#and i had a moment of absolute horror while i considered my lack of skills at his dialogue

[valiisthea]

@myrkt

Sleipnir is mid-attack when he feels the searing hot impact of pain blossom from the center of his chest. Immediately, the strength leaves his knees and they buckle, causing him to stagger haphazardly over his own feet in a desperate attempt to keep his balance.

All air empties from his lungs, and it is intervention of the divine, he surmises, that keeps him from falling prey to enemy blades.

Barnabas is hurt. A notion so utterly impossible to believe - and yet the pain of his King's wounds so clearly cuts through his own flesh.

He does the only thing he knows to do, the only thing that makes sense: he runs. He bears the pain and he runs as fast as he can push this mortal body to get to Barnabas' side.

Whosoever or whatsoever that dared laid hand or claw upon his liege shall meet the slowest and most painful of deaths -

And Sleipnir will not be satisfied until he's covered head to toe in the bastard's filthy blood, in the service and protection of his beloved King.

"My liege," he gasps, feeling the thrum of power buzzing through his body, looking madly for escape. He stands defensively in front of Barnabas with blade drawn at the ready. "Do not soil your hands with this filth. Allow me."

[sleeplesssmol]

Finding the moment Schneider and Vertin's dynamic shifted.

This scene inspired me because we see Schneider's anger emerge, albeit subtly.

It almost seemed like Schneider was planning on letting Vertin live once again, like in the beginning when they first met. She was going to give Vertin a chop on the neck during their duel to knock her out.

But then Vertin repeats the lie that Forget-Me-Not Me Not told her. After hearing Vertin promise her a shelter, she turns her gun on her instead. Why would she trust the words of someone from the Foundation who rejected her and her family?

Hearing this proposal must have hit a nerve. It's important to note that at this point in time she only likes Vertin's looks and she respects her fighting skill. She has absolutely no reason to trust Vertin's words and every reason to resent the Foundation's dog. It's easy to forget since she's such a flirt in the main story but there is a lot of anger in her. She is a Mafia Boss. She provides for her 11 sisters and her parents in a world that constantly takes from her without giving a shred of mercy. If you’re curious about this, the link below has Schneider's snippets from the atlas, but for my purposes I'll only use a small section.

The Opportunist and the Sticky Gum

“Her figure might be frail, but her eyes are filled with cold anger. Maybe she had been rejected just now or even insulted. She walked up to the square center with a firm step, like a warrior.”

This is Schneider as she watched Sonetto take the mission capsule she tampered with back to Vertin. In the Walden, we see this warrior fighting for her family and Vertin is now an obstacle.

Also, she seemed genuinely annoyed at the lack of concern Vertin had for the wounds she inflicted. Her voice starts off in that same playful, flirty tone when she says “that's really annoying” and then she sounds genuinely pissed when she talks about shooting Vertin in the thigh (I'd place a clip here but there's a limit. Would recommend going back and listening to get the full picture). She is getting frustrated.

However, things change when Vertin and the others help her sister. I think the true turning point in their relationship is when Vertin pushed Sonetto out of the hole to escape Druvis and Schneider did the same for Marian.

Earlier when Schneider was talking to Forget-Me-Not, she mentioned the importance of family and brotherhood. We also know she loves her family dearly which is why she's in this mess.

Schneider and Vertin sacrifice themselves for the people they love. She's finally met someone who gives a damn about loyalty and they are on the same side as her.

While they're fighting together, Schneider is heavily injured and Vertin covers for her. If Vertin, the one with the gunshot wounds, is in better shape than Schneider then it's a very rough situation. Nonetheless, she respects Vertin's fruitless attempts of resistance and considers her brave. She tells Vertin to shoot her in the chest when the time comes. Here, she is putting her faith in Vertin because she has no other choice. This is her only chance.

Later on in Popular Literature Vertin brings Schneider a healing potion and food she stole because she assumes Schneider must be hungry. You know what she brought?

Cake!

If we ignore the horrors of hindsight where Schneider is a human so the cake must not have looked like cake due to Storm Syndrome, it's a very sweet gesture. The healing potion tastes awful, so maybe she chose the cake over other foods as a way to make it easier to deal with. This is the climax where Vertin follows through on her promise and proves she is someone Schneider can trust. The cake also shows Vertin's empathy, something we see Schneider doesn't receive often. She's trying to make her as comfortable as possible instead of treating her as a pawn in her greater plan. They're working as a team, not as lord and subject.

[illusionsofdreaming]

May I have some Beacrox and Rosalyn hcs? A mix of fluff and angst with their S/O being similarly weak to Cale? (Not their fault, not everyone can be as monstrously strong as the rest of the group)

Notes: I got.. a bit carried away with Beacrox's one, it's practically an imagine at this point hahahaha...

Ft: Rosalyn, Beacrox

Rosalyn

You’ll never quite wrap your head around how you managed to catch the attention of one of the smartest and prettiest person in the world when you’re honestly, just you

Rosalyn’s flattered but also chides you for putting yourself down. It matters not to her whether your strength lies in the sword, the wand or the pen because the person she loves is you not your skills

if you want she’ll gladly teach you magic and she’s an extremely good teacher

she also gifts you an amulet with her magic so that ‘she’ can always stay besides you wherever you go

because of the different natures of your roles, you sometimes travel separately

she doesn’t worry much as your job is not considered dangerous and the charm she gifted you had been inlaid with some basic protective spells

the day she felt the spark of her magic shatter and disappear, she was absolutely filled with horror and worry

she immediately abandoned whatever she’d been doing and teleported to the spot where she felt the magic die out

it was a classic case of being caught in the wrong place at the wrong time and oh gods there’s so much blood-

healing magic isn’t her forte -what should she do, the bleeding isn’t slowing- please please please hang on, don’t sleep, don’t leave her-

she doesn’t leave your side for weeks afterwards and studied healing earnestly

it’ll take a while before she’s convinced you won’t keel over the moment she takes her eyes off of you

she gifts you a new amulet and you don’t have to have any affinity with magic to feel from the intimidating aura it projected - this one’s packed full of the strongest defensive and offensive spells

Beacrox Molan

it’s strange because you’re so absolutely mundane and yet here he is thinking and caring for you

the moment he finally acknowledges that he has feelings for you, your fragility is a weakness he must fix

you’re joining the wolf kids’ training whether you like it or not

it’s torture and too tough on you as someone who’s never lifted a sword in your life, suddenly having to run laps and wield weapons like you’re about to go to war

not to mention, Beacrox is an extremely tough and demanding tutor

you know that all this is just how Beacrox projects his worry because he’s still terrible at expressing his feelings. So you endure as much as you can - because learning how to protect yourself is not entirely the worst thing that can happen to you

but at the end of the day you’re still human, you don’t have the stamina of beast people nor the natural instincts of a warrior

no matter how well you train or practice you’ll always fall short of the others who seem to take to these martial arts concepts like fish to water

and it hurts when Beacrox doesn’t understand and gets frustrated with your lack of progress

many times you’ve told him to slow down to accommodate your lack of experience, but he’s unyielding in this matter.

“The others have long since mastered this. Do you think your enemies will take it easy on you just because you say so?” it was the finally straw that broke the camel’s back

you threw down your weapon, angry tears bursting from the corners of your eyes. “Enough! I am not the same as the others Beacrox Molan! If you’re so dissatisfied with who I am then perhaps it would be best if we call it off.”

“________!” he snapped but you had already exited the training grounds, slamming the doors on the way out

for several days you avoided him and he’s spent these days stewing over your words over and over again

even the others could feel the tension between you two and eventually Ron had to step in and knock Beacrox upside in the head

a stern father-son talk (which may or may not have involved knives and threats) which made Beacrox realise how his harsh words could’ve been taken the wrong way, how patronising he’s been

he finally turns up late at night at your door with baked cookies and ointment cream

if you allow him in, he’ll sit before you and care for your calluses and bruises silently - with how fresh some of these blisters and calluses are it really nails home how hard you’ve been pushing yourself - and Beacrox feels even worse

“I’m sorry-“ “Beacrox I-“

you paused and let him go first and Beacrox takes this chance to apologise for everything. For pushing you so hard, for dismissing your concerns and your efforts, for neglecting your feelings, for… everything.

he looks so sad and angry at himself that you sighed. “I know what you’re worried about Bea and I agree that it's important to learn how to protect myself. But I have my limits too. Perhaps I’ll never be strong enough for you, I’ll always hesitate at stabbing another, I might not ever meet up to your perfectionist standards… Would you hate me because of it?”

he immediately grasps your arm, eyes meeting yours sharply as his voice cracked “No. Never.”

you smiled gently, “I don’t mind returning to training but I’d like to rest a few more days first.”

that you’d still want to train with him meant a lot to him, he knows he’ll still have to work hard to apologise for his behaviour but at least he knows he hasn’t ruined everything yet

from that day on, training was definitely tamer for you

from time to time you can see how Beacrox sometimes still struggles to understand whats wrong but you also see how he holds himself back from his remarks and tries to consider a different way to teach you

it’s been rocky, as it will be for all new relationships, but you’ll always come out stronger on the other side

oh yeah, you’re not a swordsmaster or anything but you definitely know how to kick some ass by the end of things

Bonus:

+ Ron just admiring the chaos from the sidelines, shaking his head with fondness “Ah.. young love.”

[puddygeeks]

𝑾𝒂𝒓 𝑶𝒇 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 - 𝑪𝒓𝒊𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒔, 𝑺𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒓 𝑹𝒆𝒊𝒅 𝒙 𝑶𝑪 - 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 9: 𝑪𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒓𝒐𝒂𝒅𝒔

Masterlist

Rating: Mature

Summary: 𝐴𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑚𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑝 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑢𝑙𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑙𝑒𝑓𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑜𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠. 𝑊𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑝𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐵𝐴𝑈 𝑓𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑦, 𝑚𝑎𝑦𝑏𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑏𝑒𝑔𝑖𝑛 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑡.

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Spencer Reid x OC

Status: Ongoing

LONG TERM ONGOING PROJECT :)

My writing is entirely fuelled by coffee! If you enjoy my work, feel free to donate toward my caffeine dependency: will work for coffee

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑑𝑢𝑙𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡, 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑤. 𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑏𝑒 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛 𝑐𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑐𝑎𝑠𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑢𝑟𝑑𝑒𝑟, 𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑑 𝑎𝑏𝑑𝑢𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 & 𝑠𝑒𝑥𝑢𝑎𝑙 𝑎𝑏𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑎𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐵𝐴𝑈'𝑠 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘. 𝐼𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑦 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑙𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑒 𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑢𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑠 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑏𝑙𝑒, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑖𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑏𝑒 𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑒 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑑, 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤.

Eᴘɪsᴏᴅᴇ: Pʀᴇ Sᴇᴀsᴏɴ 1

Chapter Nine

My office felt colder than usual when I returned from my trip, but I suspected that it was mostly due to the lack of the warm BAU team’s presence. It was difficult for me to concentrate on anything whilst Hotch’s offer repeated in my mind and I found myself mentally making a pros and cons list as I worked. There were so many factors to consider. In order to avoid any external influence I was careful to ensure that I made the decision alone, hesitating from discussing it with anyone after Ricky.

Following my brief break away from Interpol, it seemed as if I was even more swamped with work than when I left. It wasn’t long before I was feeling the stress of being spread too thinly between numerous teams. Requests for assistance from each of them mounted up around me and it became a struggle to suitably prioritise them.

As I busied myself with organising a list, a new task flashed up on my screen that made my blood chill. Etienne Vidal had submitted a request for my individual support with researching a suspect list, insisting in the notes that having my undivided attention would have a substantial benefit to this case.

Much to my disdain, I knew that it was only a matter of time before Shepard approved this with the perspective of improving our working relationship. I pushed my hair out of my face to massage my temples. Mentally, I was attempting to convince myself that I could manage another encounter with Vidal.

Before I’d even realised what I was doing, I found myself striding out of my office clutching a few files to my chest and decided to take myself to get a cup of herbal tea from a nearby café.

I felt immediately clearer the moment that I stepped out of the Interpol headquarters. The fresh air flowed through my loose hair, rejuvenating my worn down spirit. The tightly packed streets of Lyon were a welcome sight and I was thankful to at least be blessed with living in such a beautiful, historical city.

Opening up the files to flick through the information inside as I walked, I hoped that my picturesque surroundings might give me a fresh perspective. Even once I had settled within the charming café, I lingered for a while as I waited to feel ready to return to my desk.

Eventually, I mustered up the courage to begin strolling back in the direction of the office. I had decided not to overstay my welcome, leaving with my lovingly made hot drink in a takeaway cup and lost myself in documents to distract from the rising feeling of anxiety in my chest. I was completely enthralled in the files as I walked the halls of the building on autopilot, causing me not to notice the voice calling my name in a thick French accent until it was too late.

“My, my, Alice. I hope that you’re not trying to avoid me.”

The absence of formalities caused my stomach to lurch with recognition and I paused on the spot in horror as Vidal blocked my path. When I finally pulled my nose from the papers, I realised that I had been unfortunate enough to be caught in one of the least used hallways in the office.

The only rooms here were disused offices which had been utilised as storage for cold cases, decreasing it’s foot traffic to practically nothing. I had grown accustomed to taking this longer route back to my own space in order to avoid the rest of my team. However, today this plan had backfired, instead meaning that we would be highly unlikely to be interrupted.

“Oh. my apologies, Vidal. I was lost in work.” I answered with a forced smile,

Unwilling to engage in any further conversation I moved to pass him, but he immediately shifted himself to block me from leaving.

“You are so dedicated, ma poupée. It is admirable, but certainly too much for you.” He drawled, making no effort to hide the way that his gaze explored my entire body and his smile afterward made my skin crawl.

“I fear that you may have missed my request on your break, but Shepard has agreed for me to borrow your skills. It will allow you to relax for a while with only one case, and with me.” He explained confidently.

Even with all of the experience of his arrogance, I remained shocked by how genuinely he seemed to believe that he was doing me a favour by trapping me into working alongside him.

“Ah, I hadn’t seen it yet.” I admitted, attempting to contain my disappointment at this revelation so that I didn’t anger him. “Let me just finish the task that I’m on and I’ll find you when I’m done.” I instructed as I strained to keep the nerves from my smile, but it was obvious that he had no intention of allowing me to move yet.

“Come on, Alice. You don’t need to pretend to worry about the others. I should be your only priority.” He insisted, stepping closer to me again and in my efforts to regain some personal space, I ended up trapped between him and the wall. “I know that you have been spending more time with your FBI team recently, but you wouldn’t ever forget about me, would you ma chérie?” He asked, his voice slipping lower whilst his expression grew painfully serious.

Out of an overpowering feeling of intimidation, I shook my head vigorously in response. Vidal only seemed encouraged by his effect on me, smirking arrogantly as his face neared mine and I felt my hands begin to shake with nerves. I prayed for anyone to notice us, as I felt too paralysed with fear to do anything to stop him, but the hallway remained silently empty.

“Well, I do worry. You seem to be working with them more and more frequently. I would imagine that you’re getting to know each other very well. You were rudely defensive of that one young man during our consultation call.” He suggested, thinning his eyes at me suspiciously.

The reminder of my outburst in front of the BAU team caused me to cringe. His words were alarmingly accusatory and I couldn’t deny the feeling that he saw himself as entitled to the details of my life, specifically my love life.

A loud sound caused me to whimper as he pounded his hand against the wall behind me to frighten me, shifting to lean his weight on the surface so that he could confine me in position beneath him.

“There wouldn’t be anything going on between you and this Dr Reid that I should know about. Would there, Alice?” He questioned, the subtlety of his temper failing to escape my notice and I could hardly breathe from the intensity of his stare. “You know how I detest dishonesty.”

“No.” I whispered hurriedly, my voice shaking from stress as any sense of control rapidly dissolved into anxiety.

From my years of study I understood the effect that past trauma had on our natural fight or flight instincts, but experiencing it first hand gave me a level of insight that was frankly horrifying. I willed myself to confront him, to strike him out of my space with the power that my aunt had always encouraged me to own, or even to simply run away, but I had no control against my natural reaction, which was to freeze.

“That’s a good girl.” He breathed, a wicked smile filling his lips as he revelled in my obedience. Much to my terror, he leaned his face suffocatingly close to me and I felt like a caged animal under his gaze. “I don’t know what I would do if you betrayed me like that. You’re too special to belong to anyone else.” He soothed, so deep in his delusion that he was flattering me that it made him completely oblivious to my disgust.

My entire stomach felt as if it might literally drop out of my body as he reached out to push my hair behind my ear, his hand lingering against my cheek nauseatingly. He bit his lip in a way that he must have believed to be seductive and I realised with a new level of panic that he was inching closer, as if he intended to kiss me. My mind spun with a million thoughts as I urged myself to escape, but I couldn’t break out of the survival instinct that held me in place.

“Vidal! I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

Someone called out at the last possible moment before his lips touched mine and my breath caught in my throat. He seemed incredibly aggravated by the intrusion, taking a moment to compose himself before he finally stepped out of my space. His posture was still as he turned around to address the source of the voice.

“Prentiss. My apologies. I’m afraid that I am rather caught up with assisting Alice at the moment.” He drawled with a polite smile, clearly not even slightly flustered by being caught in the act.

The absolute control in his demeanour was especially chilling. It was an ability that I had seen frequently in the types of people that I assisted in catching for a living, allowing me to understand precisely how dangerous he was capable of being. I could barely think straight as I stared over at Emily who was standing at the far end of the hall.

“Yes. I can see that.” She answered curtly.

It was clear that she had no intention of allowing him to brush this encounter off as she strolled closer to get a better view of the situation. I jumped as I felt one of Vidal’s hands squeeze my arm painfully tight, silently warning me to play along with his ruse.

“Can this wait until later, Madame?” He enquired, the air of calm that he had previously possessed already slipping as he spoke and whilst his gaze was distracted by her, I risked meeting her eyes to communicate a desperate plea for her help.

“No. Actually, it can’t.” Emily insisted, maintaining an authoritative tone as she thinned her eyes at him and I could have burst from the relief of confirming that she had noticed my distress.

“You have an urgent call waiting and I’m afraid that I need Agent Hawthorne’s assistance for myself.” She added, turning her attention to me with concern that was subtle enough to escape Vidal’s notice.

Without any concern for him noticing her actions, she ushered me to come to her. I wasted no time in removing myself from his grip, rushing over to meet her with my eyes glued to the floor nervously. Even so, I could feel her fixing him with a stern glare, before she fell into step with me.

We walked in silence with her positioned at my side in a manner that would prevent anyone else from reaching me and she remained this way every single step back to my office.

As I stepped inside, she hesitated in the doorway to give me the chance to regain some personal space. Whilst I did this she continued to protect me, aligning herself so that entry to the room would be impossible for anyone else.

“I actually don’t have anything that I need you for. I just wanted to make sure that you’re okay. If there’s anything that I could do to-“

“I’m fine.” I answered abruptly, keen for this situation to be over as quickly as possible and Emily studied me sympathetically. “Thank you for checking on me, but I can handle it from here.” I added, subtly reassuring her that I would take action to protect myself if it was needed.

“I know that you can. If you change your mind, my phone is always on me.” She suggested with a caring smile.

After a few moments of silence, she reluctantly left the room. The moment that she departed, I closed the door behind her and moved furniture in front of it to prevent it from being easily opened again.

Tears of shock rolled down my cheeks as I felt my entire body shaking and I had to wrap my arms around myself to calm my anxiety. It was a method that I had been taught to use in triggering situations, but even knowing that I was barricaded in this room, I couldn’t convince myself to feel safe.

In the depths of my despair, I became aware of the only logical next step for my life. I opened my emails and began drafting a letter of acceptance to Hotch that ended with a simple question.

When can I start?

--⥈--

Emerging from my flight at the Virginia airport felt completely different this time. Despite getting to know it well from the numerous recent visits that I’d made over the past six weeks to get things organised, I was still excited to see it again. It was surreal to inform security that I was actually emigrating instead of visiting and I strolled out into the bright open space of arrivals with a sense of wonder.

Everything felt larger and grander, as if being seen through new eyes. I suspected that viewing it as a new start had a significant effect on my perception. There was even a relaxing scent in the air, something that lured me toward the exit with a feeling of hope and it was as if the strain of the past was melting away with every step that I took.

I could hardly believe my eyes when I noticed that instead of just Penelope waiting for me as we’d agreed, there was an embarrassingly large welcome sign covered in glitter, pom poms and complete with tiny flashing lights. It was being waved by her, Morgan, JJ and a bashful looking Spencer.

“Penelope! You are the absolute worst at no fuss!” I groaned as I reached her and she threw the part of the banner that she had been holding at Morgan so that she could embrace me tightly.

“I don’t care! I wanted to make sure that your new life here starts on the right foot.” She excused as she squeezed the life out of me and the others busied themselves with packing away the banner as I blushed furiously at them over her shoulder. “I can’t believe the day is finally here. I’m so excited! Oh, guys, we almost forgot.” She enthused as she released me to turn back to the group and I glanced nervously at them as she made some insistent gestures.

“Welcome to America!”

The other three were completely out of sync in their half hearted cheer, with Penelope contributing the loudest and most dramatic voice, whilst I smiled at them with burning cheeks.

“You’re all very sweet. Thank you.” I muttered gratefully, wishing that Penelope had at least given me enough of a heads up to wear something less tattered than my moving clothes, which weren’t what I would have chosen for spending time in anyone else’s company than hers.

Thanks to all of my planning visits, which allowed me to leave cases in storage at Ricky’s new place, combined with the fact that he had graciously accepted the boxes of possessions that I shipped to him in advance, I had hardly anything with me. There was no clothing in my flight bag, leaving me with only the white, off the shoulder blouse and ripped denim shorts that I was wearing and the few personal items that I’d needed to take care of myself for the last couple of weeks in France.

Penelope looped her arm through mine as we all moved toward the exit and I had the sensation that the surprises weren’t over just yet.

“So, we’ll start by collecting your stuff and then help you to get settled at the new place.” She announced, already wrapped up in the joy of the day, oblivious to how questioning my gaze was.

“When you say we, you still mean the two of us as we planned, right?” I enquired suspiciously, but the way that she chewed her lip as she considered how to explain herself gave her away.

“Please tell me that she hasn’t already roped all of you into this? I’m sure you have better ways to spend your days off than carrying my stuff around.” I gasped, glancing between the three other members of our group in horror, only to be met with amused smiles at my outrage.

“You got a moving truck booked?” Morgan interrogated, crossing his arms at me as if he was already prepared for my protests, but I could only shake my head cluelessly. “Well, it just so happens that I have one on loan from a friend for the day. You already know that I’m not about to let my baby girl spend her day doing a hundred trips in the car, when I can get this done in one. Just let it go, Poppins.” He asserted, glancing over at Penelope with a conspiratorial smile and I looked to JJ and Spencer in a silent plea for help.

“What kind of team would allow their newest member to struggle?” JJ asked, her kind nature seeping into her words. “You’ve got enough to worry about with a move this big. Let us help you to do this at least.” She added, smiling at me warmly and Spencer cleared his throat to gain my attention.

“You’d also be wrong in the assumption that we have anything better to do.” He shrugged comically, causing Morgan to frown at him in blatant disapproval.

“Hey. Speak for yourself, kid!” He remarked, knocking Spencer’s arm slightly in the kind of manner that an older brother would to annoy their younger sibling. “I see you people enough at work. I definitely have other things to do than follow you around on my weekends, too. I’m just here to help out a friend.”

“Wait. Does that include me?” Penelope stopped in her tracks, causing a collision amongst all of us as she faced down Morgan with a heavy expression of offence.

“You already know that it doesn’t, Sweetness. I can never see enough of you.” He crooned, earning a pleased smile from her before he turned back to me. “So, where’s our first stop, new girl?”

“Well, my cousin is working today, but he’s arranged for his housemate to let me in to collect my things. Here’s the address.”

--⥈--

“Ally. Please tell me that’s not a ladder up to your bed?” Penelope questioned with a blatant disbelief and I chuckled as I followed her into my new studio, carrying a case full of clothing up the stairs.

“I thought you’d like that. It’s quirky.” I remarked as I dragged the case inside behind her, catching her glancing around at my home.

The place was remarkably small, almost feeling full with just the two of us inside. I had to shift awkwardly as I tried to get past her. This had been the main reason for my reluctance about the team assisting us with the move, as I knew that we would be likely to be tripping over each other, rather than benefiting from their help. Judging from Penelope’s reaction, I was already dreading the others coming up from the van.

“It certainly is. It’s just so small.” She commented, looking over at me with concern and I shrugged in response. “I know that you’ll be the only one living here, but I’m worried that you’ll get claustrophobic. I mean, this place is like a bunk bed that grew up to identify as a studio.” She clarified, wanting to ensure that she wasn’t coming across as judgmental, but she didn’t need to worry as I chuckled in agreement.

“You could always stay with me until you find somewhere. I’ll even help you look for a place. It’ll be like a constant sleepover party!” She added enthusiastically, already seeming to get lost in the excitement of this concept.

“As much fun as that sounds, you don’t need to worry. It’s only temporary.” I admitted, causing her to furrow her brows in concern. It was obvious that she was worrying I had some secret plans to leave her again soon.

“I don’t have a long term contract for this place. Ricky recommended the owner as someone that he usually rents holiday homes like this from. I’ve got this place until the end of the month to give me a chance to get to know the area better, figure out what kind of place I’m really looking for.” I presented my plan, allowing Penelope to drop her shoulders in relief.

It was difficult to differentiate whether she was more appreciative of the revelation that I wouldn’t be leaving her, or that I wasn’t planning to live here for long. Either way, my explanation seemed to have put her mind at ease.

“Well, that’s a good thing. Because this place is not up to standard for a proper tenancy.” Morgan announced as he carried the heaviest box inside and though I scurried to get out of his way, Penelope seemed quite content to allow him to squeeze past her. “I’m gonna give your locks a proper check before I leave. They’re looking a little too old for my liking.” He added as he dropped the box, turning to examine the door with a sceptical expression, even from across the room.

“Hey. As the person with the most experience busting them open, I’ll trust your opinion on locks.” I teased, earning a cheeky smile before Morgan headed back out to grab some more stuff, taking Penelope with him.

After their comments, I took another look at the place and couldn’t understand their concern. It was already substantially nicer than the miserable flat that I’d rented in France, even if it was smaller. Sure, it was a tight squeeze to navigate, but it had all of the essentials. Unfortunately, most of them were contained within the same four walls, but I just thought of it as cosy.

The kitchen was simply a couple of cupboards along the side of the room where the dimensions more closely resembled those of a hallway than a living space. There was a sofa pushed up against the end of the cabinets to almost create a lounge and above it was a platform with a mattress which I felt gave the whole place a treehouse vibe. Lastly, there was a separate small bathroom and some stairs at the back of the studio that led to a rooftop that could almost be described as a balcony. It certainly wasn’t glamorous by any stretch of the imagination, but it would give me a place to stay.

JJ entered the room struggling with a large box and I rushed over to take it from her before she hurt herself.

“This has got to be the third box labelled books so far, Alice. I’m seriously getting worried about you.” She chuckled playfully, looking around the place with interest during the time that I found a surface to dump the box. “Seriously. How many books do you need?” She asked with a warm sparkle in her eyes and before I could think of an excuse for my addiction, Spencer made his way inside.

“Comparatively, Alice's collection isn’t especially unreasonable. In the middle ages, the purchasing of multiple books was considered to be a hobby that was suitable exclusively for wealthy individuals.” He launched into defending me without a second thought and I was glad to have his support to push aside the embarrassment that I was feeling. “In the present day, the largest collection of books belongs to the Library of Congress, which houses more than 170 million items.”

“Wow. The dream.” I breathed, for a moment losing myself in the fantasy of being able to own a library of my own, until I was distracted by JJ looking between Spencer and I with a suspicious smile, leaving us to geek out without having to pretend that she was interested. “I’m sure that still wouldn’t keep you busy for long, though.” I teased as I turned to face Spencer and he smiled shyly at me.

“Will you be alright here?” He asked as he began to assess the space.

I had to admit that his concern had caught me off guard. The others were often open with their emotions, but Spencer was quieter, almost as if he was still deciding whether he could be himself around me. Although I hoped that in time he would relax, I had no intention of pushing him. For now, I was simply pleasantly surprised to find that he was just as protective of me as the rest of the team.

“Oh, sure. It’s kinda bare right now, but once I get some books on display and add a bunch of plants, it’ll be great.” I defended, hoping that he wouldn’t sense the nerves that I still held for this move. “Maybe I’ll even get some fairy lights for the edge of that loft bit.” I added thoughtfully as I pointed toward my bed, causing him to peek over at me with confusion, but before I could question it Morgan charged back inside the apartment with a heavy case containing a large majority of my clothing.

“She means string lights, pretty boy. It’s a Britishism.” He explained, causing Spencer to smile at me as if endeared by the idea and I shrugged, unaware that this was a term that was uncommon here. “That’s everything from the van. I don’t think we’re all gonna fit in your place, so how about grabbing some lunch out? I know a joint nearby.”

“Sure. My treat for all your help.” I offered as Spencer and I began to make our way to the door, only for Morgan to snatch my keys from my hand to test the locks protectively.

Once he was satisfied that the apartment was safe, we regrouped with the others and followed his lead to a small bar a couple of blocks away. Even in the distance, it was clear that it was a lively venue. On closer examination, I noticed a couple of decorative choices that indicated that it was probably a sports bar.

Everyone chatted happily as Morgan arranged a table outside in the sun, seeming as if he knew the owners and we took our seats whilst he caught up with them. The waiter provided us with menus whilst gesturing to Morgan, who joined us with a bright smile.

“Now. I know that you’re used to all of your food being boiled and beige, but you’re not living in the war anymore. It’s time to get modern. This here is some real American food that’s gonna blow your mind.” He announced, flashing me a cheeky wink but I simply rolled my eyes at him.

“Ah, yes. I’m in America now, the land of heart attack burgers and copious amounts of salt on absolutely everything. I’ll need bigger clothes in no time.” I retorted, causing laughter to pass around the table and Morgan shook his head at me.

“Alright. You just reserve your judgement for now. You’re gonna eat your words.” He argued, throwing a menu at me insistently.

Flipping through the pages of the menu, I was overwhelmed by choices. Though I’d experienced a few months of living in the States as a teenager and had actually spent the first four years of my life here, I considered myself proudly British at heart. I knew that the lifestyle was going to be the hardest adaptation for me to make.

With little other options that felt familiar, I ordered a grilled sandwich with fries and an ice tea, with Morgan raising a brow at me judgmentally for somehow slipping tea into my meal.

“So, Alice. Do you know anyone here other than us?” JJ asked, moving the conversation away from the British vs American war that Morgan and I had begun. “I heard that you’ve got family in the area?”

“Well, I’ve got Ricky, as you know. He is starting his second year at the University of Virginia, so he’s really local. Then I have two aunts in Florida and my grandma in New York. Plus, my dad who is on the West Coast somewhere, I think?” I listed openly, realising as I got to the end that I wasn't exactly sure where my flaky father was living at the moment.

“You’re not in touch with your dad?” Morgan investigated, studying me with an obvious curiosity and I shuffled awkwardly in my seat.

“Is it that obvious?” I chuckled under my breath, attempting to make light of it and I noticed Penelope out of the corner of my eye gesturing at him to drop his line of questioning. “He has a habit of moving from one fancy apartment to another in various superficial cities along the coast. He’s still out there chasing his Hugh Hefner, playboy dream.” I clarified, attempting not to cause them all to feel that I was shutting them out from the details of my life so soon, but Penelope dove in to change the topic.

“I actually made you something to help you to get situated.” She announced, dropping a large binder onto the table that caused me to stare back at her in confusion. “This bad boy has all of the details for local laundromats, gyms, take outs and everything else that you could possibly need, all based on our personal recommendations. I know that it can be hard to get into the swing of things in a new place, let alone a new country, so hopefully this makes that process a little less daunting for you.” She smiled and as I scanned the faces of the team around the table, I could tell that they had each contributed to this.

“That is so considerate!” I breathed, taking a quick flick through the pages with amazement and it was easy to tell how much work had gone into creating it. “Thank you so much. I honestly can’t even tell you how much this is going to help.”

“We’re here for you, Alice. We’re a team.” Spencer emphasised, meeting my eyes with a kind smile and my heart felt full at the sight of it.

[ambitionsource]

AMBITION Season 3 ♫ “Can You Dig It?” [ 3.07 ]

CREATED BY Esther (waterstribe) & Maggie (quincywillows) || Official Page || AO3

STAYIN’ ALIVE – After an unfortunate accident, the A class finds themselves working double time to fund their showdown performance. Charlie struggles to balance the past and the present, and Maya makes a desperate move. Farkle receives news that changes his life forever.

70 Minutes (33K words) || No content warnings apply.

[ ← The Comfort Zone ] [ S3 Synopsis ] [ Moment of Truth → ]

( Follow along with the music on Spotify here! )

EXT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Music plays over the sound system, setting a comfortable and fun scene while most of the A class works together on the auditorium stage. The performers are working through showdown choreography or helping put the finishing touches on set pieces for the production, while the techies are split between those set pieces, the beginning of structures for their upcoming winter musical, and tweaking the lights. JEFF MONROE is up on the catwalk out of sight, NATE MARTINEZ perched on top of a scaffolding and passing him requested tools. DAVE WILLIAMS is balancing on a ladder against the scaffolding, helping hand things to Nate from below.

MAYA HART has taken over as dance captain, shouting commands at her classmates still running through steps. ZAY BABINEAUX watches from on top of the major set piece they’re building at center stage for the musical, unimpressed and maybe a bit envious. His injured left leg is now in a boot, wheelchair gone.

The conversation varies, from the impending showdown finals to college application deadlines. Everything is coming down the pipeline at record speed, right towards them, and they have to juggle it all at once. RILEY MATTHEWS glances around and asks where Jade is, which ISADORA DE LA CRUZ answers.

Isadora: She’s been locked up in the costume loft basically since last week. The deadline for her conservatory and apprenticeship programs is closing in, so she’s been working basically non-stop.

Maya: How does she not have enough samples already? Hasn’t she made everything we’ve ever worn in this school for the last three years?

A fair question, but it doesn’t get addressed. They’re all distracted by a new song coming on shuffle, playing loudly over the speakers.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Boogie Wonderland” as performed by Earth, Wind & Fire || Instrumental

Although the track is an undeniable bop, the assembled A class seniors don’t seem impressed. They all quickly pipe up to complain, calling for someone to skip it.

Darby: Where’s Jeff? Jeff! Hit skip!

Jeff, from above: A little busy right now!

Maya: Well someone better go change it!

Haley: And risk getting killed by Lucas because we dared enter the booth? No thanks.

Maya: Fair point. Riley, go change it.

Riley, in the midst of rolling paint on a set piece, raises her free arm in a shrug. Also a little busy. Zay shakes his head.

Zay: What is wrong with all of you? None of you have taste. Disco is classic. You should respect the excellence that came before you.

Maya: Sorry I’m not still living in the 20th century. It’s 2020, Zayby. Disco is dead.

Zay: You absolutely disgust me. If my foot wasn’t booted --

NIGEL CHEY finally relents amidst all their complaints, claiming he’ll risk his life to go change it if it will get them all to shut up.

For now, though, the boogie wonderland is ongoing. FARKLE MINKUS uses the opportunity to pick on Isadora, loosely disco grooving around her and trying to poke her into joining him. She laughs but tells him to cut it out, and when he gets too close, she playfully shoves him away.

Only she’s stronger than she looks, and he’s a beanpole, so she overshoots and pushes him a bit too hard. Farkle goes stumbling backwards -- right into the ladder that’s holding up Dave. Isadora yanks Farkle back just as the ladder falls out from under Dave, just missing Nigel, clattering to the stage next to them and creating a dent.

Dance! Boogie wonderland!

A bunch of the seniors cry out, scrambling away, now watching in horror as Dave dangles from the side of the scaffolding a dozen or so feet above the ground. He almost loses his grip, seconds from falling, and Maya screams. She backs away frantically and knocks into a paint can, spilling metallic silver paint all over their perfectly crisp black stage and splattering CLARISSA CRUZ, DARBY WINTERS, and SARAH CARLSON.

Ah! Ah! Dance!

Jeff and a couple of performers start shouting directives at Dave, trying to save him from a nasty fall off the scaffolding. Nate tries to pull him up, but it’s no use -- Dave is the giant after all, and Nate’s guns aren’t that swoll. Riley hides behind her hands, peeking through her fingers and unable to look away.

Riley: Oh my God, he’s gonna die.

Isadora takes over directing from below, instructing Dave to change trajectory and aim for the curtains to orient himself. Jeff objects to that, citing the integrity of the curtain pulley system, but he’s shouted down by the performers jumping on Isadora’s suggestion. Suddenly, everyone is yelling at Dave to go for the curtains, so that’s what he does.

Jeff: No, don’t -- !

All… the… love in the world can’t be gone!

Dave manages to latch onto the main curtain -- but it’s all downhill from there. That curtain is about as useless as Nate, and the pulley system holding it upright can only sustain so much weight (curtains are a lot heavier than they look). So the moment Dave latches on, it buckles underneath him, and seconds later the whole thing comes down in a spectacular show of destruction.

The A class scatters to avoid it, ducking down and covering their heads. Clarissa pulls HALEY FISHER down behind a set piece with her for cover; Farkle yanks Isadora out of the way and shields her behind him. Zay screws his eyes shut and hides behind his knee, thankfully a safe distance away. Then the dust settles, stunned silence giving way to the continuing groovy sounds of Earth, Wind, & Fire.

Riley pokes her head out from behind the set piece she was painting first, eyeing the heap of curtains and rods on the dented stage floor. She swallows.

Riley: … Dave?

For a moment, nothing but tense silence… from above, Nate releases a gasp.

Nate: Holy shit, we’ve killed him.

Then Dave emerges, pushing some dense drapery off of him and pushing himself into a sitting position. He seems dazed, but otherwise uninjured.

Jeff: Oh, thank God.

Isadora: Dave… you good buddy?

Dave blinks, then offers a thumbs up. Everyone releases a sigh of relief�� just as SHAWN HUNTER and HARPER BURGESS enter into the scene of chaos, having rushed in after hearing the commotion from down the hall. In the opposite wings, LUCAS JAMES FRIAR returns with DYLAN ORLANDO and ASHER GARCIA, all of whom stop dead in their tracks when they set their eyes on the disaster they’ve stumbled into. Asher���s jaw drops open; Dylan drops the toolbox he was carrying.

Whoopsie. Boogie wonderland…

From his perch atop the set piece, Zay breaks the silence, shaking his head.

Zay: Shoulda never dissed disco.

Cue title sequence.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

JACK HUNTER is seated at his desk, working to maintain a neutral composure as HARRISON YANCY paces his office. He’s haughty and on offense, demanding to know what happened with the auditorium and grilling Jack for details. Of all the things he planned to tangle with at Adams, vandalism and destruction of school property was not at the top of the list.

Yancy: But, then, I suppose I should’ve anticipated such a turn of events. Considering you’ve struggled with reining in destruction before, and insisted so vehemently on keeping problematic entities in your student roll -- and now they’re student leadership, in fact!

Jack: He had nothing to do with this. Lucas wasn’t even in the auditorium when it happened --

Yancy: How convenient for him.

Jack: And it was an accident. No ill intent involved. It was an accident, and all of the damage is repairable. The curtains can be fixed and replaced, the dents in the stage can be filled, and the spilled paint can be removed or painted over in turn. I think we should be more concerned with the lucky reality that no one was hurt.

Yancy: [ ignoring that point ] The damage is repairable, yes, but it won’t be free. And I certainly won’t approve its reparation on the school’s dime.

Jack points out that such a decision isn’t his to make -- he’s still the principal of Adams. And that’s true enough, but as Yancy effortlessly counters, he remains under close watch. That’s the reason Yancy is present in the first place. Every decision Jack makes is under scrutiny, and a figurative nod of approval from him matters. Jack must be wise enough to realize that.

Jack, begrudgingly: So what, then?

Yancy: So, it seems to me that the A class will have to proffer the money to pay for the damages on their own.

Jack: That’s ridiculous. They’re students, not entrepreneurs. And they’re already scrambling to raise money for their showdown performance, not to mention ways to bolster their scholarship initiative since you voted to deny them funding at the board level.

Yancy: Then they must be experts at it. What’s one more money-making effort? At least it’s teaching them meaningful life skills -- budgeting, consequences, the value of a dollar. All very sensible lessons to learn… something you used to complain this institution lacked at the same time you were decrying the actions of students you now fruitlessly defend, if I recall correctly.

Well, you got him there, Yancy. Jack deflates, knowing there’s no logical path out of this. Yancy has him cornered, and the more he invites reminders about how he used to be or the ways he’s already fumbled, the graver his prospects grow. Yancy emphasizes this as he makes his exit.

Yancy: We at the board used to hold you in high esteem, Jackson. We saw great things in your future. Now, with all these foolish mistakes... let’s hope that all your promise hasn’t dissolved with the Hunter I used to know.

The threat is buried deep beneath the thinly-veiled condescension, hidden in a simple choice of plural. Mistakes. This battle is just one in a long, growing list Yancy is keeping against him.

Like he could ever forget it. Jack releases a heavy sigh after Yancy leaves his office, slouching in his chair.

Lucas, pre-lap: I shouldn’t be surprised. This might as well happen.

INT. AAA - TECHNICIAN’S BOOTH - DAY

Riley listens attentively as Lucas paces the booth, busying himself with gathering stuff for class for the sake of moving. Although his tone is sarcastic and indifferent, the weight of his words indicates he’s far from it.

Lucas: It’s not like I don’t already have enough to focus on, between the usual bullshit and the fundraising for showdown -- a showdown that we have to win if we want any chance of the scholarship thing actually taking off. That on top of the college applications I wasn’t planning on doing three months ago but now have to make really good, because suddenly I have dreams or whatever, even though I’m basically the most rejectable candidate on the east coast.

Riley: Okay, you know that’s not true.

Lucas: Fine. Most rejectable candidate in the greater Manhattan area.

Riley: You literally won an election.

Lucas: And the world is still wondering how and why.

Riley rolls her eyes, but she is sympathetic. She agrees that the stage accident was definitely an unexpected speed bump on everything they’ve got going on, but they’ll figure out how to handle it. There’s no way it’s going to be entirely on them, anyway, and they don’t even know how much damage was actually done yet.

She takes the opportunity to broach another topic, though, easing into a deeper conversation about college. She asks how his applications are going, which he claims are fine, in spite of the stress surrounding it.

Lucas: The only stuff I’ve got left are recommendations and personal essays. And I know I’m fucked on the recs considering you’re supposed to ask for those months in advance, and I know no one impressive, least of all who would sing my praises.

Riley: You could always ask my dad for a recommendation. I’m sure he’d have glowing things to say. Instant acceptance, I bet.

Lucas, flatly: You are hilarious. It’s no mystery how you managed to reel me in.

Riley: Well, that and my effortless charm and insanely dazzling visage.

Lucas gives her a look, but to be fair, he doesn’t argue her on it. She simply beams in response, sliding closer to him and halting his pacing by taking his hands.

Lucas: Honestly, I’m not really stuck on the recommendations. I think I’m going to ask Joe for one, because he can at least speak to my work ethic or whatever, and the other… I mean, it’s whatever. I’ll figure it out.

Riley: But…?

Lucas: But… I don’t know. With the rest of the app…

It’s clear there’s something else he’s really stuck on. Riley starts to offer him advice, or maybe just encouragement, but they’re interrupted by a knock on the booth door. Jeff appears moments later at the stairs.

Jeff: Class is starting. Judgment day is upon us.

Lucas and Riley share an apprehensive look, then follow the lighting technician out of the booth.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Harper, Shawn, and ERIC MATTHEWS are on the stage, assessing the damage while the A class gathers in the front and center section. The destroyed curtain has been removed, the pock marks in the stage even more visible in its absence.

ANGELA MOORE emerges from the wings, Janitor HARLEY KEINER in tow. She’s just barely starting to show her pregnancy, but the flowy tops she’s wearing now conceal it fairly well.

Harley: Old curtain’s out back. Trash company will be by this afternoon to take it away.

Angela: I have to say, I picked a great day to stop by and visit. Never a dull moment.

Harper: Girl, tell me about it.

Angela laughs knowingly. Been there, queen. Eric and Shawn turn their attention to the seniors, coming towards the front of the stage.

Eric: Who wants to explain what exactly happened?

A whole bunch of them immediately launch into retellings, talking over each other and definitely exaggerating elements of the story. The camera jumps around to each of them, catching snippets of their perspective.

Sarah: If Jeff had just changed the song --

Jeff: I was in the catwalk!

Nate: So Jeff’s up in the catwalk, and Dave is handing me shit -- I mean, uh, stuff -- on the scaffolding --

Darby: Isadora pushed Farkle --

Isadora: I lightly nudged Farkle --

Maya: Farkle is like a house of cards and all it takes is a little wind to knock him over, so he goes flying into the ladder --

Clarissa: Paint splatters --

Yindra: The ladder goes crashing down and nearly takes off Nigel’s head --

Jade: Oh my God, what?

Nigel, pointedly: No, it did not. [ softer, to Jade ] No, it didn’t.

Yindra: It did.

Haley: Not like the curtains almost took out Dave!

Yogi: This class is a circus act.

Eric holds up a hand to halt them all, waving them down. He can’t figure out what any of them are saying when they all talk at once, so he asks for a volunteer to give the rundown. A few hands up go up, but Eric wisely selects Zay.

He pulls himself to his feet, gingerly, for the effect. Then he clears his throat, speaking plainly and matter-of-fact.

Zay: Farkle got knocked into the ladder. Ladder falls, dents stage. Dave almost falls, Nate is no help --

Nate: Whoa, okay then. Hater.

Zay: Maya stumbles back and knocks silver paint can over. Performers tell Dave to grab curtain, Jeff objects --

Jeff: Justice. Thank you.

Zay: Dave does anyway, whole thing comes down. Also, no one in this class has taste and for that they evoked the wrath of God. But apparently God can’t kill Dave Williams.

Dylan: So metal.

Eric: Thank you, Zay.

Zay does a pithy salute, lowering back into his seat. Harper goes on to explain the total damages done by the incident as well as relay the total cost of the repairs -- without saying a definitive sum, suffice to say it’s not cheap.

The A class immediately breaks into chatter again, trying to divert blame off themselves. Shawn notices one student doesn’t seem particularly vexed -- in fact, he appears to be laughing to himself behind his hand.

Shawn: I’m sorry, Friar, do you find this funny?

Lucas: What? Oh, no, no. Very serious business. [ clearing his throat ] It’s just… it’s so nice to not be the one responsible for once.

The performers immediately boo him. He simply smiles. CHAI FRESCO is the one who manages to redirect the conversation.

Chai: What exactly is he doing here?

All eyes turn to Janitor Harley, who stands sheepishly next to the faculty. Harper says she’s glad Chai asked, claiming that if anyone deserves an apology for what they did today, it would be him. He puts a lot of effort and care into maintaining their sacred space, this auditorium, and the damage done today walks all over that.

Darby: It really was an accident.

Harley: No hard feelings, Miss Winters. Mighty nice as it was for Harper and Shawn to invite me here, rest assured I know there was no ill intent or disrespect. And I can assure you that with the time and proper resources, we will return this stage to tip-top shape in no time.

Maya: Lovely. Problem solved then, no?

Eric: Not quite. You do still have an assignment to attend to, especially as it’s your last major one before finals.

Harper: Since it is a weird time in the calendar and we don’t want to barrel another assignment next week right before showdown, Shawn and I agreed that this assignment would be a two-week stretch, and ideally lower stakes.

Shawn: Even better now, considering how you all just doubled pressure on your own.

Harper: And since you’ve also in turn given Harley more pressure and work to attend to in this time, we thought it only fair that he decide your focus for the project.

With that, they pass the floor over to Harley again to make his declaration. The performers don’t seem all that unnerved -- it’s Harley Keiner. What’s the worst he could do? Clean-up anthems? He clears his throat, clasping his biker-gloved hands together.

Harley: When I’m in a particularly rough spot, or working through a grueling task, I have always found that a little music can really liven the task.

Yogi: [ under his breath ] Clean up, clean up, everybody everywhere…

Harley: But nothing gets me more fired up, ready to take on a challenge or dance to the beat, than some classic tunes from my early youth. And I’ll tell you kids, no one knew music better than the radio hits of my day.

Slowly, the possibility begins to dawn on the A class what decree awaits them. Dylan is counting backwards on his fingers, trying to calculate just how old Harley actually is, but Asher next to him has beaten him to it.

Asher: Oh no.

Harley: Ladies and gentleboys, we’ll be taking it back to the ‘70s this week for your musical assignments.

Dun dun dun. The A class expresses their obvious disdain. Well, all except Zay, who cracks a smug grin.

Zay: Heh heh… karma.

There’s only more grim news. Considering the stage is going to be undergoing repairs thanks to all this, they’re all essentially ousted from the auditorium for the time being. No sense practicing or rehearsing in a space that’s going to be under construction. JADE BEAMON sits up straighter, shooting her hand in the air.

Jade: We can still access the lofts, right? Like, I can get in the costume loft --

Eric: Yes, all the technical spaces, as well as the dressing rooms, are still fair game. But stay away from the stage.

Harper: And you might not get much work done when they’re doing things like drilling and hammering, so be forewarned.

Haunting… Jade hides in her hands, already stressed. Nigel tentatively pats her on the shoulder.

So yeah, all in all, some unideal circumstances right before some of the most important events of their high school career.

INT. AAA - CAFETERIA - DAY

Maya is in surprisingly good spirits in spite of the financial issues confronting the class, preening and showing off Valerie’s faux fur coat. She wears it effortlessly, entertaining Darby, Sarah, and a crop of underclassmen at a table as she shares the tale of her and Valerie’s instant starlit bond. When Darby reaches out to feel the coat, Maya quickly smacks her hand away.

Maya: You’re welcome and encouraged to look, but no touchie. Golden diva rule.

A couple of tables over, Riley and Isadora watch her showboating with amusement. Riley claims it was really generous of Isadora to give her the coat, but she shrugs it off.

Isadora: Seriously, she’s way more at home in it than I would ever be. Can you ever see me pulling that off?

Riley: I think you can deliver any design you endeavor, you know that. [ off her raised eyebrow ] But yeah, a bit out of your element. Ironically, maybe.

Isadora: Even that’s a stretch. But it really wasn’t a hard decision. As much as it inflates her ego, my mom did see something in her. Maya can use it as a bragging tool all she wants, and people probably won’t believe her because of it, but they probably would be in cahoots if Val were still here. [ a beat ] A lot of things were going to happen if she were here.

Oof. Riley senses the gloom impending, searching for a quick change of subject. She asks if Isadora found anything else cool in the boxes from the estate.

Isadora pauses, mouth parted open. The answer is plenty -- including the mystery hidden way deep down underneath everything else. But for whatever reason, she hesitates explaining what she found.

Thankfully, she doesn’t have to respond anyway. Dylan swoops into their conversation, dropping down into the seat next to Riley and smacking a piece of paper onto the table. It’s a flyer for scheme one of their fundraising efforts: a community dance, now officially ‘70s themed. Isadora turns it around to get a better look at the very bright poster.

Dylan: Hot off the presses, ladies. Another instant classic from the one and only ambassador of public relational fun and enthusiasm, comma right hand advisor, comma prime minister of the techies and secretary of kissing, mainly to the secretary and official marketing and communications director for the Friar administration.

Isadora: Colorful…

Dylan: Shout-out to Harley for basically choosing our theme for us. We’d been sitting on it for ages because Asher and Maya kept fighting over it.

Isadora: Really? What theme ideas could possibly be worth scrapping over?

Dylan: Nothing. Neither of them actually had an idea. I think they just automatically hate anything that comes out of the others’ mouth.

Isadora: Wow, just like a real body politic.

Riley excitedly swipes the flyer, praising Dylan for his enthusiastic design. She snaps a picture of it on her phone and explains she’s texting it to Charlie.

Riley: I’m so pumped for this. Disco isn’t my favorite thing, but it is fun.

Dylan: Bouncy.

Isadora: Jaunty.

Dylan: Ooh, thesaurus bonus.

Dylan and Isadora exchange a quick high five. Riley beams at them, then continues.

Riley: Besides, with how extremely crazy everything is right now between college apps and showdown and now this fundraising debacle, I think it’ll give all of us some much-needed serotonin. A nice evening of… disco dopamine.

Dylan: Oh, you know you just wanna see Lucas in some sick bellbottoms.

Isadora: [ with a gag ] God… please, I’m sitting right here...

Riley shoves Dylan playfully, then reiterates the point. It will be fun. A nice, well-deserved stress reliever after working their asses off these next couple weeks.

INT. AAA - COSTUME LOFT - DAY

And boy howdy, that could not be truer for Jade. She is in full frenzy mode, skipping lunch and hunkered down in the costume loft to work. It seems like she’s been there for days, her space under the loft essentially a nest of costuming supplies, her belongings, and discarded snack containers. Her hair is a mess of tangles falling half out of a ponytail, three different tape measures are draped around her neck like graduation cords, and she’s wearing an old button up paint smock about 3 sizes too large that only exacerbates the crazed hermit energy.

Asher and Jeff listen as she multitasks on cataloguing some of her projects and marks another in progress on the table in front of her, the former visibly disconcerted by Jade’s general state of being while the latter seems mainly tickled. She speaks around a pin caught between her lips as she explains the reason for the chaos -- college applications are due right around the corner, as are apprenticeship applications, and she needs to have all her portfolio pieces in perfect condition before she hits that submit button.

Asher: Again, I know this is hypocritical coming from me, but girl you need to relax.

Jade snaps her head up to glare at him, even scarier with that pin in her mouth. She removes it to stick something down while Jeff asks her what she has left to do. Apparently, she’s just about done after days of relentless work, so she’s on her last application assignment now: pick a decade and create a sampling of as many unique -- but historically accurate -- costumes as possible in her designer’s mind.

Jade: Luckily, Janitor Harley did me the favor of having to pick a decade. If we’re doing ‘70s stuff this week anyway, then we’ll probably need costumes, so I can knock out two birds with one stone.

Jeff: I don’t know if I’d say need…

Asher: Yeah, with the auditorium boarded up for the time being I doubt we’ll be doing any major productions.

Jade: With Maya and Farkle, you can never be too careful.

Case in point, she is way too swamped to even think about the fundraising bullshit. She feels bad, but there’s no way she can split her time. Jeff and Asher assure her it’s no big deal.

Jeff: I think the performers will let you off the hook considering you’ve made… every single costume they’ve ever worn since freshman year.

Asher: Least they could do.

Jeff: Yeah. You deserve a week off!

Jeff’s turn to receive the Jade Beamon death glare. He clears his throat, scratching his ear.

Jeff: Well, you know… not for you, but...

Jade stabs the pin cushion pointedly.

Zay, pre-lap: I guess if my clear eternal damnation is good for anything, it gets me out of fundraising to fix another problem caused by Farkle and the Pips.

INT. AAA - BOYS DRESSING ROOM - DAY

Zay and Nigel are taking their lunch in the boys dressing room, both on their laptops while they eat. They’re working on finalizing college application stuff, Zay sitting on the counter with his injured foot propped up while Nigel is leaning against the mirrors on the floor.

Nigel: Guess it’s worth it then.

Zay: Ha ha, so funny. If I could afford to move, I would kill you for being such a damn comedian.

Nigel: I’m more of a tragedies man myself. [ a beat ] What are you planning to do, exactly? For the applications.

Zay: [ with a sigh ] Just putting the pieces together and hoping for the best. Thank fuck I recorded a couple runs of my routine when I was going through my obsessive drills at the start of the year.

Nigel: Glad Diva Zay was good for something.

Zay: They’re not as polished as I want, but they’ll do. Not like I have any other options. I’m just going to convince myself via self-hypnosis that they’ll see the rough edges as loose, natural charm. Between that and other samples I have from shows and recitals and West Side Story, all I can do is hope that’s enough. And if I get far enough to book an audition… I’ll be better by then.

He says it like a guarantee -- he can’t consider the alternative. Nigel isn’t sure how to respond, but he’s spared from figuring it out as they’re interrupted by YINDRA AMINO entering with a few showdown costumes to replace on the rack. All of them freeze as they glance at one another, Yindra and Zay holding one another’s gaze for a few moments longer. Then Yindra brushes past the awkwardness, shrugging and focusing on the costume rack.

Yindra: No need to go on defense, boys. I’m only here on business.

She keeps her eyes on her task. Nigel picks up the conversational slack, explaining that they were discussing their college applications. He asks how Yindra is doing in plotting her college plans, as last they talked she didn’t have much set in stone.

Yindra, matter-of-fact: I’ll be applying to a couple of schools as a safety net, but my main trajectory remains Los Angeles. The current plan right now is to skip over the bureaucracy of academics I don’t care about and go out there to start striking while the iron is hot. Talent speaks for itself.

Nigel, ever the pragmatist, still seems uneasy about such a plan, but it’s Zay who beats him to the punch. He breaks the silence between him and Yindra with a snort, tone teasing but friendly.

Zay: Straight to Los Angeles with no foundation? Now that’s just asking for trouble, and that’s coming from a diva like me. Haven’t you seen Fame?

Maybe that kind of friendly fire passes when they’re on good terms, but it falls flat now. Yindra stiffens her shoulders, giving Zay a diva glare of her own.

Yindra: [ without looking at him ] Nigel, will you please inform Zay that despite what his superiority complex might think, I’m not an idiot?

Nigel: Oh, um --

Zay: Come on, Yindra. I didn’t mean it like that.

Yindra: And Zay might find it interesting to know that my dad is considering moving to Los Angeles as well, if I plan to be out there, so I don’t see how I’m swinging with no foundation. And I’ll be using the money that we would’ve wasted on tuition for studio time to record a demo, so there is in fact a method behind the madness. Just because I’m not following the same musty, beaten path as everyone else doesn’t mean I’m not on any path at all. [ haughtily ] And even in spite of his broke attitude, I wish him all the best with his less-than-ideal circumstances. Least of all this week -- I’m sure not being able to show off while he discos is simply killing him. Thanks for letting him know, Nigel.

Nigel: … you’re welcome...

With that, Yindra spins on her heel and exits. Zay rolls his eyes, but it’s clear that the state of their friendship is really bothering him. Nigel awkwardly attempts to move past it, commenting that the two of them are about as dramatic as a Shakespearean comedy of errors before coming back to Yindra’s closing point.

Nigel: It’s a shame about this assignment though. You’re probably the only one in our class who could truly thrive this week.

Zay smiles half-heartedly, both of them focusing back on their computers. After a moment, his smile dims.

Zay: Didn’t use to be…

INT. HAVERFORD PREP - HALLWAY - DAY

CHARLIE GARDNER is at his locker, reading the texts from Riley. He pulls up the photo of the flyer for the dance fundraiser, boasting the disco theme for the end of the semester in all its groovy glory.

Yes, it is a tragedy that Charlie isn’t there to participate. Another disco gay, barred from the dance floor. It’s clear from his expression that he’s bummed about it.

He’s only pulled out of his fugue when EVAN SCOTT approaches. He pats him on the shoulder as he passes and asks if he’s ready for rehearsal. With senior showdown finals so close around the corner, Brandon is going to be drilling them more than ever. Now it’s game time for real.

Charlie nods, putting his phone away and shutting his locker to follow him. But that melancholy still lingers in his features.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

But he’s not the only one grappling with an unideal situation. Lucas is the king of that, settled in his usual chair across from Jack, only this time he’s not alone. Maya has been called in with him, the two of them waiting uncertainly as Jack prepares to share why he brought them in.

And the reason for his apprehension is obvious once he says it. He finally breaks the news to them that the school board declined to fund their scholarship initiative -- and that’s not even the worst part.

Maya: Nothing? 

Lucas: They’re not going to contribute anything?

Jack: I know, it’s disappointing. To be honest, I was anticipating at least a partial donation, but for whatever reason it was shot down wholesale. It was close, though.

Maya: Well. That’s just lovely. Could the state of the AAA union get any more despicable?

Jack: To put it simply? Yes.

Uh oh. Jack reluctantly informs them of the other bomb blowing up their administration -- that Yancy has insisted they pay for the damages to the auditorium since their class caused it. Both Lucas and Maya erupt in complaints, the latter literally leaping out of her chair and launching into a frantic pace behind it. She fans herself, taking deep breaths.

Maya: Okay. This is fine. No money, no problems. It’s fine. It’s fine!

Jack: … Miss Hart?

Maya stops behind her vacated seat, gripping the back of it. She takes in a deep breath, holds it, and releases it theatrically. Then she opens her eyes, plastering on her winning star smile.

Maya: It’s okay. Yes, everything is fine. The situation is unideal, in a word --

Lucas: More like bullshit.

Maya: Also a word. But money and I have been tussling my whole career. It won’t be getting the best of me now. We’ll come up with another way to fundraise alongside the dance social and then we will win showdown and absolutely everything will work out exactly how I want it to. It always does.

Jack: That so?

Maya: Thanks to the two powers that be, Principal Hunter -- star and will. And I’ve got both in spades. [ another breath ] Okay, damage control. Need new ideas. Gotta pool resources… brainstorm. I need to brainstorm. I’m thinking… I’m scheming...

Maya hums, entering zen diva mode as she gathers her things. She backs out of the office and assures Lucas she’ll update him as soon as she’s figured out their second moneymaker. Once she’s gone, Lucas and Jack wait a moment to let the Maya pheromones dissipate before continuing the conversation.

Jack: Say what you will about her, can’t pretend she doesn’t have moxie. An interesting choice to partner with you.

Lucas: Believe it or not -- and I’ll deny it if you tell anyone -- I think she’s the best second-in-command I could’ve picked. Somehow her brand of insanity is just right for the Minesweeper that is Triple A student government.

Hard to argue with that. Jack apologizes again for the fact that so much seems to be piling on him at once. He really did think they would get more help from the board… but they’ll keep marching on regardless. The initiative is worth fighting for, and besides, their fundraisers could really outsell their expectations. Especially with a theme like disco, their dance will probably be a smashing success. Lucas can’t help but smirk.

Lucas: Yeah, you’d know all about that, huh? Bet you were just a disco king back in your day.

Jack, flatly: How old do you think I am to have been discoing in the ‘70s?

Cheekiness notwithstanding, the prospects seem good. Not all hope is lost. Jack switches gears, checking in with how Lucas is doing on his applications with deadlines fast approaching. Lucas gives the same general response he gave Riley, tiptoeing around the challenge of the essay component and focusing on the fact that he might get it done at all. Now that it’s so close, it feels more and more daunting… not to mention all the other pressure that seems to be landing on top of him right at the same time.

Jack hears that, and dismisses Lucas so he has time to go deal with all those pressures. Before he walks out, Lucas pauses and turns back for one more thing. He struggles to articulate it since asking for any sort of help feels like specialized torture, but he manages to ask if Jack would be willing to write him a letter of recommendation for the applications. The request surprises Jack, which Lucas reads as discomfort.

Lucas: I know it’s like, pretty last minute and stuff. And there probably isn’t a lot to say about me, so it’ll take some work to throw something compelling together. I should’ve asked sooner, or like, bothered someone else. So I totally get it if you don’t have time or have too much to do or just, you know, don’t want to --

Jack is far from opposed, though. In fact, he’s touched by the request, expression softening to a smile.

Jack: Lucas. [ waiting for him to quiet ] I’d be happy to write one for you. It’s no problem at all.

Lucas: … okay. Cool. Um, thanks.

Jack: You’re quite welcome.

Lucas: I’ll send over the links and stuff later. Today. Later today. So it’s not any later.

Jack: Whatever works for you.

Lucas: Okay… okay. Cool.

Any more bashful vulnerability and Lucas just might implode. He mutters one more quick thanks and scampers away, Jack holding back his amusement long enough to spare Lucas further embarrassment. He chuckles to himself as he shifts back to his work, shaking his head.

INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT - ISADORA’S BEDROOM - DAY

Surrounded by various textbooks and scripts and with her laptop propped in front of her, Isadora sits on her bed. A half-finished essay about how the horror genre has developed over the years is open on her screen, but has been entirely abandoned in favor of the mysterious letter Valerie had in her belongings. Isadora holds several handwritten pages, eyebrows furrowed as she reads her mother’s words. She moves the first page to the side, and we catch a glimpse of Val’s loopy handwriting:

Dearest Zachary,

How lovely it is to hear from an old friend! I’m so glad that you’re doing well. Send my well wishes to that darling wife of yours.

To answer your question, I wasn’t entirely sure of who Isadora’s father was when I discovered I was pregnant -- as you well know, I often got rather drunk back then, so couldn’t be entirely sure of all my actions. However, upon reflection, I have come to the same conclusion as you.

Well, damn. Heavy stuff, even if somewhat rose-tinted through Valerie’s flowery language. Isadora bites her lip as she continues reading, clearly conflicted about this sudden revelation. 

Eric, off-screen: Dinner’s ready!

Isadora doesn’t seem to hear Eric’s yell, so after a moment, Eric comes to her room to tell her directly. She still doesn’t look up from the letter, peaking Eric’s interest. 

Eric: What are you reading?

Isadora: Hm? Oh, nothing.

She folds up the papers and shoves them under one of her notebooks nearby, giving Eric a small forced smile. He narrows his eyes at her, jokingly suspicious, which Isadora laughs off. She hops off her bed and asks what’s for dinner, successfully distracting him.

INT. THERAPIST’S OFFICE - DAY

Farkle is meeting with DR. MICHELLE HAN, assembled in their usual positions with her in her arm chair and him sprawled across the couch. He’s relaying the drama of the week and his unfortunate instrumental role in all the destruction, though at least this time it was far from intentional. But it’s clear he feels guilty about it, and he admits that his uncanny knack for making things worse is definitely not helping him combat those low moods that seem to creep up on him out of nowhere.

Dr. Han perks up at this, taking the opportunity to gear the conversation. She gently asks if they could discuss that further for a bit, his experience with the high and low moods. Everybody has off days, of course, but based on their previous discussions, she’s interested to hear more about how Farkle describes these different emotional states and the other factors that come with it.

It’s not hard to get Farkle to talk. He obliges without hesitation, launching into details about how it feels when he’s feeling especially frenzied -- sort of the opposite of what he’s dancing around now, but such a vivid experience when he’s in it that he remembers the sensation and always can vibe when it’s coming on. Dr. Han listens carefully, flipping to a clean page in her notepad to jot down his thoughts.

Farkle doesn’t think anything of it, but it seems like Dr. Han might be onto something more than just the typical one-on-one chat. A pronounced clapping counts us in...

INT. HAVERFORD PREP - AUDITORIUM - DAY

BRANDON RIVAS is clapping along to the downbeat while the Havies run through their showdown routine, the instrumental from How to Succeed playing on the speakers. He’s keeping a watchful eye on his classmates while they run through the choreography, shouting out when someone is off a beat or not sharp enough on the steps.

Charlie is definitely one of those people. He’s a couple of steps behind today, mind elsewhere, and when he accidentally bumps into BILLY ROSS he receives a glare in response. What’s the matter with you, man?

Brandon: Come on, Gardner! This is your choreography!

Fair point, Brandon. Charlie tries to get back on track, but lucky for him he’s far from the only one struggling this week. DWEEZIL HOWARD is out of step too, and his mistakes reverberate way more as he accidentally sends half the boys into a wave of near stumbles. Brandon yells for everyone to stop, shaking his head as Evan jogs to pause the music.

Brandon: This is not the time to get soft, guys. Showdown is right around the corner.

Havie: So what? It’s not like Adams is any competition. Six years of success speak for themselves.

Brandon: And complacency is the first step in breaking that streak. You want to be credited when that takes us down? [ off his head shake ] So, what’s going on? Is there some contagious case of vertigo going around that makes you all unable to balance on your own two feet?

Charlie chews his lip, shying away from the disappointment. He’s not the only recipient, but he knows he doesn’t have a good excuse -- and certainly not one Brandon would want to hear. But Dweezil answers first anyway, much more visibly frazzled than him.

Dweezil: I’m sorry, Brandon. I’m just really stressing about the MIT app.

Others murmur agreement, mentioning their own upcoming dream school deadlines and the pressure of finishing their applications. Charlie nods along as if that’s his problem too.

Brandon considers this for a long moment, scanning over his peers. He may have high expectations, but he’s not without compassion for his boys. He relents and expresses sympathy for everybody’s stress, claiming they can call it quits early today and cut down on afternoon rehearsals for the next few days while everyone is wrapping up applications.

The boys breathe a collective sigh of relief, thanking Brandon and starting to disperse. Brandon shouts after them to send those apps in fast and get ready to come back to work harder than ever -- they’re not going to slip and fall to AAA on his watch. Billy exchanges a handshake with him and suggests he take some time off to focus on himself, too, but Brandon shrugs this off.

Brandon: No, it’s fine. Think I’ll be able to make use of the time… might have to make some adjustments to the numbers anyway. [ quirking an eyebrow ] Make sure we’re the best we can possibly be.

For what it’s worth, the statement seems less than innocuous. It kind of feels like Brandon knows something we don’t, and based on Billy’s smug reaction, he’s in on it too. They exchange another fist bump before Billy heads out.

Charlie is one of the last to leave, pausing in packing up to check his phone. He’s got a surprising amount of texts on his lock screen, all from Daisy. He opens the thread, finding just under a dozen texts of her sharing live updates with him of an argument that apparently broke out between Rosie and Eleanor. Although her observations are characteristically dry and analytical -- a technical play-by-play rather than biased record -- the fact that she’s telling Charlie about it at all is a sign that she’s concerned about it. The final message she sent kind of sums up the looming stakes without saying so:

“Didn’t this happen with Bridgette?”

Either way, not good news. Charlie frowns. Before he figures out how to respond, Brandon startles him.

Brandon: All good, Charles?

Charlie: Uh, yeah. Yeah, just, you know. Lots on my mind. It was cool of you to give everyone a break right now.

Brandon: Well. [ with a shrug ] Nothing too serious going on with you, I hope. We need your talent to up our dance credentials -- I assume you realize by now how valuable you are to the team.

Charlie: Oh, well…

Brandon: Can’t afford to let anything distract us right now if we’re to come out victorious against Adams. [ a beat ] Least of all Adams itself… you know, it’s okay if you’re feeling conflicted…

Conflicted might be a bit strong -- although Charlie lives basically every day of his life conflicted -- but the notion that Brandon is even close to sensing what’s actually going on in his head sets him on edge. He clears his throat, frantically attempting to throw him off the trail.

Charlie: Oh, no. No. It’s um -- just family stuff. Stuff with my sisters.

Brandon: Ah… sibling nonsense. I get that. I’ve got two older brothers, and even though they’re not at home anymore it’s like I’m still carrying their baggage around.

Charlie: Big shoes to fill?

Brandon: Well, one was valedictorian and is starting his first year at Harvard Law, and the other is starting his third year in prison. So kind of high bars in either direction.

Well. No idea how to respond to that little fun fact. Brandon spares Charlie the awkwardness and lets him go, wishing him a good afternoon.

But pleasant as he is, it’s evident he doesn’t fully buy Charlie’s excuse.

INT. CHUBBIES - DAY

Isadora is at the counter at Chubbies, discussing all of the impending stressors with Lucas during his shift. They’re especially mindful of how Lucas’s scholarship plan is now basically hinging solely on a victory at showdown, which is feeling more and more like a long shot. With Zay no longer able to bolster their performance, they’re short star power.

Isadora: And since Haverford has Charlie, who is basically his counterweight, suddenly the scales are tipped heavily in their favor. We’ll be lucky if we can create some Frankenstein performance around the gaping hole Zay leaves behind.

Lucas: Have you thought about stepping up in his place? Not that you’re anywhere near the level of dancer that he is, but you do purportedly have star power.

Isadora: Gee, thanks. I’m honestly shocked you’re suggesting this.

Lucas: Believe me, it hurts. But I’ve got stakes riding on this too, and I know you’re talented. Maybe you could help prop things back up so we’ve got at least a shot of winning.

Isadora: I don’t know… I mean, I know I performed the other week, but it was all about that assignment, you know? It was specifically because it was out of my comfort zone. [ a beat ] Though, why, I don’t even really know anymore…

She feels more confused about performing these days than averse, with all the grieving she’s done over Valerie, but confusion still feels dangerous. Probably safer to just stay on the sidelines… probably...

Speaking of dangerous tasks, Isadora shifts to college applications. She submitted her NYU film school application ages ago, and she’s got a couple of other things in the pipeline, but she’s much more interested in how Lucas is dealing with his. When he feeds her the same lines he’s been telling everyone else, she raises her eyebrows. Not buying it.

Leave it to Isadora to see right through him. Lucas sighs, relenting and explaining that the essays are killing him. It’s like, everything else he can scrape together, fake, pull off like he’s scraped through everything else in his life. But the personal statements…

Lucas: I hate writing about myself. Why should all of my potential rest on how well I can sell myself in some 500-word anecdote? As if that paints the complete picture. Not that I want that either -- the full picture isn’t pretty. How am I supposed to convince some strangers to take a chance on me when I don’t even believe it? If I had the choice whether or not to know myself, I wouldn’t.

Isadora: Wonder what that says about those of us who do choose to know you.

Lucas: And what am I going to say? Howdy, I’m a son of a bitch, please let me into your school and give me your money to do so? Great fucking deal.

Isadora rolls her eyes. She points out that although he doesn’t want to hear it, when it comes to  finances he knows she can help. Once the money from her inheritance fully comes through, she’ll have plenty that she doesn’t know what to do with. If she’s going to use it to help others -- especially those she cares about -- then helping him pursue his dreams is a non-issue. But, predictably, Lucas recoils at the suggestion.

Isadora: I swear, you are impossible. And you have such a weird hang-up about money.

Lucas: Yeah, views that you shared until about a month ago.

Isadora: Well, I’ve grown. I can see the nuances in money now and how it goes around. And I’m just saying that if you’ve got all these complexes around who has it and who can give it to you when you’re stuck on the bottom rung, then --

No doubt it’s a complicated series of complexes. As Isadora is settling into her rant, MISSY BRADFORD enters the diner. Lucas glances over Isadora’s shoulder and spots her, immediately clamming up.

Isadora: ...it’s what Reagan sold as trickle-down economics, but the thing is if you don’t give any money to the lowest income households from the get-go, then they never --

Lucas: Yeah, yeah, okay. I’ve got to go to the back.

Lucas retreats from the counter without waiting for permission, causing Isadora to scoff. She wasn’t finished! But he’s already gone, leaving her high and dry. But he also successfully avoided Missy, who steps up the counter for a pick-up order and is helped by another employee instead. She doesn’t acknowledge Isadora, who eyes her judgmentally from her stool.

As Missy collects her order and leaves -- glancing over her shoulder one last time for her usual Chubbies worker -- Dylan and Asher enter with Farkle. They join Isadora at the counter, asking where Lucas is. She shrugs, claiming he disappeared to deal with something.

Farkle: You ready to go? Is Maya here yet?

Isadora: Not yet. Figure she’ll be a bit late after the “atomic bomb” Jack dropped on her and Lucas -- her words, not mine.

Asher: What are you all up to?

Isadora: Since Farkle and I were technically responsible for the destruction in the auditorium --

Farkle: One could make the argument that I should have died last year.

Dylan: That would be a sick personal essay.

Isadora: We thought it was only fair that we put in the time to help Maya craft whatever last-minute fundraising effort we’re going to pull together to cover it.

As for Dylan and Asher, they were just stopping by to catch up with Lucas before going to practice their assignment for the week. Isadora commends Asher for performing again, considering it was so out of his comfort zone.

Farkle: Yeah, that’s not -- you’re not thinking of making that a habit, are you? Not asking for any reason, just curious. Not because you’re also a tenor. I’m just wondering.

Isadora: Smooth.

Asher: No, not planning to change career paths. Rest easy, Farkle. Just getting this out of the way sooner rather than later. [ nodding to Dylan ] It’s not as bad since we’re doing it together. And besides, can’t ignore the pull of the funk.

Dylan, wisely: Disco is for the gays.

Asher: Gotta pay our dues and get down with the boogie.

Far out, fellas! Isadora and Farkle wish them luck and head out together. Isadora asks Farkle how his therapy appointment went, and while his answer is unbothered, he definitely seems to be a little spacy this week. Isadora notices and considers asking him about it, but opts not to press further. They’ve got enough going on right now.

INT. GARDNER HOME - ROSIE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

ROSIE GARDNER is huddled up in her bedroom, begrudgingly working on homework. She’s got Niall Horan playing, and the volume is turned up loud. It takes multiple knocks on her door before Rosie hears, shouting over the noise.

Rosie: Go away! I’m busy.

Charlie, from the hall: It’s me. Can we talk for a minute?

Rosie sighs, but gets up. She opens the door and spins back around to drop back into her seat at her desk, not bothering to greet him. But she let him in, which is more than anyone else has managed this evening.

Charlie blinks as the pop music assaults his ears. He gently closes the door behind him, raising his voice over Niall.

Charlie: Think you could turn Niall down for a second?

Rosie: Huh?

Charlie: Turn your boyfriend down so we can actually hear each other!

Rosie: Ugh. You’re so not funny.

And yet, she relents and lowers the volume. Charlie makes a show of shaking off the ringing in his ears, knocking his ear slightly.

Charlie: Just checking for significant damage. Need industrial strength noise-cancelling headphones to come in here. Like they wear when they guide airplanes onto the runway.

Rosie: You are so annoying. Did you want something, or?

Charlie explains that Daisy texted him that afternoon about a fight she apparently had with mom. She seemed pretty concerned, so he just wanted to check in. Is everything okay? Rosie rolls her eyes.

Rosie: It’s so whatever. Daisy is exaggerating.

Charlie: I don’t think Daisy is capable of exaggeration. We took all the drama genes, there wasn’t any left for her.

Rosie: Well, she is. Yeah, mom and I argued, but it’s like… it’s dumb, whatever. I don’t even care.

Charlie: You’re listening to your sad 1D playlist.

Rosie: I said I don’t care, Charlie. And I can listen to whatever I want whenever I want.

Charlie: Okay, well, can you at least tell me what it was about? Or what’s --

Rosie: Ugh. It was nothing! Can you mind your own business and leave me alone? I’m trying to work.

Yikes. Rosie has always had a little bit of early teen venom in her, but this feels like more than that. Charlie doesn’t want to just let it drop, but it’s more than obvious she will not be having any productive conversations right now.

Charlie: Okay. I’m only -- if you want to talk about anything, you know you can tell me. I’m here to listen. [ a beat ] Okay?

Rosie: [ not bothering to look at him ] Okay. Whatever. Thanks.

She turns Niall back up, effectively ending the talk. Charlie hangs around for a moment longer, words he wants to say on the tip of his tongue, but for now there’s nothing to be done. He reluctantly retreats, the ghost of the past looming over him.

INT. MINKUS HOME - FARKLE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Farkle, Maya and Isadora are spread out around Farkle’s bedroom as they brainstorm ideas for fundraising. Maya paces around, occasionally picking up little trinkets and inspecting them before putting them back down in the wrong place. Isadora, meanwhile, is laying down on Farkle’s bed on her back, her head hanging upside down off the side. Farkle has gathered a blanket around him as he sits at the other end of the bed. 

Maya: You need to add some meat to that stick of a body, Farkle. You can’t keep living like an orphan who’s freezing to death on the streets of Victorian London. 

Farkle: It’s not my fault I have a fast metabolism. You’re just jealous. 

Maya: Yes, I’m very jealous of the boy who looks like he’s dying of scurvy.

Isadora snorts in amusement, for which Farkle shoots a glare at her.

Maya: Go get us some snacks, orphan boy. We’ll fatten you up Hansel and Gretel style.

Farkle: This is offensive to orphans everywhere, I hope you know. 

Isadora: As the only orphan here, I’m not offended. Maya, you may continue your bullying.

Maya grins, but Isadora frowns as she realizes what she said. Technically, she isn’t an orphan, if her father is out there alive... despite rolling his eyes, Farkle does get up to get snacks, blanket still tightly wrapped around him.

Once she and Maya are alone, Isadora sits up straight and turns towards her, lips pursed in thought as she considers what she wants to say. 

Isadora: Do you know who your dad is?

Maya stops wandering around and looks at Isadora in surprise.

Maya: Where’d that come from?

Isadora: I don’t know. Just wondering about the orphan thing, I guess.

Maya: Izzy, that was just a joke. And directed towards Farkle. All jeers are reserved for our darling beanpole -- I’m not stupid enough to drag you.

Isadora: Appreciated. [ a beat ] I know nothing about my dad.

Maya: [ with a shrug ] I know my dad’s name and some basic facts about him, like his job, but nothing else. 

Isadora: Have you ever considered getting in touch with him? What if he’s out there somewhere? Mine or yours.

Maya: When I was younger I thought about it… but he abandoned me, so what’s the point? If he wanted me in his life, I would be. He knows who I am and how to contact me, but he hasn’t. Why waste my precious time and energy dealing with him when I already have my mom? She’s all I need.

Isadora nods, considering this. Her father situation is quite different to Maya’s, so not all that helpful. Regardless, it’s something to think about. Maya is pensive, too, mind now occupied by thoughts of Katy. Isadora notices her shift in mood.

Isadora: You miss her?

Maya: [ with a theatrical sigh ] Always. [ then, a bittersweet smile ] It’s okay, every artist has to have their tragic backstory. It’s good. Gives me personal agony to work through.

Isadora: … well, actually --

Before she can say anything further, Farkle returns with an armful of snacks. He tosses them at Maya and Isadora.

Farkle: Here you go, little piggies. Oink oink.

Maya: You can’t say that to us, we’re women.

Isadora: We could have you cancelled for that.

Maya: Besides, as the only poor one present, I reserve all rights to the word pig. [ eyeing them ] Capitalist swine…

Farkle: Yeah, speaking of lack of funding...

The conversation moves on, back to fundraising, but Maya gets out her phone to send Katy a quick message letting her know that she misses her.

INT. AAA - ATRIUM - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Boogie Shoes” as performed by Glee Cast || Performed by Asher Garcia & Dylan Orlando

Kicking off the first official performance for the ‘70s theme, Asher launches us into number with an impressive opening note. He starts at the top of the stairs in the atrium, starting down the steps while singing towards Dylan, who’s waiting down below. When he sings “boy, to be with you is my favorite thing,” Dylan playfully points to himself and beams. They’re both dressed in modern-day approximations of disco garb -- colorful dress shirts, glossy vests with matching flare pants, funky patterned ascots.

And they’re setting the standard for what performances will be like without the usual stage of the auditorium. Their chosen location is the atrium, mostly empty as it’s during class hours, the rest of the A class scattered around the space to watch and provide back-up vocals (as well as their usual reactions and applause). Zay is particularly torn, clearly flipping between jealousy that he can’t be dancing and basically vibrating with the infectious groove.

In the case of Dylan and Asher, there is plenty to cheer for. They’re simply undeniably a joy to watch, especially with each other, and Dylan was right when he said disco is for the gays. They’ve got the night fever, full of energy and charm as they dance together. On the “woo!” during the bridge, Dylan lifts Asher in a funky little hop moment. And Asher’s vocal runs throughout are nothing to scoff at either.

It’s a smashing way to start the assignments off right!

INT. AAA - PRACTICE ROOM - DAY

As strong a showing as that little number was, the upbeat mood doesn’t last long. Stress dominates in the meeting between Maya, Yindra, Farkle, Jeff, and Isadora, who are deliberating on the current status of their showdown setlist. They’re attempting to analyze it and rework with the knowledge that Zay will not be able to participate, but it’s easier said than done.

Lack of focus doesn’t help matters. Farkle is noticeably zoned out, lost in his own head, and Maya has to snap at him to get him back at attention. This is not amateur hour! No time for spacing out, Farkle! He apologizes, but Isadora notices he still seems far away somehow.

The fervent discussion is immediately halted when Zay enters the studio, realizing they’ve all convened to work without him. He asks what gives.

Maya: It’s not personal, Zayby. But considering your current situation...

Zay: I’m still choreographer. Even if I’m not performing, I should be included in meetings. Especially if you’re talking about altering the routine.

Jeff: We’re not.

Farkle: At least, not right now.

Isadora, diplomatically: We just know that not being able to participate is difficult for you, so Riley suggested… we figured it would be better not to like… force you to deal with it. Or rub it in your face.

Maya: Exactly. See? We’re doing this for you.

How sweet. But Zay isn’t moved. He grows defensive, nodding along but dripping with sarcasm.

Zay: Great. Thanks. Well I guess if you need to drag me out of the recycling bin to comment on choreography, you all know how to reach me.

He storms out -- a bit unevenly on his boot -- leaving them awkwardly in his absence. Farkle clears his throat. The only who doesn’t seem uncomfortable is Maya, who shifts gears back to the matter at hand effortlessly. It’s just business, after all.

Maya: So star power --

INT. THRIFT SHOP - DAY

Riley is searching the racks for an outfit for the ‘70s dance, Charlie in tow. Every now and then, she’ll find a vintage shirt that’s his size and hold it up against his chest just on instinct, always on the lookout for her friends even if they’re not looking themselves.

Riley: It’s amazing how every color looks good on you. You should really consider branching out beyond neutrals and inoffensive shades of blue.

Tell us something we don’t know, Riles. Charlie brushes off her compliments, keeping his focus on the topic at hand while they shop. He’s seeking advice on how to handle arguing family members, since unfortunately, Riley has plenty of relevant experience with that. He’s had it in his family before with Bridgette, but he can’t remember much of it and honestly, one of the keys to their family dynamic is how most unpleasant things occur behind closed doors. Most of the time, they don’t even know when something is wrong with each other.

Riley: Do you have any more details? I feel like context would help.

Charlie: Nope. I only heard about it through Daisy, and when I tried to talk to Rosie, she wouldn’t budge.

Riley contemplates and admits she’s hesitant to try and give advice when the context is so vague and wide open, but ultimately the most important thing she thinks he could do is to continue being there for Rosie. He told her he was, and that’s the best he can do under the circumstances. If he actually witnesses another argument for himself, then that’s a different story.

Riley: But no matter what happens, try not to let yourself get caught in the middle of it. I mean, you should help where you can, but there’s nothing worse than trying to fix problems that aren’t yours and you can’t control. It’s between them, not you, and trying to mend it from the outside is only going to result in failure and frustration. You have to look out for your own well-being first. I wish someone had told me that before my parents fell apart.

Very important advice. Charlie thanks her and expresses sympathy for her messy parental situation again, but she shrugs it off and moves past it. Instead she finds another cute ‘70s material button down in classic sky blue, enthusiastically lifting it up to measure against Charlie.

Riley: Pair a blazer with this, and you’d be all set to boogie. Makes your eyes pop too… ugh, you’re so pretty it’s disgusting.

Charlie: I thought we were shopping for you, not me. I’m not the one who gets to disco.

Riley: Well, that’s not necessarily true. The fundraiser is open to everyone -- that’s the only way we’re going to make any profit, after all. And you know you’d be more than welcome.

Charlie: Yeah, maybe… with showdown so close and everything…

Riley: Charlie. [ holding his gaze ] You’re family. Forget showdown, forget east and west side. As long as I’m around, you fit. And I know for sure I’m not the only one who feels that way. Got it? Can you dig it?

Charlie, grateful: I can dig it.

Riley: Righteous. I’m serious though, what you should dig is this shirt.

As Riley shifts back to searching for her own look, they jump to chatting about college applications. Charlie asks how hers are going after she explains Lucas’s poorly concealed stress about them, and she claims they’re going fine.

Riley: I’m a pretty textbook candidate, all things considered, and my poor tragic backstory of being bullied out of school and divorced parents sure makes for great personal essay fodder.

Charlie: Kind of weird how they teach us to exploit our own trauma…

Riley: I’m definitely applying to Barnard, and I’ve decided I’m going to throw my hat in the ring for Tisch even though it’s basically the longest shot there is. Add in a handful of second choice picks and you get the idea. But honestly, I’m not all that pressed about it right now. I feel like it’s going to be way harder when acceptances and rejections come through and it’s all… real. I can throw any application out there I want and I don’t have to do anything about it. When I actually know what my options are… then it’ll be real. You know? When I actually have to decide what path I want to take. Because right now, I feel like I have no idea what I want that to be.

Charlie nods, agreeing wholeheartedly. He definitely knows the feeling of not having any idea what he wants the future to be… as the low hum of an unfamiliar instrument floats in…

INT. AAA - BLACK BOX THEATER - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Amazing Grace” as performed by The Military Band of the Royal Scots Dragoon Guards || Performed by Dave Williams

In what is probably the weirdest performance AMBITION has seen to date, Dave stands alone in front of the classroom and goes to town on the bagpipes. Yes, apparently, Dave Williams can play the bagpipes (though whether he plays them well is a whole other story). And he gives it his all on this immensely famous tune, bewildering his peers and rendering them speechless.

That being said, while they can’t find any words, that doesn’t stop the A class from reacting. The expressions range from confused to stunned to struggling to keep it together. Maya stares in disbelief and then scrunches her face, looking around to see if anyone else is seeing this. Zay and Nigel are on the verge of tears from stifling their laughter; Yogi is misty-eyed from sheer emotion at his best friend’s… powerful performance. Nate mouths trying to sing along to the screechy tones with an absolutely delighted grin, while Dylan emulates the patriotic vibe by standing and giving a salute. Asher shakes his head from next to him, also hiding laughter behind his hand.

When Dave finally concludes, releasing a big exhale, the room is filled with silence for a long moment. Yogi starts the applause that the others uncertainly mimic, until Isadora finally, bluntly breaks the silence.

Isadora: Okay, I’m just going to say it -- what the hell, Dave?

Dave: What? Is something wrong?

Sarah: Where the hell did this come from? Are you seriously damaged?

Yindra: Forget that. I’m dying to know when you learned to play the bagpipes. And why have you deprived us of it for so long?

Farkle: The assignment is ‘70s music. How did you end up on “Amazing Grace?”

Dave, baffled: I don’t get what the big deal is. I found the song on a ‘70s playlist on Spotify, I can show you. And I looked it up -- the fig Newton dude wrote the song in 1779.

Clarissa: Fig newton --

Zay: [ at his wits end trying not to laugh ] I can’t. I can’t --

Dave: 1779! So it’s from the ‘70s.

All, in unison: 1970s, Dave!

Dave: … WHAT?!

The class descends into hysterics. Harper attempts to thank Dave for an… interesting performance, if nothing else.

Harley: I found it quite spirited. Very much enjoyed.

Dave huffs, marching back to his desk. He drops his bagpipes on the desktop --

EXT. AAA - REAR PARKING LOT - DAY

Which becomes a soapy sponge landing with a splat on the hood of a car, Haley working to scrub it clean. A few more quick shots help establish the setting -- Jeff and Darby untangling hoses; Riley and Chai filling up buckets of water; Asher ringing out a washcloth as far away from his body as he can stretch it, mildly disgusted.

Yes, Maya’s new fundraising scheme is in full swing -- a car wash! Cars are lining up for the A class to give a shining clean-up. Considering they threw the concept together in just a couple of days, it’s really not a shabby showing. Maya is praising her own quick thinking by the pay table, where they’re also selling baked goods. Zay is manning the cash box, since he can’t do much else.

Maya: I swear, sometimes my own mind amazes me. Never lets me down. And you can’t go wrong with a good old-fashioned classic.

Zay: Yeah, except car washes are usually in the summer. Not the dregs of autumn when we’re all going to get hypothermia.

Maya: It’s actually unseasonably warm today. And that’s the brilliance of it. Who else is doing a car wash in this weather economy? No competition, big bucks.

At least the weather is nice. With them out in their cotton shorts and tees to do all this work, Zay’s right to have reservations. But the sun is out, and the income has been steady thus far. Nate finishes off drying a car with Dylan, who has his hair pushed back with a tie-dye bandana.

Nate: You know, we should all just wet our shirts. That will get the girls and gays to come running.

Maya: [ into her bullhorn ] Don’t accelerate the hypothermia, Martinez. Keep it classy.

Nate: You’re turning down a million-dollar idea!

Maya waves him off, gesturing that he get back to work. And they all put it together real fast when another customer pulls up at the end of the line, EVELYN RAND emerging from her nice SUV and coming over to greet them. She commends them for their efficient set up.

Maya: That’s all thanks to me, Maya Penelope Hart. Vice President and overall go-getter. I’m the one that makes things happen.

Evelyn: And modest as they come, too.

Evelyn happily accepts Maya’s handshake, but she tosses a wink to Zay and Clarissa working the bake sale table. She claims she’s eager to help the cause, and she’s sure they’ll do an excellent job with her car. While she waits, she’s hoping to have a brief chat with Jack, so can she just leave her keys with them? She trusts them to move her vehicle twenty feet when it’s her turn.

Maya: Of course. We here in the A class pride ourselves on our care and attention. Your vehicle is safe with us.

Zay snorts, turning it into a cough. Evelyn hands over her keys pleasantly, waving to the rest of the kids working as she heads into the building. Maya spins the key ring on her finger for a moment, contemplating.

Maya: Can’t afford to screw this up. Gonna need someone extremely anal and annoyingly cautious to handle this one. [ into the bullhorn ] Garcia! Get your persnickety nonexistent ass over here!

Nigel arrives at that moment with a takeout bag in his hands. He tries to weave through the cars and avoid drill sergeant Maya as he heads towards the back entrance to the school, but unfortunately he’s not slick enough.

Maya: Chey! What do you think you’re doing? Cars are over here.

Nigel: Oh. Yes. Well, Jade’s holed up in the costume loft with all the projects she’s finishing…

Maya, unmoved: Uh huh.

Nigel: And I know she isn’t great about eating when she’s under this much stress, so I brought her some food to eat while she works. And I thought I’d go… give it to her… [ quickly ] okay, check you later.

He turns and speeds towards the entrance, making his swift escape. Riley saunters over to join them at the cash table, tilting her head fondly.

Riley: That’s so sweet.

Maya: Meh. A convenient excuse.

Zay: And how are you one to talk, Maya? You realize standing around shouting orders at everyone isn’t work.

Riley: Come on, Madam Vice President. Time to put in a little elbow grease.

Zay raises his eyebrows, accenting Riley’s challenge. Pride in jeopardy, Maya sniffs and relinquishes her bullhorn, placing it on the table. She spins and flips her ponytail over her shoulder, marching over to contribute to the cause. Riley and Zay exchange amused looks, while the boombox blasting the iconic opening hand claps takes over the soundscape...

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Car Wash” as performed by Rose Royce || Performed by Maya Hart (feat. AAA Seniors)

You all knew it was coming. The moment we started scrubbing those fenders, you should’ve seen it coming. Maya leads the A class in a funky rendition of the disco classic, swaying her hips and swinging her ponytail as they put in the hard work (though, somehow, Maya still manages to avoid most of the heavy lifting). She handles most of the verses, though Yindra also takes some of the spotlight with vocal runs. Nate perfects his slutdrop as he cleans tires.

In the midst of the grooving, the business is bumping. Interspersed amongst the performing we see Clarissa and Dylan charming patrons at the bake sale table, money changing hands, and Zay dutifully keeping track of everything as he mans the pay station.

On the last chorus, Maya has made her way onto a roof of one of the cars, Yindra, Haley, and Darby emulating her on the other cars they’re working on. The A class does some rad synced choreography to take the number home, Maya sliding down the front windshield and kicking up her leg before Farkle makes the finishing swipe of a washcloth across the hood.

Car wash! Zay deposits another payment into the cashbox, snapping it closed with a flourish.

Evelyn’s car is now closer to the front of the pack, and more business is still coming. Charlie makes his way over from the parking lot, waving to Riley as he makes his way over to the tables. Clarissa and Dylan greet him cheerfully, Riley and Maya jogging over from the line of cars. Zay doesn’t say anything, but offers a hesitant smile, which is better than nothing. Charlie mirrors it.

Clarissa comes out from behind the table to give him a hug, but warns him not to let Haley see him -- she’s soaked and will probably get him all damp. Charlie claims he didn’t plan to stay long, he just wanted to come by and see how things were going, as well drop off some baked goods they could sell that he and his sisters made. Dylan takes them happily. Maya asks where his car is and what kind of wash he wants, which Charlie awkwardly laughs off.

Charlie: I wouldn’t make you guys do that. But I can make a contribution --

Maya: Please, what do you think this is, a pity party? We don’t accept charity.

Zay: Yes we do.

Clarissa: We’ll take all the charity you’ve got.

Maya: This is a business, and we provide a service. So put your boring little sedan in line and turn your patronization into profit.

Riley: Maya, if he doesn’t want --

Charlie: You know what? Okay. [ raising his hands in surrender ] I’ll take whatever the easiest job is. Meet in the middle.

Fair enough. Maya relents, going back to shouting orders at others. Zay shows Charlie what their pricing options are, and though Charlie is going for the cheapest one, he overpays anyway.

Charlie: What Maya doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

Zay: Yeah, and it’ll probably save us.

They exchange something close to a conspiratorial wink. Riley senses that they’re actually communicating without imminent disaster, so she comes over to join them. Charlie asks how business is going -- it seems to be moving pretty swiftly. Riley is optimistic, claiming that between this and the dance -- which is garnering a lot of buzz on social media -- they may just cover their expenses yet. At mention of the dance, Riley makes a quip about how Charlie should’ve bought that shirt at the thrift shop to wear, which catches Zay’s attention.

Zay: You’re coming?

Charlie: Oh, no. No, I wasn’t, um… I hadn’t really thought about it.

Zay: Oh.

Charlie, shyly: … would it be okay if I did?

Zay meets his eyes, uncharacteristically timid. He doesn’t know what to say, because he honestly doesn’t know how he feels about the possibility. Things aren’t as tense as they were before, and they’ve managed to break some of the ice that’s frozen them in place, but it’s far from thawed. He doesn’t know if he wants it to be or not. It’s all confusing, and being put on the spot proves just how much.

He’s spared from answering when Isadora pipes up from the curb.

Isadora: Oh, fuck no.

Charlie jumps, turning to search for the problem. Zay leans around him to look too. The issue is not hard to identify.

The Haverford boys. A whole bunch of them, rolling up in their classy cars, totally filling up the back end of the car wash line. Billy honks obnoxiously in his, waving to the washers working further down the row.

Brandon hops out of his car, the rest of the boys following suit. He leads the saunter over to the tables, where Maya, Farkle, and Isadora rush to head them off. Charlie stares as they approach, obviously mortified that they’re here; Zay frowns, glancing at him suspiciously.

Maya: What the hell do you think you’re doing? You’re blocking the line.

Dweezil: Blocking? Is that any way to speak to a customer?

Isadora: One we’re about to kick the hell out, yeah.

The congregation bristles, but Brandon holds up his hands -- both out of innocence and to signal his crew to halt. He remains smooth and unbothered as ever, calmly stating that they’re simply here to support the cause.

Brandon: It’s the least we could do, showing up for the less fortunate. We want showdown to be a fair fight, don’t we?

Maya: Oh, if that’s what you’re looking for, we can give you a fight.

[ Brandon raises his eyebrows, clearly amused by Maya’s sharp spunk. ]

Farkle: How did you all even hear about this?

Brandon: Why, I would think that’s obvious. Charles told us.

[ Many eyes throw to Charlie at once. He swallows, dipping his head. ]

Brandon: Well, technically, he told Evan, but I don’t see why he didn’t just share it with the boys. Evan was more than happy to pass the message along, though, and we all thought it was just a swell idea. Quaint, really.

Billy: Yeah, where’s the lemonade stand? You should jump on that hot market next.

But belittlement aside, they really are here to get their cars washed. That’s all. The A class can take it or leave it, but if they choose to turn away willing customers then that’s their prerogative.

Well… business is business. Maya forces a smile, keeping her diva daggers locked on Brandon as she instructs Isadora and Farkle to go start filling the buckets. Brandon holds her glare, evenly matched with his cool, subtle smirk.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

Jack is enjoying a catch-up with Angela over coffee, in generally good spirits all things considered. As he says, it’s nice to take a moment to forget all of the stress and just chat with a good friend. Angela is touched, placing her hand on her chest. She claims if her visit will be good for anything then, that’s a great reason.

The two of them get on the topic of her pregnancy, and how she’s feeling about impending motherhood. She confides that Shawn is way more nervous about it than she is, but ultimately she feels okay about it. Pregnancy isn’t the most fun experience in the world, but she has always thought that a family would be part of her future. Considering she’s not getting any younger, it feels like the right time.

She asks if Jack ever thought about having kids, and he grows a bit more somber. It’s not that he hasn’t thought about it… and to be honest, he figured if he did he’d beat Shawn to it, but clearly that wasn’t in his cards. And now here he is, coming off a failed serious relationship, already in his 40s…

Angela: It’s never too late, Jack. If it’s something you really want. I mean, hell, look at Eric! He skipped all the hard stuff, too.

Jack: I guess that is one way to look at Isadora’s tragic loss…

Angela: I’m just saying, never say never. You’re a great mentor, responsible and fair, and you care. You care a lot. If you chose to try, whether by yourself or with a partner, I think you’d be a great dad.

Maybe… it all just feels so out of the realm of possibility. Besides, he argues, he basically has 200 kids at any given time to take care of. It’s not the same, no, but he watches out for the Adams students as seriously as he would his own. And you know, sometimes…

Jack: Every once in a while, it kind of feels like they are.

It’s not hard to guess who he’s thinking about. Angela starts to question him further, thinking this is probably a meaningful discussion to have, but they’re interrupted by Evelyn knocking briskly on the door. She greets both of them cheerfully.

Evelyn: So nice to see you again, Angela! I do hope I’m not intruding on anything important -- I meant to come sooner, but I got caught up in a riveting chat with Mister Keiner. 

Jack: No, of course not.

Angela: In fact, I was just getting ready to head out, so I will get out of your hair.

Jack: I just wasn’t expecting you.

Evelyn: No need to rush, Angela. [ to Jack ] I’m just here to participate in that splendid car wash you’ve got out back. They’ve got a great little operation going, I have to say. And that Maya Hart -- talk about a firecracker.

Jack: Trust us, we’re quite familiar with her spark.

Angela bids both of them goodbye, promising Jack she’ll see him later. Once they’re alone, Evelyn commends Jack on inspiring his students to find creative ways to fund their financial endeavors. Especially given how their original proposal for the scholarships was voted down at the school board. In her opinion, she was hoping they’d at least contribute a portion -- she thought it was a nifty idea.

Jack: Yes, they weren’t thrilled to hear the decision either.

Evelyn: It’s disappointing, although hardly surprising considering the way Jefferson campaigned behind closed doors. He’s got a fairly influential stake in the voting bloc, unfortunately.

Jack: What? What do you mean?

Evelyn: Oh, Jack, I thought you already knew. It was an extremely close vote on the board to provide funding, but Jefferson tipped the scales against it. He and Yancy basically talked it down for days with colleagues before the actual tally.

Um, no, Jack did not know about that, and it obviously pisses him off. He’s speechless, trying to process the blatant partisan maneuvers being played against them within the inner workings of the board. Especially from someone who is now working within the walls of AAA. He knew Yancy didn’t like him, but this…

EXT. AAA - REAR PARKING LOT - DAY

The Haverford boys are loitering while they wait for the A class to finish cleaning their cars, showing how completely unbothered they are to hang around and watch their competitors sweat. Charlie is also hovering to nervously keep an eye on things, staying with Clarissa at the baked goods table and nibbling on a sugar cookie.

From where he’s scrubbing Dweezil’s windshield dry, Nate glares at them derisively.

Nate: Rich pricks. I should smash this damn window…

Yogi: Easy, bulldog.

Dave: Just smile and wash, boys. Smile and wash.

Thankfully, they’re efficient, and it doesn’t take them long to grit their teeth through the work. Maya slaps her washcloth against Brandon’s hood, declaring it finished, then marches her way back over to where he’s slouched against a lamp pole near the pay table.

Maya: Alright, knock-off Warblers, your cars are done.

Evan: Warblers?

Dweezil: From Glee.

Billy: Ha! She thinks we watched Glee.

Bottom line is, their business here is done, so they can roll their asses out. Maya essentially shoos them, but Zay pipes up from the pay table.

Zay: Um, they can’t go yet. They’ve still got a tab to settle.

Maya: They didn’t pay upfront?

Billy: Well, couldn’t very well do that. Why would we pay you before we get any proof that you’re going to do a good job? It’s simply smart shopping.

Clarissa: Well, the job is done now. So you can pay up.

Brandon: Ooh… see, I think there might’ve been a misunderstanding here.

Charlie tenses, sensing impending doom. He steps out from behind the table in case he needs to mediate, just as Isadora and Farkle march back over with their buckets and rags to see what the hold up is. They’ve got other potential customers waiting.

Brandon: Another smart business practice is to agree on the terms and conditions before you make a deal. Now, we always knew our payment was going to be contingent on the quality of the work. Sure, Babineaux here laid out the pricing for us, but we didn’t get anything in writing. You didn’t get our John Hancocks signing off on it.

Zay: You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

Charlie, nervously: Come on, guys --

Maya: So you mean to tell me that we just spent the better part of an hour scrubbing your ungrateful little shits until they shined, and blocking other well-intentioned customers from coming in the meantime, only for you to stiff us at checkout?

Dweezil: At least we made you look busy.

Billy: Yeah, consider it practice. We know you could use all of that you can get.

Brandon: [ with a shrug ] Should’ve gotten it in writing.

Isadora: Yeah? Well how about you fucking get this --

She and Farkle snap first, lifting their buckets and sloshing them directly at Brandon. It catches him off-guard, totally dousing him in sudsy water.

Charlie: Oh no.

Riley, from the curb: Oh no.

Billy: Oh, hell no!

Hit the queen bee, feel the sting of the workers! The Havies immediately fire back, grabbing whatever they can get their hands on -- hoses, abandoned buckets -- and lobbing it back at Isadora and Farkle.

And with that, it’s a full-on brawl. Water and soap flying in every direction, the other Havies and Adams seniors launching into the battle without hesitation. Maya shrieks as she’s soaked, shouting for her classmates to take the Havies out. Zay salvages the cash box and dives under the table, taking cover.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

Jack is still searching for what to say in response to the bombshell information Evelyn dropped, but Harley leaps in the doorway and gets both their attention.

Harley: Major problem at the car wash. It’s completely devolved.

Jack exchanges a quick look with Evelyn, then jumps up from his chair.

EXT. AAA - REAR PARKING LOT - DAY

Jack and Harley emerge as the water fight is in full swing, and basically everyone is dripping in soap water. Jack takes control and marches into the fray, stepping into authoritarian mode and demanding that all of the nonsense cease. The Adams students drop their weapons immediately, not daring to get even a drop on their principal.

Though he doesn’t command the same respect with the Haverford boys, they don’t push it any further. They got what they came for, managing to derail the car wash and pull a fast one on the A class. They cackle with laughter as they sprint back to their cars, piling inside in record time and peeling out of the parking lot.

Brandon’s car is one of the last to leave, catching the eye of Maya, Zay, and Charlie through the passenger window. He smirks and tosses a wink in their direction, but it’s impossible to say who it was meant for. Maybe all of them.

None of them look especially pleased either way. Maya shoots a death glare at Charlie, even though he arguably got the worst of it, completely drenched from head to toe. If he was in on the whole thing, he looks pretty miserable about it.

Break 1.

INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT - ISADORA’S BEDROOM - DAY

Now in fresh, comfy clothes and bare faces, Riley, Isadora and Maya lounge around in Isa’s bedroom. Maya’s hair is up in a towel wrap, while Riley’s is down and in the process of drying, and Isadora’s is pulled back into a messy bun. Isadora is also wearing her glasses rather than usual contacts. With a stretch, Maya hops from the bed.

Maya: I never want to work like that ever again. I’m exhausted, in pain, and starving. Is this Hell?

Riley: You truly weren’t built for working class, were you?

Tell her about it! Maya disappears to raid Eric’s fridge, leaving Riley and Isadora free from her complaints. Isadora uses the opportunity to pick Riley’s brain. 

Isadora: What do you think our chances are in the showdown? Full disclosure. 

Riley: Full disclosure? Not great. [ with a sigh ] But we could still pull through. If we work hard enough, and come together to --

Isadora: I don’t need the full spiel, but thanks. I know how stressed Lucas and Maya are about it, and I’m considering -- considering is the key word here -- offering to perform. You know, if it would help.

Riley’s face lights up, but upon seeing Isadora’s level glare, tries to suppress her smile. She fails. 

Isadora: Don’t look at me. Forget I said anything. 

Riley: Aw, come on. I’m happy you’re thinking about it yourself instead of, like, being peer pressured by Maya or something. 

Isadora: She’s very nearly at her breaking point, I can tell. Every day her will to just let me be is deteriorating bit by bit. 

Riley: I think… not to get too Uncle Eric here, but I feel like because you keep thinking of performing as doing it in front of an audience, like being judged, it’s holding you back. You should just do it for the joy of it. Why were you drawn to performing in the first place? 

Isadora, reluctantly: … because it was fun...

Riley: Exactly! Because it’s fun. You have to have fun with it.

In fact… Riley brightens with an idea, reaching for her phone and searching for a song.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Lady Marmalade” as performed by LaBelle || Performed by Riley Matthews, Maya Hart & Isadora De La Cruz

[ Lyrics specific to characters -- follow along here! ]

As the bass and keys begin, Riley stands up on Isadora’s bed, pulling her up with her. Riley sings the initial “hey sister, go sister” to Isadora, who stands awkwardly in the middle of the bed, not looking all that impressed.

In the first verse, Maya walks into the room with her haul from the kitchen. Her mouth opens when she sees Riley singing. 

Maya: Are we doing this? Okay, we’re doing this.

She drops the snacks without a care, jumping onto the bed to join Riley -- just in time for the chorus. They move around Isadora as they belt out iconic vocals, trying to get her in the groove.

Maya takes on the second verse with Riley on the backing vocals. Although Isadora tries to remain stoic, she can’t help but begin to vibe with them. By the end of the next chorus, she’s singing along, too. In French, no less! But maybe let’s not look up the lyric translation…

In the instrumental break, the three girls get down from the bed and strut forwards towards the door. They pass through it one at a time, puffs of makeup and glitter blowing around them in slow-mo as they do.

INT. AAA - LECTURE HALL - DAY

This time, the temporary performance space is the lecture hall, which is an inspired choice since it actually has a pseudo-stage and lighting capabilities.

When they emerge onto the small stage, they’re in full glam. Hair glossy, makeup glowing, and outfits iconique. They each wear a skintight jumpsuit along with oversized faux fur coats. Riley’s getup is a white jumpsuit and yellow coat, Isadora’s is a blue jumpsuit and pink coat, and Maya’s is a pink jumpsuit and white coat. They strut to the front of the stage, spotlights on them.

Isadora takes charge of the next verse, confidently singing and dancing with her friends by her side. Riley and Maya come in towards the end, before all three complete the rest of the song together. It’s glamorous, it’s sultry, it’s powerful. Foxy, ladies!

We fade out of the performance to see the rest of the class and Harper as they applaud. Although the girls don’t look quite as glam out of the performance-dreamscape, they look just as badass. Lucas and Farkle in particular seem stunned by the performance.

INT. AAA - TECHNICIAN’S BOOTH - DAY

Zay hands over the cash box from the car wash to Lucas.

Zay: Despite the carnage, the most important thing survived.

And, in spite of the disastrous end, it seems like they made good for their work. They raked in a pretty penny for all the scrubbing and washing -- it’s far from all that they need, but it should make a sizable dent in the auditorium accident debt. And that’s not nothing.

Lucas thanks Zay for his help and for watching the money, getting up to put it in a safe place in the booth. He claims he can’t do it until Zay leaves, though, since there are certain things only he should know about the booth. Zay rolls his eyes but obliges, throwing in an offhand comment about how weird he is before slowly making his way out.

As he’s heading down the steps, he passes by Missy, who is casually making her way up into the booth. Like she goes up there all the time, like it’s no big deal. She even greets Zay as they pass, which he uncertainly returns. He frowns at her over his shoulder as she heads on up, obviously confused by her presence.

As confidently as she enters, Lucas evidently wasn’t expecting her either. He jumps when she addresses him, moving away from wherever he stashed the car wash cash. When he realizes it’s her, his posture grows even more defensive.

Lucas: What are you doing in here?

Missy: Only what anyone would deem visiting this musty space worthy for. I’m looking for you.

Lucas: I don’t know if you missed the memo, but people don’t waltz in here whenever they want. No matter how privileged they are.

Missy laughs, allowing him the dig. Following their increasingly common rapport, back-and-forth that straddles the line between friendly fire and hostility depending on your lens. She maintains innocence as she waits for him to settle back in his usual chair, claiming she only wanted to discuss the current A class financial crisis.

Missy: I heard your little car wash wasn’t half-bad. Congratulations are in order. Though I don’t believe I heard much about you out there breaking a sweat to wash those vehicles...

Lucas: You can congratulate the rest of the class when you see them.

Missy: Shame. I’d think if we put you out there front and center, you might’ve garnered a greater profit.

Lucas: Please.

Missy: You shouldn’t undersell yourself, Lucas. It worked for Chubbies, did it not?

If her increased patronage is any indication, then technically, yes. But Lucas doesn’t seem keen to acknowledge that. She moves closer and hops onto the lighting booth table, crossing her glossy legs where they are in perfectly accessible view. In a place where Riley often sits. It just feels wrong. Lucas averts his gaze, looking down at the soundboard instead.

Missy: Anyway, as cute as the fundraising effort is, I don’t exactly see the point.

Lucas: Well, for those of us not in the 1%, there’s this annoying everyday thing we have to do called “acquiring money.” I’m sure that’s probably confusing for you --

Missy: I meant for Adams. Or for the A class, more specifically. I don’t see why you all should be out there sweating through manual labor… when you could just ask me for the money.

Oh. Well that’s… an interesting proposition. Lucas is surprised she’s even offering it, enough to lift his head again to meet her eyes.

Lucas: … it’s hundreds of dollars…

Missy, coolly: Drop in the bucket. [ looking him over ] Surely you would know that by now.

Lucas hesitates, contemplating. Missy observes him, watching for the chinks in his armor. Those rare moments when he’s not as aloof and disdainful as their banter leads her to believe.

Lucas: I don’t see why you would help when it does nothing to benefit you.

Missy: Isn’t helping the class helping me in the end? [ off his skeptical eyebrow raise ] And oh, they’ll find a way to pay us back somehow. Every debt gets paid eventually. Name on an auditorium seat, plaque outside the lecture hall. That’s the charity solution to everything, slapping your name on something. I’m sure daddy would love to have the Bradford name in gold somewhere in this heap considering the chilly reception Hunter gave us when all this started.

Missy found about a dozen unintentional trigger words to throw in that sentence to change Lucas’s tune. Whether the most credit can be given to the word “charity,” or invoking Jack in a negative light is debatable, but Lucas is suddenly even stonier than before. He clenches his jaw.

Missy, softer: It’s not like you haven’t already accepted donations from the Bradford fortune… and that’s lightened the load, hasn’t it? Nothing wrong with that. [ a beat ] And you and me… I wouldn’t call us friends, but we certainly have… our own thing here. Don’t we? We… mean something. To one another.

Lucas drops his gaze again, cornered. The very insinuation that they have a relationship in any capacity makes him uncomfortable… but then, it’s not wrong, is it? If he’s willingly taking her money, knowingly, then that does symbolize some sort of association. He can’t in good conscience deny it, not when her money is a big chunk of the reason his future is even possible. And she could take all the pressure off them, off him, in an instant… no more fundraising… no more sweating over showdown… scholarships guaranteed…

But his instincts are stronger than that. It’s too good to be true. Everything comes with a cost, and while he might be willing to risk that here and there for his own feeble endeavors, he’s not going to tie his legacy and the rest of the class to it. He returns her eye contact, resolute.

Lucas: If your family wants to donate to the cause, then by all means do. But I’m not asking you for anything. I don’t beg.

Well said and well meant! For what it’s worth, Missy doesn’t seem put off by the rejection. If anything, she seems impressed by his stubborn resistance, even if she knows damn well it’s full of contradictions. Impressed, and definitely stirred by that same fire that captivated her the first time they met during the school board trial. The tension in the air makes that loud and clear.

Missy: No, no you don’t, do you. All part of your… provocative charm.

Message received, it appears… some message, at least… Missy slips off the table and begins to make her exit, assuring Lucas that she understands his perspective. Some things are better kept quiet, and she gets his need to maintain appearances -- and his pride.

Missy: It’s our little secret. And I get where we stand. [ with a smirk ] I think we understand each other better than one might assume.

The mere notion makes Lucas a bit queasy, but he keeps his mouth shut. Missy bids him adieu and disappears down the steps, wishing the Slumdog President the best of luck with his continuing financial campaigning.

Even once she’s gone, Lucas can’t shake off the discomfort of her presence. He has to get up, walk it off, gathering his things and fleeing from the space -- one of the few he’s never felt the need to escape from before.

EXT. HAVERFORD PREP - COURTYARD - DAY

Charlie is having lunch with BRIDGETTE GARDNER, occupying their typical table in the grassy outdoor space. She listens attentively as he catches her up on all of the stuff with their sisters, Charlie clearly seeking counsel from the one person who has been on the other side of this potential falling out. Does she think he should be worried, based on her own experience?

Bridgette: And you haven’t seen any of this for yourself?

Charlie: No, at least not yet. But I don’t think that means much -- I had no idea most of this stuff was going on with you until it was already way too late. When I first saw you having arguments with mom, it was volcano level.

Bridgette: To be fair, you were what, 14? Even younger than that when it all started. But true. Our family is really good at concealing the ugly, and then pretending it doesn’t exist when the moment has passed.

Charlie: And this is coming from Daisy. You know she wouldn’t make things up just for the hell of it.

Bridgette: Also true. She sure is an unaffected little freak. [ a beat ] I say that with love. Every Gardner has to be fucked up one way or another.

Still, with so little firsthand information, it’s hard to say. She doesn’t think Charlie should tie himself in knots trying to problem-solve something he can’t see, but…

Bridgette: Look out for Rosie if you can. You know, keep an eye out. If history is going to repeat itself, and she’s following in my forsaken footsteps… I don’t want her to go through that. She shouldn’t have to go through what I went through. Not that I’m not fine now --

Charlie: Right.

Bridgette: But she’s not tough like I am. And I mean that in the best way possible. Rosie… she’s sensitive. Sweet. Her heart is right there on her sleeve, even if she tries to act like she’s all grit. [ softly ] Reminds me of another sibling I’ve got.

Charlie smiles, but underneath the kind words she’s confirming his concerns. If the stormy energy around Rosie does whip up into a hurricane, then it’s looking more and more likely to be an unavoidable disaster. History may just repeat itself -- and more brutally than before.

INT. AAA - COSTUME LOFT - DAY

Rosie isn’t the only one in a tempestuous mood. Jade is in full-on crunch mode as her deadlines loom ever closer, and even though she’s been basically holed up in the costume loft at all hours she still feels miles from the finish line. She’s skipping lunch to wrap up a couple of last-minute additions to another piece of her portfolio, using Asher as her mannequin. Currently, he’s sporting a rather fancy, outlandishly patterned and bold blouse over his maroon polo. It looks like it could be a ‘70s dance shirt, or the wardrobe of a funky, flamboyant villain, or perhaps an especially stylish swashbuckling pirate… but it’s a Jade Beamon original, so it looks fantastic.

If only the job of mannequin was as fun as the clothes he’s modeling. Asher is gritting his teeth so hard they might crack, cringing every time Jade threads her needle through a piece of it or sticks a pin somewhere. She’s an expert, a professional, but given her stress level she’s missed the mark more than once the last couple of days.

Jade, snapping: If you didn’t wince every two seconds like a little baby, then maybe I would stick you less.

Asher: [ through his teeth ] The two dozen pin prick battle scars I have beg to differ!

Nigel picks that moment to enter, catching the tail-end of their sharp exchange and clocking the vibes immediately. He hesitates by the door, not sure whether he should come in and interrupt anymore or not, but Jade spots him before he can duck out. She immediately loses some of her unpleasantness, straightening up and clearing her throat.

Jade: Nigel.

Nigel: Um… hello. [ holding up lunch ] I know you’re working through lunch again, so I just thought I’d bring something by.

Jade: Oh, that’s… that’s nice. You don’t have to keep doing that.

Nigel: It’s all good. I like being able to help. It’s the least I could do, make sure you eat.

Asher: Someone should.

Jade: I’m still holding pins, Asher…

As if that wasn’t signal enough, Nigel bravely ventures the question of how costuming is going this afternoon. Jade claims it’s all fine, and Asher repeats her comment in a tone that makes it very clear he doesn’t agree. Sensing that the best friends might benefit from a break from one another, Nigel offers to hang around and be her stand-in for a while.

Jade: Really?

Asher, hopeful: Really?

Nigel: Sure. All I have to do is stand there and look pretty, right? Think I can manage that. You know, if I clear the costumer’s standards, of course.

Jade: No, no you -- of course. Of course you do. You’re more than -- obviously, you’re up to standard. I mean, above. I, um…

Asher can’t help but laugh, but he hides it behind a fake sneeze. Jade shoots him a glare, then states it would be preferable actually for him to take Asher’s place for now. It seems like Bird Bones agrees, hopping down from the step stool and carefully removing the fanciful top.

Asher: It’s for the best anyway. I’m supposed to be helping Dylan proofread his college essays. I want to check mine one more time too -- Jade says reading them over seven times is more than enough, but pot meet kettle.

Nigel: A Dylan Orlando personal essay, huh? I’d pay to see that.

Asher: I’m sure he’d let you read it for no charge. One of the applications he’s filling out had the prompt to “describe a work of art from the last century that surprised, inspired, or challenged you and in what way,” so he wrote a whole thesis statement on why Taylor Swift’s album Lover is the most important contribution to art, culture, and society since the invention of music.

Nigel: Wow.

Jade: Of course he did.

Asher: I’ll be genuinely surprised if it’s not a video essay on his vlog in like four months. But you know what, no admissions officer can say he doesn’t have enthusiasm.

True that! Asher makes his grateful exit, handing the piece over to Nigel and wishing him luck. Jade giggles nervously once they’re alone, Nigel smiling and asking if he should just put the shirt on and stand where Asher was. She confirms, avoiding her gaze by digging through her sewing kit until he’s all set and ready to be pinned and needled.

Nigel: I hope I’m doing your work justice.

Jade: You, um… it’s good. You’re good. Ha ha.

She nervously pushes some hair behind her ear, then steps closer to get back to work. If anything can overpower shyness, it’s the stress of an impending deadline upon which your entire future rests. Jade softly explains to Nigel what she’s doing as she does it, since he’s never been her model before, and reassures her that he’s not worried and she can do whatever.

Nigel: I trust you, Jade. You are the expert, after all.

Jade glances up at him, processing the compliment. The declaration of trust. The fact that they’re standing so close, that if he just stepped down off the stool they’d be close enough to… it’s a lot. Sophomore year Jade would probably have ran and hid by now, if not passed out.

But this is the present, and Jade has work to do. So she swallows her butterflies and focuses on her needlework.

Quiet settles over them for a minute, then Nigel speaks again, barely above a whisper.

Nigel: You’re incredible, you know that?

Jade: Huh?

Caught by surprise, Jade’s hand slips… and accidentally sticks Nigel with the needle. He winces and she immediately launches into apologies, retracting her hands to drop the needle and asking if he’s okay. He promises he’s fine, keeping her from spiraling over it by taking her hand so she can’t drift any further away in retreat.

Nigel: Really, I’m good.

Jade: … so you were saying?

Nigel: Yeah. I just wanted you to know… I hope you know how amazing you are. I know you’re super stressed about all this and what these schools and programs are going to think of you, but they’d be insane to reject you.

Jade: I don’t know if I’d go that far.

Nigel: I would. I mean, you’ve made basically every costume we’ve worn for the last three years -- which I know everyone keeps throwing back at you -- and they’re fantastic. Not just because they look good, which they always do, but they’re durable. No matter how gorgeous they look, they can withstand a lot. When we finish a production, they’re worn in, but it’s still as if they’re freshly stitched. That’s impressive. Trust me, I’ve been in enough local Shakespeare productions to say so. One time a piece of my tunic fell off in the middle of the first act.

Jade laughs, charmed by the story and calmed enough by his gentle tone to actually breathe. Nigel smiles at her, fond.

Nigel: You’re reliable. That’s the best thing a person can be, in my opinion. And you’re talented to the extreme, hard-working, humble… I mean, is there anything you can’t do?

Jade: [ with a snort ] Socialize.

The word slips out, and Jade is instantly embarrassed by it. She hides her blush in digging to grab her needles again, going back to work as an excuse not to elaborate.

Nigel: Seriously? You’ve never struck me as without company. With the techies --

Jade: Oh, yeah, that’s the height of engagement. Just me and a bunch of emotionally inept teenage boys plus Dora, getting up to the same old shenanigans. Every girl’s dream. [ with a sigh ] Don’t get me wrong, I love them. Especially Asher, he’s my best friend. And I’m not saying I’m like, a recluse or anything, I have friends, I just… I don’t know. I don’t even know why I’m talking about this. Sorry.

Nigel: No worries. I don’t mind. But for what it’s worth, I don’t see you that way. Anyone would be lucky to have you as a friend. I know I am. [ a beat ] Or like, any kind of relationship…

Jade coughs, not prepared for that. She giggles compulsively again, frantically brushing off the thought as she focuses intently on pinning a piece of the fabric into place.

Jade: I haven’t… ha, I’m so busy, I… a relationship… I don’t have the time to even…

Though she can’t form a coherent sentence, Nigel gets the message. Not available right now. And he admittedly looks a bit disappointed, but he puts his acting credit to use and swiftly covers with another smile.

Nigel: Well, again. Anyone would be lucky. And in the meantime, I’m just happy to support you however I can. Even at risk of puncture wound.

Jade absorbs this, unable to hold back her shy smile. She murmurs a thank you, then hides by throwing all her attention to the task at hand.

But for Nigel, the only thing he can focus on is her. So incredible… and so close… as the easy bass line floats in…

INT. AAA - LECTURE HALL - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “How Deep Is Your Love” as performed by Bee Gees || Performed by Nigel Chey (feat. Dylan Orlando)

The lights are low and the set-up is simple, just Nigel on the stage with a microphone stand and sporting the finished product of one of Jade’s ‘70s costumes -- a glossy gold suit, styled like Saturday Night Fever, over a black silk shirt. He’s shimmering like a disco ball under the stage lights, reflecting the whimsical, dreamy quality of the number.

The only other person on the stage with him is Dylan, accompanying him on bass and providing back-up vocals. He’s dressed much simpler, dressed in black and wearing his custom-made Jade Beamon original suit jacket from junior prom. His hair is the ‘70s-ified element, swept up and combed back like John Travolta. While he happily lets Nigel hog the spotlight, he does take a moment in the performance to wink to Asher in the audience.

INT. AAA - COSTUME LOFT - DAY

Intercut with the performance, we check back in with Nigel and Jade in the loft, doing a metaphorical dance of their own around each other as Jade costumes. There’s something surprisingly amorous about the set-up when it’s paired with the ballad. Jade remains oblivious, studiously sewing away, but the romantic tension is more than apparent, in Nigel’s expression and the smooth delivery of his vocals as he looks at her.

And you may not think I care for you When you know down inside that I really do…

INT. AAA - LECTURE HALL - DAY

While she’s good at avoiding him while at work, Jade can’t keep her eyes off Nigel during the performance. Clarissa, Haley, and Asher cast knowing glances at her, but she doesn’t pay them any attention. In the back seats, Nate, Dave, and Jeff sway along to the beat playfully.

Cause we're living in a world of fools Breaking us down when they all should let us be

Ultimately, though, even if certain truths remain unsaid, what can’t be denied is an excellent performance. Nigel brings it home with grace, understated as always but, in this case, pretty swoonworthy.

We belong to you and me…

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Zay is on the phone with Riley, the latter walking him through all of the bulletins from that day’s showdown discussion. He listens eagerly, living vicariously, but it’s obvious he’s also frustrated that he’s being excluded. He reminds Riley that they can call on him at any time to brainstorm on choreography or reevaluate concepts, but she gently waves him off by insisting she doesn’t want to put any additional pressure on him.

Zay: Well, to be honest, not being consulted kind of makes me feel more --

Riley: Oh, shoot, Maya’s here. She’s supposed to be meeting with Farkle after his therapist appointment this evening, so I’m sure she just has a bunch of notes she wants to Maya-splain to me first.

Zay: If she wants to get on speaker, then she could --

Riley: I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? And I’ll let you know if anything major happens. Love you!

Zay: But Riley --

She hangs up before he can get a word in, even a goodbye. He sighs and drops his phone on his bed, pulling his laptop back towards him. He has his applications webpage open, where he’s painstakingly attempting to piece together the final elements of his portfolio. It’s not in bad shape, but with the glooming reality of his booted foot and inability to make anything more, it doesn’t feel like enough. It feels like being trapped.

He grabs his phone again, obviously wanting to talk to someone about it. But he can’t talk to Riley -- he knows she’s busy. He can’t talk to Yindra. He can’t talk to Maya -- and nor would he want to, thank you very much.

Charlie…

He could talk to Charlie. God, he wants to talk to Charlie. And they’ve opened up the lines of communication again, haven’t they? Couldn’t it be easy, like it was before? All he has to do is say something… but he doesn’t know what that would be. It’s still confusing and twisted up inside him. And whatever happened with Haverford at the car wash is admittedly suspicious, though it just doesn’t feel right to think Charlie would do something like that.

Confusing. Complicated. Stuck. He’s stuck, stuck, stuck.

INT. THERAPIST’S OFFICE - NIGHT

Farkle plops down onto Dr. Han’s couch, releasing a dramatic sigh and telling her there’s much to discuss (as there usually is). He starts to rattle off about the showdown drama because of Zay’s injury and how he and Isadora dumped water on their greatest rival at the moment, but Dr. Han carefully interrupts. She explains that there’s actually something she wants to open this appointment with, something that she thinks it’s important to start exploring as soon as possible. Farkle is confused but intrigued, sitting upright and gesturing for her to go on.

She turns to her notes, pulling out a couple of prepared informational sheets and taking on a gentler, more professional tone. She explains that after their last few meetings, she thought a lot about some of the patterns Farkle had been mentioning in his recovery. She decided to follow her hunch and do a little more research, and she thinks she’s landed on what might be the root after conferring with his primary care physician.

Dr. Han: It’s my belief that you show all the clear symptoms of bipolar disorder.

It’s like all the air gets sucked out of the room. Farkle freezes, staring at her, but words stop making sense. She continues to explain how common it is for it to be misdiagnosed as depression, how now they can focus on proper treatment for his actual affliction, how it’s just as manageable with the right approach, but it’s like she’s talking underwater. Everything feels hazy, static, like Farkle is suddenly a thousand miles away.

Farkle: No. No, I -- I can’t be.

Dr. Han: I understand that an unexpected diagnosis can be intimidating. And bipolar disorder, like most mental conditions, is shrouded in a lot of misrepresentation and stigma. But with the right perspective --

Farkle: I’m not. I can’t… I have to go.

Farkle blankly gets to his feet, suddenly certain he has to get out of there. It’s like he’s underwater now too, like he can’t breathe. Dr. Han warns that he’s likely just having a strong reaction to the news, anxiety, but she assures him that the diagnosis does not change anything about him or his prospects. If anything, it will improve things, because now they can confront his reality with the right tools. And it will be safest for him to just relax here and process it during their session.

But no, Farkle can’t stay. He numbly repeats that he has to go, ignoring Dr. Han’s disagreement and stepping out of the office.

INT. THERAPIST’S BUILDING - HALLWAY - NIGHT

Farkle doesn’t stop until he’s fully out of her space, back in the endless office sprawl of a building like this. He waits a moment, dreading Dr. Han chasing after him and dragging him back in there, but she doesn’t come. He collapses back against the door, releasing a shaky exhale and screwing his eyes shut.

Bipolar. He’s bipolar.

A gentle piano begins to play, an iconic familiar riff while we stay close on Farkle’s face.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “All By Myself” as performed by Eric Carmen || Performed by Farkle Minkus & Zay Babineaux

Farkle takes the first lines of this legendary ode to isolation, singing them softly as the camera slowly eases away from him. The further away we pull, the more his sense of smallness grows, dwarfed by the hallway that seems to stretch on forever.

When I was young, I never needed anyone… those days are gone…

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Zay pushes off his mattress and rises to his feet, going a bit too fast at first out of habit and nearly stumbling on his bad ankle. He cringes, falling back on the edge of the bed to right himself. He huffs and hides his head in his hands, easing into the next lines.

Living alone, I think of all the friends I’ve known But when I dial the telephone, nobody’s home…

EXT. THERAPIST’S BUILDING - NIGHT

Farkle emerges onto the steps of the building in the financial district just in time to launch into the chorus. He carries on singing as he begins to make his way home, weaving through the streets and other passersby as if he’s invisible. Although he’s clearly emotional, it’s evident the information hit him hard, because he’s not at all at his usual level of verve.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Zay keeps it tamped down whenever it passes back to him as well, though his limitations are outside of his control. He spends his portion of the vocals at his window, leaning out to breath in the life and excitement of the city he loves that he feels so locked out of.

Whether within or without the city, for vastly different reasons, both Zay and Farkle are feeling the same ache.

INT. MINKUS HOME - NIGHT

Farkle makes it home in time for the piano solo, showing off his proficiency on the instrument lest we dared to forget. Then he and Zay harmonize on the final, showstopping chorus, delivering a whammy even when they’re not quite in top form.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Zay rounds out the number, stepping away from his window and shutting it forlornly.

INT. MINKUS HOME - FARKLE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Maya is back to brainstorming in the Minkus home as promised, pacing in front of the moodboard they’ve been working off of for weeks. She’s avidly running through potential pitfalls to their showdown prospects, which seem to be piling up by the minute, while Farkle is seated on the edge of his bed. He’s stone-faced, truly lost in his own head now, and Maya doesn’t fail to notice. As she’s ticking off more items on their doomsday list, she halts and gives him an unimpressed glare.

Maya: … and an inattentive diva. [ snapping in his face ] Farkle! Earth to Farkle!

Farkle: What? Oh, sorry.

Maya: I swear, you have been exceptionally offbeat this week. Of all the times, too, naturally it would be our greatest time of crisis that your zany passion eludes us. Honestly, Farkle, where for art thou? Why have you abandoned me in our time of need?

Farkle: I’m bipolar.

Maya: Okay? And I’m a narcissist. Just because we use pretty words doesn’t change the state of the union, darling.

Farkle, shaky: No, like, I’m literally bipolar.

Maya pauses, actually looking at him. His tone convinces her that he’s not being cheeky, and his sallow expression drives it home. Her demeanor shifts instantly, dropping much of her diva arrogance.

Maya: What?

Farkle: I’m bipolar. I don’t know how many more times I can say it.

Maya: I heard you, I just -- when? How?

Farkle: My whole life, presumably. How, ask God for me.

Maya: Well… well, like, what does that mean? Like, so you’re bipolar, well, what does that mean for --

Farkle: I don’t know. I don’t know, my psychiatrist just told me. I didn’t… I didn’t do a great job of listening to what came after that.

Wow. Silence reigns as Maya attempts to process this new information. Farkle speaks again, even more uncharacteristically timid than before.

Farkle: I know this is bad timing. Just… with this, and everything at school, I don’t know how on top of it I can --

Maya: No, no, of course not. Shh. It’s fine. You don’t have to worry about all that. You need to focus on yourself. On this. Don’t worry about Triple A. I’ll handle it.

Farkle: But Maya --

Maya: I’ve got it. It’s okay.

She pats his shoulders reassuringly, then turns it into a hug. Farkle hesitates for a moment before returning the embrace, desperately leaning into the comfort. Maya remains stalwart for the both of them, features intense as her mind runs to problem-solve a million miles an hour. Based on the furrow of her brow, it seems she might already be onto something.

Maya: I’m going to handle it.

INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT  - NIGHT

Riley, Isadora and Eric sit around the dining table, chatting casually after finishing their meals. Eric looks between the two girls with a warm smile before offering to clear up. 

Riley: I’ll help.

Riley gets up to help Eric clean away the plates, but Isadora places a hand on Riley’s arm to stop her. Riley gives her a questioning look. 

Isadora: I actually… I have something I want to show you. In my room. [ to Eric ] If that’s okay? 

Eric: Of course, go ahead. I’m perfectly capable of filling up the dishwasher on my own.

Intrigued, Riley follows Isadora into her bedroom.

INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT - ISADORA’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Isadora goes straight to her desk and opens up a notebook to reveal Valerie’s letter. She passes it to a confused Riley, who takes a moment to look over it. When she realizes what it is, she looks up at Isadora with wide eyes. 

Riley: Is this…? 

Isadora: [ with a nod ] A letter to my father. I found it in one of Val’s boxes. You’re the first person I’m telling so don’t… don’t tell Eric or anything. 

Riley: Oh, totally. Sure. [ a beat as she scans through the pages ] Why aren’t you telling him, though? 

Isadora: I don’t really know how I feel about it yet.

Riley guides Isadora to her bed, where they both sit. She collects her thoughts. 

Riley: Did you know anything about your dad before now? 

Isadora: No. I asked about him a few times, like ages ago, but Valerie always claimed she didn’t know who he was. I can’t tell if she was lying or not; I don’t even know when she wrote this. 

Riley: It seems like she didn’t really think about it until he wrote to her. And it definitely seems like he wants to be part of your life. [ a beat ] Do you want him in your life?

Isadora: I don’t know. I don’t even know what that would look like. My gut is screaming at me that it’ll end in disaster, like it always did with my mom, but at the same time… like, I’ve gotten by fine without a dad until now, but it does feel there’s a part of me missing. What if it’s him?

It’s clear that she’s been thinking it over a lot. Riley admits that she isn’t sure what she could say to help considering her complete lack of experience in this department, but suggests again that she should talk to Eric. 

Isadora: I’m scared to. 

Riley: What? Why?

Isadora: I don’t want him to think that he’s not enough for me. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I don’t want to ruin it.

Riley places a hand on Isadora’s shoulder and offers a sympathetic smile. Isadora responds by resting her head on Riley’s shoulder, so Riley moves her arm to wrap around her. 

Riley: You know how much Eric cares for you. There’s nothing you could do to ruin it. You’re part of the Matthews family forever now, no matter who your father is and whether you meet him or not. 

Isadora: You’re my favorite cousin. 

Riley: I won’t tell Auggie you said that. And you’re my favorite cousin, too.

Riley plants a kiss on Isadora’s cheek with a ‘muah.’ Isadora pulls a face of disgust and escapes from her grasp as Riley giggles.

Isadora: Minus five cousin points. Auggie’s in the lead now. 

Riley: Nooo!

She chases after Isadora, trying to engulf her in a hug as both girls laugh.

INT. GARDNER HOME - CHARLIE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Charlie is back from a late rehearsal for showdown, changing out of his Haverford uniform. He strips off his shirt and places it in the laundry hamper, checking how his clothes from the car wash are faring.

Still damp. At this rate, it feels like they’re never going to go back to normal.

Suddenly, the house below him erupts with sound, voices being raised in the kitchen downstairs. It goes without saying, but raised voices are almost non-existent in the Gardner household. Charlie freezes, listening intently until he recognizes exactly what he’s dreading -- a higher-pitched, defensive voice. Rosie’s voice.

He drops the wet clothes and reaches for the first top he can find -- which just happens to be an AAA sweatshirt -- and yanks it on as he rushes into the hall.

INT. GARDNER HOME - KITCHEN - NIGHT

This time, there’s no question as to whether there is a fight. Rosie and ELEANOR GARDNER are more heated than we’ve ever seen either of them onscreen, yelling at one another and cheeks flushed. Rosie is particularly loud, in near hysterics since she’s young, emotional, and also on defense; Eleanor maintains a cool, superior tone even as she raises her volume.

Charlie slides into the room right in the thick of it, jumping in the middle without hesitation and questioning what the heck is going on. When he can get them to acknowledge him, Eleanor actually seems pleased by his presence, openly welcoming him into the argument.

Eleanor: Oh, perfect, just what we needed. A second opinion. Rosamund, why don’t you tell your brother why you’re in trouble? Go on.

Rosie, on the other hand, is not receptive to Charlie joining the conversation. She loses a lot of her fire, shrinking back and face flushing in embarrassment. Eleanor scoffs, though it seems like this is exactly how she expected her to react.

Eleanor: What’s the matter? Are you suddenly shy? You sure were loud enough arguing back to me about it, and now you won’t tell Charlie?

Charlie: Can someone just tell me what’s going on?!

Eleanor: Gladly!

Eleanor pointedly places Rosie’s phone on the countertop, which she’s been holding the whole time. It’s open to an Instagram photo on an unfamiliar page, one of Rosie’s new friends at her gifted high school. It’s a series of photos from some hangout the freshmen were having, but the photo in question surprisingly features another familiar player -- a bunch of the freshmen are sitting around and laughing, and Rosie is grinning while sitting on the lap of URI MINKUS.

It’s pretty innocent, but the implications are enough. Eleanor relays the whole tale, how one of Rosie’s friends from Catholic school told their mom about the photo in her tagged images and the mother was kind enough to inform Eleanor about it. This is already after a discussion she had with Rosie over this boy when she saw them interacting in a less-than-acceptable manner after school when she picked her up. She thought they had cleared it all up, but apparently not, between this photo and the fact that the text messages between her and this Jewish boy are nothing if not flirtatious.

Rosie: You shouldn’t have even been going through my texts anyway!

Eleanor: Oh, shouldn’t I? I didn’t realize you were the authority now! Privacy is a privilege, Rosamund, and you’re continuing to prove that you haven’t earned it!

They continue to escalate again, Charlie bewildered as he slides the phone towards him to get a better look. The photo really is so… nothing, and the whole argument feels so blown out of proportion. But Charlie knows the patterns, he knows what Bridgette warned him about, and all of the shouting and conflict is making him lightheaded.

Charlie, weary: Stop arguing.

Eleanor: I knew we shouldn’t have let you go to the gifted school. I knew you’d be better off staying in the Catholic system.

Rosie: Then why did you let me go?!

Eleanor: Maybe I shouldn’t have! Maybe that’s the thing I shouldn’t have done! In fact, maybe I’ll have to put a call into the deans and see if they can’t transfer you back --

Rosie, mortified: Mom, no!

Charlie: Stop…

The room is starting to spin a little bit. Charlie braces himself against the countertop, screwing his eyes shut and trying to block out the yelling. But he can’t run from it. He can’t hide.

Rosie: Charlie got to go to a different school! He got to go somewhere new without you breathing down his neck!

Eleanor: Because Charlie is responsible enough to handle it! You don’t see him posting suggestive content, flirting shamelessly, making questionable decisions. I don’t need to monitor your brother because he doesn’t give me any reason to be concerned!

Oh, Eleanor, if only you knew… it’s being invoked and talked about in such a discordant way that acts as the final straw. Charlie tries to catch his breath, but it’s not coming back, and it’s like the whole world is slipping away from him…

If anything will stop an argument, passing out probably does the trick. Charlie stumbles and then collapses onto the tile floor, shocking both Eleanor and Rosie out of their anger. Rosie shrieks and rushes to his side.

Eleanor: Charlie?! Ambrose! [ rushing to the entryway ] Ambrose, Charlie’s -- come quickly! Hurry!

Charlie’s down, all right. Rosie rolls him onto his back, checking for obvious injury -- lucky he didn’t crack his head open or something -- and trying to rouse him. But he’s out like a light… all of the tension slowly fading away…

INT. HAVERFORD PREP - AUDITORIUM - NIGHT

Meanwhile, Brandon is staying late at Haverford once again, only this time he’s not alone. He’s meeting with a mysterious figure, a HIPSTER 20-something man who is probably into photography or a wannabe filmmaker. But he’s clearly there on business, Brandon and the man speaking in hushed tones as they converse even though they’re the only ones around.

Brandon: And you’re sure you’ve got the whole thing? I’m not paying for poor quality or fractions.

Hipster: I’ve been doing this for six years. Think I know what I’m doing at this point. But yes, it’s all there. Professional quality. You’ll be able to see whatever you need to see.

Brandon deems this response satisfactory enough, nodding. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small wad of cash, trading it off with whatever object the hipster is offering. When they retract their hands, Brandon comes away with the secret item -- a flash drive.

He scrutinizes it idly while the hipster quickly counts the bills, then they exchange a nod, Brandon thanking him for his service. The hipster makes his exit, Brandon pacing for a bit on the stage and turning over the flash drive in his fingers. Whatever it is, he seems pretty satisfied to have it in his grasp.

He loses some of his easygoing confidence when he hears the auditorium doors open. He slips the flash drive into his blazer pocket and straightens up, narrowing his eyes to assess his new company. When he recognizes who it is, though, an intrigued smirk blooms across his face.

Brandon: Well, well, well. I have to say, this is an unexpected surprise.

Maya Hart. Dressed in one of her sharpest ensembles, Valerie’s fur coat giving her that extra oomph, matching Brandon’s cool sophistication effortlessly. She leisurely saunters her way down the aisle towards the stage, taking her sweet time.

Maya: So this is the fabled Haverford Prep. [ pursing her lips ] I have to say, I was anticipating greater grandeur.

Brandon: It’s hard when the indigent experience excellence for the first time. Never quite meets the expectations of their hapless daydreams… [ off her sneer ] Is there something I can do for you, Hart? Let alone at this late hour?

Maya: Don’t flatter yourself. It’s 8PM.

She’s made her way to the stage now, coming to stand opposite Brandon front and center. There’s a healthy distance between them, keeping them staunchly on opposing sides, but they regard each other with respect. Maya claims she just wanted to come have a little chat, clan leader to clan leader.

Brandon: That so? I thought Friar was your figurehead.

Maya: We both have our respective areas of expertise. I like to think of myself as the Cheney to his Bush. Conservative politics notwithstanding.

Brandon: Was going to say. I don’t see Cheney being much of a swinger for socialist handouts like you all are gunning for. [ sizing her up ] But I’ll admit, I pegged you for a captain rather than a lackey. You sure took front and center at the car wash.

Maya: Ah, yes… the function you so ceremoniously soiled.

Brandon: Hope you’ll forgive the incursion. It’s only business. A little competitive spirit is all.

Maya: Oh, no arguments from me. I’m more incensed I didn’t see it coming. Wish I had thought of it myself.

Brandon chuckles, perhaps a bit won over by her… unique Maya charms. He claims he got the sense they were more alike than different… in fact, if circumstances were different, and they weren’t sworn rivals… Maya catches onto his drift right quick, mirroring his smug charisma as she feigns sympathy.

Maya: So you like what you see. Don’t despair, you’re far from the only one. But I’m afraid that’s a forgone impossibility.

Brandon: [ processing what might be a rejection ] Ah. I see. [ like they’re confidants ] You play for the other team?

Well. That’s a pretty bold assumption to jump to just because she doesn’t want to get with you, Brandon. But Maya maintains her coolness, unperturbed by such arrogant conclusions. She makes a face, as if she’s contemplating.

Maya: … no team. Let’s put it that way.

Brandon: And what’s that supposed to mean exactly?

Maya: The only team I play for is Triple A. And that’s what I’m here for.

Brandon backs off his advances and allows her the floor, back to all business. She tactfully begins to discuss negotiations around senior showdown, dancing around the details of everything going wrong inside the ranks of the A class but letting just enough of her cards show to indicate that she’s only here due to dire circumstances. Then she subtly tries to charm her way to an ideal outcome, brokering a deal where maybe, just perhaps, Haverford might find themselves on the losing side of the showdown confrontation.

You know she’s desperate if Maya is trying to arrange a thrown victory. And Brandon can sense that too, even as aloof as she’s acting, which just makes the whole situation more amusing to him. Though he feigned listening to her pitch, he is all too eager to shoot it down. Why would Haverford want to throw the competition, he muses, when their winning streak is so hot and their competition is apparently so weak?

Brandon: I knew you all were hardly a threat, but this is even more pathetic than I thought. I mean, you and Friar coming to me trying to cut a deal for an easy victory -- what a leadership duo. You all must be in harsher condition than I imagined.

Maya: Wait, what?

Brandon: … you didn’t know? That your president already paid me a little visit earlier in the semester?

Maya doesn’t respond, but the way she’s lost her easy confidence as she stares at him answers for her. Brandon laughs, shaking his head.

Brandon: What presidential teamwork. Clearly, the future of Adams is in outstanding hands. But with such low confidence, and even lower moves you’ll stoop to… no, I believe Haverford is just fine where we are now. We’ll beat you handily, as we have for the last six years, and rest assured Hart, it’ll be with immense pleasure. [ a beat ] You should probably be going, then. The security doesn’t take kindly to riff-raff hanging around our hallowed halls.

He swivels and swaggers offstage, leaving Maya alone and humiliated in enemy territory. She’s fuming, gritting her teeth and fists clenched at her sides.

INT. CHUBBIES - NIGHT

Riley is seated at the counter with her laptop, keeping Lucas company while he works the late shift. She’s running through analytics of the RSVPs they’ve already gotten for the dance fundraiser, which she claims is looking pretty good.

Lucas isn’t in a very optimistic mood, commenting that even if they get half of Manhattan to show up, it probably won’t be enough to cover all their expenses including the scholarships. With their chances at showdown dwindling by the minute… who knows. Maybe he’s not doing absolutely everything he can to make it happen…

Riley closes her laptop, giving him her undivided attention.

Riley: Don’t count Triple A out of showdown just yet, please and thank you. But I think I know what this is really about.

Lucas hesitates, freezing up.

Lucas: You do?

Riley: Yeah. You act like you’re so hard to read, like I don’t know you well enough to figure out when you’re not telling me something.

How could she know… did Zay tell her about seeing Missy in the booth? He swallows. She reaches across the counter and takes his hands, giving him a sympathetic look.

Riley: You’re freaking out over the college essays.

Lucas: Oh. [ a beat ] Yeah, well, I guess I am.

Riley reminds him that he doesn’t have to keep that kind of stuff from her and act like he’s unshakeable all the time. And honestly, she gets why he’s nervous about them. It sucks writing about yourself no matter what -- unless you’re Maya -- but it’ll be even harder for him given the things he’s been through. He hasn’t exactly been encouraged to view himself favorably, at least not until recently. Old habits are hard to break.

Riley: But that’s not necessarily what they’re looking for anyway. You don’t need to prove to them that you’re the most perfect shining candidate to ever apply, you just need to give them a really good story. Make them invested, get them to care about you. Show them a bit of your individuality, your personality -- which you are not short of in either department. And I know for a fact you can draw people in…

She is, after all, a prime example. Lucas still seems doubtful, but her perspective does help. And her belief in him continues to astound him, forged in steel even when everything else feels so unpredictable. Riley leans forward to give him a soft kiss, which lingers between them.

It’s impressive, too, how being with her grounds him. How their closeness doesn’t feel like an intrusion… and somehow, feeling cornered by other forces or put on edge just makes him want to be with her more. Lucas initiates another kiss, forgetting everything else for a moment, taking shelter in that inexplicable safety with her. Riley has no complaints, leaning deeper into it and tightening her touch on his hand.

Then the front door bangs open, the bell jangling ominously. Both of them jump and pull apart. Maya marches into the diner, indignant and blue eyes burning.

Maya: What the hell, Friar?

Lucas: What’s the matter with you now?

Riley: Is everything okay?

Maya: When were you going to tell me you shook down Brandon?

Riley: [ whipping to look at him ] What?

Lucas clams up, straightening upright and taking on a defensive stance. But the sheepish expression on his face gives him away. Busted.

Maya: You know, I think that kind of mercenary maneuver is exactly the sort of decision your VP should know about. Were you just never going to let me in on it?

Riley: Why the hell did you do that?

Maya: I don’t care about that. Friar’s a shady bastard, we all knew his methods were going to be far from clean. Who gives a shit. I’m pissed he decided not to keep me in the loop! Do you have any idea how humiliating it was for me to roll up there only for Brandon Rivas to hand my ass to me on a silver platter? Cocky prick, like he knows absolutely everything --

Riley: Wait, wait. [ eyeing her ] Why were you confronting Brandon?

Oh. Well. Cough. Maya flips her hair off her shoulder, but she can’t give a good excuse that doesn’t make her just as culpable as Lucas. He raises his eyebrows at her, emphasizing that if he’s going down she’s going with him. Riley closes her eyes, trying to catch up to this turn of events.

Riley: Let me get this straight. Both of you went to our competition, at separate times, to try and threaten them into… what? Giving up? Throwing the showdown?

Lucas: I just thought that --

Maya: Our prospects are in shambles even without the money. I was just --

Lucas: And I didn’t want you to be disappointed --

Maya: Everyone is counting on me, we’ve all got a lot riding on --

Riley: Okay, okay, stop. Enough!

Riley holds her hands up, getting them both to shut up. She takes a moment to compose herself, taking a deep breath, then she jumps into fixer mode.

Riley: This must be the week for damage control, because now you’ve really done it. You realize now we’re going to have to bring it even harder, since you’ve made it perfectly clear to Brandon and the Havies that we’re spooked. You wouldn’t go and grovel for mercy if we weren’t.

Lucas: That wasn’t --

Maya, scoffing: I do not grovel --

Riley: I cannot believe you would do something so stupid. [ to Lucas ] And that you would do something like this and not tell me…

Oof… hit him where it hurts, Riles. Lucas lowers his head, avoiding her eyes. Case in point, it doesn’t make anybody look very good. And now, Riley proclaims, she has to fix it once again.

Riley: We’re going to have to brainstorm fast for showdown and make sure everything is in pristine shape, which we already know is a shot in the dark. Call Yindra, tell her to come by our place in twenty. I’ll see if we can get Jeff and Isadora too.

Riley puts her belongings back in her bag and hops off the stool, Maya already heading out. Riley goes to follow her, but she pauses in the doorway and glances back over her shoulder at Lucas. She shakes her head, obviously disappointed.

Riley: I can’t believe you.

She leaves it there, pushing through the doors without another word. Lucas looks after her, ashamed, then curses to himself and lightly hits the counter with his palm.

Break 2.

EXT. DANCE LOT - DREAM SEQUENCE - NIGHT

Charlie is sprawled on the asphalt, just like when he collapsed, the city uncharacteristically quiet around him. When he comes around he jolts upright, spooked at being outside and on his own. He looks around in confusion, no clue where he is or how he got there. He slowly gets to his feet, recognizing the dance lot as a place he’s been before, but unsure where exactly it is or where to go next.

Only one clue exists to help guide him. Music.

It’s quiet, muffled, but he can hear it. A thumping bass, hypnotic beat… he spins until he zeroes in on the source. A heavy metal door installed into the wall opposite him, propped open just slightly, with a neon sign above indicating it’s likely some kind of club. Colorful light leaks out from the crack, mesmerizing and more than intriguing.

But it’s really the music that wins him over. He’s a dancer, and he cannot resist a compelling groove. He cautiously approaches the door, pulling it open and then stepping inside… as the faraway rhythms slowly become a familiar tune...

INT. DANCE CLUB - DREAM SEQUENCE - NIGHT

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Voulez-Vous” as performed by Mamma Mia! Original Movie Cast || Performed by AAA Seniors & Haverford Seniors

The rambunctious ABBA classic kicks off with a bang, music loud and boldly setting the scene. The lighting is mysterious, electric, the fully romanticized version of what a sultry, exciting disco scene might be like. Charlie is no longer dressed in his everyday clothes but is suddenly styled to match the vibes, sporting a sleek disco suit with Riley’s aforementioned blue dress shirt completing the look.

And as he ventures deeper into the club, he discovers he’s not alone. The place is packed with his classmates both current and former, Haverford populating one side and Adams the other, but all dressed in similar, near identical, disco suits. All eyes lock on him the moment he’s within view, judging him, waiting for him to make a move -- or pick a side.

The vocals start, and Charlie does neither, jumping down from the steps and sliding into the center of the glowing dance floor -- right down the middle of party lines. He starts the number dancing alone, challenging the established status quo in the club, tension mounting around his transgression of crossing lines…

Until Zay pushes through the crowd on the A class side. On both feet, looking fly as ever, no injury in sight and nothing holding him back from showing his stuff.

And here we go again, we know the start, we know the end Masters of the scene

Charlie pauses, locking eyes with Zay. For a moment, finishing up the pre-chorus, they just hold eye contact… letting that tension bubble over…

Then Zay jumps into the center of the floor with him, joining in the dance.

Voulez-vous!

For the first chorus it’s just Zay and Charlie, dancing sometimes together and sometimes in contrast, epitomizing the back-and-forth pull between them. But it’s them, so the dancing is remarkably good, and especially satisfying considering how long it’s been since we saw them share a routine. Their timing and chemistry is just as sharp as ever, and it’s also a relief just to see Zay be able to move again.

Throughout the second verse, they weave back into their respective schools, Charlie’s peers still eyeing each other suspiciously and reluctant to break rank. But Zay manages to get Riley out on the dance floor (with Lucas in tow), and then Charlie nudges Evan. Bit by bit the classes mix and mingle, caught somewhere between dancing in tandem and facing off like foes. This becomes especially pronounced during the bridge about 3 and half minutes in, when the chorus becomes stripped and just relies on “ahas,” Charlie leading the Haverford delegation and Zay fronting the A class as they mirror movements and poses.

Then they officially bleed together, classmates crossing into opposite territory for the final chorus. For those who don’t already have a pair in their respective class (unlike say, Dylan and Asher), they pair with someone from the opposite school, like Brandon and Maya.

And, naturally, Zay and Charlie. They’re back together at the center of it all, intensity rising with the music, choreography much more intertwined this time and very close together. If not breaking charged eye contact were an Olympic sport, they would win gold easily.

The flash. The glamor. The drama. ABBA would be proud! When they round out the final seconds and strike their final pose, Zay and Charlie’s faces are so close, all it would take is a centimeter in either direction…

Zay: Charlie...

Charlie’s eyes flit down to his lips, as if he’s contemplating that very thing…

Rosie, faraway: Charlie!

INT. GARDNER HOME - CHARLIE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Alas, not meant to be -- even in dream sequence. Charlie rouses awake when he’s shaken by Rosie, sitting on the bed next to him.

Oh, well. Wouldn’t be the same as doing it for real anyway.

Charlie blinks to adjust back to reality, Rosie releasing a momentous sigh when she sees he’s conscious again. She snaps at him for scaring her, informing him that his fainting spell totally freaked her and Eleanor out. Ambrose is on the phone with their doctor friend right now. He manages to sit up and apologizes for worrying them. It’s probably just… stress.

Rosie: Either way, bad party trick. Mom was so bugged out. You shouldn’t tell her you think it’s stress, or else she’ll probably yank you out of school too and back into Catholic prep.

Charlie: Yeah, speaking of… you really think she’s going to do that to you?

Rosie: … after you passed out, the conversation was basically dropped. If I keep quiet and don’t do anything else to incriminate myself, I think she’ll let it go. [ embittered ] Though sucks that I can’t even text who I want without her knowing every message I send. I doubt she’ll even let me speak to Uri now.

Charlie: Pro-tip? Change his contact name. Mom only goes looking for what she thinks is a problem. If you give him something inconspicuous, she’s never going to know otherwise.

Rosie stares at him, shocked her saltine brother would even think of something like that. I mean, he might be an alcoholic, but still… but it’s good advice all the same. Charlie goes on to explain that he was worried about her, too, and he doesn’t want her to feel like she’s trapped or she has to lash out. You can negotiate with Eleanor, you just have to be clever about it. He doesn’t want her to make the same mistakes that Bridgette did.

Rosie: Yeah, I know… thanks for looking out for me.

Charlie: So… Uri Minkus, huh?

Rosie: Ugh.

Charlie: He’s really that worth sneaking around to text?

Rosie: … I guess you could say… perhaps… maybe… that I have like, the tiniest crush on him. Just a little bit.

Charlie can’t help his smile. He jokes that she should be careful, not because of Eleanor’s concerns, but because if they get married then Farkle is going to become their in-law, and she has no idea what she’s in for if that happens. She groans and nudges Charlie, telling him to shut up, but it’s clear she’s already in better spirits than most of this week. She asks if he’s okay given that all his “stress” is literally making him pass out. Is everything okay with Adams? Charlie admits that he wishes things were easier to navigate than they are.

Charlie: Honestly, I think I’m just naturally gifted at making everything worse. [ with a weak laugh ] Probably should’ve listened to dad when he asked if transferring during senior year was a good idea.

Rosie points out that maybe some of that stress weighing on him is just stuff he creates in his own head. Not to demean it or anything, but like… does everything have to be an anxiety-inducing dilemma? If he wants to go hang out with his friends, from either school, then he should just go do that. He’s allowed to enjoy himself every once and a while and take a break from being the perfect saltine protective older brother. You know, have fun.

Rosie: [ holding up a finger ] Sober fun.

Charlie’s turn to laugh and nudge her. But maybe she has a point. And there might be just the perfect upcoming event where he can relax and have some fun…

INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

We join Eric and Isadora in the midst of their conversation. Eric reads Valerie’s letter while Isadora watches with her lips pressed together. Once he finishes the letter, he takes a moment to process it. 

Eric: Wow. That’s… a lot. 

Isadora: What do you think? 

Eric: I think that what I think isn’t important at all right now. What do you think? Do you want to get in contact with him?

Isadora thinks about it as she wrings her hands. 

Isadora: I’m not sure. But… you aren’t upset? 

Eric: Why would I be upset? 

Isadora: If I do want to meet him, I’m worried you’ll think that you’re not enough for me or something. I don’t want to hurt you. 

Eric: Isadora, that could never happen. I’m not hurt at all, I just want what’s best for you, and a relationship with your father could be something really good. 

Isadora: What if it isn’t, though? I don’t want to set myself up for disappointment. Again. 

Eric: That’s understandable. You don’t have to make a decision now, though. You have all the time you want to think it over. [ a beat ] If you want, you could write a letter to him yourself. You don’t have to send it, but it can be cathartic to write out everything you’re thinking and feeling about the situation.

Unsure, Isadora pulls a face. Eric reminds her again to just think about it -- no major decisions necessary right now.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

Lucas is meeting with Jack one last time before the dance fundraiser to grab another cash box and go over any last minute details. Jack questions if he’s going to be dressing for the occasion, to which Lucas rolls his eyes but begrudgingly admits that he thinks Riley would be even more upset with him if he didn’t. Though he doesn’t have all the details, Jack assures Lucas that he’s sure Riley isn’t going to be angry for long.

One can only hope. Jack wishes Lucas luck and then he heads out, leaving him to his work. He settles back into it until he lifts his gaze and catches Yancy heading out of the building, checking out for the weekend.

All of Jack’s frustration from his conversation with Evelyn bubbles back up again. He pushes out of his chair, jogging out of his office.

EXT. AAA - DAY

Jack catches Yancy on his way down the steps, telling him that they need to talk. Yancy claims whatever it is can surely wait until Monday, but Jack isn’t having it.

Jack: No, I don’t think your active sabotage of my school can wait another damn second.

Yancy is stunned by his coarse language, effectively halting him long enough to have the confrontation. Well, what then? Jack questions when exactly he planned to let him know about his ongoing anti-campaign against the student government’s scholarship endeavors, or what would drive him and Graham to work to pit the board against them. He knows that they aren’t fond of him, especially after his stunt at the trial, but taking it out on the students? Who does that benefit? What do they gain from that?

Yancy, sharply: Actually, Jackson, you’ve hit the nail on the head. After your little unprofessional display, why wouldn’t we be invested in halting any other schemes you deem a good idea? Particularly when your chosen favorite himself just miraculously managed to become student body president in a school that hates his very existence?

Jack: You have no idea what you’re talking about, and Lucas won that election on his own merit. It had nothing to do with me.

Yancy: It has everything to do with you! Everything does! So long as you are at the helm of this ship, making all the calls, everything ties back to you. And we used to trust you with that power. But all this behavior as of late -- declining lucrative offers, favoring delinquents --

Jack: He is not a delinquent!

Yancy: Or how about cavorting with a fellow employee? [ off his shocked expression ] Oh, come on, Jackson, I’m not naive. Did you and Eric really believe you could flaunt your little flirtation right in front my face and I wouldn’t notice a thing? As if my whole purpose at that school isn’t to keep it from collapsing under your unprofessional whimsy and desires!

This whole time, he’s been observing, watching the operation of AAA from the inside out, trying to determine if Jack remains fit to head the institution. Yancy admits, when Graham first put him up for the job, he was skeptical -- he’d always had great belief in Jack as an educator. He was doubtful that he had really slipped so far… but now he’s seen for himself. There is a certain way things are done, and it seems Jack has forgotten all of his proper perspective in service to that law and order.

Yancy: When I finish my report to the board at the end of the semester, they’ll be the judge of whether or not you deserve to stay where you are. But believe me, if I had it my way, you’d be out of that position and filing for unemployment faster than lightning.

Jack: You can’t do this. You can’t eject me from the role simply because your perspective is too old-fashioned to be flexible. Or empathetic. And unwilling to examine context --

Yancy: Well, we’ll just let the board decide that, won’t we.

Guess we will. Yancy fussily buttons his coat.

Yancy: I would watch yourself if I were you, Jackson. In my opinion, it’s far too late, but we both know how easy it is to tip the scales slightly in your favor. Maybe you’ll salvage this yet. Otherwise, I’d start contemplating alternative paths. Have a good evening.

Yancy stomps down the steps, not waiting for a goodbye. Jack swallows his panic, trying to remain resolute in the face of so much pressure. Scrambling to figure out what to do next...

A groovy disco track bleeds into the soundscape, totally dissonant to Jack’s dread --

INT. DANCE VENUE - NIGHT

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Streetdance” as performed by Disco Street Machine || Instrumental

The ‘70s dance fundraiser is in full swing, and it seems to be doing well! The venue is packed not just with Adams students but other community members, promising at least some greater revenue from the whole ordeal. The scene is set with funky lighting and a dance floor, along with some flower-power type decorations and a fun mirrorball hanging above it all.

It’s mainly cool to see everyone leaning into the theme and dressed in their best approximations of ‘70s garb. We’ve got funky vests, blazers for days, chunky platform boots, a few bohemian chic vibes, you name it. A few establishing shots show us all these looks and more while the assembled crowd grooves to the disco track. Yogi is wandering with his camera, capturing footage for posterity and social media.

Lucas is manning the check-in table, this time keeping control over the money in his own hands. He maintains a cordial enough demeanor as he interacts with potential patrons, and he is giving some semblance of ‘70s as promised in his collared-shirt-under-sweater look. He’s serving like… gothic Fred Jones, which is about as much as you’re gonna get from him.

Asher and Dylan, on the other hand, are representing much better. Asher is repping the funky vest and puffy sleeve shirt vibe, matched well with some maroon bell-bottoms and swooped back hair, while Dylan is truly going disco with a silky vibrant shirt tucked into silver pants, a huge, chunky pair of Elton John tinted glasses the cherry on top of the ensemble. They ask how cash flow is going, and Lucas claims fine, but they’re not out of the woods by a long shot.

Lucas: If things don’t pick up, I’m going to start pickpocketing.

Asher: Yes, that’s exactly what we need. A literal crook for president.

Dylan: Isn’t that like every president?

Anyway, Lucas needs to chill. Or as Dylan puts it, surrender to the boogie. Which is what he and Asher are going to go do right now -- the dance floor beckons them. Asher leads the way, Dylan walking backwards so he can maintain eye contact with Lucas and literally disco groove away from him as encouragement to give in to the funk. Lucas just shakes his head, unimpressed.

When Lucas gets back to work, who should be waiting to purchase a ticket in but Charlie Gardner. He’s dressed for the occasion too, dressed in dark pants and a white blazer… with Riley’s chosen blue shirt underneath. It seems he followed her guidance and went for it after all. Lucas greets him and commends him for turning out, considering all the bad blood between Haverford and AAA right now. Brave of him to show up.

Doesn’t he know it… but he wants to be here. Lucas takes his money and nods for him to go on in, sending him into the fray.

Meanwhile, Zay is parked at one of the tables, not in the best mood considering he’s surrounded by the boogie and can’t participate. Nigel is doing his best to cheer him up, but it’s sort of a fruitless effort. When Zay catches him eyeing Jade, who the techies managed to extract from the loft to at least enjoy the dance, he sighs and tells him to go have fun. He doesn’t have to waste away with him. Nigel argues against that take, but Zay nods him onward, insisting.

So Nigel bounces to his feet, thanking Zay before cutting through the crowd in the direction of Jade. Zay watches him go, bittersweet at being left alone again.

Charlie skirts the edges for a bit before finding companionship in Farkle, who greets him plainly. He’s dressed like Eric Forman, wearing a simple button down and bellbottoms combo with a loose brown corduroy jacket. He and Charlie briefly catch up, commenting on how the turn out is and how great the aesthetic is. But Farkle is still a bit lost in his own head, and Charlie notices. He elbows him lightly.

Charlie: You okay?

Farkle: [ with some of his usual humor ] Chuck, that’s like asking the sky if it’s red. I think you already know the answer.

But he’ll live. Once he figures some things out… it’ll be fine. It has to be. Vagueness aside, Charlie can tell there’s more to it, but he opts to focus on distraction rather than problem-solving. He’s had enough problem-solving for a lifetime this week. He invites Farkle to go dance instead, playfully challenging him to show what disco moves he’s got up his sleeve.

Farkle: Oh, you’re going to regret this -- and not because I’m good.

Charlie laughs, gesturing for him to lead the way onto the dance floor.

Maya jumps up onto the small stage set up with the DJ booth, taking the microphone and briefly thanking everyone for coming out. No applause necessary for putting it together, really… and she waits until the audience feels compelled to applaud. Then she waves them off “humbly” before reminding them of all the ways they can support the Adams senior class while at this benefit -- mainly financially! And by getting down and boogie-oogie-oogying. Peace!

Lucas shakes his head at Maya’s speech, lightly amused, but all of his calm is wiped away when Missy walks through the door. She’s dressed in simple ‘70s, a gorgeous and slightly revealing silk disco mini dress and with her hair blown out like Farah Fawcett. She cheekily compliments him on his get up.

Missy, sarcastic: An ensemble that elaborate must’ve taken ages to throw together. I see you really put an effort in.

Lucas: Maybe. And what’s your excuse?

Missy: Not everything needs to be silly and over the top. In fact, I think the richest things in life are those that go understated. Left unsaid… makes everything a bit more exciting, anticipating whatever more there might be to explore. [ a beat ] Same goes for fashion.

Lucas: … so are you paying, or what?

Missy: As I understand it, Adams seniors get in free. But since I can afford it…

She reaches into her small satin purse, pulling out a wad of cash. She siphons off about half of it -- way more than a ticket would cost -- and drops it into the cash box for him. He eyes it suspiciously, then flits his glare towards her.

Missy: I thought about our little chat. And you’re right, maybe there needs to be something in it for me -- which in this case is a victory at showdown. We’re embarrassing enough right now as it is. At least with the funding, we’ll look good when we crash and burn. And as for the rest…

She folds up the remaining bills in her hand and holds them out for him, gesture subtle but unmistakable. Lucas stares at the money, then glances around them nervously to make sure no one else is looking.

Lucas: What the hell are you doing?

Missy: Come on, Lucas. Don’t be noble. We know how things are between us. I’m just trying to help. And it stays discreet. Think of it as… a bonus, for all the hard work you’re doing for the A class. [ quieter ] I heard you in the booth. You don’t ask for help. Well, sometimes, you don’t have to beg. You can just take… whatever you want.

She raises her eyebrows, subtly challenging him to take it. Lucas hesitates, holding his breath… it feels like a test, he knows it is… but he’s already taken plenty from her without asking. What’s a little more…

Missy: Davis isn’t going to pay for itself, is it?

No. No it isn’t. She’s right, and he knows his chances of reeling a scholarship are slim to none. Does he really want all of this stress for applications to be for nothing?

Reluctantly, Lucas takes the money from her and slips it into his back pocket. Missy smiles, genuinely pleased, though why it’s hard to say. But it’s clear, now more than ever, that whatever little arrangement they’ve got going on here is a pattern now. It’s not just going to flutter away on its own, and the consequences that might come of it remain a mystery.

Missy: Groovy. Enjoy the dance, Lucas.

Lucas doesn’t respond, using the cash box as an excuse not to look at her. But based on flipping through the amount of money she handed over for the fundraiser, they’re way closer to their goal than before. And that has to make it all worth it, right?

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “September” as performed by Earth, Wind, & Fire || Instrumental

One of the best songs of the decade comes on next, earning an enthusiastic cheer from the crowd. Riley weaves her way through the throng and rushes up to the entrance to find Lucas, Nate in tow. She’s dressed in a shimmery lavender-mauve jumpsuit, a complimentary hair scarf tying together the groovy look. She pushes Nate in front of her.

Riley: Nate here is taking over table duty.

Nate: You know how I love dem bills, my brother.

Riley: So that you can come dance with me.

Lucas cringes, weakly putting up a fight. Oh, no, no, no… but Riley’s already got her hands on him, and her smile is so damn cute, it would be impossible to refuse her. So he lets her drag him out into the crowd.

Once they’re actually on the dance floor, Riley beams at him and pulls him closer, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Lucas does his best to be a good sport and play along, especially since he’s already in trouble, placing his hands on her hips and casually swaying to the beat.

Lucas: So… does this mean I’m off the hook for the Brandon thing, or…

Riley: Hm… so as long you’re dancing with me and you look so cute in that sweater, I suppose you can be forgiven.

Better than nothing, though Lucas still clearly feels guilty about disappointing her. Just one of many ways he feels like he’s letting her down… but for now she’s happy, so he’ll just focus on touching her waist and how hot she looks in her jumpsuit.

Across the dance floor, Dylan and Asher are in conversation with Jeff and Yindra, Dylan with his arm draped casually around Asher’s shoulders and bouncing to the beat. They’re discussing the everchanging stakes of their showdown routine -- at this point Yindra claims they should just scrap it all and start over, they’ve got equally as bad a shot with the shoddy routine they have now. But Asher claims that would be a disaster, and they should only cross that bridge if they absolutely must.

Dylan spots something that seems to capture his attention, his eyes widening in excitement. He pinches Asher’s ribs and leans closer, Asher tilting his head to listen to his murmur.

Dylan: Shakespeare in Love, straight ahead.

Asher squints through the dancing crowd and finds what he’s talking about -- Nigel and Jade. He’s actually managed to pull her onto the dance floor, engaging in loose and easy grooving together. She’s laughing, waving off how bad a dancer she is, but he holds one of her hands and assures her she’s good.

Totally radical. Asher and Dylan exchange knowing looks, unable to hold back a grin.

Zay is less enthused, mainly because of his current view -- Charlie, dancing with Farkle of all people to one of the greatest songs there is. Not that there’s anything to be concerned about, really, since they’re clearly just goofing around with each other and Farkle is as promised quite an embarrassing disco dancer. But he’s up and moving, free, having fun, making Charlie laugh -- with Charlie looking disgustingly attractive in his expertly chosen shirt -- and it kind of feels like a perfect vignette of what’s locked away from him.

Everything Zay wants, desperately misses, but can’t have.

His brooding is interrupted when Isadora plops down into the chair across from him, giving him a nod in greeting. He asks why she’s not out there grooving on the dance floor, and she sagely says she’s not interested in getting up to boogie so… publicly. She’s amazed Riley got Lucas out there, but that’s only because of her unique Riley charms. It’s torture in her eyes.

Zay: Speak for yourself, but you’re entitled to your whack opinion.

Isadora: I know, I know. This is killing you. And I respect that. Just not for me. [ a beat ] Maybe it’ll give you some peace to know that you being benched is an undeniable tragedy for all of us.

Zay: The considerate part of me says no, but the egotistical side does love it, thank you.

Isadora: You’re welcome. [ with a sigh ] Now there’s talk of changing the routine if we can’t figure out how to fill your vacancy. Not that I don’t think we could pull it off, but it would take all hands on deck and everyone on board, and I don’t see that happening unless there’s no other alternative. Right now, if we could just find someone to fill your spot -- never as strongly, of course --

Zay: Again, my ego thanks you. You’re not going to take the spot?

Isadora: Uh… I mean, I don’t know. A couple of people suggested it, but look, we know I’m no you. I don’t learn as quickly, and I’ve got enough of a track record with performance mishaps on my own. I mean, what if I do it but I completely freeze the moment we have to go out there? My mom’s parting gift to me was giving me the one thing she never had -- stage fright. Doesn’t that seem too risky to throw in there when the stakes are higher than ever?

Zay: Man, I don’t know. I get what you’re saying, but all I know is that I would kill to be able to perform right now. And if you’re debating it at all, then to me, that means you want to -- and if I had the ability to do it, I wouldn’t waste it for a second on what ifs.

Very insightful, Zay. Isadora contemplates this… then she points out to Zay that just because he’s off his feet doesn’t mean he has to fade into oblivion. He’s got to take the time to heal, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be involved in the class or productions. He just has to find new ways to involve himself rather than what he’s used to.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Y.M.C.A.” as performed by Village People || Instrumental

Another classic! In an instant, Riley appears at their table, teeming with enthusiasm and reaching for Zay’s hands. She insists that he get up dance with her -- to which he reminds her that he’s booted -- but she points out that anyone can do the Y.M.C.A. It’s just shouting and arms! So he relents, allowing her to help him to his feet, but his grin betrays his aloof demeanor.

Farkle slides over moments later, telling Isadora that she better get up and join them too. If Zay can do it, she has no excuse. She rolls her eyes, but she really can’t argue with him on that.

So the dance wraps up with a flourish, the full class laughing, sing-shouting and goofing off together to the party favorite that literally anyone can do. Nigel and Riley each support Zay on either side, and he looks about as joyful as he has in weeks. Asher and Dylan prevent Lucas from escaping, keeping him on the dance floor and trapping him in the Y.M.C.A groove too. Charlie dances with Haley and Clarissa, who take turns twirling under his arms.

Yogi and Dave make their way through it all, capturing all the joy of a successful fundraiser on camera so they’ll never forget it.

INT. DANCE VENUE - LATER - NIGHT

The party has wrapped up, only the A class hanging around to clean up. Well, the A class and Charlie, who insisted it was no problem to stay back and assist in tidying. He’s working with Nigel and Yindra at stacking chairs, the latter of which comments playfully that he really is too helpful for his own good.

Yindra: Such a good little Christian, truly. It’s like God injected his compassion mission into your cute white boy veins.

Charlie: Well… not that good, admittedly. [ a beat ] I think if he was going to make his prototype golden child, he would’ve skipped the part where he made me gay.

Oop. Wow, a casual coming out -- and with a little humor, too! Charlie is getting better at this. Yindra raises her eyebrows at him, assessing for a moment whether or not he might be joking… and then she breaks into a wide grin, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

Yindra: Oh, Charlie, Charlie, Charlie… I always knew I liked you. And I should’ve known, considering that awful Les Mis kiss still haunts my nightmares.

She asks how long he’s been out, or at least telling people, and Nigel slides in to proudly note that he told him before Yindra. She rolls her eyes. Charlie admits it’s slow-going and hasn’t been easy, especially with the community outside of AAA, but it feels good every time he does it. Hopefully the rest of his world will turn out tolerant too.

Yindra invites him to her church that Sunday for a change of pace. She’s performing a solo in the choir, so it’ll be guaranteed entertaining, and it might be good for him to see an actually accepting church environment for a change.

Nigel: She just wants to force you to see her ‘70s performance before she shares it with the class on Monday. The more people she can force to be her audience, the better.

Yindra: Hey, now, I don’t care for your sass, Chey Chey.

Either way, her church runs later than his, so it shouldn’t conflict. And Nigel will be there too -- she’s bribing him with brunch -- so it’ll be like a fun little outing. Charlie just seems happy to be connecting with his peers again, so he happily agrees.

Nate, pre-lap: 70… 80… 90…

INT. CHUBBIES - NIGHT

Lucas, Maya, Riley, Dylan, Asher, Isadora, and Farkle are convened in and around the back corner booth, watching nervously as Nate counts the final income from the dance fundraiser. All of them are holding their breath… Maya is pacing like a wildcat, ready to pounce and tear him to shreds if the number is too low.

Isadora: Jesus, Nate, can’t you count any faster?

Nate: No, I don’t cut corners when it comes to money. Now shut up, or I’ll have to start over.

Farkle, exhausted: Hush, Isa. Don’t make him start over.

Silence settles over them again… and Nate finishes counting the bills from the cashbox. He lifts up a finger to halt them from asking, writing the number down and then pulling up the calculator app on his phone. After combining the total from this with the car wash haul…

Nate: We did it. Crazy sons of bitches, we did it!

They officially made the money to pay for the damages and fund their showdown needs. Victory! All of them cheer, hugging each other and clapping enthusiastically. Riley wraps her arms around Lucas and kisses his cheek, while he’s looking pretty relieved.

Nate: I gotta say though, the numbers seem kind of skewed based on the actual attendance we had. Someone must’ve made a huge donation. [ to Lucas ] Did you notice anyone drop some major cash?

Oh, interesting… Lucas pauses, then breezes past the question. He claims it doesn’t matter who donated what -- they’re in the clear, and now they can focus on what matters. It’s time to kick Haverford’s pretentious privileged ass at showdown.

Hear, hear! The group cheers again, exchanging high-fives and reveling in their hard-earned success.

INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Isadora arrives home, shedding her jacket and shoes at the door. She’s relaxed, and has a relieved smile on her face. From where he sits on the sofa, Eric looks over to her. 

Isadora: We did it! We raised all the money we need. 

Eric: Oh, amazing! Well done, I’m so proud of you all.

Isadora sits down next to him and exhales. It’s been a long day. 

Isadora: I’ve been thinking about it a lot and I’ve decided to write a letter to Zachary. 

Eric: Tha --

Isadora, interrupting: I don’t know whether I’ll send it or not, but I do think it’ll help just to get my thoughts out there.

Eric nods his agreement, and reminds her that he’ll always be there for her. Just as she starts to ask for help on what to include in the correspondence, there’s a knock at the door. Eric goes to answer it, pleasantly surprised to find Jack waiting on the other side. Although he’s happy to see him, Jack seems stressed, so Isadora gets the hint that she should probably give them some space. She wishes Jack a good night and retreats to her room, leaving them alone.

Eric: Did you hear that they made the money to cover the auditorium damages? I’m honestly impressed, but I guess we should never doubt the A class.

Jack: Yeah… yeah, I did. From Lucas. It’s great.

Eric: … okay, what’s going on. You’ve got your thin voice going, how you get when something is wrong.

Jack doesn’t even bother to ask what that means -- Eric knows him well, it’s hardly a surprise at this point. He releases a strained sigh and explains what happened with Yancy, both about him sabotaging the scholarship fund from within the board and then the confrontation they had on the steps. Eric listens raptly, absorbing some of his dread with every word.

Eric: That sick… I always knew there was something off about him. He’s a corporate sellout through and through -- has been since he joined the board. And he has the gall to lecture you… we’ll get him for this, Jack. We just have to strategize --

Jack: No. No, we can’t do anything. Not right now. Not with so many things on the line.

Jack mentions the other piece of Yancy’s threat -- that he might be put on probation for real and potentially let go. Eric scoffs at this, disbelieving. Jack is well-known in the community… no way he’d get ousted. It’s an empty threat.

Eric: What’ll probably happen is that if anything, they put you off contract, and the position would reopen for applicants. So all you’d have to do is apply again, and Evelyn would hand it back to you without question. Yancy is just reaching, he can’t --

Jack: But Evelyn isn’t the only vote that matters, Eric. If they can flip a decision on something like the scholarships… that affects the students… and I don’t think he’s bluffing. I mean, he brought up Lucas, he mentioned… he mentioned you and me…

Eric shrinks a bit at this. It’s uncomfortable that someone is using their relationship as leverage, implying it’s a bad thing, but he’s also nervous about the way Jack is taking it. He knows how much he cares about AAA. He’d do anything to keep it afloat, to do what’s right for the school.

Eric: So… [ with a deep breath ] What do you want to do?

Jack, softly: Right now… I just think we need to… we need to step back. Put things on hold until the dust settles. My examination period should be over soon, and when this is all sorted, then… then maybe we can…

But for now, they can’t. There’s too much at stake… things both of them care about more than themselves. Although Eric is reluctant, he does his best to keep his emotions in check and nods along. He places a hand on Jack’s shoulder, letting it rest there for a moment. Stroking with his thumb, soaking in the touch for all it’s worth. Who knows when he’ll comfortably get to do it again.

Eric: Whatever you need, Jack. I understand. [ with difficulty ] I’m with you.

Jack nods, grateful. More grateful than he’ll ever know. He holds his gaze for a long moment, then leans forward and presses his lips softly to the corner of his mouth. So close, yet so far… Eric closes his eyes, trying his best not to crack.

Jack pulls back, swallowing hard. He clears his throat and nods, back to a fragile shell of professionalism.

Jack: I’ll see you at school.

Eric returns the nod, but he can’t meet his eyes. Jack hesitates for a moment longer, wishing it wasn’t this way, wishing he could stay… then steps back into the hall, shutting the door behind him.

Like he was never there.

INT. YINDRA’S CHURCH - DAY

Charlie and Nigel are in one of the pews amidst the usual congregation of Yindra’s church, waiting for the choir following the service to begin. Charlie seems excited but nervous, liking the high spirits and jovial energy but worried he’s an imposter just like he is everywhere else. He leans over to Nigel.

Charlie: I stick out like a sore thumb, don’t I?

Nigel: Mm, yeah. But it’s okay, [ patting his arm ] you can’t help that you’re skim milk.

Thank you for that, Nigel. Charlie opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out, so it’s a relief when Yindra steps down front and center in her church choir robes to address the congregation. She cheerfully greets them and explains that she got to choose the song for this week, which she used to also fulfill the requirement for her art school lesson. Two birds, one stone, am I right?

Either way, she wants to dedicate the heart of this performance to her peers at school and in attendance this afternoon. She knows they’re all going through stuff, and even though it feels like the end of the world right now, it’ll all be water under the bridge one day. All they can do is take it day by day, and by the grace of God, everything will end up the way it’s meant to be.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Bridge Over Troubled Water” as performed by Glee Cast || Performed by Yindra Amino

If anyone could deliver soulful, impressive vocals to rival and honor Mercedes Jones (for those of us who did watch Glee, unlike the Havies), it would be Yindra Amino. And deliver she does, both in the church and on the atrium steps at AAA where she splits this performance. The rest of her choir backing her up gospel style really does add a certain something something, but the true emphasis of the number is the meaning.

Your time has come to shine All your dreams are on their way See how they shine, oh, if you need a friend I'm sailing right behind

When she makes it to the latter half and the gospel kicks off clapping to the beat, the entire congregation leaps to their feet and eagerly joins in. Charlie and Nigel are right there with them -- as is the A class in the atrium intercut of the performance.

Yindra brings it home with a spectacular vocal run, and you have to wonder if she really could make it out there in L.A. on her vocal chops alone. The church erupts into gleeful applause as she wraps up and takes a bow with the choir, beaming bright.

Charlie mirrors her smile, enthusiastically clapping along. Experiencing for an instant what it’s like to feel comfortable in church -- allowed to just be himself.

INT. CHUBBIES - DAY

Lucas is anxiously sitting opposite Riley in the usual booth, watching as she carefully reads over his personal essays. She’s doing her best to maintain a professional and neutral expression while she goes, but it’s impossible to hold back the slightest smile on her lips as she reaches the conclusion. When she lifts her gaze to meet his, but purposefully builds suspense by not saying anything, he cracks.

Lucas: Well? They’re terrible, aren’t they? You can just say it if they are.

Riley: … [ breaking into a grin ] They’re great, Lucas. Brilliant, honestly. Not that I ever had any doubt you could pull it off.

What a relief. Lucas exhales a sigh, thanking her for taking the time to read them. Then he continues, softly apologizing for not telling her about what happened with Brandon. Even though he had good intentions, he knows it doesn’t matter. And if he wanted so much not for her to know, then obviously it was never a good idea to begin with.

Riley: You know it’s fine for you to mess up. I just don’t get why you didn’t tell me.

Lucas: [ after a beat ] I guess I didn’t… it’s like the stupid personal essays. I know that… I’m not a shining example of a good person. I don’t think that’s exactly a secret.

Riley: I don’t think that.

Lucas: I know. I know you don’t, and I think that’s why I didn’t want you to know. Because it’s like every thing I do that shows you that, the more you realize that I’m… less than ideal, then…

Riley tilts her head, giving him a sympathetic look. Then she gets up and comes to join him on his side of the booth, sliding in next to him and leaning forward a bit so he’ll meet her gaze.

Riley: I told you that I wanted a relationship with you, and I meant it. And that’s all of you -- everything, the good and the bad. Even if you make a mistake, or I get disappointed, it doesn’t change that. We’ll find a way to work it out. I want you.

Her way with words makes everything sound so easy, so simple… and maybe it is. Maybe it can be just as simple as wanting each other, loving each other, and making it work. Lucas absorbs the sentiment, smiling shyly and thanking her again.

Hard part out of the way, Riley asks him how he managed to break his writer’s block and write those killer essays. What was his secret? Lucas hums, thinking about it.

Lucas: It was kind of what you said. You know, changing my perspective. When I was trying to write it from my lens, it was… well, you know. But then I just tried to think… what would Riley say? If someone asked you about me. And when I thought about it like that, I don’t know… suddenly, it was easy.

Riley chews her lip, smile blossoming on her face. She pulls him into a gentle kiss, one that he returns before swiftly stealing another one. She nudges her forehead against his, fondness shining in her eyes as she looks at him.

It’s no mystery how thinking like her made for some unbeatable work.

Billy, pre-lap: I knew it. I knew he wasn’t loyal.

INT. HAVERFORD PREP - SENIOR LOUNGE - DAY

Dweezil’s phone is sitting on the tabletop, open to the Adams social media page. Displayed are a handful of photos Yogi took during the ‘70s dance… including one clearly featuring Charlie, dancing with Haley and Clarissa. Although it looks like he’s having a swell time, Billy and Dweezil don’t seem happy for their classmate at all.

Dweezil: He’s never really jumped ship. We know he’s always hanging out with Riley anyway. This is just definitive proof.

Billy: Showdown is in a week. If he’s still this comfortable with his old chums, who knows how much shit he’s telling them.

Dweezil: And what if he finds out about the plan? No way he’s going to let us do it.

Billy: I say we take care of this now. Before it interferes with our performance.

Dweezil: He might blow everything.

Billy: Brandon. You have to have an opinion on this shit.

Opposite them and seated at the table, Brandon is examining the photograph for himself. He’s unperturbed as usual, thoughtful and contemplative. He doesn’t comment until Billy and Dweezil basically demand input from him, at which point he offers a calm smile.

Brandon: It’s nice to see him enjoying himself, isn’t it? I like Charles. He’s a nice kid. [ a beat, then suavely ] And a coward.

Brandon gingerly places Dweezil’s phone back on the desk, reclining back in his chair.

Brandon: I’m not worried about him.

Billy: Man, you’re kidding --

Dweezil: And what if he decides to --

Brandon: Don’t you get it? He’s not going to do anything. If there’s one thing you can count on with Charles, it’s that he’s spineless. He’s not feeding them information, and even if he does take offense to something we do, he isn’t going to do shit. Gardner is soft, and he’s the least of our worries. But in a week it’s not even going to matter. Especially not when we’ve got this.

Brandon retrieves the flash drive from his blazer pocket, placing it on the table between them. Billy and Dweezil eye it with interest -- they all clearly know what it contains.

Brandon: Once we crack into this, it’s over. We’re going to crush Adams like we do every year -- whether Charles helps or not.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Ah, to be back in the warm embrace of the auditorium -- even if it’s still a bit banged up. It’ll take a little while longer to get the auditorium back in tip-top shape, but the A class can at least come home to roost in it again, which is where they gather for the kick off the next week.

All of them give a round of applause to Harley for his assistance in repairing their mistakes, and hope that he enjoyed the performances of the last few days. He assures them he did, though as he understands it, the week isn’t quite over yet. He steps back and allows Jade to take front and center.

She thanks all of them for being patient with her while she finished up her portfolio materials, and at this point she only has one more request. Behind her, Dave and Dylan roll out the racks with her ‘70s portfolio costumes, and she explains that she needs models to pose for the photographs she’s going to include in her application of all her hard work. Now hm… where on Earth is she going to find suitable, available models for free who she just happened to know all the measurements of and would fit perfectly into these custom costumes…

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Shake Your Booty” as performed by Forever In Your Mind || Performed by AAA Seniors

Riley beams, claiming she thinks she knows where they could find a few volunteers. The A class launches to their feet, rushing the stage to see what Jade has in store.

INT. AAA - BOYS DRESSING ROOM - DAY

The boys kick off this energetic, bopping closing number, changing into their Jade ‘70s ensembles and grooving in the dressing room. Sliding through the wall --

INT. AAA - GIRLS DRESSING ROOM - DAY

The girls are doing the same, fluffing their hair and doing each other’s make up as they sing into the mirrors. Once they’re all set, Yindra leads the way out into the dressing room hall…

INT. AAA - DRESSING ROOM HALL - DAY

Where they meet up with the boys, strutting in their fierce, authentically ‘70s looks. They make a mad dash for the auditorium --

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

And reclaim their stage, breaking into disco grooves as they toss around solo lines and show off their outfits. Jade stands with Yogi and helps him direct the costume shoot, both of them dressed up as well with Jade sporting the stereotypical but Jade-infused bohemian flower power girl look with a flowy white dress with puffy sleeves and a leather headband laced with wildflowers.

On the bridge, we get a montage of all of the A class posing in their outfits as they dance to get their pictures taken. This highlights not only how much we love this silly crop of seniors, but also how fantastic and individualized Jade’s costumes truly are. Paired with the earnest and jubilant performance, it’s a truly lovable showing.

Then they bring it on home with a disco line dance, all breaking into the same groovy choreography and all in their ‘70s garb. Zay watches from the audience with Lucas and the faculty, for once seemingly not in despair over being benched and still getting a custom outfit of his own. Dylan and Asher are front and center, and they pull Jade into it on the last few lines, so she also gets her boogie in before the day is done.

If one thing is clear, it’s that disco is far from dead, thank you very much! And while the A class has a lot on their plates -- and insurmountable stakes ahead -- it’s hard not to feel hopeful when they’ve got each other.

Whether that’s enough, well, soon we’ll find out.

END OF EPISODE.

[ronnytherandom]

I started Writing My Thoughts On Things Again, I'm Sorry

15/8/2021:

Mass Effect Legendary Edition (Whole trilogy w/ all dlcs, Adept Class, Hardcore difficulty, 68 Hours):

Still brilliant! I adore this series. The first Mass Effect was one of the first games I ever played back in 2010 and Mass Effect 2 is one of the games I’ve played the most accruing several hundred hours over multiple playthrough from 2010 onwards, while Mass Effect 3 is a game I greatly appreciated but have more mixed feelings towards. Retrospectively as much as I liked the first Mass Effect, I did not nearly appreciate it enough back in the day. For a first entry in a new IP it is incredibly fleshed out with interesting Lore, an intriguing story and a cool galaxy to explore. I appreciate its combat far more now than I did back then but would still argue it is relatively weak in comparison to more modern titles and its own successors. Though the VA is rough in some places it is excellent where it matters, especially in the case of Sovereign whose iconic dialogue on Virmire is etched into my brain. A key element of the first mass effect I felt was sorely missing from the later entries was its exploration. While the galaxy grew routinely larger no game after the first had a drivable Mako, a vehicle I adore, and further lacked the opportunity to land on and explore the terrain of alien worlds for resources and side missions which I feel lends a lot to the atmosphere of the setting and could be made even more compelling using updated technology and a larger selection of assets and interiors which might have emerged from the higher budget successors. As it is I appreciate its inclusion in the first game. Mass Effect was also my first encounter with impactful choices in a video game and this is certainly something I appreciate but leads me to a major criticism specifically targeting the dialogue wheel layout as it is strange to me how you can puzzle out all of these possible dialogue outcomes but put exactly all of the positive outcomes behind the Upper Left dialogue option. While this is less pronounced in the First entry as the Renegade dialogue fills roughly the same purpose while sounding more badass, it becomes truer throughout the series as renegade options routinely just become nasty and exclusionary.

Mass Effect 2 innovates in some key ways which I have grown to appreciate more in the past 20 hours of play than I did when it launched. Primarily, its focus on characters and your relationships to them. Barring a couple of notable exceptions I found myself greatly invested in every single member of the Normandy crew and I think it’s a remarkable feat that each crewmate could be written to be so sympathetic, relatable and interesting in a world so full of appreciable elements. I would go into specific examples but id end up listing every character except Miranda and Jacob. This of course plays well into the Suicide Mission narrative which is perhaps my favourite overarching plot within the trilogy as it incorporates not just all of these incredible characters and plays upon your investment in them but also relies on the threat of both the Reapers and Collectors which are two excellently designed enemies which I find significantly more compelling than Saren and the Geth or Cerberus and the Reaper Husk Armies. Mass Effect 2 has a powerful horror element composed of the Collectors phobic horror and the reapers cosmic horror and it does wonders for the game’s atmosphere. I remember at this moment the Collector soundtrack which, like the rest of the soundtrack is absolutely excellent. Inasmuch as I would criticise it from a purely musical perspective for being simple at times and perhaps overly repetitive it perfectly fits the camp space opera that is mass effect. Galaxy Map and Suicide Mission are absolute bangers. I would hesitate to call the combat great. Playing the game as a weapon heavy class is superior, I’d argue as even with an armour build dedicated to decreasing ability cooldown it is too long to adequately utilise the powers of ability heavy classes like the adept. Additionally, ability play feels far more limited than in the game’s predecessor due to the limitation of this games skill tree elements which are frankly a step too far in simplifying the interface. It doesn’t massively affect enjoyment of the game but I couldn’t help but note every time I visited the abilities menu how much I missed Mass Effects abilities menu. So while I would say Mass Effect maintains a very well balanced game with regards to combat, roleplay and story, Mass Effect 2 eschews combat and mechanical roleplay in favour of an excellent story. Additionally while lacking an exploration aspect the more structured side-missions found by scanning planets throughout the galaxy create a lot of fun moments and interesting gameplay, emblematic of the fact that mission design vastly improves between this game and its predecessor.

Mass Effect 3 goes some way to resolve its predecessor’s imbalance as the majority of the game possesses enhanced combat, a much better abilities mechanic and an excellent story. First the addition of more mobility, loadout and engagement options benefits the combat greatly, while the addition of more complex enemy types than previous games pushes you to fully utilise these new options. A massive reduction in ability cooldown combined with liberal cooldown reduction bonuses in the skill tree means that abilities are very useful and versatile and you generally feel very powerful. Sometimes too powerful if you’re thinking from a balancing standpoint but given it’s a single player game this criticism is much diminished and being powerful is fun regardless. The skill tree system in this game forms a synthesis between its predecessors’ systems and comes out the better for combining a regular sense of empowerment with interesting choices within your own character build. All of this contributes to a much-improved combat experience, especially over Mass Effect 2. This also lends itself to the old multiplayer system which I honestly enjoyed when it launched (who cannot love a playable biotic Volus?) and feel is sorely lacking from this legendary edition. I would argue the only real problem with the multiplayer was requiring a player to engage with it in order to achieve the best story outcome; the actual multiplayer gameplay was thoroughly enjoyable and it gave players the opportunity to experience combat as an STG agent or a Krogan Warlord which were both fulfilling experiences from my memory. The aforementioned story is truly excellent and successfully builds off events in previous games but primarily succeeds due to Biowares exceptional character writing which persists from Mass Effect 2. Even in the case of its worst side mission content but especially in its primary missions the stakes and outcome of events are thoroughly compelling and the involvement of beloved Normandy crewmates is bound to incite intense emotions. This is possibly the only game that makes me cry multiple times throughout a normal playthrough. Unfortunately my goodwill often runs out when it comes to consider the ultimate ending of this series which I do not approve of. I admit there are mitigating factors: you should not play the mass effect series for the culmination of its plot. This series lives and dies with its characters and all of the major character arcs reach satisfactory endings before the final moments of Mass Effect 3, so the final moments have no real meaning as the thematic purpose of the series is achieved by galvanising the galaxy and uniting all these disparate races into a single force to fight the Reapers. Thematically the game is a success but the extent to which it utilises the choices the player has made, upon which the series builds its reputation, is limited in scope. This can likely be laid at the feet of the leaks of the original story ahead of the games launch which pushed the developers to create a new ending to avoid spoilers, but the quality of that ending is poor as it boils all the choices made throughout the series down to selecting the colour of a space laser. To make an odd comparison, this is why I think Game of Thrones’ and Mass Effect’s endings are different kinds of bad. Mass Effect reaches a fully satisfying conclusion in the moments immediately after launching the final mission, whereas Game of Thrones built its whole series asking the question “Who Will Sit The Iron Throne” With the final answer being “Actually, no one” after slogging through multiple series which did not live up to the quality of the first. Mass Effect answers its dramatic question of “Can Shepard Unite The Galaxy Against The Reapers” satisfactorily following sixty hours of excellent content and the colour of the space laser doesn’t actually matter. It just hurts to think that the finale could’ve been so much grander and more interesting. I would recommend the games, the disappointment of the finale doesn’t even come close to outweighing the grandeur that is the rest of the experience of Mass Effect 3, let alone the whole series.

There are only a few pieces of content I had not encountered prior to this Legendary edition playthrough. The Mass Effect DLC Bring Down The Sky is fun in that it adds an interesting combat experience with incredible stakes and immerses you in a stellar scale event, but the experience is very short. As part of the legendary edition I recommend it but having to pay extra for it at its time of launch I would have found it disappointing. Mass Effect 2s Overlord DLC is very good, introducing fun combat encounters, an opportunity to operate the fairly fun Hammerhead vehicle (even if it doesn’t live up to the Glory of the Mako) and explore a nice open environment with a truly haunting ending which is a kind of non-choice but it is gratifying to make that choice anyway. Additionally the visuals in the final station when interacting with the VI elements are very nice. The Arrival DLC is also quite fun, with a pseudo stealth section to open it, something which I believe occurs nowhere else in the series. The general element of operating solo is quite novel for mass effect as I believe outside of this moment, the opening of the Citadel DLC and the final moments of Mass Effect 3 there is no point where you fight alone. The indoctrinated nature of the project team does not come as a shock but regardless the dlc is enjoyable as a combat experience and the scale of destruction shown necessary to even slightly inconvenience the reapers lends a lot to the scale of their threat. I do not believe I played any DLCs in Mass Effect 3 before, insofar as I did not consider From Ashes DLC content as it was already on the disk and all buying the day one dlc did was activate it. Leviathan is very interesting from a lore perspective and does interesting things with its investigative process but I find it to be a relatively passive and uninteresting experience for the most part. Omega was more my style with a lot of good combat and interesting new enemies and a bit of bombast besides but still left me largely unmoved. Citadel was excellent but mostly for its “endgame” content rather than its story content. Despite featuring many hilarious moments throughout the actual plot it failed to interest me but I was definitely there for all of the fun character moments and the party is absolutely hilarious.

Ultimately a hearty recommendation but with tempered expectations for the finale.

Deaths Door (True Ending, 13.7 hours):

A Delight. Deaths Door is a charming little game about a bird that stabs things and I love it. It is incredibly impressive that this was made by a team composed of two people. The gameplay is fun in all regards. Navigation is a good time especially when all of the environments are lovely and full of personality. Obstacles come mainly in the form of puzzles and these are at a sweet spot between ease and frustration without being at all complex. Combat could’ve used a bit more work, primarily to create more meaningful distinctions between weapons or add a little depth, but it is still engaging and good fun. While the main bosses are challenging and satisfying to defeat, I worry over the side bosses; perhaps something could’ve been done to make them more distinct from one another? But a small gripe. I like the world, the aforementioned environments are well realised, the general aesthetic is artful and distinct and the story is good if slightly sparse. One notable element is the dialogue which is very good with a quick wit. The finale of the main game has the right amount of spectacle and weight while the endgame is cool and fantastical, with an ample supply of secrets and collectibles to find. Over all the music is incredible, soundtrack full of absolute bangers. I really enjoyed completing this game and I’d recommend it to anyone who’s into action adventure and souls-like games.

The Bad Batch (season 1):

This was Allright. To open I cannot overstate how good the animation and art of this series is. It is routinely beautiful and well-choreographed. Visually there are no complaints. The problems begin with the opening episode which I feel overpromised on a relatively dark take on the Star Wars universe by immediately dropping us into an Order 66 plot full of death, danger, brainwashing and the threat of an emergent empire. Now granted this series never explicitly promises that all of this would continue but I enjoyed these elements of the first episode and I was dissatisfied by their limited usage throughout the rest of the show. This is not to say I disliked the show, I did enjoy the characters who are all good fun, and most of the plots were good. This series I felt had a lot of filler episodes, which I’d simply describe as episodes I enjoyed less due to underwhelming plot or conflict, but they were still enjoyable despite what id perceive as a lesser quality. The show also “suffers” from what I’d called Star Wars Syndrome of Filonitis which is how Everything Must Be Interconnected, with regular cameos from extended universe characters which I feel is beginning to get a bit much. These features feel to me more often like nostalgia grabs rather than organically featuring a character in service of the plot and development. For example, I appreciate the Captain Rex feature as that served to highlight the inhibitor chip problem and drive the characters to seek a solution, however I appreciated Rafa and Trace’s feature less both because I’m less attached to those characters (especially Rafa) but also because the episode didn’t serve any particular purpose or create any particular set piece which couldn’t have been achieved without those characters. This is a similar issue I have with The Mandalorian, I adored season one as it was relatively self-contained and only featured vague or subtler references to the wider canon: to contrast season two is full of cameos from the wider universe sometimes for no reason other than to have a cameo when those roles could easily have been filled with new and creative content which doesn’t rely upon nostalgia to make something interesting. Ultimately Bad Batch is worth watching for the characters and the good episodes, it is fun and entertaining, it just has its issues.

Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure Part 1: The Phantom Blood:

Its uh, its not good. Now that’s a very broad statement, as to assess this show critically at all is to take it far more seriously than you should, but to be more even handed the show certainly has a bunch of fun elements. Only from a story perspective, there isn’t really that much there; and from a pacing perspective it needs to be seen to be believed. I’m certain that if you condensed the show down to a reasonable size for the amount of content it has, you’d probably have a movie with a two-hour runtime at most which would be quite enjoyable but on a whole this first part wastes about 80% of its time on overlong drawn-out internal monologues and the dilated timeframes of the show’s fights. It also has an annoying habit of overemphasizing the weight of a moment or the genius of a characters unexpected action usually with no less than three people commenting on any slight manoeuvre which ruins the pacing beyond belief. Now I understand this is a staple of the Jojo series, only part 1 handles it very poorly in comparison to later parts. The fighting is especially hindered by this as most actual combat usually involves only four or five punches but they tend to take twenty minutes getting to each one. Additionally, Johnathan Joestar is pretty boring as a character with no notable qualities aside from being good both morally and at fighting. The intrigue of the stone mask is cool but this part deals in that very little. Like I say though, Part 1 is still fun to watch if you can disengage your brain and admire the potent meme quality of the series. It is not “good” from a critical perspective but it is incredibly amusing and the campness gives it a degree of charm. If you just want to watch a bunch of beefy men shout at each other and perform magic punches this is a good time. Speedwagon, despite being the worst offender of the “Explain Everything Twice and Ruin the Pacing” category, is still entertaining for the awful accent and endearing character. He’s also definitely in love with Johnathan and I will not be taking questions on that. Baron Zeppeli has a cool hat. Theres a lot of fun to be had as the show embraces the weirdness of everything that’s going on. So, check it out, it might just be a So-Bad-Its-Good Masterpiece.

300 (film):

This film was not so great in my eyes. I think there was one particular shot of the landscapes around Sparta which I felt was visually cool but everything else about the film lacked quality for me, barring practical effects which have aged significantly better than the graphical effects. The visuals are largely uninspiring, the washed-out colour pallet doesn’t help. Perhaps the dialogue was amusing at release but for me it’s all been memed to death. I can’t say any of the performances are particularly compelling, nice to see Magneto and Faramir though. The action could’ve been good and there are certainly moments where it has impact, but the constant application of slow motion I feel reduces the sense of power that should be there, like watching people fight on the moon. Ultimately, I can’t stomach it for two primary reasons: Historical inaccuracy and Racism, which feed into each other. The values of the Spartans do not accurately reflect ideas that historical Spartans held to and I must ask why? Historical accuracy is the default state, so to usurp those ideas in favour of others means the author of the graphic novel Frank Miller and director Zach Snyder replaced those ideas with purpose, in order to make the film more appealing to a mass audience or to express their own ideas perhaps? And the values they chose for the Spartans were freedom, justice and democracy which were things the slaving and monarchical Spartans did not believe in at least in the modern sense. This reeks of an imposition of the propagandised values of western nations on a historical society. This in itself would not be so much of an issue without the demonisation and perversion of the Achaemenid empire and the peoples therein. To establish the primary conflict as one of Civilised white westerners against barbarous non-white easterners, when historically the conflict was between two nations of a broadly similar heritage both possessing facets of good and evil, in the early 2000s? It feels as though some reactionary interpretations of the War on Terror have simply been recreated here with classical history as window dressing. Add to that reactionary attachment to the battle of Thermopylae as a representation of the western world’s struggle against the eastern world, in addition to other more problematic interpretations, and this film plays straight into extreme right-wing ideas of race. Cannot recommend, there’s a lot more better things you could be watching.

18/08/2021: Darth Vader (2015) comic (incl. Vader Down event):

This was really cool. The first comic I’ve ever actually read so I don’t have much frame of reference but I certainly enjoyed this. It was compelling, I’ve blitzed through this whole run in a single day. I think it serves a valuable purpose of demonstrating Vader’s potential and development between Episodes IV and V, as well as the nature of internal conflicts within the Empire. A side note, it is amusing that Palpatine identifies infighting as a factor in the fall of the Sith Empire and yet encourages it for his own political purposes anyway.  I felt that the art and style was very good and fit well with the Star Wars aesthetic, though I couldn’t say if it is truly excellent or just standard: it certainly wasn’t bad, though I think a few designs such as Dr Aphra’s ship were hard to read as it were. Speaking of, I think characters new and old were well portrayed. The titular Vader is unmistakably the same character as appears in the classic trilogy, similarly for Han, Luke and Leia etc. And it was a pleasure to see Chewbacca absolutely destroy someone. The aforementioned Aphra I thought was fine but she lacks distinction to my mind, the real star was Triple Zero and by extension Beetee who I thought were excellent comic relief in addition to being a genuine threat, something I can’t necessarily say I felt with regard to the antagonists. This latter part doesn’t matter overmuch, I think the purpose of these antagonists was more to present Vader with pressure to fulfil his personal goals rather than actually oppose him and they work well in that regard, but are unmemorable beyond their basic attributes. What I think this comic does particularly well is create a kind of puzzle narrative and its almost thrilling at moments when Vader’s plots might be discovered. As a result of this I am looking forward to reading more comics in future.

The Suicide Squad (2021): Highly enjoyable! A big step up for the suicide squad as a franchise and a lot more fun, playing into a brighter and more humorous genre than its predecessor to good effect; This time with good editing, soundtrack, direction… well good everything in comparison. I enjoyed all of the characters and their acting particularly the rivalry between Peacemaker and Bloodsport and Margot Robbie is still fantastic as Harley. They all pale before King however, who is endearing beyond belief and a lot of fun to boot. The “villain” if that term is applicable is very interesting and actually threatening, no mere beam of light into the sky! And the willingness to engage in more mature elements such as gore and character morality is of immense benefit, serving to distinguish it from generally more childish superhero media and reach towards more interesting themes around colonisation, foreign intervention, America and such. Only a reach towards however as I don’t think it ultimately says anything beyond “This thing, kinda bad and dumb”. As I saw noted, it observes the theme but doesn’t comment on it which is a shame as that would bring it all together quite neatly. I feel it can drag a little at times and sometimes the dialogue and specifically its humour don’t hit right but the rest is of such quality that it hardly matters. It looks good, sounds good and offers a chance to engage in a little mindless and bloody violence. I hope Harley keeps the javelin.

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27/08/2021: JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure Part 2: Battle Tendency: TW: Mention of Nazism, Discussion of Sexism

This is MUCH better. Part 2 covers most of the problems I had with Part 1. The Monologues are less egregious so the pacing is much improved; the lore is fully integrated into the story and creates a genuinely good narrative and Joseph is a much more compelling and interesting protagonist with a quirky and entertaining personality. The Pillar Men are excellent villains and the fights are fully engaging. Even when you know that Joseph will pull out a “And next you’ll say” twist at the end of a losing fight it’s still surprising simply by dint of the strange and wacky solutions he creates. And these adventures are even more bizarre, playing into the weird camp of the series which works so well. All in all, the quality is excellent here HOWEVER there are some highly problematic elements. The show being set in the 1930s is a neat part of the travelling through time factor of the series but when you’re globetrotting around Europe you need some solution to the problem of Nazis popping up everywhere and this show does not provide one, and fails so drastically to offer even a slightly critical perspective on the fascist characters. The noble sacrifice of Von Stroheim and his later resurrection and heroism serve to idolise a Patriotic German Nazi Officer, which is not good, and this unchallenged perspective on an Actual Nazi is troubling especially when the character himself is an unrepentant mass murderer. Additionally, the show has a horrible attitude towards women, who exist almost exclusively for sex appeal and romantic interest in this show. Lisa Lisa does demonstrate ability and character but when presented with genuine combat is relegated first as a bit of eye candy during the fight with Esidesi (notably eye candy for Her Own Son) and later as a Damsel in Distress during her fight with Kars. Women are frequently used as objects in this part; Caesar Zeppeli uses women as props by controlling them with his Hamon powers and Suzi Q exists only to be rescued from Esidesi and then to be romanced by Jojo. It’s pretty ridiculous to be honest. I am informed that this improves over the course of the series but as for this part in particular it is a lot of fun just so long as you can ignore some incredibly troubling portrayals.

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13/09/2021: Rick and Morty Season 4:

There is ultimately not much to say as Season 4 is simply more Rick and Morty and operates as such. It is good, even very good. It’s still very funny. Its voice acting is still the pinnacle of such work. It is still smart and has a lot of interesting ideas, only not to the extent of the copypasta fan boys. Its sci-fi universe is cool and its design and aesthetic are still excellent. I feel the show has passed a threshold however as there’s only so much time you can spend on the “dysfunctional family is dysfunctional theme”. I hope season 5 proves me wrong once I get to it, but season 4 is fun and I’d recommend it all the same, it’s just more Rick and Morty and I think that’s enough.

Shang-Chi and the Ten Rings: Spectacular! Very easily amongst the best if not The Best Superhero Movie (aside from Into the Spiderverse). To begin with complaints as they are limited, the colour grading was a bit dark in a couple of the fight scenes and in some moments of the climactic fight the CG effects are a little Too Much and distract from the central action of Shang-Chi, Xialing and a Dragon owning the shit out of a multiversal super spectre, which incidentally is fucking epic.  Additionally, the standard MCU comic relief dialogue is a little meh at times but what’s new there? They still need to get a handle on that, especially because this film was really strong when it was serious. As much as I love Ben Kingsley’s Trevor Slattery, he was just a tad much here. Aside from a few moments of weak dialogue however the rest of the film is excellent. Acting is good, effects are good, the film is quite beautiful primarily once Ta Lo is reached and the score is bangin. I appreciate most of all the fight sequences which to me look well-choreographed with interesting arenas which were always appropriate to demonstrate the characters abilities; the sequences serve to develop character and plot at key moments also. The way the camera is handled during the fights is also a big step up, with wide perspective and long shots rather than the snappy close shots of old which serve to really show off that choreography and don’t muddy your understanding of the flow of combat. There is a good thematic line throughout the film of reconciling the bad and the good of your familial and personal history, to understand yourself better and channel that into developing and achieving your ambitions and I adore how that ties in with Shang-Chi and Wenwu’s final confrontation due to the nature and treatment of the Ten Rings themselves. They are a very interesting fantastical element especially once Shang-Chi acquires them and the way that he utilises them create a very cool combat style I can’t wait to see more of, even considering that their full potential is yet to be unlocked. I additionally approve of how they have been differentiated from their comic counterparts which to my understanding are just slightly weaker infinity stones; thus, a one-to-one reproduction would’ve been a boring mistake to make. It’s a fantastic film, go see it.

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26/09/2021: Sable (20 hours, 99% complete) Sable has the makings of an absolutely fantastic game, it just has a few hiccups and hurdles to deal with. Thankfully most can probably be dealt with by patch as there’s nothing fundamentally wrong with the game; but a game should never be released in a state where it needs a patch to function normally. This game is incredibly buggy. Probably one of the buggiest games I’ve ever played at launch, and I preordered Skyrim. Most of my complaints are with the menus, which simply do not work properly sometimes, but there are other documented issues with collision detection and weird bike movement among others including one annoying persistent issue with the soundtrack being replaced by random ‘bong’ noises. For these reasons I cannot recommend the game Right Now until it is patched or if it is on a significant sale. However, once the bugs are fixed this game will be a stunning achievement. The story is good and leads to powerful emotional moments, aided along by an excellent atmospheric soundtrack and beautiful visuals. The style and colour give this game an exceptional look, though diminished by a fairly rapid day/night cycle. I understand that this creates a visual contrast to make the daytime feel more vibrant and impressive, but I would also hold the sun still in the sky if that were an option. The world is well built, with interesting lore and cool design work. Varied environments show off a range of colourful landscape all with their own distinct atmospheres and landmarks which are good both for navigation and exploration, this being the bulk of the game. Exploring these environments is satisfying for curiosities sake but also offers collectible Chums that I adore and an intriguing backstory and world history to consider. Riding a hoverbike is cool and fun, and the customisability is nice though I would take issue with the “balancing” of bike parts as the best bike can be acquired only a few hours in and must be bought, where bike parts earned through long quest chains pale in comparison. This annoys me as I believe players should be rewarded more for great deeds than for acquiring currency, besides which the quest bikes look cooler. This is of little importance however as the game is a very casual and chill experience, keeping an excellent balance where it is not strictly challenging but does maintain your focus and attention. This world is full of strangeness and a little sci-fi magic; though I would argue it could use more of this I think that would threaten to overwhelm the player when even this world’s most mundane elements are still stunningly cool. I think a thick coat of bugs covers what is ultimately a magnificent game with many cool things to explore and even marred by its worst features I still had a great time playing it.

27/09/2021: The Matrix

Brilliant. A very cerebral action movie which definitely earns its place as an iconic work of cinema and its clear to see why its influence is so widespread. Fantastic action with a clear and open perspective which utilises the interesting and dynamic cinematography that runs throughout the movie. I particularly enjoy how over the top the fights are in terms of environmental destruction and gestures as a whole, with a great deal of emphasis added by practical effects which I enjoy. Cool characters, good dialogue and excellent performances across the cast. And, an interesting world well-built and designed. The robots particularly are quite intimidating and I like their arthropodal form. All of the design works well to create the feeling of a greasy industrial post apocalypse which contrasts sharply with the boring homogenous simulation, the latter having its own value as a setting due to its familiarity which would’ve been especially prevalent when this film first released. I love the soundtrack, especially the final feature of Rage, but most of all I love how deeply you can read into this film and its meaning. Having watched many videos about it I was primed on the trans allegory going in and it is very clearly a present part of the narrative before even considering the context around the Wachowski sisters and their own experience. It is a very interesting part of the story and plays well into other themes built around deconstructing the illusions pressed on us by our society, drawing strong parallels between the struggles of living as a trans person and fighting against an imperialist capitalist society. It is worth watching for any of its constituent parts but together they form a magnificent work of art.

28/09/2021: Star Wars: Visions

The series is a bit of a mixed bag. It definitely overpromises with its first episode which is of a remarkably distinct style, is incredibly cool and has great wacky moments in addition to tasteful call-backs to the wider Star Wars canon. I love the umbrella sabre, it’s a fantastic idea and there needs to be more of them. From there a few episodes are fantastic, The Elder and the final episode, and id rank the Ninth jedi just below them, but the rest of the series is definitely not to my taste. The wide variety of styles on show are all fantastic and the animation is universally very good, just some of the plots are more childish than I would appreciate and the rest are simply not engaging for me to the point that despite a great deal of spectacle occurring I would often be distracted. It’s worth a look if you’re into animation and unique takes on star wars but I find generally lacking.

Django Unchained (2nd Watch) TW: Discussion of Racism and Slavery

Red Flag: Tarantino Movie is good. Very good. Stellar performances from Jamie Foxx, Kerry Washington, Leo Di Caprio, Christoph Waltz and everyone else in the movie to be frank; a special note for the trivia about Leo Di Caprio’s cut up hand during the dining room scene, a lot of respect for a man who can keep working through that kind of injury. We can go through a Tarantino Checklist say the film is well shot with beautiful environments; has excellent and witty dialogue with good attention to detail and mannerism; and finally has great and gory action which does not flinch from terrible injury and really appeals to a perverse bloodlust that seems to crop up from time to time in normal people. Strangely enough however, I could not recall if Tarantino indulges in his predilection for feet here. This film does indulge in Tarantino’s other predilection however and that’s the N-word, but here I respect it. Unlike his non-period works, the use of the N-word is a facet of slavery just as chains, whips and plantations are and slavery is the subject of this film which seeks to be historically authentic. If anything, the absence of the N-word would be very wrong in this case despite being the project of a white man as without it the film would lack the context of a key form of oppression that still exists today. I think Django does an excellent job documenting and commenting on the institution as it existed in the pre-war period. Django experiences every level of status a black person would encounter in this setting: first a slave, then a freedman, a black slaver and finally a Liberator and the final message of the film is that slavery deserved to be destroyed and any argument made for its return is horseshit which is kind of a “Duh” statement but with the state of modern politics and the state of education in the US it’s something that needs reiterating. You can interpret this beyond the bounds of slavery itself in addition, by arguing that there are existing powers in this world which seek to discriminate based on skin colour amongst other factors and create oppressed minorities for the benefit of a wealthy few with power and should the systems that create this environment be completely destroyed it would be cause for celebration. Beyond this I particularly enjoyed the historical authenticity of the environments, of the very varied biomes of the wilder parts of the US at the time, and the contemporary outfits especially King Schultz’ coat which I desire more than any item of clothing I’ve ever seen. The film is good at building suspense both in the moment to moment and through longer story arcs, particularly the second act, but I do feel like the 2nd act lulls a little, perhaps spends slightly too long reaching its climax. This is a great spectacle of a film which looks and sounds fantastic, puts excellent performances on show, tells a great story and has quite a bit of meaning bundled into it.

29/09/2021: The Road to El Dorado (Unfinished)

Despite not finishing it I think this film is actually really good. It certainly has a few elements which don’t fully gel with me but I enjoyed my time with it; I only felt like I should really be doing something else and that I wasn’t fully engaged with it, potentially as I’m not keen on cons and high stakes acting as it feels like a form of vicarious embarrassment for me which makes me immensely uncomfortable. Personal hindrances aside most everything about this film is excellent, I loved the animation and the very colourful world. The characters were fun, the voice acting good, the constant horniness was a great bonus also. I take issue with the music, much as it’s not my right to criticise Elton John, I feel it would’ve been better fully incorporated into the film. I enjoy animated musicals more when said music is diegetic and I think them beginning to employ non-diegetic music is part of what led to their downfall, outside of market saturation. Additionally, I was not a fan of The Trail we Blaze, just not a song that worked for me. I also appreciate the integration of 3d and 2d animation here as I felt the styles were reconciled better here than in most movies, especially for the time. I might take issue with what seems to be a plot about two Spanish men of the colonial age coming to central America and “enlightening” its people through humanitarian acts and music as that would reflect some troubling attitudes but I hold out hope that by the end of the film they decide to come clean about the lie, return the gold and help defend El Dorado from Cortez and his troops. Its enjoyable, I don’t feel drawn to finishing it though.

 30/09/2021: Hunters Moon, Ghost

Here’s a new one, music reviews. This single is pretty good I enjoy it a lot. Opens slow and gentle and rapidly builds into some strong rock with a very 80s feel which scans with Ghosts whole historical rock and metal style they’ve always employed but have gone in extra hard on since Prequelle. The lead riff the track opens on is really nice and I would love to have seen it explored further, but the heavier style that ramps up progressively as the song continues is still great climaxing on the 9/4 post chorus riff which goes hard as fuck and I love that bit especially. It feels like it would be spectacular to witness it live. The bridge is a moment I’m not so keen on, the initial bass work is a little bare bone and overly repetitive but it definitely picks up once the guitar and vocals come in, even if just for the final moments. The final chorus leads into a good finale though I think it’ll serve better on an album version with a transition into another track, as I usually prefer to be fair. Technically I enjoy all of the different sounds and effects employed on all the instruments, especially in that leading riff, all of which are played well with good time. The vocals are great as usual. It’s a great track, I feel it was maybe a little short and could’ve explored some of its musical ideas or given them a bit more time to breathe; perhaps less time could have been given to overrepresented elements like the bridge and given over to work more into the very atmospheric leading riff but this is still a hard and heavy rock track and I enjoy it greatly.

[ms-maj]

For @bettycooper​ on the most fantastic day of her birth! [I maaaaay have been given a slight heads up since someone wouldn’t give up the goat ;)] Thank you for all the brilliant insights and beautiful gifs and for being one of the most considerate and chill people I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with. You give and give and give and I am very, very lucky to call you friend. Happiest birthday, Cat! I hope you enjoy! <3

‘Tis All Hallows Eve and throughout this great house

Dark creatures are stirring, go and hide little mouse.

Bats line the hallway, there’s cobwebs on the stair;

The veil is now lifting, the other side is just there.

Reach out and touch it, magic flows from your hands,

Fingers burn with the powers passed by time, through the sands. 

Make notes in your grimoire as witches fly through the sky

We must ready our spirit, for Halloween is nigh…

“Isn’t your cousin in Prague?”

Betty looks up from her computer, the glasses she only wears when she’s been staring at the screen for an extended time sit on the edge of her nose. “What? Cousin?”

He’s waving the square of black cardstock in her direction as he shakes his head. “Your one, single cousin. The slightly over-the-top, heiress extraordinaire who has spent the last five years gallivanting across the globe.”

“And what about her?”

With an exaggerated sigh, Jughead drops next to her on the couch. Reaching over, he kisses her cheek before slotting the paper between her and the screen. “It would appear Hill House is done.”

Betty can’t help the snort that escapes her as she runs her fingers around the aged edge of the parchment. “I should say I’m surprised but, honestly, I mean, it’s Cheryl. Why wouldn’t she hand-write invitations to a soiree on the...’Hallowed Blossom Grounds’?”

Jughead is not wrong per se when he says the house is done. Thornhill has been under construction since Cheryl and Toni broke up, and she absconded from her second year of college. She made her way to Italy, where she stayed for a year before delving deeper into Europe; the art, the fashion, the architecture all appealed to her at a cellular level. Or that’s what she’d told Betty when asked about when she’d come home. (When the manor is restored or that vile harpy dies. Her words.) 

He leans over and takes the invite back from her hands to re-read it. “Like either house there isn’t large enough to have this shindig, she has to be sure we plebs all know it’s the entirety of the property that we shall be partying on.” 

Betty slides her glasses up to the bridge of her nose as she watches her boyfriend’s eyes roll. He leans back against the cushions, the hem of his t-shirt inching up ever so slightly. “At least we have an excuse to get dressed up this year,” she closes her laptop, sets it on the table and straddles him before he has a moment to realize what’s happening.

 “And we can finally scratch the main house off our list—”  The invitation flies from his fingertips and lands in the middle of the coffee table as his hands come down around her ass. He stands, wobbly as she laughs against his lips, and she’s carried to their bedroom. The costumes can wait another day.

Keep reading below or head on over to AO3

Betty’s proud, and a little relieved, when he comes back with the Addams. Though he refuses to wear pinstripes, much to her chagrin, she's quick to realize that plum, crushed velvet looks better on him than it has any right to. 

Unfortunately, there hasn't been time to confer on much else. It’s been a busy few weeks. Betty’s been working non-stop; crime doesn’t stop for Halloween parties apparently, and her particular skill set always seems to be more needed in the periods just before and just after Halloween. She’s spent hours recently in front of both screen and microscope, scraping particulates into vials rather than getting ready for the ostentatious event.

And as much as Jughead has bitched and moaned about the lack of foresight in sending a group of traumatized twenty-somethings invitations in the same manner as a psychopath, he’s channeled a lot of that anxious downtime between conventions into ensuring his Gomez is true and pays proper homage to both John Astin and Raul Julia. 

It makes for an incessant fluttering in her chest whenever she thinks of him. She finds it funny, the way he insists that it’s their friends who are the extra ones, but as they finally turn toward the mansion she sees the seventeen-year-old boy in him, the one who almost lost himself as the Game Master, and the beautiful, complex, eccentric man he’s become. 

“I think that’s Archie’s car,” Jughead pulls their small SUV next to the blue sedan. The governor’s drive is filled, cars of all makes and models line both sides of the freshly poured asphalt. “At least we won’t be alone in the cesspool Cheryl considers a social circle.”

Betty takes one last look in the mirror before tossing strands of her silky, black wig over her shoulder and exiting the car. “And it's a beautiful night.”

Jughead hums in response and then, “This place gives me the heebs,” shuddering as the car doors click closed, the lock tone sounding terribly loud in the eerie stillness. 

“You and me both,” Betty adjusts the hem of her billowing sleeve, the sleek black dress not giving her much room to breathe, let alone walk the entirety of the Blossom estate. She squares her shoulders, channeling the power and grandeur of befitting Morticia and slides her hand into that of her waiting boyfriend. 

The foyer’s black marble floors gleam, shadows dancing in the flickering candlelight. The tables, four round with two on either side of the room and a long six-foot buffet table between them, are dressed in crisp white linens, centerpieces of crimson and black, and not a soul in sight.

“Hello?” Betty calls into the void. She’s answered only by the reverberation of her own voice. She looks to Jughead, sweeping the black strands of her wig from her face, she moves toward the tables. The two tables on her right are full of cut crystal flutes filled to the brim with golden champagne, the left is full of hors d'oeuvres, and sat perfectly center of the large table is a silver tray. On it, a parchment envelope with a red wax seal.

“Jesus,” Jughead exhales while retying the belt of his costume. “I knew Cheryl had a penchant for the dramatic but even this seems a little extreme.” Suddenly looking a little green around the gills, he swallows before speaking again. “Her mom isn’t…”

Betty turns around quickly and lays her palm against his cheek. “No, it’s not Penelope. I talked to Cheryl yesterday and she’s assured me that the bitch is still under lock and key."

"Good, she can rot."

"Should we just—” she twists back, reaching for the envelope but Jughead swats her hand away before it makes contact.

" Really? You're just gonna grab that, no glove, no napkin, just bare-handed in the home of a known poisoner?" He questions, eyes wide, hands grabbing at her waist and twirling her away from the table. “You’re an actual crime scene investigator, Betty. What are you doing?!”

“Jug, Juggie, I’m gonna need you to breathe,” she frames his face in her hands, tilting his head so his eyes met hers. Under the chandelier, his hair reflects the incandescent glow in it’s slicked parting. “It’s just Cheryl being Cheryl. It’s just a party,” her fingers curl and slide down his face, thumbs stopping on his chin. “I think she’s trying to reclaim this place for happier times and this is part of it. Make the bad good or something. I don’t actually know but I know she is in therapy and I guess this is just her convoluted way of working past the demons and ghosts.”

His head drops to the side, expression nonplussed, and he sighs. “Just, use a napkin, or something. I can’t help that my paranoia is bound to run rampant when things like Blossom and Gothic Horror Hellhouse are dropped back into the vernacular.”

Her heart breaks just a little as she wraps her arms around his neck. “I promise I will be more careful as we go along. I don’t know what Cheryl has in store but I imagine this is how she’s making use of the grounds.” 

His hands haven’t moved from her waist, he simply tightens his grip and pulls her closer. “I’ll try to keep an open mind, and remember that this is actually for fun and not a ploy to murder us and our closest friends.”

“Atta boy,” Betty closes the gap between them, pressing her lips against his reassuringly. “Now, let’s get this party started.” She waggles her eyebrows excitedly, tossing the long black locks of her wig over her shoulder as she turns back toward the table. Jughead slouches behind her, his head resting on her shoulder, as her napkin covered hand reaches the envelope. 

Sliding it back across the table cloth, Betty snags a knife from the appetizer table and slips it under the crimson seal. 

Carefully, Betty uses the napkin to remove the parchment from the envelope and lays it out on the table. Jughead slides off her, moving closer to the table without actually touching anything. 

His eyes squint as he tries to read the intricate script from so far away. “I can pick it up if you—”

“Because I’m sure you brought your glasses to the Halloween party?” 

“Oh, my dearest, Gomez, where on Earth would I conceal glasses in this dress?”  

She hears him suck in a breath and feels it, hot, on the shell of her ear.  “Are we ticking this off the list first? We are all alone, Tish, you can be as loud as you want.”

Betty can feel the knock in her knees, the way her chest heaves at his tone and heat of his words. Her breath leaves in pants, short bursts of unadulterated lust she swallows down and tamps out. “You are incorrigible, Jones,” her voice drops to an even quieter tone. “And if I thought Cheryl and any of her other guests who’ve already completed their quests weren’t possibly watching, I would absolutely take you up on that.”

“Fair point,” Jughead sighs, straightening up and turning his attention back to the task at hand. As his eyes scan the words his hand comes up to scratch at the back of his neck. “Did she write these? Or did she actually pay someone? Because if she did, as a professional writer I am offended.”

Betty snorts a laugh and reads the text herself. “Oh Juggie, you are not wrong.”

Fortunately, Betty doesn’t think it’ll be too long before they get themselves through Cheryl’s finely woven tapestry of what she deems fun.

Welcome fiends, on this most holy of days

You’ve entered the first chamber and now you must play.

From this greatest hall to the haunted gallows

The path you take shall leave you hallowed

Once, full oak barrels lined its walls

But it’s been an age since the empire did fall

It has been told of spirits who wander

But you must come closer to set them asunder. 

“I can’t believe this,” Jughead flicks at the padlock that’s keeping the man door closed, and them from their next set of instructions. 

Betty rolls her eyes, reaching up under her hair in the back and pulling out an extra bobby pin she had used to help secure the long wig. “What kind of party would it be if I couldn’t show off the fruits of my questionable morality?” 

She can barely see the pin as it disappears into the lock. The night is dark, cool, the crisp vein of fall’s majesty. The moon is full but the sky is overcast; clouds cover like sticky cobwebs blotting the light from the stars. “Mmm, I do love every shade of your gray.”

Her lips pucker and the sound of her air kiss carries loud enough for him to hear. There’s a click, the tumblers drop and the lock falls into her hand. The door swings open, a flickering incandescent light moves back and forth across the dank space. It stills, and light slowly starts to fill the barn before it starts to strobe slowly.  Betty and Jughead step through the door to find another set of tables and several cages of varying size, all filled with all different types of corvids. 

“Please tell me those things aren’t going to be released and we have to reenact Hitchcock before we can get the next clue, because honestly Betts, your cousin can fuck herself.”

“She wouldn’t dare. Cheryl knows perfectly well that I couldn’t run in this dress if my life depended on it.”

“And how do we know this is Cheryl? I mean, I know you said you talked to her about the party but this all just seems…”

Betty laughs. “Even more extra than usual? Understood. But that’s because, between you and me, I think she’s been missing home, and everyone, a lot, and she just wants to make sure in her patented Cheryl way that no one forgets her while she’s gone.”

She swears his eye roll is audible, because she can’t see him but knows implicitly that his eyes do indeed roll. “Why couldn’t she just hire a gourmet chef to cater? That would certainly be more endearing, and remember worthy, than having to trip the night horrific down memory lane.”

It's at this point, the birds, she realizes, are mostly fake. No, not fake fake. Taxidermied. Of course. “She’s still a Blossom, Jug. We internalized our traumas and turned them into our motivations, our tools to perform. Cheryl ran away, and now, the only way she can deal is to face everything head on. Take back the bad…”

“Make it good, right, right…” Jughead is muttering as his hand sweeps across his brow.

It’s been hard, Betty knows, to try and disassociate yourself from your familial legacy. Especially when said path leads you back to a level of depravity that you can barely wrap your head around. While she, like Jughead, have embraced their darker sides, it doesn’t mean that all the bad just disappears when you wake. His demons become characters in his books, their battles scratched out on napkins and receipts and any piece of paper that crosses his path when the inspiration strikes. He has bouts of anxiety that have to be quelled with medications, but some that breathing exercises and soft conversation will help to pass. 

Betty knows it’s mostly been the combination of therapy and lack of downtime that have really helped to keep him from slipping off the edge. 

“But in all seriousness, please, why did she call the elementary school and ask for third graders to write these clues?”

The space between them fills with the smell of apples and cinnamon, the small cloud from the vape pen lingers in the air. She takes the small black tube from his outstretched hand and holds it to her lips. Inhaling slowly, Betty lets the sweet, sticky intoxication take hold and inherently knows that Jughead is going to be kite-like in order to get through the night.

And she is five hundred percent okay with this. 

The pen is back in his hands and at his mouth before she can exhale. Her words come out with a cough. “I actually think it was fifth graders. But the education standards in this county are seriously slipping. You should consider changing profession, I imagine most children would love to learn from such an encouraging and engaging critic.”

He snorts. “No fucking thank you. At least not, you know…” The pen is back in his pocket, his hand now scratching at the back of his neck, the slicked down hairs starting to stand under his ministrations. She reaches out and lays her hand over his and he sighs. “Maybe someday.”

Jughead slides their hands from his neck and holds her fingers to his lips before they drop and swing between them. “Until then Mr. Jones, I believe this ‘clue’ is all yours.”

Betty squeezes his hand before she steps out of his grasp; she’s looking for something to grab the awaiting envelope with. He crouches, eyes level with the sleek, black paper, fingers folding and interlocking in front of his face. 

The lights strobe, flashes of wings and glinting steel catch her eye while she feels out the table. Her fingers catch the rim of a small, cut-crystal glass. She grabs the vessel and sniffs—smoke and peat—and throws back the contents in a single swig. It burns most pleasantly.  Almost instantly a live crow caws, drawing her attention back to the task at hand. 

She finds napkins, pushes a few up her sleeve for later and hands Jughead one so he can start the reading and direct them to their next locale. 

He grabs the edge and hits the seal against the table, disrupting all the living birds who respond in discordant chaos. The paper slides from the envelope, and somehow, through the strobing lights and cacophony, he's able to read.

What is it that makes the Blossoms bloom?

The very thing that sealed their doom.

Planted soldiers, row by row

Did we reap of all we sowed?

Follow the pieces dropped from my bough

Into the circle, cast a Samhain spell.

“Did she have to go full on nightmare Wizard of Oz? A path through the maple grove? Wholly unnecessary.”

“Something about a tree, and it looking like something busted it out of it?” Betty stumbles, her heel catching on a root. Though she curses under her breath, she realizes it’s one of the very few Cheryl’s team had missed fixing while covering the entire path with the fallen leaves. (The rest she had incinerated, of course. The maple grove couldn’t look picturesque with all those leaves just laying in hodgepodge piles, after all.)  She’s happy to see the tables set only a few yards away. “I was only half listening, but I remember her saying it was the perfect kind of creepy.”

He scoffs. “This whole place is the perfect kind of creepy. And if you knew all this nonsense was happening,” he turns toward her, thumbs hooked in the belt loops of the purple velvet smoking jacket, crooked mustache above a crooked smile, and looks her up and down. “Why the fuck would you wear those shoes? I mean, I’m not complaining because you look INSANELY hot but if you knew we were going to be walking over the palatial levels of acreage, then maybe—”

“True. All true. But would Morticia trade fashion for practicality? I think not, " Betty steadies herself at the main table, only slightly larger this time though still round, once again flanked by a beverage table (with a keg of cider it would appear) and another covered with small, apple tarts.

The night glows around them in all it’s autumnal splendor. Fairy lights wrap around the bases of the maple trees and twirl up through their branches. Pumpkins, some meticulously carved and others whole, fill the spaces between the trees, the tables, and line the path away from the grove. 

Jughead seems to be enjoying himself, he’s at least not as tense as he was to start. His steps are lighter, he’s quicker with a smile, and he’s laughing with an ease that she hasn’t seen in far too long. The vape pen slips back into view and she smiles, but declines when he offers it. The scotch from their last stop is starting to slink in and much more inebriation will not serve her well. She picks up a glass and flips the tap on the cider, filling one for her and one for Jug, who takes it without preamble.  Betty lets out a small sigh of relief when he sips the contents and doesn’t start to question the intentions behind it. In fact, he looks like he quite likes it. She starts sipping on her own, gags a little, and quickly places the cup back on the table, wishing she’d have downed more of the Islay deliciousness instead. 

“This one is all you, m’lady,” Jughead tips back his cup before grabbing her discarded one and doing the same. 

Her head shakes in mock annoyance. “Can you please try and maintain a modicum of sobriety? I’d like to make it to this party in one piece.” 

A raised eyebrow meets her, followed by the click of the tap and the glug of liquid spilling into his cup. “I thought this was the party.”

She can hear the cider sloshing as he lifts the glass but it’s overwhelmed by the sharp hiss of her black, stiletto nails as they slice through the seal wax.  “Only in your dreams.”

Her eyes scan the scrawl, pinching close briefly as she gets to the end. When she turns around to show Jughead he’s right there. She sucks in a breath and clutches the clue to her chest with a muttered Jesus. 

He smiles devilishly. “You’re right about that,” his hands circle her hips and he pulls her flush. “In my dreams it is most definitely only you and me. But we’re not doing any of this.”

“Oh, what are we doing?” she asks breathless.

His head dips and he leans toward her, stopping just shy of their lips meeting. She squeaks out his name, a petulant whine, but he does not acquiesce. “I think you know exactly what we’re doing in my dreams,” Jughead digs the tips of his fingers into the flesh of her waist, the palor from the makeup looking particularly ghoulish in the din. “But more than that, even though the thought, and promise if I’m not mistaken, are most tempting. It’s just that when it’s you and me I know everything is going to be okay. That no matter how dark or cold the night you’ve always got my back.”

Betty shivers almost as if on cue, tears burning at her eyes, she reaches out quickly and grabs his face. While the paper flutters to the ground, her thumbs run up the sharp cut of his cheekbones before her lips crash into his. They have more than enough time to spare, she thinks. Besides, she knows exactly where they’re going next.

Your next adventure you needn’t enter

But prepare to face a greater task

For the next clue will not be at the ready

And there shan’t be a soul around to ask.

Follow these pumpkins

Keep close the light

Only two more remain, dear friends,

To make it through the night.

Thistlehouse was the big bad. She knew it the way he reached for her hand as its impressive visage rose from behind the treeline. 

He’d only been back a handful of times, and only because his Toni had threatened his personage, so when she and Cheryl had broken up he swore up and down that he wouldn’t go back if he could help it. Yet here they were. She had assured him it would be different, that they were different, that there was nothing they weren’t in control of. 

And control was most assuredly something he liked. 

So she relented: the color of their bedroom, their sheet thread count, his preferred costumes (not that she put up a fight about being Mortica Addams). Once agreed upon, he dove right into the original series, watched every film iteration, studied cosplays; she watched as he got carried away by the sheer drama of it all. Jughead, she was aware, couldn’t help but love himself some drama. She recognized, quite quickly, that he had the same vim for creating their narrative, the same kind of spark that emerged when he switched from writing novels to creating graphic novels. 

Betty remembers watching as that switch flipped inside of him, the magnitude of feelings when he saw his words start being represented by an artist. Then the elation of being beholden to filling those intensely rendered scenes with the words that conveyed all the expressed feelings, and did them justice. 

She sees the way his eyes light up every time he mentions a storyboard, hears the excitement in his voice when his characters come to life, when they transfer from paper to corporeal and feel real and tangible in his hands. She wants to be a part of that for the rest of her life.

She shivers, pulling at the tightest section of her sleeves and tries to cover more of her arms with the taut fabric. Wordlessly, his arm slips around her waist, pulling her close to his warm body.

Sometimes, on the nights when the heaviest thoughts pervade her mind, and she starts spiraling through all the things she should have done differently, he does the same thing. Gathers her in his arms, whispers all the things he loves about her into her hair.

It's the hours (days, months, lifetimes) of listening, of shared experiences, of perspective that propelled them together and held them there. After a brief, albeit necessary step back the summer following their graduation, they came back together stronger and more committed than before. And it's sustained them these last eight years.

"What are you thinking?" His lips ghost across her temple as the tables come into view. 

She smiles, lacing her fingers through his and pulling them to her mouth. Betty kisses his knuckles and nuzzles closer. "Just how lucky I am to have you."

"The feeling is very, very mutual, " he leans down and is met with a sweet kiss. She feels a tug on the hand wrapped around his. The moment they separate she's spun away, the wide hem of her dress flaring around her. She lets out a laugh and Jughead starts twirling her, spinning them through a sloppy tango toward their objective.

It's been too long since they've been this carefree, that deadlines and court dates and conventions and lab work have become their normal. They try not to allow them to take precedence in their lives though, try to ensure the living, breathing, real people always, always come first but some days that’s harder work than others.

They dizzily bump into the drinks, glasses clinking off one another as they spill onto the tablecloth. This only makes the laughter come more freeky. They take the libations, toast one another and drink down what Jughead hopes is the last vestige of maple rum in existence.

While he ravages the snack table, Betty reaches for the last envelope with shaky hands.

One more trek awaits, before your final stop

Please take this chariot, you've done nothing but walk

Follow the lights, you'll be lead right to us

To cold to enjoy it, though to look is a must

You may not believe it, but heed these words true

Your life may very well change down by the pool.

The golf cart whirrs to a stop just before Thornhill’s swimming pool. Betty turns it off and steps out, the light emanating from the thousands of cream colored candles that line the far side reflects and dances on the still surface. Candelabras from three to ten feet tall, tea lights, chandeliers, votives, pillars; you name it, that candle had a place surrounding the dark water.

“Do you think Cheryl spent more on candles than we did on the down payment for our house?” Jughead muses coming to stand beside her, elbow jut out in invitation. Betty smiles softly when her arm slots through the space. She grips tightly, her cheek coming to rest on his bicep.                                        

“I think Cheryl probably spends more than that on even stranger things, on a daily basis,” they laugh low, content to be close, aware that their blissful solitude will soon cease. It’s just ahead—the white canvas tent marks the end of their path.

Betty’s heels echo with each step. She can’t tell if it’s as loud as it sounds in her head but reverberation seems to stutter with her pulse. The table that seemed to loom so far in the distance is mere steps ahead. This time, a gold tray rests dead center atop the crisp, clean linen, the final black envelope lies just within its confines. There are two, blood-red flutes on either side, waiting for the final clue to be read.

Without pause, Jughead reaches for it. “It’s blank.” He waves the card in front of him. Betty watches his fingers slide over the parchment, flipping it between them and examining it before the flame.

She swallows, stepping back. “I’m afraid you won’t find your answer there.”

His head turns before his body, the expression inscrutable. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m saying there’s nothing there. No hidden message writ with heat sensitive ink. No impressions traceable with charcoal.”

Her hands shake but there’s nothing she can do to stop them. He’s facing her now, cardstock forgotten it falls to the ground. “Betty, you promised,” his voice thick with the kind of worry that constricts all the pieces of her heart.

“I promised you would be safe. That we would be safe. And we are! There is not one part of this night that I haven’t carefully cultivated to make this an enjoyable experience,” she worries her lip between her bottom teeth when he looks away from her.

“Why? What is all this about?”

“Trust me, I know. Why would I do this? Set all this up and make you relive one of the collective worst nights of our life?”

His head swings back to her, expression screaming DUH, with the severe angle of his brows and the depth of the creases that have formed there. His arms cross over his chest as he waits for her to continue.

“I know I can't fix all the bad. But this one thing I wanted back, for the both of us. I want you to be able to go to escape rooms, or watch murder mysteries, or get surprises without triggering your PTSD. I want you to be able to stop looking over your shoulder, every minute of every day. I know how hard you work to get through, but I don’t just want you to have to put on a brave face and breathe through all those fear responses. And believe me, I’m aware that this is not a cure or therapy or anything more than me trying to reclaim something awful with something beautiful.”

She steps in front of him, bright green eyes wide and shining with unshed tears. She explains that she knows how much he loves Clue but can’t play it because sometimes it takes him to a place where he’s Mr. Body and everyone around is trying to simultaneously kill him and solve his murder, and he’s the only person in history who can say that’s too much like real life. And she hates that. Hates that he has to channel so much of that pain and anger and anxiety into characters in fictions, even though she knows it’s one of his healthier coping mechanisms. Hates that even with all the therapy and medication and love in their lives that his pain underscores so, so much of him. 

“I really do love Clue,” he sniffles, tears forming in his eyes. 

Betty laughs, taking his hands in her own. “I know you do. And I just want you to be able to enjoy everything, and I know I can’t make everything right. That’s not possible nor is it my job. But what I can do, is be by your side, be with you on those days when the thoughts are too heavy and you need help carrying them,” she let’s go of a shaky breath, hoping the mermaid skirt doesn’t fail her as she carefully kneels on the blanket that’s laid out next to the sparkling water. 

“Betty,” his voice trembles like she knows hers will.

She releases his hand for just a moment, sliding a final, velvet envelope from the sleeve of her gown. “Forsythe. Pendleton. Jones. The Third.”  Betty peels back a fold with each of his names that pass her lips. On the square sits a ring, mahogany, with a braided birch inlay, lined with soft, gleaming willow. “Jughead. The person who knows me best. Who has seen all the bad, who knows exactly who I am and what I’m capable of, and doesn’t just love me in spite of it, but because of it. You have given so much of yourself to keep the people you love safe. The huge heart, and compassion and forgiveness know no bound. And when I was young and dumb I tested the bounds of your empathy and love and risked everything because I was afraid. Because loving you was so easy and so all-encompassing I thought something had to be wrong. But the only thing wrong was me and you somehow loved me still. Your love has always been a tether, this undeserved filament that's kept me from floating into the ether."

Betty pauses to breathe, laughing though her tears, and picks the shiny wood ring up between her dark, matte nails. Their eyes meet in the excessive candlelight and Betty is infinitely thankful for waterproof mascara. “I am grateful that you stood by me. Helped me 

The hand she holds trembles as she slides the ring to his finger. "If I could form a coherent thought...I would." This time he laughs with her.

"Whaddya say, Jones? Make an honest woman of me?" The ring buttresses against his hand, the pale braid of birch almost silver in the moonlight. “Marry me, Jones.” She whispers into the night.

“For the record,” his arm slides down her forearm and grasps around her elbow. She’s on her feet, level with him before she knows she’s even standing. “Yes.” His lips crash into hers, bodies practically melding into one as her fingers twine through his hair, disrupting the slick without a single care. 

The lights from the main house flash on, music erupting from hidden speakers and suddenly life is breathed back into their hushed, reverent silence.

"Does everyone in there know?" He practically pants once they break apart.

"You can't think I did any of this on my own right? You're the creative and I'm, " she sighs, her fingers twirl in the hair at the nape of his neck. "The luckiest human in the world." 

He leans in again though this time they're both distracted by the sound of people moving toward them. He practically whines, "Now we're never going to check Thornhill off our list."

Betty smiles devilishly, her red painted lips twist and press ever so slightly against the shell of his ear. "Oh, did I not mention Cheryl has graciously offered an entire wing so that we may properly celebrate our engagement?" His eyes go wide while over his shoulder their friends all step into view. "Save the enthusiasm for later, you can show me just how happy you are as soon as we're congratulated by five hundred of our closest friends."

His eyes narrow and fix. "We stay for two hours, anyone who doesn't fit into that time frame clearly doesn't matter. And then you show me to our room, and I prove to you, over and over and over again that this is the best night of my life." 

They don’t last an hour.

[dumbsnakefan]

Thou Shalt Love

Chapter 2: In You I Take Refuge

A/N: This took longer than expected but here it is! Also, if you want me to tag you in the next chapter please let me know!

Hidden away in a small Inn in a town surrounded by only nature, Nea watched over Allen’s prone figure. A thin layer of sweat covered his nephew’s body from exertion. His mind still tried to fight the inevitable of his awakening. Well, Nea supposed that Allen was too stubborn to ever give in so easily. Not that it wouldn’t make a difference in the end. The Noah memories were like an unrestrained storm as they tore into the brain.

Letting out an aggravated sigh Nea said to himself, “Why did that bastard Cross have to die on me like that? He always manages to piss me off.” His eye twitched as he remembered the debts the man had hoisted upon his former host. Despite all his hatred for the General there were too many questions left unanswered. From what Timcanpy had shown him Allen had forgotten everything. What’s more, he had gotten younger. It was like trying to put together a puzzle without most of the pieces.

Had Cross not had answers for that at least Nea could have used his magical skills. That four eyed idiot had done something strange and outside his own abilities. As best he could figure, however, their “separation” hadn’t accounted for the Noah gene. He could laugh if not for the absolute mess of it all.

There was something strange about this memory as well. It was like none of the others as far as he could tell. Allen’s inner Noah was swaddling him in a thorny embrace, like a babe in need of protection. Compared to his own, a destructive thing that had him clawing at his skin in agony, it was soft. Nea felt an urge to pull his nephew close and never let go again. The strangeness of Allen’s memory was oddly fitting.

Lacking any new information to dissect Nea could only move on to other things. Specifically how the Noah family would react to this. Like Nea they had to have felt the surge of a new memory breaking into the world. They would want to pull him away from the dreaded 14th as soon as they could, lest he “corrupt” their new brother. A smile stretched across Nea’s lips as he swore to keep his dearest friend by his side.

What a family reunion they’d be having. If Mana had any real sanity left Nea would have liked to share one last tender moment before the end. Fate and that detestable God were not so kind as to give any Noah such a merciful gift though. They would forever seek to destroy them for being in the way. Should Nea succeed he would put an end to their farce. His brother would be freed at long last.

Keeping Allen far away from this whole affair was very important. The attachment he’d formed with Mana could turn into a crushing weight when the truth was revealed. Those bonds of father and son were already so entangled with tragedy; Nea wouldn’t let another disaster play out. Mana’s insanity could drag them all down if left unchecked.

From what Timcanpy had shown of Allen’s time as Red, his brother had been attached at the hip with him. Nea knew that he’d forgotten it all just by the way he treated his nephew. That didn’t mean that Mana wasn’t drawn to him, oh no. Even when not a wisp of Nea’s presence had been visible the Earl had targeted Allen. Drawn like a moth to a flame, they circled each other. Now under the calming lull of the Noah memory inside Allen Mana would chase him wholeheartedly.

Then there was the other Noah to consider. Road and Joyd seemed to have the strongest bond with Allen of the family. While the others weren’t as close, they all appeared interested when interacting with him. Being a true part of the family could only grow their connection. It made Nea sick just thinking about it. The need to keep Allen close and out of their grubby hands echoed from his own Noah.

Wasn’t keeping Allen by his side the best way to make sure he was safe? Those disgusting roaches that scuttled about the Order were still searching for Allen. Nea had seen how easily they had hurt their beloved comrade. All throughout the past Timcanpy had shown Nea there had been pain. His nephew’s past was a constant spiral of suffering. Taking him away from the world that was so ready to tear him apart could only be a kindness.

Tension had built to a boiling point in Nea’s body and he forced himself to release it. In an attempt to calm down he scouted closer to the bed. A new bead of blood pooled along Allen’s stigmata that Nea wiped away. Unconsciously he pushed into the contact. Warmth bloomed in Nea’s chest. Seeing his dearest friend like this, utterly peaceful, was something he’d truly missed.

His senses registered the Noah memory shift from it’s dormant state and Nea braced for another wave of pain. More blood flowed down from Allen’s forehead as he became restless. The once lax expression of sleep twisted in pain. That’s when the screaming started, scratching Allen’s throat raw. It was hard not to wince at the sheer volume of his screams.

As the screams faded out Nea felt a new presence join them. Annoyed and reluctant to leave Allen’s side Nea turns to face the intruder. Standing before him is the Demon Eye, expression a mask of indifference. Rage so obviously simmers behind the facade but Nea finds it as threatening as a wet kitten.

His smile is packed full of malice as he says, “Didn’t know they’d let you come alone to see me kid.” The twitch of annoyance from Wisely’s reincarnation is so sweet. “You’d think with how easily I killed you last time you would all be a bit more careful.” Bloodlust oozes off Nea in waves, making the air thick with it.

Only when Allen’s scream rise back up does he stop. Nea is so tempted to return to his side to comfort him. The possibility of an attack is what holds him back. Wisely would be more than happy to slit his throat and take Allen away for good; or at least attempt to. There was no way Nea would give him that kind of opening.

“Would it kill you to be nicer, dearest 14th? I’m here to give you some friendly advice after all.” The moniker has Nea gnashing his teeth. He knows that smug bastard is enjoying himself. What an asshole.

Tilting his head Wisely says, “Like you’re one to talk. You really hold the title of world's biggest asshole.” Of course the little creep was reading his mind. Even in his new life Wisely refused to learn what privacy means.

Moving closer to the other Noah, Nea glares down with cold eyes. “Cut this bullshit and tell me why you’re really here.”

“We won’t let you keep him from us.” The brat dares to step closer to Allen and Nea watches him like a hawk for a single misstep. “You can’t hide no matter how hard you try. Someday soon we’ll bring our brother home, where he belongs.”

Something in Nea snaps. Anger grips his heart like a vice. Unwilling and unable to hold back, he shoots towards Wisely. His hand wraps around the bastard's neck. Blood drips from where his fingernails bite into WIsely’s skin as Nea squeezes his windpipe. The choked panic gives him no satisfaction. Painting the walls red with his blood is what he needs now.

His grip tightens, drawing a wheeze from the pathetic Noah. “He’s mine. Allen is mine.” Nea says with unhinged glee. “You can never take him from me. I’ll kill every single one of you if you try.”

It’s only when a burst of stabbing pain sweeps over Nea’s mind that he returns to reality. He let’s go reluctantly, Wisely falling at his feet. Such a shame he couldn’t kill him, but Nea is patient. Now is not the right time to crush Wisely beneath his foot. Later he’ll make sure to make his end painful.

Between satisfying coughing fits Wisely manages to bite out, “Ru-Road said to, guh, give you a warning for old t-times sake.” The venom behind the glare he gives Nea is almost impressive. “Shouldn’t have listened to her. You deserve to watch as your world crumbles around you and you fail.” It makes him laugh, the thought that Nea would lose to the likes of him.

Wisely’s face twists up in amusement. Nea keeps himself in check as he moves towards Allen. Fighting this close to Allen could only end in disaster. Even as the rat bastard patted his nephew’s head he held back. Truly, his restraint was worthy of the highest praise.

“I can’t wait to see what our new brother is capable of. He was already such an interesting human...” The little shit was lost in his own mind as he brushed hair off Allen’s forehead. It’s a herculean effort on Nea’s behalf to stay his hand. Perhaps killing him was worth the risk after all?

However, what Wisley said next stopped him dead in his tracks. “I do wonder why the Earl is already so attached to Allen?” What? No, this can’t possibly be happening; it’s too early. “I knew that you’d have answers. There’s something slipping just outside my reach, no matter how hard I search.”

Desperately Nea snaps his mind shut to leave only unrelated drivel in its wake. He needs to throw the Demon Eye Noah off his scent. Now. “Why don’t you ask Mana yourself?” The wince he gets is a good sign. Raising his voice and stepping into Wisley’s space Nea tells him, “Now get out of my sight.”

Gold meets gold as they assess each other for weakness. Finding nothing, Wisley moves to finally leave them be. With every step Nea feels better. On the threshold of the door, however, he turns back. Body going tense Nea prepares for whatever the creep plans to throw his way next.

“Before I go, you might want to find a new hiding place. There are some Akuma out there who aren’t very good a t playing nice.” An Explosion rocks the building, punctuating his statement. The string of curses that Nea lets out would have a sailor blushing. “Hope you enjoy yourself 14th!” His smug face watches on as Nea fumbles for their things. The Ark gate behind him swallows Wisely up but Nea pays it no mind.

Screams fill the air in a terrible crescendo of horror. With Allen out of commision Nea can only run. Scooping up his struggling nephew Nea makes sure Tim grabs their luggage. Ignoring the town below he calls up his own gate and the three disappear from sight. The humans left behind in that remote town are mowed down with mercy. Chaos creeps around every corner and the scent of blood blankets the air in a red mist. No one will discover the scene of pure carnage until weeks later.

[scripttorture]

Bit of an odd situation for this one, so I apologize if it's out of your scope. CharacterA was a child soldier in Russia, groomed from around age 6 to be an assassin and honey trap. Due to time travel bullshit, CharacterB has now found themselves in charge of a 3-year-old CharacterA who has much of the child soldier mentality and trauma still present. What kinds of lingering issues should they expect/keep an eye out for, and how could they best help this child recover? Modern setting. Thanks!

I might be able to help a little but I don’t know anything about childhood development. And that means that because of the age of the character there’s going to be a lot of important stuff I miss.

 Scripttraumasurvivors had some posts on how abuse effects childhood development and how kids at different ages express symptoms. I’d suggest taking a look at their blog.

 The impression I get is that the outlook for child soldiers is generally poorer then that of other children but there’s a lot of variability and it doesn’t necessarily have to be as bad as it is now.

 There are a lot of different factors that lead to child soldiers having shorter, poorer and less healthy lives and some of those factors can be eliminated.

 The biggest one is rejection by the community. People typically don’t want to care for child soldiers. They are often an easy target for the anger and frustration victimised communities feel towards armed groups.

 Isolation exacerbates mental health problems. Isolated children are less likely to learn acceptable social behaviour (a big problem when they’ve been taught violence is the best solution). And rejection reinforces the narrative their captors push on them: that the only home they’ll ever have is with the armed group.

 The cases I’ve read about are all with much older children. Typically child soldiers are much older then this. They’re usually in their teens.

 It’s also important to remember that ‘child soldier’ encompasses any child working within an armed group, whether they are actively fighting or not.

 Self esteem problems, mood swings and difficult behaviour (sometimes violence but more often aggression and inability to respond to social cues) all seem to be common.

 I’m not sure what these would look like in very young children. However one of the things child soldiers often talk about is difficulty going back to school, getting training or finding jobs. They’re very aware their lack of training has handicapped them. I’ve not read any accounts of them being put back in school among much younger classmates but I imagine at least some of them would find it humiliating.

 I’d say that whatever the age (and whether they’re in school or not) this character is likely to feel isolated from and unable to relate to their peers. These feelings may include a degree of jealousy that their peers have access to things Character A does not.

 I honestly don’t know how to write these complex feelings manifesting in a three year old.

 I do know that in young children the symptoms and emotions at play often get read as the child ‘being difficult’ or ‘acting out’.

 Patience and compassion are important.

 I think the other main thing to keep in mind for Character B is repetition.

 Children raised in these kinds of indoctrinating environments are- They’re subjected to a lot of repeated messages some are about things the group wants them to believe and some are ‘accidental’ lessons. So for instance the group might put a lot of effort into teaching children that ‘You can’t trust anyone outside the group’. And they might accidentally instil things like ‘Do not eat in front of bigger people because they will take your food’.

 It would be perfectly normal for Character A to be consciously aware of some of these lessons and unaware of others. For instance if they were explicitly told not to trust outsiders they’d be aware of that and able to verbalise it. But they might not be able to verbalise (or properly think through) something more complex like ‘when you raise your voice I become anxious because I associate that with anger and I associate anger with emotional or physical abuse.’

 This is something that applies to adult survivors and I expect it would be more pronounced in children: people can’t always explain why something feels bad or even what about the situation made it bad.

 Which means that care takers like Character B need to be patient and be careful about the behaviours/lessons they reinforce.

 Any rejection, however small it seems, could be read as ‘evidence’ for that common cult-style lesson that ‘no one outside the group can be trusted, no one outside the group will care about you’.

 Undermining these things takes a lot of time. And it can be complicated by the fact that someone can know a feeling is irrational yet still feel it.

 Again repetition, providing a consistently safe and nurturing environment, is key.

 Any form of physical punishment, whether it’s smacking, sending a child to bed without supper or making them stand in a corner, should be avoided. There’s considerable evidence that smacking at any level is harmful to children. In this particular story I think any sort of physical punishment would worsen the relationship between carer and child, while also reinforcing the message that the people who trained Character A were right.

 Beyond that I tend to get a bit more vague because while I know a little about child soldiers there’s still a lot more reading I need to do.

 There is a lot of variety in outlooks and outcomes for former child soldiers.

 A fair proportion of them go on to have normal lives and contribute to their communities. That proportion increases when there are concerted efforts to welcome them back and care for them.

 Some former child soldiers are scoped up by criminal groups. I personally think that a lot of this is because of communal rejection and a lack of other options. Without schooling and skills former child soldiers are relatively easy targets.

 I don’t have a breakdown of common mental illnesses in former child soldiers. The general symptoms of trauma are typically the same regardless of the trauma, so you could pick some symptoms from the list on this Masterpost here. They would all be in the realm of possibility even if I can’t tell you how common or uncommon they’d be for child soldiers in particular.

 I haven’t read enough about or by child soldiers to feel confident guessing a number of symptoms. If the character survives abuse or torture as part of their time as a soldier then I’d suggest following the guidelines in the Masterpost of around 3-5 symptoms.

 Because we don’t have any way to predict which individual survivors develop which particular symptoms I always recommend approaching this choice as an author and considering what works best with the story.

 You might want to rule out using some symptoms because of the character’s age. You’ll also want to consider how the character’s age would effect the expression of symptoms.

 Anxiety (and related mental health problems) can cause a rapid heart rate, pain in the chest, shakes and a light headed, dizzy feeling. Depression (and related mental health problems) can manifest as tiredness, lack of appetite (or conversely much increased appetite) and nausea (sometimes vomiting).

 In a character who can’t necessarily express what they’re feeling (who doesn’t know mental health terms) these symptoms can be confused with physical illness.

 My impression, based purely on anecdotes, is that many mentally ill children are labelled as ‘problem children’ long before there’s a suggestion that they might be unwell. It can be difficult to know how to help someone who doesn’t have the vocabulary or experience to express what is wrong and how to fix it.

 It’s also really natural, whatever the character’s age is, to get angry at the lack of understanding and accommodations for mental illness. It’s especially difficult to be patient when you’re in pain.

 The only other thing I can think of in terms of Character A is that they’d probably say a lot of things adults would find very disturbing.

 They’ll not only have been exposed to a lot of… It’s not even really ‘age inappropriate’ so much as inhumane things. They’re told these things are normal. They’re used to being praised for them.

 If this child is used to being given positive attention for- Pointing out how someone could be manipulated or killed then they are likely to do it once they begin to trust Character B.

 And the problem here is that responding with horror, or telling the child to stop can damage their trust in the adult. It can feel like rejection and it can be difficult for very young children to understand why something they were previously praised for is now wrong. Even when a child understands being unable to express or share things they’ve come to see as ‘normal’ is difficult.

 All of which boils down to this: Character B has a damned difficult job ahead of them.

 It is hard to rehabilitate traumatised kids even for professionals with experience. For someone who doesn’t have that background it’s stressful, intense and they might not expect so many moments when things seem to get worse instead of better.

 They need a lot of patience and an absolute commitment to winning Character A’s trust. Which could take months or more. Consistently providing a stable, safe, loving environment is essential.

 What that should look like to best serve the characters isn’t a question I can answer precisely.

 There’s a list of sources on child soldiers here that you might find helpful. Also my salty complaints about Cambridge University Press’ search function.

 Barber’s book (which I haven’t read yet) focuses primarily on recover and rehabilitation so it might be helpful to you. However age is a factor and I am unsure how many children in Barber’s data set were under 14.

 I hope that helps :)

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[ineffably-good]

Flufftober #19: Cooking (Good Omens)

Summary: Crowley is acting suspicious. Aziraphale channels his inner James Bond.

__

Crowley was up to something, Aziraphale knew it. The demon was suddenly acting shifty and jumpy, snatching his phone up whenever the latest message notification arrived and quickly scanning it while keeping the screen tilted and out of view.

Aziraphale was, in a word, disturbed. He was even more disturbed when the demon started disappearing somewhere every Wednesday evening, without reasonable explanation. He'd mumble something about checking with his contacts, demon work to do, checking the warding on the neighborhood. He never accepted offers of company, and he was always gone exactly two and a half hours. When he came back, he smelled like food and waved off all inquiries with garbled comments that weren't quite lies but added no light to the situation. It was decidedly odd.  

On the third such week, Aziraphale waved goodbye with a sick feeling in his stomach and spent that evening worrying and fretting and trying to decide what to do. He thought back over the last few months and tried to decide if he’d done something to push Crowley away; he couldn’t put his finger on any such incident. If anything, things seemed to have been going exceptionally well in the last six months; in fact, they’d been nearly inseparable since they had the big fight about Aziraphale’s lying and spent those tortuous ten days apart. Both of them seemed to hold onto the other with increased ferver for having faced and surmounted their first large problem, and Aziraphale had thought they were well and truly past it.

And now here they were, he thought sadly, with the demon hiding things from him. The irony did not escape him.

There must, Aziraphale thought, be someone else. The thought cracked something inside of him and he batted it away but it kept returning. Why else would Crowley keep claiming to be going off to run errands and then coming back smelling like he’d been in a restaurant?

He resolved to follow him the next time he went out. Time to face this head on. 

++

Aziraphale immediately went into full on spy mode. Always one to start with wardrobe, he spent some time thinking of the best outfit in which to surveil his demon. Clearly his usual outfit was of no use – he’d stick out like a sore thumb in any dark shadows in his light colored clothing and his bright hair. He considered a cape, but reluctantly discarded it in the end for a soft gray suit he rarely wore, and experimented with his various shoes to see which might be the least likely to give him away.

Next, he scouted the nearby streets around the neighborhood and mentally bookmarked a number of good points for discretely watching the pavement and various intersections. He could never just trail along behind Crowley outright – the demon was much too cagey not to notice that. No, this was a game that required skill, and he was going to have to play it extremely well.

The following Wednesday, when Crowley left, he watched the direction he headed off in, then snapped his fingers to change himself instantly into what he now thought of as his spy suit. He then tucked a fedora down on his head to hide his shock of bright hair, and magicked himself to the first observation point he’d selected, about a block and half away in the right direction. He used a little extra grace to dampen the field of angelic energy associated with his reappearance, so that hopefully Crowley wouldn’t notice it.

Crowley passed by on the opposite side of the street, seemingly none the wiser, and turned left down the next corner without a look behind him. Aziraphale crept to the corner and watched to see if he continued down that road, then again used a muted miracle to ferret himself a bit ahead of Crowley where he could watch him undetected. This time he overshot the mark a bit – he watched behind him as Crowley approached and turned again rather than passing by. This put him a bit off the map of Aziraphale’s scouted locations, so the angel had to go off script and follow him on foot for a while. He did so as carefully as he could, lingering almost a block behind and on the other side of the street.

He managed to get away with it, mostly because Crowley arrived at his destination very shortly thereafter – a sushi restaurant Aziraphale had never been to. Crowley stopped at the door, straightened out his jacket and ran a hand through his hair, and then went inside. Aziraphale inched closer until he could see through the front windows as Crowley was greeted by the girl behind the bar with obvious affection, and then a tall, well-appointed, elegant Japanese man came out of the back room to kiss him on both cheeks and shepherded him out of sight into a private room.

Crowley looked, Aziraphale had to admit, delighted to see him.

Aziraphale didn’t stop to allow any emotion at the time; it was too dangerous with Crowley so attuned to his feelings to allow any response he might pick up on. Instead he paced, circling the block multiple times, knowing Crowley would be some time before he emerged. He poured energy into shielding the prickling rage he was feeling. He fidgeted. He dug his nails into his palms. He shifted his weight from foot to foot. And through it all, he stared through the window towards the door Crowley had disappeared through earlier.

After an interminably long time, Crowley appeared. The elegant, slender man he’d seen earlier came with him, carrying a small bag. He laid an affectionate hand on Crowley’s shoulder and handed the bag to him, wreathed in smiles. They both appeared to laugh.

Aziraphale lost his grip on his shielding as a spike of white-hot rage rose up in his chest. He couldn’t help it; he glowered ferociously at the pair.

In the bar, Crowley’s head swiveled fast towards the windows, his golden eyes wide with shock.

Aziraphale leapt back as if he’d been burned, but it was too late. He knew he’d been seen.

Aziraphale slammed himself back home and materialized in their bedroom, where he first paced in a circle, and then for lack of anything better to do, began balling up Crowley’s clean laundry which was laying in a nicely-folded pile. Messing with someone’s laundry was, in Aziraphale’s world, a declaration of war. Take that, he thought fiercely, dropping a button down shirt on the floor in a sloppy pile.

There was a whump of air and Crowley appeared five feet away from him.

“Angel, what the hell?” he asked, worriedly. “Was that you outside the restaurant?”

Aziraphale wadded up a shirt and threw it directly into Crowley’s face. “Why yes it was,” he snapped. “And the game is up, my dear. I saw you!”

Crowley pulled the shirt off of himself and looked confused. “You saw what, exactly?”

Aziraphale threw another balled up shirt at him, harder. It hit Crowley in the face with a slapping sound. “I saw you with your new friend,” he yelled, “being all… all… affectionate.”

Crowley pulled the shirt off with a little more force and tossed it at the bed. “Stop that,” he said, “and calm down! What are you talking about?”

“Oh don’t you play innocent with me,” Aziraphale said, tossing yet another shirt at him, hard enough to sting when it caught him in the cheek. “I saw him kiss you! And I know you’ve been lying to me and sneaking off for weeks!”

Crowley flipped the shirt to the floor and leapt forward, grasping Aziraphale by both wrists, hard. “Stop hitting me with things!” he snapped. “You’re being ridiculous! Whatever you thought you saw, you’re wrong!”

The angel struggled against him for a moment, and then he seemed to lose his fight all together and sat heavily down onto the bed behind him. Crowley sat down next to him but still didn’t release his arms.

“I understand,” Aziraphale said, forlornly. “He seems lovely. He’s certainly tall and handsome and – and slim!” His voice cracked a little on that word. “I can see why you might be interested in someone like that. I won’t stand in your way if it’s something you need to get out of your system — ”

“Aziraphale have you lost your  –” the demon said quietly.

“ — and I hear this is a thing that happens after you’ve been together for a while,” Aziraphale continued, not even noticing the interruption. “And well, two years isn’t truly all that long,  but then again it’s been six millennia if you look at it differently, and maybe you just need a little bit of a distraction and I can do it, I can learn to cope, as long as you come back to me after –”

“Aziraphale I’m not –” the demon said a little louder.

“—after you’re done,” he continued, beginning to bristle. “Because you have to. I refuse to let you go, no matter who this man is. I will be able to forgive you, eventually. I am an angel, after all -- ”

“AZIRAPHALE!” Crowley shouted, shocking the angel into silence. “I’m not having an affair.”

“You’ve been meeting this man in restaurants!” Aziraphale said, eyes narrowed. “He kissed you! They all knew you there!”

Crowley groaned. “I’m taking a cooking class, you absolute moron!”

Aziraphale stared at him disbelievingly and said nothing for several long moments.

“Wh-what?”

“Wednesday nights at seven. Sushi making. They hold it in the back, in the banquet room.” Crowley looked like he couldn’t decide whether to be cross or amused.

Aziraphale swallowed. “Why would you do that?”

“Because, you idiot,” Crowley said, “It was a surprise. For our anniversary next month. I was going to make you sushi at home.” The demon opened the bag he had dropped earlier and showed Aziraphale the bamboo sushi rolling pad and special rice vinegar he’d purchased.

Aziraphale felt the blood drain from his face as the anger was replaced with shock and then horror. He opened and closed his mouth several times, unable to decide on what to say, and finally just groaned hopelessly and flopped back onto the bed, crossing his arms over his eyes. He waited quietly for the earth to open and swallow him up. It failed to happen, but the room did seem to spin agreeably for a moment.

“I am such an arse,” he moaned.

“I didn’t know you had a jealous streak, angel,” Crowley said, settling on amused.

“Neither did I,” the angel moaned, still not uncovering his face.

“I’m somewhat touched,” Crowley said, “that you went to such lengths. Even changed your clothes, did you? You did a good job following me, I never felt you there until the very end.”

Aziraphale hurrumphed. “I do have some skills outside of book bindery, you know.”

Crowley laid down on his side next to the angel and laid a hand on his hair, stroking softly. “Angel, I would never cheat on you,” he said. “I’m a little insulted you would even consider it. How could you think I would ever look at anyone else when I have you?”

Aziraphale pulled one arm away from his face and looked at Crowley a little reproachfully. “Oh, I don’t know. Because you were being very suspicious? All secretive? Sneaking about?”  

Crowley thought about it. “I suppose you have a point. I should’ve realized you’d notice something was up.”

“Of course I noticed,” Aziraphale said. “I notice everything about you.”

“Well,” Crowley said, “let’s call this one a draw. You overreacted, I underestimated, we both messed up. Okay?” He leaned in and gave the angel a soft kiss.

“Oh my dear,” the angel said, kissing him back on each eyelid. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You do,” Crowley said. “Can’t think of anyone more deserving, myself.”

Aziraphale stopped to consider the potential double meanings of that, and then gave up and wrapped his arm around the demon. He’d done enough thinking for one night.

[randombtsprincessa]

Adulation

Author: Randombtsprincessa

Characters: Kim Taehyung x Reader (2nd POV)

Words: 24.8k

Genre: Angst/Smut

Summary: Your Actor Charge seems to have a gigantic crush on you. When a blast from the past hit you both, will you stay? Or will you leave?

Warning: Mentions of Sexual Harrassment, Taehyung is a hot jerk, Pool Make Out, Reader is kind of a jerk too, Sasaeng activity, jealousy, drunk fighting, Dom! Reader (Kinda), Sub! Tae (Kinda), Mild Nipple Play (Male Receiving), Fingering, Protected Sex, Sexual themes.

A/N: I know, I’m sorry.

A loud blare went through the night, shrill and ear piercing, making the huddled up and covered figure jolt in bed. Your quiet cocoon shivered before groaning, a hand appearing from an opening in the burrow and feeling about for the infernal device.

The moment your fingers brushed the case, you yanked it inside the darkness enveloping you. the sound of wires pulling away and the charger dropping to the crowded nightstand made you grunt again but you could care less at the moment as you swiped at the accept option without opening your eyes completely.

The person on the other side of the line started talking immediately; not even waiting for you to say ‘hello’ and the sharp panic in the voice only made you wince; trying to crawl away from it.

“Stop, stop, stop…! I am not getting in a word of what you’re saying and I have no idea who you are so if you don’t take it down a notch and start from the top I’m hanging up and turning my damn phone off.” You snapped, knowing fully you couldn’t do anything like that.

The voice took a deep breath and sighed.

“It’s me, and I did it. Today, right now, I just submitted the letter and I am, for lack of a better word, fucked.”

You sighed, discerning your friend’s voice and pushed yourself towards more consciousness.

“What happened?” you asked, pulling a hand down your face.

“Ok, so I went up to the man and handed in my notice and he read through it – he actually read through it – and then tells me that I can’t quit because there’s a clause in our contract that basically means the previous manager can’t quit unless he finds another and he hasn’t found another and so I can’t leave.”

“How did you not know this clause?” you asked.

“I don’t know! I was so hyped about leaving I didn’t talk to his lawyers.”

“Mil,” you sighed, and she returned it equally.

“I know, I know what you’re going to say but please, you need to help me,” she begged.

“What can I possibly do?” you asked, horror creeping through to you at the thought of whatever it was she was going to ask you to do.

“Please, it’s only for a few days till he finds someone, till then I just need you to fill in for me. You know I can’t let this new job go…I mean it’s Minho for God’s sake! I’ll do anything.”

You glanced at the digital clock next to you. 2:13, the brilliant letters told you and you shook you head. It was too early for this.

“I don’t do temp jobs anymore, Mil. Those days are long gone. Besides I’m on vacation. I just started a day ago; I cannot just start a new job out of nowhere…especially temporarily.”

“I know, Y/N, I know, I just…oh come on, this is a once in a lifetime thing for both of us. If you work with him, you can work with anyone and his name on your resume is going to make it stellar.”

“I already have a stellar resume. I don’t need to add his name to it. You’re going to have to ask someone else.” You said; about to pull away from the conversation, ready to sleep again.

“Consider this a favor then, I’ll owe you. Take him on permanently. Both of you will be a whole lot better for it and who knows, you might just put him straight and enjoy doing it. Plus it’s you, you have a glowing reputation and he’d be a bigger idiot than he is to let you go. He’d even let you set the terms.” Your friend said finally.

You could tell it was a last desperate attempt and even though your better judgment told you to tell her no and hang up, your sleep deprived state was looking for ways to make this conversation end as soon as possible. You didn’t know if Mil was going to just give up and you didn’t look forward to having this one again.

“Fine, I’ll do it but it has to be all in the way I want it, ok?” you said, gritting your teeth at having to wake up at a reasonable hour again but you heard the distinct relief in hers.

“Oh my god, thank you, Y/N! Yes, he’ll play nice, I promise. You won’t regret it, I swear.” She said.

I already do, you thought grimly.

Even as the line went dead and you were left to ponder about either going to bed or getting some work done now that you were going to be employed again you smacked your head with the heel of your palm.

“What did you just do, you fool?” you griped at yourself.

Working within the circles of celebrities and the upper elite had always been your forte, given your skills of talking someone into doing stuff and eloquent manner. It had been your calling and you loved it.

You had worked from the very bottom the moment you’d left university, taking the experience you’d had being TAs and applying it to manage and acting as secretary to lower and upper socialites.

You had been successful in proving yourself, working your way up the ladder of the elite, from low level CEOs and COOs to high level corporate owners.

Your resume was filled with credentials and financial help from the very best and slowly, the Entertainment Industry started to set their eyes on you, hiring you to work their PR and to manage their celebrities and artists.

It had taken a while, but now you had the financial means and street name to take and own your clientele.

And it was a very impressive clientele, ranging from professional Entertainment company owners to famous artists. Your last client, Kim Jennie had hired you to manage her entire American tour and it had pulled off spectacularly. Grateful and leaving with a good bond, she’d offered you a nice long vacation period and you’d accepted generously.

You’d now have to deposit the money in the bank, you decided, your brain categorizing your work now that you had some to do again.

You loved your work, no denying it, since it kept you within the world of the stars but there was always the exhaustion and dealing with things that put many a dark circles under your eyes.

Deciding to forego sleep for the time being and adding it to the contract you’d draw up; you pushed away the blankets, reaching for the laptop on the other side of the bed.

Yes, the other side of your king sized bed was taken up by the only significant other you had in your life right now; work. It was the mark of how you lived in opulence by working your ass off.

An hour on the laptop later, the money you’d earned from Jennie and the vacation pay off were safely in your growing bank account and after signing off at various charities that you supported, you’d turned to searching for the name you were going to work for next: Kim Taehyung.

You had heard of him of course, everyone had.

Kim Taehyung was an extremely established person in the world of the performing arts. He was an actor, model, singer, photographer and painter. He was basically an all rounder in the entertainment world and his company, Big Hit raked in tons of money from his endeavors alone.

He ranked on the list of richest men and the most handsome faces every year, not to mention he was the supreme dream boat, wet dream to the collective female population of the world.

He was too good to be true to be very honest.

But you…you were privy to the news from the underbelly of the entertainment world and yes, you knew for a fact that he was too good to be true.

Kim Taehyung was absolutely filthy and you weren’t talking about his money or looks.

From what the whispering mouths of his staff relayed to their friends and they relayed to their friends, Kim Taehyung was a serial womanizer, flirted with anything that moved and was the epitome of an inappropriate spoiled brat.

That told you everything you needed to know about people like him: talent wasn’t shit if the package was rotten.

And you were about to be employed to him…

If you were a masochist, you’d agree with Mil and enjoy being employed by a giant douche, but you could already see the massive amount of control you’d have to have over the contract and the man himself. Reeling him in would be cheaper than the damage control he did probably.

You lingered on a particular picture of him, maybe by a fan cam in which he was just turning, giving a glorious view of his profile, chiseled and drool worthy.

You idly wondered how many pregnancy scares and blackmail he handled on the daily basis then shuddered, putting the thought away until you had to be the one doing it for him.

Basically Kim Taehyung was Tony Stark before Iron Man and Pepper Potts.

You were not happy at that prospect at all.

The marble flooring of the halls of Big Hit echoed the sounds of your footsteps way too loud for your sleep deprived ears as you marched your way down to the main office for the contract negotiation.

You were dressed as austerely as possible, your outfit reminiscent of a funeral but you did not want to encourage any nonsense from the lawyers.

If the man was as bad as rumors denoted, you had to be very cautious in what the lawyers tried to lure you in. you planned to be the one with the higher hand in every key of the contract and you weren’t going to take no for an answer.

Your hand reached out for the steel handle to the double doors and you pushed it open, sticking your head around the corner.

To your relief, your lawyer was already present inside, staring out the glass windows. At the other side of the long pale wood table sat two more suited men, one flipping through a black folder and another murmuring to the first one. They looked up at your entrance and the cursory frown vanished from their faces.

“Ah, you must be Miss Y/L/N,” the first stood up, making your lawyer turn to look at you too.

Park Chanyeol walked over to you, hand emerging from his pocket to encase yours.

“Y/N,” he said warmly and you returned the handshake, smiling up at him.

“Bet you weren’t expecting that call, huh?” You asked.

“Well, you’re my friend before my client and although I wish you would take some time off, I can’t deny your workaholic self pays my bills.” He chuckled before lowering his voice. “Still, I wasn’t expecting this.” he said.

“Blame it on too much stress and not enough rest.” You returned, eyeing the men watching you two.

“You’re only going to get more stress with this one.” He warned.

“That’s why you’re here.” you told him, dropping his hand to finally face Big Hit’s lawyer.

“Hello, my name is Y/N Y/L/N,” You said, forwarding your hand to shake theirs and the other man took it first, looking at you curiously.

“You’re quite young, if you don’t mind me saying so. When we got your references, I pictured you older.” He said.

“Yes, I get that a lot but trust me; I probably look older than I am. The type of work I do tends to do that to you.” you said, shrugging.

“I’m sure it does,” the man laughed. “I’m Bang Sihyuk, owner and CEO of Big Hit Entertainment.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” you said, looking at the other man who took your hand next.

“Park Jinyoung, pleasure’s all mine, and what exactly would you say you do?” he asked.

You flashed him a wide grin, glad he wanted to get to the point fast. “Everything that is needed to be done,” you replied.

A flash of confusion passed his face and he glanced at his boss before gesturing for us to take the chairs.

“I’m a little confused. I thought you were a manager.” He said, pulling out a pen and clicking it open.

Chanyeol took the seat beside me as we faced them.

“That’s correct. My primary work function is of a manager but I do more than just managerial duties. I’ve broadened a few of my horizons and now I can also assist, handle public relations, the image of a person and assorted media duties.” You said, watching him raise his eyebrows, making a small note in the folder.

“Provided it is only one person, she is not going to offer more services if more than one party are involved.” Chanyeol put in quickly and Jinyoung nodded.

“Naturally,”

“Miss Y/L/N, as I have it, you are the replacement Mil is offering in return for giving her notice, as a forward on her clause of duties? To be honest, you’re a little over qualified to be working a temporary job.” Jinyoung said.

“I’m not going to work a temp job. I will take the job of permanent staff for the contractual period.” You explained and both men exchanged looks.

“I have the initial draw of the contract my client wishes to present.” Chanyeol indicated the folder in front of Jinyoung who nodded reading through it again.

“Most of the keys benefit you,” he shot at you and I smiled at sweetly as I could.

“Well, I was supposed to be on vacation and I’m doing this as a favor especially for a man who is known for being troublesome.” You leant back in your seat. Jinyoung opened his mouth but Sihyuk made a motion.

“That’s acceptable; we could use someone of your caliber in this position. I just hope you can handle it.” Sihyuk sighed and I immediately knew that Taehyung was more than a handful.

And speaking of the devil…

The doors flung open and a loud cry of ‘Please, Mr. Kim!’ announced the arrival of Kim Taehyung himself.

“Hey people!”

You turned to get the first in person look at Kim Taehyung and you had to say, you were pretty freaking impressed.

The tall dark haired man, his sleek built emphasized by the expensive sweater and jeans would’ve been enough to catch eyes but the face was where your eyes stopped.

You could’ve spent hours describing Kim Taehyung but you decided to categorize his face in one department: Fucking Gorgeous.  

He grinned widely, a boxy smile revealing teeth as he beamed good naturedly at the group of people collected in the room and for a second you doubted everything you’d ever heard about the man. Surely this beautiful angel of a man with that childlike smile and twinkle in his eyes couldn’t be as devilish as the tabloids and his own staff bemoaned.

“I heard you were getting me a new babysitter and I couldn’t sit this one out. The last one left me high and dry.”

The doubts cleared from your mind like someone wiped them over with a wet cloth and your lips pursed at the blatant innuendo. You knew that Mil was definitely a woman of honor and wouldn’t have encouraged any sexual harassment. So, that rested your mind that Kim wouldn’t be used to something like that but with that face you knew he got enough sex.

Mr. Sihyuk winced loudly and gave you an apologetic look.

“Taehyung, this is Y/N Y/L/N, she has agreed to take you on a client in Mil’s absence.” He introduced and Taehyung swung around to look at you.

You watched him blankly as he took you from head to toe, clicking his tongue once.

“She’s pretty but eh,” he loudly whispered to Jinyoung, making your eyes flit to him in reflex and to maybe also see his reaction to understand if you were going to be cornered against Kim Taehyung.

If that was the case, with everyone taking the corner of their Golden Child and ganging up on you, you were glad that Taehyung had shown up. This would give you a feel for your colleagues and you’d walk away with zero hesitation, saving yourself and the people working for you, like Chanyeol some major headache.

Jinyoung for his part only looked away from Taehyung, choosing to instead flip through your contract and avoid everyone’s gaze.

There was a pause in which everyone waited for a reaction, something to explode maybe, for the ball to drop.

Taehyung was blatantly grinning at his CEO who looked uncomfortable and both lawyers looked away from everyone, Chanyeol already looking like he wanted to be dead asleep while you chose to simply watch Taehyung.

His stance was easy as if he’d been in this position tons of time, CEO in the room and people’s discomfort choking the air. He was obviously spoilt by everyone because even though nobody wanted to say it out loud, he paid everyone’s bills in the company and lorded over the fact that he was their most important piece, the other artists simply pawns on the chessboard.

He was basically one of the sons of your earlier powerful bosses, who seemed to think they had some right over you because you worked for their fathers. Well, he was only… ‘More’…

So, if that’s how he wanted to play this…

“If you’re looking for the sexual harassment clause it’s at the very end.” You spoke up, arms resting gently on the chair handle and legs crossed, leaning back easily to display a position of power, of detachment.

Mr. Sihyuk immediately spluttered, Jinyoung sighed and Taehyung raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t usually put one of those in a first draft contract, I usually feel out the place and people before going to that but I’m sure you’ll understand why I made an exception in this case.” You said.

Mr. Sihyuk was already opening his mouth to protest but I ran over him, turning to Taehyung instead.

“You just made my foresight worth the time, Mr. Kim.”

“Miss Y/L/N, I assure you,” Mr. Sihyuk began but this time it was Taehyung who cut him off.

“Calling someone pretty is inappropriate now?” he asked.

“Certainly not, but whatever else you had in mind definitely would’ve been. This just ensures that we both keep our minds on work.”

You turned to look at Chanyeol.

“I think we have what we need.” You said and he nodded, swiping the drafted copy from under Jinyoung’s fingers.

“I can have the final contract done and ready to sign by both parties by the end of the week.” He said.

You looked at Bang Sihyuk who glanced back at Jinyoung and then nodded.

“That works for us. Welcome to Big Hit, Y/N.” he said.

You nodded and were about to turn to Chanyeol to leave when a hand forwarded itself into your line of sight. You followed it to see your prospective charge, eyeing you with a decided gleam in his eye.

“I’m going to enjoy working with you, Miss Y/L/N.” he said, his voice dripping with courtesy.

You stared at him for a full half minute before taking his hand in a grip that was harder than necessary. “I look forward to it.” you grinned, revealing your teeth just as he had done and you swore you saw his eyes briefly flash to your mouth, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand as he pulled away.

“Y/N,” Chanyeol said and you nodded, following him as he opened the door for you, letting you out of the conference room.

You could feel Kim Taehyung’s eyes boring into the back of your head but you could only smirk.

If that’s how he wanted to play this…you were game.

The loud cheering from the arena perforated the concrete walls of the stage building, letting everyone hear the craze that Big Hit’s concerts generated in – what was the number? – Thousands of people, maybe even millions…

You picked up your phone to check the time, wincing at the horrifying hour and then reminded yourself that in a few minutes Taehyung would be on the stage and you would have some time to at least make a coffee run.

Your contract had been that of the lowest possible time period, since you were one of the most sought after Managers in the industry, your demand had risen till it had started to stress you out, forcing you to increase your time period working for one person or company at a time. Before you were with one job for just two years minimum but not you stayed for five years.

This allowed you a lot of time to get comfortable with your work and employer and also let you earn enough to give you some time off for at least a month or so.

However now that you were tied to Big Hit and Kim Taehyung for five years, it seemed that Taehyung was hell bent on making those five years as nerve racking and ragged for you as possible.

He made you come for him during hellish hours of the night and morning, just because he wanted supplies that he left or forgot and he got struck with inspiration.

He had stupid demands as to his diets and drinks and you’d caught him devouring a whole fried chicken bucket when he’d sent you to get him a cherry tomato salad. On confronting, he’d mocked you on how you’d been too late.

It had taken you a few weeks to figure out a pattern for Taehyung’s seemingly unpredictable antics and whims.

You started to be more prepared and kept anything and everything that he could ask for close at hand, foodstuffs, drinks, etc. when he called you about wanting supplies for his art, you happily told him you stocked up his house full of those and then hung up on him. He’d stopped calling after a few weeks of that. If he wanted to ruin his outfits ‘accidentally’ and wanted the exact outfit, you always had a replica and if he tried to frighten a poor stylist into changing his outfit at the very last minute, you stepped in almost harshly, crushing his dreams of seeing the girl squeak in fear.

Now after six months, he was still as annoying, spoilt, and bratty and showed zero change in attitude but you’d learned to grit your teeth and grin and just handle it, quickly and swiftly detracting his idiosyncrasies and phases. You still got sick and tired of him but he’d learned to mellow down nowadays, quietly agreeing to what you told him and not throwing as many tantrums as he used to.

A few girls from the staff had complimented you on your iron fist on the wild man but you knew better.

Taehyung was still flirty, teasing, and touchy to a limit that just drew the line at your clause of sexual harassment and that glint you’d caught in his eye that first day never dimmed whenever he set his eyes on you, followed by a boxy grin that was still reminiscent of an adorable child’s.

No, Kim Taehyung was a caged tiger and he was just looking for a way to escape your iron fist.

You sighed when the crowd cheering increased, almost shaking the foundations of the building, which meant that Taehyung had made it to the stage.

Sure enough, you heard his deep bass voice calling for a louder cheer and the usual babble of ‘I can’t hear you’ and ‘you can do betters’.

“Hey, Y/N,” you looked up with a tired smile at one of the other managers of the singers with Big Hit.

“You look like hell, you should go home.” She said, concerned.

“Oh, I’ll just get a coffee,” you waved it away but she just shook her head.

“No, no, you look almost dead on your feet and I know Taehyung is more than two handfuls. You go on home now, I’ll take care of everything here.” she said.

“It’s Taehyung,” You reminded her pointedly and she gave you a grim smile which showed that she knew exactly what she going into.

“I know that but if you fall ill then we’ll have to deal with him longer. Just take some downtime and get back soon. He’s a lot more amenable when you’re around and he won’t be as good a boy with you sick or gone too long.” She said.

You stared at her to see if she meant what she was saying before rubbing your eyes and nodding.

“You’re sure?” You asked one last time.

“Yes! Go girl, and hurry back,” she said and without another word you grabbed your bags and hurried out, the work car Big Hit had given you for privacy and protection already waiting for you at the front door.

You nodded at the driver’s question about heading home and shot a text to Taehyung’s phone, notifying him that you were leaving and that you weren’t feeling up to more work tonight.

You just hoped he would understand although you didn’t let yourself hope too much.

So imagine your surprise when you managed to spend an entire night with no calls from Kim Taehyung and his unreasonable demands. All except a somewhat grumpy message telling you to take the weekend off but show up at his place first thing on the next work day.

“…And to the most courageous person we know, a toast to honor her patience!”

Your head turned as one of your friends made a loud crowing call, the table you were sitting at with your friends in your favorite club rearing with supportive cheers as they all raised their glasses.

As per Taehyung’s text, you had taken a whole of two days off, an invitation from all your very busy and hard working friends to join them for long overdue drinks being the only thing that dragged you out of your bed.

You laughed as Chanyeol and Mil let out loud cries of ‘Hear, hear!’ and banged their fists on the table.

“Hats off to you, babe, I would not know how to handle him for five fucking years!” Jae told you.

“It’s the lowest number of years I have to work, you guys!” You returned.

“Doesn’t matter; anyone who willingly signs up with Kim Taehyung is a saint!” Mil said, immediately getting hushed by your more sober friends.

His name ringing outside would get your band of friends’ attention you didn’t want and would also lead to an article that could get you all kicked out.

“So, Y/N, what’s your secret, yoga?” Jae continued.

“Nope, I just learnt how to manage him.” You winked for their benefit and the buzzed crowd erupted again.

“Aww, sounds like someone has a wee little soft spot for their new manager.” One of the girls teased Mil who scoffed.

“Honestly, I don’t mind him having a crush on Y/N, as long as he doesn’t make me get up at 2 AM just to get him a fucking berry smoothie.” Mil shuddered amid sympathetic noises.

“Y/N, what would you do if he did have soft spot for you?” Chanyeol wiggled his eyebrows, teasing you about the spectacle Taehyung had created during your first meeting.

“Does it matter? I need money, not boys. I think I can work something.” You replied.

“Be careful though, he’s a vindictive jackass. Do you know one of his stylists once told him blue wouldn’t be a good color on him and he dyed his hair blue! He did it, literally out of the blue!” Mil said.

“I saw those pictures, he looked good,” Jae said.

There was a pause in which everyone turned to look at Jae who looked up from his glass at us then shrugged. “What, the dude may be an ass but he’s also got a great ass. You’d have to be blind and dumb to not want yourself a piece of that.” He said.

There was another, longer pause as people considered what he just said then shrugged too, picking up their glasses to swig at them.

“Well, he’s not wrong.” One of your friends mumbled, making Mil choke and splutter.

“Excuse you, no, no he’s wrong! You do not want to be anywhere near that, no matter how hot he is. Trust me, as someone who’s been through all his dirty fucking laundry, he’s got some very bad shit going on with himself.”

“Does he not have a dick?” Chanyeol asked, making Mil grimace at him.

“No, that he does, I’m just saying he’s not very concerned with what and who he sticks it in.” Mil said.

“Aww, Mil, don’t judge a guy for having sex.” Jae groaned.

“The woman turned out to be a Sasaeng who had stalked him before. He was too drunk to recognize her and when he woke up next to her in the morning he made me come over to make her leave because she wouldn’t. She hit me and left a bruise and also stole a few of his clothes. We had to track her and bury the issue. It took me weeks.” Mil said, anger slurring her words as she glared at Jae so hard he cowered.

She turned to me.

“He hasn’t done Sasaengs in a while now but still, he’s the worst dick you could want in you. I won’t say he’s a walking STD, but,” she shrugged as if that was exactly what she was saying.

Your friends took a minute to process this before a girl beside Jae piped up.

“I heard he wasn’t always that bad.” She said, swirling the glass in her hand as she nervously spoke up.

Mil looked at her as if she was going to say something but then nodded.

“One of my seniors was a supervisor to the current Head Stylist of Big Hit and when a lot of scandals with Taehyung dropped I heard her talking about how he was a lot better when he was a trainee.” The girl continued before looking up, cheeks reddening.

“I heard her talking about the woman who scouted him and then ruined him.”

You clinked your nails against the tip of your glass, already wondering if you were going to regret hearing this, but you were too enthralled, too interested in the underlying notes of your boss to care.

The girl stopped, perhaps for effect and the taps of your nails hardened, waiting impatiently for her to speak up.

“Has anyone heard of Yubin?”

For a second, a brief vision of a tall, beautiful woman rose up in your brain, too vague and distorted from years of unheard from absence.

People exchanged looks before Mil rolled her eyes.

“Yes, I knew Yubin, just as she retired.”

“She didn’t retire. She just stopped working.” The girl countered.

“Nobody cares, what of her?” Jae cut in.

“Well, she’s from Daegu, right, that was where she found Taehyung. She was appearing at her university and met him and brought him to Seoul to train. I don’t know when or how they must’ve started dating but once they did, he started to become moody and reserved. Soon enough they announced that they were dating and I think Taehyung was close to proposing but they broke up and she disappeared. Apparently it broke him. So he went off on a long, long bender and came back with this whole persona.”

Your clinking stopped as you went over the information, trying to match it from any article you might’ve read. This was all still back when you were in the business circles and didn’t keep up much with the entertainment side of life.

“Now Taehyung is the biggest star there is and she’s nowhere to be found.” The girl finished.

You dropped your gaze to the table, realizing you had been just made privy to information about your boss that he might not want you to know, something private from a older colleague of Taehyung had just been passed around as Over the Table gossip.

“Well, guys, it’s time for me to go, I’m supposed to start work and I’d rather not go in to him with a hangover.”

“Don’t be surprised if he has one too,” Mil said, standing up to hug you as you passed through goodnights and ‘see you later’ from the rest of the table.

You groaned with relief as you pulled off your heeled boots, flopping down into the plush of your couch and leaning your head back, eyes closed as you rolled your feet to work out the tension from having been in the death traps you wore.

Your mind was screaming at the thought of having to turn up at Taehyung’s penthouse in the morning but this was what you had signed up for.

Wondering what terror he has planned for you for taking time off, you removed what was left of your make up and showered.

The ding of your phone on the counter notified you of a text and you hurriedly exited, wrapping yourself in a towel and checking it.

The appearance of Taehyung’s face on the screen, made you gasp, pulling away and tightening your grip on the towel, thinking he’d video called you. It wasn’t until you noticed the play button on the tip of his nose that you realized it was a video message.

Grumbling at the scare, you pressed it, watching Taehyung as he adjusted himself in bed, hair tousled and cheeks flushed. Your first thought was whether he’d sent you a post jacking off video accidentally until he opened his mouth, the familiar grin and wicked glint filling his eyes as he finally turned his attention to the camera of the phone.

I hope you had a good weekend, Miss Y/L/N. I expect you to come for me bright and early tomorrow.

You raised your eyebrows as he paused unnecessarily after ‘come for me’ and rolled your eyes as he ended the video with a wink and bite of him lips, the screen darkening with a replay sign on it that you ignored.

Was it really a persona? Or had fame finally made its way to Kim Taehyung’s mind and it was a fantasy of women who wanted to ‘fix’ him?

Maybe you’d never know.

As expected of you, the next morning you arrived at Taehyung’s palatial building with a very mild throb in your head that you were sure would go away with a little TLC.

Flashing your ID at the front desk, you waited for the elevator to ding at Taehyung’s floor, your head idly lying against the cool metal, wondering what you were going to be greeted with it when you set foot on his granite flooring.

The image of Taehyung with mussed hair and swollen lips certainly made you wonder if he had been alone or even if he was then what he had been doing, a thought that you had jolted yourself out of in horror. Shaking your head like a dog, you a straightened as the ding in the metal box indicated you were where you had to be.

You poked your head out, looking around to see the spacious first floor seemingly empty and stepped out.

“Mr. Kim, it’s me,” you called.

Walking with an almost relieved sigh to his seating, you dumped the bags you were carrying onto the couches.

At first thought, anyone would think that Taehyung’s house would be cool and chic like how he acted or if the people who he interacted with had to guess, it would be something out of the Fifty Shades setting. However, you had been pleasantly surprised to see that Taehyung’s personal space was very homey and cozy, decorated tastefully in equal measures of colors, austere, wood, metal and stone.

The living room had floor to ceiling windows that depicted a stunning profile of the Seoul skyline and often times that you’d been there with him droning on you’d found yourself gazing out of them, soaking in the sight that your windows, though decent and well paid for, were unable to offer you.

You were well off and doing damn good, you just weren’t there yet to purchase a pent house, so this was your closest best bet.

“I know,” you heard him say from behind you and turned, immediately freezing to see him walk downstairs, in a loose set of tracks and his torso bare.

“Good…morning,” you said, looking over his shoulder, waiting for his conquest of the night to come downstairs but it wasn’t until he’d reached the bottom stairs and walked over to you, visage similar to the video he’d sent that you realized that he’d come alone.

“Waiting for someone?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder as well.

Busted…

“Is there someone I should be waiting for? Or rather, be prepared for…?” you countered and Taehyung smirked.

“I would like to see that, how you prepare for one of my one night stands.” He replied, taking a step closer and you rolled your eyes, feeling the throb in your head increase.

Great that was a no go for that TLC.

“Unless you bring home some psycho who I have to sue then you won’t be seeing much.” you said, about to turn around before pausing.

“Have you even taken a shower?” you asked.

Taehyung gave you a level look. “I haven’t slept with anyone, Y/N.” he said, voice grumbling again and you shrugged, digging around in one of the bags for his fresh laundry. You tossed him a clean white shirt.

For his part, Taehyung looked equal parts amused and annoyed with you as usual as you sat in your spot, where you could watch the view clearly before pulling out your phone.

“Any particular reason why you called me in so early…? You know, aside from bringing you your laundry, because delivery costs you so much.”

“Delivery people aren’t nearly as cute as you,” Taehyung teased, a quirk to his thinner upper lip that you didn’t deign to acknowledge. “I’ve got an invitation. It’s for the Film Festival. I’m sure Big Hit would tell you to take care of it anyway but I wanted to let you know about the details. I don’t want you to screw anything up.”

You gave him a venomous smile.

“As you wish, Mr. Kim,”

Your employer looked dubiously at you for a long while before shrugging, seating himself opposite you and pushing a docket of pamphlets at you. Spying the name Film Fest on it you carefully began to arrange them, studying each paper with a keen gaze and making notes in your phone about changes or payments that you were sure you needed to have done.

The Film Festival was one of the big events in the entertainment world, picking exotic or picturesque locations to invite local and international stars to grace its carpets, screenings and preview nights one of the candies offered while the earnings off of the event itself could feed a large family for a year.

It was mega huge to be invited, and of course Kim Taehyung would be on the list.

Taehyung lounged in the armchair opposite you, eyeing you with interest, watching you work for him.

“How have you been?” he asked suddenly.

Your attention diverted for a second, fingers pausing in their busy work of noting down important information as you shot him a puzzled look.

“Your health, you were sick.” He clarified

A delicate snort rose up to your lips but you quelled it in the last minute, instead choosing to shrug your shoulders as you returned to the papers in your hands.

“I’m fine now,” you said quietly, finally closing you notes app and shuffling the sheets so they would stay in a proper sequence.

“What happened to you?” he demanded next.

“I work, Mr. Kim, I get tired. I needed a little time off. You were generous to provide that, thank you.” you said, wondering if he could sense the underlying tones of sarcasm to your voice but if he did he didn’t give much of an indication.

“Well, I suppose there’s a clause about overworking you in that damn contract of yours.” Taehyung’s upper lip curled ever so slightly and while you’d have taken offense to the derogatory tone, you instead chose to grin.

“I’m glad to see you at least hold something for law, Mr. Kim.” You commented.

Taehyung’s curled lips furled even further, his eyes dropping to your mouth blatantly as he contemplated how to answer for the fact that he’d had a lot of brushes with the law than most celebrities had to.

“You should call me by my name more often. Don’t call me Mr. Kim, it feels weird.” He said instead.

You raised your eyebrows.

“Your staff calls you Mr. Kim,” you reminded him and he waves his hand to dismiss it.

“They don’t see me every day; they don’t have access to me 24/7. You…do, and you take care of more of my shit than they do. I guess that means you deserve to get some added bonuses.” He leans his head back to look at you as you slowly ran your eyes over his frame.

Six months of close contact with him had very nearly made you privy to almost all his looks ranging from Stage Taehyung to Screen Taehyung to Shit Taehyung. For all his good points, he had about twice the bad ones but even with this info lodged firmly inside your brain you couldn’t stop yourself from checking him out occasionally.

You couldn’t help yourself.

It wasn’t a lie that Kim Taehyung was probably the most beautiful, the hottest man to ever step foot on the planet and if he was going to be a douche most of the time the least he could do was be eye candy for the female population that worked for him.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to walk through your work place and over hear some girl who was freshly inducted, moan about wanting him to do things to her that would curl cheese. Then there were the women who’d been around a while and wanted nothing more than to fuck him for all the frustration he caused them.

You prided yourself on not falling in either of the categories.

You weren’t a newbie who wanted Taehyung to pin you to the nearest wall and have his way with you and you also weren’t the older women who gossiped at the coffee station about wanting to get fucked by him just because his piss off behaviors grated your motors.

Instead, if anything, you kept your mind on just how good he looked.

If late night imagination had to be blamed, you wanted him to decorate your floor, begging forgiveness and atoning for being a grade ‘A’ bastard.

Even now, with the way his body almost sprawled over the expensive faux leather covering of his couch, his eyes watching yours rake over him, taking in the bulges, dips and curves of his body, you would rather only stare from a distance than ever get physically involved.

Nope, late night imaginations would be what you left it at.

“I know that if looks could kill, you wouldn’t ever need a gun but darling that is definitely not the way to do it.”

Your eyes snapped back to his, reflecting the dark pools fixed on you till you finally straightened your posture, slipping the sheets into their respective folders and standing up, grabbing your purse.

Taehyung didn’t stand with you, choosing to gloss his eyes up your body with a blatantly hungry look on his face that you ignored.

It was only because he wasn’t getting laid with whatever he found crawling in the streets ever since you’d become his manager.

“If that would be all, Taehyung, I’ll leave now. You can come to the office to finalize the details of the itinerary and other matters. I’ll see you there.” You said, walking around him to get to the elevator.

You weren’t expecting him to follow you but when the elevator dinged its arrival and you entered, turning to face the front again, you found Taehyung standing right there, hands deep in the pockets of his sweatpants, a subtle smirk gracing his lips.

“Oh, you’ll see me, Y/N.” he said.

You blinked at him in confusion as he reached in, pressing the button to the lower level and pulled back, twirling his fingers in a goodbye, accompanying it with a ducky kiss face and a smarmy wink.

The doors closed, the mirrored walls, showing you the blank look on your face. It took you a second but you finally let the scoff that had been building inside you out, echoing in the metal box.

You’d just allowed your boss to successfully flirt with you, you scolded yourself.

Ah relax, it’s not like you encouraged him or lead him on. He’s just frustrated and maybe even lonely. It’s just horny male hormones. You reasoned with yourself.

In the mirror, you met your eyes with pursed lips, giving yourself a small nod as you set your reasons within stone.

He was just horny.

He was just horny and trying to mess with you.

You told yourself that you weren’t taken in by his antics. Nope, nothing like that at all but even as you entered your workplace amid new rumors; you had to digress to listening to a few of those.

As much as you liked to keep your work clean of these things, even you had to learn to make friends for a smoother run of time.

Of course, being the centre of those rumors was what bothered you.

Conversation ceased when you entered the break room, your eyes flitting towards the suddenly flushing girls as you walked to the deluxe coffee machine, starting it on the job of pouring out some delicious coffee.

The gazes of the whispering interns bored at you, making you wince in irritation as you walked to the group of stylists you hung out with.

“Hyelim, any idea why the glossy eyed dames over there are eyeing me?” you asked straightforwardly.

The five girls made space for you to sit on the couch as Hyelim rolled her eyes.

“Don’t be so concerned about that. These girls almost always have something to gossip over.” She waved a hand dismissively but Jay-eon interrupted.

“It’s because of Taehyung, of course!” she said.

You sighed. “What did he do now?”

“Nothing personally bad, but his actions were pretty…obvious, the day of the show.” She mumbled.

You waited as they exchanged meaningful glances.

“Taehyung was pretty…antsy, when he came back off the stage and you weren’t there. When Leda told him that you weren’t feeling well and went home, he mellowed. That’s sparked some flints.”

“What kind of flints?” you asked; already dreading the answer.

“That Taehyung likes you,” Hyelim answered and you immediately snorted.

“Oh please, nothing like that is remotely possible, especially since if Taehyung is making my life hell, I’m repaying him the favor equally.” You laughed.

However, even as you conducted the Festival meeting, feeling Taehyung’s more than lustful gaze landing on you more often than not, you had to shake that thought off, reminding yourself of the conclusion you’d reached in his elevator.

“You want to visit family?” you asked, following the tall man out of the back door of the entrance, quickly making it to the front of him and looking around to check whether anybody was lurking out there or not.

Taehyung chuckled as you put a hand up to his chest to block him, head turning around. Pressing your hand closer to his, he nodded.

“Why didn’t you tell me this at your place?” you demanded.

“Because if I had,” he paused when you wrenched your hand from under his, pouting, “You’d have found some way to counter it,” he finished.

His BMW rounded the corner and you both sighed in relief as the driver quickly opened the door for you two. Letting him go ahead, you shut the door as the driver pulled out of the alley.

“I’m not a cold hearted bitch, Mr. Kim. I wouldn’t get in the way of you seeing your family.” you told him.

Taehyung didn’t comment on it the whole way as you made it to his building.

“Thanks, I guess,” he mumbled, half to himself.

You decided to ignore the quiver in his voice.

“Just tell me ahead of time so I can make better plans, ok? You springing that out in the middle of the meeting did no one any good.” You said.

Taehyung shrugged before opening his door.

“Take the car for today. You can bring it to the airport with the driver tomorrow. Oh and, pack something hot.” He said, winking and your expression turned sour as he gave you the same blow-kiss again, shutting the door blatantly in your face.

You let out an irritated gruff.

“What an ass,” you said out loud, only realizing that it was Taehyung’s driver in the car, not yours. You shot him a wide-eyed sheepish look as his eyes met yours in the rear-view mirror. He gave you a sympathetic grin which had you sagging back into your seat.

“Your home, ma’am?” he asked and you muttered a ‘yes, please,’ turning to look out of the window, wondering what was going to happen tomorrow.

All was set.

You stared around your now spotless home, critical of the way you’d cleaned and packed up your essentials in your luggage set, you went to pick up your phone to check the time.

You had awoken well ahead of the time you needed to, laying awake in bed for a few minutes to see if you would get back to sleep again. At failure to do that, you decided to start on early.

Showering, taking care of bodily needs and beauty, you made a nice, wholesome breakfast even though one would be served on Big Hit’s private jet. Tasting spice content off your thumb, you’d rung up Taehyung and Taehyung’s driver as an impromptu wakeup call, before focusing on the chicken mince and eggs, you’d made for yourself.

At 8 sharp, with your luggage placed near the door, you’d spent an hour cleaning, dusting off the curtains and scrubbing the kitchen, just for the sake of the relief of coming back to a neat and tidy house when Taehyung’s driver had called you saying he was waiting downstairs.

Your flat heeled boots carried you to the gates of the terminal Big Hit used for its jet when you heard the gasping and sudden uproar.

Pushing your glasses closer, you squinted at the massive crowd, groaning internally when you felt your employer push himself to a faster pace, walking closer to his fans, the screaming doubling in noise as he reached over the security borders to grab a few hands while the other signed autographs.

You lingered behind, an eye on your watch as the seconds ticked away.

It wasn’t until he had given ten minutes of attention to the galore of girls and boys who would, in different circumstances, be paying through the nose for this chance that you nodded at his bodyguard to bring him back over to you.

The arrival of the Pilot, who gave you a warm handshake and introduced you to the air stewardesses and stewards, was a blessing as Taehyung, with a final wave to his fans moved after you to the ramp of the plane.

You had been inside a few private jets in your life, some business mogul or the other needing to take you with them to an abroad meeting or some such other thing.

However, you had to admit that Big Hit’s jet, by far, won hands down.

The inside was a startling white, with cream and dark brown fittings. There was a small fireplace in the corner near the entrance, the counter curving to show off a discreet bar.

The small walkway was dotted with a few small tables, the biggest one, and right at the back, surrounded by a circular couch. You chose to sit in one of the double seats, your purse dropped into the side seat as you watched the runway from the oval windows.

After a few minutes, Taehyung followed, huge shades covering his face as his lips quirked at the sight of the inside.

“Ah, I hope they stocked up.” He said, head turning to the bar when you stopped paying him any attention, instead looking at the Pilot who walked in.

“Miss Y/L/N, Mr. Kim, we’ve had your luggage brought to the jet. Would you want it in with you or would you like us to put it in the storage?” he asked respectfully.

You looked at Taehyung who grinned at the man.

“Have it brought here, buddy,” he said and the Pilot bowed again before exiting.

For a few minutes as you watched the trolley of luggage being carried up, Taehyung chose to raid the bar, going around to the tender’s place and reading through the labels.

“You know drinks?” you asked, suspiciously as he pulled out a few bottles, inspecting them closely. Taehyung glanced once over at you before turning back.

“I might have some ideas.” He muttered.

You stared at his back, tight muscles covered by the expensive jacket, dark hair brushing his nape. A split second view of his hair wrapped around your fingers made you look away quickly to the stewardess who entered.

“We’re ready for takeoff, Ma’am, please take your seats.” She said.

You sat down, complying with the order, and both sets of eyes went to the man who continued to stand.

“Um, sir, we’re taking off. Please take a seat and fasten your seat belts.” She said again.

You looked at the girl to see flushed cheeks, a wistful, yearning look in her eyes and nearly face palmed yourself. Great, another one of Taehyung’s conquests…

“Taehyung, please sit, we have a schedule to keep.” You snapped out.

The stewardess jumped at your tone and looked down as the man himself turned to raise his eyebrows at you. “Don’t you want a drink?” he asked innocently.

“You can make whatever you want once in the air. Now sit,” you sighed.

Taehyung clicked his tongue, reluctantly shoving the bottles back and exiting the bar, walking over to the seats without casting a single glance at the other female in the area who wilted at his ignorance.

You kept staring at her, not noticing Taehyung reach for the bag you’d placed next to you and drop it to the seat behind you, plopping down beside you.

You flinched just barely as the stewardess went through the safety instructions, seeing as you were travelling with them for the first time. Her voice was mellow, quiet and neither of you paid any attention to her as she scurried away finally to her own seat as the plane began to taxi.

The next hour of the flight after takeoff was spent in reading from your tablet as Taehyung fluttered about the jet. He mixed a few drinks which he offered to you.

Peering up at him, you sipped delicately at one, finding it decent but refused a second one, making Taehyung sag a tiny little as he meandered about.

“What about my staff?” he asked suddenly.

“The festival management is providing your lodging and a select branch of staff. Outfits, stylists and media will all be funded from their side. You only need to go and be there to look pretty. I’m coming because I’m your manager.” You answered mechanically, answers ready to spout off.

“I…I can’t stay at home?” he asked again.

“No, aside from the fact that it will cause security problems, it will also be tedious for your family to have a gaggle of people show up at your place every day.” You answered again.

Taehyung fiddled with another bottle for a second before coming back to drop down next to you, jolting your arm. You gave him a look, crossing your legs and tilting your body away to protect some of your private space that Taehyung’s broad frame now occupied.

He sighed, playing with his clothes, twiddling his thumbs. It was clear there was something weighing on his mind but you made no move to put him at ease, resolutely poring over the news article.

“God, stop,” you whined at length as he continued to jump his leg, bumping it against your ankle.

“I wanted to…you know, say thank you,” he blurted out, making you pause and your eyebrows to jump up at the exclamation.

“What for?” you asked.

“You…uh, you let me go see my family.” he explained but you didn’t change your expression, prodding him to go further.

He took the bait, looking down at his knees as he played Thumb War with himself.

“I don’t really get to see them. Very rarely, since either I’m busy or you know…security reasons,” he pursed his lips a little. “Most of the managers tried to get out of the hectic work that involved me getting some time off just to see my folks. So they never let me go plus the company always has something for me to do.” He shrugged before looking up at me.

“I miss them a lot and I hate it more than I let on. So…thank you,” he said.

You blinked before nodding.

“Like I said, I’m not going to stop you from seeing you family, Mr. Kim. Everyone needs that.” You said.

“Exactly, that’s why I said so in the meeting. I realized that if anybody could pull it off, it would be you. I trust you.” He gave you his patent boxy grin, causing a questionable swoop in your stomach.

“Right,” you said weakly.

“I’ll go take a nap, in the room. Feel free to join me if you want.” He laughed a little and took off.

Somehow, you couldn’t find it in yourself to feel disgusted by the innuendo.

Your arrival to Daegu airport was wrought with extra caffeine and a still sleepy Taehyung.

For anyone asking, sleepy Taehyung was overly snuggly – a trait you found endearing if not a little mind wracking as he managed to clutch on to you the whole way from the runway to the departure portal.

“Mr. Shin?” you questioned as the man with the stern façade approached you.

“Yes, you must be Miss Y/L/N,” he said, shaking your hand. “We’ve heard a lot about you.” he said.

“Thank you, do you have somewhere I could stash him at?” you asked, tired and exhausted at hauling your charge. He easily had ten inches on you.

Shin looked at Taehyung who even with his shades on, yawned large and wide.

“Yes, please, right here,” he flourished an arm to the side at the range rover and opened the door, letting you push him in first.

“You have to check in at the hotel first, before going to his house, Y/N. That way we can keep up appearances.” He said to you, voice low.

“What is something wrong?” you asked.

“Apparently, Taehyung’s plan of visiting family leaked out. We’ve had word from a lot of questionable people and media hovering near the hotel.” He said.

You groaned, rubbing a hand down your face in anger and defeat.

“We’ll handle it as well as we can. You just have to be careful.” He warned.

Nodding to the man, you climbed in after your boss as the car pulled out into the drive way.

Shin led you through the opulent entrance hall of the six-star hotel, where the festival was going to hold its gala and had booked rooms for its attendees.

It was unnecessary to say you were exhausted as fuck, the few minutes of nap grabbed in the car doing nothing to help as the caffeine you’d consumed slowly left your system.

Once at the reception counter, the crisply suited concierge intercepted you, annoyingly bright grin fixed on his face as he bowed to you. You bent at your waist as much as your stiff body would allow as Shin lowered his voice and began to speak to the man, eyes furtively looking about in case anybody would be listening in.

Shin finally beckoned you and Taehyung to the front. Your boss, who had dropped the shades and donned a face mask that hid everything but his eyes, began to fill out your information in both the hotel book and a special form that let the festival in charge know that you were checked in and accounted for.

The concierge thanked you and began to hand you your keys when Taehyung finally spoke up, just as you were reaching forward for your key.

“Wait, make it one.” He said.

The concierge, Shin and you both turned to look at him.

“What?” The man asked, nervously.

“The room, make it one.” Taehyung said.

“We booked two, sir.” Shin cut in but Taehyung ignored it, still watching the concierge who looked at you.

“Um, Mr. Kim, what are you…?” you began.

“I don’t want to be alone. I’m sure their security is amazing and everything but we’re going to be at my family’s house till the gala begins anyway. There’s no point in having two rooms. It’s inconvenient. Plus, I’d feel safer if you were with me at all times.”

You gave him a look.

“That’s not a good idea at all.” You pointed out.

If anybody – read Shin and the hotel dude – opened their mouths and the news got out that Kim Taehyung was sharing a room with his manager, it would cause a scandal, and it would affect you as well.

Taehyung frowned at you before turning to the concierge. “Where are the rooms now?” he asked.

The concierge looked down into the sheet.

“Miss Y/L/N is in the floor below yours, sir.” He said.

“Bullshit; put us in adjoining rooms.” He snapped.

“Taehyung, seriously,” you growled, already at the edge of your patience but Taehyung didn’t seem to be relenting. It was either sharing a room or the same wall. What the hell did he want you so close to him for? Was he…, did he think…? You hoped not.

Ugh, you were so not ready to deal with this.

“Fine,” you handed the man his key back. “Do as he says.” You sighed.

Your head tilted back to rest on the tiled edge of the small hot water pool, provided on the private bay of each celebrity’s suite.

Since Taehyung hadn’t emerged from his room since the check out you had assumed he’d promptly gone off to sleep and decided to take a soak in the pool where the hot water jetted against your more than sore muscles.

The vibrations from the water were slowly working to loosen your tight tendons, making you drowsy.

Just as your eyes were sliding to meet each other and a sigh of much needed sleep passed your sleep, you heard the glass doors of the balcony bay open and then padded footsteps. The small awake part in your brain wondered if it was a towel boy or something, until the water sloshed up around you, making you startle awake.

Your first sight was that of a familiar toned chest, bare and not too far from you. You followed the line down to where long, lightly muscled legs stretched out to barely touch yours, hidden by black swimming trunks, before flicking your gaze up to meet his eyes.

Taehyung took a second to say something, eyes raking over your nearly bare body as well before offering you a sheepish but smug smirk.

“Sorry to interrupt your slumber, princess.” He murmured.

You blinked and scoffed sleepily at him, not quite recovered as you debated whether to stay there or get up and leave, if only to get some space from his proximity if not to give him some privacy.

An increase in the water jets made your decision for you, as you sighed again, watching Taehyung fiddle with the small settings remote.

Your eyes closed back and head dipped to the tiles. You could clearly feel his gaze fixed on you and the heat flushing through your body was now more than just thanks to the hot water.

The sports bra and high waist shorts ensemble you’d chosen for your soak was definitely not enough to cover you up when Taehyung’s gaze burned as if he was melting the fabric right off of your body.

Your eyes opened when they couldn’t stay closed and ignorant of his gaze and turned them straight on to your boss.

Working for him for months had taught you that Kim Taehyung was the definition of many things, shameless one of them. If you had expected him to turn his eyes away, you were sorely disappointed. If anything, Taehyung, whose eyes had been fixed to the surface of skin right over your breasts and neck, simply met your eyes, eyebrows quirking in question, as if he expected you to say something.

“Do you want something?” you snapped finally, only realizing how the question would come across to him when he replied.

“I have almost all the things I could want, Y/N, except maybe one or two.” He said before giving you an angelic smile. “If I told you, would you be a good little manager and get me it?”

You raised an eyebrow, wondering what he would say.

“Well, you could try, but whether you get it or get sued might depend.” You warned and he laughed a deep, resonating sound.

It made you jolt in surprise, never having heard that kind of laugh from him before. His usual laughs were short, almost bitingly curt and almost always sounded derisive. When that was what you’d heard more than once, you’re learned to roll your eyes and take it that the Diva boy just didn’t find humor around him.

It was now that you learned that this was Kim Taehyung’s real laugh; free, ringing and absent of any disdain he loved showering people in.

It was a nice sound.

“What, why are you staring at me like that?” he asked, head tilted in confusion.

You straightened up, realizing a small smile had crept to your lips which you erased. “Nothing, I just…haven’t heard you laugh like that ever before.” You said.

A part of you wanted to smack yourself for showing that there were things you noticed about him but a larger part of you wondered if maybe noticing Taehyung himself would break down some of the ice in Kim Taehyung’s façade.

He blinked before looked abashed. “Whatever, I guess,” he mumbled, but he was clearly taken back at your observation.

He stretched a little bit more but his legs touched yours and he drew away before with a sigh of his own he moved, coming to sit beside you and stretching out further.

“Ah that’s better,” he said, arms coming up on both sides to rest along the tiled edge.

If anybody looked the way you were sitting, they would assume you were a couple…and then spread rumors. You frowned to yourself at that, about to get up.

“What are you doing?” he questioned, looking up at you.

“Going inside, I think I’m good.”

“Nonsense, sit down, you need this.” he said before laying his head back again.

Your body immediately slumped back against the wall, grateful for the indirect command as you did not want to leave the hot water just yet.

There was a surprisingly comfortable silence between you two till you broke it.

“You didn’t tell me what you wanted?” you murmured, feeling sleep creep back up on you.

There was a pause in which Taehyung opened his own eyes but kept staring up at the sky before he brought the remote to his eyes, pressing a button.

You immediately felt the water jets increase near your back and you let out a whimper, his head snapping to look at you. His eyes met yours and darkened just a little.

“Where do I start, Y/N?” he said, voice low and husky.

“I want to put my hands on you, feel the warmth of your skin against mine. I want to put my mouth on you, devour those pretty lips and feel them on me.”

A low gasp had escaped you and you were already backing away when he raised his hands to your face, wet fingertips lining over your cheekbones.

“More than anything else, though, I want you to actually fucking give in for once instead of just eye fucking me across a damn room.” He growled.

Taehyung tilted your face up just a tiny bit and you bit your lip to hide the quake that had over taken them at the very thought that Taehyung might actually kiss you. You wanted to push away but the rest of you, the exhausted part that just wanted to agree that you found Taehyung attractive had taken over, not allowing you to budge.

Just as you let go of your lip to say something, the water jet activated again, a streak of water hitting the side of your ribs just under your bust. Instead of a rebuke, a soft moan escaped your mouth, reddening your cheeks and blowing Taehyung’s pupils out completely.

The grip of his fingers increased on your face, holding you in place as with a muttered curse, he was smashing his mouth against yours.

You wondered idly later if maybe you had been drunk the first time Taehyung had kissed you. Maybe it had been the exhaustion, the mind numbing tiredness that seeped through your synapses, brought on by rigorous and continuous working. It was the type of numbness that only went away with a vacation, passing out drunk though you weren’t a fan of the hangover that followed, oh and maybe a night of wild romping.

It was this last thing that you were sure Taehyung could provide the best, his prowess well known.

So, that was probably why you put up approximately zero resistance.

Even now, as Taehyung pulled you tighter to him, arms wrapping around your waist, you could feel the warmth and distraction working to pull you out of your slump.

Your lips opened to him easily, letting his tongue sweep in and taste yours, entangling as you made out messy and sloppy. Taehyung soon hauled you on top of him, your legs on either side of his stretched out legs, straddling him right there…

You let out a drawn out moan when you felt how hard he was, just barely contained in the material of the trunks as it pressed against the crotch of your shorts and you felt him grind up against you as his hands began to wander from behind you.

You tilted your head back, letting his lips trail fire across your jaw line and down your neck.

The night air was cool, crisp but the pool and Taehyung felt so hot, they seared your skin.

It wasn’t until you felt him fiddling with the strap of your sports bra that awareness finally flooded through you.

This was wrong. Oh god, what were you doing? What if someone saw? You both would be faced with scandal; you would lose your job and your reputation. You would lose everything.

“No, wait,” you whispered weakly, eyes still fluttering at the way Taehyung was mouthing at the skin available to him. Your added height from his lap had put him in direct line of your chest and you couldn’t help but want him to continue. Only this time, you reigned yourself in.

“What is it, baby?” he asked, his voice already husky and low.

Your stomach tightened at the endearment and you fiercely reminded yourself he probably called every girl he kissed that.

“Stop, we can’t be doing this.” you said tensely, stiff in his arms and he pulled back just a tad bit, looking around.

“You’re right. Let’s take it to my room.” He said.

Your eyes flashed as he confirmed your thoughts. This was just a passing of time for him.

“I meant that we shouldn’t be doing this at all. You will go to your room and I will go to mine.” You said, pushing yourself away from him and clambering off his lap.

Taehyung blinked in confusion.

“What?” he asked, watching you climb out of the water and go to the lawn chair where you’d set your towel and pool dress.

“I think I made it clear, we need to be up and off tomorrow early if you want to safely get to your parents. We need to leave before the celebrities start to arrive, as does the mob.” You said wiping yourself off as best as you could.

In a way, you were also trying to wipe away his touch on you.

“Is that really what it is?” you felt a large hand clamp on your wrist and turn you around, right against his bare and wet chest.

You jolted away from him, wrenching out of his hold.

Taehyung furrowed his brows at your behavior, so different from how it was just moments ago. “What happened? Did I do something you didn’t like?” he asked.

You snorted.

Of course, that was what his mind would immediately jump to.

“Well, Mr. Kim aside from just violating my last clause, not much,” you sneered turning around to put on your dress.

“Your last clause…? The sexual harassment one…? What the hell, Y/N, we just kissed!” he seethed, volume lowering as he spat out the last sentence.

“You aren’t supposed to kiss your manager! You’re not supposed to flirt with your manager, you’re not supposed to stare at your manager like they’re your prey!” you winced at how shrill you sounded, as if you were close to tears.

You sort of were. You couldn’t lie and say you hadn’t ever thought of Taehyung that way but the very idea of his experience…and who and where he gained it from, made your stomach lurch.

You didn’t know if you wanted to keep letting him touch you, or be ashamed of your weakness. Both…maybe both…

Taehyung had his eyes wide, looking a little thrown and if you were reaching, even a little hurt.

“You’re…you’re not just…I mean, you haven’t been just,” he swallowed loudly, looking down.

“This, this right now, it shouldn’t have happened, Mr. Kim.” You whispered and watched him ball his fists before he was looking up.

The glare in his eyes made you physically shrink and he scoffed, sneering at your smaller frame.

“Whatever, Miss Y/L/N,” he hissed and you blinked, looking away as you bolted out of the bay, leaving him to watch after you.

The night didn’t go easy for you, tossing and turning in the spacious bed of the suite Taehyung had insisted you get. Huffing at the delicate throb between your legs and puffing at the slight ache in your chest at look on Taehyung’s face when you’d viciously chewed him out, you completely gave up on sleep, deciding on coffee in the unholy hours of 4:30 am.

You went to the small table right next to the suite entrance, flipping through the thick folder of the hotel to fish out the list of numbers you needed to dial to place your order when you heard it.

It was common knowledge that hotels, no matter how upscale were prone to having thin walls. So thin, that the conversations happening outside a room was easily available to the ears, which was why most staff were told to keep gossip to their private zones.

Of course, no one expects anybody to be awake at nearly five in the morning and they’d feel safe gossiping among themselves…right outside of the rooms.

“Did you hear?”

“Hear what?”

“The new room-maid, apparently she…did it…with him!”

“You don’t mean…?”

“I sure do,”

“Oh…my…god, he’s a GOD! How did she land him?”

“Oh please, you know him, are you really surprised?”

“Man, I’m so jealous. For god’s sake…KIM -,”

“Shut up! If someone heard us, we’d be fired.”

“Right, right, sorry,”

“Let’s just get back to work, before someone wakes up. We need to still do the rest of the floors.”

You heard the voices fade from range as they carried on chattering while walking. Your hands had frozen on the folder as you analyzed what you’d heard.

You were pretty sure it was Taehyung who was the center of the gossip, and he’d fucked some maid. A maid…

You suddenly felt sick to your stomach, the ache in your chest returning. How could he? He’d made you feel special for…what, ten minutes, before his true colors had jumped out.

You glanced down at your fingers, where they’d nearly ripped the sheet of numbers to shreds. Gritting your teeth, you went to the phone to order your coffee.

You were determined to not give him the time of the day. If he could show you that you weren’t worth much to him, you could return the favor well enough.

You didn’t wake Taehyung up, not bothering to call for him as you instead focused on packing a small bag of your necessities for the visit to his house.

You also forego packing anything special for him. If he acted up, you’d deal with it later. You were tired of always thinking of him prior to yourself, no matter if it was your job or not.

You sent your things to the car, waiting to take off when he arrived, rumpled and his clothes showing wrinkles in his shirt. There was a pause in which Shin and you eyed him and when he looked up, meeting your eyes, both of you looked away at the same time, nodding to Shin to indicate you were ready to leave.

It was a tense ride.

Taehyung’s family lived near the idyllic countryside, owning a farm of their own. It was a curious thing that Taehyung came from a non influential family but you quickly reminded yourself you didn’t care. It wasn’t your concern to worry about his roots, just where he spread his branches to.

You could feel Taehyung’s ire radiating off of his body, rolling against you as if you’d personally offended him. Maybe you had, but then so had he, treating you as if you were just a game he could play with and if it didn’t work, he could throw it aside and get another one.

Now that was where you took offence, never mind that you had been stupid enough to give in.

You chewed on your lips, lips that just a few hours again had been slotted against him, moving as if you both would combust if you separated.

Ugh, damn it all to hell, you thought, balling your fists.

You shifted in your seat and Taehyung, who had been sitting way to the other side at the other window stiffened, as if he was waiting for some movement on your part.

You glanced at him, only to find he was already eyeing you, a strange mixture of annoyance, frustration and something akin to hurt swimming in his eyes. You dismissed the last as your mind playing tricks on you. You looked away.

“You should let your family know that you’re on your way, Mr. Kim.” You said coldly, not wanting to say his name.

Did that girl say his name? Did she give him what he wanted from you easily? It must’ve been so. Not many girls would say no to Kim Taehyung.

You didn’t deign to look at him again after that thought for the rest of the journey.

Taehyung’s family house sprawled over the small valley of their farm. You could see strawberry fields looming at the back as you got out of the car, moving around to see Taehyung already out, running to a woman who was holding her arms out.

Even as you watched, Taehyung melted into the woman’s embrace, his larger frame easily covering hers.

A small pang went through you as you tried to remember the last time you’d been in a mother’s embrace, turning to look at Shin.

“You’ll be here till the time of the Gala.” He reminded you, handing you a list of timings and meeting schedule.

“Got it,” you murmured, waving once as he nodded to you, passing a curious glance over the animated actor behind you before he got back in the car, the driver pulling out of the driveway.

“Ah, have you brought a girl to meet with me, son?” you heard the coo of Taehyung’s mother and turned, feeling Taehyung’s gaze bore into you as he watched you, expressionless.

You avoided his gaze, putting on your charming smile as you walked to her with your hand out.

“No, ma’am, I’m Y/N, only Mr. Kim’s manager.”

It wasn’t your intention to be spiteful but the way Taehyung’s eyes darkened and jaw tightened in fury, you all but felt cold satisfaction.

However, you soon turned surprised as Mrs. Kim completely ignored your outstretched hand, moving to hug you instead, slender and soft arms, wrapping just as carefully around you as they had her son.

“I’ve heard so much about you, I feel like I already know you.” she giggled before pulling back to smile kindly at you. “Thank you for looking after my son, Y/N. I imagine it hasn’t been very easy.” She pouted at her son who looked down sheepishly, a tight smile on his face that vanished when he met your gaze.

“No, but I think I handle it ok,” you murmured, turning back to his mother.

She took a moment to look back at you from her son, a speculative look to her eyes as she glanced back and forth.

You spent more than half the day outside, walking along the farm and the small hill that overlooked the house. Taehyung, once inside didn’t acknowledge your existence and neither did you want him to.

Taehyung’s family, while having all sorts of modern amenities, still held true to the traditional ways. There wasn’t a chicken coop or anything but there was still a line to hang clothes, a hay shed, and miraculously, a large tractor in a looking garage…right next to a shiny Chevy.

You didn’t know if you were visible from the windows, aimlessly meandering or if they’d just remembered you but you turned to the calls of Taehyung’s mother, walking up to meet you at a heap of strawberry leaves. Her eyes, similar to Taehyung’s were glimmering but unlike her son’s they were still warm and jovial.

“Mrs. Kim,” you greeted politely.

“Oh you’re so formal, it’s unnerving.” She teased as she reached you.

“In my work, professionalism is necessary.” You returned with a smile and she tilted her head.

“I see; must be exciting working in all the sectors that you have, also at such a young age.”

“It’s more exhausting but yes,” you replied, looking over the hill. “You have a beautiful home.”

“How would you know? You haven’t been inside yet.” She said and you looked quickly at her to see her quietly laughing. “It’s peaceful here. We didn’t always live here, but the city became…hectic, after Tae became famous. His fans are amazing, but some can be a little…overwhelming. So, we moved here after Tae’s grandmother passed. It’s not too far away from the city and not so close that we would be…easily sought.”

“I can understand.” You said, sympathizing with her.

She was silent for a minute before smiling again at you, “Come, I’ll walk with you.” she said.

Mrs. Kim, gave you a small tour of the farm, or just explained the existence of the things you’d already seen. About how Taehyung’s grandfather had first purchased the tractor, how the hay shed was more like a place for Taehyung’s younger siblings to play in and other things.

“So, how did Taehyung get where he is now?” You asked suddenly.

She seemed surprised at the question.

“Surely, you must know, as his manager?” she asked.

You shrugged. “I have only been with him a short while and I don’t really like to pry in people’s past.” You murmured, not mentioning about how you’d heard of Yubin.

“Hmm,” his mother paused, considering. “Taehyung was quite the child when he was young, I suppose. Always up in some activity or the other…I don’t need to tell you how horrible his academics went.” She giggled, even your lips tugging into a smile.

“We never thought that he would be actively pursuing this line, mind you. We always thought he’d grow out of it, or finally start focusing on his studies…but then she came.” Mrs. Kim’s face darkened for a split second before lightening.

“Yubin, her name was. She was one of those actresses who do the occasional tour of their hometown just to raise awareness. I don’t know what Taehyung was doing, he was supposed to be out with a friend but he came home all excited. Told me about how he was scouted by Yubin herself and everything. I refused to believe a word of it but then she showed up herself, with her manager.”

Mrs. Kim turned to look over the farm.

“She took him with her to Seoul, set him to work and for a while everything was amazing. My son was doing what he loved, he was loved, and he had more money than we were used to. He could do, or be anything he wanted now. Soon, he came home…with Yubin again. This time, as his lover,” She sighed.

“We weren’t disapproving, per say of the relationship. Sure, she was a few years older than him, was more famous, and had many things to do about. It was just curious that she would take to seeing an up and coming actor. We accepted it though, for my son. He was happy with her. She seemed happy enough with him…”

“The blow for all of us came, of course, when he proposed. I doubt she was expecting it. I don’t know what she told him but the next day their troubles began. He would always call me and they’d be having a fight. She began to be colder, more distant. Soon, she just up and disappeared. It was later that Tae found about all the others.”

There was silence as I absorbed the new information…or rather history.

“My son…wasn’t what the papers make him out to be. He isn’t what I’m sure you think him to be. He was a child, a young man who just happened to fall for the wrong woman. After she left, he changed. He began to call less, visit less. We began to see atrocious news about our precious boy, we got cornered more. He grew more famous and popular yes, but I don’t think he sees the cost he paid yet. But we do,” she turned to give you a sad smile which made you drop your gaze.

A shrill burst of laughter erupted, breaking though the silence of the evening and both your heads turned, following the sound to see two young boys laughing, running out of the open door.

Seconds later, Taehyung followed, long legs carrying him after his brothers, the deep, booming genuine laughter you’d heard echoing over to you as he chased his siblings.

You watched as he tackled the small boy, falling to the grass, careful to push his body to ground first so the child wouldn’t get hurt as he began to tickle his sides.

The young child laughed harder, squirming in his brother’s arms as they were joined by the youngest, which jumped about, pointing and demanding attention.

You blinked fast, pressing your fingers to your chest where the ache had returned.

There might have been more to Kim Taehyung than you might have seen but just how much of it still remained in him, was yet to be seen.

You would give him space, but you weren’t sure if you were willing to put yourself out there just yet, especially not after this morning.

Shin sent you the car after dinner time, making sure that Taehyung at least had enough time spent with his family. You decided to forego dinner with the family, politely declining and saying you had some work to finalize and would have dinner at the hotel.

You didn’t miss the small exchange of eyes Taehyung’s mother shared with her son when he stiffly turned at your refusal, shrugging apathetically.

Plugging in your earphones, you began to tick down the list of meetings you had tomorrow with Taehyung’s outfitters and select media personnel he’d give interviews to, checking their faces and IDs when the car arrived to take you back to the hotel.

The ride back was even more uncomfortable than the first, now that you were concerned about your own feelings and you could feel him turn his head towards you more often, an indescribable look on his face.

When the car pulled into the underground parking of the hotel, you were the first out, clutching your thin tablet and papers to your chest.

“Y/N,” you heard Taehyung call but you didn’t turn to him.

“I’m hungry now. I’ll be at the dining hall, if you need me,” you said hurriedly, walking away as fast as your feet would carry you.

In the dining hall, where you put in whatever the first table of the buffet had to order, you sat by the window, looking out and sighing.

Now that you were back, the conversation you’d heard in the morning kept replaying in your head, making you press your fingertips to your temples and roll them when you saw it.

The mob had already arrived. You’d see it being parted as the car swept into the parking.

Now, apart from the mob, a gaggle of girls were standing outside the window. What was concerning was that their eyes were fixed on you.

Frowning, you raised your eyebrows challengingly to the girls but they didn’t stir, instead muttering to each other.

Now, you had had a few experiences with crazy people, girls and boys who wanted a piece of your charge or someone close to them but you had never seen this.

You had never been the one to be stared at.

Feeling a thread of worry unfurl in your stomach, you ditched your plate, deciding to just get room service in your suite’s safety and got up, picking up your things and leaving.

Stopping just near the elevator of the hall, you turned to see the girls gone.

Getting out on your floor was when you felt it. The feeling of unease you’d felt in the dining hall.

You turned, looking both ways into the hallways.

“Taehyung?” you called, hoping it was him, just him.

The door to the emergency stairway opened then and the girls came in.

There were four and very pretty. You frowned, were they workers, sisters, staff for one of the celebrities to be living on this floor? Why were they using the stairs instead of the elevator?

“That’s her. Taetae’s manager,” the girl who’d been staring at you said.

She had on a kitty hair band, you noticed, funny the things people register when cornered.

“Are you sure?” another asked, tilting her head. There was something oddly off about the girls, but then maybe you were just scared.

“Um, I think I have the wrong hall.” You muttered, turning to walk away.

“We saw you with him.”

You turned to see them walking towards you in a straight line.

“Yeah, so, I’m his manager,” you said, bluntly.

“You called him by his name. Who do you think you are, calling our man by his name? He should be only Mr. Kim to you, bitch.”

You bristled at the audacity before rolling your eyes.

“Ok, I’m going to give you ten minutes to get out of here. Otherwise, I’m going to have security call the police.” You said, bravely turning to walk away again.

A harsh pull on your hair stopped you, earning a yelp as you were tugged backwards.

You turned hair still in the bitch’s grip as your eyes watered, seeing her face twisted in rage.

“How dare you, talking to us like that? You fucking slut, we all know what you want from him!”

Your hand came up to clutch at her hand, digging in your nails to make her grip lose and she let go but the others tackled you, one of them catching you with the sharp edge of her nail as she grasped your neck, fingers digging into your throat.

Oh god, you were going to die.

You tried to buck her off, rolling to throw her off when you heard the commotion and a familiar shout.

“Hey! Get the fuck away from her!”

The girl looked up, her fingers loosening as black suited men surrounded the group.

“Taetae, hi, oh my god, we’re such huge fans. I’m sorry, I was just…” the girl stammered as she got off of you while you turned to your side trying to crawl away.

“Don’t, just don’t fucking talk to me,” you heard him bite before soft hands were cradling your shoulders.

“Y/N, hey, Y/N, can you hear me?”

You nodded as best as you could, ignoring the sting in your throat as Taehyung propped you against his knee before turning livid eyes to Shin and the concierge who had accompanied the security.

You watched as the black suited guys dragged the girls away in the service elevators.

“What the hell, man? Your security is fucking horrible. How did they get up here?” he yelled, making you wince.

“We’re so sorry, Mr. Kim. They must’ve used the emergency staircase. We don’t have a lot of men posted there.” The concierge spread his hands and Taehyung let out a scoff before looking at you.

“You’re lucky we got here in time. If anything happened to her, you can be sure you would pay…and not just in money. I’d personally make sure of that.”

“Taehyung, it’s ok.” You said softly and he looked at you, glare softening a little.

“Fine,” he grumbled as he stood up with you pulled along with him.

“Shin, make sure these idiots double everything. I don’t care who they put and I want Y/N watched as well,” he ordered, meeting with zero protests as he led me to his suite, shutting and locking the door after him.

The inside of Taehyung’s suite was similar to yours, the trademark pieces of the hotel’s furnishings, and a form of comfort to you.

He nudged you to the bed, sitting you down wordlessly before disappearing into the bathroom and rummaging in the cabinets.

You let out a slow exhale, closing and releasing your fists. Your neck was prickling where the girl’s talons had dug in and cut you and you badly wanted to scratch the skin.

Why did this happen to you? Why would you be targeted out of all the celebrities here? Were you just at the wrong place at the wrong time?

You groaned, dropping your head to your hands just as Taehyung emerged.

“The first aid kit isn’t all that amazing, but we can still disinfect and wash the cut – hey, what’s wrong? Are you hurting?”

Taehyung quickly placed the ceramic toothbrush bowl of hot water and the black bag of medical supplies on the nightstand, grasping your hands to pull them away from your face.

You shook your head and he let go of you, bringing a chair to sit in front of you, tearing open a pack of wet wipes and looking back up at you.

His fingers curved around your jaw line, tilting your head up and examining the crescents of nails on your skin, before running the cool tissue over them, wiping away any residual fluid that might have oozed out.

He dropped the tissue, before applying some antiseptic cream on the area and patting at it with gauze cloths.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” you asked curiously.

Taehyung didn’t answer. His warm brown eyes met yours and held the gaze as he continued to spread a thin layer of disinfectant on your skin with his fingertip.

You wondered whether he was avoiding the question when he looked away.

“I’m glad they didn’t harm you.”

“They almost strangled me. Nice, sweet fans,” you replied, watching the slight quirking of his lips.

“Not all of them are all so sweet.” He said.

“You’d know.” You said referring to the sasaeng he’d slept with.

He frowned immediately. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, nothing,” you mumbled, sighing.

You didn’t have to be so hard on him. Never mind, his issues with you right now, you were still his manager and he’s protected you, going to the front line himself rather than letting Shin or the hotel concierge do it for him.

“Listen, thank you for this, really, I’m sorry, I’m being mean.” You said.

He hummed, “Would your behavior have anything to do with what we…what happened at the pool?” he asked.

This time, it was your turn to frown at him.

“You’re one to talk. You managed to have your own fun and still acted like a jerk the whole day.” You argued.

Taehyung’s eyebrows rose up.

“I didn’t have my fun. I wasn’t just having fun with you, Y/N.” He said coldly.

“I’m talking about the maid.”

Taehyung looked genuinely confused.

“What maid?” he asked.

“The maid that you,” you paused, looking up as Taehyung tilted his head, waiting for you to continue. “You know what; we don’t have to do this. I’m going to my room. Thanks again,” you said, about to stand when he placed a heavy hand on your knee.

“Tell me, Y/N.” He ordered his voice stern.

“The maid you slept with, Taehyung. There, I said it,” you sneered and he blanched.

“Whoa, whoa, wait right there, I did not sleep with any maid.” He blurted out, eyes widening as he raised both hands in surrender.

You rolled your eyes.

“I heard two housekeepers talking about it this morning, Taehyung. Drop it,” you said sharply and Taehyung frantically gripped your shoulders.

“I’m not lying to you, I swear. It must have been some girl trying to start a rumor. I was in my room ever since you left me at the pool and I didn’t come out till the call for the car came. I swear on my mother.” He said; breathing fast as he leaned down to look into your eyes, making sure he got the point across.

You blinked as he said it and looked down. “Oh,”

“I just thought…I didn’t put out with you so…you know, you went to get…”

Taehyung curled a finger under your face, pulling it up so you would look at him. His eyes were intense.

“I can understand why you would think that. I know I haven’t been the most…chaste person around but I can promise you, Y/N, what happened between us at the pool, was not because I was horny and wanted to just fuck. I mean I did want to but not just to pass time or anything. I want you, really. I haven’t messed around with anyone ever since the concert. I can’t think about it with anyone else but you now. I’m not going to mess this up by doing that with just anyone. If I want to change how you think of me, I’m going to have to change how I act, don’t I?” he said, quietly.

Your mouth parted as you absorbed what he told you.

Did he really feel like this and was just acting like a douche? Or had he stopped acting like one and you’d just never noticed…?

“Taehyung,” you said softly and he hummed again in question.

You leaned in slowly; feeling him tilt his head as well as you placed a delicate kiss on his lips.

Taehyung dragged in a halting breath, cool and warm at the same time against your skin as he opened his mouth under your pressure.

He was gentle this time, palms wrapping around your cheeks as he held you softly to him, curving towards you as he pecked your lips in short tugs.

“I was,” he kissed you again.

“So worried, when I saw you on the floor like that,” he pulled away to press his lips to your nose.

“I think I would’ve exploded right there.”

You shushed him, pulling his lips back to yours. “I’m fine now.” You said, before pulling away.

Taehyung didn’t let you go completely. “Stay here. It’s not safe for you to be alone anymore. I don’t know if Shin and that man doubled up security or what but I want to keep any eye on you.” he said.

You smiled softly, feeling his hands entwine with yours as you nodded. “Okay.”

As much you would’ve loved to spend the morning in Taehyung’s warm embrace the next morning, his long arms wrapped tightly around your midriff as he buried his head against your back, you couldn’t.

The film festival had officially begun and so had your work day.

Your first meeting was with the hall organizer, calling in to tell you where the entry and exits were, what the protocols for safety and…private areas were.

You shifted from Taehyung’s grip, slipping out just as he groaned, turning on his back.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I need to go meet with Shin and the hall manager. So, you can look pretty when you enter the gala in the evening.” You told him, going into his bathroom and groaning lightly at the state of you.

Both Taehyung and you had fallen asleep with clothes on and now your shirt and pants were wrinkled. No way were you going to present yourself like this.

You ducked out while putting your hair into a ponytail to see him already standing, looking up at you with a small hopeful glint in his eye.

“What is it?” you asked warily and he jumped up, walking to the large closet lining one side of the room and pulling out a heavy black garment box.

He turned to you with his lips tucked between his teeth, advancing before presenting the box to you.

“Um,” you glanced between his and the box and he chuckled.

“I was…well, I was going to ask you to be my date for the Festival before the pool thing happened. Now that everything is fine between us, I’d like to try again.” He said.

You dropped your gaze to the box again.

“It’s something I liked while shopping when you were sick. I had it customized in your size.” He explained.

“How do you know my size?” you gasped.

Taehyung rolled his eyes before dropping the box to the bed, arms curving round your waist to pull you closer to his chest as he dropped his head near your ear.

“I have been watching you for months now, Y/N. You don’t think I can make an accurate guess as to your sizes?” he asked, chapped lips running over your lobe and you giggled, pushing at his chest.

“Fine, whatever, you creep, I’ll see you later.” You said, escaping his hold and swiping the box off the bed, making a hasty dash for your room.

The hall was already decorated, marble flooring gleaming and reflecting the domed and chandelier-studded ceilings as you circled in the huge space.

The skirt of your outfit brushed along your knees as you turned, taking in the opulence with a soft smile on your face.

Your talk with the hall manager had gone by smoothly as he explained how and where the attendees would be coming in from, the way the media would have access to them and how they would be escorted back to their rooms in clear detail, going as far as to explain that he would made doubly sure to not let in any obsessed fan.

You nodded solemnly at that, thanking him as he left you, politely bowing out.

“It is beautiful, isn’t it?”

You jumped; startled as you whirled to see another woman had joined in on your solitary enjoyment.

You stuttered in your steps a little before politely nodding, adding a small bow to the seemingly older women just as she turned to you.

She was beautiful, of course she was.

Her hair, a gleaming black was pulled back into a swinging ponytail that brushed the middle of her back, the lines on her face only adding to her ageless beauty.

“It is,” you agreed and she smiled.

“It’s been a while since I was asked to be a part of something like this. I couldn’t refuse this time.” She tilted her head to you a little. “I am Yubin.” She introduced herself and for a full half minute you gaped, your eyes widening.

This was Yubin? The Yubin? The one who had supposedly broken Taehyung’s heart and maybe even ruined the kind hearted boy and turned him into a bratty young man?

“I…I…I’m Y/N,” you said quietly.

“Oh…I’ve heard of you.” She said, surprise coloring her voice before the smile returned. “You’re quite famous in our circles.”

“I suppose. It’s all hard work and no sleep.” You mumbled.

“All work in our line is,” she sighed.

“So…are you back? Are you going to act again? Is this a promotion?” you asked, trying not to sound as if you were prying and she shrugged.

“I haven’t considered a return just as of yet. I wasn’t going to come but after a perusal of the attendees I had to come.”

It wasn’t caught out of your notice that she definitely had to mean Taehyung. The notion that she wanted to see him again made a slow flame light under your chest and your fist tightened.

You were about to take your leave in case you said something that would cause you problems when the door swung open again but this time it wasn’t the Hall Manager.

It was Taehyung.

His hair was parted, showing a sliver of his forehead and his grin was palpable.

You didn’t give much of a reaction as he began to walk up to you, not even noticing the other woman…or rather the woman.

“I was wondering where you were and Shin told me you had this meeting. I wanted to…”

He trailed off as your eyes darted to Yubin who had stiffened upon hearing his name, slowly turning to look at him. Taehyung for his part was slow to react. His voice quieted till he went completely silent and he froze in his steps, looking as if he had seen a ghost.

From what he had told you, it would certainly seem that Yubin was a ghost as she blinked gently at him.

“Hello, Taehyung, it’s been a long time.” She said softly, a demure smile on her face and Taehyung faltered.

Your heart fluttered to see this, wondering if you should leave now but also not wanting to. His eyelids dropped as he closed his eyes and he took a deep inhale. His lean frame was coiled, tight with tension even as he exhaled and you were surprised to see his open eyes find yours.

Only this time, they weren’t jovial and affectionate, not even dumbfounded.

No, they were enraged.

Without another word, he was marching past Yubin, brushing by her without another glance at her and he latched on to your arm, tugging you with him out of the private exit, leaving her behind.

Taehyung didn’t let up till you were way out of the earshot of people, climbing the stairs to some other floor with you trying to keep up with his long legged stride that you said something.

“Taehyung!” You snapped, yanking your arm out of his vice like grip.

He stopped to look at you, eyes still burning with fury and began to back you against a wall, hands coming up to both sides of the wall near your head, caging you in.

“What did she say to you?” he demanded.

“Nothing, jeez, she had just opened her mouth. We just introduced ourselves when you came in.” You said, trying to not seem so small with him towering over you.

Taehyung still squinted at you suspiciously. “Don’t trust her, Y/N. You…you shouldn’t have been in there with her alone. I should’ve paid more attention, I’m sorry.” He ducked his head in a sigh and your face softened.

“Hey,” you reached up, curling your fingers along his jaw to tilt his head up. “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine. She didn’t do anything, ok?” you said and even though his eyes still hardened at her mention he didn’t push it.

“I’m just…I don’t want her to screw up another thing in my life.” He sighed and you nodded in understanding.

“Nothing’s screwed.” You reassured and he smiled at you fondly before leaning further in, encasing your lips in his.

A groan escaped him as he pressed you against the wall, one arm winding around you to curve your body to his, tongue swiping against your bottom, asking for permission.

You put your hands against his chest, letting his gently slide the muscle in and entwine with yours.

“Y/N,” he murmured against your mouth when a sharp ping made you both jump away from each other.

You looked around wildly before Taehyung pulled out his own phone.

“It’s just mine.” He said before his brows furrowed.

“What’s wrong?” you asked and he shook his head, putting the phone down.

“It’s nothing. I have something to do now. I’ll see you in the gala, ok? Wear the dress, you’ll be beautiful.” He gave you his trademark glittering grin before he was vanishing back downstairs.

You might not agree with Taehyung on a number of things, but as you opened the garment box in your suite to get ready for the evening, you had to say you completely agreed that you were going to look good in the dress he’d picked out.

You’d showered, moisturized, perfumed and now you were standing in front of the full length mirror in the dress.

The lace overlay gown was stunning, blush color flowing down into a gossamer skirt that felt like water against your skin as you stared at yourself in the mirror.

Glancing back at the selection of dresses that Taehyung’s stylists had brought in for you, you sighed, running your hands down the shimmering material, decision made.

You were wearing Taehyung’s dress.

Grabbing a white clutch and a few necessities, you made your way out of the suite, tracing an eye across the floor just in case.

You weren’t scared of anything else happening but after that one time, you sure were going to be extra careful.

You cast a look down the hall to Taehyung’s closed suite door and smiled softly, wondering how he would be looking in the suit you’d helped the stylists choose. The red accents would be beautiful against his skin, you’d thought.

While you were excited to attend the Gala with Taehyung at your side, you couldn’t forget you were here to work first and foremost. One last glance at Taehyung’s door and you got into the elevator, going downstairs to meet Shin to make sure everything was perfect and safe.

Cameras flashes, soft classical music alternating with the latest hits in the industry blasted across the glorious hall. It was difficult to take in that the Grecian hall you’d seen in the morning was now hosting so many stars.

You smiled at a few business men you recognized, making sure to steer clear of the celebs getting their picture taken. Glancing at you studded watch you noted that it was about ten minutes till Taehyung would make his entry and you bit your lips in anticipation, smiling along to whatever one of your ex employers was saying.

“I’ll be honest; I wouldn’t have thought that you would ever work for an Actor.” The man said.

“Me neither, but here we are,” you said, smiling as you sipped at your champagne.

“Hmm and how has Kim Taehyung been treating you?” the man returned the sly smile and you glanced at your watch again, frowning when you saw it was past his time.

“Kim Taehyung…is late, as a matter of fact. Will you please excuse me?” you asked and the man snorted, already muttering about how you’d d well to return to the businessmen, who were at least punctual.

You nodded alone as he walked away from you, pulling out your phone to dial Taehyung.

No answer, the phone going straight to voicemail.

You let out an irritated grunt as you craned your neck to find Shin. Spotting him near the appetizers table you walked up to him.

“Shin, where’s Mr. Kim?” you asked.

Shin blinked down at you as he munched down whatever it was he was eating.

“He…well, he asked to have his entrance pattern changed.” He said.

“Excuse me?”

Shin glanced around before nodding. “He came up to me and told me to make a few changes.”

“Why wasn’t I notified?” you demanded.

“He told me you already knew. Now, I think he was lying.”

“Obviously,”

The quickly darkening look on your face must have alarmed Shin because he quickly spoke up. “I’ll go talk to him, if you wish.”

You shook your head.

“No, I’ll do that. Thank you,” you added quickly and walked away.

Your hand moved to pluck another champagne glass from a passing waiter and chugged it down.

Great, Taehyung seemed to have reverted back to his original ways. This was going to be a very long night.

“Y/N,” you looked up from your phone to meet Mil’s eyes, already holding two champagne glasses in her hand.

“Mil, fancy seeing you here,” you mumbled, dropping your eyes back to your phone.

It had been a full hour and you were bored out of your mind, waiting for Kim Taehyung’s arrival.

If it had been anybody else, a date or something, you would’ve walked out a long time ago but seeing as this was your job, you had to grin and bear it.

Almost everyone who knew you here could tell you were in a bad mood, brow perched low and lips downturned.

“Where’s the brat?” Mil asked, pushing the glass in your hand.

“I don’t know. Apparently, he doesn’t need to notify his manager where he’s fucking off to and why he won’t pick his phone up.” You growled.

She sighed, sitting down on the stool beside you.

“I’m sorry. I really feel like I pushed you into something terrible.” She said.

“No, I agreed to do it,” you sighed and laid your head down on the cool counter as Mil watched you suspiciously.

“Did something…happen? You would usually be a lot more pissed than this.” she said.

You eyed her as she watched you before looking down.

“He…I…we might have kissed.” You mumbled.

There was a pause before Mil was shaking her head. “Oh Y/N, you know better…”

“I do…I mean, Taehyung wasn’t, he said he didn’t want to be known for what he acted like.” You protested but Mil didn’t look convinced.

“Pretense is only a façade until it becomes habit, Y/N. Then it’s behavior. Then it’s the person themselves. You cannot change a person.” She said before turning to look away.

“Taehyung has been known to try with anything that moves. We all thought you might not be one of those people. I guess we were wrong. I’m so sorry, I pushed you into this.” she looked so crestfallen for you that you stayed speechless.

Mil and you didn’t speak again, the silence unbearable and uncomfortable.

It was only broken when the crowds went crazy near the door. Mil and you both stood up to see who had arrived and your breath caught in your throat.

No…it couldn’t be. He wouldn’t do this…

He was beautiful as usual, angelic with his rectangular smile on proud display. He was also wearing a different suit, not the one you’d chosen. He was wearing one to match her.

Had you really been so stupid and blind?

He wouldn’t…he couldn’t…

You shook yourself mentally.

Yes, of course, he would…he could and he had…he had done exactly as you were seeing him.

You really had been a stupid, blind fool.

Taehyung had played you easily, easier than a fiddle. You had been so taken with trying to get to the bottom of the mystery that was Kim Taehyung you’d forgotten the basics. Of course, he was different with his family. It was the tabloids that managed to get to the truth after all, not his mother. No, his mother had been played just like you, too fond of the idea of her perfect son to see what he truly was.

Your eyes drifted to Yubin, who looked ethereal in all white, raven hair flowing down her back, all smiles and poses.

They were marvelous together.

“Y/N,” you heard Mil call for you but it was almost as if you were underwater.

You couldn’t be here right now.

“I’ll see you later, Mil.” You muttered before grabbing your clutch and downing the glass of champagne and rushing out, from one of the side exits.

Your anger lasted well past the night.

You’d stared at your reflection, looked at the makeup on your face and the dress. It felt dirty against you now. Quickly shedding off the fabric you hadn’t bothered to keep it away properly, letting it disgracefully lie on the floor.

Your fists were balled now, the cotton ball clutched frantically.

You had never felt so dumb in your entire life, not even during your first job when you’d flirted with the son of your boss. At least they’d taken it in good humor.

This, though, you wouldn’t take in good humor.

Your pride was hurt, your ego bruised and you were vindictive.

Taehyung had probably waited all this while to pay you back for the iron leash you’d placed around his neck and he’d succeeded magnificently.

You wanted to laugh at yourself, but at least you hadn’t shed tears. You wouldn’t.

You had only about three more years to work for Kim Taehyung. You wouldn’t back out of the clause. You would do the term and then drop him, never to see his face again.

Something in you had started to ache again, but you ignored it, mercilessly squashing it.

Your decision made, you’d still felt restless the next morning.

Apart from the numerous messages Taehyung had sent and calls you’d missed, each one demanding where you were and why you weren’t replying.

Anger and hurt had made you delete nearly everything but his contact, walking out of the suite to go down to the dining room to get breakfast instead of ordering it via room service. You weren’t sure if Taehyung would show up at your doorstep, or if he had…spent the night with her.

The elevator dinged its arrival and you entered it.

Just as the door began to slide shut, a hand grasped the end of one, the door stopping its slide. You jumped, wondering for a split second if Taehyung had managed to catch you after all but the man who came into your sight was not him.

Round faced and cute, Park Seojoon entered the elevator with a somewhat embarrassed grin pointed at you, bowing a little. “Ah, I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to startle you.”

You chuckled, bowing back to one of your favorite actors. “No, sir, you didn’t.” you returned.

“Sir,” he laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Please, don’t be so formal. You may call me Seojoon. You’re Taehyungie’s new manager, right?” he asked.

The mention of his name soured you just a tad and you just nodded listlessly.

He watched you a second, head tilted as the elevators opened at the dining room.

“May I sit with you? I would rather not dine alone.” He said.

“Oh,” you blinked at him.

Park Seojoon inviting you to sit with him? How could you ever refuse?

“Of course,” you smiled, leading him to the window seat you always ate at.

Seojoon followed you obediently, ordering for the both of you before sitting down in front of you.

It was a great breakfast.

Seojoon was funny, endearing and over all a charming company. The dining room, even though filled with a few of the celebrities who’d been attending at the festival was empty of Taehyung and Yubin and you were happy for it.

“So, is Taehyung treating you right or do I need to kick some sense in him?” he asked finally as you winded up.

“Oh, it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Would you be accepting of one more thing to handle tonight then?” he asked suddenly, turning to look at you.

You paused as you stood beside him, watching him curiously.

“Would you like to attend tonight’s gala with me? If I’d known you earlier, I would’ve asked you for both the evenings but at least this way I get to spend the rest of the festival with the perfect companion.” He smiled his sweet smile.

You flushed, looking down at your shoes to grin.

Unbidden, Taehyung’s face rose up in your eyes but just like before, you quelled it.

“Of course, I would love to.” You grinned.

His answering smile was blinding. “That’s awesome.”

The second gala was the real opening of the festival. In which actors promoted their new projects, interacted with each other, and could exchange merchandise.

This time you’d picked out your own gown, a shopping trip acting both as retail therapy for you and you also didn’t want to wear one of the dresses sent by Taehyung’s outfitters.

Seojoon had kindly sent you a picture of the outfit he was going to wear and you had bought a gown specially to match it, quite proud of your selection.

Now standing next to Park Seojoon, you were actually struck by how much difference there was between Taehyung and his Hyung.

While Taehyung was enigmatic, yes, there was always doubt in the back of your mind as to his next move. With Seojoon, his maturity easily showed. He was quieter, open, and actually showed up; making your mouth drop open to how amazing he looked.

If the way his eyes popped out as well was any indication, you knew you’d done a good job.

“You really do look amazing.” Seojoon said again just seconds before the doors swung open. You ran a hand down the crimson ball gown and grinned, your cheeks tinted just right as he walked in, your arm wrapped around his.

You’d been right in estimating the type of date Park Seojoon would be.

He was attentive, a good listener and endearing, introducing you to people whose first commendation came always in the way you had switched so brilliantly from Business to the Entertainment industry. Each mention of Taehyung’s name felt like a lemon being squeezed on you yet you kept up the grin.

“Well, she is just plain amazing.” Seojoon smiled, patting your shoulder appreciatively and you preened. Attending a gala with your celebrity crush would do that to you.

The crowds, which tended to scream just as a celebrity entered the hall, screamed louder and you turned away immediately, already sure of whom it was. They must have finally arrived.

Seojoon leant in, smile fixed in place, “Dance with me?” he asked.

You returned his smile. “Yes, please.”

You said and he led you to the glittering marble floor.

After a quick dance to one of the slower hits of a singer, you and he bought some of the merchandise to be delivered later to your rooms and talked to the other veterans in the industry. Seojoon introduced you to a few of his co-stars who were more interested in what went into being Kim Taehyung’s manager than you.

You spied Taehyung a few times in the midst of the stars and not once did he look happy. His mouth was pinched, eyes flaming and he’d dropped Yubin somewhere. He also seemed to be avoiding the eyes of everyone who stopped to talk to him. You squinted to be able to see if he was drunk or not when Seojoon began to excuse the both of you.

Seojoon and you walked up to the bar.

“Man, I have about an hour more to do this and then I can go back to my room.” He sighed.

“Lucky, I’ll probably have to stay for Taehyung.” You sighed, already worried about his disposition.

He leant over the counter for the bartender and shrugged. “Well, then I suppose I should stay here with my lovely date so I don’t miss any more time of her company.” He flirted and ordered a few martinis, talking about the merchandise both of you had ordered.

When the drinks arrived, Seojoon turned to you seriously.

“Is there something wrong with Taehyung and you?” he asked.

You nearly choked on your drink, making Seojoon calmly reach over to rub your back as he offered you a napkin. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“No, I mean, why would you even ask me that?” you asked.

“Well, any mention of Taehyung seems to make you upset, you didn’t look at Taehyung when he entered, you avoided all the stalls that have Taehyung’s goodies and he’s been looking at you ever since he’s caught you, all angry and red in the face.” He said.

It was a mark of your control that you didn’t turn to look to find Taehyung when he said that.

“Look, I won’t pry but if you want to talk about it, I’ll listen.” He said.

You’d just opened your mouth to say there was nothing wrong when a shadow fell over your corner.

“Y/N,”

Seojoon and you both turned to look up at the intruder, making you let out a small gasp at the sight.

Taehyung was drunk. His hair, usually perfectly styled was messed up, half of the strands standing up and his skin was clammy, eyes bloodshot.

The only thing that was halfway in focus was his gaze that was fixed on the less than respectable distance between you and his friend.

“Taehyung,” Seojoon was the first to speak, leaning away from you, surprised to see his friend so far gone.

Taehyung’s eyes flitted to him. “Hyung,” he sneered, “Having fun?” he asked, eyes roving to yours.

You bristled, immediately understanding what he was hinting at. You stood up. “Taehyung, you should go to bed now.” You said.

“Sure, come with me, unless you want to stay here with Hyung and…have some more fun.”

You winced, glancing at Seojoon who stood up as well, walking forwards to place a hand on Taehyung’s shoulder.

“Taehyung-ah, you’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re saying. Let’s get you to your room ok?” he said soothingly.

Taehyung scoffed, throwing off Seojoon’s hand. “I’m fine, Hyung. If you’ll excuse me, I have to talk to my manager.”

Seojoon looked weary at that. “I don’t think it’ll be appropriate if I let her go with you in this state.”

“No, it’s fine.” You said quickly, already noticing the brewing anger and outrage in Taehyung’s eyes but Seojoon shook his head, “It’s not, Y/N.” He said and struck out a hand to stop you from going to Taehyung.

“Hey, don’t touch her!” Taehyung yelled immediately.

Seojoon’s eyebrows rose, hand still out as people began to look around, murmuring and pointing your group out.

“Taehyung, stop, he’s not ok, he’s not doing anything. Seojoon, please, he’s making a scene, let me take him out of here.” you gripped Seojoon’s arm in panic.

“I’m making a scene? Of course not, dearest Y/N. why, I’m in perfect control. Now come with me, now.” Taehyung growled.

“I can’t let you go with him, Y/N. I’m sorry but he’s not safe.” Seojoon said sternly and Taehyung lunged.

“No, Taehyung stop!” you screamed as Taehyung threw a punch. You didn’t know if it was the drunkenness or Seojoon’s military training but he quickly caught the fist, pushing his younger friend away.

“What the hell are you doing, Taehyung? I’m your friend.” Seojoon hissed and you slipped past him, grabbing Taehyung’s arm.

“Friends don’t hurt each other the way you did, Hyung.” Taehyung spat and then Shin was there, wrapping his arms around the struggling man.

By now a crowd had gathered around you and your ears burned in shame. But this wasn’t the time to be ashamed of his actions, you thought as you caught the cameras pointing at him.

“What do we do with him?” Shin asked.

You met Taehyung’s angry stare with your blank one. “Take him to his room and stay with him. Don’t let him leave. I’ll have to handle this.” you said as Shin began to usher the man to the exits.

Taehyung seemed to have given up the fight; figure slumped as he looked imploringly at you.

“Y/N,” you heard him say before the doors shut and the murmuring picked up again.

You turned to Seojoon urgently, examining his face for any hurt.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. I doubt he is though.” Seojoon brushed off your concern.

“I’m so sorry about this. I really am.”

“Don’t be, Y/N, I enjoyed myself tonight. You should go to him, he’ll need you.” he said, offering you a pursed smile.

“And if you need me, you know where to find me,” he added just as you turned to leave, the whispers following you all the way to your room.

“I don’t understand!”

Mr. Bang slammed a fist on the wooden table.

“I do not understand why Taehyung would get drunk and pick a fight with Park Seojoon of all people. They are brothers, they are so close.”

You chewed on the end of your pencil as you tried to seem as if you were in thought. And so you were, thinking about the last 72 hours. Those were the critical period in which a crisis in image management could be resolved.

You’d flown back home in Seoul to deal with the media printing out the news of Taehyung’s fight with Park Seojoon. You’d managed to quell almost all of the further speculations in good time but the video proof had been spread and even gone viral.

You’d seethed at him internally for putting you on the spot and if he’d been here you’d have hit him.

You’d called Seojoon to tell him you were going back and he’d forwarded his desire to see you when you and he were free, a prospect you’d gladly taken up before you were on the flight back home, leaving Taehyung behind to complete the festival events, under the sharp watch of Shin.

Besides, there was more you had to do.

After a long time of consideration, you had decided to let go of your contract with Kim Taehyung. There was no way you and he would be able to work together like this. Not when Yubin was concerned and not when his own actions towards you were so questionable.

You’d put yourself out there twice and he’d smashed both those chances.

You were done with him.

So, here you were sitting with Jinyoung and Chanyeol again.

“I don’t know, Mr. Bang. And frankly, I don’t care. I cannot work with someone who has zero self control and I’m not willing to be his impulse inhibitor.” You said harshly.

Mr. Bang sighed.

“I thought after this time…I must’ve been wrong.” He said.

Your jaw clenched as your gut told you what he was hinting at.

“Well, seeing as my client doesn’t have any further ties to Big Hit, we’d like to take your leave now.” Chanyeol said, chancing a look at your face.

You had never been so thankful for your friends before. Mil’s mistake had made you remove the clause in which you had to find a suitable substitute for Taehyung.

You’d submitted your resignation and had only to wait for Taehyung to return to sign its acceptance.

Meanwhile, you were taking a vacation. You’d earned it.

“…and I would also like to ask for Seojoon’s forgiveness. I know what I did was way out of line and I cannot stress how ashamed I am that I got inebriated enough to hit one of my closest friends. I’m just happy he and my manager weren’t hurt.”

Your hands froze in the act of chopping up tomatoes for your dinner.

You hadn’t heard from Taehyung ever since that fateful night and the sudden onset of his deep tenor voice made you stop every motion as you listened.

“I would also like to explain the reason why I was so inebriated. I was under a forced deal. It was so stressful that I acted out in an atrocious manner towards my manager. She had been kind enough to bear with it but I feel now is the time to stop dragging her through the dirt like this. I can only ask for forgiveness, I’m afraid.”

You walked out of your kitchen to see him on the news channel.

Sitting on a panel, surrounded by Shin and Mr. Bang his head was bowed as he narrated his side of the events. About how he was drunk, how he didn’t mean it, how he was sorry…

You let out a scoff at his face. He was a fantastic actor; of course he would be magnificent in this role. After all, he was the nation’s Golden boy. He’d be forgiven anything.

The knock on your door, made you turn, frowning at the late visitor and opened the door a crack before gaping.

Taehyung’s head was bowed now as well, cap down turned, and mask on but it was easy to tell it was him. You’d always be able to recognize him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you asked, opening the door further.

His head rose to look up at you, small eyes brightening at the sight of you.

You looked around the hallway before ushering him in.

“Well?” you demanded, crossing your arms as he took his time, pulling off the cap and mask.

“I…I came to see you.” he said.

“Right, well you saw me, now you should leave.” You said coldly.

Taehyung’s face fell at that. He took a step forward, towards you. “Y/N, please, I’m sorry,” he paused, head turning to see him on your screen.

You and he watched him as the press conference repeated some snippets and you sighed, moving to the kitchen to pick up your knife again.

“Are you going…to stab me or something?” he asked, appearing in the doorway.

You rolled your eyes.

“No, but I do want you to leave.” You stressed.

“Y/N,”

You could feel him step into the kitchen, arms reaching for you before he sighed, dropping them.

You waited, seeing if he would actually leave.

“I don’t know, Y/N. I don’t know what I have to do. I need you to tell me. Just say it and I’ll do it. Anything to get you back,” he whispered.

You paused, watching him out of your periphery.

“I…I’m just a farm kid, Y/N. I don’t have much experience with this but I know I screwed up again. All I’m asking is for you to understand.” He said again.

You turned to face him.

His face had drooped, lips pouting.

“Why did you do it? Why would you go back to her? You didn’t even have the guts to tell me.”

“I didn’t go back to her!” Taehyung shook his head vehemently. “That’s the last thing I would do. I know I sound like I’m shifting blame but she…she’s the reason why I’m like this.”

He sighed before slumping down into one of your dining chairs.

“You know that Yubin was the one who scouted me but when I got popular enough, successful enough we began to date. I was…mesmerized by her. She was beautiful, smart, everything that a small town kid like me could want. I would’ve married her in a heartbeat. Of course, I knew my family didn’t exactly approve but…I honestly didn’t care. I proposed.”

He gave a bitter laugh.

“She said no, of course. It changed her. She began to stay out late, took more far off projects, leaving me behind. It wasn’t until later, when we broke up that she told me about all the other…men and women. I wasn’t experienced enough, not good enough for her. She wanted more. She didn’t want to settle with me.”

He broke off and you didn’t have to be a mind reader to know that it must’ve hurt.

“Well, what else was I supposed to do? We broke up and she left, retired. I became The Kim Taehyung. What you see in front of you now, is thanks to her.” He looked up with a hollow look on his face.

“I slept around, did everything to become more like her. Maybe then I’d be good enough but she never returned. After a while, I began to act like that out of habit. Call it fucked up, I’ll agree with you. When I met you, I honestly began to only see you something to be broken into what I wanted. Of course, I wanted you to be mine; the pool wasn’t part of the scenario. I don’t know when, but you weren’t a conquest to me after a time. You were making me better. You were making me…me, again. Even my mother said so.” He chuckled.

“I got protective of you. Anything that could wipe away the traces of her from me, I’d want to keep. That was you. So, imagine my horror when she came back and I saw her with you. It scared my life out of me, even more than seeing you on the floor with some girl trying to choke you. I’d have done anything to keep you from her.”

“That day on the stairwell, it was her who messaged me. So, I went to see what she wanted. I didn’t think she would want anything to do with you but I was scared she’d run you off. That was the only reason why I agreed when she told me to accompany her to the Galas. I didn’t tell you because; I didn’t know what you’d say. Of course, now I know that was dumber because I hurt you nevertheless. Also the whole thing with Seojoon Hyung…I can’t believe I did that.”

“You were jealous.” You said bluntly, finally breaking your silence and he nodded.

“Can you blame me? In my mind, all I could see was that I was losing you to him. The one thing I didn’t want to happen and it was happening right in front of my eyes. I lost it.”

He reached out suddenly, grabbing my hand to pull me closer to him.

“There, now you know everything. I even did the press conference because I couldn’t reach you. You wouldn’t even take my calls.”

You sighed.

“Taehyung…I like you, I do but…this; this isn’t good for me. I can’t have you become jealous and try to ruin everything, my reputation and yours in a fit of temper. Please,” you said, trying to pull away but he held fast.

A glint of determination shone in his eyes.

“I’ll give it up. If I can’t change then I’ll give it all up. None of this matters if it loses me you.” he said fiercely.

I snorted.

“Then what, you become like Yubin?” you asked backing off but this time he followed, definitely not willing to give up.

“Anything, I’ll do absolutely anything. I have more than enough money, Y/N. I can last well enough till I’m ready to come back to the scene. I only want you to take me back.”

You bite your lips, watching him.

“Why, what’s so special about me?” you asked.

He smiled a soft fond smile.

“You’re you. You’re patient, understanding, strict but kind and reasonable. You’re the first one to comment on my laugh being genuine. You’re the first one I’ve wanted to spend the night with and the first one I’ve wanted to impress.”

He was leaning in; his face so close that you could feel his warm breath waft against your skin.

“I might even say that I’m falling for you.” he whispered.

“If you…” you began, “make a fool out of me again, I will personally castrate you.” you warned.

His eyes widened a tad bit at the warning before he was nodding. “I’ll take it.” he said.

“Good,”

You and Taehyung stared at each other for a minute until the tension in the air reached a crescendo. You huffed and reached out for his shoulders, pulling him to you in a rough and messy kiss.

Taehyung let out a soft growl against your mouth, teeth clashing and nipping at your lips as he let you plunder his mouth, take the kiss the way you wanted.

His hands gripped at your hips, molding the flesh in his large palms as he pulled you tight to his chest. Heat bubbled in your chest, threatening to combust you as you broke off for breath.

“Taehyung,” you gasped and he pulled away; kiss swollen lip panting for breath, looking at you in question.

You looked around your slightly cramped kitchen before nodding to the living room hallway.

“Couch,” You mumbled, and he nodded immediately, ducking slightly and lifting you up so your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you out to your living room, setting you down on the plush material of the sofa before he was withdrawing to the door, locking and bolting it before returning to you.

The kiss he placed over your lips this time was sweeter and yet rough, him taking his time to grab your face in both of his hands.

“The things I want to do to you but I want you to take charge.” He mumbled against your skin and you whined, nails dragging across his covered bicep.

He began to tilt your head to place kisses under your jaw and along your neck and you groaned, your smaller hands running under his shirt to feel his back, pushing the fabric to bunch around his neck.

“Take it off,” you mumbled.

Taehyung obeyed, pulling back to toss the shirt off as he hovered over you again, allowing you to kiss up his chest. He grunted when you closed your mouth over his nipple and gave a hard suckle, peppering more kisses further up his torso.

He grinned down at you even as you sunk your teeth into his shoulder, earning a hissed ‘fuck’.

“You like biting me, baby?” he asked and you blinked owlishly up at him before he was pressing his lips to your again. “I liked it. You can have your way with me however you want.” He promised and your core clenched at his words, all sorts of fantasies coming back to you of months of imagining what you would’ve liked to do to him.

You had always wanted to see what his skin would taste like and now that was one fantasy checked off.

You raised your body up on your elbows and he pushed back onto his haunches, watching you as you began to push him back, making him sit back as you climbed onto his lap, just like the pool.

The way his eyes darkened, you knew he was remembering it too.

“I want to make you pay for all those months of annoying the fuck out of me,” you whispered, your voice husky and breathy and he groaned, head falling back before nodding.

“Go ahead,”

You latched onto his neck at the permission, making sure to leave a dark purple bloom across his golden skin. Taehyung chuckled at that, feeling you devour him as petals blossomed across his upper body.

“Marking me as yours? I might have to annoy you even more.” He teased before jolting as you pinched his left nipple, shutting him up.

You kept your eyes on him, watching his reactions. With the god like face he owned, you had to admit, his expressions only aroused you more as you fiddled with your shirt, unbuttoning it slowly.

Taehyung’s wide eyes followed the skin you bared to him, before his own hands moved, grabbing onto the simple cotton bra you had on, almost ripping it at the clasps to get it off of you.

The moment your bare breasts met his eyes, he smiled wickedly, leaning to take a peak in his mouth, rolling it between his teeth, lapping at it with his tongue, giving you the same, if not slightly gentler version of your treatment of him.

Shivers of pleasure rushed up your spine and you curled your fingers in the soft hair at the base of his neck, another fantasy fulfilled, pressing him closer to you.

“Fuck baby, you taste so good, I can’t wait to taste your pussy.” He muttered against you as he bucked his hips into yours.

“Later, take your time later; I want you inside of me now.” You gasped, feeling your wetness pool into your underwear and he pouted but relented.

Gripping your thighs tight, he made you look into his eyes.

“Right now, we’ll do it how you want but the next round I’m taking my time with you and I don’t want you to make a peep.” He said and you rolled your eyes.

“Brat,” you muttered at him but he only grinned, letting you clamber off of his lap.

Both of you leaned away to undo your jeans, him tossing his clothes away before pawing at yours, fingers hooking over yours to take your panties off.

“Jesus, look how wet you are, you can’t possibly not let me eat you out.”

For your part, you wanted to taste him too but you just keened, basking in the praise while slipping in a finger into your core to tantalize him into action.

Taehyung’s jaw slacked as he watched you finger yourself open, his eyes darting back and forth between your pussy and face. Finally reaching forward, he grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand up to his mouth to suck at your soaked finger.

Damn, the way his tongue wrapped around your index made you want to screech even as he moaned.

“That’ll have to do for now.” He said, before he was driving back for his jeans, fingers fumbling into his pockets for a condom.

Ripping off the foil, he began to slow down to carefully put it on.

“Ready baby?” he asked, rolling it on him, waiting for your permission.

You nodded, quickly, feeling him desperately line himself with you and push in with a hard thrust, burying him into you to the hilt.

A cry escaped you at his roughness. Taehyung’s libido must have suffered from all the abstinence he’s practiced for you and you understood the greed he was dripping with now.

Taehyung cursed, hips rolling into you as he slowly pushed in and out, testing the waters. “Taehyung, please,” you whined again, your legs wrapping around his to drag him in closer to you. “I want you to go faster, harder.” You ordered, remembering his promise and his jaw set, eyes watching yours for any sign of discomfort before he nodded and set a furious pace, pumping him into you.

His face dropped, lips caressing yours as he whispered sweet and filth to you before he was running his fingers down your body, finding your clit as he rubbed it with his thumb.

Pants of your breath and his grunts filled the room, the static noise of a reporter talking about Kim Taehyung interrupting a few short moments of silence before your cries of pleasure drowned out the droning voice again.

“Come for me,” Taehyung said, index and thumb pinching your now swollen and hard nub.

You exploded, stars twinkling behind your eyes as he followed soon after, grunting and groaning as he emptied himself into the condom.

There was a silence as you both reveled in the catharsis of the pent up sexual tension releasing before he was getting off of you, going into the bathroom to dispose of the condom. “We won’t do it again with the TV on,” you grumbled, reaching around for the remote to shut the TV off as you heard him chuckle from inside.

Once he returned, wrapping both of you up in the couch blanket, he nuzzled up into your neck.

“How will you resign if I don’t accept?”

He asked suddenly and you let out a tired chuckle.

[that-is-where-they-wait]

That is Where They Wait Ch 13: This is Why Jay’s Not Group Leader

previous / next all chapters AO3 FFN [HAHA 13th CHAPTER ON HALLOWEEN, I’m a GENIUS. jk I’m just dead, sorry everyone, happy Halloween. hugs and kisses to the 5 (five) people that still give a damn about this fic] res·pite | /ˈrespət,rēˈspīt/ | noun | 1. a short period of rest or relief from something difficult or unpleasant. 

The shadows created by his tiny flame cut stark figures on the walls, the floor, and both their faces. They were far too sharp to be natural, too unsettling to be ignored. Kai was getting sick of the agitation thrumming under his skin.

This room they'd found was nice and all, especially considering the door had a lock, but they couldn't stand around and wait for safety forever. The longer they stayed put, the longer they risked getting well and truly lost. And seeing how Karlof had been lost when Kai'd found him cornered by the spirit, that was definitely a risk.

Kai twisted the knob and pulled.

The door stayed put.

Frowning, he tried again. And again, tugging more harshly. Still nothing.

They'd just gotten themselves locked inside the room. Did it lock from the outside or something?!

Frustrated when persistently pulling at the door did nothing, Kai yelled and punched it as hard as he could. A moment later, hissing and rubbing his knuckles, he realized that was a mistake.

"Let Karlof try," the other man said, buckling up to attack and slamming the door with all the force he had. Both of his gauntlets hit the wood with an impressive, booming 'thud', but the door held. Kai squinted — were there even any cracks on the thing?

"Uhh … do it again," he suggested hurriedly. "Maybe if you keep at it, it'll start to crack."

And Karlof did take a few more spirited swings at the door standing in their way. No good; somehow the door was still in one piece. Not even anything other than hairline cracked. (Just how did a stinking door manage to be stronger in the face of Karlof's punches than him, anyway? Ouch, his ego.)

"Doesn't make sense! How is door not broken already?" Karlof asked, absolutely dumbfounded.

"Great question! Wish I knew." Petulantly, he threw his leg back and kicked. Unsurprisingly, it did nothing, and he was left glowering at the door as his toe throbbed briefly. The last bit of the flame in his hand winked out as he lost his focus, and he had to generate a new one. (Blast their weakened powers.)

Okay, so this was an exasperating turn of events. But hey, they could find another way out. Kai's free hand flew to his chin as he thought about it. Maybe they didn't have to break the door …

"Hey, Karlof. Maybe if you use your metal powers to rip off the hinges. You think we could get the door off that way?"

Karlof just stared at him for a second.

"Karlof don't particularly care."

Hold on, what.

"Walked all day just to get to stupid mansion, then ran around forever just to get away from ugly monster. All Karlof want right now is some rest."

"Tell me you're joking," Kai hissed. "We can rest once we get back to where we were! Unless you wanna be wandering around lost."

"Breaking down door takes energy. Karlof don't have energy right now. Plus, if we can't go out, monster can't come in," Karlof pointed out.

He had a point. Kai remembered what the others had said about the magic surrounding everything. It leeched their energy, didn't it? Karlof looked pretty wiped. He was loathe to stay away from the others any longer than necessary, and he hated how everything about this place felt, but it'd be just mean to deny the guy a chance to rest. He liked to think he wasn't that much of a jerk.

Karlof grimaced after a moment. "Also … maybe pulled leg muscle while running. Don't know for sure."

"Oh, and of course you save that for last," Kai groaned. "Okay, fine. We'll stay in here a while. You're just lucky the door's locked."

"What I wouldn't give for a working camera right now, to capture the look on your face." Cole shook his head and chuckled.

No one had counted on the passage from the clock workshop taking them right back to the room they were staying in — least of all Jay and Skylor, who had their first taste of the passages from a bewildered posse of ninja stumbling out of the wall. They'd both jumped nearly clear to the ceiling; poor Skylor had actually almost fallen off of the bed she was sitting on trying to scramble to her feet.

"Ohh, shut up! The wall just opened up out of nowhere and spit you out; what was I supposed to think?! You would've have been just as startled!"

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, zaptrap."

"It was pretty funny," Lloyd said, smile muted but genuine.

"Helpful," Jay huffed. "You wouldn't happen to have found them, would you?"

Cole shook his head and gestured at the empty space to his left. "What do you think?"

Jay sighed, expression dropping. "Thought so. … You guys mind explaining why the walls just spit you out?"

"Please," Skylor added. "If you're going to give me a heart attack, at least tell me why."

Lloyd turned to really see her, and noticed that she was fiddling with what looked to be the pieces of her crossbow. Then he did a double-take. Before he could say anything, Zane spoke up.

"Apologies for startling you, and hello, Skylor. It's good to see that you're — oh my."

"Yeah, I know." Skylor grinned ruefully, eyes obscured by…

"Those are Kai's shades," Lloyd blurted out. "How come …?"

"Ask Jay," she shrugged. "He had the idea of giving them to me in the first place."

"Hey, I couldn't dim the lamp or fireplace anymore or they'd go out, and I know Kai's always carrying a pair of sunglasses with him, so …yeah."

"They really do help, though," Skylor said. "It's easier to fix this thing" — she frowned at her broken weapon of choice — "when I can keep my eyes open."

"Good to hear it," Zane said, ever the one to keep tabs. "But hopefully you won't be needing it too soon." Skylor frowned, but didn't respond.

It was hard to figure out how he felt about this. On the one hand, heh. Of course Kai kept sunglasses on him at all times.

On the other hand, the fact that they were Kai's only pulled worse at something in Lloyd's chest. If they didn't find him fast, Skylor using his sunglasses was gonna feel more like a sick joke than anything …

He expelled the thought quickly.

Kai would be okay. He had to be.

Cole went around haphazardly patting different objects in the room until he knocked back a glass lantern on the mantelpiece shutting the passage entrance, meriting a few snickers at how silly he looked. Then he started telling Jay and Skylor how they'd discovered the passage system, but gratefully let Zane explain the uglier details. Lloyd jumped in to describe their surroundings in the open hallways and several rooms that had been explored as well, including some of the more eccentric details. Skylor, having evidently taken on the role of unofficial scribe out of sheer boredom with her current situation, reached for a notepad and started scribbling away, asking questions ever so often.

"You know what I think is going on here?" Jay said, after a beat. "We crossed dimensions walking through the forest and now we're in a horror video game. That's what happened."

"Jay."

"Listen, I'm right," Jay declared, with far more confidence than he had any right to have. "Think about it. Everything's too quirky. Too conveniently inconvenient."

"Jay, I swear to Lloyd's grandfather I will hurt you." The effect of Cole's words were mostly nullified by the fact that he was shaking his head in his hands. (And for the record, it was still weird when people swore on his grandfather.)

"Explain," Skylor said, openly giggling at the absurdity, and Zane looked as confused as he did amused.

Ahh, good ol' Zane.

Still, the fact that Jay was joking around when there were people missing rubbed him the wrong way.

"I'm serious! We just so happen to be stuck in here because the doors won't open, and they can't be busted down, and the windows are barred! Have you ever heard a more video-game thing in your life?"

"Splendid situational analysis skills right there, Jay," Cole responded drily. "A+. What do you propose we do to solve this?"

But then again … Cole had been tensed up and radiating apprehension, the entire time they were searching, to the point where it had started to make Lloyd nervous, too. He looked like he was beginning to lighten up again, as he poked at Jay's ridiculousness.

"Whoa, hey, I didn't ask for leader talk! Just saying. Not to mention, that ugly ghost clown respawns when you kill it. That's some next-level malarkey right there."

"D-don't call it that," Skylor gasped in between laughs. Evidently the pain meds had kicked in.

"And why not, huh? Are you trying to tell me it doesn't look like a clown and the Overlord had a really ugly baby?"

"Goodness," Zane remarked.

"Jay, do you ever think before you open your mouth?" Cole groaned, exasperated chuckles slipping out despite his best efforts. "Ever?"

"It's a personal point of pride to improv anything and everything I say," Jay said matter-of-factly. "Come on, you know this."

"This is why you're not group leader."

And since when was Lloyd the one to growl at any sign of fun when things were rough? He'd seen the way Jay's face had dropped when Cole announced that Kai and Karlof were still missing, and according to Zane he'd fought it before. If he was goofing off, it wasn't for lack of understanding the gravity — it was in spite of it.

So he'd bite. He'd pick back up the pieces of the child left over from when he'd been too small for the green gi, and play along. When they went back out to search, it'd be easier to keep his morale up if he let loose a little now.

They needed this.

"You know, Jay does have a point," he chimed in now. When everyone's attention turned to him, he grinned and clarified, "About the video game thing. Also the things in here are so … weird, they might as well be props. Like the clocks! What would anyone do with that many clocks?"

"And it does seem odd that there would be so many weapons on display …" Zane murmured under his breath.

"Yeah, exactly!"

Jay beamed. "Finally, someone sees it my way! I would bet my hand that this is all because of that dumb discount survivor Kai got at the shady store across from Doomsday Comix. I knew there was something weird about it. You should never trust a shady discount game."

"Hey, Kai got that game for you, because he was sick of you bellyaching about the Temple being haunted!" Cole replied. "Think an awful lot of me, doncha? Won't even take the former ghost's word that there's no ghosts in there."

"Uh, like I'd take your word for anything! Why don't you take this?" Jay threw a pillow at Cole's shoulder, much to their shock. They held their breath and waited for their reaction … and Cole worked his jaw for a second, then promptly picked up the pillow and nailed Jay in the face with it.

"Whoa, hey!" Lloyd cried. They paused and looked at him again.

"... We don't have nearly enough pillows for this."

Jay only blinked for a split second before grinning, balling up his blanket and whacking Cole with that instead.

Skylor doubled over laughing.

Absolute mayhem ruled for all of five minutes. Zane had been unwittingly dragged into the pillow/blanket fight that had evolved, and Lloyd figured if everyone else bar the one person who couldn't was doing it, he was definitely throwing himself into the ring. It only lasted up to Cole and Zane ganging up on him and wrapping him into a blanket burrito until he was screaming uncle. Even if she couldn't participate, Skylor was absolutely living for the chaos; she was practically munching on popcorn, tossing stray bedding into the fray (from a safe distance) for the rest of them to pounce on.

When they eventually settled down and sobered up, the air settling down on their shoulders again wasn't as oppressive. The soft afterglow lingering after they'd laughed some of their stress out made everyone feel a little more like they would be okay in the end, like they could go out and search again and they'd find everything they needed to — Kai, Karlof, and a way to escape this awful place and put it behind them for good.

But for right now …

"So. What's next?" Cole fluffed a pillow and set it back on the bed he'd grabbed it from.

"We should go back out and keep looking," Lloyd stated, grabbing a blanket off the floor and pointedly folding it in an apologetic-looking Zane's direction. Cole snorted — Zane might've felt a liiiiittle guilty about teaming up on Lloyd and accidentally knocking Jay down with a pillow, but he'd enjoyed every bit of that fight, and Lloyd knew it and he knew they both knew it.

"So soon?" Skylor asked. "You were gone for a while. Maybe you should take a break or something first …"

"Yeah!" Jay agreed, putting away his own blanket. "You were walking in secret passages and stuff! Aren't you tired? I know I'd be."

"If we do go out again, we should switch out who remains here with Skylor to prevent that," Zane said.

"Not 'if'," Lloyd said. "It's dangerous out there, and didn't you say Kai was injured? Karlof doesn't have any idea what he's up against if he bumps into it, either. Not to mention, we haven't even seen a trace of Shade around longer we wait, the worse our chances of finding them are. I say we keep looking a little longer."

Cole grimaced. He understood Lloyd's impatience, of course. He was worried, they all were, and nothing about their current situation looked good. And every second they spent trapped put him painfully in mind of another haunted building that had preyed on their fears and ended in nothing but trouble …

But the green ninja's insistence on searching until they found their missing was beginning to look near-obsessive. And while he hadn't said a word about being tired, his group had been on the move almost constantly since before they'd even arrived at the mansion. He'd fought for his life once already, and the building's magic was persistently weakening them. He had to be tired. Cole knew he was.

For the kid's sake, Cole hoped again that they were alright. If they weren't …

He shut the train of thought down before it could set itself off. He could do without losing his composure like that again, particularly now that he wasn't as isolated.

"Ech. I was actually thinking we have lunch or something first. It's been a while since any of us ate."

"Lunch …?"

Ohhh First Spinjitzu Master he could not be serious.

"Yes, Lloyd," he said dryly, "sometimes human beings need to eat food. You know, to survive and stuff."

"I know that!" Lloyd exclaimed. "But how do you know that it's lunch time, specifically?"

Cole paused to consider it. Usually, his appetite was the subject of a fair few jokes, but here he was using it as a surprisingly reliable indicator of when they should eat, sharpened with fatigue as it was. Because he was absolutely basing this off of his appetite.

A crinkle broke the quiet. Heads turned to see nothing else but Jay, teeth already sunk into a granola bar and blinking up at them.

"What?"

Cole sighed, rummaging through his backpack and frowning when it took a minute to find him anything worth eating. He unwrapped a sandwich as he said his next words.

"First trail mix at unholy hours of the morning, now this. If you're going to keep snacking precisely when it's not time to eat, you can't turn around and wonder why you're never hungry. I mean, not to suggest there's ever a bad time to eat, but you know what I mean."

"But I'm not hungry enough to eat a full meal!" Jay protested. "Any more than this and … I dunno. Don't feel up to it. And aren't you a fine one to talk?"

"But he has a point," Zane said, concerned. "Your appetite is usually larger than this. Does your stomach still hurt?"

"Nah," Jay said dismissively, though he polished off the bar and didn't make a move to eat anything else. "I'm just not that hungry. Besides, I'll just save it for later."

Cole opened his mouth to tell him to eat at least a little more, anyway, but the last thing he'd said made him think.

Because when he considered it …

"We're starting to run low on food, aren't we?"

"Now that you mention it, I guess we are," Lloyd said, surrendering to the fact that they were eating now and pulling out some food. He didn't immediately eat it, though. "And we can't go get more, can we?"

"I have extra food in my bag," Zane offered, looking a little meek. "... The truth is, I kept storing food and snacks in it for missions and never remembered to take them out. It might not be all that much, but perhaps it could help us last a little longer."

"Hoarder."

"Hey, it's saving our hides now, isn't it?" Lloyd elbowed Jay. "Be nice."

"But I'm afraid it won't last us forever …"

"Right. We gotta think long-run," Cole said. "We have backup food, but there's …" He took a moment to count. "Five of us. Seven including the missing two. And none of us are running on full strength. This stuff's gonna go fast. If Zane's stash runs out, we've got no way to get more from outside, plus there's no way anything in here would be edible."

"Blegh." Jay made a face. "Can you imagine what it'd be like? The mold probably has mold growing on it. No thank you."

"Thank you, Jay, you're really doing wonders for my appetite." Skylor groaned.

"You're very welcome."

"Keep it to yourself," Cole said. "Just because you're not hungry doesn't mean you have to make sure everyone else isn't."

Jay harrumphed at him but didn't say anything else.

"We need to ration, don't we?" Lloyd said.

"I don't like that," Jay said. "That implies we're staying here."

"... Not that I like the idea," Cole hated it, in fact. "But again, we might have to start thinking long-term. Hopefully, Kai and Karlof aren't far, but who knows how long it'll actually take to find them. And that's not even taking into account how we'll find a way to escape …"

"Okay, you've made your point," Jay moaned. Cole followed his gaze to Lloyd, who was eating his honey sandwich with dark eyes, and sighed, feeling another twinge of worry.

"Well, this doesn't bode well for me," Skylor commented. "I didn't think we'd get holed up this long."

"Is this about food? How much do you have?" Zane asked.

"Mm? Only about enough for a day and a half, plus snacks. And that's being generous," she admitted sheepishly. "I've only got a little more left."

"It's alright," Cole replied. "None of us were really expecting it. You can just … mooch off of Zane?"

"Well, geez." Skylor raised an eyebrow. It was pretty funny, paired with the sunglasses. "When you put it that way."

"Don't worry," Zane reassured her. "Feel free to take what you need."

"Pft. Alright," Skylor said at last. "Thanks."

"Glad we got that set straight, but what're we gonna do about water?" Lloyd brought up. "My bottle's nearly empty."

"He has a point," Zane said. "Having food is essential, but we cannot afford to dehydrate, either."

"Man, Nya'd be nice to have around for that," Cole sighed. "... But it's probably a good thing she's not here."

"It's been well over a day and we still haven't contacted her."

"Maybe longer, even," Jay sighed glumly. His eyes flickered with worry for a second. "You … don't think she'd come looking for us, do you?"

"Don't sound so hopeful, Jay," Cole warned him. "There's no way it'd end well if she did."

"It was bad enough when I ran into it," Lloyd added. "If it stumbled into her before we did …"

"Okay, okay, I get it," Jay whimpered. "Forget I said anything."

"But do we need a water master for that?" Skylor cut in. "We could try to melt ice and make do that way."

"PIXAL has the same idea. But that would be most efficiently done with a controlled heat source such as Kai's fire, and Kai isn't with us right now," Zane said. Lloyd's face darkened.

"I know, but once we find him. Because we are going to," she said pointedly.

"I suppose I could just set some ice near the fireplace and let it melt, even though it would still be slow," Zane said. "Until we find Kai, of course."

"Right," Lloyd answered before Cole or Jay could say anything. "We will." But the room felt tenser again, more quietly charged than it had before.

How much longer they could keep that conviction up remained to be seen.

[arcticdementor]

The ongoing argument of how and whether conservatives should stand up for their beliefs in a hostile environment includes some recent interesting flareups, including here in The Federalist. The most interesting, to me, is the exchange between National Review’s David French and the Paradox Project’s pseudonymous Matt Shapiro (full disclosure: he’s written for The Federalist).

French worked as an attorney doing important civil rights work with the Alliance Defending Freedom, and Shapiro was in graduate school at a university that was one party in a case where French served as lead counsel. They experienced different parts of the same elephant.

…

The strongest point in Shapiro’s essay comes when he notes that he has, in fact, made a commitment that there is a line violating his religious beliefs, a line he will not cross: “But you’re ridiculous if you think I’m telling you what that line is. The moment an activist discovers my line, they will use that information to go to my employer and demand that they find a way to force me to cross that line. And I won’t cross it. And I’ll lose my job.”

And courage can’t prevent that. French certainly can’t prevent that: after all, he went to bat for Kevin Williamson’s job at the Atlantic. How’d courage work out for Williamson?

…

French described Shapiro’s statement as “a response worth reading,” but didn’t agree with the conclusion, maintaining, “It’s not either/or. It’s both/and. And the battle won’t be won without both/and. Two decades of litigation have blazed a trail, but sometimes folks have to just walk down that trail. If you don’t want to, I understand. It’s hard. But it’s still a failure if you don’t.”

In other words, “There may be a hockey-masked slasher down that trail, but you need to go down it by yourself anyway.” But as anybody who has ever seen a horror movie knows, fewer camp counselors would meet grisly deaths if they just figured out how to walk down trails together.

…

Crichton observed that journalists were absolutely terrible at covering his profession, yet when he turned the page in the newspaper he still assumed for some reason they would be competent at covering foreign affairs. Similarly, French knows perfectly well that organizing is hard, that putting people together is a skill, and that not everybody has the skills they need in a given situation. When the matter at hand isn’t a civil rights lawsuit, he forgets how hard organizing is.

But nothing happens invisibly or without cost. And telling people they’re cowards isn’t the way to get them to pay that cost. In his excellent book “Hegemony How-To,” the lefty organizer Jonathan Smucker points out that people who are reluctant to do something don’t just need to be told it’s morally important. They need to be convinced the thing you’re asking them to do will work. That it will matter. If they don’t buy that, they won’t do it.

The reason conservatives in hostile settings are reluctant to stand up is that they don’t know how to do it in a way that will produce effect. What’s noteworthy is that French doesn’t even consider that maybe people need some help figuring out how to effectively stand up. Giving them the idea that they should do so, he thinks, should be sufficient.

…

Lefties who wanted unions didn’t just secure the legal right to form a union, and then stop. They taught people who want unions how to make unions. Conservatives don’t do that for our own people, to our shame. We tend to think if people don’t do something for themselves, they must be either cowards or lazy.

Well, sometimes people are cowards, and sometimes people are lazy, but sometimes it’s just that they don’t know what to do. Lefties are better at providing onramps to this stuff. Conservatives blithely say things like French’s line that “there are platoons of lawyers willing and eager to take a swing at your antagonists,” and assume you know who they are, how to reach them, and under what circumstances you can call on them. Lefties planning a protest give you a workshop on your rights, provide free legal observers from a multitude of organizations, then read off a legal defense phone number and tell you to write on your arm.

…

Conservatives don’t do mobilizing, and we certainly don’t do organizing. We basically have three modes: evangelism (telling people what they should believe), electioneering (convincing them to pull the lever), and advocacy. None of these really empower people to fight for themselves. Advocates can swoop in heroically, like knights in armor, but they can’t do everything, they can’t be everywhere at once, and when they depart the field they still leave behind their protectees as an untrained rabble.

…

It’s important to have conservative organizations that fight for people’s legal rights. But that’s not enough. When the legal fight is won, you have to make sure the public knows what the rights they’ve secured are, and what to do if they’re infringed upon. The ACLU, for example, provides illegal immigrants information in multiple languages about what their rights are, how to interact with law enforcement, and where to turn for help. The same Web page provides a 108-page PDF toolkit for responding to ICE workplace raids.

The Alliance for Defending Freedom provides information on your rights, too. But they don’t just give it to you. They make you fill out a form first. (You can freely download their PDF brochure.) The barrier to entry is small, but means many people can’t find their advice.

And while my lefty friends are constantly recommending ACLU guides to people worried about their rights, I’ve never seen a single conservative — even David French! — say “Okay, first thing is you need to get the guidelines of the Alliance for Defending Freedom.” Or of any other conservative advocacy group, for that matter.

…

Their strength is in informing people what their rights are; their weakness is in providing guidance for when those rights are violated. In comparison to the ACLU’s 108-page toolkit, they’re lacking: they don’t tell people how to stand up effectively with anything other than ineffective griping or suing with ADF’s help. The real heart of the publications is guiding you to lay groundwork that will make it easier for the ADF to defend your faith-based organization when they represent you in a lawsuit. Which, again, doesn’t help people stand up for themselves.

…

Write the administration. Submit an op-ed. Hold an event. Because conservatives on campus have had so much luck with those.

This is our real problem. Normal people building normal groups to support the normal desires of normal people is essential to community, let alone political organizing, and righties kind of suck at it because we assume it’ll naturally emerge. Well, no. The kind of communities that naturally emerge are usually pretty crappy communities.

No magical elves are going to build your community for you. If people are afraid, don’t tell them that they’re cowards. Teach them how to stand up.

What does helping people stand up for themselves look like? I keep telling people: you have to read the lefties. Conservatives like French tell people they’re cowards if they don’t stand up for their unpopular beliefs as isolated individuals in a hostile environment, but radical leftists like McAlevey teach people how to make friends. Guess who wins?

[with-fists-and-folded-steel]

Himiko

If there were a man more insufferable in all of Kugane (more like all of Othard, if she were being honest with herself), Azumi had yet to meet him in her thirty years on this Star. How she’d love nothing more than to put a permanent end to his ceaseless prattle about his fishing techniques, his family (She doesn’t know whether to pity them for having that coming home to them every night, or be very concerned about what sort of people could stand him for more than a single night), and his utterly unimpressive collection of antique swords, or whatever the hells else happens to cross his mind. Unfortunately, for as maddeningly bored as she was, killing off one of your most important suppliers was generally considered to be bad for business. That, and her boss would have her hide. And Azumi was rather fond of her hide. It’s a nice hide. She opted for the friendliest smile she could manage to fake instead as she took a sip of her tea.

… He just. Would not. Shut. Up. It would be fine if she could convince him to just skip to the business at hand, but no! She thought her boss was joking, but the horror stories were true. He needs to ramble for what feels like bells before finally getting around to any important matters! And it’s everything Azumi can do to stop herself from clawing her eyes out. Or better yet, his. She glanced down at the remains of her meal, and frowned. There were barely scraps left, and she couldn’t even begin to remember when she’d finished it. She needed something. Any excuse to get away from him. Even for just a bell or two.

“—Oh! Have I mentioned that my son has begun to take an interest in the family business of late?” He had. At least… three times, last she paid him any mind? “He’s already shown remarkable talent with customer relations! Why, he’s almost as good as his own fath—“

His words were thankfully cut off by sudden angry shouting in the nearby markets. People flocked over to see what all the fuss was about, and crowds quickly formed. Azumi silently thanked the Kami for the distraction, and seized her chance, springing to her feet. “What in the hells is going on? We should go check it out.”

“But what about my food? I haven’t finished yet! And what of our discussion?”

“Why don’t you stay here and finish eating, and we can conclude our talks another time? Sound good?” She didn’t give him a chance to respond, already rushing off to the source of the commotion.

She sighed in relief, having rid herself of the man, and began weaving through the crowd, quickly making her way to the front. Upon arriving at the scene, she finds an irate shopkeeper muttering curses, as a samurai grips a young roegadyn child’s wrist tightly, and wrenches a large melon out of their hand. The child is of no more than… eight? Nine years? Almost alarmingly thin, covered in dirt and grime, with long, unkempt black hair. Probably a girl, by Azumi’s reckoning.

“Let me— Let. Me. GO!” The girl grit her teeth, struggling in vain to yank her arm free of the Sekiseigumi’s grasp.

“Shut up, you mangy little thief. You’ll get what you deserve soon enough.” The merchant spat at her.

The little girl growled at him, baring her teeth, and the samurai sighed as he turned to hand the melon back to the shopkeeper, “Here. This little one will be dealt with in accordance with the law. Thievery will not be tolerated.”

Azumi's interest had begun to fade. She'd started turning to leave, but the way the roe's eyes widened before flashing dangerously, her expression darkening, made Azumi pause. The roe girl stopped struggling, glancing between the samurai restraining her, and the smug merchant holding her prize.

She stomped on the merchant’s foot as hard as she could, before turning her hand to grab the Sekiseigumi’s wrist, twisting roughly and forcing him to release her hand as she wrenched his arm behind his back, and shoved him into the shopkeeper. In the confusion, she made a dash for the melon, and ran off into a stunned crowd, shoving onlookers out of her way.

Azumi blinked in astonishment at what she’d just witnessed. That scrawny little girl had just successfully escaped a trained samurai and slipped through their grasp. That? That, she could work with. There was definitely potential there. She had to find her. Before the samurai could finish helping the merchant to his feet, Azumi rushed to pursue the roegadyn, weaving her way out of the mass of people as quickly as she could.

She just managed to catch a glimpse of her already half-way across the bridge, barely visible. By the time she made it to the bridge, the Sekiseigumi and the angry merchant had just barely shoved their way past the crowd, and the girl was seemingly nowhere to be found.

Best bet, she’d have cut under the bridge and either double back around to the market back alleys, or head for the docks. Were it just the merchant after the girl, she’d guess one of those. But with a samurai giving chase? Those would likely be the first places checked, and Azumi had a feeling the girl was smart enough to have taken him into account. There’s… the Rakuza District, but… a street rat barreling in there with a large melon was going to draw some attention. Unless…

Azumi spotted a large group of ijin being led by a guide across the district bridge. There were so many new, exciting sights for them all to take in, they probably wouldn’t have noticed her slipping among them. And the place may be a fancy tourist trap, but there were plenty of alleyways for a small child to go unnoticed. She followed the group into the district, keeping a respectable distance to watch out for the girl splitting off.

After about ten minutes of the group wandering the streets, she spotted the girl trying to slink away from the ijin. She barely waited until she rounded the corner into a nearly-deserted alleyway to start jabbing into the melon, digging in as soon as she could manage to secure a chunk of it as she continued making her way to wherever she planned to hide out.

Azumi stalked after her, slowing her pace down to keep the roe from noticing her. To anyone else, she was taking a leisurely stroll. After a few minutes, the girl froze suddenly, and quickly scanned her surroundings. Azumi maintained her pace, avoiding making any sort of eye contact. After a few moments, the roe girl seemed satisfied there were no immediate threats, and resumed her journey.

She finally came to a stop at what appeared to be a makeshift shelter, cobbled together with bits of broken crates, and barrels, and suchlike. Not content to live entirely inconspicuously, there were obviously stolen paints littered outside, and drawings of cute animals adorning the outer walls of the shelter. Azumi sighed at that. Clearly, stealth was not this child’s expertise.  Still, what she lacked in that department, she could absolutely make up for with her fighting capabilities, if nurtured properly.

The little roe sat the remainder of the melon on the ground next to the entrance of the shelter before flopping dramatically down next to it and breathing a deep sigh of relief. She glanced down at her wrist, angry, dark marks marring her reddish-purple skin having been left by the Sekiseigumi’s treatment, and pouted as she began rubbing gently at it. The girl reached back into the shelter to grab a couple long strips of cloth, and tenderly wrapped them around her wrist and hand.

As much as she would have liked to continue observing, Azumi came here with a purpose, and with the sun’s light beginning to die out, she was reminded of all the time her business associate had wasted already. She strode confidently towards the girl’s hideout.

“So, how does a little girl get the better of a warrior more than thrice her years?”

The child snapped towards the sound of Azumi’s voice, and her face flashed with a mix of surprise, fear, and confusion. “I’m not a-…” She stalled for a second, seeming to reconsider, “I am NOT little.”

“Uh-huh. You’re, what? Six years? Seven?” Azumi smirked as the girl bristled at that, “You’re entirely skin and bones. And I’ve seen roe girls your age. You’re a full head shorter than they are. You. Are. Little.”

She turned her head away from Azumi and grumbled quietly.

“But we’re getting off topic. You didn’t answer my question: However did a child like you pull off such a feat?”

The child regarded her warily before responding, “Why d’you care?”

“Because I am impressed. That trick of yours isn’t exactly common, and for a scrawny little thing like you to make it work against a Sekiseigumi warrior while retaining your prize suggests talent. Talent I’d like to help see transformed into skill.” A thoughtful expression formed on Azumi’s face, “And by the way, next time? A solid punch to the kidney’ll buy you more time.”

Eyes-wide, the girl slowly nodded her head, trying to process everything Azumi said. She looked away and sucked in a shaky breath, “Mmmthrttme.”

“Pardon me?”

“M-my… My mother taught me. Just in case.”

Huh. Not quite the response Azumi expected. “And where is your mother now, little one?”

The roe girl hugged her knees to her chest, tears welling up in her eyes. “I-I… I don’t want to talk about it.”

Okay. Sensitive topic. The world being what it is, Azumi couldn't help but suspect the girl's parents were dead. Accident or otherwise, it was clearly the wrong thing to inquire about. She didn’t have much experience with comforting children (And to be honest, she wasn’t overly fond of them to begin with), but if she was going to take this child under her wing, she had to figure it out fast. She slowly lowered herself to the ground next to her, and tentatively placed her hand on the girl’s shoulder, hoping to calm her down. “No, no. You don’t have to. It’s okay. Really.”

The roe girl sniffled a bit, and nodded, arms still wrapped around her knees. A ray of light from the setting sun caught her hair. It wasn’t quite black, like Azumi had initially assumed, but more of a darker purple. It suited her.

Azumi slowly withdrew her hand, thankful that she seemed to avoid causing outright sobbing. “How about this instead? Why don’t you tell me your name?”

She hesitated before replying shakily, “I, um… H-Himiko?”

“Himiko, huh? Are you sure? You don’t sound very certain of that.” Azumi hoped the gentle teasing would help the poor girl relax a bit.

“Y-Yes.” That doesn’t seem to have quite relaxed her, but she appeared a bit calmer. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, speaking more confidently, “My name is Himiko.”

“Well, Himiko, my name is Azumi. And as I was saying before, I’d very much like to help you develop those talents of yours.”

Himiko’s brow furrowed in confusion, “But… why would ya wanna help me?”

Azumi took a moment to consider, “I think you have potential. And I am none too keen on letting that go to waste. I’ve seen far too much potential squandered in mine own time. I want to see what you could become.”

“And… how’d ya do that?”

“We’d work on building upon what you’re good at. You’ve clearly no head for the art of stealth—“

  “—Hey!” Himiko loudly protested.

Azumi raised an eyebrow at her, “… You were caught because you tried to steal a melon, little one. The largest one that merchant had, in fact. Not the most inconspicuous of targets. And you’ve made no attempt whatsoever to hide those expensive paints.”

The roe girl briefly opened her mouth to argue that, but couldn’t think of a response, and settled for crossing her arms and pouting.

“A master thief, you are clearly not to be. No, your talents lie elsewhere.” Azumi reached over, gently taking Himiko’s injured wrist in her hands. She took the ends of the cloths between her fingertips, and looked in the girl’s eyes as though asking permission. When she nodded, Azumi idly undid the loose wrappings, and began fixing up the bandaging. “What I saw was a young girl who analyzed her situation. Who recognized that she could not defeat her opponents with simply brute force and determination. That would not be enough.” Azumi began wrapping the cloth around Himiko’s hand, threading the cloth between each of her fingers. “A girl who knew she was being underestimated, and turned the situation on her captors. Now, imagine taking that same person, and giving her the benefit of proper training, and experience,” Azumi paused to poke Himiko’s shoulder, before finishing wrapping her hand and wrist up securely, “and maybe a bit of meat on her bones. Imagine what she could do with that.”

Himiko stared at her hand in wonder as Azumi delicately took her hand in her own, and closed Himiko’s hand into a fist. “What. Do ya want me t’be your soldier or somethin’?”

Azumi frowned, trying to decide how best to respond, “It’s… not really about what I want you to be. If I wanted, I’m certain I could groom you into an excellent henchman or bodyguard or something. Or even hand you over to my boss and see what she’d make of you. But… think of it like a kind of experiment, of sorts. I want to give you the tools you need to choose your own path, and I want to see what you do with that. The choice is yours.”

Himiko glanced up from her hand thoughtfully at Azumi, “And what if I refused yer help?”

“I’d be dreadfully disappointed, but… I would respect your wishes, and not press you on the matter.” The older woman pouted dramatically. “But yes. You could be anything you wanted. A soldier, a mercenary, my personal Enforcer— I hear they’re making good coin these days— even,” she glanced briefly at the paintings on the young girl’s shelter, “an artist, if the life of a fighter is not the life you desire.”

“I’m not… I don’t... kn—” Himiko stared hard at her wrapped-up hand, biting her lip as she considered the older woman’s words. Azumi half-expected to see smoke rising from the cloth.

Laughing, she patted Himiko’s shoulder, and rose to her feet. “Don’t worry, little girl. You are not expected to come to a decision this very eve.”

“I-I’m not?” A wave of relief washed over her. Her shoulders slumped, and she let out a sigh. She muttered what sounded suspiciously like, “Oh, thank the Kami” under her breath.

“The day has been eventful enough without my burdening you with life-altering choices out of the blue.” Azumi reached behind her, and took out a pouch of koban, tossing it at Himiko’s feet. “In the meantime, take this.”

Himiko picked up the pouch, and opened it. She gasped softly and then looked towards Azumi, narrowing her eyes suspiciously, “I mean, thanks, but what’s all this for?”

“Something to keep you out of trouble while you decide. Think of it as… an investment in your future.” Azumi turned to walk away, as the roe girl held the pouch to her chest in both hands. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

Azumi had a feeling she needn't worry about being bored in the days to come.

[kiruuuuu]

Oneshot in which... I don’t even know how to summarise this. Maestro threatens Blitz with an Italian dessert, I suppose. It’s insanity. Enjoy! (Rating T, humour, ~1.8k words) - written for @magehir because the world needs to suffer under the ideas we come up with :)

.

“A-ha! Just the man I was looking for!”

Blitz is this close to simply turning around and booking it as fast as his legs will possibly carry him. His day has been going great so far, he had an extremely productive meeting with Sledge concerning their cooperation with a few certain CTUs, stumbled over Rook trying to get rid of some chocolates of which Blitz more than gladly relieved him and now he’s on his way to fetch his lunch from the fridge in the canteen – but was not at all prepared for the Italian train which keeps running him over unexpectedly.

Maestro who was until just now busy with putting the finishing touches on what looks to be a panna cotta, now whips around and strides towards Blitz with worrying speed. Despite him instinctively cowering before the tall man, he gets dragged in by the collar like a dog who misbehaved – and there isn’t even anyone present whom he could ask for help, not that it should surprise him the canteen is deserted when Maestro is fuming in it.

Recently, the Italian has been in a decidedly rotten mood, extremely easy to anger and not even placated by Sledge who normally has a similar effect on him as horse tranquillisers should (Blitz hasn’t tried it so he can’t know for sure), meaning he turns the whirlwind into nothing more than a soft breeze. Before Maestro’s temper flared for real, Sledge was one of the most popular people on the base purely due to his ability to rescue whoever currently was sentenced to listening to the Italian. In the past week, however, not even Sledge’s gentle touches achieved anything and so everyone has taken to avoid Maestro whenever possible.

Especially Blitz.

Because for some reason, Maestro has taken an, uh, odd liking to him. He doesn’t really know what else to call it seeing as he sees no rhyme nor reason in it, but it seems like he’s being hunted down regularly, only so Maestro can preen in front of him. There’s no established ritual but a lot of similarities between each separate instance and most of them involve Maestro bragging about a variety of skills, inviting Blitz to compare their abilities, be it in archery or gutting a rabbit, and more often than not he displays his really quite impressive body: sometimes he traps Blitz against a wall, showcasing his arm muscles, puts a foot up on the bench where Blitz is sitting or similar antics – and while he’s undeniably attractive, he’s also very much taken.

This is the problem with the whole situation. Maestro reconquered Sledge’s heart immediately upon his return (or maybe it was never not in his possession, with how private the man is it’s just as possible they were in a long distance relationship all these years without anyone noticing) and has been madly in love with him, propagating this fact to everyone who didn’t ask with an uncomfortable amount of gory details. Since Sledge can usually tame him a little, people prefer them being together to Maestro being broken-hearted (and no one wants to imagine that particular horror) but it seems the Italian is fickle enough to shift attention pretty quickly.

At first, he outright ignored Blitz for the most part, talked over him whenever he was having a conversation with Sledge, but a short while ago this tilted over into the complete opposite. Blitz can’t believe Sledge hasn’t noticed yet or maybe he’s scrambling to save what’s still to save behind the scenes, it’s hard to tell also because he feels too guilty to raise the topic to the Scotsman. He doesn’t want to be accused of being a homewrecker. On various occasions, he’s told Maestro to back off, leave him alone; he hasn’t encouraged him in any way though this only seemed to fuel the Mediterranean macho even more.

“Here, taste my cream!”, Maestro demands and points accusingly at the impeccably presented dessert he seemed to have prepared for no one but Blitz.

“I have my own lunch”, Blitz replies, vaguely intimidated, and chooses to ignore the double entendre.

“This is your lunch! Never in your entire life will you ever eat panna cotta cooked to such perfection again – I make the best panna cotta on this continent and you will test this fact for yourself, cesso!”

Blitz doesn’t know what the nicknames Maestro has given him mean but based on the nature of all the others it’s probably dripping with honey. He asked Alibi about one once and she just snickered and said that’s cute. “Look, thank you for offering me food, but I really don’t think -”

“What, you don’t like it? I don’t believe you. Everyone likes it! You’re still growing, right? If you’re not fully grown yet, you need calcium, secchione, and just look at you.” Maestro inexplicably starts poking him, testing his muscles by pinching them harder than necessary and this, of course, is exactly the moment the door to the canteen opens. He throws a panicked glance over to his teammates who seem frozen to the spot in fright as the Italian proceeds to grope Blitz openly. “Here, there’s plenty of room to grow, you baby, you’ve probably never felt real muscles in your life!”

He realises with dawning horror that Maestro is not only inching closer by the second but also seems to be flexing at him, pushing his chest out so his already tight shirt leaves next to nothing to the imagination and yes, he’s – he looks good but could he please get out of Blitz’ face? Preferably soon? “No, I don’t -” Panic is now audible in his voice and he can see more and more people quietly file into the room. “Please stop, Maestro, please just -”

“Have you even seen any? Huh?! I’ll show you, boy!” Maestro has basically backed him into a corner now and Blitz can feel the heat radiating off him.

“I really don’t think this is the why are you taking your shirt off please put your shirt back on what are you -”

“This is what a well-trained body looks like!”, Maestro booms and fluffs himself up like a bird trying to attract a mate and Blitz has literally never been this uncomfortable in his life.

“This is really inappropriate”, he whispers meekly because he doesn’t have the voice for anything else seeing as Maestro is looming over him like an ancient God come to life and uh, wanting to catch up on a number of things. He also looks ready to suffocate Blitz in his chest hair.

“I’ll show you inappropriate”, Maestro shoots back, either not thinking about his words at all or, in fact, considering them very deliberately, “and now taste my fucking cream!”

Blitz is 90% sure no one else in the room is breathing at this point. It’s clear Maestro hasn’t noticed their audience though he’s actually not sure he’d stop if he had. “I don’t want -”

Opening his mouth was quite clearly a mistake as a spoon gets shoved into it, almost choking him and no, this, this is the lowest point in his life.

He’s being accosted by a man almost 10 years his senior who would drive him insane were he forced to stay in a room with him for longer than a few hours – not only that, it’s a foul-mouthed, loud, arrogant Italian who is in a relationship with one of Blitz’ best friends, making this whole situation all kinds of awkward, but on top of that, he’s currently trapped, being molested and violated with dessert and unable to escape because that would mean putting his hands on Maestro’s half naked body. And he’s not doing that. He’s absolutely not doing that.

And while his life flashes before his eyes, he thinks: Damn, this panna cotta is fucking good.

“What’s going on?”, the one voice comes from beside them that Blitz really didn’t want to hear in exactly this moment. Sledge is nonchalantly leaning against the counter next to them, a fond smile playing on his lips as if he was watching an old couple bicker good-naturedly instead of his boyfriend deepthroating his best friend with a spoon.

“I can explain”, Blitz rasps, prompting a death glare from his nemesis.

“You will explain nothing, cesso!”

Sledge’s brows are rising in amusement but as he doesn’t look like he’s going to interfere any second now, both of the two burst out at the same time: “He won’t stop flirting with me!”, Blitz complains and it pains him to speak it out loud, especially in front of everyone, but the truth needs to come out because - “Why would you ever choose him over me, amore?” - he’d hate if he were the one to taint Sledge’s wait what.

Wait.

What?

The two of them stare at each other, probably a perfect mirror in how open-mouthed and unflattering they look. “Are you seriously thinking -”

“Seamus and I are just friends, why would you assume -”

“You’re nothing but an insect to me, needing to be squashed, you’re not -”

“Is this why you’ve been haunting me all this time?! Because you thought -”

“How dare you, I’ve been proving myself to be the better man all this time, showing you all the things you lack, you wet noodle!”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, excuse you, you really are a weak excuse of -”

“Then why were you so worried about me stealing Seamus away, huh? If I was no competition in the first place?”

“You seemed willing to stake a claim on something not belonging to you, I was merely -”

“Gentlemen, please.” Both of them shut up simultaneously at Sledge’s soft baritone, whipping their heads around to him in agitation. “Apologise to him for calling him a toilet and a nerd, Adrianito.”

Blitz balks. Is…. is that what those nicknames meant?

“I will never”, Maestro announces, dramatically turns on his heels and stalks away, his exit made less impressive by him having to fight his way through the thoroughly stunned crowd. He also leaves his shirt behind. And his panna cotta.

“Is that”, the German speaks up with hesitation and points to where his personal demon has just disappeared, “is that how he shows jealousy?”

“Oh yeah”, Sledge confirms with a wide grin. “That’s how he establishes dominance.”

His eyes narrow. “If you knew this entire time, why didn’t you interfere?”

“Are you kidding me? This was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.” And with a chuckle, Sledge leaves as well, probably to appease his livid boyfriend.

Blitz rubs his face with a deep sigh and then notices half of the base still staring at him. “Fuck off!”, he barks at them and watches them scramble to get away in satisfaction. Maybe now he can finally eat his lunch in peace.

And like this, no one will watch him eat the panna cotta. It really is delicious.

[igivezerohoots]

Just Friends - Grayson Dolan Imagine

Summary: Grayson happens to fall for the wrong type of girl. Those two can never be together, they can never be something more. Some would compare it to unrequited love. Yet, when two people love each other to the point of heartache and cannot possibly be together; being so close, yet so far away-- that, that is real pain.

 Oh. Oh, no.

That was Grayson's very first reaction when he realized he was deep into it. He actually had heard the words being spoken to him from the little voice within his head, felt a biting sting at his heart, was aware of the nervous shift of his eyes. But, he just couldn't understand.

She was never the girl for him, she never was what he would portray as his 'dream girl'. Grayson always told himself he wanted that kind cutie, who was sweet to everyone, evidently sensitive and hardly uttered a swear word. Grayson almost always found himself swarmed by those kinds of girls, with the pretty hair, the smooth skin with beady eyes, the fabulous sense of fashion. He always found himself attracted to them, always thought that was his type.

Oh, but was he mistaken.

Three years ago, he met that aggressive, short girl; her persona making up for all the height she lacked. She was not some stunning beauty, she didn't have the perfect stature of a model, she talked filthy and always made dirty jokes; profanity after profanity rolling over her sweet tongue. Grayson remembers there was always some kind of tension between them; he could feel it. Initially, hearing such a girl talk like that made him recoil and his features to contort with rather a look of disgust.

"Girls shouldn't swear," He had told her, looking at her with spite, "It is not attractive. Don't swear."

To which she had kindly responded with, "If you don't like it, you can fuck right off."

And Grayson was so taken aback, he had found himself very keen on the small girl. He was intimidated by the strong way she carried herself, by the brash way of her speech, by how tough she seemed to be. It greatly intimidated him, yet it drew him in. He was almost astonished. If he were to tell that to any other girl-- he, Grayson Dolan, one of the most well-known charmers-- he was certain she would lower her head with shame and follow his command. But that girl paid absolutely no heed to him; a way which he wasn't accustomed to being treated. She strongly intrigued him ever since, and after a few times of telling her the same sermon, he gave up, at last accepting her colorful personality.

He simply couldn't bend that girl beneath his will.

He doesn't remember the date; the only thing he remembers is that it was almost three years ago when they were sitting on that bench, talking, chatting, laughing, like friends would always do. It was when she showed him that toothy, heartfelt smile that he saw how cute she was. And he was fucked.

Yet, it has been so long. He has tried liking other girls, attempted to take his mind off her; his heart was a writhing maniac within his chest from the mere thought of her. Even if rumors had spread about him dating that brunette all that time ago, there still was that thick undercurrent of static that was stimulating both minds. All that innocent flirting, the way she would bat her lovely eyes when she would gaze at him, how he would touch her when they were near. It made Grayson's little heart burst with happiness and joy, with the excitement an overwhelming crush could only bring about.

Grayson had spent restless nights thinking of her, crying for her, dreaming of her. He felt dirty to admit it, yet he had touched himself at the thought of her, too. The notion of those pretty lips that let venom flow from between them being shaky and wet, of her breasts beneath her blouse; he could only hope of wiping that little smirk of her face by having her moaning softly beneath him. It always made him feel so hot and bothered; he would stare at his sweaty self in the mirror, cheeks reddening as he bit at his flushed lips, shakily whispering her name.

Other times, he found himself hating her, loathing her very being.

Why, why her out of all people?! That fucking bitch isn't even my type! I could never like someone as vulgar and sassy like her! If she thinks I will stick around more, she is gravely mistaken!

That's what he told himself every time, and every time, he found that his heart wanted her more than ever. Grayson was at a loss as to what to do; he was trapped, captured within the net of the girl he harbored such strong feelings for. He would always end up going home and shoving his face against his clammy palms; slick from his tears. He'd kick at his bed and dresser, lie curled up into a heap upon the ground and sob quietly to himself.

"Y/n, why can't I crawl within your mind and see how you really feel about me? How can I know?!"

"Get out of my head! I hate you, I don't want you anymore!"

"Why... why can't you feel the same way?"

"I want you, so bad."

He couldn't get her out of his mind, sometimes, and it got really bad. He would bite into his pillow at night, try desperately to block off the sound of her laughter echoing gracefully within his blurred mind, to stop the images of her flashing right before his closed eyelids. He'd press against his ears until they were red from the pressure, shut his eyes so tightly until all he could see was white. But, she never seemed to have the desire of leaving his haunted mind at peace.

Even when Grayson screamed shrilly, knocking off any item that would find itself standing challengingly before his way, bruising his knuckles from the continuous abuse, it still wouldn't stop. It was pure torture, and Grayson would have his jaw clenched, his lashes glued shut as he tried to calm the frantic pace of his throbbing heart.

Grayson could feel his proud, angel wings wither with every second that went by; and with every fragment of time flowing by, his heart was cracking open a little more each time. There she was, flirtatiously talking to that guy. Grayson couldn't even tell who he was, being rendered sightless from the fury setting his form afire.

Crack.

There she was, being able to smile and laugh without him even being there.

Crack.

He was right next to her, yet she'd pay no heed.

Crack.

It took Grayson aback by how much it hurt. He would tell himself, 'Meh, who cares; if she doesn't need me, I don't need her either'. But it wasn't like that; it never was like that. He would occasionally catch her stealing glances, and it only made his confused heart stutter. He'd tried so hard to get over her, and every time, just as he was about to, she came right back, rendering his attempts useless. Grayson's mind was consumed; why was he so obsessed? He hated his feelings getting toyed with, he hated her.  But he couldn't let go of her. Every time his brother would tease him, asking him about who his crush is, he'd simply deny fancying anyone; even if his mind shouted one word loud and clear.

Y/n.

He missed her so much sometimes; yet, how can you miss someone who never was yours to begin with?

 ...

 Grayson knew that Troy's sleepover would be a shitty idea. He just knew. It was as if he had that sixth sense, when he was actually aware of how things would go down. Y/n would be there, too. Grayson's face reddened at the thought. He hated how helpless a simple girl could make him feel.

Yet, it turned out not so bad. Grayson would holler with laughter along with his guy friends, the girls were seated all together as if they had made Troy's living room their own little cocoon. He saw how Y/n laughed and made sex jokes along with her friends, even if she never left her place from beside her best friend. Grayson knew that the two were inseparable; they always stuck together when they found themselves in large groups of people, would always pretend to be mad at each other, only to laugh it off later on. Grayson was keenly aware than Y/n didn't really like any of her other 'girl friends', even if she acted like it. Been there, done that.

The sleepover was quite fun, in the long run. The friends had ordered pizza and watched horror films; even if some of the girls disliked the idea. They'd go on rambling about how bad the actors' acting skills were, while others were laughing at the comments, and some had their nose nuzzled against a pillow. Grayson had found himself sitting by Y/n's side, having a playful argument with her as he was offended by her rude comment 'Your pineapple pizza sucks ass'. Grayson's heart was fluttering continuously from being in such  close proximity, but he slowly eased into it, barking with laughter at her smart comments. He was glad to have spent such a time with his friends -- with her. It had been a while since Grayson felt truly happy in life.

Yet, something changed.

Grayson now finds himself sitting upon the couch, his body stiff and slightly cramped. Y/n has nestled her head against his shoulder, snoring ungracefully, mouth hanging open. A bit of drool has eluded from the corner of her mouth, dampening her skin. Her body was curled up against the warmth Grayson's body was giving off, the back of her right hand resting upon his thigh as she slept. The others had sprawled out across the floor to fall asleep long before them. Grayson is sleepy, too. But he simply can't shut his eyes. How could he, after all?

He is scared of even moving an inch, afraid of disturbing Y/n's so peaceful sleep. She seems so vulnerable, so innocent like this. Grayson was used of hearing her voice blare loudly at times, yell at him in anger or ripple with happiness, yet now, she was in one of her purest forms, reclining upon his form. The light from the TV was still glowing brightly against the walls; lathering her nestled body and shining within Grayson's eyes. For a moment, he considered moving away and letting her rest on her own; yet when Y/n nuzzled his bicep tiredly, his limbs stilled as though they were glistening pieces of frost. Grayson gulps, feeling his heart in his throat.

He had made up a similar scenario in his head countless times, thought of how warm, cozy and good being so close to her would feel like. Having her wrapped up in a thin blanket, -- just like now -- the eyes that always enchanted him closed, the lips that would prevail his carnal, sinful fantasies arid and ajar. In Grayson's eyes, she is so cute, lying here this, cheek and lips mashing adorably against his arm; allowing him to admire a beauty he had never seen before. The beauty of the calm of human sleep, of how she was snuggled up against him as if by instinct, body intrigued and drawn to another's touch. The blood pounding within his heart is coursing up to his face, gentle blush glowing off his slick, red lips and the florid hue of his cheeks. He hates to admit it, yet at this moment, he feels so innocently joyful-- just from the way they are huddled up together, it is as if... as if they were a young couple.

Grayson had tried to see some of those films which held romance and drama; he wanted to understand how girls worked. But, he still couldn't understand. The relationships in the fictional world seemed so much more easier to deal with. The lead characters merely kissed, and that was it. The deal was sealed. No fights, no yelling and no frustration. No troubled feelings. The ugly duckling with the immense glasses would always suddenly become as stunning as a model and claim the guy she had fallen in love with, the guy with the excessive acne and braces would transform into a hunk and get the girl he longed for. But, Grayson didn't want that. He didn't want to change himself for her, nor did he want her to changed herself for him. If you don't fall in love with the entirety of a person, what is the point? What is the point of physical alteration when the relationship is still an unrequited love, simply born just because one of the two parties is hot? Grayson really didn't understand such stuff, sometimes.

His blood almost freezes and he mutters a low 'Oh, my God' when she stirs from beside him, rubbing her nose against his sleeve. He hesitates to look down at her, biting his lip and begging the Lord that she hasn't woken up. When he peers slightly, he nearly has a heart attack as he views those pretty eyes, sleepy and tired, gazing at him with a look of confusion. Grayson's lips curl nervously into a narrow line, his breath trembling momentarily. He expects her to pull away in disgust, or to swear at him, or feel dirty being next to him; he can't decide which one is worst. After a second of thinking it over, he finally comes to the conclusion that each of them is equally heartbreaking.

Grayson glowered down at her again, and the muscles of his shoulders loosened, making them slump in defeat. She was smiling at him. Within her sleepy stupor; eyes briefly open like a newborn pup, her lips curled into a dazed smile. Grayson has never felt like this before, and it's foreign, it's frightening beyond what words can possibly describe. He can feel his heart melting from the intense emotion. And Y/n opens her arms, weary simper remaining stark upon her lips, waiting; wanting to be held. Initially, Grayson was baffled as to what she wanted; yet a little voice in the back of his head urged him forth and his sturdy arms enfolded around her. He swallowed down hard, sighing softly and gently petting her back; as though it were an instinct. At that moment, Grayson felt relaxed, calm, sated. The muffled throbs of his pulsing heart were palpitating against her chest, making her almost dizzy from the comfort.

And, it was over just as it had started; in a matter of a few seconds. Y/n withdrew slowly, twining her arms around Grayson's torso and being pulled back into sweet slumber once again. She fell asleep, his just presence a soothing lullaby to her fatigued mind. It felt so sweet and good to be swaddled within an embrace; especially his own. Even within the blur of slumber, she could still briefly understand who the one against her was. This was the only chance they would both ever get to be so close together.

Grayson could feel the pain and disappointment, the pessimism of his mind bringing him right back from his lovely nirvana. He knew that this would mean nothing once the morning sunlight would start peering from abaft the horizon. Because, sometimes, no matter how much two people want each other, they are merely not destined to be. Others say that everything is possible, that destiny is not existent. But, you have to be in that position to really understand just how hard it is. Wanting someone, loving someone and being loved back, yet everything seems to try to get in the way. Everything wants to keep you apart, everyone seems to adore butting in and ruining every single thing.

One can really do nothing but think about it, cry about it, try to forget it. Always easier said than done. They say that it's okay if you can't be with someone, that it's their loss, anyway. But it hurts. It hurts bad. Because the heart wants, and it wants bad. And then people become sad; they are so sad.

Grayson closed his tired eyes, letting silent tears kiss the curve of his lashes. He leaned his cheek against her head, desperately striving to stop his chest from caving inward. His body was ready to let it all out, but he knew he couldn't. He took in her scent, her warmth, her touch for once, feeling intoxicated, dazed. When would he ever get the chance to do so, again? The image of her bundled up in the blankets of his bed, hair ruffled, eyes scrunched up and lazy smile upon her face flashed across the back of his eyelids; but it was very slight, fleeting. Enough to make his heart ache. It was a thing he so badly craved, yet would never have. Because, they were friends, and that's what they would always be. They would always be there for each other, to laugh, to get into deep talk, but never nothing more. Grayson would make his heart stone when he saw her being friendly with other guys; his mind deep within knowing what she really wanted, yet would never have. For Grayson and Y/n were destined to be only that.

Just friends.