#quickly just how much people still hate women displaying any amount of complexity/doing anything that isn't just falling into a man's arms

[bumblingbabooshka]

Thinking about marriage/women's rights on Vulcan Some may think that T'Pring not being allowed to divorce Spock was because he was going through the pon farr but if she were allowed to divorce him at all she probably would have done that a long time ago, confirmed by T'Pol when she's speaking with Koss, who isn't suffering from the pon farr. She says that he can choose another mate (without invoking a fight it seems: note the difference between a 'mate' and a 'challenger') and after he makes it clear that nothing she says will change his mind about marrying her, she finally threatens to declare a kal-if-fee. It's clear that Vulcan women cannot divorce/refuse to marry a man they've been betrothed to under any circumstances if A) He himself doesn't consent to ending their marriage or B) She doesn't have someone else waiting in the wings to be given to in his stead. Though, if the challenger she selects fails to win the fight, she'll have to marry her betrothed anyway unless (again) he decides he doesn't want her after the challenge. That seems like an incredibly unfair system, heavily biased towards men. SNW is an alternate universe in many obvious respects but most egregiously in that T'Pring has a lot of non-canonical agency over her relationship with Spock. It's interesting to me that Vulcan society has women in many positions of power and treats women as equal to men from what I've seen despite these laws. We don't really see Vulcans exhibiting a misogynistic attitude towards women in general but in TOS (perhaps because of its general writing style but it's still interesting to note) both Sarek and Spock take on patriarchal attitudes specifically regarding wives. Amanda says that 'of course' Sarek commands her because "he is a Vulcan and I am his wife." It's worthwhile in my eyes to note that she specifies 'wife' instead of attributing this attitude to women as a whole. Again, with TOS' writing style it wouldn't be out of place for her to say "he is a man and I am a woman." Spock, while in a pon farr induced irritation, states that it's "undignified for a woman to play servant to a man that isn't hers" - again implying that there's something specific about being a Wife in Vulcan society which is different from being a woman in general and demands subservience to a husband. This could perhaps stem from the extreme sense of ownership that Vulcan law has permitted men to have over women. A woman legally cannot point blank refuse marriage. There is no option which guarantees she won't have to marry her betrothed other than death. When T'Pau speaks of T'Pring she refers to her as being 'property' and Stonn, before being interrupted, states he's made 'the ancient claim' - we don't know what this is because he gets cut off but it's obvious they're both using the language of Vulcan law. Men are permitted true freedom to choose. If a woman wants to choose someone else to be with there is no option available to her other than the kal-if-fee which might result in the death of the one she wants to be with. And, if her lover fails, her husband can still just decide he wants to marry her and she'll be forced to. T'Pring gives two scenarios: One where Spock 'frees' her and one where he doesn't - it's still ultimately his decision which is clear when he ends the conversation with "Stonn, she is yours." This again isn't just because of the pon farr as T'Pol also goes through this. Koss can choose another mate and when the option is talked about there's no implication that this would result in any sort of fight (both by the casualness of its mention and by the fact that there's no formal word for it unlike the kal-if-fee.) Also, the fact that Koss does eventually grant T'Pol a divorce and it's all fine means that T'Pol isn't lawfully required to have another man waiting if her HUSBAND doesn't want her. It's ONLY required if SHE doesn't want her husband. Tradition must take precedence over individual desire UNLESS!!! You're a man. Then it's fine. Like, your parents might not be happy but legally you're golden.

[beca-mitchell]

wish i could pretend i didn't need you (1/?)

Summary: Beca Mitchell is born into a life of organized crime, directionless and despondent. Then she meets Chloe Beale.

Word count: 3,347

I know everybody’s focused on Bechloe week stuff and I know there are other things going on, especially with my own fics. But somehow this fic burst out of me in a stroke of inspiration. So to people to whom I still owe prompts/gifts: I’m sorry. I don’t anticipate this fic going beyond 15 chapters, hell we’ll see what happens around the 10 chapter mark based on what I plotted.

Read below or on AO3.

It is a Friday night.

Beca finds herself at her favorite bar. It is an odd hybrid between a karaoke hangout for people who are too drunk to realize how bad they’re doing and a lowkey, dimly-lit hang-out spot where she can be herself without her usual cares and concerns.

“You can go,” Beca says pointedly to her driver. He raises an eyebrow at her. “Seriously,” she promises. “I just want to be alone. I’ll call you if I…” she sighs. “Why am I explaining this to you? Please, just go,” she begs. She hates feeling like a child who needs a constant babysitter. She hates feeling watched and followed, even if it is for her own safety like everybody claims.

It’s tiring, that’s what it is.

Without waiting to see whether the car leaves, Beca turns to quickly make her way inside her safe haven. The bar downtown. A bar with music and drinks and a semblance of normalcy in a city that refuses to define the term ‘normal’ without a million asterisks.

A normal Friday night in Los Angeles.

She likes the music that wraps around her the moment she enters the bar. Barely decipherable because of how loud the bar is. It is the perfect way to both lose herself and be lost in the crowd and the atmosphere of a typical Friday night.

Beca knows exactly what she’s looking for. It’s been a while since she’s had one night of mindless, anonymous sex. She doesn’t think herself too picky, just selective about the kind of woman she can find. Nobody to get attached to, at least not for more than a couple trysts. Nobody too curious.

In her line of work, dating is overrated and entirely unnecessary.

Beca starts at the bar. A quick scan up and down the wooden surface, she can see only completely full drinks and people with dates of their own. The thought makes her scoff—makes her order a drink immediately, then proceed to down it quickly. With the burn in her throat and renewed energy, she quickly scans the crowded space, eyes trained to pick up on significant movements and significant people.

It is then, with a second drink in hand, that Beca spots her. Her eyes catch on this stranger’s hair—the pretty red hair, glinting under shoddy lighting—before her eyes are drawn to the stranger’s easy smile. She appears to be alone as well, or at least, she does for another minute longer before she is accompanied by two other young women. Beca tilts her head, wondering if she has a chance at all, with this stranger. A pretty, kind-looking stranger. With friends, Beca presumes.

“Can I buy you another drink?” Beca asks, slipping into the empty barstool next to the stranger.

Clear blue eyes turn to her, surprised. “I didn’t even hear you behind me.”

“I’d be surprised if you heard anything with how loud this music is blasting.”

A flash of white teeth. She leans closer to Beca, as if she is about to share a secret. “I don’t mind it. I like things loud,” she whispers loudly, adding an exaggerated wink to punctuate her statement.

Beca gapes at her new companion. “I mean. That’s…” She clears her throat, momentary lapse dissipating quickly when the beautiful redhead shifts closer. “So...drink?” she asks, quickly changing the subject. She finds this woman’s personality endearing to say the least, if not a little out there, but Beca thinks she can manage.

“Okay,” the woman agrees. “But you have to join me. Two margaritas, then?”

That’s manageable. Beca orders the two drinks, keeping her eye on the woman out of the corner of her eye. She’s stunned by how easily this woman smiles, but she somehow manages to do it without coming off as completely insane. Maybe a little, Beca muses, but she’s not there to judge.

“What’s your name?” Beca asks, keeping her tone light and just the right amount of disinterested. She slides a drink to the woman, smiling when fingers brush against her own in a clear display of interest.

The stranger giggles, a sound so light and airy that it almost breaks Beca’s resolve. She doesn’t crack. She tries not to, at least.

“Chloe,” she replies, finally. She brushes her hand up the front of Beca’s jacket, brushing against the leather. “I like your jacket.”

The boldness makes Beca swallow her drink a bit too early. “That’s all?” she rasps.

Chloe bites her lip, pretending to think about it. “I mean. Maybe I had more to say. But I noticed you looking at me about an hour ago. You finally made your way over here.” At Beca’s immediate blush and flustered stutter, Chloe pats her jacket again with a giggle before she draws away, sipping innocently at her drink. “What’s your name?”

“Beca.”

“Beca,” Chloe repeats. “I like that.”

To Beca’s immense relief, Chloe doesn’t ask for a last name, nor does she offer a last name of her own. Beca eases into the conversation, relaxing against the bar as Chloe begins to rope her into her orbit. Beca doesn’t even realize it.

* * * * *

“I’m not from around here,” Chloe admits.

“Here as in...Los Angeles or here as in California?”

“Um…” Chloe shifts closer to Beca, comfortable in their little corner of the bar, away from noise and nosy eyes. “Both, I guess? I moved here for a job after finishing school on the other side of the country.”

Beca pretends to gag. “School. Bleh. What’d you study?”

“I’m a vet,” Chloe says with twitch of her lips. “What do you do? Don’t think I haven’t noticed you’ve bought all my drinks tonight. I’m not complaining.”

Beca laughs, but she finds that she has no real excuses. “I…” Beca trails off, unsure what she can say exactly. “I’m between jobs,” she says evasively. “But I used to work for my dad. After I finished with the whole school thing.” Not quite a lie. She currently isn’t on any jobs for her father, though she’s sure she’ll have something come up over the next couple of weeks. Also not a lie—she did finish a degree at her father’s behest.

“You strike me as a musician,” Chloe says suddenly. She reaches for Beca’s hand, playing with her fingers. “Talented fingers.”

Beca holds back her laugh. Chloe is forward, which is refreshing. That was a move if she had ever seen one. She relaxes for a second, then Beca watches Chloe for a long moment, letting the slow heat spread through her body at the point which their hands are touching.

“What?” Chloe asks, shifting closer still. “Am I wrong?”

“A little,” Beca admits. “But I…” She shakes her head. “Nothing,” she says quickly. “Just a little off.” She glances at their hands, admiring the slender lines of Chloe’s fingers and the softness of her hand. “But...you might not be wrong about other things.” Beca waits for a beat before leaning in, wondering if Chloe will meet her halfway.

Chloe does. Their first kiss is explosive—Beca immediately surges closer, pulling herself further into Chloe’s orbit. Chloe’s lips are impossibly soft, undeniably pliant, and gentle.

* * * * *

It is a Friday night. Nothing out of the ordinary thus far for Beca—her first night off in months.

Her first night off in months and she is being pressed against the wall outside an apartment complex, Chloe’s tongue in her mouth doing absolutely sinful things. And they have, as far as Beca is concerned, a good few hours. But never all night—Beca makes it a point not to stay; she makes it a point not to linger. It is, however, perhaps, maybe, a little difficult to think of anything else at the moment, as the night progresses.

And it has progressed. 

Beca barely manages to take stock of her surroundings, simply allowing Chloe to navigate them into her apartment with ease. She would have never thought Chloe would freely offer up her apartment so quickly, but as they had continued kissing at the bar, Beca found that both their resolves cracked rather quickly. In short order, Chloe divests Beca of her clothes and shoves her onto her bed with a glint.

That had been a mere few minutes ago, both of them too desperate and too aroused to allow for much more else.

“Fuck,” Beca moans. “Fuck, you’re so good at that.” She plants a hand against the headboard, wincing at the strain in her arm. With her free hand, she grabs Chloe’s hair, grinding her hips down, eyes nearly crossing at the rough sensation of Chloe’s tongue against her clit. She gasps with each imprecise stroke between her legs. She wants nothing more than to feel Chloe inside her entirely—fingers, tongue, she’s not picky—but she finds it difficult to articulate more than low, drawn-out moans.

Here, she barely knows this woman’s last name—barely knows her own last name, but she finds that she does not care. Not when Chloe’s hands lock onto her thighs with an iron grip and she begins to sharply flick her tongue over Beca’s sensitive clit. Over and over—Beca cries out, gripping the headboard to the point of injuring her hand, but she does not care. She lets out a groan—somewhere between a groan and gasp—and a string of curses before she is trembling and all but collapsing to the side. Her orgasm ripples through her, like the most pleasurable of waves taking up the spaces in her body. She shudders, tensing her thighs together as Chloe maneuvers them so they are both lying face to face on the bed. Beca tilts her head to receive Chloe’s kiss, which Chloe presses eagerly against her lips. Chloe is all full lips, tongue, and passion, something which only sends heat coiling through Beca’s body again.

As if reading her mind, Chloe pulls back, tongue swiping against her lower lip as she does so. Her hand trails down Beca’s stomach, gently pushing between her legs. “Again,” she rasps, nuzzling her nose against Beca’s. “I want to see you come.” Another kiss, this time with a tug to Beca’s lip between even, blunt teeth. “Didn’t really get to—” another kiss “—see it before.”

And, yeah. Okay. Beca can do that. She nods, pulling Chloe in for another kiss. At around this point, she’d be figuring out an escape from this stranger’s bed and room. But she finds that she wants to stay; she wants to figure out how to make Chloe scream her name or at least make sure that Chloe doesn’t forget their night together.

It feels imperative that she does so.

She is momentarily stricken in the best of ways by Chloe’s hand navigating fully between her legs. She tilts her hips up eagerly, already wet and wanting for Chloe’s fingers. That one orgasm had hardly been enough and whether she chooses to blame it on the alcohol or the fact that she hasn’t been laid in at least four months, she knows that she needs Chloe now. She needs Chloe’s deft, talented fingers inside her.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” Chloe murmurs, voice thick with her own arousal. “Just say something—tell me—”

Beca shakes her head. “No, don’t stop. More.”

Chloe nods, pleased by Beca’s receptiveness and begins slowly dragging her fingers around Beca’s slick cunt, gently coaxing her into an even more heightened state of arousal. Beca wraps an arm around Chloe’s shoulder, pulling her closer still. She traces the top of Chloe’s spine, marvelling at each bump and ridge before she tires and traces the smooth muscles across her back, pleased by the shiver that she feels ripple through Chloe’s body.

Chloe shifts so she hovers over her, covering her body with her own. Beca clutches at Chloe’s back, sighing pleasurably. “Mm—fuck,” Beca murmurs, back arching when Chloe’s fingers sink inside her without preamble. She groans at how full she feels—had it really been that long?—and immediately craves more of that sensation. “Go,” she urges. “More, please, Chloe.”

“You like that,” Chloe whispers, breath hot against Beca’s ear. “You’re so tight, Bec—” the nickname falls so easily from her lips. It sends an unexpected flash through Beca, renewed arousal and all. “I’m going to make you remember my name.”

Beca isn’t entirely sure she would have ever forgotten, regardless of the circumstances.

* * * * *

Beca learns, fairly quickly, what it is that makes Chloe tick. She learns exactly where to kiss and nip to make Chloe sigh. She learns where to suck to make Chloe whimper and moan. She learns exactly how to curl her fingers inside Chloe to make her scream her name with unabashed pleasure.

She learns all about the physicality of this woman, but she cannot, for the life of her, figure out why she seems to crave more. In her sleep-deprived, alcohol-induced haze, she fumbles through the darkness of her own consciousness even as she continues to kiss Chloe’s neck and her chest.

She wants so much more.

“Beca,” Chloe rasps, pulling her back to the present. “Oh, Beca, that feels amazing.” Hands press on the top of her head, urging her downwards towards where Chloe needs her most—the place where she is wettest and where she aches for Beca.

It’s nice, Beca thinks, with a small moan of her own, to be so wanted.

* * * * *

Beca doesn’t remember falling asleep. She remembers Chloe’s lips against her own, the press of Chloe’s lips against her inner thigh. She remembers what it had felt like to press her fingers inside Chloe for the first time—the strain in her arm as she attempted to keep up with Chloe’s enthusiasm for her fingers.

She has never done this before. Sleeping over at a stranger’s apartment or house. Staying the night.

It’s new.

It’s also new, feeling a warm arm draped around her middle possessively. The curves pressing up and down her back. The mild discomfort of skin against skin beneath the chill of the air conditioning because their blanket was kicked halfway down the bed.

All of it feels so new and it makes Beca want to run and yet, she stays. She stays, gets even more comfortable in Chloe’s bed, and decides to sleep for another couple of hours.

It’s nice, feeling like she has nowhere to be.

Sleepily, from behind Beca, Chloe nuzzles into her neck with a degree of comfort that would alarm Beca normally. She nuzzles into Beca with sleepy care, clearly somewhere between being awake and asleep like Beca is herself.

The soft press of her nose and lips against Beca’s skin is comfortable. Like she has been there all her life.

* * * * *

It is a Saturday morning.

When Beca wakes again, it is due to the ray of sunlight shining almost directly across her eyes. She groans, lifting her arm to cover her eyes.

“Morning,” Chloe’s voice says, clear as day from the kitchen area. Beca blinks, lifting her head slightly. Her heart pounds as she takes in the reality of the situation: she had slept over—she had stayed overnight. She had broken her one rule about one-night-stands. “You’re up,” Chloe continues cheerily, clearly unaware of Beca’s inner turmoil.

“Um...yeah. What time is it?” Beca groans. “Good morning,” she adds hastily, as to not be completely rude.

“Just after nine. You were sleeping like a log, so I got some coffee and breakfast.” Chloe moves towards the bed from the kitchen, making Beca fully aware of the spacious studio space and open layout of Chloe’s apartment. “Hi,” Chloe murmurs, sitting on the edge of the bed. She helps Beca sit up, handing her a bagel. “Hope you like cream cheese.”

“I...I do,” Beca whispers. She sits up, surprised by how comfortable she feels baring herself to Chloe after their night together. Chloe smiles pleasantly at her, clearly delighted that Beca is receptive to breakfast. “Thank you,” she adds, sincerity in her tone. She doesn’t say it aloud, but it has been a while since she’s enjoyed any form of breakfast in bed, let alone a substantial breakfast of any kind that wasn’t an extra large iced coffee for the road.

“Do you have somewhere to be?” Chloe asks. “I can drive you.”

“You have a car?” Beca asks, surprised. At Chloe’s raised eyebrow, she laughs awkwardly, attempting to brush it off. “No, I just meant—I don’t know. Most people our age don’t really have...a car,” she finishes lamely.

“Oh? How do you know I’m not like twenty years older than you?”

Beca tugs at the sheets nervously. “I guess,” Beca stammers, pink tainting her cheeks. “I guess...I guessed,” she murmurs slowly.

Chloe laughs, settling even further on the bed, stretching out. “I’m kidding, I’m twenty-seven. I just turned twenty-seven.”

“Oh, okay. I’m twenty-five.”

“Nice to meet you, Beca, twenty-five,” Chloe announces. She sends a mock-salute towards Beca, playful smile still playing on her lips.

Beca lets some tension ease from her body. She isn’t sure where the ease comes from, but she feels incredibly comfortable talking to Chloe. Incredibly open, despite how vulnerable she feels being significantly underdressed while Chloe lounges in her leggings and button-up shirt across from her. Still, she feels the same undeniable attraction to this woman—the same attraction from the night before. It lingers, hot in her chest, drifting into her belly.

She doesn’t do this. Not usually. Not ever.

“Mitchell,” Beca says quietly while Chloe fiddles with her phone. Her voice causes Chloe to look up. “My name is Beca Mitchell.”

Chloe’s smile is incredibly radiant, enough to light up the whole room. More than the sun itself, creeping its way past the half-open curtains. Behind her head, as if the universe is further highlighting Chloe’s mere presence in Beca’s life—a miracle of sorts, if anything—there is a halo of sunlight, lighting up red strands like the tiny sparks and flames Beca feels rippling through her body. Chloe clears her throat. “We have all morning, Beca Mitchell. If you’re up for it, that is.”

“All morning?” Beca questions. She is sure wonder is written all over her face.

“I...want to get to know you. If that’s okay.”

Oh. Beca swallows. Chloe’s eyes are even more blue than Beca remembers. She is unable to look away, even for a moment, but she isn’t sure that she would even want to, not when she is so incredibly captivated by Chloe. “That’s okay…” Beca finishes by nibbling on her bagel, unsure what else Chloe wants her to say or do. She finds that she is not afraid of these completely unchartered waters, so long as she gets to dive in, head-first, with Chloe.

Chloe rises from the bed so she can sit closer to where Beca is reclining. Slowly, she leans in, eyes watching carefully for anything that Beca might be resistant to—any indication that Beca doesn’t want this.

Beca has never had a morning after—not one that mattered, at least. She is so riveted by the slow way Chloe leans in to kiss her; she is so enthralled by the way Chloe occupies all the spaces that she didn’t know she had—all the capacities she didn’t know existed within her in that moment.

Like a dam breaking, an unexpected surge passes over Beca. She reaches up quickly, pulling Chloe in to close the rest of the distance between them.

“Beale,” Chloe whispers against her lips. Her free hand glides up Beca’s body before she pries her bagel from her hand and sets it aside.

“What?” Beca asks, distracted by Chloe’s wandering hand.

“My name is Chloe Beale.”

Nice to meet you, Beca thinks. It is such a pleasant, reassuring thought that it fills her with something more than her usual existential dread.

It is warm.

Gentle.

She thinks of nothing else for the rest of the morning, simply intent on getting to know Chloe Beale beyond just the feeling of her skin beneath her fingertips.

fin ch. 1

[fantasysuiteleague]

Week 2: XOXO, Gossip Girl

With so many dumb girls milling around the Bachelor mansion, still drunk from the night before and starving for carbs and attention, I'm sure it's difficult to not make the first few episodes of the show feel over-produced. Jk. We're in Season 21 and Nick is our Bachelor: everything is over-produced. That being said, this week felt particularly cringe-worthy. We kick things off with our sleep-deprived divas trying to convince us that the only thing they've been able to think about since arriving 12 hours ago is Nick. Not their phones, their families, their jobs, the presidential election. Only NICK VIALL. Right.

Enter Chris Harrison, who reminds the women that they only way they're going to stand out with this many girls in the house is to be memorable slutty. This piece of unsolicited and sexist advice triggers Manchurian Candidate Corinne, and it's all downhill from here.

Something Old. Something New. Something Topless. Something Rude.

The first group date of the episode is ultimate Bachelor irony. Actually, it feels like a storyline cooked up by Quinn and Rachel on UnREAL. The girls gleefully drive three Buick convertibles down the street to a mansion usually used to shoot adult films. Once parked, they're made to jog into the backyard where they meet up with a heavily spray-tanned man named Franco who is almost definitely an actor and/or one of the producer's friends. There, the producers dangle the possibility of marriage in front of them while simultaneously cheapening the entire experience. What's more? They've all been drinking since they arrived, and have to watch each other pose and make out with Nick. This is Bachelor 101. An incredibly basic premise that is guaranteed to spawn all sorts of jealousy, desperation, and insecurity.

The pawn at the center of this whole *experiment* is none other than that girl you wished you hadn't started a conversation with at a party: Corinne. To absolutely no one's surprise, this bitch has never been a bridesmaid. But keep in mind she's 24 and probably only hangs out with older club promoters, so this warrants no more than an eyeroll. Photog Franco, who is probably shooting a porn after this group date, *coincidentally* makes Corinne a bikini bride, and like the Manchurian Candidate that she is, all she can talk about is how sexy she looks and how it makes sense that she would be the nearly naked bride. Enter Brittany (who?), who is actually topless and actually looks very pretty. Corinne is, of course, very uncomfortable because she was programmed to be the star.

And A STAR SHE WILL BE. Left with no other options, Corinne takes her top off and *forces* Nick to hold her boobs in front of the other girls. It's pretty obvious that they made Corinne go last so everyone would be drunk enough to get pissed, and it works. Adding insult to injury, Franco picks Corinne as the "winner" of the group date, because, as she puts it, she was actually daring enough to have clothes and then take them off. Later that night Corinne continues to "project her sexuality" on Nick, stealing him first and immediately going in for the make out. Hilariously, Nick says that he's been "really impressed with Corinne so far." Yeah, having absolutely no shame is truly impressive. And she continues to impress me by interrupting other girls not once, but twice after her original make out session.

Now naturally this pisses everyone off, but NO ONE says or DOES anything about it! Ladies, I hate to repeat Corinne's advice here, but like, fucking go interrupt her and take your time. You came here "for Nick" or at least to be on TV, so fucking take what is yours! But they won't, because they're all fucking idiots. This is underscored by the repeated in-camera interviews were girls like Taylor try to convince themselves that Corinne "isn't what Nick wants" and that Nick is "better than Corinne." Taylor: get a clue. Or a job. Or watch a single episode of Andi or Kaitlyn's season. Or just like, go to a bar in River North. Then maybe, just maybe, you wouldn't sit here thinking that a guy like Nick isn't going to go for a girl like Corinne. Because he is. And sure enough, he proves it by giving Corinne the group date rose.

In between flashes of Corinne we see Raven getting some quality time in with Nick, but is any time with Nick actually quality time? For example, Raven let's Nick know she was cheated on before, and Nick's response was to direct the conversation to him and talk about how he's been cheated on. Everything he says feels so disingenuous, but that's because he always finds a way to make things about himself. So if we're being real, him and Corinne are actually perfect for each other. But we're not being real, because this is reality TV. There was, however, a perfect moment of reality TV after Taylor re-interrupts Corinne and Corinne confronts her. Corinne is pissed because "that's not the way to go about things." The way to go about things is to be "classy" [take your top off] and not direct your disrespect "towards any one person" ... just the entire group. Taylor handles the confusing assault incredibly well. Then again, anyone with an IQ over 70 shouldn't have much difficulty defending themselves against a drunk clown. Corinne quickly forgets about Taylor, gushing with pride for herself for stepping out of her comfort zone "in many different times and angles."

Playa Say What?

The second half of the episode was dedicated to the history between Liz and Nick. I can't decide if Liz is this dumb, or just starving for Instagram fame. On the one hand, I can see how a producer could convince her that Nick would love to see her again, they already have an established connection, and she'll probably go far. On the other hand, she seems pretty dumb. Sitting around the mansion all day with nothing to do but drink, tan, and get in her own head, Liz confides in Gretchen Wieners that she is Jade's best friend, didn't memorize her maid of honor speech at the wedding, and also slept with Nick. She emphasizes how wasted she was when it happened, and also how awkward it was. "Like, super awkward."

She mentions intermittent sex and talking, which is something we've heard before. This all but confirms my suspicion that Nick is actually terrible in bed. That's why it didn't work out with Andi. And sure, he fucked Kaitlyn and still made it to the final two, but that sneaky fuck sesh probably didn't give him tons of time to talk while inside of her.

The Nice Girl 

It's pretty easy to forget that Nick went on a 1-on-1 date this episode, but there's a reason for that. Danielle M. doesn't make good TV because she's not terrible like the rest of the girls. She seems like a very sweet girl and has a real job. Does she pack a lot of personality? No. But not everyone can be Alexis or Corinne or the Genie from Aladdin. There can't be complex hoes without basic bitches, and Danielle M. is that nice basic bitch. She'll stick around awhile because she's probably one of the only "real" women who, despite being pretty bland, is one of the only realistic choices in terms of actual marriage and not just Hollywood Instagram-fame. This is probably why she gets the first 1-on-1 date. She's got the hometown Wisconsin vibe and they need to get her tragedy out and on camera because she's going to fade to the back for the next 7 weeks before ultimately getting cut. During dinner, Nick goes on and on about himself and being on the Bachelorette twice and heartbreak, and Danielle M. just keeps nodding, looking bored. This whole Bachelorette story sounds like Hillary repeatedly listing her years of accomplishments during the debates while contrasting Donald's years of housing discrimination and golden showers. We get it. You get it. You're here. We're listening. Can we please talk about something else? Anything.

We Need to Talk . . .

The theme of this date -- breakups -- is comically opposite to the first in every way. The first stop is the "Museum of Broken Relationships,"  which cannot possibly be a thing that existed prior to the filming of this episode. This "museum" houses an uncomfortable amount of random shit that people have "left behind" from their broken relationships. Umm, what? Left behind from where? No one can convince me that people come to museums to break up, or that they send objects from their failed relationships to be put on display for other weirdoes to look at. First of all, where are all the dildos? Second, USPS is incredibly unreliable. Sure enough, at least one loser has donated to this museum: Nick. After a rehearsed speech about himself and how Andi and Kaitlyn led him to be the Bachelor, the women are given the task of preparing breakup monologues for Nick. Everything is funny and light-hearted, especially when loose cannon Josephine smacks Nick across the face. Until, that is, it's Liz's turn. Upset and insecure, she pulls out a NOTEPAD to start her breakup. Immediately, Nick diverts his eyes like the pussy that he is.

But he knows what's coming. And it's AWFUL. More cringe worthy than Corinne's nipples, Liz goes on and on--in detail--about meeting him in a hallway, at a wedding, and essentially blames him for not chasing after her, even though she wasn't ready to let him in. Or at least, in farther than just the tip. The audience is silent and all of the girls but Gretchen Wieners look confused. Gretchen tries to play it cool and pretend that she has no idea what's going on,

but it's not very convincing. Liz's breakup is followed by more awkward silence and her finally saying "okay we can be done." Thank fucking god. For some reason, after this, NOT A SINGLE GIRL asks what the fuck that was all about. They mention it was detailed and weird and awkward, but don't say anything to Liz or Nick. Literally no girl, after hearing the hallway comment, and the wedding comment, was like -- umm, I have a few follow up questions? Nick spends the rest of the date stressing out about Liz, but it's pretty easy to see through his feigned concern for the other women. In a voiceover he tries to sell that he's concerned because he doesn't want the girls to think he's been lying to them (which he has), but in reality, he's concerned about what she actually said and how much of "her side" has been leaked. So while Jaimi reveals she's dated girls, and Kristina talks about growing up in a country that may or may not be controlling the United States, all Nick can think about is who knows what. It's smarmy and pathetic and incredible on brand. Finally, Gretchen Wieners spills the beans to him and he's able to tell his side of the story. At this point, he knows he has to get rid of Liz before she tells more people about how terrible he is in bed, so pulls her away for 1-on-1 time. They're gone for a long time which eventually leads the girls to wonder what's going on between them after her awkward-ass breakup speech. Gretchen Wieners refuses to rat Liz out,

but making it pretty clear there's something going on. And sure enough, it is. Nick confronts Liz with the whole "right reasons" question, and Liz's answer is just awful. She didn't ask for his number because she didn't know him. But then didn't want to ask for it and give him the wrong impression because she knew he was in Paradise. And even though he was only in Paradise for a month, she knew he had "other things" going on and just wasn't the type of person who liked to talk on the phone. We don't need Nick to point out to us that the more she talks, the less sense she makes, but it's the nail in her coffin. Finally Nick tells Liz that, while he admires her lack of shame courage for coming on this show and putting herself and her sexual history out there, she's milked this situation for all it's worth and it's time to go.

Now that he's gotten rid of Liz, he has to do the hardest thing of all: tell the women. Come clean. Be honest. Of course this is going to be difficult, because being a decent person isn't easy. Especially for a selfish little bitch like Nick. Before dropping the bomb he expresses concern that it's not the right time. But when is it ever a good time to tell your 26 girlfriends that you slept with one of them already? That you've been lying to them since Day 1? That you actually have no dick? I guess we'll find out next week. You know you love me.

XOXO,

Gossip Girl.

Corinne's Corner

There were too many good quotes to incorporate or ignore coming from this girl's articitially plumped up mouth, so here are my favorites:

I just want to be with him. Be with him. And hopefully, I will."

"I was daring enough to have clothes, and take them off."

"Brittany is half naked, and that should be me."

"Like he held my boobs, okay. No one has ever held my boobs like that. Or ever will."

"I really like Nick. When I was talking to him, he was listening."

"Today was just a dream come true. I stepped out of my comfort zone in many different times and angles. Dad would be so proud. Even though I was naked. HE would be proud."

"As long as there's no situation about the situation, we're okay."

"I just put myself out there and I just was myself. That's it. That's all I did, guys. Literally. I was just Corinne."  Yeah, we saw...

Did you notice ...

"I'm ready for the women to see me as me, instead of the guy they've seen on TV."  - Nick....but wait...

Alexis looks like Jade. But she's much cooler. From dolphin/shark to pregnant wife. She's definitely my favorite. Especially when she was resting her drink on her fake pregnant belly.

The girls on the first group date want to give Brittany the benefit of the doubt. They’re jealous of her, but they don’t mind because she didn’t choose to be topless. She was born that way.

The girls complained about being a bridesmaids, but Liz could have told them that's not a bad thing when it comes to Nick.

Did you notice that Liz's big reveal to Gretchen Wieners actually happened over three different scenes? I'm guessing this is because Liz wasn't giving enough detail the first two times and the producers really wanted to get the whole sex thing out there.

On the boat during their 1-on-1 date, Nick makes Danielle M. face the sun after snagging some cheese and then the better spot. SMH.

After hearing they were going to act out breakup scenes, Nick turns to Josephine and says "I'm most worried about you" as she says "violence."

Minority Report: No rose ceremony this week so nothing to report. But noticeably we didn't really see any of our chocolate ladies this week. That's probably a good thing since we were so focused on crazy white girls, but still, can we get more camera time for the lesbian with the nose ring?