#no context really. and started burning some papers. it’s like the only evidence I’ve ever found that he had anything that we would call

[isthenapoleoncute]

@flowers-and-fichte

No offense, but are you certain that you have a Napoleon?

Maybe your Napoleon is a little shell shocked, is all I can guess. Let him take control and burn some papers, and he might feel a little better!

[be11atrixthestrange]

Waking Up In Vegas: Chapter 2

After a night of debauchery, Ron and Hermione wake up in Vegas... married.

Muggle!AU. Romcom!Romione. Slow burning, smutty, angst-fest.

Rated M for reasons.

Ao3 | FFN

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More Chapters

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Chapter 2

[Hermione]

Hermione tugs the pillow off of her head, groaning at the sudden beam of light from the window. The sun is too intense for the morning— based on the afternoon's unbearable heat, she swears her hotel window faces west. She covers her face and groans again, angry at having been pulled out of peaceful sleep.

She opens her eyes to find Ron standing near the bed, staring at her and wearing nothing but a towel wrapped precariously around his hips. Her cheeks blush at the sight of his bare chest. He's pale and a bit scrawny, but he wears it well. She's seen him shirtless before, just a few days ago on the pool deck, but the effect is different in the context of her hotel room.

Did I sleep with him last night?

"Why are you—?" She pauses, unsure how to encompass all of her confusion into one question. He's staring down at her shirt, so she follows his gaze to find she's wearing a bright orange t-shirt with the words Chudley Cannons across the front.

Isn't that the name of the youth football team he coaches?

"Why am I wearing this?" She glances around the room to see that it's a total mess, and the blinding light from the window indicates that it's facing east, not west. This isn't her room. Tentatively, she meets Ron's narrowed eyes. "Why am I here?"

Ron simply gapes at her. Obviously, he's just as confused as she is, and she suddenly feels very exposed.

A few things happen in quick succession. She's busy trying to read the expression on his face when his towel begins to loosen around his hips and falls swiftly to the floor. He tries to catch it, but his hands are occupied — he's clutching his clothes in one and a piece of paper in the other. She doesn't notice his reaction because her eye line instinctively lowers, causing her to blush and bite her lip.

"Morning!" he says, pointedly trying to draw her attention back to his face. He's wearing that fake smile again.

"Ronald Weasley." She hopes her authoritative tone masks her self-consciousness and distracts him from her lingering gaze. "What the hell is going on?"

x

One week earlier…

"I'm Hermione Granger."

She extends a hand to the red-head, one of Ginny's brothers. She feels like an idiot for forgetting his name, but the girl has six brothers. It's bound to happen.

Whatever his name is, his flimsy handshake indicates that he doesn't want to be here. "And you are?"

"I'm Ron." He sounds angry that she doesn't know. "Ron Weasley? The bride's brother? The groom's best friend?" She raises her eyebrows in a way that hopefully looks apologetic. "You really don't know me?"

"I figured," she shrugs, hoping her nonchalance will overshadow her tone of defensiveness. "But most people introduce themselves without assuming others know who they are."

He huffs, and it hits a nerve. Admittedly, she's not great at first impressions, but he already seems determined not to like her.

She fights her urge to call him out on it. She is about to embark on a ten-day international trip to celebrate Ginny's wedding, and as the Maid of Honor, she'll be working closely with Ron and the rest of the wedding party. She wants things to remain friendly between them, even if he won't meet her halfway.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Hermione Granger," he says in a falsely cheerful voice.

"Thanks," she tells him, keeping her voice neutral. She takes a seat and motions to the empty chair across from her. He hesitates, staring at the chair as if expecting her to present a better option. After a moment, he sighs again and sits down.

What is his problem?

He shakes his head impatiently, like an anxious dog that would rather be anywhere else. She wants him to like her, of course, but it's starting to seem like an uphill battle.

Pushing her insecurities aside, she waves down a server, and Ron squirms uncomfortably. What now? The server must sense his contagious discomfort because he grumbles when he approaches. Ron looks expectantly at the server.

"I'll have an iced coffee," she says.

The server nods then glances at Ron. "Oh erm... same, I guess."

"No straws," adds Hermione. Ever since Luna showed her a video of a plastic straw stuck up a sea turtle's nose, she has felt guilty using them.

"Noted," quips the server.

"Actually," says Ron, "I would like a straw."

He looks questioningly at her when the waiter walks off, so she assumes he wants her to explain herself. "Straws are awful for the environment," she says, shrugging. "You really don't need them."

Ron just stares blankly at her. His eyes are such a soft blue shade, which makes their lack of emotion unsettling. He takes an impatient breath. She expects him to say something about straws, so she is quite surprised when he changes the subject. "We should compare itineraries for the bride and groom."

Her heart sinks. She doesn't actually want to talk about straws or sea turtles, but without his acknowledgment of her explanation, her request to the waiter comes off as controlling. She's been called that before, and the memory hurts.

She decides to play along. "Yes, I agree. In fact, I have put together a tentative plan for the joint stag and hen party." She slides a piece of paper across the table to him. Hopefully, he will appreciate her attention to detail and the fact that it's even laminated if they spill their coffee. Unfortunately, he doesn't seem the type to be impressed by organization.

"Hold on," he says. "A joint stag and hen party?"

"Yes, it's more efficient this way. You can see on page four, I've already made reservations at a hotel on The Strip, and for pretty much everything, bigger parties mean bigger discounts."

"Hermione, I think the boys would prefer a separate stag party."

She anticipates his response — Harry has mentioned Ron might be planning something for the boys but could also use the help. "I've already spoken to Harry, and he loves the idea," she said in her best reassuring tone.

A flash of hurt crosses Ron's face. "He… what?"

Is he hoping to plan this all alone? "Yeah, he already agreed to it."

Their conversation pauses as the waiter returns to deliver their iced coffee. Ron pointedly takes a long drag from his plastic straw, and she tries her best not to scowl. It's not worth the power struggle, and it feels like he's trying to pick a fight.

Keep calm, Hermione.

She wonders if he's always like this. Ginny says he's usually an amiable and caring guy. What's changed?

Then the realization hits her. She recalls a recent conversation with Ginny about wedding party drama. Evidently, she only asked Lavender to be in her wedding party because she was dating one of her brothers. Then they broke up, and she was worried things would be awkward and weird.

She looks back at Ron, sitting dejectedly across from her, attacking his coffee with a plastic straw. That brother must be Ron. Hermione leans forward and looks him in the eye. "I know it must be awkward for you to spend so much time with your ex-girlfriend. Ginny told me about the breakup. She wasn't expecting you two to split before the wedding,"

She hopes her tone sounds caring and apologetic, but hurt fills his face again. That's probably why he's so opposed to a joint party. It must be challenging to put aside his pain and heartbreak to focus on the wedding, especially since his ex is part of the festivities. It would be tough for her too.

If only he knew the pain that she's pushing aside right now. They could bond over similar heartache. She's almost tempted to tell him but knows it would fall on deaf ears. "Look, it'll be hard, but we can't let our own personal issues affect this. This wedding is about Harry and Ginny. No one else."

Ron just scowls at her, but it doesn't hurt as much. She's starting to see it as a mask. "What are you saying?"

"I'm asking that we don't bring any unnecessary drama along. Leave it here, and focus on the bride and groom."

"We?"

She nods. "Yes, we. I will also leave my issues at home." Hopefully, her words are enough to hint that he's not going through this alone.

"So no drama at the wedding. None." He takes another swig of his drink, raising his eyebrows at her like he's trying to draw attention to the straw. Infuriating.

"No drama."

"Deal." He reaches out a hand, and she takes it. It's another flimsy handshake that makes his promise feel insincere, but she decides to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Then, something on his face catches her eye. "You've got something on your nose."

When he releases her hand and rubs his nose, she realizes it's one of his many freckles. They're kind of cute — like his eyes, they make him look kind.

His face turns an angry red, suggesting he doesn't feel the same. "Must have been dirt," she says, hoping to avoid pointing out an insecurity.

He smiles at her, but it looks forced. She tries to smile back.

x

Hermione shakes her head to detach herself from the unfortunate memory of their first meeting. Ron has pulled his towel back up over his hips and is currently backing toward the bathroom, still clutching clothes in one hand and a piece of paper in the other. What is so important about that paper?

"I'm going to get dressed," he splutters, followed by a string of profanity before the door shuts and locks.

Hermione groans, dropping her face into her hands to rub her temples. She has a headache, a lump in her throat, and so many questions, but Ron's apparent regret indicates that he doesn't remember much of last night either.

She wonders how much he regrets it. It would be a more straightforward question to answer if she knew what it was. They both had a few too many drinks, and at some point, decided to go to bed together. It's possible that they just went to sleep, but the fact that he was naked and she's wearing his clothes suggests otherwise.

The bathroom door unlocks, and Ron emerges, dressed in khaki shorts and a red button-down. There's something about a ginger man confidently wearing red that makes her smile. "So, erm, good morning. Again." He sounds uncomfortable.

Hermione's head is still pounding. She lowers it back into her hands and takes a deep breath. She feels the bed shift and knows Ron is sitting next to her.

Ron's voice is surprisingly soft when he speaks next. "Are you ok?"

She isn't expecting the question, and it catches her off guard. She hasn't thought much about how she feels; she just wants answers. "I don't know yet. How much of last night do you remember?"

Ron sighs. "Honestly? None of it." He fidgets. Oh god, he is so uncomfortable.

She nods. "Did we have sex last night?"

His face turns crimson red, and he inhales sharply. "I don't know."

"You were naked this morning."

"Yeah," he nods. "I generally sleep naked."

"I'm wearing your clothes."

He glances down at her clothing. "Yes, you are. My favorite t-shirt, actually."

She knows she needs more time to process it all. How could this have happened? She has never had a one-night-stand; in fact, she can still count the number of people she's been with on one hand. She even has a few fingers left to spare.

Her voice is quiet when she speaks next. "Ron, I think we probably did, don't you?"

Ron nods. "Yeah, probably."

Her self-consciousness is overwhelming, and her eyes prickle with tears. The last thing she wants to do is cry in front of Ron, so she tries to mask it by covering her face with her hand. He must think she's a lunatic.

An image of Lavender Brown, Ginny's other bridesmaid, and Ron's ex-girlfriend floods her mind. Lavender and her perfect body that's always dressed in pink, her natural confidence, and her effortless charm. Hermione has seen the way she smiles at Ron and bites her lip like she's plotting how to get him into bed with her. How could Ron resist?

She wonders how many times they've slept together since breaking up and if Ron wishes it was Lavender in his bed instead of her, wearing his boxers and Chudley Cannons t-shirt. The thought ignites a tinge of jealousy. Lavender is probably fantastic in bed, and selfishly, she's thankful Ron doesn't remember, so he can't compare.

Her anxieties are interrupted by his hand on her shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Hermione."

"Why are you sorry?" He winces when she snaps the question at him, and she internally kicks herself for not having more control over her tone.

He's looking at her with those piercing eyes, so blue that she can hardly look at them directly. At least she can't anymore, but maybe she could last night. "I bet it wasn't a good surprise, waking up next to me."

His words match her feelings, catching her off guard. He must be projecting. "What do you mean?"

He anxiously runs his hands through his hair, tugging at his orange locks until they stick straight out from his head. She's momentarily curious to know, or maybe just remember if his hair feels as soft as it looks. "I'm just sorry it happened."

She lets out a breath that she didn't even know she was holding. "You are?"

"Yeah."

The confirmation of his regret hits her like a punch in the stomach. "Well, how about we pretend it never happened, then?" She rises to her feet and scours the room for her clothes, but she can't find them. Her hotel room is right down the hall, and maybe she can make it there without running into anyone. She wouldn't want to embarrass him by being seen in his clothes.

"Is that what you want? You want to pretend it didn't happen?"

"Yes, of course," she responds, briskly crossing the hotel room to the door. In different circumstances, she might have been thrilled that this happened, but knowing he regrets it…

"Hermione, wait," he says hurriedly, reaching for the paper he had been clutching earlier. "We have a lot more to talk about—"

"No, Ron. We don't." She slips into the hallway, letting the door close behind her. Tears start to fall from her eyes, and she doesn't hear him call her name from inside the room.

[evescole]

In Too Deep // Bucky Barnes

word count: 2,450

pairing: (bucky barnes x natasha romanoff) x reader

warnings: angst & sadness, cursing, some dark thoughts, not a happy ending kids

summary: you finally reach a breaking point with bucky and his relationship with natasha

a/n: oh look eva’s writing about her life again. this literally sucks sorry i’ve been so inactive the words just don’t wanna work rn. inspired off the song In Too Deep by Why Don’t We. part two for Dancing On My Own!

part one

masterlist

ask me stuff

--

The weeks following your revelation to Steve didn’t get any better. In fact, it only got worse.

Your emotions had overwhelmed you full force leaving no escape at all from what you were feeling about Bucky. Your thoughts constantly wondered to your two best friends, curious as to what they were doing behind closed doors and if they remembered who you were at all.

Conversations with Natasha were easy as anything but when it came to Bucky, you couldn’t breathe. Speaking to him made you stumble and tense up. You wanted to do nothing but cry. You knew you didn’t mean anything to him near what Natasha did, and it hurt. At this point, you just wanted a friendship. You wanted him to acknowledge you and be there, even if you weren’t by Natasha’s side.

As someone who completely loved physical attention whether it be hugs, holding hands, soft touches, anything, it was hard to stay away from Bucky. The ex-soldier had totally come out of his shell and generally warmed up to the idea of physical affection, something he was sure to give Natasha each and every second possible. It hurt your heart to watch her push him aside when she wasn’t in the mood to be touched, knowing your skin was aching to feel whatever he would give.

“I’m done,” Natasha’s voice was loud and clear as she stormed into your room, anger evident in her features. “I’m so fucking done.”

You frowned at her current state. “Why? What happened?”

The redhead paced back and forth for a few moments before settling herself on your bed. “I love him, Y/N, I really do, but,” She sighed deeply as she tried to regain her composure. “He just can’t see that he’s wrong for once.”

You chuckled and moved your gaze back to your tablet. “Yeah, I can tell. His head’s always up his ass, Nat. We know that.”

“And I get that,” She exasperated, “But he doesn’t get that I’m trying and as much as I want to spend time with him, I have things to do. Training, you, the rest of the team, I just-”

“It’s balancing,” You hummed as you pushed your device away, knowing the following talk wasn’t going to end pretty. “That’s what happens in a relationship. You balance.”

“He said you don’t matter as much as he does,” She whispered as if she didn’t want to tell you, but felt obligated. “We were fighting on the way back from the club and he said he should be my top priority before you.”

The air slipped from your throat at her words. They hit your conscious harder than they should’ve. You constantly reminded yourself that Natasha and Bucky were the ones in the relationship, that it wasn’t you and you couldn’t push yourself in. As much as you wanted Bucky to hug you and cuddle you and be concerned about you, Natasha would always be his top priority. Now, he was just putting your thoughts into reality.

“Oh.” Your eyes burned with tears but you stopped yourself from crying. You knew deep down you shouldn’t care. They didn’t care about your feelings anywhere near as much as you cared for theirs. “Well, I mean, that’s fine.”

You were constantly worried about not being enough, of losing the people you valued the most in your life, and Bucky just threw that right in your face without a second thought. You couldn’t tell Natasha that, though. You couldn’t reveal to her that you cared about Bucky more than just a friend, ever.

--

The next time your feelings were torn apart came a bit sooner than you liked. You had been filing papers with Wanda per Tony’s request thanks to his secretary being sick that week. Bucky decided he had nothing better to do with his Friday night since Natasha was on a mission and stayed to watch you work.

You were beginning to grow frustrated with the amount of papers Tony wanted organized, the stack seemingly never ending. Music played softly from your tablet on the table but your nerves were too fried to even bother.

Bucky had thrown himself on the couch in Tony’s office, his phone hovering inches from his face as the light reflected off of him. When you got close enough, you could practically drown in the scent of his cologne as you inhaled deeply.

“Hey, did anyone go with Nat when she left this morning?” His voice almost echoed through the silent room.

“Why? Jealous it wasn’t you?” Wanda joked as she shoved a file in the drawer. A chuckle escaped your lips at her words as you bit back a witty remark that would only add to his already grumpy mood.

“Why do you laugh like that?” Bucky moved his phone from his face to mock the noise that you made. “It sounds so weird.”

Wanda glanced at you, frowning at the clear presence of sadness on your face. Bucky’s comments were usually sarcastic and out of context but he seemed to be in a particular mood today. This wasn’t the first insult he had thrown at you either. They had been constant since the moment he entered the room and it didn’t look like he was stopping any time soon.

“Bucky,” The redhead snapped, disbelief clear on her face. “Why are you being so mean to her?”

Bucky laughed, his charming face crinkling with the action as he looked to you. “She knows I’m just joking. Right, doll?”

You hummed a response as you focused on the papers in your hand. It wasn’t worth speaking up because you knew he didn’t care. Obviously he was speaking honestly and maybe, just maybe, the insults would help change your feelings towards the super soldier.

This insulting behavior continued on all the way up to the holidays. Thanksgiving allowed the team a few days to visit family and not train or go on missions and you were fully prepared to use it to your advantage. Each day was planned with Natasha, both of you excited to spend the days off with each other to catch up and relax. It was her idea to include Bucky, something you found yourself okay with despite what you knew was right.

You didn’t like the fact that Bucky and Natasha had such a major influence on your emotions like they did. You wanted to be fine without them and to not wonder what they were doing alone, but you couldn’t help it. It also didn’t put you in a better position that Natasha told you more details about their relationship than she probably should.

You ended up curled up on the couch as a comedy movie played across the screen. Natasha was cuddled up in Bucky’s arms just inches from you as they laughed. Pulling the blanket closer as you glanced at them, your happy attitude started to crumble apart.

The sound of a text filled the room as Nat pulled her phone from the couch cushion, a small grin on her face. You ignored it and kept your attention on the movie, figuring it was probably Clint. The noise resounded again, this time Bucky grabbing his. A frown pushed at your lips as you saw Natasha’s name on the screen.

They were texting about you.

A pit settled in your stomach as you watched them exchange messages, oblivious to the fact that you could see right over their shoulders. Once you reached your limit, you stood up and grabbed your stuff before leaving the room without even saying goodbye.

The moment your bedroom door shut behind you, the tears broke loose. It didn’t matter that you were freezing in the cold of your room, or that your phone was dead next to you and you were starving. You couldn’t believe that they did that to you. You always gave them the benefit of the doubt, seeing as they were two of your best friends but damn.

Maybe they didn’t deserve you after all.

--

“What’s wrong?”

Bucky’s voice was a shock to you as you froze in your spot. You didn’t want to speak to him, not now. Your thoughts had been tearing into you all day long and you couldn’t handle having a conversation with the person causing it.

“Nothing,” You answered as you skipped the song playing on your tablet. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No,” Bucky sat down next to you on the couch and pulled the device from your hand. “Talk to me.”

You sighed and leaned back against the cushions, finding it interesting that he only wanted to talk to you when it was convenient for him. “Just overthinking.”

“About what?” He pressed as he looked back at you.

“Long story,” You mumbled, hoping it would push him away. It did the exact opposite.

“I’m ready to hear it.” When you didn’t continue talking, he sighed, “Y/N, I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want you to tell me.”

Pulling your knees to your chest, you released some of the thoughts haunting you, including parts of your fears of losing him and Nat. You were embarrassed to have let the idea even in your mind, knowing it would be better if you cut them both out no matter how much you didn’t want to.

“You’re never going to lose me and Nat, I promise,” Bucky consoled as he set your tablet aside. “No matter what happens, we’re always going to be here for you. And I know it’s scary being in your head, but you can always talk to me. That way you’re not alone and nothing bad happens.”

That was it. That’s what hurt. The fact that he said you could always come to him but you knew. Oh, you knew that only applied when Nat wasn’t around. If she was there, you were invisible to him, and you couldn’t even be surprised anymore.

--

It continued like this for a while. Bucky and Nat would argue, you’d hear about it from both of them, they’d make up, and you’d be thrown in the shadows until you were relevant again. It was tearing you down with each confrontation or minute spent near them. You didn’t know how much longer you would last before you broke down and just spilled to them.

Your friends and family constantly reminded you that neither Bucky nor Natasha deserved your attention and love, and even you knew that, but you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away. The good times were so valuable, so memorable that you didn’t want to even think about losing them. They truly brought you out of your shell, whether you wanted to admit it or not.

You tried to distract yourself by jumping head first into constant training with your other teammates and any little chance you could find to escape the compound. It began to get easier. You felt a little lighter, like things were slowly getting back on track since you weren’t hovering over everyone’s favorite couple.

Then, it just happened. You couldn’t stop it. You didn’t mean for it, but it did.

Bucky approached you one day, curious as to why you had been pulling away and dead set on getting an answer. He seemed hurt and it set off a burn inside you to see him feeling even an ounce of what you had been through.

“Did we do something wrong?” He interrogated as he followed you to the training room. “You just stopped talking to us.”

You ignored him as you pulled your hair up before going to tie your shoes. If you spoke even a word, you weren’t going to be able to shut up.

“Y/N!” He groaned as you stood up and walked towards the treadmill. You could hear him huff and before you knew it, you were being spun around. “Answer me!”

“What do you want, James?” You shouted back as you clenched your hands in his grip. “How much more of me are you going to use before you let me break?”

The anger was instantly replaced with confusion as he loosened his grip slightly. “What do you-”

“I’m exhausted, Bucky! I can’t win with you! You only talk to me when you need someone and other than that, your attention is on Natasha. And I get it, I really do. She’s your girlfriend, but fuck, I thought I was your friend!” You didn’t bother stopping the tears streaming down your cheeks as you let all of your pent up emotions burst. “You guys act like you don’t want me around and I can’t keep tearing myself up over this!”

Yanking your hands from his grip, you brushed against his shoulder as you stormed past him. His footsteps were right behind you, despite your desire to be left alone.

“Don’t walk away from me!” He jumped in front of you, stopping your escape. “Come on. Talk to me. Natasha’s worried and so am I. We just want-”

You scoffed, “Oh, you’re worried? That’s new.”

Bucky sighed and brushed your anger off as best as he could. “We care about you, Y/N. I don’t know why you think we-”

“I sit here and I suffer and you can’t get your head out of your ass to just look at me for once!” You snapped, “Bucky, I don’t think you get it. I don’t want to be here anymore. And not just the compound, I don’t want to be on this planet anymore! It’s. Not. Worth. It.”

Bucky stepped back with shock evident in his features. You hadn’t even mentioned anything to him about the way you had been feeling, but then again, why would you? After what he and Natasha had done to you, he couldn’t blame you. He just wished you would’ve said something sooner.

His lack of response was enough of an answer for you. You just shook your head and gave him a sad smile. “Goodbye, James.”

The sound of your shoes against the floor was almost nonexistent as Bucky stood there. He couldn’t tell how much time had passed as he just relieved the argument and every interaction he’s had with you since he and Natasha became a thing. His chest started to feel heavy with guilt as he realized what they had put you through. It was no wonder that you snapped.

With a deep breath, he began walking. Not after you, though. No.

He had a date with Natasha, after all.

--

masterlist

[the-ventriloquizt]

some arnie and scarface backstory stuff (very long... again)

arnold was born into a family trying to get in on gotham's mob dealings, though arnold's mother wanted nothing to do with it and especially didn't want her only child to get involved. arnold would witness his mother's death at the hands of his father's men early in his life, first watching her get hit by a car and then seeing a man get out of it to make sure she was dead, not noticing arnold hiding away. this was, undoubtedly, extremely traumatizing for the poor kid.

his father was arrested for it and sent to blackgate, but not before arnold was drilled by police into spilling everything he ever knew about his father and the family (which really wasn't much, though they kept insisting he knew more than he was saying)

his aunt on his mother's side adopted him, and he lived a pretty ok life for a while, though he had a deep seated fear that his father would come finish the job, and couldn't talk about anything from his life before because his aunt would get upset and stop talking to him. he couldn't even mention his mother without getting treated like he was invisible, but he handled it. he pushed it down.

he suppressed it all (alcohol-assisted for most of it), especially his ever-developing hallucinations and anxiety, and went through school and a very, very boring stint of college without much trouble. he really came into his own, however, when he realized that he had some pretty lovely vocal talents, and began singing at a gay club for dinner shows. it was probably the best parts of his life, those five or so years. he had just started gaining some self-confidence...

and then his aunt died in a car 'accident'. she had been found a victim of a hit-and-run, just a regular hit-and-run, but arnold was convinced that his father had come back from prison to kill him, killing her first to make a point. nothing the police told him could convince him any different, and it chewed at him, pulling up so many horrible feelings he had originally thought were buried.

the next show he tried to sing at was his last. trying to force it all down again, as he began to sing, he started seeing people. people in dark suits, hats covering their eyes, glinting guns in their coats. at every table he could see them, could see his father's men, and in the middle of what was supposed to be the chorus... he screamed at the hopelessness of it all. he screamed and clutched his face and ran away, running into his dressing room and barricading the door behind him. he refused to open up for anybody, and only left once he knew the entire place had shut down.

his public meltdown had been in the news for a little bit, since he was a small-time celebrity, and he practically disappeared at that point. he stayed at his aunt's apartment and waited, waiting for his father to finish him. when he finally left the apartment to go grocery shopping, he made sure to go through the alleys, away from the main street, away from the prying eyes of the people in long cars...

and he ran right into a gristly murder scene.

a man laid dead in the middle of the alley with an uncountable amount of knife wounds in his chest, a suitcase in one hand, and a ventriloquist dummy on the other. he was dressed in a striped suit and a hat, but the dummy was dressed like a prisoner, a giant gash across an eye and the front of its shirt torn open. the man had been donnegan, a escapee from blackgate, but arnold didn't know that.

arnold stood there, just looking for a while. he didn't know how to react. just, a dead body. right there. worse, he just approached it, crouched next to him, and asked 'Are you okay?', like he didn't know the man was dead. he couldn't process it, with everything else on his mind.

even worse... the puppet responded.

'no, an' its gonna get worse for you too, if ya don't get us outta here quick.'

arnold didn't have time to question it, as he heard someone coming from the other end of the alley. he snatched up the puppet and the suitcase and bolted back home, only stopping once he had his door completely locked and all of his windows covered by curtains.

he began berating himself the very instant he got home, realizing that he stole evidence from a crime scene, and that someone could track him down somehow! and then he'd end up in prison! with his dad!

the puppet interrupted.

'nah, noone's gonna be lookin' for the killer of dat mug. i'm the important one, see? look in the suitcase.'

arnold was wary now to listen to a talking puppet, but he didn't know what else he could do. the suitcase didn't have much in it; it was originally just a box to hold the puppet, but there was a gun, and a bunch of rolled up little papers, names and addresses on them, hidden in a pocket.

'i've got some gusiness to do, gut i've got time. what's your proglem, kid? you've scratched my gack, and now i gotta return the favor.'

arnold had begun speaking for the puppet, and then he started speaking to it, spilling everything that had ever happened to him, from his mother's death to his very recent, very public meltdown... and the puppet listened. no punishment, no nothing. he finally got it off his chest, and the puppet said,

'i knows a way to get your pop off your gack: you just gotta ge getter than him. ge gigger than him. i can get ya there, gut youse gotta ge ready.'

arnold insisted, he'd do anything to get his father away from him, anything.

that anything started with burning down the club he sang at. after all, those shadowy people knew he worked there! it'd only put everyone in danger if they kept going, looking for him. best thing to do was to burn it, the puppet said. so he did. he burned the place to ashes, and felt nothing for it. he felt absolutely nothing.

'oh, an' my name's Al, gut i prefer Scarface, get me? we're gonna ge the kings of this gurg, Arnie, and your pop's ain't gonna dare touch ya.'

very quickly it stopped being about arnold's father. it just became scarface's context-less quest as they visited every name on the suitcase's lists and either menaced them into giving up their turf or killed them for refusing, and scarface's influence grew and grew to a frightening point. scarface grew bigger than anything arnold's father could've fathomed, and arnold followed right behind, unsure of what he'd gotten himself into, but too scared to back out now.

scarface's gratefulness quickly ran out, too, and his gruff but caring 'i'll protect you' persona turned into something vile, a mix of violent jealousy and blatant disregard, the hateful critic that had originally stayed in the back of arnold's mind finding a physical form in scarface. all of his insecurities became fair game, and he couldn't deny any of it. if it came from scarface, it was obviously true.

arnold has his own jealousy issues, and cannot stand anybody but him holding and using scarface, to the point of maiming if it keeps people away from him. the only person with arnold's permission to hold scarface is rhino, and thats only if it's an Absolute Emergency (or if he's fallen asleep with scarface on his lap again).

it took ten years from the fire and the beginning of scarface’s rise for batman to finally zero in on them, and it's been quite a ride since.

random facts:

scarface's backstory, of the 313 souls and gallow's wood, the cursed puppet, came from rumors from blackgate after donnegan's death. they had reached arnold and scarface through word of mouth, and scarface happily adopted it, finding it fun to make everyone squirm with the idea.

rhino had been on the suitcase list, but he wasn't the guy they were looking for, and instead joined them, since he had been looking for work anyways. it didn't help that scarface was awful charismatic, what with his gun and all.

arnold thought that scarface's name was 'al' because the prisoner's outfit he was wearing had A and 1 on it and he misread it.

scarface has been getting better, personality wise. after the 'lock-up' situation and very, very, very many therapy sessions, he's become more of a properly protective force than an abusive one. he's still very violent, just not as much to arnold anymore. arnold's appreciative, but still kinda thinks he deserved the treatment. :(

arnold's favorite song is 'shoot him down!' by alice francis. scarface likes gangster movie soundtracks and frankie valli and the four season's 'beggin'.

[iris-writes-things]

Two Guys and a Baby: Day 12 part 1

Read on AO3, FF.net or under the cut, or read ahead as I write the story as a $1 Patreon patron!

'Dear mother,' the page in Ezra’s notebook began and Crowley immediately knew he shouldn’t read any further without the man’s express permission.

Or, just when everything seemed to come together...

Chapter 16 of 20 Ongoing 2293 words Romance/Humor

It must have been four in the morning when Crowley woke to the tinny staccato of a Nokia brick phone ringtone. A kiss was pressed to his temple. A soft 'I'll get it. You just dream about whatever you like best,' was whispered in his ear. A great warmth left his bed, and as soft footsteps padded to his nightstand and to the door of his bedroom, the intrusion faded until it suddenly ceased. And Crowley, well, Crowley did as he was told.

*

It had been eleven by the time Crowley tumbled out of bed and stumbled to the kitchen, only barely bothering to pick up his tacky, synthetic, black and red, floral print robe from the floor, not bothering to close it. He was about to turn on his coffeemaker when he noticed there was a warm pot of coffee sitting on the counter already. Not waking up alone seemed to have its perks already.

World's Best Uncle mug full of black coffee, he made his way to the kitchen table where, if it were up to him, he'd scroll through some social media feeds, check for messages*, drink some coffee, rinse and repeat. 

(*there were never any.)

Except, on his kitchen table, Crowley found an open notebook and an uncapped fountain pen. One that he gave Ezra years ago, because it was small enough to fit inside his coat's inner pocket.

Now, Ezra Fell could be accused of many things, but messy as his bookshop may seem to the untrained eye, he never left anything out of place. Crowley could no longer contain his curiosity.

'Dear mother,' the page in Ezra’s notebook began and Crowley immediately knew he shouldn’t read any further without the man’s express permission. 

Even glancing at the contents of Ezra’s notebook felt like a betrayal of his trust. But the letter was long and the ink was smudged, both from a left hand dragging over still drying ink, and wet stains on the pages. 

Crowley didn’t need to be a detective to deduce that the sobs and whimpers coming from the living room weren’t Adam.

Slowly, Crowley advanced to his living room. His phone and coffee were abandoned on the kitchen table. “Ezra?” he called. “Angel?”

An ugly sob sounded across the room, followed in close succession by a much younger cooing. So, Adam was awake too. 

“Shit,” Crowley swore he heard Ezra hiss.

As he poked his head around the door opening, Crowley found Ezra faced away from him, pacing around the living room, carrying Adam on one arm and desperately rubbing his sleeve across his face with the other.

“Ezra…” Crowley heard himself breathe. His legs moved of their own accord, his arms opened and soon enveloped the other man. His own vision grew blurry when he felt a sob rack through the other man’s body. “I won’t ask if you’re okay, because I can see that you’re not. I’ll only ask what happened when and if you’re ready to talk. But I’m here for you, alright?” Crowley said, pressing a kiss to the crown of Ezra’s hair. His voice had sounded shakier than he’d hoped, but it needed to be said, dammit.

Ezra hugged Adam closer to his chest. The boy seemed to be enjoying himself just fine.

“I knew this was coming ever since I got word she was ill,” Ezra mumbled. Crowley heard the lump in his throat and his heart ached on Ezra’s behalf. “We hadn’t spoken for a decade, and yet…” 

“It hurts.”

“It shouldn’t.”

“And yet it does. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Anthony,” Ezra sighed, finally relaxing in Crowley’s embrace, leaning back against his chest. He sniffled again, dried his tears on his sleeve and turned to face Crowley. His complexion had paled and his eyes were red and puffy. “I hope you don’t mind I’ve already fed Adam.”

Crowley shook his head and leaned in to kiss Ezra’s forehead, only for the man to recoil. Right. Too fast. It wasn’t so surprising for the walls that had finally started to come down, went back up immediately. “I don’t mind at all. How about breakfast? I’ve got eggs and bacon, I’ll make us some toast—”

“I already ate,” Ezra insisted. Crowley knew for a fact this was a lie; for one, there was no evidence in his kitchen that anything more than coffee and perhaps the aforementioned jar of baby food had been prepared and two, it was his own lie, the one he used when Ezra fussed over his minuscule appetite used right back in his face.

It didn’t happen often that Crowley got a taste of his own medicine and he didn’t particularly enjoy it. Especially where his angel was concerned. But what was he supposed to say? What was he supposed to do? Sure, they were out in the open, but they weren’t yet out of the woods. He loved Ezra too much to risk a misstep and lose him again. 

“Right. Of course. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Ezra nervously shifted Adam in his hold. Crowley instinctively reached out to take Adam from him, but Ezra didn’t budge. The boy shot a confused look between the two of them.

“There’s one thing,” Ezra mumbled. “But I can’t possibly ask this from you, I’ve made you a promise.”

Crowley, careful to not make any sudden movements, slowly reached up to stroke Ezra’s cheek, but settled for laying his hand on the man’s shoulder when he recoiled from that as well. “Try me,” Crowley said. He wasn’t the model of patience, but he sure could try to look like it. “Going back on a promise isn’t the same as breaking it.”

Ezra nodded slowly and took a deep, steadying breath. “There’s a wake on Monday,” he mumbled. “I won’t ask you to talk to anyone. I won’t even ask you to go in with me. All I’m asking is for you to be there when it’s over.”

A fond smile crept to Crowley’s face. “Angel, I would do all of those things and more. All you have to do is ask. I’ll be with you, Ezra. Every step of the way.”

“In that case, there’s one more thing I’d like to ask of you.” Ezra glanced up at him shyly. “Julianne and Sandy, they asked me to…” Ezra gestured vaguely with his free hand, he blinked his tears away and his adam’s apple bobbed. “Write the eulogy, essentially. And read it in front of a church full of people.”

“I thought they didn’t approve of your writing?”

“Unless it suits them, apparently,” he sighed.

“Well, that’s hardly fair.”

“I’m inclined to agree with you. So, I’ve decided to write something they won’t expect. The truth. My truth. They won’t like it, I’m sure, but at least they would finally know."

Crowley's mind ground to a halt. Rarely had he seen his angel this fierce, especially on the subject of standing up for himself, but this might actually have consequences for him. He bit his lower lip and thought for a moment as his mind wandered back to the open notebook on his kitchen table.

"Angel, listen."

Ezra's gaze snapped up at him, still as fierce as before. Crowley had a feeling the man wasn't going to like what he was about to say, and he also felt like Ezra was acutely aware of that fact as well.

"I'm all for dramatics and for dropping truth bombs. Hell, any other context, I'd be cheering you on from the sidelines. And while I'm not saying you shouldn't burn all remaining bridges with your family if you feel like it, I am saying that I'm concerned about your safety."

The man looked at him as though he was watching water burn.

"Ezra, that church will be full of grieving people, most of whom will have liked your mother in some capacity and even more of whom will share her medieval views on people like us. Especially your siblings. Write your feelings down, sure. Write them in the guestbook, go to a poetry slam night and recite them there for all I care. But please, for my wrinkles and grey hairs, don't read them in front of that audience."

A deep sigh left Ezra and he firmly rubbed his creased forehead. "I suppose you're right. I just… I'm not sure what to do if not that."

"Well, you helped me write my letter of resignation. It's only fair if I help you with this."

*

Their entire morning was spent inside Crowley’s flat. All of the curtains were drawn, as nobody felt particularly motivated to be faced with the happy, sunny world outside. Crowley and Ezra were sat at the kitchen table, with Adam in his high chair between them, snacking on a breadstick. Ezra, dressed in his button-up and slacks from the day before and hunched over the table, dictated to Crowley what he needed on paper; a mix of his own true feelings and what he knew everyone in that church wanted to hear about his mother. Dressed in nothing but a Sheer Heart Attack t-shirt, boxers and his floral robe, Crowley typed as fast as his slender fingers and the word processor on his laptop allowed him to.

To say it was a struggle for Crowley to write a loving eulogy for a woman whose love for her son was so conditional that they hadn’t spoken in a decade and hadn’t exactly been on speaking terms before. Meanwhile, Crowley himself had been in the position with his mother where he could be comfortable sharing anything and everything that plagued his mind without fear of retaliation or abandonment.

Crowley briefly wondered if Ezra resented him for this sense of freedom he never really got to experience, but he quickly pushed it to the back of his mind. How could he be this self centered? How could he make this all about himself? Ezra was the one suffering here.

He gazed towards the man next to him from the corner of his eye. Ezra looked tired and pale. There were dark circles under his eyes and even his usually curly hair seemed to have lost a great deal of its bounce.

“Angel,” Crowley whispered. “I’m, uh, if you don’t mind… I’m going to take Adam for a walk in a bit. Get him some fresh air. You don’t have to, but I’d like for you to come with us. We could stop by a bakery, get those chocolate croissants you like so much.”

Ezra, still hunched over, looking like an empty shell of himself, exhaled a long sigh. “I’m okay, dear.”

Crowley pouted. “That’s not what I asked,” he mumbled. “And it’s okay not to be okay. You know that, right?”

“Of course I know that!” Ezra snapped. “Why wouldn’t I know that! Anthony, I’m fine!”

A sigh left Crowley. “Right. I’m going to put on some pants, shoes, and” he sniffed at himself, “and some deodorant. Tag along if you want to. Or don’t, if you don’t feel like it. I don’t want to push any of your boundaries,” he mumbled, pretending Ezra’s outburst didn’t happen. It was easier, after all. Ezra was always the calm and collected one of the two. Crowley largely preferred when he didn’t have to be the dependable one. When he tried it, he usually turned out cold and a little hostile. Like now. At the love of his life, of all people.

He huffed, pushed up from his seat and slinked back to his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

*

Adam stared after Anthony as he left the small kitchen. How blissful must it be, to not have any idea of what was going on between the grownups that surrounded him right now? Or, well, grownup, rather, Ezra mused as he stroked the golden curls on Adam’s head, causing the boy to focus his undivided attention on Ezra.

Ezra had fucked up, behaving like a petulant child. He didn’t know what had come over him.

Well.

He did know.

He hadn’t slept or eaten since he’d gotten up at four in the morning. Then there was the gnawing guilt of feeling a slight sense of relief, now that his mother had passed away.

Adam continued to stare up at Ezra in a way he imagined little crickets in top hats would. 

Anthony didn’t deserve Ezra behaving at him like this. He’d been nothing but supportive and helpful. He didn’t push him, didn’t confront him with more than he was ready for, he was concerned over his well being… 

Ezra sighed. “I’d better go and apologize to Anthony,” he mumbled as he got up from his seat and walked the longest ten steps of his life to Anthony’s bedroom door. He raised his hand and knocked. 

“I’ll tag along with you, Anthony, if you’ll have me. I think the fresh air and some chocolate croissants may do me some good. And I’m sorry I snapped at you. You didn’t deserve it.”

“You’re damn right, I didn’t,” Anthony said from the other side of the door before it opened, revealing a fully dressed Anthony, be it in yesterday’s clothes, with a waft of fresh deodorant coming off him. Ezra couldn’t help but notice that the corners of his eyes were a little more wet than they were before he’d walked off.

A feeling of fondness tugged at Ezra’s heart and a small smile tugged at his lips just before he pulled Anthony in for a hug. “Thank you for always respecting my boundaries, even if I might not always respect yours. I’ll try to be better about it.”

“‘S okay, angel. I love you.”

“I love you too, my dear.

[reactingtosomething]

Reacting to Crazy Ex-Girlfriend: The Pilot

Rooting for Her and Cursing Her All in the Same Text

The Setup: Kris and Miri were early adopters (with a caveat below) of Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, and Liz binged season 1 once it hit Netflix. Marchae had never seen it, but finally volunteered to watch the pilot for friendship this blog, and Kris rewatched it to React with her.

After the fact, Miri had some reactions to their reactions, and Kris had a few more thoughts. As before, those annotations are in italics.

MARCHAE: Welllllll

I finished it

And took copious notes

And I experienced a variety of things

Emotions about it

KRIS: Is there a particular emotion you want to start with?

Or we can start with your thoughts and feelings that you went into this experience with so our hypothetical readers know where you’re coming from

MARCHAE: K so it was funny so there was that. I don't usually watch comedies so I LOVE when I laugh out loud in real life

I'm gonna go kind of in no order here

Then I was annoyed because I get that's she's "crazy" which is pointed about by her medications and the fact she says it several times

K there's that

And we get she was socially awkward at like 16

But this is a Harvard Yale grad who seems to not have evolved

MIRI: I’m going to refrain from saying “But that’s the point!!!” 8,000 times, for all our sakes

So they kind of make funny of the mental stuff that I don't know was necessary and then they paint her as desperate chasing after a skateboarder

How

Why and again why

KRIS: Hmmm definitely a lot to work with here

MARCHAE: And it there were these flimsy shout outs (sexy getting rest song - which I actually liked a lot) to feminism and double standards that I think they definitely could have played with given how quirky she is

And then there is Paula who why did we need Paula to support this woman insanity about wanting a man from when she was 16

MIRI: Paula’s evolution from Stock Enabling Best Friend to well developed supporting character who enables because of her own pretty clear issues is a really interesting one, but on reflection not super clear in the pilot.

So basically humor and annoyance were my primary emotions

Maybe I thought to hard about it

Oh and there was music 😒

Three times

Like legit musical numbers 😒😒

KRIS: Yes

But they’re fantasy sequences, and not that thing you hate where everyone in the world of the story is magically musical

MARCHAE: **meh** I don't love empire for the same reason but I'll give to you! In our minds we often live it out as a musical

MIRI: Marchae hates musicals so much. She is willing to watch opera though?

KRIS: I’m so torn between wanting to defend the show and wanting to re-examine the pilot on its own terms, because I very rarely come into a pilot completely blind nowadays

I think one relevant piece of background we can start with is that this was originally intended as a half-hour on Showtime

And once they get into the hour-long format I think they do get a lot more in depth with the stuff Sexy Getting Ready Song wants to do

K: Only after we finished this chat did it occur to me to put it this way:

It takes all the things you’d expect a network comedy called “Crazy Ex-Girlfriend” to be about and interrogates them

but with music

MARCHAE: Then that is actually promising

I didn't know that this was hour long until I started watching

It's odd also because as much as I know about the characters at the end of the pilot I simultaneously feel like I know nothing

I'm now curious what half hour would have looked like

KRIS: That’s interesting

I guess let’s start with Rebecca

MARCHAE: I think she may be the primary issue I'm having and you're getting my first reactions here so bare with me

I think it's this juxtaposition I'm having with the notion of the career woman who drops everything for lust/love

KRIS: Is it that you’re not sure how the show wants us to feel about her?

MARCHAE: Yes! I'm not sure if I feel sorry for her

I'm not sure if I even like her beyond the fact that she's kind of just silly

Because the stakes are mismatched for me

Most people aren't just packing up and heading out for a skateboarding boo when they are that successful

So if she'd been forced to leave the job or had an ACTUAL relationship with josh I think the sensation I'm experiencing might have been a bit different

But maybe that's the "crazy" portion of the title

MIRI: Again, this is more of a long view note, but I would say that the greatest risk CEG takes is asking us to stick with the seemingly unfeminist beginnings long enough to see what they’re doing long term with their  deconstruction of the Quirky Romcom Girl. And I’m really really glad the show has been given time to get us there.

KRIS: Yeah, I think so, and now I’m wondering how the Showtime version of this would have played out long-term

There was a little backlash about the title, which surprised Rachel Bloom (the creator/Rebecca) and Aline Brosh McKenna (the showrunner), because to them it was always supposed to be ironic

MARCHAE: Hmmmm interesting

KRIS: So over the course of the show I’ve gone back and forth on whether I “like” Rebecca, but in ways that I think are deliberate

But I think some of the ways the first act sets us up to empathize with her are how we have this off-screen mother who’s throwing Expectations at her, and the butter (?) ad she keeps seeing asking her if she’s happy, which the show knows is ridiculous and maybe a little evil

And especially how her boss lists her qualifications for the promotion, which on paper and out of context would just say “this person burns herself out for the sake of other people”

MARCHAE: I'd be curious to watch the second (third) episode and see how I feel.

I don't need to like the characters necessarily but I don't necessarily "believe" her and not in the way we see Paula not believe her.

I wanted this to push more and I think I expected it (then realized this was a CW show and not much pushing could happen)

So I would hypothesize that on HBO this show would have done a couple of things

1. Tackled the idea of her giving I bet she would have even snapped at mom (who we know from jump is not normal) 2. I also think we she may not have been as "cute" 3. We also would have seen her push the boundaries of the contradictions women face at work and in life

KRIS: The CW definitely lets them push. If I had to guess I’d say that the reason it doesn’t go further here is that they just sort of padded their original 30-minute pilot and just didn’t have the material to fill it. The Daryl introduction scene in particular felt pretty slow to me on this rewatch

And some of the stuff with Greg at the party

Like there’s a lot of dead air in this

MIRI: The scene with Greg was also originally scripted to be much more extreme--a blow job instead of making out, etc. The Vulture TV podcast has a great interview with Rachel Bloom that touches on this!

MARCHAE: Yessss I checked the time a couple of times

KRIS: I think the cuteness is partly commentary, right? On what sort of person Rebecca’s been trained to be? Or do you mean something else

MARCHAE: I think that's part of it, absolutely! But, now this is a drama I'm about to mention so tonally I know it's different... but the show Being Mary Jane

We see Mary kind of a mess at certain points - at no point do we see RB a mess we see her desperate ALL THE TIME

And for me that's problematic

Even in her musical numbers she's perpetually "shiny"

That's what I call shows people in shows that are just too good to be true

KRIS: Well the musical numbers are definitely Rebecca as she wishes she was, or at least (when they’re angry or upset musical numbers) expressing herself with the clarity she doesn’t have in normal life

So are you saying you’re not really seeing big enough highs and lows for Rebecca?

K: Presumably this is where any longtime viewers of CXG are shouting BUT YOU WILL, MARCHAE, YOU WILL, GOOD GOD YOU WILL

MARCHAE: I suppose technically that is it - my long winded explanation is that she just does not have enough emotional variance or maturity. The maturity part I know absolutely part of her character and hopefully will be part of her arc

(I think I think to hard about comedies)

KRIS: No, I think this is definitely a comedy you can overthink

I think the Daryl scene, even though the pacing was weird, was important to provide a situation where the power differential is firmly in Rebecca’s favor

And to just show her in a less emotionally intense context

MARCHAE: But even there she started crying!!! PULL IT TOGETHER WOMAN!!!!!

I wanted to shake her

KRIS: Are you thinking of Greg?

Daryl’s her boss

Daryl cried

MIRI: I LOVE DARYL

MARCHAE: MY BAD!!!

wrong awkward man

MIRI: omg 💕💕💕

KRIS: Hahahaha

MARCHAE: Rebecca probably just screamed: "Now what!! Pay attention next time b****!"

K: I feel it’s important to note that Marchae censored herself here. Miri and I have no such restraint, which may become evident if we React to anything at least one of us hates.

KRIS: OK now that I’m thinking about it, I don’t have a problem with that crying moment in that she’s crying, but it definitely does seem to be where expanding from a half-hour hurt the structure

Because that would normally be end of act two, right, like maybe page 23 in a 30-something page script

And then that Paula scene is the triumphant climax

But they’re maybe too close together in an hour-long format

MARCHAE: So question and I'm cheating because I'm asking about future episodes and arcs

KRIS: Go for it

I don’t know how much you want me to explain so ask away

MARCHAE: Does she ever become more ....

KRIS: And if anyone’s reading this they’re probably caught up

MARCHAE: I guess how does she grow ? Does Paula enable her?

Or push her to be better

Not get better but so better for herself in the romantic dept?

KRIS: Paula 80 percent enables her and 20 percent pushes her

Hmmm yes and no

It’s definitely an up-and-down-and-up-and-down thing

MARCHAE: *cringe*

MIRI: I lied, I’m saying it once and you can’t stop me: That’s the poooiiinnnnttt. It’s a little annoying at first but SO GOOD once you see what they’re doing

KRIS: I’ll say at the end of season 1 she gets what she (thinks she) wants, and by the end of season 2 she’s lost it definitively

(I think they have a five-year plan)

MARCHAE: You had me rooting for her and cursing her all in the same text

KRIS: I think that’s EXACTLY how the show works

So obviously Rebecca’s really smart, and she does grow as a person, but a simplified version of what happens is that whenever she’s about to have a critical self-aware epiphany she gets the thing she wants that she shouldn’t want, and that sets her back

developmentally

MARCHAE: So basically she becomes an infant by the end of the season!!!!

NOoooooo

So now I want to watch the entire show to see how this plays out

MIRI: Yesssss!

KRIS: Did you want to talk about Paula issues?

MARCHAE: I do

But you answered that one for me because I was curious if we see Paula as sort of the antithesis of RB

So is Paula there for the sake of satiating her desire to have some drama in her life via RBs antics

?

KRIS: Yeah pretty much

And you meet her kids and husband

MARCHAE: Sweet grief I can't even imagine that home (actually I can-but I hope it is the opposite of what I'm thinking)

K: I really wanted to defend/say more about Paula but ultimately erred on the side of avoiding spoilers.

I do want to go back a few beats though to the to the fact that the show touches or intros the idea of RB being on some kind of medication for anxiety at the very least

Does the show explore that a bit more

KRIS: Yeah, definitely

You’ll meet her mom and there are some more flashback-y bits

And she gets a therapist

MARCHAE: *thank you to the heavens above ah-men*

Oh good

I was worried that it was just a device to say "hey she's crazy she's on medication!"

I am glad to know it's not!

KRIS: I mean Rebecca’s definitely in denial most of the time but the show knows she SHOULD be working through her stuff in a healthier way

MARCHAE: YES!!!

KRIS: Yeah, I definitely read the sink scene as a legitimate “oh noooo” moment

MARCHAE: That's what I thought - I wanted them to call back to it though in some way. Maybe show her looking for the medication and realizing: "uh yeah, I pitched those"

KRIS: I forget how soon her meds specifically get brought up again but I think right now she definitely just doesn’t think she needs them anymore

MARCHAE: Yeah I definitely over thought that one for sure

But so happy to know they work it out!!!!

KRIS: I should say that it does have the normal problem a lot of shows have, of episodes 2 and 3 being a little shaky (3 more so, if I remember right), but 4 is great

MARCHAE: So I'm in for at least five?

KRIS: Your call! But I definitely think it’s worth it.

MIRI: I actually missed a few episodes after the pilot because I feel second hand embarrassment so incredibly acutely that I wasn’t sure I’d be able to watch this show at all. Got sucked back in about halfway through the season and then went back to catch up.

MARCHAE: A lot to ask for me and a comedy, but curiosity (even for just a character development standpoint) has me wanting to binge

KRIS: There are also some really good supporting characters you haven’t gotten to meet yet

K: I am SO EXCITED for Marchae to meet Heather and Father Brah

If it helps to get through it, Allison Shoemaker does the episode reviews on The AV Club and she’s GREAT

MARCHAE: Ill have to check some of those out!!!

I'm skimming titled and notice we live with Josh all season

KRIS: He’s not really always a major character but they’re definitely through the lens of Rebecca’s obsession

MARCHAE: Which should be interesting it reminds of a thing you see a lot in thrillers (novels in particular) where the center of attention isn't always present but that idea of them makes you want more of them and provides simultaneously more insight into our actual main character

That's kind of cool

KRIS: Yeah

Any other thoughts?

MARCHAE: I think I got em all

NO LIED

Is it always a musical *in tiny tiny voice*

MIRI: Marchae once spent a solid five-ten minutes arguing her case for why tv musicals were not ok. ‘If I jumped up on this table and started singing you would think I was crazy! You’d tell me to get down before I broke my laptop!’ was more or less the gist. Arguments that all forms of media have their own absurd conventions had no impact. Also, she is fine with at least some theatrical musicals. We still love her.

KRIS: I think they average two numbers an episode? Sometimes there’s just one, sometimes they have 3, but I don’t think they’ve ever done an episode without any musical bits.

Or maybe two and a half. They do interesting things with little reprises and callbacks

But they cover a really wide range of styles

Daryl gets a country number

But Daryl also gets a bizarre electronica number

So

Yeah

MARCHAE: I did just shake my head in actual real life

KRIS: HA

MARCHAE: I guess you can't win em all

KRIS: There’s definitely white girl rapping

But it’s also kind of a highlight of the season?

(I’m listening to the soundtrack now to remember things)

MARCHAE: Lawd Jesus *insert spiritual humming and rocking and sings peace be still*

I'll make it!

It's a trade off. I think it'll be good

I think we got all my big questions

And small ones

KRIS: Go us

When you come to LA maybe we should go to West Covina

I actually have no clue if that’s a good idea

MARCHAE: HAHAHAHAHAH

I should google map it and take a gander

We hope we’ve successfully bullied Marchae into watching more of Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, and if so, we’ll be sure to check back in for a mid-season and/or finale follow-up post!