home that Christmas he was a lot more closed off. Sure he and Alex could get him to open up but it took a lot more time and careful questions. Luke had lost a little piece of his heart when he left his parents and Reggie couldn't blame him from trying to protect his heart. Seeing Luke with Julie made him happy because he knew this wasn't just another crush. Luke talked about her all the time, especially after he had visited his parents and was feeling more emotional than usual. He would say things like "Julie said this really true thing about feeling lost earlier" or "sometimes I wonder if Julie would give good hugs?".
Reggie knew Julie and Luke would be good together just like he knew Alex and Willie would be too. His heart was full because his family was okay and that made him okay too.
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moonchildmarauder · 4 years
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i wrote two head canon/ one shot/ fic thingys tonight and just posted them so you should maybe check them out if you want to. I have been really enjoying writing recently (though they might be terrible). 
Here’s a Willex one and here’s a band hanging out one. 
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moonchildmarauder · 3 years
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My sister and I are dressing up as jatp characters for Halloween and I'm excited...
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moonchildmarauder · 3 years
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not going to lie but getting those emails from ao3 saying you got kudos makes my heart go ✨☺️💓🥺🥰😊✨🥺☺️✨🌟🥰🥺✨🌟✨
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moonchildmarauder · 3 years
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I’m really in the mood to write so there may be either a Reggie flowershop au thingy or a Juke coffeeshop au thingy coming later tonight???????????
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moonchildmarauder · 3 years
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You would not believe the number of little headcannons and ficlets I have saved in the notes on my phone....
Might have to make a little Ao3 thingy for them...
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moonchildmarauder · 3 years
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Do you ever spend ages writing something then read it back and realize it's not good?
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