#I need to watch the rest of the seasons now but I’m so braindead that watching anything without my darling Sam seems unthinkable rn

[gggoldfinch]

hrrrrgggghb,,,,,, need to rewatch Fargo s5 again……..,,,,

#the first few episodes are my favssss ugh #I need to watch the rest of the seasons now but I’m so braindead that watching anything without my darling Sam seems unthinkable rn

[ddarker-dreams]

Malaise. Yan Fugo x Reader [Implied x Giorno]

word count: 6.3k warnings: implied sexual relations, angst later on notes: i wouldn’t say there’s super heavy yandereness going on here, but given the context i figured yandere would play out a bit differently. it’s more like slight yandere if anything ...

i.

Interacting with someone so close to your own age shouldn’t be this miserable. Bucciarati is far easier to converse with, it’s not even a close competition. He’s a pleasant conversationalist, humoring your ideas and offering valuable input. If you had it your way, you’d only be speaking to him and not… this bratty teenager who turned his nose up whenever you were around. As if your mere existence is the highest insult to his own. You’ll never forget how he looked from you to Bucciarati with a quirked eyebrow when you were introduced, the awkward encounter forever burned into your mind. 

You blow a strand of hair out of your face, nose scrunching up at the current dilemma. Bucciarati had asked, more like softly nudged you, to get along better with Fugo. You’ve been trying, ever since he introduced you two that fateful day. In the back of your head, you wonder if the same task was assigned to Fugo in private. Though seeing as he’s remaining nose deep into his book, sitting as far as humanly possible from you on this couch, you doubt it. The phrase “avoid like the plague”, doesn’t even scratch the surface of Fugo’s attitude towards you. He’d sooner embrace the Bubonic Plague than you, should prior encounters be recalled.

“Was there something you needed?” 

Speak of the devil. He must’ve seen fit to grace your presence with his most sacred articulation, filling the tense air with some much-needed conversation. The words aren’t malicious on a surface level, seemingly a reasonable inquiry considering you’ve been staring at him for a solid ten minutes. It’s how his voice is strained, knuckles whitening as he grips the book tighter, which gives him away. Fugo’s too easy to read at times, the same can’t be said when it comes to dealing with him. This might be the most difficult task Bucciarati ever assigned to you. 

“Need isn’t the word I’d use,” you decide to ignore the not-so-subtle irritation on his features, pushing your strained luck as far as it can go. Linguistics aside, you put your cards on the table. “But, I was hoping to get to know you better.” 

With the ball now on his side of the court, all you can do is wait, for whatever rebuttal Fugo decides to dish out. When Bucciarati isn’t around, Fugo’s preference is to act like you’re no more than a fly on the wall. Buzzing around his head and making it impossible to focus on anything that he does in his rare downtime. Honestly, he can’t comprehend why Bucciarati felt so desperate as to pluck you from whatever hole he found you in. You don’t even hold a candle to his own intellect, taking a naive, happy-go-lucky approach to life. Sure you’re a Stand user, and while it’s not a useless Stand, Fugo couldn’t picture you making the choices necessary in a fight to stay alive. The fact you haven’t been reduced to a bloodstain on the pavement is the only thing he finds impressive about you so far.

His eyebrow twitches at your pesky insistence, face settling into a grimace. “Am I right in assuming that if I don’t humor this pitiful attempt, you’ll continue to stare at me and disrupt my otherwise peaceful evening?” 

You place a finger to your cheek, considering the proposition, before nodding your head. “It looks like you’ve got a better understanding of things than I expected.” 

Fugo lets out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. So be it. He’ll wait until you fall asleep to finish his book, mentally noting the page number and setting it by his side. The act of surrender takes you off guard. You were fully anticipating a snarky one-liner, or for him to disregard you in some other way. Instead, he looks at you with disinterest, arms crossed over his weird swiss cheese shirt. You learned never to mention your inner critiques of his fashion sense, as it once earned a plate of parmesan being narrowly dodged at Libecco. Scary stuff.

“Now that I have your undivided attention,” Fugo winces at this like he heard nails on a chalkboard, “What do you like to do? Y’know, hobbies and stuff.” 

It’s as good a start as any. Finding out a person’s interests unravels the essence of who they are, what they believe is worth their time and effort. Fugo gives your question an unexpected amount of thought, probably sensing you’ll call him out for a lackluster answer. Which you would, of course. For all his stubbornness, he’s gotten good at reading you. Maybe you should try shaking things up a bit to rattle him, keep him on the edge of his seat… 

“Honestly, you couldn’t pick something more original…? I don’t know. I read, and I can appreciate a good movie.” 

You let out a hum of acknowledgment, considering his words. A very safe, Fugo-like answer. It didn’t take a seasoned detective to assume Fugo liked to read, but the movie detail is a new bit of information that you will take full advantage of. He strikes you as the type to be snobby about his tastes in movies. Most likely only watching them if they’re popular with critics and saying the general population has no appreciation for the fine arts, too busy consuming braindead action flicks instead of true cinema. Not that you have any intention of voicing this conclusion to him, seeing as you’re trying to worm your way into a friendship.

Fugo snaps his fingers in front of your face, bringing you back into unfortunate reality. Maybe that statement earlier this morning about you zoning out too much holds some merit. Before he can berate you as he’s taken an apparent liking to, you speak up. “That’s good and all, but I need specifics.” 

“Care to elaborate?” 

“With pleasure,” you lean forward, waving your hands enthusiastically to emphasize your point. You get the sense that Fugo regrets asking for clarification, but neither of you are willing to back down now. “How about this. If you could only watch one movie for the rest of your life, which would you pick?” 

“Is this some kind of job interview?” Fugo murmurs to himself, massaging his temples. You shrug your shoulders and offer a bright smile, and he knows sarcasm isn’t gonna cut it. “It’d need to be something interesting… maybe The Silence of the Lambs.” 

He somewhat defied your expectations, not listing some obscure black and white flick filmed on a Blackberry. Maybe you jumped the gun on your initial assessment of Fugo Pannacotta, and he isn’t as grandiloquent after all. This confrontation is going better than you ever anticipated, and you almost feel guilty for selling him too short.

That is, until he sees fit to present an unnecessary addition to his previous statement. “Was that bit of English too much for you?” 

So much for that. Once an asshole, always as an asshole. Shakespeare may have said something similar, but your reimagining is far more of a pinnacle in literary achievement. You deflate back into the couch, huffing at his indignant comment. Well, might as well burst his bubble now. It may be the only bubble Fugo has that you’re capable of the aforementioned bursting, so you’re going to savor every second of it. The entire reason you’ve never mentioned this facet of yourself is that you never viewed it as imperative. Bucciarati knew, you knew, that’s all that mattered. Until Fugo decided to dig under your skin and rub salt on the wound in one fell swoop. Figures he’d do that.

“Fugo.” 

“[First].”

“You know English is my first language, right?” Your voice is more of a deadpan than anything, tilting your head to the side as if it is the most logical conclusion. The hypothetical cogs in Fugo’s head begin turning. There was that time you stumbled over a Naples exclusive dish, sfogliatella, Bucciarati kindly offering the proper pronunciation after you stumbled on it. Or how you have the slightest of accents, sometimes referencing pop culture that goes beyond him. He always wondered why muttering “cazzimma” to you only earned a light reprimanding from Bucciarati, and never offended you as more common insults would. He just thought you were some type of misfortune idiot. Whoops. 

Not willing to throw in the towel yet, Fugo takes a posture of defense. This is a hill he’s willing to die on, you have to be playing some kind of cheap trick. “I don’t buy it.” 

“Should I start reciting the entire Star-Spangled Banner by heart, or talk about how much I love fast food and baseball? Did you think my Stand would be a bald eagle that shot out apple pie? If that’s the case, you’re fresh outta luck. I’m living in Naples for a reason.” you respond in fluent English, flexing your hypothetical muscles. Fugo recalls his English classes from years prior to roughly translate some of your words, scowling at the realization you’ve proven him wrong. By god do you wish you had your phone with you to snap a picture, print it out, frame it in every room of this apartment, make it your lock screen, and send it to Bucciarati. 

You’ll settle for drinking in the moment instead, Fugo muttering curses underneath his breath. Much to your surprise, from this moment forward, Fugo earned just an ounce of respect for you. Not that it says a lot, seeing as the cup of [First] respect was drier than the Sahara desert until recent times. 

It’s still a step in the right direction.

ii.

Neither of you says a word.

Coming down from your individual highs, you feel how your hair sticks to the sides of your perspiring face. Your bare chest heaving with every labored breath, Fugo in a similar state of disarray next to you. Now that it’s all said and done, you’re unable to look at him out of embarrassment. Instead, you seek solace in staring at your ceiling, thoughts scrambling to rationalize the previous events. 

It all started innocent enough. The two of you had been growing closer, becoming more comfortable in each other's presence. Even Narancia, who could be notoriously poor at picking up on subtleties, could sense your connection and even pointed it out. Until Fugo told him to knock it off (in far more vulgar language), saving you the shame of saying it yourself. You felt content with the state of things with Fugo, after months of getting him to come out of his shell with you. His words were still pointed, but not full of ill will. Even when three more additions were brought to your little group, Fugo remained the person you prefer the most. It might be wishful thinking, but you think he feels the same towards you. 

Tonight had been like all the ones that came before. The two of you sitting on the couch, talking about pointless endeavors. Mista and Narancia were out at the time, leaving you all on your lonesome. For such a sizable couch, you didn’t realize how close Fugo was sitting next to you. Your thighs practically touching, occasionally brushing over one another. To combat the summer heat and mediocre air conditioning in your apartment, you were wearing short shorts and a tank top. Seeing as everyone else could walk around shirtless at their discretion, no one ever made a point to call you out on the less than modest choice. Even if they felt the itching, you’d shut them up without a second thought.

Fugo found himself focusing less on the words coming out of your mouth, and more on your glossy lips. He could smell your strawberry chapstick, the choice so tempting he found it offensive. Mixed with the chocolate gelato that you stole from Mista’s “hidden” stash, Fugo was bewitched on a level that shouldn’t be possible. Your skin, slightly glistening from the summer heat, eyes full of passion as you explained why you hated pretentious movies. At a certain point, you must’ve noticed how Fugo stopped responding to your impassioned rant. All he could think about was how much he wanted to kiss you, to feel every inch of your body.

So he did. 

It was far from suave, an amateurish clashing of teeth and tongue. You let out a surprised noise at the unexpected events but melted into it. While the kiss didn’t go as smoothly as he pictured in his head, you seemed to savor every second of it. He still remembers how eagerly you responded to his every desperate touch, how you wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him even closer. The scent of your floral perfume and the sweet noises that left your lips almost made him drool, prompting him to go even further. Fugo’s brain almost shut down when you lowly whispered into his ear to come to your room, bodies soon falling onto your bed in a heated embrace. 

You feel sore, but it’s not so bad. 

Fugo’s the first to speak up after some painstaking thought, breaking the silence that’s resonated ever since he climbed off of you. “Are you… are you okay?” 

It’s so unlike him to be this unsure, not knowing what to do or say. His heart still pounds in his chest, cheeks flushed and lips bruised. Suppressed emotions came crashing down over him like a tidal wave, drowning him before he could make sense of it all. You didn’t push him away or seem offended by his advances as he’d feared you’d be. Instead, you accepted all of him. Allowing him to carry out his pent-up yearning for you, in a state of bliss by how you called his name out. 

Shameful as it may be, Fugo had envisioned this scenario in his head numerous times. He’d always hated himself for it, thinking he’s no better than a common pervert for the way he thought of you. All the ways he pictured you, in all the lascivious situations, only to see you bright and early for breakfast the next day. When you smiled and told him good morning, all he could do is look away in disgrace. Not that you ever knew about this, or that you ever needed to find out. 

You let out a carefree, light giggle at his serious inquiry. Fugo’s eyebrows scrunch together into a scowl at your sudden laughter, finally working up the courage to look at you again. Any frustration melts away like winter snow in the spring at how breathtaking you look, your skin iridescent and eyes softening. They aren’t softening just for anyone, it’s for him and him alone. Does he deserve to be the one you look at with all this adoration? And should he even bother with the self-deprecating thoughts, when losing himself with you is so much better?

“S-sorry, I’m not laughing at you, it’s just,” you cover your mouth with the back of your hand, the skin underneath your eyes tightening from the wide smile. “I never took you for the sappy, pillow talk type.” 

Fugo’s nostrils flare, huffing without any malice at your teasing. He doesn’t have the slightest idea of what he’s doing, improvising as he goes. Everything that happened, every shared touched you shared, felt so surreal. Cheesy as it may sound, it was like a dream come true. What is there to say after a passionate encounter like that? He’s still rushing to get his bearings, hating the sensation of being this out of control. How you make his stomach erupt into a swarm of butterflies with every action, from the simple fluttering of your eyelashes to the cute way your nose scrunches up when you’re concentrating on a task. Fugo knows what this could be, in the back of his head. A quiet, hard to push down voice tells him what he’s been dreading to hear. That he’s a fool, deep in the throes of love. 

It takes a few minutes for you to calm yourself down. Fugo’s observant, much to your chagrin, having picked up on your nervous tick of laughing when you’re unsure of what to do. It’d make sense, seeing how you just slept with your teammate who frequently called you an idiot a few months ago. You prop yourself up, bedsheets covering your bare chest. “I’m fine, thank you.”

He looks away, despising how your revealed skin makes his face flush a bright red. Even without looking at you, he can picture the knowing smile on your angelic face at his embarrassment. It’s the same smile you have when Narancia tells a particularly funny joke, when Mista goes on a silly tangent about his latest concerns, when Bucciarati says you’ve done a good job, or when Abbacchio chooses to sit down next to you when everyone else is being too annoying. Most importantly, it’s how you always look at Fugo, even when he didn’t think he deserved it. 

You poke his cheek, murmuring his name. Fugo’s violet hues flicker back to you at the unprecedented action, perplexed countenance betraying his inner thoughts. He knows he shouldn’t be thinking like this. That the occupation you two are involved in is too dangerous to sustain a relationship, and that death is a possibility every day. It’s too late for him to nip these feelings in the bud -- that opportunity passed long ago, as he let it -- but he can’t allow it go past the point it already has.

Fugo lets out an inaudible gasp when you make yourself comfortable against his bare chest. Here he is, being torn on the inside between desire and duty, and you’re snuggling up without a care in the world. It’s the stark contrast that separates you, the same one that has him so hopelessly enamored. You have no intentions on making this easy for him, do you? He knows the answer when he sees your eyelids closing, threatening to fall asleep. 

All is comfortably quiet until he hears your muffled voice speak up. “You didn’t push me away.” 

“Huh?” 

Fugo’s own response isn't the schooled, thought-out string of words you’ve come to expect. It’s a kneejerk reaction to a confusing observation, that he’s having trouble rationalizing in his head. While never the most forthcoming with his emotions, he was essentially ravishing you like a man possessed a few minutes prior. You can’t be that dense, can you? Scratch that, the more he thinks about it, the more it makes sense. Even if not many got to see that side of you, there are still insecurities that weigh heavily on your heart. In the same way he struggles with self-worth, you fight a similar battle. The thought tugs on his heart, lips set into a deep frown. Everyone’s got something to deal with.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Fugo responds in a harsher tone than he intended. When he feels you tense against his chest, he curses himself, intentionally softening his next set of words. “But, uh, do you really want me to stay? The others might be back soon.” 

You let out a hum of acknowledgment at his concerns, promptly waving them off. It’s not like Narancia and Mista are capable of sneaking into your shared residence, it’s ridiculously loud when they come home. “Just a few more minutes.” 

He expected an answer like that and still has trouble relaxing. Truth be told, Fugo would prefer to lay here with you forever. To see what you look like when you sleep, to feel the gentle rise and fall of your chest in sync with his own, to kiss your forehead and whisper goodnight. In an ideal world, that’s how it would be. Reality is a lot less forgiving, and there’s too much on the line. Being this close to someone else is vulnerable, painfully so. To hurt and be hurt, the opportunity now having the room to manifest. He knows all this, and he still can’t bring himself to mention the full force of his anxieties. Would you hate him? Think he was using you and then ditching you? 

Fugo decides to be selfish, more so than usual. While there’s no way to push down all of these emotions, looking at you puts him at ease. His fingers ghost over an area on your neck he learned was sensitive, almost smiling when you lean into the touch. The way he feels with you is addicting. From your quick wit that matches his own, never being afraid to challenge his positions, it’s like he found his match. While he’s always found you begrudgingly cute, even when he was colder to you, it’s evolved into something greater. More serious and heartfelt. It’s horrifying and exhilarating all at once.

“Does this mean we’re dating?” you ask what’s been troubling you, hearing how Fugo’s heartbeat ramps up in speed. It’s a rational conclusion, seeing how comfortable you two are with one another. You don’t know if what you feel is love, not just yet, but you want to give whatever this is a shot. Fugo’s hesitation says all you need to know, though you wish it isn’t like this. 

“I… I don’t know if I’m ready for that just yet.” Fugo answers honestly, the words so quiet you struggle to pick them up. It’d be a lie to say you’re not disappointed, though you don’t want to push him into anything he’s not ready for. Fugo has his own emotions to work through, and the last thing you need to do is jump into a relationship and ruin everything. So you lift yourself up, looking him deep in the eyes, Fugo blinking at the abrupt movement. 

“Then I’ll wait.” 

He doesn’t notice how close to crying he’s been this entire time. The world through his view goes blurry, a lump forming in the back of his throat. Fugo takes deep breaths to steady himself, and instead of berating him, you wipe away his tears with the pad of your thumb. Whispering reassurances into his ear, combing through his tousled hair with your fingers. Fugo wipes at his eyes furiously, cursing himself for breaking down in front of you of all people. He’s overwhelmed with gratitude when you decide not to comment on it further, to save him the embarrassment. Your words echo within his head like a holy mantra, a promise that he’ll hold onto. 

If there were ever a reality where you looked down at him with disdainful eyes, he’d hate himself. 

iii.

Wandering aimlessly isn’t the worst part.

No, that’d be letting himself off too easy. It’s not the sleepless nights, tossing and turning while his stomach churns, or even the tear-stained pillowcases. When walking around Naples, all he can do is submerge himself to the shadows. There’s shame in the act of hiding, and it’s all he’s come to know. Seeing the light of day feels too good for someone like him, someone who had been abandoned by everyone he cared about and was too cowardly to prevent it. It’s a suitable punishment to wallow in his own self-pity and loneliness, cursing his entire existence for the mistakes that haunt him every day. 

It’s always a mistake to come to this café. This is your favorite café, and on days like this, all he can do is watch from afar. There are times he stares at the spot you frequent for hours, waiting to see if you decide to stop by that day or not. In a way, it’s almost better when you don’t. He doesn’t get a taste of what he’s missing out on, a forbidden fruit that he’s too ashamed to reach for. Most of the time you come here alone, with your favorite pastry and coffee, scrolling on your phone or laptop before leaving. He’s seen you meet with Mista a few times, even Trish once, but it’s mostly Giorno who accompanies you. 

Today you’re on your lonesome, speaking to someone over the phone and then hanging it up with a smile. Fugo can’t help but wonder, who is it that makes you smile like that? As he sits from afar, drowning in his anguish, it’s what plagues him the most. That used to be the smile he saw on a daily basis, the one that made him fall head over heels in love. Now he’s too afraid to approach you, in fear of what you may say, or do. Even what you wouldn’t do would hurt. Would you look at him in pity, or curse him for his cowardly actions? Condemn him for not joining you on that boat, or ignore him all together?

Is it possible… that you’ve simply forgotten all about him? It has been almost two years since the worst day of his life. While he’s caught up in the past, you’ve moved into a brighter future. He doesn’t know how he feels anymore. Surely you deserve any happiness you can get after all the suffering you went through, but the thought of you being happy without him stings. It digs talons into Fugo’s heart, ripping it out of his chest. One of these days, he tells himself, he’ll work up the strength to speak to you. Even if it’s but a moment. 

Though some part of him knows he’ll never be able to face you. Not anymore.

v.

It’s early in the afternoon. Chatter from other patrons reverberates off the tastefully decorated walls, in a restaurant that Fugo’s been to numerous times. This particular visit is different than the ones years ago. Instead of the bustling atmosphere he’d grown used to, there are only two people at the table. Where laughter and lighthearted conversations before work used to occur, there’s nothing but silence save for some polite discussion. Fugo’s throat feels persistently dry, no matter how much water he gulps down. 

Giorno sits across from him, legs folded and nursing a glass of iced tea the waiter brought seconds prior. Maintaining eye contact with the revered Don of Passione is no simple task. It’s a daunting experience, regardless of Giorno’s insistence on no formalities being necessary when interacting with one another. Fugo holds immense respect for him, otherwise, he wouldn’t be willingly sitting here right now. Still, his mouth is set in a straight line, leg bouncing underneath the table. Respect isn’t enough to snuff out the uncomfortable memories that appear up in this room, suffocating him from the inside out. 

“Is there a reason I’m here?” The words come out more forcefully than he intended, Fugo’s eyes darting around his familiar surroundings, looking for something he won’t find. Someone he won’t find. He’s grateful to Giorno for his benevolence, as speaking this way to someone who’s technically his boss isn’t advisable. Someone as sharp as Fugo knows this better than most, but he also knows Giorno. While not understanding him entirely, his actions make logical sense in the grand scheme of things. 

Being in Giorno’s position means being busy. Every second of the day has to be taken advantage of, whether it be discussing with other mafioso about recent happenings or plans, making multiple phone calls, and plenty of other headache-inducing tasks. So it doesn’t make much sense to Fugo why Giorno called him this morning, asking to meet him in person for lunch. While the two aren’t on bad terms, he doesn’t feel deserving of the specially allotted time. And in his gut, he feels there’s a hidden justification for the meeting that he’s yet to uncover. A few unpleasant theories come to mind, but they only serve to unnerve Fugo further, so he stuffs them down. 

“I wasn’t sure of the best way to deal with Purple Haze. Your Stand… you’re already aware of the potential consequences it could’ve posed, so I won’t rehash it more than necessary,” Giorno begins to offer his insight into the matter, finally revealing the true reason Fugo was called out here today. “There were a variety of methods that could’ve been used, with varying degrees of success, but I took a gamble. Ultimately, she didn’t want you to suffer anymore.”

Fugo feels his heart drop, jaw slackening despite his best efforts. “Who… who do you mean?” 

At this, Giorno quirks an eyebrow up. As if to wordlessly say, you know who. 

“It might not be my place to delve into your past,” Giorno continues with a serious air, contrasted by his closed-mouth smile. Fugo never knows for certain what Giorno’s plotting behind that smile, and a part of him wants to remain oblivious. “But for you to overcome it, and in turn gain total control over Purple Haze, it must be addressed.”

He can guess where this is going, and he doesn’t like it. Giorno gives him a moment to consider the words, briefly glancing at his buzzing phone and then returning his attention back to Fugo. It’s a subtle change in body language, how Giorno’s shoulders stiffen just slightly as if he’s anticipating something. Fugo loosens the tie around his neck, the pair returning to tense silence. While the Don made valiant attempts in loosening him up, it only served to make Fugo more suspicious. All of his fears are confirmed when he overhears two voices from the room over, one of them sending his heart racing.

That’s… that you and Mista speaking to one another. He knows your voice better than he knows any other sound on the planet, even if it’s been years since he’s heard it up this close. Fugo still dreams of you, the way you used to stumble over certain Neapolitan lingo, or how wonderful it sounded when you graced his ears with a laugh. Now, he’s unsure of what to feel when hearing the muffled conversation between you and Mista. The sound grows closer, and with it, his dread. After rejoining Passione at Giorno’s behest, Fugo knew this reunion couldn’t be avoided. Nothing could prepare him for it. 

There’s a telltale gasp when you turn the corner, spotting the back of someone you haven’t seen since you were a teenager. Someone who you used to hold in high esteem, who practically fell off the face of the earth after betraying the old boss. While Mista had hastily given you the details on the car ride over, it still felt too surreal, like a cruel joke. There’s a lot that weighs down on your heart, like stones wrapped around your ankles, dragging you into the depths. The details Giorno gave you about Fugo’s whereabouts were purposefully vague, most likely in consideration of your past feelings. 

“Fugo…?” 

You’re by his side before he can even process it, bending down and wrapping his stiff shoulders into a warm embrace. He doesn’t reciprocate it or stop you, his thoughts not capable of rationalizing what’s going on. Fugo can’t bring himself to look up at your countenance, in fear of what he’ll see staring back at him. That you’re even hugging him means you must pity him, viewing him as a scared little boy who was too weak to do what was necessary. It’s the only explanation that makes sense to him, and why he can’t return your affections. While it’s no longer his place to desire anything from you, not after all his shortcomings, he silently prays. That there may be some part of you that still cares for him, in the same way he has loved you from afar. 

“I’m so glad you’ve come back.” you sniffle, emotions swirling and enveloping you. You lift your hand, using your finger to swipe away forming tears. That’s when Fugo sees it. It doesn’t hit him at first as one would expect. No, it’s a prickling sensation that starts from his chest and spreads throughout his body like a virus. His body feels ice cold, like a corpse clinging onto shreds of life, consumed from the inside out by sorrow. Nausea comes in waves, tempting him to flee from this heart-wrenching scene and never look back. Your hand falls back to your side, and Fugo’s eyes follow it with precision, unable to look away.

There’s a rose gold band on your ring finger. 

Of course. Looking at you here, it makes sense why this would happen. Your body has filled out, beauty like that of an angel. The ability to draw people in and befriend them like a glowing aura has always been your strong suit, it was warm enough to thaw the ice around Fugo’s heart. It’d be a fool’s prayer to beg God to keep you for himself, and still, he had tried. Now that leaves the burning question, who? Who was the person that erased himself from your mind, taking the place that was carved out specifically for him? He looks at your beaming face, searching for answers he won’t find outright. 

Your perfume is the same as it was before. Light and floral, but mixed with a hint of something new. Of someone new. It sickens him, the scent dizzying as it taunts him. Where has he smelled this before? It’s on the tip of his tongue, fizzling out before coming into fruition. The words you speak next are drowned out by Fugo’s throbbing head, too absorbed with dark thoughts to process them. He needs to know. He has to know. Fugo looks over your shoulder to Mista in search of answers, the gunslinger holding an uncharacteristically grim expression. They hold eye contact, Fugo staring at him with potent intensity. 

Give me a hint. Anything, please.

Not everyone gives Mista the credit he deserves for being observant. Fugo must’ve looked like he’d seen a ghost, Mista swallowing at the pale complexion and vacant eyes. Believing that his intentions weren’t clear enough, Fugo almost looks away. Before he gets the opportunity, Mista offers a slight inclination of the head. Fugo closes his eyes, all his strength going into holding himself together. Picking up the shards of glass that maintain his emotions, hands growing bloody in the process. It’s a subtle movement, though there’s no denying in what direction it went, as much as Fugo wished otherwise.

Towards Giorno. 

You move towards your seat, realizing Fugo must be going through a lot of emotions of his own. The last thing you need to do is suffocate him when it’s clear he’s processing the unfolding events. “I don’t know the last time you came here, but they recently added more desserts. I’m partial to the zeppole… it’s so light and fluffy.” 

Mista walks over, taking a seat next to the befuddled Fugo, and speaking up to ease the uncomfortable silence that resonates in the room. “I’m starving, haven’t had anything to eat all day. Let’s get the waiter over here.”

While he flags down a passing employee, Fugo’s eyes follow your form. The table is different than how it used to be. Abbacchio would be sipping on wine, no matter the time of day. Bucciarati wouldn’t always be sitting down for long, seeing as he had lots of work to do, but he always made time for a good meal. Narancia loved conversing with you, seeing as you had lots of knowledge of the English music he was so partial to. You always sat next to Fugo, who’d lightly reprimand Narancia for being more passionate about rap than his studies, or telling Mista to knock it off with the unappetizing conversations he loved to start. 

Now, you take the chair next to Giorno, who had pulled it out in kind when you walked over.

You said you’d wait for him, and Fugo fooled himself into believing that statement would last a lifetime. He always had regrets about not joining his team on the boat that day, too many to count. A new one has sprouted up like a weed, strangling his heart. If he had joined you, would it have been him you’d have married? Would it be him that you’d look at with that dazzling expression instead, the one that he had grown used to seeing? Now that he knows the full extent of the truth, Fugo wonders how he could have ever been so blind. Even Giorno -- who often smiled just for show -- had unmistakably lightened up as soon as you entered the room. 

This… This is Fugo’s despair.

The rest of lunch goes as smoothly as it can. He forces himself to speak when spoken to, Mista kindly filling the room with conversation to prevent any awkwardness. This can’t end fast enough. He needs to get out of here, to excuse him before he does something truly stupid. A serpent whispers temptations of evil into his ear, and he doesn’t want to tune them out. Not anymore. Now isn’t the time to pull any idiotic stunts, so he remains still as a statue. When all is said and done, Fugo can’t get up from the table to dismiss himself any faster. He pays the necessary respects to his Don, swiftly offering his goodbyes. With his back turned, he hears your voice call out to him in the darkness.

“I’ll see you later, right?” you ask in between bites of your dessert, the words meaning more for him than you. He doesn’t know. He’s not certain of anything anymore, even after making up his mind on returning to Passione. The situation has taken a turn for the worst, in a way he couldn’t stomach any longer. So for now, he’ll offer up an unconvincing response, not capable of looking back at you. 

At the reminder of all his failures.

“... Of course.” 

#fugo panacotta #fugo x reader #fugo panacotta x reader #yandere fugo panacotta #yandere fugo #giorno x reader #giorno #yandere fugo x reader #JoJo's Bizzare Adventure #jojo's bizarre adventures #yandere jojo's bizzare adventure #yandere #Jojo Part 5 #my stuff #not sfw

[throwing-summers-at-the-walls]

Omg yess!! Your idea about the machine giving them a suicidal number is amazing! I really wish that would have happened! I mean they even had one but Finch talked to him and i dont remember what John was doing at the time. Do you know any good fanfics that deal with Johns suicidal tendencies? Also if you dont mind me asking why dont you care so much about season 4 and 5? (I dont mean this in any negative way im just curious cause from what i heard most people liked the seasons more)

I'm glad you like it, it's been in my head for a while, someone needs to write it !!

It's 2πR ! I looked it up, I remembered Harold being undercover as a teacher and the number being good at coding and going to the subway presumably to kill himself. (The reason John wasn't here is bc he was in prison, didn't remember that)

I found these in my bookmarks:

There's also this one that seems good (I may have read it before idk)

I've been writing a fic in which John has a suicidal crisis but it's Absolute Self Projection and it got personal so idk if I'll ever get the courage to actually share it (if I even finish it).

(this part got way longer than expected fkskfjsjsf I have Feelings, you don't know what you unleashed with this question)

Not sure there's more people preferring the last seasons. But well since I don't like them I'm not gonna follow blogs praising them lol. But yeah there's some of us liking the first seasons more, ie @poioriginal is out there being iconic, though idk if it's active anymore it's been a while since I've seen a notif. I feel like there's a fracture in the fandom, like there's a fandom for the beginning and a fandom for the end. It just feels like two different shows. The last seasons being more of a crappy spin-off than anything imo. Though they did what they could with S5...

I love the earlier seasons bc of many things: John and Harold's partnership and how it develops. Their partnership with Fusco and Carter. Seeing them save people. Seeing John being a badass. Seeing Harold being a badass with computers. Back then the show was about "everyone is relevant to someone", "everyone deserves a second chance". I just. Loved the characters and the themes and the atmosphere, you know ?

There's just. Something. Ig it's the combination of all I said in the previous paragraph. Poi is one of my biggest obsessions. It's the only fandom I wrote fics for. And I may have a love/hate relationship with it given what it ended up being, but as Cecil Palmer once said, "I'm learning to let my anger go" though it doesn't look like it given the state of this post. In the end I still fucking love it and in 10 years I'll probably still be banging pots and pans talking about John and Rinch and Number Crunch.

And then the quality lessened with S3. I could tell you plenty of fav eps that I have from S1 (rn I'm braindead and can only think of dead reckoning for S2). But S3 ? 4C. And that's it.

Carter's death annoyed me but it wasn't what alienated me from the show. Root is the main annoyance. She's a sort of Mary Sue imo (don't really like the term but also can't really think of a better one). She's good at hacking and she's an assassin. A gun in each hand ? Miss me with that shit. I mean yeah John is portrayed as an absolute badass too, but it's still a bit more realistic that "I'm good at everything" Root.

She kidnapped Harold and traumatized him and I'm supposed to believe that Harold and John are chill with her now ? That Harold isn't Absolutely Uncomfortable around her and that John wouldn't shoot her on sight ? Also the whole analog interface shit made no sense to me. Why the hell did the machine pick that unstable psycho.

On top of root there's the whole decima thing that I couldn't bring myself to care about to the point that the only thing I remember about it is that it annoyed me.

Don't get me started on John saying ooc shit before dying, "saving one life at a time seemed a bit anticlimactic" holy shit go watch your own show before writing shit like this ???? Though I admit John sacrificing himself for Harold was fitting, I'll still be heartbroken over it for the rest of my life, but it was fitting.

I was here for a procedural show with John and Harold saving numbers. Not for Mary Sue root and some AI war (and I do love SF and AI stuff but. Not like this). I am aware that I didn't actually watch S4 and S5, save for return 0 and a few S4 eps, so my judgement isn't very accurate. But I know it's not about what I liked about poi. And if a few eps of S4 managed to make me loose my interest it's not a very good sign.

#anon #i have a whole fucking novel on why i dislike root planned #but i wanna watch the whole show to have complete opinion #i just have so many feelings about poi wow #lmao i hope you like to read anon #sorry for writing so much but when it comes to person of interest i cant shut up #this has probably been discussed to death #but well its my blog so ill beat a dead horse as much as i want #tw suicide #half valid anon

[florrickandassociates]

TGF Thoughts: 3x03-- The One Where Diane Joins the Resistance

Thoughts on this episode under the cut. I believe this is my shortest recap of the season even though it’s the longest episode ever of The Good Fight. 

I don’t like this episode title. It should be called “The One That’s An Hour Long” because that’s what I’m going to remember it as. This episode doesn’t feel padded-- there’s too much going on for it to feel padded-- but it does feel unnecessarily long.

A previously introduces Blum, again. I watched his antics three times last week; I can assure you I don’t need a reminder of what he’s like.

This is my second time through this episode, btw. The other episodes I’ve watched three times (morning of release, with my roommate, while writing these posts) but I told my roommate to go ahead and watch this one without me. Tbh, I’m not looking forward to sitting through it again. Y’all may be in for some nitpicking and ranting.

Lots of music this season: this ep starts off with a song about how 45 is hurting us with misinformation. This is the brilliant plan concocted by the resistance group Diane found while throwing axes. Diane thinks this video is terrible (she’s not wrong) but the rest of the crowd eats it right up.

Parts of this scene-- which satirizes liberals-- are funny. Other parts I’m not sure about. I can’t tell if the ASL interpreter is there because a gathering like this would, realistically, be inclusive or if I’m supposed to roll my eyes at how inclusive liberals are trying to be. I really, sincerely hope it’s the former.

Diane tries to ask a question and she’s overruled, but then some dude in the audience gets to ask a question. If I’m reading this right, they certainly got the sexism of liberal bros right.

The most accurate part of this satire happens next: an audience member points out that the video didn’t mention single-payer healthcare. The filmmaker, reasonably, says they couldn’t touch on every issue, but the audience member insists that single-payer healthcare is THE issue. Another audience member argues that THE issue is global warming. Then the entire crowd starts arguing. That is about how I’d expect this sort of meeting to go.

A middle-aged blonde woman taps Diane on the shoulder and asks her to follow. Diane does, as the entire crowd starts chanting “re-edit” at the filmmaker (which I don’t think would happen but whatever).

Outside, the blonde asks Diane if she wants “a mission.” “You have two options. You could go back in there and they’ll make you the co-chair of the subcommittee on bake sales [...] or you could do something. I’m looking for people who are sick of just bitching and moaning. People who are sick of screaming at the news,” the woman explains. She hands Diane a card with an address and walks away. (There’s no time on the card, but time doesn’t matter on this show.)

Roland Blum is back, and he’s fallen asleep on the RBL elevator. Lucca’s listening to a kid’s song (with no headphones!) when she notices Blum. Maia’s waiting in reception and tells Lucca that Liz wants to see her. Lucca worries she had a meeting scheduled and Maia goes to deal with Blum.

What if I just didn’t recap him? God, I’m tired of him existing.

Blum makes fun of Maia’s small, unassigned desk, which… can’t she just book a conference room for them? “Oh my fucking God, how can anyone take you seriously?” Blum asks. This is… one of the less offensive things he’s said, because it’s kind of true.

Blum notices that someone else has an office and asks Maia who it is. Instead of answering that she’s a co-worker, or with her name, Maia says “she’s a third-year too” which can only make the problem worse. Now it doesn’t just look like Maia works for a firm that’s pressed for space; it looks like Maia is one of the weaker employees at a firm that’s pressed for space.

Good lord. BOOK A DAMN CONFERENCE ROOM.

Lucca’s apologetic when she comes in for the meeting with Liz, but Liz says they didn’t have a meeting scheduled. Liz asks how matrimonial law is going; Lucca says it’s going well. Then Liz says she has a divorce referral for Lucca: herself.

“It’s a long time coming. We’ve had our tensions and, uh, barely even, uh,” Liz explains. That’s most of the explanation we get for why she wants to divorce. I wish we got a little more insight into what her marriage is like, but I don’t mind that much. Plus, we did see her husband being kind of awful with the client list in 2x10.

Also, Liz hasn’t yet told her husband she’s asking for a divorce.

Maia has found a conference room to use, finally. ASA Zschau walks in. He’s taking over the case for Matan and now I miss BrainDead. Also, Spencer Zschau has been an AUSA every time we’ve seen him and now he’s an ASA.

(Yes, I think it’s more important to note the change in Zschau’s job and that Maia found a conference room than it is to note anything plot-related in that scene.)

Liz asks her husband for a divorce the second he arrives home. Maybe not the best strategy. He does not take it well. Okay, I lied, I do want to know more about their marriage. Then again, I think that Ian’s sudden switch to BURN IT ALL DOWN mode (despite Liz’s plea to keep everything civil for their son) says a lot.

Diane goes to a creepy underground meeting spot and finds the Resistance. It’s full of white ladies, mostly around Diane’s age. It’s run by a Valerie Payser, who claims she worked in the Obama White House. All the white ladies eat her story right up.

This is another plot I don’t care much about, especially the second time through. My main comment on this scene is simply that it got New Rules stuck in my head.

Diane eats it right up. The Kings have mentioned that they considered bringing Alicia back for an episode where she and Diane meet at “the resistance” and if it was supposed to be this episode, I’m SO glad they didn’t. I don’t want Alicia back on the show. I don’t want Alicia on the show in a Diane plot (if she comes back it’s gotta be a Lucca plot). And Alicia would NEVER fall for this resistance bullshit. Diane I believe; she’s always been a little impulsive when she’s angry. Alicia? No.

LOL, I see we’re still doing the fake-but-could-plausibly-be-real-even-though-they-feel-like-a-hallucination news stories this season. (This one’s about cynaide in school lunches.)

Liz is no longer working with the DNC (Diane asks) because she was too radical. I thought that was exactly the reason they hired her?

To be fair to Diane, she does seem to want to check her sources on this underground resistance group; she says she wants to make sure it’s real. This is… not what she proceeds to do.

Maia has called a meeting of the name partners + Julius. “You told me last year that if I wanted anything at this firm, I have to ask for it. I want an office,” she declares. Go Maia! (Yes, I said that.)

“Uh, well, Maia, the issue here is space, and we wish we had more. We’re growing, and we hope that all associates, even second-years, will have an office,” Liz responds. Heh, Liz thinks Maia is a second-year and I see why she has that impression. Plus, does Maia’s first year really count since she didn’t do ANY work during it?

Maia corrects her. “I try not to make a fuss, but, Jenna Diamond. She was given an office, even though she joined the firm six months after me,” Maia argues. Well, is Jenna Diamond a more valuable asset for the firm? I’ve seen people at my company be promoted over others who have been there longer, and I don’t think that’s inherently unfair. Given how terrible Maia is at her job, I’m guessing that Jenna is just… better.

Or, as Julius explains, Jenna was on a big case and needed the space. This seems like a bad way to decide who gets offices. Why not hot desk the offices or give them for the duration of a case? Either base it off of performance/rank or don’t assign it permanently.

“And I’m working with Roland Blum,” Maia informs the partners. She informs the partners of this well after she deliberately causes a mistrial. So like, Maia’s now asking for an office because she didn’t ask for help or keep the partners posted on any development of a case they should’ve been looped in on AND she’ll now need to rework. The firm can’t be making much money off of this. If they were, Maia wouldn’t be handling it on her own.

I still don’t understand why Maia is handling ANYTHING on her own in the first place.

Maia says it’s embarrassing to work at her hot desk. Fair.

“She’s using Roland Blum to get an office,” Julius says after Maia leaves. “She still has a point,” Diane responds. “If we give her an office, we’ll have 20 other associates pounding on our door,” Julius continues. And that didn’t happen when they gave Jenna Diamond an office? This seems like a problem that would continue to happen if third-years are working cases without a second chair (or without being the second chair) but don’t have their own offices. Why not just have a few open offices you can hot desk in when you’re meeting with clients?

Liz steps out because Lucca’s got info from Ian’s lawyer. Ian wants to void the prenup, retain ownership of the house (which I think Liz got in her divorce from Adrian lol), and full custody. He also thinks Liz is hiding money at the firm. That escalated quickly.

He’s also going after Liz for adultery (it voids the prenup if she cheated). Lucca looks so uncomfortable talking to her boss about this!

Liz wants to know who Ian is accusing her of sleeping with. Lucca glances at Adrian’s office, but since Diane is still there, Liz initially thinks that Lucca is implying that Ian thinks Liz and DIANE had a thing. But no, he’s accusing Liz of sleeping with Adrian.

Credits! Is it me or did the opening of the theme music change this week?

Michael Sheen is credited with “special appearance by.” This gives me hope he won’t be in every episode.

Jenna’s office is now Maia’s, and I hope the partners understood what they were doing when they kicked someone out of their office for MAIA RINDELL. I don’t think they did, because Jenna’s left a note pad with the top sheet reading FUCK YOU on Maia’s chair. At the same time that I applaud Maia asking for things if she wants them, could she have worked out a deal with Jenna to use her office when Blum comes in?

Maia pastes the FUCK YOU note on the window-wall and smirks at Jenna. Yes, because what you really want to do when you’ve fucked over a coworker for funsies/because you’re entitled is to piss her off even more. I think we’ve established that Maia and I follow different logic.

Marissa-- who is not lacking in sass-- also disapproves of the FUCK YOU sign, but Maia doesn’t care. And then Marissa gets distracted by some resumes in Julius’s office and leaves.

Marissa walks into Julius’s office and says he’s running for a federal judgeship. She doesn’t ask, she says. She recognizes the campaign manager from one of her dad’s campaigns (I would LOVE an Eli cameo this season) and advises Julius not to keep campaign manager resumes out in the open. Good advice, but not immediately clear to me why Marissa is interested in advising Julius on how to successfully become a judge when she knows that he’s conservative.

Lucca, Liz, and Adrian discuss whether or not Liz and Adrian have recently had sex. Lucca is very uncomfortable and suggests that Liz hire another lawyer because of how personal this is becoming; Liz resists. Liz and Adrian insist it won’t get personal, then immediately begin whispering about the times they hooked up after their divorce (but before Liz’s second marriage). They’re not whispering quietly enough, which means that Lucca hears enough to look grossed out and I can hear enough to realize their dialogue ~what happened in the bathroom~ is very similar to Alicia and Will’s dialogue in 5x04.

Court stuff happens. Blum lies outrageously.

Maia praises Blum for lying outrageously in court.

Ian’s divorce attorney is the guy they didn’t hire at RBL last week. Wow, Ian isn’t playing around.

Marissa’s campaign advice is, as you would expect, great advice. And Julius wants more of it. Is Marissa doing this for free? Is she doing it because she wants to feel like she could do her dad’s job?

Ian had his detectives spy on Liz and Adrian so, yeah, I can see why that marriage failed. Liz and Adrian spent 3 hours together after Adrian was shot. Yes, so suspicious. The only thing they could possibly have done in three hours is fucking.

Adrian insists it was caretaking, not sex, and Jay is all, “for three hours?” Is it really so unreasonable that two people could spend three hours together and not fuck?!?!?!?

Maia realizes her client (and Blum’s client) are guilty. She’s stumped. Blum teaches her, yet again, how to make the facts fit the story. We get it. WE. GET. IT.

Also Blum’s story is so over the top no one would believe it. At least, I hope not…

Diane’s #Resistance decides to go after troll farms. Excuse me. They decide to go after a specific troll farm. But they only make that decision after an explainer song about troll farms. The troll farm song, actually, understand what this subplot does not: “we won’t ever beat ‘em ‘til we learn how not to feed ‘em.” Outing an office full of trolls is not going to shut down any of the other offices of trolls. It’s not even going to shut down this office of trolls. (Also, are troll farms literal offices? This seems unnecessary.) Teaching people to fact check and pressuring tech companies to prevent abuses of their platforms will do far more than whatever it is this #Resistance does.

(Of course, I get why Valerie thinks this is a good “mission”-- because she doesn’t give a fuck about missions-- but I don’t get why savvy computer woman, who would almost certainly know better, thinks it is.)

Blum is chilling in Diane’s office and they have a very long conversation about justice and politics and the necessity of lying and blah blah blah, these are not new themes.

The psilocybin is still in Diane’s desk even though we saw her throw it out.

Blum knew Jonas Stern. Oof. I buy that. I don’t necessarily think Stern (who I assume was liberal) and Blum were close, but I can see them being of the same era and even hanging out despite political differences.

Is Blum meant to be older than he looks? The people he mentions as his contemporaries are all way older than he is.

Diane calls Valerie and shares a brilliant idea we’ve only seen this show already do three to five times: CREATE THEIR OWN FAKE NEWS. WOWOWOWOW GROUND BREAKING.

Oh and the NSA nerds are back. This time they’re listening to Diane. Joy. Can’t we be done with this? Also, why did Valerie Payser, who isn’t real, get a cell phone registered to that name? She could just get a burner.

The White Lady Resistance (I think @Nikkaphon called it this first and that’s what it is) is having a great time making up fake news.

“Melissa Long” sounds so much like “Marissa Gold” that for a second I thought Marissa was volunteering to manage Julius’s campaign long before he asked.

Why does Jay think Liz and Adrian fucked?! He is like, very intent on proving this. I think he’s playing bad cop but it doesn’t sound like it.    

I’m not recapping every line of this-- mostly because I don’t have the patience to-- but the Liz/Adrian/Lucca plot was far and away my favorite plot of the week. It felt grounded, character-driven, and revealing… and it provided an excuse for Audra McDonald to sing!

(It’s a little strange having a character-driven plot in this VERY theme-driven episode of this mostly theme-driven show. It’s a reminder that I do tend to prefer character-driven shows to theme-driven shows. I prefer both to plot-driven shows, but I don’t think TGW or TGF will ever be plot-driven.)

I repeat: Audra McDonald is singing! I like that they have her sing in flashback so it’s not 100% clear if Liz has an amazing voice or if Adrian perceives Liz’s voice as amazing.

Isn’t this the same song that played over Cartoon Villain Rindell’s suicide attempt? Interesting choice. I am fully in support of reclaiming that song.

It’s fall in this episode but I think it’s meant to be spring. As I’ve said, this show does not care about time.

Blum misses court and Maia seizes a kind of shady opportunity to cut a deal that’s good for her client and bad for Blum’s client. Maia’s method involves tricking someone over the phone, which is the one thing Maia’s actually proven she’s good at.

Liz and Adrian’s innocent story works up until the point where a detective reveals he saw Liz buy the morning-after pill at Rite-Aid.

There are too many clowns in this season.

There was a riot at the troll farm and Diane jumps for joy. I’m kind of embarrassed for her.

Liz is in Diane’s contacts as “Elizabeth Reddick-Lawrence”

Diane calls Valerie to share word of the victory, but Valerie’s gone! The NSA is suspicious of Valerie’s disappearance.

It’s still storming. Melissa Long, Julius’s potential campaign manager, wants to charge him for an interview; Julus thinks that’s ridiculous. He then asks Marissa to run his campaign, and Marissa agrees. Next week-- or whenever we pick this plot up again-- can we please delve into her motivations for agreeing? I think right now it’s just that it inflates her ego.

Why did Liz buy the morning after pill? She didn’t want to have another child… with Ian.

Geoffrey Payton’s next attack is on RBL’s financials, specifically on the payments to “Reddick” in March. These are the payoffs for the women (four of them, which means there are actually at least five since Wendy wouldn’t accept payment) Carl assaulted, but Liz and Adrian don’t want to divulge that. It would ruin Carl’s reputation and, now, make the firm look bad (cover-up, not the crime), so Liz refuses to let this line of questioning go any further.

Lucca takes a minute-- and I really appreciate this-- to be disappointed in her hero. “I came to this firm because of him,” she says.

Liz demands full custody-- the one thing she’s unwilling to compromise on-- but gives in to Ian’s other demand to void the prenup. Poor Liz.

“I hate that he wins ‘cause of this,” Lucca says. “So do I,” Liz agrees.

The judge asks Adrian out. Curious where this will go.

Destroying the troll farm knocked two points off of 45’s approval rating. I don’t believe it. Valerie is missing and no one can find her. Diane says she’ll have her investigator look into it.

Diane sends Jay a text that says “no more texts” and contains sensitive information. This lands Jay on the NSA’s list. What is the point of a text saying no more texts? Just say you have something for him to work on, can you meet?

The NSA stuff isn’t bad, but haven’t we done this enough?

Blum is PISSED at Maia. He’s also being a hypocrite, but that’s the least of his character flaws. He growls and breaks Maia’s office’s window-wall with a laptop. Maia isn’t intimidated. She tells him off, and she actually had my support right up until she picked up the laptop (that is the property of the firm that employs her) and broke a second window-wall (of the firm that employs her and just gave her an office because she asked for one). I already thought her entitled ass was lucky to have a job, and now she’s going to go breaking her own firm’s property just to show her badassery? Just go back to the sunglasses, Maia.

Marissa gives her a look that encapsulates everything I just said, to which Maia responds, “The fuck are you looking at?” Okay Maia. Just because you’re a badass now doesn’t mean you have to be rude to your friends.

(As I’ve mentioned in past weeks, I’m just criticizing how terribly petulant Maia’s behavior is… somehow, I do think this is good character development for her. Maia turning into an entitled lying ball of resentment with a grudge against everyone who didn’t give her the world simply for existing is, in many ways, the natural place for her character to go. It doesn’t require her to suddenly become strategic, it doesn’t require her to become a brilliant legal mind, and it doesn’t require any rewriting of the fundamental traits of her character. I may not like or agree with new Maia, but likability is bullshit. If they can make this arc interesting, and justify its existence,  maybe I’ll even like it.)

Jay finds out that Valerie Payser doesn’t exist; she’s really a criminal who preys on rich liberal white ladies with lots of money. What a shock that a secret underground resistance of white ladies might be a scam.

Diane hallucinates/daydreams Blum singing “I’ll be there” in front of terrible green screen backgrounds and my only thought is NOPE.

Inspired by Blum and the strategy of LYING WORKS, Diane decides to fake an email (she is reading off a blank screen but she totally would’ve drafted this) from Valerie and let the White Lady Resistance continue.

Blum has Maia arrested for having hospice drugs. I assume he planted them recently, because if Maia had kept them around after Blum threatened to do exactly this last week, she’s even less bright than I thought.

Well, that’s over.

#The Good Fight #TGFThoughts

[my-one-love-is-music]

Be My Player 2? Ch. 27

Happy season 7 y'all!! My emotions were pulled in about 10 million different directions over the course of 13 episodes and if any of y'all need some emotional healing, hopefully this can help haha.

I'd also like to take a minute to say that earlier this week, this fic celebrated it's second birthday and it's unbelievable to me that this fic is two years old and has come so far. The response to this has been absolutely incredible and I'd like to thank each and every one of you for taking the time to read it and here's to many more chapters as I continue this story!

Also on AO3!

Keith breathed a sigh of relief when he walked out onto the floor of the restaurant and spotted George behind the bar. He’d spent all morning working on homework and he was practically braindead, knowing he’d have no energy to deal with persistent coworkers if he’d been stuck with Kayla on his shift.

George looked up as he approached and smiled. “I was starting to think you weren’t going to show.”

Keith stifled a yawn and swung around behind the counter. “Sorry. I’m not trying to be lazy on purpose. Getting back into the swing of school has just been tougher than usual so I’m really glad you’re the one I’m working with tonight.”

“Thanks, I guess?” he said with a chuckle as he set a drink on one of the available trays and picked up a new ticket. “I feel like I should be insulted by that.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Keith said. “I could use a friend around while at work.”

George paused, his eyebrows furrowing. “Everything’s okay with you and Shiro, right?” he asked.

Keith blinked and grinned. “Yeah, of course! We’re doing really great actually and are probably going to watch a movie after I get off tonight. Although with how I’m feeling I might fall asleep before we even get started.”

George relaxed. “Good. I’d hate for the two of you to be having relationship troubles on top of all the other stress you’ve got going on.”

“Nah,” Keith said fondly as his brain sifted through memories of his boyfriend. “We’re really good. I’m just waiting for Spring Break to get here so I can see him again.”

“How are you handling being separated?”

Keith let out a breath and readied the bottles for the drink he was making. “The first few days were rough. It’s gotten a little easier since we both have things we have to do, but I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t rather have him around.”

George nodded. “I can imagine. Vacation will be here before you know it and you’ll be back together again.”

“Yeah…” Keith said, more than a little wistfully. He glanced over at George and saw his knowing smirk, snapping him out of his thoughts. “School and work will make it feel like time flies by. I won’t have a second to spare to sit around and miss Shiro.”

George chuckled. “Yeah, hold onto that. Don’t let yourself lose that spunk. You’re going to need it.”

“Don’t I know it,” Keith grumbled.

George grinned, and they continued working in silence. Keith was glad to give his brain a little bit of a break from any form of mental strain. He could pretty much make every drink in a daze at this point. He didn’t need to focus on his work as much as he did when he got started as a bartender since the craft was second nature to him now.

Maybe he could convince Hunk and Pidge to buy a ton of booze and he could mix drinks for them. It probably wouldn’t get them drunk as quickly as straight shots of vodka and tequila, but he knew it would be fun nonetheless.

The night and the orders coming in were slow for a Saturday, but Keith wasn’t complaining. It was better than a rush they couldn’t control, and he hoped it would last for the rest of the night.

George passed him a glass as he pulled bottles of alcohol from under the counter, mixing the drink before setting it next to the ticket on the tray. George took his dirty mixers and dumped them into the sink, sticking his hands into the soapy water to start washing as Keith hung to the side and waited for the next drink to come in.

He sighed and crossed his arms, eyes roving over the few tables of patrons he could see from his place behind the bar. He let his mind start to wander now that he didn’t have anything to focus on.

~~

Keith dug his hands into his jacket pockets as he slipped out of the back door of the restaurant. The sky was dark, and the kitchen staff were doing their last rounds of cleaning before they got to leave for the night. Keith didn’t envy that kind of work when he got to leave so much sooner than they did. He also didn’t have to come in as early since they had kitchen prep, too.

The snow and salt that was still left on the sidewalks crunched under his feet as he walked back to his place. For once, he wasn’t in much of a hurry and the cold wasn’t bothering him too much despite being in the throes of winter.

Keith’s head tilted back, and he looked up between the buildings. He couldn’t make out any of the stars and the moon’s light was muted behind the clouds that hung over the city. It was supposed to snow again that night and he hoped it wouldn’t be too deep when he had to leave for work the next day.

His breath puffed out between his lips and he turned his gaze back to the sidewalk. He walked past a few strangers who were out, but they all kept to themselves, eyes focused on the walk in front of them. Keith didn’t mind. Interacting with strangers was one of his least favorite things to do.

Keith pulled his keys from his pocket as he jogged up the steps to his apartment building. He unlocked the door and pushed inside, the warmth of the building enveloping him like a hug. He hurried up the stairs to his floor, knocking the lingering salt and snow off his shoes before he walked into his place.

He threw his coat over the back of the couch and started stripping out of his work clothes as he walked into his bedroom. He changed into a pair of broken-in sweats and threw on a hoodie. The cold hadn’t been so bad when he was outside, but a chill still managed to linger in his bones now that he was in the confines of his home.

He pulled the sleeves of his hoodie down so they were almost over his hands and grabbed his computer, climbing into bed. He pulled his blanket around him as he started up his laptop and snuggled down inside the fabric. It was slow to start, and he drummed his fingers on the casing as he waited for the different programs to load.

Keith’s phone vibrated next to him and he picked it up, smiling when he saw it was Shiro texting him.

Shiro: You home?

Keith: Yup. I’m getting my computer set up now.

Shiro: Great! I’ll get rabbit set up and you can join my room when you get on there.

Keith: Sure

He leaned forward and adjusted the pillows behind him before he slouched down, trying to get more comfortable. His computer felt so slow and he wanted everything to load so he could get to Shiro.

Finally, after too long, he was able to open his web browser and pull up rabbit. There was already a notification waiting from Shiro and he clicked on it, taking him to Shiro’s room where Netflix was up on the screen.

He clicked on the mic, impatient as it took a couple seconds to calibrate and connect properly.

“Hey,” he said, probably a little too gruffly.

“Hey, baby,” Shiro said. “How are you?”

“Tired,” he sighed.

“Busy night?”

“Not really, actually. It was pretty slow. At least for me and George. But the amount of homework I had this morning and then work was a strain and I’m exhausted.”

“I’m sure it’ll get better.”

“Yeah,” Keith sighed. “I’m just ready to spend a nice night with you and watch a movie. I’ll warn you now though that I might fall asleep.”

Shiro chuckled and it made something warm curl in Keith’s chest.

“I think I can forgive you this time,” he said. “Are you going to be busy tomorrow?” he asked.

“I’ve got work tomorrow night, but my morning should be free. What’s up?”

“Well…” he said, and Keith could hear the grin in his voice and thinly veiled excitement. “I figured since we’re getting close we should book your plane tickets.”

“Close being a relative term?” Keith asked with a chuckle.

“Close in terms of needing to make travel planes,” he said.

“Okay,” Keith said. “It’s a date.”

“Not a very romantic date,” Shiro grumbled.

Keith shrugged even though he couldn’t see him. “It’s the best we can do right now. But if you really want something romantic, we can watch a rom-com tonight.”

“Eugh,” Shiro said and Keith could almost see his grimace. “No thanks. I think I’ll be the nerd I am and watch some sci-fi.”

“Took the words right out of my mouth, babe,” Keith said, letting himself sink back into his mattress. The cold was starting to recede, replaced by a strong warmth that spread from his chest.

“Does this mean I get to pick the movie?” Shiro asked.

“Sure,” Keith said, grinning. “But you better make it good.”

He watched as Shiro scrolled through Netflix, going through the shows and films suggested for him. He clicked on one and read the description.

“This sound good?” he asked.

“Sure,” Keith said, unable to stifle a yawn.

Shiro chuckled and hit play. “Don’t fall asleep on me.”

“No promises,” Keith said, lazy grin pulling at his lips. “You’d physically have to be here to stop me.”

Shiro hummed as the intro to the movie started to play. Keith was more focused on the sound of Shiro’s voice than what was happening on the screen in front of him. “If I was there with you then I wouldn’t mind letting you sleep.”

Keith huffed a laugh. “And why’s that?” he asked.

“Because,” Shiro said. “I’d be able to hold you and watch you sleep. I’d know you’re getting the rest you need and not working yourself to death.”

The warmth in Keith’s chest spread. “Well, you’re just going to have to trust me for now.”

“I know,” Shiro sighed. “And I do, but…”

“But?” Keith prompted.

“But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t much rather have you here with me.”

“And I’d much rather be there with you,” Keith agreed. “But we still have another month and a half before that’s going to happen.”

“Keith?”

“Yeah?”

There was a pause, the only sound between them coming from the movie on the screen.

“I love you.”

Keith smiled and snuggled further under his blanket. “I love you, too.”

Shiro’s laugh was soft and sounded giddy. Keith was feeling the same.

“If you get too tired, let me know and I can shut off the movie and let you sleep.”

“Okay,” Keith said.

He looked at the screen but wasn’t really seeing what was going on. Not that it mattered all that much.

~~

Keith grumbled when his alarm went off. He reached for it, swatting his hand on the bedside table until he found his phone and was able to pick it up to shut it off. He yawned and rubbed at his eyes, trying to fight through the lingering sleep that wanted to pull him back to his dreams.

He forced himself to sit up and sat there, looking around his room as he tried to get his thoughts in order. There was a chill to the air that he’d been able to ignore under the blanket and he wrapped his arms around himself, wanting to fall back into bed go to sleep.

He grabbed his hoodie he’d discarded the night before and tugged it on, crossing his arms over his chest as another violent chill moved through his body.

“What the hell,” he grumbled, climbing out of bed. He flinched when his feet hit the wood floor and cold seeped into the bottoms of his feet.

He tiptoed over to his dresser and pulled out a pair of socks, awkwardly balancing to shove them onto his feet. He hurried into his living room and checked the thermostat, gaping when he saw the temperature was under forty degrees.

He rushed back into his bedroom, snatching his phone from the bedside table before dialing the number for the superintendent.

“Hello?” he asked, voice obviously tired.

“Hey, it’s Keith and the heat-“

“Say no more,” he sighed, interrupting. “The heat’s out in the whole building. I’ve put in a call to have the maintenance crew come in and they’re going to get here as soon as they can. The snow’s pretty bad outside and they have to come across town so sorry to say that it might be a few hours.”

Keith blinked. “Oh,” he said. “Okay. Thanks.”

“Of course,” he said. “Is there anything else you need?”

“Nope, that’s it.”

“All right,” he said. “Call if you need anything else.”

“Sure,” Keith said, ending the call. “This is going to be fun,” he grumbled to his empty apartment and sighed. He could at least be grateful that he still had electricity.

He shuffled into the kitchen and started rummaging through the cabinets, searching for something to keep him warm. He found a can of instant hot chocolate mix and set a pot of water on the stove to boil. As he waited, he retrieved his computer and several blankets and set them up around the couch to have somewhere warm to retreat.

His phone buzzed as he was mixing the boiling water with the hot chocolate mix into a large mug. He absentmindedly stirred the mixture with a spoon, picking up his phone to find a message from Shiro waiting for him.

Shiro: Morning, babyyyyyy

Keith smiled and carried his phone and hot chocolate into the living room, getting comfortable among the blankets before he replied.

Keith: Cold morning

Shiro: Awww, need someone to come warm you up?

Keith: Yeah, actually. The heat’s out in my building

Shiro: Shit

Keith: Yeah, it’ll hopefully be fixed by the afternoon, but the snow we got was bad and I don’t even want to think about what the roads look like

Shiro: You got anything to keep you warm?

Keith: Lots of blankets and hot chocolate, but that’s about it. I’m kind of wishing I had a space heater, but I don’t even know where I could go buy one or if I’d even want to go outside when I don’t have to.

Shiro: Sorry

Keith shrugged even though Shiro couldn’t see him.

Keith: Can’t be helped. The best I can do is deal with it. I’ve got work later so that’ll give me somewhere warm to go if the heat’s not on soon.

Shiro: You at least ready to book your plane tickets?

Warmth bloomed in Keith’s stomach that had nothing to do with the hot chocolate he was drinking. He bit his lip, excitement spreading through him.

Keith: Definitely.

He reached for his computer and nestled it over his blanket covered legs, clutching the warm mug close to his chest. His phone started to ring, and he answered it quickly, cradling it between his shoulder and his ear as he typed in his password with one hand.

“Hey,” he said, keeping his attention on his computer that was booting up.

“Morning, babe,” Shiro said. “Have you looked at any prices yet?”

“Nope. I’m just getting my computer powered up now, so it could be a minute or two before I can get on the internet. The one good thing about this morning is that electric is still working. I really don’t know what’s up with the heat.”

Shiro hummed. “Yeah, that is kind of strange… Maybe there’s a short or a connection slipped.”

Keith sighed. “I guess we’ll find out,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. He opened his web browser. “Okay, what airport am I flying into?”

“Melbourne International Airport,” Shiro answered.

Keith hummed, typing in the airport and the flights there from Chicago. “These aren’t bad,” he said, scrolling down through the list of flights that was only a couple hundred bucks for round trip tickets.

“What time do you think you could get in?”

“Well, I can finish up my classes on Friday and pack that night and leave Saturday morning. I’d get there in the middle of the afternoon, but I could stay until the next Sunday if you’re okay with me staying a little over a week?”

Shiro chuckled. “Do you even have to ask?”

“I just want to make sure,” he grumbled.

“I’m perfectly fine with you staying that long. Hell, I’d welcome it. I’ve missed you so much that I want to spend as much time with you as I can.”

Keith bit his lip and felt his chest warm despite the cold that permeated everything around him. “I’d have to get a noon flight back,” he continued after Shiro’s words had hung in the air too long.

“That’s fine. I’m good to take you there and pick you up whenever you need it. My schedule’s a lot more flexible than yours was.”

Keith smiled. “Okay, give me one second. I need to grab my wallet so I can pay for these.”

Warm butterflies exploded in his stomach. He hadn’t even thought about it much before now that this was actually happening, but now there was no mistaking the face he was going to fly down to Florida to see his boyfriend. It was something he never would’ve expected to happen in his life.

“I’m going to put you on speaker, okay?” Keith asked.

“Sure.”

He hit the speaker button and set the phone to the side as he started booking the tickets. He typed in his personal information, grin getting wider as he reached the bottom of the page and put his payment information in.

“Okay,” he said softly before clicking the payment button. “It’s done,” he said when the confirmation flashed. “I’m officially coming to visit you over spring break.”

“Make sure to send your flight numbers and info to me,” Shiro said.

“Don’t worry,” Keith said, picking up his phone. He took it off speaker and leaned back against the cushions, eyes still locked on his computer. “I’ll get all of that to you later.”

“Hey, Keith?” Shiro asked.

“Yeah?”

“You’re coming to visit me.”

He breathed a laugh, chest ready to explode. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

If you enjoy my work, please reblog or consider buying me a ko-fi!

#sheith #voltron #molim writes #fic update #fic: player 2?

[angelakao]

The Perfect Vacation

I come back from my trip to South Africa and Mozambique, and in the quieter moments I stand (or sit) there in mild disbelief at what a perfect vacation that was. I’m trying to list my favorite moments here so that I won’t ever forget how amazing it was: 

1. Right before going to South Africa and Mozambique, I was in Boston with family, meeting my soon to be brother in law’s family. That dinner was quiet a formal occasion, and could have been awkward in many ways, but it went so well. I really enjoyed getting to know this family that will soon be related to us by marriage. I think everyone had fun. 

2. Our flight was on a Monday night 10pm. That afternoon before the flight my sister dragged me to SoulCycle. Even that was awesome. I figure it was a good way to squeeze in one last workout before flying away on vacation. 

3. Right before our flight, we went to my sister’s Boston apartment to shower after SoulCycle. Before heading out to the airport, we had some time to eat a simple dinner. I had a yummy salad. I ate that yummy salad with my brother in law and sister, watching the very first episode of the first season of Riverdale. The salad was good, and the show was SO good, I’m ended up binging the show the moment I got back from my vacation. 

4. I loved Ulusaba right away - it comes with a bit a prestige since it’s Richard Branson’s private reserve. I loved our room, and I loved our bathroom even more. 

5. I love the bar at Ulusaba - horseshoe shaped, and you could just walk behind the bar and make yourself any kind of drink. 

6. The five star service at both properties we stayed at for our holiday were impeccable - it was 3 staff to 1 guest ratio. You really felt like you had staff to help you with any little thing. 

7. Ulusaba basically served us 5 meals a day. 

8. That Range Rover safari vehicle - super comfortable, and its tiered so everyone gets a great view. It comes with ponchos we used as blankets, and in the morning drives they give you a hot water bottle to lay on your lap. Clutch. 

9. Our ranger and tracker was both utterly amazing. I went on a safari in Tanzania, and our guide was not great at all. Our ranger at Ulusaba made that tour guide I had in Tanzania look like an amateur. I now know so many things about the various animals because of him. I also very much appreciated their effort in looking for the rhinos for us - it took quite a bit of tracking and driving and searching. It reminded me of my search for a rhino when I was in Tanzania. No one believed we would find one, but we did. 

10. I like the pool at Ulusaba. 

11. The outdoor seating - I love that Ulusaba’s lodge was mounted on a hill - it had great views. 

12. I love that we saw a cheetah - super 6. Cheetahs are apparently rare, but we ended up seeing all Big 5 AND a cheetah. 

13. I loved the wine glasses Ulusaba used - so much I bought the same ones. They’re from Swaziland, and I actually think its a great reminder of the safari. 

14. After the safari, we did a 180 and basically went to Mozambique for a beach holiday. This was the best part. I love love love that we basically did two kinds of vacations in one trip. While you are in the bush on a safari, its actually quite a packed schedule. However, when we were in Mozambique, we had quite a bit of freedom - we basically told our hosts in Mozambique how we wanted to set our schedule. 

15. The Santorini Mozambique - I really cannot believe how amazing this property is. I feel like I discovered a secret gem none of the Instagrammers know about. Every corner of this hotel is beyond beautiful. Its impeccably decorated. The view of the beach is ridiculous. Each piece of decor was carefully selected. Amazing. This hotel was absolutely stunning. 

16. I loved our room at the Santorini Mozambique. We had an outdoor bathroom with a large beaded curtain. 

17. I like sleeping in mosquito nets. 

18. For 3 nights at the Santorini Mozambique, you get a free yacht trip to Bazaruto Island. My sister and I basically had a yacht to ourselves. 

19. I saw a huge huge huge turtle while diving.

20. I will rank Mozambique’s beaches among the most beautiful I’ve ever sen in my life. 

21. I like that I had prompt car service to and from the dive center in Vilanculos. 

22. Aerial views of Vilanculos, stunning. 

23. Both Ulusaba and Santorini Mozambique gave us water bottles. I kept the one from Santorini Mozambique - it’s a perfect souvenir and its beautiful. 

24. After my dive, I was so so tired and disoriented and braindead and dehydrated and wanted nothing more than to rest. I get off the car they sent to get me, and our host is waiting at the door with a cold fruity drink, and a lady gives me a cold wet towel to wipe my hands. Five star service right there. There was nothing I needed more after a long rough day of diving. 

25. Santorini Mozambique put us in different parts of the house for all of our meals. I like that there was that kind of variety, and it was a great way for them to show off their ridiculously amazing property. 

26. The massages we got - especially the masseuse at Santorini Mozambique was out of this world. 

27. The tour was arranged so that with every airport landing, we had people escorting us through gates. 

I keep sitting here and wondering, perplexed, how a vacation could have gone so well, and been so wonderful. It makes me so happy travel could be this way. I can’t wait to go back to Africa. 

#vacation #diary #safari #africa #vacationdiaries