#and just being like. Huh? What? and arguing logistics about things that Do Not matter. to myself

[ratcandy]

youknow i am off the deep end when I start getting up and pacing my dorm while arguing to myself out loud about lore

[aconflagrationofmyown]

A Whole Man is Hard to Find - chapter 12

An Elvis Presley Fanfic AU

I posted the AO3 link before and thought why not plop the chapter here as well. Much love ♥️

“Now, now hear me out, it’s a sensible plan but it’s got a major catch.” Elvis mumbled into Bean’s withers and got a derisive snort from his horse in return, “Nah, don’t call me a coward boyo, I’m just sayin Nevada Territory is a long ways away, Lord knows what’s even out there. What if there’s no water, huh? What would you do then?” Beans just nuzzled his leg with his impossibly soft muzzle, “Yeah, you’d look to me to get ya water but I’m not the Almighty, I can’t make something outta nothin, and then you’d die on me like er’ybody else, yes you would, don’t argue the point, you would. These are the things ya gotta think of before ridin into the sunset like you suggested. Sunsets can fry ya up, ya do know?”

Beans stretched his magnificent self lazily as he laid on his side, hoofs kicking out and shuffling round the hay they were both sat in. Every time his horse nearly drifted off to sleep he’d startle awake as if Captain Presley’s constant, four hour long monologue of romantic, spiritual and monetary woes intrigued him too much to snooze through. Or maybe it was the way the Captain’s hand would stall in its petting when he really got himself worked up recounting one betrayal or another. Either way, Beans would then shake his mighty neck in Elvis’ lap until Elvis remembered what was truly important in life and went back to braiding his mane.

“I know, I know I keep you shut up in here all the time and death in the great big desert sounds nicer than another day here, I know, I know and I’m sorry. I’m rather shit at taking care of anybody, aren’t I? Keep ‘em alive and fed but are they happy? Hell no, don’t know a single happy person or horsey in my acquaintance. Would you be happy in the desert Beans, hmm?”

Elvis let his head fall back against the rough wooden post he had his back against. He heard shuffling in the adjoining compartment next to the stables, in the boiler room, and in a few minutes voices raised.

Hymn sing. Had to be dawn by now.

His right leg was numb where Beans rested the weight of his neck, his mouth was dry as dust and his hands shook with chill, but he felt sober, rational, as much as he ever was which had always been a matter of contention with folks -was Elvis Presley naturally mad? Beans said he was, Beans said it was nothing to take to heart either. Beans understood him, except about the logistics of eloping with nothing but a horse and the shirt on your back. Beans was an idealist who didn’t think about where hay and water and the next brushing down would come from. Beans had never had to go in and apologize to a lying woman for being cruel to her. Beans didn’t know what it was like to love somebody ya didn’t really know.

Elvis ignored the pins and needles in his leg and gave himself five more minutes on the stable floor. Besides, he wasn’t finished with the braiding and you can’t leave a pretty fella like Beans half undone.

Five minutes turned to ten and he wondered idly if now that his pulse no longer ricocheted in his skull that perhaps he might catch a wink of sleep.

The swish swish of a skirt displacing hay caught his ear and he opened his eyes, raising his head to find Sister Rosetta approaching gingerly through the hay and dung, moderating her usual commanding gait as she picked a path across the stables, balancing a jug and greasy brown bag such as confectioners used.

“You sweet woman.” he murmured as he spied her goodies and she startled a little at him being awake, then smiled in gratification at the clear eyed greeting he gave her.

“How are you feeling, Captain?” she asked, gently kneeling down at Bean’s head and reaching for his shoulder.

“Lil better.” he assured her but his voice sounded like a croak.

“Did you manage any sleep?”

“No.”

“You need this.” she pushed the jug in his hands and he greedily drank down the melon water in it, his shakes calming for a minute. “And you’d best eat a little, so as to keep your strength up and your temper down.”

He wasn’t hungry but they both knew that wasn’t the point. He had removed himself from you last night in a bid to regain some fraction of sobriety and rantional before hearing a confession he was pretty certain he could recite beforehand -verbatim. But it had seemed the wise, kind, just thing to remove himself until he could hear it in a steady frame of mind. Even if it had felt a little cold to close the door on your tear stained face and “Elvis, Elvis please, don’t go!” echoing down the hall after him as you scratched at the door, sounding every bit the child he used to play with.

The half gnawed biscuit stuck to his throat and he had to gulp in more water to force it down. That alone took energy out of him. He flicked idly at the rest of it, tearing pieces and fiddling with them till they crumbled before they could reach his mouth.

“You are going to go to her, aren’t you?” Sister Rosetta asked and he was too tired to play dumb or tell her to mind her own. In fact he could use some womanly advice at the moment.

“Yeah.” he whispered.

“Jerry sent me to find you,” she went on, “the Colonel was about ready to break down the suite door, thinking you were in your room and unconscious since no answer came out. One assumes Miss Beaumont has either fainted inside or simply won’t deign a reply.”

“Oh Lord!” he exclaimed making to rise, puffing in effort to extricate himself from under Bean’s sturdy neck.

“Before you go,” she laid a delaying hand on his arm as he brushed off the hay from his trousers, “I’m not one to divulge a trust, and what that little woman told me as I dressed her last night was in strictest confidence despite her emotion, but seeing as how I have a sense you are about to make a very heavy decision in her regard, I think it excusable that I tell you a secret in her favor.”

“What’s that?” he whispered, fear and hope warring in his eyes.

Ten minutes and the damn brute still pounded on the suite door, rattling your overwrought nerves with every barrage and fruitless clamor of Elvis’ name. “My boy, my boy” again and again in that loathsome accent. You sourly hoped the Colonel’s deafening assault against the hinges stemmed from fear that he’d overdrawn the bank of life and killed his cash cow at last, as he truly almost had. You sat at the rickety vanity chair, not a bit of your outfit touched since the Captain had left you hours ago, only your boots taken off and the pretty pistol from them laying cold and heavy in your lap, pointed at the quivering door. If you were to be killed or rejected or taken to prison, you might as well have it done in the prettiest dress you had ever worn, bought by the kindest man you’d ever known. And if you killed Parker with the pistol Elvis had won for you, there was a poetic justice to it, even if he wouldn’t give you time enough to explain it.

Suddenly, there was quiet behind the door. Then the murmur of voices. You stood up and tip toed to it, pressing your ear to the wood in hopes to catch a snippet of conversation or a clue as to who had pacified Parker. You could not hear the voices clear enough, you could not make out if the pitch belonged to Elvis. You strained and held your breath, closed your eyes and tried to focus on the murmur outside, to give you some hint if he was coming in or not, if he was even there. If he was even alive.

A rattling from the famous shutters covering the windows opposite startled you out of your skin. You yelped and spun round, back pressed to the door and pistol raised at the hidden intruder currently picking the shutter’s lock after raising the window with remarkable quiet. The shutter kicked open and in streamed early morning daylight, painting a golden backdrop behind Elvis as he crouched in the window sill, hands raised and a look of pleasant surprise on his face,

“Don’t shoot, please don’t shoot.” he actually laughed.

You dropped the pistol to the floor in your shock, needing to clutch at the door handle lest you crumple to the ground on seeing him again, looking remarkably alive and whole, “I didn’t know it was you.” you explained hoarsely.

“Course, course.” he nodded, “Good girl, be it anyone else and I do expect you to blow their heads off.” he looked you up and down and took in the gala finery still laced tight and the pale color of your face, the way you stared dully at him as if you had not expected conversation to be made. Neither of you had done any sleeping, it would seem. He cleared his throat and shifted his weight on the sill, “May I come in?” he asked gently.

You frowned in confusion, “Of course.”

“Thank you.” he murmured and let himself down, knees creaking as he straightened out. “I went round the deck on the back way so as not to get caught, whole damn crew is after me with one thing to tell or ask. A-a-and I wanted to get here first.”

He was alive and stutteringly polite and your exhausted heart did not know what to make of it. While he looked like hell in many ways, he carried himself soberly, only dead beat weariness detectable in his red rimmed eyes. You had some flicker of hope that maybe he’d hear you out. A whole night to prepare and you still had no set speech, but you had an idea of how to begin it.

“I don’t deserve it,” you settled on as beginning while wringing your hands, more a gust of breath than a true voice coming out your throat, “but would you be so good as to hear me, as there was something I wished to tell you last night, and it can no wait.”

“I’ll hear ya out.” he replied gravely, his eyes had not met yours since he stepped down from the window into the room, they kept roving from the bed to the vanity to the double rataan doors. There was not an unstoried inch in the whole suite. “But first, you’ll hear me out, no, no really, you must.” he put his hand up as you went to protest and you folded meekly, too scared and tired to risk angering him. “Move dear, I wanna see that we’re alone for this.” and he motioned you away from your place by the door as he strode up to it and unlocked it with his key, flinging it open.

Seemingly satisfied that there was no one lurking, he shut it again gently and locked it once more. He picked up your pistol from the floor, putting it and the key on the dresser, his discarded overcoat flopping atop it. You now stood where he had by the windows, and he took to leaning on the dresser in his shirtsleeves, one hand rattling out a nervous staccato rhythm on its shiny top, while the other shielded his smarting eyes from the light.

Every time he looked at you it was as if his voice dried up, he wished now he had left the shutters closed, so as not to be tempted to make an inventory of the year’s toll on your face before he could get out what he needed to say.

“It’s come to my attention,” he cleared his throat gratingly, “that, that, I,” he coughed again and then straightened up, taking his hand down from his eyes and giving you the courtesy of meeting your startlingly famillair eyes, a penance for his sins he thought, “that I owe you a heartfelt apology for my horrid behavior last night.”

“You needn’t-“ you assured him in a hurry,

“No, no, I-I really must say I’m ever so ashamed, and I’m sorry.” his fingers stippled faster, “For all of it. Handlin you so rough a-a-and I dunno what all I threatened but Sister Rosetta informs me I’m an awful sorta man, t-t-to ya, and I’m sorry. I’m real sorry-“

“What did she say?” you paled, and made an aborted motion to go to him before thinking better of it, “I didn’t complain of you to her! What did she-“

“She said enough.” he ignored you gravely, “She said enough and I recall enough that I-I-I am real sorry for it, and I want you to know I didn’t mean it, that weren’t me in my right mind. I never,” his voice shook and his hand flew up to his mouth to force his lips to stop their trembling, he went on after a minute, “I’d never in a million years want to see you nothin but loved and cared for, none of that awful shit I said.”

You swallowed hard, torn between holding your peace, taking his unexpected gentleness to heart and using it to bolster your failing courage to confess, or assuring him that savage as he had been in his jealousy, you were not so deeply wronged as he thought. You were not so good as he yet maintained. You had wanted him, too.

“And for that…thing…with the Binder fella,” he interrupted your thoughts as he looked over your head, unable to keep eye contact, “I’m sorry to have embarrassed you like that. A-a-and for anything else I’ve omitted, i-I-i‘m real sorry.”

His sins were nothing, all things considered, not when measured against what you had done against him, and you felt a fool being made to listen to the apologies of a man who knew you had wronged him deeper.

“Are you -mocking me?” you asked in confusion, unable to make sense of it.

“What?” he startled, “No! Hell no, I-I-I’m very sorry. I’m askin ya to forgive me, if you can.” he added, giving you that strangely effective look from under his lashes.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” you muttered.

“There is, goddamn it!” he pounded his fist on the dresser top and you flinched, “Those days of you putting up with no good men and bastards are over, I’ve told you that! Now why won’t you listen to me? I done told you before to slap the next fella that was disrespectful to you! Why didn’t you?”

“I did.” you cringed backwards.

“You did?” he repeated comically, then looked spooked at the notion he had forgotten more of last night than he thought, “You slapped me last night?”

“Yes.”

“Well -good, good that’s, that’s good.” he rubbed his jaw nervously.

“Can I say my piece now?” you asked, timid and impatient all at once.

“Yes.” he agreed sullenly, leaning back against the dresser again, “Though we needn’t engage in dramatics or a listing of your goddamn family tree nor a drum roll reveal that you are who you are.” your heart pounded in your throat and you watched as his soured mirth turned shrewd, “Cause I know exactly who you are, Cricket.”

The shock you voiced at hearing that old nickname drop from those once familiar lips sounded closer to a sob gusting out than any word, forced out by melancholy sentimentality and a shaking relief at being known. “Oh Elvis.” you whispered, unable to think a damn thing except ‘I’ve missed you, my old friend’.

“Must've been real hard not to laugh every time you felt me trying to puzzle together why Savannah Beaumont would look so shockingly like the late Miss Maddy Hodgkins.” he went on, his cold tone and the bitter twist to his mouth stamping out your initial relief, “Bet you barely held it together every time I looked at you, asked you bout your folks, my folks, made goddamn fervent love to you, and only you knowing I was bein’ had every fuckin second of it.”

“No!” you wailed, and shook your head frantically, “No, no it wasn’t -I, I was only shy and terrified, it had been so long I didn’t know you any more!” you pleaded with him.

“You once told me you’d lost all your friends when MY women died.” he jabbed a finger at you, “What was that but a goddamn joke? MY women? That was your sister! Your mother! Those were your folks every bit as much as mine, more in fact. And my mother too, who loved you dearly a-a-and you stood there and lied about it! Said I was the one with the greater grief! Hell, you told me anythin I wanted to hear, this whole goddamn time I thought you understood and you did, oh you did but you played it, every step of the way, every hour or the day you played it.”

“No.” you moaned, “No, not, not after-“

“After what?” he demanded fiercely.

“I don’t know when! Helena maybe, or the bath, I don’t know, but I-I, when I stopped being scared, I stopped lying about, about, about the things that mattered!” you stammered.

“Oh?” he mocked, “Tell me, Miss Hodgkins, what things matter to a woman like you?”

“You!” you near screamed at him and that shook him out of his derision. You watched him swallow hard. “You, I have not lied in any of my sentiments in regards to you.” you swore solemnly, “And there has not a single passing moment I did not regret my choice to lie to you.”

He squinted hard at the full, formidable, womanly shape of you and the glare of sunshine behind you, and it was near unbearable to reconcile it all. He wanted to cry and fight and scream at heaven for making it all so warped. That this sweet child of memory should be so cruel and beguiling a lover. He had left you behind him one day a barefoot child and not thought of you since. You were stuck there, grinning and muddy in a daffodil patch, waving him farewell. His mind had buried you there, you couldn’t be the woman who saved him and goaded him and cared for him and stirred his blood.

“I’ve got this memory I’m tryin not to recall but,” he spoke up after a heavy silence, “but it’s got ya in pigtails, tooth missin so your words whistle when ya talk, barely coming up to my hip ya were, and you’re fussin over my scrapes and I-I-I shoulda seen it. Shoulda seen it the minute you couldn’t even manage to hide behind your fear that mornin I first l-I, ya just had to tend to me didn’t ya? God, I shoulda seen it, seen that lil girl in you, but see, no, no. That little girl was supposed to grow up and cause her father a little worry and her mother much pride and she was gonna make a feisty wife for some good man and she was gonna be good! Life was gonna be good to her, she was gonna have it good. She, she, she, she’s not you. She’s not this!” he swooped his hand up and down your rumpled glamor. “Not even life would be so cruel.” his voice broke and he sobbed, “God wouldn’t be so cruel, not to her.”

“Captain,” you hushed him, an impotent hand stretched out to stay his heartache though you dared not take the liberty of touching him, bewildered by the turn this had taken, “you needn’t lose your faith over this, over her. She’s happy now, can’t you see that? She has you, if she has you, then she has it good, life has been good to her at last.”

He took his fingers from his eyes and drug them down his cheeks, stretching his face into a wane pantomime of his exhaustion. “I’m sorry that I did not take more care to search for you when I returned to Memphis,” his voice shook terribly, “that I accepted your death. What’s one more? -I had thought when I heard, seemed like the world was gettin cleansed of all that I’d loved and all my kin. I just, I didn’t think of ya then. ‘Cept that, least you’d been spared growin old in this cruel world.” he laughed, mirthless and sharp, “God! God!” he screamed and thudded his fist against the dresser with each invocation.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again, “I’m sorry but I’ve done alright,” you soothed, “I’m alive and I am here. I’m safe here, you’ve given me that!”

“Done alright?” he repeated in disbelief, “You’ve lived a lie and you’ve done murder and been sold and been defrauded and you’re so fucked in the head from it all you think that fallin in with me is a goddamn heaven sent reprieve. Ha! Fuck!”

“You didn't deserve what happened to you either, what you had to do to be here now, but I don’t see your faith crumpling in the face of it.” you struck back, miserably.

He shook his head as if trying to shake out your logic from his ear canals.

“You needn’t have lied! My god, not to me, not to me!” he looked like he was pleading with you now, as if you could go back in time and choose honesty. “I’m your, your, -Elvis.” he whispered, defeated, as he thought of all the times you’d called him Captain, never used his name even when he’d needed to hear it, even from the stranger he thought you were.

“Even if, upon being bought at a auction block, I had been tempted to tell you, to trust your hideous reputation with so demanding a truth I-“ you balled your fists and pounded them against your hips in futile frustration at your inability to impress upon him your rotten form of sincerity, “even then, Captain, I would not have been speaking much of a truth! You can call me by my given name all you wish, you can sentence me to any judgment you see fit with it written in damming ink but the truth remains that I have not answered to it in nigh on a decade! A decade! All this time you have been playing at whatever life you call this circus I have been embodying a corpse! I did not concoct this lie to hurt you, I was nearly a child when I took it on, and all I have learned of life has been in Savannah Beaumont’s skin. Who I am now, who you found in that brothel was no more the child you knew than the next whore.”

“That can’t be,” he whispered like he personally found it insufferable that you should have no recollections as clear as him, “that can’t, you must -you do- remember some of it.”

“A little.” you agreed. “But it is as if it happened to someone else. And I had not thought of it, of you as I remember you, until that afternoon in Helena. I am not myself and I am not miss Beaumont but, I-I,” your lip shook so badly you had to pause, salty tears running onto your tongue, “I I-I , or rather you, gave me the one firm notion of who I am. I am your Rosey.” you said simply, “And even if you no longer keep me, I’ll be yours all my days now you’ve made me into someone at long last. Can’t be undone, once someone’s born you can’t send them back. You cannot! Don’t, please don’t take that from me.”

You stretched your hands out to him, begging him to hear you. Understand. He looked at you through a sheet of black hair that had fallen across his forehead and into his glittering eyes. He was terrified he’d not met a mate but a mirror in you, and he didn’t know how to tell you his own soul was cracked beyond repair. The stupid, glimmering hope that maybe you were still repairable had him gentling his expression and murmuring in tender warning lest you come nearer,

“I need a reason, Cricket, give me a reason for all this, the lies, not to me but the world.” he sniffed hard and pointed towards the chair at the vanity, “Sit down dear, you’re shakin.” he commanded gently.

Obeying took you further away from him but you found it easier to breathe with the distance, and sitting felt a little less like standing before a firing squad. He was still being kind and it gave you hope for this last little test of his limitations. You forced your hands to uncurl and lay limply atop your lap. “They were going to blame Savannah Beaumont’s murder on an innocent freedman.” you summarized simply, relief palpable from sharing the weight of that truth that had been carried alone for all these years. “Not by accident or any proof, but because one of their own had done it, and they did not expect a soul to appear in his defense. They did not expect Savannah Beaumont to show in court and exonerate her supposed murderer.” it was your turn to laugh mirthlessly.

Elvis had taken to breathing out his mouth, his weeping having clogged the other route. His bottom lip shook with every inhale. “Who is ‘they’, honey?”

“Memphis City Council, a judge who was in on it, even the Secretary of State, I was later informed by Mr. Moore.”

“Why, why would you though-“

“I was asked.” you whispered simply, “The whole plantation came to the front steps and begged me to step in her place, for his defense and to keep Belle Mead. It was so outlandish it worked, all the women folk had been reclusive, none recognized her by sight save my father, the overseer. He pointed her out for slaughter in her own foyer. So you see, with the entire plantation swearing as my witnesses, those councilors looked like fools.”

“Bet you felt real clever.” his voice was flat but his eyes showed a memory of the precocious little girl you had been.

“I had a brief moment of elation when they ceded that the coloured man was to go free.” you bit your lip savagely, “Yes, yes it was very clever and I thought maybe heaven had blessed my efforts, to protect them and the place. That was before I learned the price.”

His squint eyed stare lifted and he looked suddenly gentle, worried, fearful, “And what was that?”

“My father, sir.” you stuck your chin out and smiled bitterly, “I killed my father, by my testimony if not by my own hands. You see, I had seen the murder, I saw Savannah be beaten to death by a Carpetbagger working for one of those northern investment firms, he stated his name and his occupation on the front steps as he crowed over taking away the roof and floors and last shred of hope we had. My father was with him, made me go and rouse the young heiress dying of consumption to make her come downstairs and cede the family property in person. Savannah came downstairs, sure enough,” he watched your eyes waver and then unblinking your mind went far away, “she came down and plopped all those due taxes in his hand. He’d been over hasty. My father said she was gonna die anyway, they could wait the two or three months the tuberculous needed to finish the job. No heirs to the place, it would be auctioned. But the man was in a great hurry, so many appointments, so many business ventures. I’ve never seen something so, so sudden, so unprovoked. Before or since. And when I went to stop him, I got a pair of hands around my throat for my trouble, and my father telling me over that demon’s shoulder that I could live if I would just cooperate. You may recall that is one thing I was never very good at.”

His laugh was watery and forced. This was familiar territory now, not that he knew this story, but he and countless others had lived their own version, peppered always with corruption and bribery. He nodded for you to go on, finish this, like the last death stroke to a dying pet.

“The man I meant to accuse, the man who did the deed,” was on this boat, was his friend, “he was nowhere to be found, but they had the freeman in his stead. There had to be a culprit, I had gone into that courtroom in a flurry of shock and applause only to find no one to accuse. Save one. One who had nearly let me die at the hands of a brute, who’d held me back as he turned Savannah’s brains to a melon.” you realized you’d picked your fingernail bloody when it smeared on the white silk in a pinkish stain, you met Elvis’ eyes and found him looking about as hollow as you felt, “So I told them my father had done it, for he had done enough. And you should have see the Judge’s look of relief at having scapegoat.”

“I bet.” he muttered.

“I thought I had not done such an abominable thing as it took two witnesses to hang a man and there was only me.” you began to plead, the weight of unconfessed guilt finally tumbling free. “I thought he’d only be confined!”

“But they offed him in prison, didn’t they?” he murmured in realisation, “Mr. Moore said so, but you knew why. You knew it was so they could cover the tracks of their botched scheme.”

“Yes,” you scrubbed under your nose miserably, “and they covered mine while they were at it. A mercy, that is what they called it back on the Plantation. A kind act of Providence.” you scoffed, “And so it was for all of them. Nearly ten years I lived the lie of a damned woman so they could be free, unbothered, diligent, prosperous even -once we had worked ourselves to the bone for it. And at times,” you stared hard at the floor, all of it out now, nearly all of it out, “at times I fancied God may have forgiven me, understood me, took into account the good I’d done. But, believe me, I never felt sure of it until you, you were forgiveness and reward and understanding all at once. Now I think you, after this, or life without you, that would be the cleverest judgment ever imagined.”

Sunbeams, reflecting off the river's surface, were dancing and cavorting and intertwining along the polished wood of his floors, slicing golden and playful through the rich carpets near his feet. It was the farthest your eyes could make up his figure as he stayed leaning against the dresser like a man cast up from the sea onto a rocky beach. Your eyes retreated to your own feet, pink toes sticking out from under silk. You stuck a toe out to catch a sunny fairy dancer, all it did was cast a shadow. Your lip wobbled in disappointment, then fear as the precious silence was cut by the heavy clunk of his boots closing the distance, a faint tinkling of spurs suggesting he gave some thought to fleeing in the night. As he came close and closer you watched as he trampled the sunny dancers on the carpets and then on the wood and then dark, worn cavalrymen’s boots were beside your pink toes, just short of crushing them, too.

You thought then of the princesses and the queens you’d read of who held their heads high when the executioner's ax sliced quick and cruel. You did so wonder where all your strength had gone. If you swayed forward one tiny bit you’d have your face pressed to the warm planes of his lean belly, you’d be anchored to the earth again. It was as if you spoke it into existence,

manifesting your weakness, suddenly it was a fact, your nose buried in the body warmed cotton of his shirt, the unmistakable poke of wiry hair separated by fabric coming to the fore at the wet ghost of a sob from your mouth. If you had any strength you would have wrapped your arms around his hips and clung. You wondered if his loneliness was so strong he’d take even a wretched sort of company like yours.

Your body nearly convulsed with the strength of the shudder that ripped through you when his warm hand engulfed your jaw, gently but inexorably tilting your face away from his body and up, upwards to his face, to the mirror of his feelings and my god, his face was morphing ceaselessly and his eyes churning in tormented unsurety until he saw yours. Yours was the look of a woman in pain, resigned to losing the man she loves. He would know that look, he had put it on Maddy’s face when he’d gleefully gone off to war and then found she’d had the right idea all along, nothing awaited him but strife and a dreadful weight of loss.

Here was something he could mend, could fix -that was his own intention with you all along, wasn't it? When had he gotten sidetracked and fell in line with you saving him instead? You were sent for him to mend, to forgive too, it seems, -if he could wipe away the bitter taste of seeing himself in you. That weak and sickening feeling of undeservedness in forgiving some part of his own wretchedness if he were to forgive yours. His hand spasmed against your jaw in his inner struggle, tan and elegant fingers digging into creamy plushness. To forgive you would be to forgive himself, to forgive what was necessary. What was necessary. He had never been ashamed of what he had to do, but my god he had not forgiven it. Suddenly that seemed very cruel, very childish, very lonely. He bent down, blue eyes locked on yours, closer and closer, his gripping palm searing your cheek.

He meant to say something, some absolution or assurance, but he could only choke and heave on his breaths as he bent and descended. And then his lips were slotted against yours, vigorous and unmistakably intentional. A kiss, searing and deep, his hands gripping your skull, bending your delicate neck back as he devoured you from above. A kiss of life it felt, this first interaction of your real self with another soul, and to be met with want and unashamed gusto? Your arms grew strong again and you grabbed him to you, elongating your body in your seat to push back into the kiss. Back and forth you two were grappling and kissing and plunging into the other's mouth, a near constant fight of “no, no, no you too! you too must know you are wanted!”

The chair creaked with the force of your passions, his knee pressed to the seat between your legs and you squeezed the muscle between yours, engaging every part of yourself in pouring out your devotion. He was shaking once he pulled away, just far enough to heave in necessary breaths and grip onto the back of your chair for support instead of snapping your shoulders. Your head lolled back, faint without his support. You gazed up at him dazedly, feeling small and nostalgic as he loomed over you. You savored it. Your hand, on its own accord it felt, raised to his face and you touched the gorgeous curve of his cheekbone, trailing down his jaw, his throat and down, down to his collarbones and the heaving width of his chest. You spread your palm out over the tacky skin guarding his heart.

“Is this really you, Cricket?” he took a shaky hand from the chair back and hovered it over your face, the face of a woman, the face of an old friend. He blinked rapidly. Clever and brutal and beautiful you were to him all at once. “Oh, you, you, you -you terrifying, magnificent, irresistible creature.” he thundered, hand descending to your throat and pulling you back in for another kiss.

“You see,” you gasped between his plush lipped assaults, “you see what kind of men I am used to? You see why I though I should fear you?” you had to know he understood, you had to get the whole of it out. He was pouring into you the very strength to land the final blow.

“Yes, yes I do.” he panted into your mouth, nearly crouching over you in your chair as not only his mouth but his body sought yours, “Gimme their names, and if there’s any left I’ll make ‘em scream for ya.”

“One of them is aboard.” you whispered into his ear as he attacked your neck with fervor. He went stock still. His lips pulled away from their suction listlessly. His hand tightened round your neck then dropped. He stood up in confusion.

Bleary eyes blinked down at you as his exhausted mind tore through possibilities and came up with nothing but a sinking feeling of being had.

Again . “What’s this?” he asked in a low and wounded voice, “Some goddamn riddle? Gonna quote some scripture and tell me ‘thou art the man’, hmm? Do you mean me?”

“No, my darling!” you sprang up from the chair and clasped your arms around his middle, pulling him close, “no, no never you!”

“Who then?” he asked wary, stiff in your embrace, watching as you fought with which expression to donn while delivering the truth. “No pandering or fudging now, goddamn you! Who?”

“Your benevolent colonel is the murderer, sir.” you got it out and the relief it gave you was soon replaced by dread as he looked very much as if he knew what you meant but did not agree. “Colonel Parker is the one who ought to have been hung in my father’s stead, but his contacts, your contacts, saved him. Made him vanish from the reach of justice. Ask Mr. Moore, he’ll tell you of it. The strange case of the vanishing man.”

The Captain’s eyes flitted over your face contemplatively, trying to see if he could yet define which expressions of yours were lies, truths and half truths. You had proven shrewd, and he could forgive you for that, but trusting you? That was a bit much to ask, right and good as it felt to have your arms around him. At worst you might be vindictive over the Colonel’s distaste for your presence aboard. More likely, or what he hoped was more likely, your head had been turned by the event, your memories muddy, recollections bending under the horrid strain of it. One tiny reminder and suddenly you thought you had your culprit, one stout foreigner was as likely to earn your accusation as the next.

He knew how it worked, an entire portion of his own life’s memories were very resolutely kept under lock and key, only when the Colonel hinted or Scotty accused did a searing flash of some nauseating recollection flash vibrant and unbearable across his mind and he was quick to shove it down. Many times over the years as he passed through the streets he thought he saw faces of men from hazy memory who were always faceless until they weren’t. The men had been strangers, blameless of the horror with which he recoiled from them on the sidewalk. He had learned the mind keeps back what it needs in order to go on, but it’s a delicate wardenship. He no longer recoiled from innocent pedestrians, and one day you too would grow strong enough not to suspect every foreigner of being the man who haunted your dreams.

Something of this thought process must’ve shown on his face since you began grasping at him frantically again, even as you kept a moderate tone when exclaiming, “You don’t believe me.”

“Honey,” he began, trying to keep his own voice light and pacifying as he patted your cheek, “I-I-I didn’t say that. It’s a lot to process, alright? Just, calm down and yeah, calm down, sit down.”

You let him back you towards the chair and sat yourself down again with childlike compliance. You kept your hands on his hips, loath to be separated after the emotional upheaval of the last few minutes. Every gentle touch and kind word of his had you startled, so certain had you been of his inability to forgive. After some amused deliberation on his part, looking from your hands on his trousers to your fretful face, he sat himself in your lap, sideways, as he had last night. The crushing weight of him was welcome, as was the sweet grin he gave you as he wiggled into a comfortable recline. You buried your face in his chest and tried to bite your tongue, allowing him a minute to ponder what you said. You tried to focus on breathing, on his gentleness and the heavy thud of his overworked heart beneath your ear. He rubbed your arms over the rough lace of your sleeves, just holding you and letting himself be held, biting his tongue as well.

“What on earth am I to do with you, child? Hmm?” he murmured into your hair at last.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” you observed again, miserably, forgetting why you cared now you were being stroked and petted.

“I-it’s not like that, honey, really it’s not. Time and pain -they muddle things, darlin. And I’ve known that man for the better part of a decade and now -here you come wantin me to believe somethin entirely uncharacteristic of him. This fella you’re after, why he weren’t with you for more than a few minutes! And I’ve had an entire decade with the colonel. So no, no, it ain’t a matter of believin it’s a matter of actin on it. And I can’t just act on it yet. I can’t.”

“I’m not after anyone!” you insisted, “And I don’t except you to trust me implicitly after all i've done-“

“-well that’s real sensible of you.”

“-don’t joke! Please don’t!” you begged, “I’m not after anyone, he is after me! He sat in that carriage last night and threatened my life and Cal’s!”

“What’s that now?” he pulled away so he could look down at your face and study you closely. You figured he thought he had mastered some trick to tell if you were lying or not. You were not, you had run out of lies, for good.

“He knows me, he admitted as much! And threatened Cal if I were to expose him to you!” you watched the Captain as he bit his lip and studied you, a thousand different puzzle pieces swirling in those stormy eyes, “Elvis I wouldn’t be so impertinent, so insistent that you believe me after what I’ve done if it weren’t so dire.”

“This is why you told me to watch the boy.”

“Yes! You have, haven’t you?”

“Calm down honey, yeah, checked him last night and then charged Jerry with the same. He’s fine. Now, you say the Colonel said he knew ya?” he pressed the point.

“Yes.”

“Well, darling don’t ya think,” he worried his bottom lip between his fingers and gave another moment to formulate his theory, “ain’t it likely he meant he knew who you were, that you were responsible for killin the dug up Yankee buried in your arbor? -speakin of, that case will rain down a heap of investigations on my head.” he added in a disgruntled mumble.

“No I- I don’t think he meant that.” you sighed, stroking his thigh absently, “it was all very metaphorical and shrouded but the threat was real! He knows me.”

“We don’t know what he knows!” Elvis grunted, “No, no you can’t hand me riddles an’ shit and say that you’ve been found out. You existin on this damn boat is enough reason to piss the colonel off, makin’ you a purser was sure to send him into a rage. I was hoping to give a few weeks to cool him off but then, sweet baby Jesus, you just had to have a Yankee buried in a shallow grave behind the house! Look honey, I’m real sorry he was an ass to ya but you aren’t the first, and I’d think a lil knife wielder like yourself wouldn’t be so shook by it.” he tried to tickle your neck but you reared back, you fear stoked by his maddening nonchalance.

“He threatened Cal!”

“Tell me what he said, word for word.” he asked, patient but in the manner of a professor about to explain that it isn’t the math that is wrong, but your own calculations.

You focused on his hand swooping up your arm in its comforting pace, the grounding weight of his body in your lap, the musky smell of him after a night of revelry and no soap. “He said he knew about your little causes,” you began, “and that Cal was a bright boy and that he suspected that if anything were to happen to him I’d be crushed. He then suggested that were the boy to witness some untoward behavior of the Colonel’s he counted on me to tell Cal that he did not see what he thought he saw.”

“The hell does that mean?” his eyebrow quirked in frustrated bewilderment,

“It was a threat! To put me off confessing to you.”

“You got all that outta…all that.” he waved his hand around.

“Do you not?” you cried.

“I dunno what the hell to make of it!” he declared, “After all, you two are the only ones aboard the damn boat carryin on in metaphors. You don’t see me an’ Jerry talkin in goddamn parables whenever it’s time to drop the anchor chain. A-a-and it ain’t no reason to start dreamin up threats and makin up fuckin history that you don’t share with him!”

“I didn’t make it up! You don’t have to believe me then.” you huffed resignedly, “But for god’s sake spare an eye out for Cal.”

He could see you were in a state about it, and that alone assured him you were not creating a narrative against his partner for mere vengeance sake. Your muddled little mind truly believed your own tale and he knew the Colonel well enough to fully accept that the fellow had probably tried his damndest to scare you off. This had been a long-standing habit, the Colonel running off women who got a little too comfy, domestic, protective of Elvis and he’d been successful up until now.

There were the occasional cases when Elvis himself had finally ground down their patience to nothing, and then they had gone. And that was that. Loyalty to your stalwart, though deceptive, attachment to him made Elvis more inclined to give some credence to your fears, if not your narrative. But it wouldn’t do to be hasty in a judgment of the situation, not with a cotton filled head like his own this morning.

“I’ll look into it, I will.” his tone suggested that this was the end of the discussion, his gentlemanly soothing only serving to drive you near batty with his seeming insouciance, “Now, how bout breakfast?” his grin was bright and you wanted to scream in frustration over it, “I can’t overemphasis how badly I need a half a dozen eggs and some sausages to mop up all that tonic and the maudlin display we just engaged in. Gonna take some grease to counterbalance that shit. Whadda ya say, hmm?”

“I’m not really hungry.” you admitted, watching him in a heartsick daze as he clapped his hands and rose from your lap, the topic of your greatest secret and terror shelved in favor of breakfast.

“Well, that’s cause you’re laced up within an inch o’yer spin. Get up dear, let’s give ya your stomach back.” he wagged his finger in command for you to give him access to your back lacings. “Y-you don’t mind me doing this after…ya know -after last night?” he added very softly when you turned your troubled face towards the window to give him access.

You flung your hand behind your back and grabbed one his own, bringing it over your shoulder to kiss his knuckles.

-I spent most of the night weeping over the fact I could have been a mother at this moment if I’d just allowed you- seemed too heavy a confession after all he had sustained this morning, so you held your peace and kissed his knuckles, savoring his heavy exhale that ghosted against your neck. As he worked on your fastenings you thought of that first night aboard, how tall and strong and virulent he had seemed. The way you’d braced and waited for ravaging, the way he had hummed a hymn instead.

“That first night,” you whispered, cool air hitting your back as more and more of the fancy dress began to slip off your shoulders with each of his tugs, “I thought you were going to take me, every day after I’ve been wondering when you would. And I went from dreading to wanting it. Because I’ve realized I was wrong, you’re no stranger, you’re still you.” the dress fell to your ankles and you yanked open the fastenings of your corset, taking the first full breath since last evening. You used it to tell the him, “I still love you. After all this time, I learned that I still love you, how could I not?”

Not a peep of sound came from behind you at this admission. Strangely this felt like the greatest confession of all, acknowledging you loved him. Peace came with having said it. You shucked your bloomers with more haste than decorum, leaving you in just your shift and turned to face him.

The bow of his lip was trembling in an effort to keep his mouth firm, blotchy red splashed across his face and that old pinched look around his sapphire eyes that betrayed an effort not to let the gathering tears spill. He hadn’t expected love. Not for the way he was now. A sentimental fondness and a perverse interest perhaps. Not love. Captain Presley was as little like the Elvis of your memory as Cricket was akin to Rosey. He had not expected to be loved for it.

“Child-“ he warned in a rough voice, stepping backwards.

“Elvis,” you stepped out of the pool of fabrics and followed him, hands outstretched and latching into his forearms, “I love you, I do, please, please look at me!”

Looking at you was to look at a woman, ripe curves faintly veiled through finely woven linen, cherry dark nipples always peaked when close to him, that mouth he’d taught and that throat he’d used and that face that belonged to a dead girl. He shook his head and turned his face away.

“Elvis, call me Rosey.” you demanded, fingernails biting into the meat his arm and he shuddered from it, “Please, I’m not a child, please don’t muddle this up, it’s me! Me!” you took his hand and tried to pry the stubborn fist open, to bring his hand to your breast in that old familiar way, “Please touch me.” you settled for that, voice trailing off in a whine.

You sounded like a child, desperate and petulant. If he’d just touch you would know you were forgiven. You needed him to touch you. In that way. That particular way that only he had. “You can’t teach me a language then tell me not to speak it!” you accused.

“D-don’t! I know but I-, please don’t-“ his voice sounded so near a whimper when he finally spoke you let go of his arm from pure, maternal instinct that somehow you were hurting him, “I will, if you ask me I w-w-will d-do anythin ya ask, I’ll t-t-touch, so please don’t. Please d-d-don’t ask me that. N-n-not now. N-not yet. Please, darlin. I-I-I just…” he scrubbed his face viciously, “I just want some goddamn breakfast.” he cried out into his hands.

“Of course!” you repented your selfishness ardently, backing away from the bed you’d chased him to in your wantonness. “Breakfast yes, yes, you need food. Rest, too.”

You couldn’t bear to stay staring at his shaking form and those elegant hands as they covered his face, you turned and hauled out the first sensible frock in the wardrobe and a day corset with it, intending to dress and leave him in peace. He had borne enough. And he knew you loved him. It was enough for now, it had to be.

You heard him crossing the room, away from you towards the door and your head swiveled to watch, fretful that he was leaving without another word. He opened the door with lethargic clumsiness and poked his head out again, “Bill, what’re you doin out here?” his tone was full of surprise at finding his friend in the hall, “Be a good fella an’ fetch Rosetta for me!”

“EP, you gotta listen to me, Mr. Schilling sent me to fetch you!” you heard Bill Black explain from the hall, “Says a couple of government officials are aboard and the Colonel's been giving orders to unload half the staff from the boat! Bastard just told me I won’t be needed for the coming trip, something bout not needing a House where we’re going? The hell does that mean? It’s pandemonium up there, boss.”

“You been drinkin, Bill?”

“Wha-? No man, really, all hell is breaking loose up there without ya, been trying to find you for the last hour. Thought you weren’t in here last night.”

“Who gives a damn where I was, none of y’all’s business.” Elvis snapped, “Well go on now, ya found me and delivered your message, go on and tell Rosetta to come down and dress my girl. And if Crudup doesn't have breakfast ready in fifteen minutes I will rethink his position aboard. Go!”

He shut the door with a pointed briskness and thunked his forehead against the wooden panel. He was going to need more tonic in order to endure whatever fresh hell today had in store. His stamina couldn’t take it at this rate. First few hours of the day had shown him that he’d spent that past month violating a childhood friend, how could it possibly get worse? He had a sinking feeling it could.

“You don’t need to bother Rosetta or yourself, I can dress on my own -go eat.” you whispered, already in the process of yanking up your own laces behind your back.

“No you ca-“ he turned round and his expression morphed comically from sullenness to an impressed admiration at the way you managed it solo with practiced deftness.

“I’ve been dressing myself all my life till I came aboard.” you admitted, and you saw his face fall and he rolled his eyes.

“Course ya have.” he muttered before starting to shuck his own party clothes hastily, hopping on one leg and strewing the materials about as he searched for fresh linens, “I want her down here all the same. Want her to keep an eye on you, and I want you to cooperate. You hear me?” he barked, wheeling round on your as he shimmied on fresh trousers -you couldn’t help but notice that he was finally flaccid, “If you’re sorry and if you really give a single shit about me, you’ll behave and you won’t do nothin rash, yes?”

“Yes.” you swore vigorously.

“Swear it!” he insisted, tucking in his shirt tails.

“I swear.”

“J-j-just try to stay outta trouble and d-d-don’t get killed on me, alright?” he begged, as he shrugged on a rather demurely embroidered waistcoat -silver fleur de lis on cobalt this time-, “If what you say is true, then I can’t do a damn thing about it right now, do you understand that? I can’t do nothin, my hands are tied and if I try anything hasty then we lose everything, got it? So if you wanna help, you’ll let me do it my way, test him as I tested you, and you will keep playing your part. Didn’t hurt you to do it all this time, what’s a little more, hmm?”

That stung but it was warranted. Bereft of his touch or the warmth of his spend in your mouth or the explicit admittance of his love, you were left to find contentment in his compliment of your impressive deceit. It would have to do. It was far better than you expected or deserved.

“I understand.” you murmured.

“Good.” he muttered, fully dressed now and with a hand pressed to his stomach as he tried to regulate his breathing. He picked up your dropped pistol from the sideboard and walked over to you, that same stalking gait he had when he came and kissed you earlier, but now he kept a respectable distance. “And keep this on ya,” he said, “just know, if you shoot my friend, ill not only be mad as hell but I’ll be in so much goddamn trouble with the law I might as well turn myself into the police right now, you understand?”

“Is he really so powerful?” you took it with a solemn nod, “Everyone nearly ignored him last night!”

“Liking and being beholden to are two different things, honey.”

“And to which camp do you belong?” you asked with a sad smile. He gave you one back.

“Both, I reckon, never was stupid enough to test it.”

“So he threatens you?” cold and bitter validation settled in your gut.

“He don’t have to.” he raised an eyebrow at you, “I-I-I wouldn’t speak of this to anyone else, but since you’re on the damn warpath and since you already know so much, I-I-I think you know…” his voice trailed off and his eyes flitted away from your face to, “Darlin, you gotta understand, men who’ve been where I’ve been, we don’t pull ourselves up and manage all this alone. Without him I wouldn’t have a cent to my name or the ability to hold my head up in the street. I don’t know how to disentangle that obligation, never wanted to before, not really. And I don’t know how to now, not now that I’ve got all these people who depend on me keepin on the course I’ve set. There ain’t no court of appeal! I’m sending Scotty down to Memphis to free daddy but I’m sending him with a fuckin chest of gold instead of legal arguments cause that’s the only language those damn judges speak. And that gold won’t come without what the Colonel does. And he could skip one month of payin them and arrangin contacts with them and off I go to prison -it’s simple as that, darlin. He don’t need to threaten me, he ain’t my enemy. We’re both two outsiders trying to squeeze the better folk.”

His mouth turned up in a winsome little smile, trying to prompt you to understand, but those soulful eyes were glazed and hopeless. You understood, you truly did, and it made you angrier than you’d ever been. “I’ll hold my peace.” you murmured.

He took a great breath in his relief at your submission and rubbed his eyes, “We’re gonna need him for Daddy and for the case of your Yankee buried in the arbor, we’re gonna need him real obligin and generous, you understand?”

“I’ll behave.” you insisted.

“I-I-I know it’s hard to let go, honey,” he conceded softly, as he stepped away, “but we all done things we regret, even the colonel. Maybe him more than most, but he’s done a lotta good.”

“He gambles the money you give him to do good things with.” you laughed scornfully, “And as for his job you think he does so well -Scotty says he’s keeping your father imprisoned.”

“Sweet Jesus, of course he does, he’s always had a chip on his shoulder over him.” Elvis groaned, “I’ll thank ya to behave yourself as promised, to mind your own business and to refrain from listening to Mr. Moore, ya hear me?”

If the Captain were not so exhausted and hoarse you were certain he would be shouting at you by now, his hands shook by his sides all the same.

A knock on the door saved you from a full outpouring of his wrath or the rash decision to press your point.

“What?” Elvis yelled at the harmless intruder through the door.

“There’s a Mr Binder coming up the gangplank, sir, Mr Schilling told me to send for ya!”

You and Elvis stared at each other with wide eyed horror for a good few seconds upon hearing this, both curious if the other fully remembered all the events of last evening.

“I could speak with him in your stead!” you gasped out, heartsore for him, “You need breakfast.” you added as if meals were not commonly skipped by adults weighted with responsibilities such as his.

“Sweet Rosey.” he murmured and your expression perked up hopefully at the affectionate moniker. He let out a ghost of a laugh at how easily pleased you were, “Nah, nah I’ll handle him, then I’ll eat breakfast. Ya never know, the delightful Mr Binder might have my girl’s pardon with him.” he pointed out cheerfully, though his expression suggested he doubted that to be the case.

You gave him a watery grin in return, feeling a fool for continually underestimating how easily he could multitask, how effortlessly he wore his own mask, provoking you with his unperturbed geniality when he was plotting his own rebellion all the while. It had been so long since you’d had a comrade in scheming, forever trusting only your own company on the plantation, that meekness and trust when the stakes were so dire was hard to manage. But you could see now that while he did not include you into his thoughts, Elvis was not so benign as he appeared.

“Godspeed then.” you commended him, chipper tone hiding the fear of knowing full well that Mr Bidner might be just as likely arriving with an arrest warrant.

Hands on your hips, dressed in sensible cotton with that familiarly brave grin on your face -he thought he must’ve known who you were all this time, just couldn’t stomach it until a month’s worth of gentle touches and cheerful care had somehow worn him down to this magnanimous fool who was about to risk his life to get you that pardon.

[tomonari-nue]

Junpei Lives AU

i already warned Kiyoko about this but basically this is dedicated to my friend whom i bullied persuaded into watching JJK only to have them crying in my DMs when they found out Junpei was gone for good.

anyway, who else is bummed out that Junpei never got to learn alongside Yuuji and make friends at JJTech bc i sure am so My City Now

let’s assume that in a slightly more merciful world Junpei wasnt idle-transfigured to death and Yuuji basically hauled his ass away from Mahito

Nanami: Itadori-kun he did attack civilians Yuuji: yeah after being severely manipulated by an extremely fucked up cursed spirit! and being bullied relentlessly! and losing his only family! Nanami: his only family? Junpei: my dad isn’t in the picture Nanami, doing quick neck-breaking mental gymnastics about the possible logistics of unofficially adopting another teenage boy: I See.

technically, due to his age Junpei should be a year or two higher than Yuuji but given that he’s pretty much a newbie, he stays with the other first years

Yuuji wasnt allowed to accompany Junpei when he had his “exam” with Yaga and pretty much sat outside the room biting his nails

he doesnt hear Junpei’s declaration that he’ll never allow anyone to ever lay a hand on him ever again, that he wont let himself be manipulated any longer

Junpei moves into the empty dorm next to Megumi

(poor Megumi is thus subsequently stuck with hearing them giggle during their movie marathons in either room bc the walls are THIN and it doesnt matter who’s in who’s dorm bc its STILL NEXT TO HIM AND HE WANTS TO SLEEP THANK YOU VERY MUCH–)

Yuuji gets Junpei a lavalamp with floating jellyfish in it as a housewarming (dormwarming??) gift

initially Junpei was a little nervous meeting Yuuji’s other friends but he figures if they like Yuuji they wouldnt be that bad

wrong. he was terrified of both Megumi and Nobara.

Megumi: hello who is th– Nobara: WHO THE FUCK IS THIS HUH? WHO IS THIS STRANGER YUUJI? ANOTHER SWEATY TEENAGE BOY? WHY COULDNT YOU FIND ANOTHER GIRL DO YOU WANT ME TO DIE?

(its okay they became friends)

each of them coach Junpei regularly so he can keep up: Yuuji obviously takes over the hand-to-hand combat aspect

Junpei: no offence but i dont want to fight you Yuuji: oh its okay!! i have a high pain tolerance so dont worry about hitting me!! Junpei, who already got his ass kicked thoroughly by Yuuji before and knowing that this guy’s bicep is double the width of his own noodle arms: thats not what im worried about

Megumi, naturally, takes over coaching Junpei on all things shikigami – he’s very taken by Moon Dregs

Junpei: this is Moon Dregs, i didnt have her for very long but– Megumi: she’s beautiful, but can she fight? Junpei: she’s very poisonous Megumi: rad. anything else? Junpei: she. glows in the dark? Megumi: Megumi, under his breath: thats fucking sick as hell

Junpei isnt too sure what Nobara can coach him on considering their fighting styles are very different

Nobara: dont worry im gonna punch a spine into you Junpei: ????????

Nobara becomes the most terrifying (yet oddly effective) life coach in order to teach Junpei to be a lot more confident – unfortunately that also means feeding into his hidden violent streak KJBSBJKDJBK–

Nobara: this guy slaps your ice cream cone to the ground Junpei: what a dick Nobara: EXACTLY! what do you do? Junpei: hit him with a brick Nobara: YES Yuuji: NO Megumi: depends on what flavour the ice cream was

despite him and Nobara having similar violence levels, Junpei does kind of try to be the peacemaker in the group even if he does overindulge Yuuji quite often lmao

he brings the WEIRDEST movies to movie night fridays and often argues with Nobara over what they should watch

he once ignored Yuuji for an entire evening bc the other voted against him and he was stuck watching Frozen with everyone

Yuuji: cmon Junpei, just let it– Junpei: finish that sentence and im eating all of the mozzarella sticks

nobody likes to play Uno against Junpei bc he turns absolutely ruthless

on the first few nights at JJTech Junpei, having turned a little insomniac, wandered into the kitchen late at night to find this gangly figure in the dark with bright blue glowing eyes

nobody had bothered to tell him that Gojo liked to sneak sugar cubes

Junpei screamed so loud Yuuji took his door off its hinges in frantic hurry and Megumi got a bloody nose bc he ran straight into a wall

of course, that was nothing compared to having a very cranky and very pissed off Nobara show up in bunny-patterned PJs and hello kitty eyemask clutching her hammer

[nureyevv]

Eye-patch Chats

“So,” said Buddy, “Are there any questions about the plan?”

Juno tried to ignore the way she directed her gaze at him as she spoke, waiting for him to ask her to repeat herself. Sure, back when he was still adjusting to life on the Carte Blanche he’d asked some stupid questions, but plenty of time had passed since then and he was practically a seasoned criminal by now.

Ok, well, there was that one time last week when he’d forgotten what their objective was, but that was a complicated heist! And of course the time before that when he’d nearly overslept their departure… 

Alright, fine, maybe this didn’t come naturally to him the way it did Buddy or Vespa or Jet or Nureyev or even Rita (honesty had she been running a side hussle the entire time she was his assistant?), but this time he understood her plot perfectly. He would not be supplying the kind of dumb comment she was expecting. 

Except… he did have a question. 

After a moment of silence as Buddy waited for his inevitable interjection, he gave in. At least this time he wouldn’t be asking about simple logistics that everyone else at the table seemed to understand already.

“I know the whole attire thing is your deal, Buddy,” he began, thinking back to their first mission when Buddy had put him a gaudy golden gown. She’d been right, though, he fit in perfectly, not that objecting got him anywhere anyways. “But, I was hoping we might skip the glass eye, considering last time I used a replacement I almost died getting rid of it-- no offense Big Guy.”

Jet shook his head. “No, you are correct. I did not anticipate your survival.”

“Well, isn’t that a vote of confidence,” Juno muttered. 

“Oh, you should see him before getting a shot!” Rita interjected. “He gets all pale and grumpy and starts grumblin’ about how he can’t stand blood even though he was a detective and worked a bunch of murder cases and I always had to say ‘Mistah Steel, you get out of that windowsill right now and march on over to the doctor’s office--’”

“Alright, that’s enough of that!” he said, shooting her a look.

“Actually, I think we should recreate that scene,” added Vespa in a tone that made Juno very uncomfortable with the fact she was the only medic on the ship.

“That would be very humorous,” said Jet. 

Before anyone else could jump on the ‘embarrass Juno’ train he decided to redirect the conversation to the topic at hand. “So is that a yes or no on the glass eye?”

Buddy considered for a moment before nodding. “I don’t foresee that causing any issues, although if it comes down to a matter of safety--”

“I’ll suck it up and wear the thing,” he finished for her. “Is there anything else or can we call it a day-- not that this whole conversation hasn’t been a complete joy.”

He glanced around the table at the others. Vespa was still smirking, proud of her contribution, while Rita seemed to be playing an intense game of charades with Jet that was either a continuation of their earlier conversation or a reenactment of a star combusting. To his surprise, Nureyev, sitting at his right, was silent. Sure, it wasn’t like him to jump headfirst into conversations like this, but he usually had a comment on the plan, at the very least. 

Instead, his expression was blank. If Juno hadn’t known him so well he might have mistaken it for boredom, but experience told him that was the face Nureyev put on when he was lost in thought. 

He’d have to ask if everything was alright once they had a free moment. Chances were he was just breaking down the next heist, plotting his own movements within what Buddy had already determined. Still, an unease settled in him. 

“Yes, that’s all for today’s family meeting, “Buddy answered, pulling Juno from his thoughts. “I expect you each to spend the remainder of your day preparing.”

With that, she stood up and the table picked up it’s individual conversations. 

He was about to use the cover of post-meeting chaos to ask Nureyev if he was alright, but was interrupted before he got the chance. 

“Mistah Steel,” Rita said, having abandoned the game of violent gestures with Jet, “Why don’t I go ahead and fix that tracker in you comms. Sounds like you're going to need it for the big mission tomorrow.”

“Huh?” he said, his attention shifting over to Rita. “Oh, yeah, the tracker. Sure thing Rita just give me one sec--” 

Looking back at where Nureyev had been he found that the thief had made one of his signature escapes while Juno had been distracted. It seemed that their conversation would have to wait until later. 

Rita was staring at him with a curious look on her face as he returned to their exchange. 

“Uh, here you go,” he said, fishing his comms out of his pocket. “Actually, I was wondering if you could show me how the tracker feature works. If it breaks on a job again I can’t necessarily rely on you to be there to fix it for me.”

“Are you sure,  Mistah Steel?” she asked, a hint of a smile creeping onto her face. “Last time you asked me to explain something technology related you spent an hour tryin’ to figure out where the power button was-- and that’s not even counting the time ya spent claimin’ the screen was broken.”

“Well I’m still not convinced it wasn’t broken, but that’s beside the point,” he argued. Stupid computers and their stupid controls… “Anyways, can you just show me how the thing works.”

“If you insist,” Rita said with a shrug, “We should probably go to my room though, it’s pretty busy out here and I’ve got a hunch this’ll take a while…”

His eyebrows pulled together as he frowned. 

“I won’t take that long,” he retorted, though he followed her to her rooms anyway. 

***

It took the entire afternoon and a large portion of the evening to fix the tracker. Well, it took Rita ten minutes to do it and another hour to explain how. The rest of the time was dedicated to his attempts to repeat what she’d done and breaking the thing even worse than before. 

At the end of the day they were both exhausted and Juno was nowhere closer to understanding how his comms worked. Hungry and brain dead, they’d decided to call it a day and grab a late dinner.

It wasn’t until he was about to retire to his room for the night that he actually had a chance to look at his comms. As Rita had not so subtly pointed out, he wasn’t exactly an expert when it came to technology, so he wasn’t particularly accustomed to receiving messages, especially now that most of the people who had any interest in speaking to him lived on the same ship. 

As he flopped onto his bed, prepared to all but pass out, he decided to double check his inbox, just to be sure.

It was a surprise to find a question from Nureyev. 

“Can we talk?” it read, short and sweet, which only made his stomach drop.

It was probably nothing, and yet… well that sure was a comforting message to receive from your ex-something.

It’d been sent around noon. As much as Juno wanted to crawl into bed and forget about his growing dread long enough to fall asleep, he couldn’t let Nureyev wait any longer in good conscience. 

So, somehow he found himself trekking across the Carte Blanche in the middle of the night, the day before a mission. It didn’t occur to him until after he’d knocked on the door that Nureyev was probably already asleep. 

He was just about to make a shameful retreat when the door swung open.

Nureyev, it seemed, was still wide awake. In fact, the other man was still dressed in the clothes he was wearing earlier that day, which made Juno a bit embarrassed of the T-shirt he slept in. 

“Uh,” he began, noticing the quizzical look on Nureyev’s face. “I got your message” 

Before he could get a response, though, he followed up his own statement with apologetic word vomit. “I just realized how late it is, though, and you probably have a ton you want to get done before tomorrow so I should go, right? Yeah I should go--”

He tried not to physically cringe at how awkward he sounded. Jeez, he was acting like Rita, but at least she made it charming. 

But Nureyev only smiled in that easy way he did and motioned Juno inside. “Not at all. I’ll be up for another few hours anyway and all my preparations for tomorrow are complete. Please, come in.”

Juno obliged with an embarrassed nod. Nureyev followed him inside the door shutting behind him with a soft click. 

“So I got your message,” he started again, rubbing the back of his neck when he realized he’d already said that. “I guess… I guess I just wanted to make sure you were alright. You were kind of out of it earlier today.”

At that, Nureyev laughed and shook his head. If Juno hadn’t been so drunk on the sound of that laugh he might have worried he was being mocked, but Peter had a way of easing tensions without saying anything at all. Or, at least he did when it came to Juno.

“I could have asked you the same thing,” he answered, matter-of-factly. “Have a seat, Juno.”

Juno did, settling into the edge of Nureyev’s cot. The other man took the space next to him. 

“I suppose I was simply curious,” he continued with a shrug. “I may have no right to ask this of you considering how tight lipped I’ve been about my activities last year, but what were you all referring to this morning?”

Juno’s brows furrowed as he thought back to that day’s meeting.

“I thought you already knew I hated blood?”

Nureyev smiled again. “Yes, I do recall that-- although Rita’s recounts added more pizazz than you’ve ever let on. I was actually talking about the near death experience with Jet.”

Oh. Oh. He was talking about the THEIA incident. 

“Again, you can tell me if I’m overstepping,” he added hastily. “You seemed quite open about it earlier but I don’t want to assume anything.”

Juno leaned back and turned his eyes to the ceiling. “No, no it’s ok. I was just… surprised.”

By which he meant he was shocked Nureyev cared how he’d spent the time they’d been apart. Maybe that was just his own guilt talking, though. He’d made the choice to stay on Mars-- everything that had happened with Ramses and THEIA was his cross to bear. He’d had the chance to get away, but he’d chosen not to-- telling Nureyev about it felt a bit like throwing that choice in his face. 

But he’d asked, and Juno was tired of the awkwardness between them. If Nureyev wanted to know, then Juno would tell him all he could. 

“I guess it’s just hard to know where to start,” he mused. 

“Might I suggest the beginning?”

Juno laughed. “Yeah, that’ll work.”

It was a long story, but Nureyev was patient as Juno navigated through the last year. It felt a bit absurd saying it aloud. The person he’d been back then was something else entirely, so convinced his worth was determined by his aim or how many cases he solved. 

There was something refreshing about how the memories had become distorted with time. It was proof things had changed, even if some topics were still sore. The image of Ramses dead in his office… the ghosts of his mother and brother… the fight for control against his own body. All of it still sent a chill up his spine, but he’d learned to let his past walk alongside him rather than keep him in place.

By the time he got to the end his eyelids were threatening to shut of their own accord, but he hoped his exhaustion wasn’t too obvious on his face. 

“After that, Rita and I decided to leave Mars. I… I couldn’t fix the planet on my own but I knew if I stayed I would keep trying anyways,” he finished, purposely leaving out the part where his new life was interrupted by the presence of a man he’d never expected to see again… and was quite possibly still in love with. 

“I see,” said Nureyev, speaking for the first time since Juno had begun, an intensity in his face Juno couldn’t quite name. “Juno, I’m so sorry.”

He looked at the other man with a sideways smile.

 “Don’t be. I won’t say I’m glad it happened, because I’m not. It was really really shitty. But, y’know, I’m not proud of who I was back then, and I might still be that person if life hadn’t knocked some sense into me.”

“Yes,” Nureyev agreed. ‘Yes, I think I understand. You aren’t the same man as you were in the tomb. I must admit, I’m glad for that.”

Juno swallowed, a wave of doubt rushing over him. Nureyev was… glad he wasn’t the person he’d known. What did that mean? He was relieved to no longer be distracted? He was happy he had no reason to care for Juno anymore? Maybe he deserved it after leaving the way he did, but that was a bit harsh, wasn’t it? He’d just told Nureyev his life story and all he cared about was that whatever he’d been charmed by was gone. 

Nureyev was looking at the floor now, but Juno had nothing more to fill the silence. To his surprise, however, Peter beat him to it. 

“Back then, with Miasma and the bomb, we didn’t know it only affected martians. It’s comforting to know that, should a situation like that arise again, it would play out differently.”

Juno gaped at him. “Oh.”

So he wasn’t glad that Juno wasn’t the person he’d fallen for. Nureyev was just glad he wanted to live.

Unsure where to go with their conversation after that, Juno stood. “Well, it’s getting late, and now that you know the story behind my aversion to eye replacements, we should really get some rest before tomorrow.”

Following Juno’s lead, Nureyev got to his feet  and moved to open the door for him. “Yes, of course. Good night, Juno.”

“G’night,” he answered as he crossed through the threshold. “--And Nureyev?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

The other man shot him a confused look. “For what?”

Juno shrugged. “Take your pick.”

***

Despite their late night, the next day’s mission went off without a hitch. Well, if you considered getting chased by the local authorities “without a hitch”, which Juno did. 

The next few days were rather quiet. Buddy still required family meetings each day, but since they were a ways out from their next heist the discussions were rather concise. Juno spent most of his days somewhat begrudgingly watching streams with Rita. Anything to pass the time, he supposed. 

He hadn’t spoken to Nureyev since the night they’d discussed THEIA ordeal, but Juno didn’t push it. He still wasn’t positive what sort of terms they were on. If Nureyev wanted to talk to him, Juno figured he would reach out. 

He did, however, come across a small piece of fabric he’d never seen before on his bedside table one morning. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be an eyepatch-- a nice one, at that-- with a dahlia embroidered in gold on the front. 

It didn’t have a gift tag or anything to reveal the identity of the sender aside for a scrap of scratch paper with a sentence scrawled across it. 

“So you have something real to thank me for.”

[here4theheartbreak]

Spring Fever (MinJoon)

AO3 Link Here!

✩ Relationships: minjoon (Jimin x Namjoon) ✩ Genre(s): fluff

✩ Rating: General ✩ Tags: fluff, getting together, self confidence issues

✩ Summary: Spring fever is a real thing, and Jimin is really sick of it.

✩ A/N: Written for @chimknj​ for the drabble requests, prompt #14: Vernorexia (romantic mood inspired by spring - lit. spring fever)

✩ Word Count: ~2.6k

“Did you hear that Hoseok and Yoongi started dating yesterday?” Taehyung asked, tossing the magazine he’d been skimming onto the floor. He flopped onto his back, letting his head hang over the edge of the bed.

Jimin rolled his eyes from his spot on the floor, back against his dresser. “Fucking shocker. They’ve been eye fucking for two months.”

Taehyung scowled. “What crawled up your ass? I thought you’d be happy for them.”

Jimin sighed, closing his eyes. “I am. I’m just… I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I am. They’re a cute couple. Go right along well with you and Jin.”

Taehyung’s scowl shifted to a pout. He crawled off the bed and over to Jimin, sitting next to him. “Are you jealous of Jin, Jiminie? Because you know you don’t have to be. You’re my best friend.”

“’M not jealous of Jin.” He muttered. “Not like that.”

“But you are? Kinda then?”

“And of you. And Hobi, and Yoongi. And every other fucking person suddenly coming up with a lover.” Jimin wrapped his arms around his knees, putting his chin on them. “It’s stupid. I hate this stupid season with the dumb flowers and the long days and the picnics.” He made a small ‘hmph’ noise and sunk his face into his arms.

“Ahh,” Taehyung said with a soft understanding. “Jimin… You don’t have to be lonely.”

“Easy for you to say.” He looked up at Taehyung. “You and Jin have only been dating for a month and it’s pretty fucking clear you’re soulmates. He chose you even though he got teased for liking someone so much younger. He is head over heels for you, and I’m sure Yoongi’s gonna be the same with Hobi. Nobody wants me. I’m just the ugly, angry little person tagging along with the beautiful ones.”

“Hey!” Taehyung snapped, and Jimin startled, looking at him.

“Why are you yelling at me?”

“Because you shouldn’t talk about yourself like that. You’re beautiful Jimin. Your dancing is phenomenal and you’re so clever and caring. You’re a great listener and you defend your friends with your whole heart. You get angry but it’s usually for good reason. Just because you have a temper doesn’t mean you’re unworthy of love. And you aren’t tagging along with us. I resent that. You’re just as much a part of our friend group as everyone else.”

Jimin lowered his gaze again. “I’m normally not bugged by this, you know? It just feels like lately… Even Taemin is talking about that girl he’s into. Everybody is finding their love and I’m still sitting here alone.”

“It’s Spring,” Taehyung shrugged as he spoke, “romance is in the air, that kind of crap… But you aren’t helpless, Jimin. If you want a lover, why not go out and find them? I know you like someone.”

“He doesn’t like me like that, you know it.”

“Have you ever asked?”

“Namjoon is way too good for me,” Jimin argued. This wasn’t a new argument; he’d been in love with their mutual friend for nearly a year now. And every time Taehyung brought up asking him out, the excuses flowed like water from Jimin’s pretty lips.

“Namjoon is an idiot who trips over air and burns water,” Taehyung argued.

“Don’t talk about him like that. He’s smarter than you,” Jimin grumped, and Taehyung smirked.

“You’re so so head over heels for him and you can’t see it. You can’t see him either. I swear, Jimin… They say people can’t see the forest for the trees, but you’re opposite. You’re too busy staring at the whole damn forest and the storm clouds moving in another direction to notice the beauty of the redwood right in front of you.” He sighed. “And it is one… Beautiful specimen. Tall and broad and just….”

“Dude, you have a boyfriend,” Jimin said. Taehyung grinned.

“And even with one of those I can appreciate the aesthetic appeal of a gorgeous young redwood in a forest of box elders.”

“Would you stop comparing Namjoon to a fucking tree?!” Jimin cried, laughing at the absurdity of it.

Taehyung pouted innocently. “Namjoon. Namu. I see no difference. And you don’t see the reality in front of you.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that? The redwood’s gonna fall for the boab tree?”

“Well, considering those two species don’t even exist in the same place, no. But the redwood might appreciate the beautiful foxglove growing around the base of his trunk. Deadly and stunning… But worth admiring, if you’d just give them a chance.” Taehyung reached out and stroked Jimin’s cheek. “You look down on yourself so much, Jimin. But you’re so worth it. If you’d just give yourself a chance… And if you’d give Namjoon a chance.”

Jimin shook his head, opting to stay silent. He knew he’d lose any argument about this with Taehyung; it wasn’t worth fighting it. Taehyung sighed. He elbowed Jimin lightly.

“Wanna play a game?”

“Yeah, I do,” Jimin agreed, relieved he dropped the subject. But even as they sat on the bed and bickered over who was taking the most loot in their video game, the chipper chirping of the birds outside, and the cool breeze wafting in the scent of plum and cherry blossoms left an ache of lonely longing in Jimin’s heart.

***

‘Do you wanna go hiking with me today?’

Jimin chewed his lip, staring at the text. It was innocuous; not like Namjoon had never invited him places before. They were friends. But it felt so different. Probably something to do with the discussion he and Taehyung had had only a few days before, and the incessant feeling that Jimin was being slapped in the face with others’ happiness. He considered declining, if only to save himself the heartache when the inevitable happy, sappy couple would come by them on the hiking trail. But the opportunity to hang out with Namjoon was – as always – too damn good to pass up. He loved spending time with Namjoon, especially out in nature. Namjoon loved nature, and Jimin loved seeing it.

‘Sure – what time?’ He responded back.

The two texted back and forth for a few minutes, deciding the logistics of their planned outing, before Jimin rose to dress. It was something casual, just between friends. Just a regular old hike. He didn’t need his nice shorts or his cute t-shirt. He didn’t need to wear his good cologne or apply just a little gloss to his pouty lips… He didn’t need to, but he did anyway.

Unfortunately for Jimin, all the nice dressing in the world couldn’t prevent the ache that formed as soon as he met up with Namjoon and began to walk along the quiet trail. Everywhere he looked, it seemed, were lovers, cuddling on park benches or stopped under trees as they shared quiet kisses. Laughter and shouts of joy added to the storm clouds in Jimin’s mind. It only took the constantly thoughtful Namjoon fifteen minutes to pull Jimin off the path.

“What’s the matter?”

“What? Nothing.”

“Yeah, there is. You’ve barely done more than grunt at me.” Namjoon scowled. “If you didn’t want to come, you didn’t have to say yes.”

Panic bubbled up in Jimin’s chest. “No, no,” he said quickly, waving his hands. “I do. I did, I want to be here. I like doing this with you.”

“Then why are you such a grouch?”

Jimin shrugged, lowering his gaze. “It’s stupid. I’ll work on it.” He offered a bright smile, hoping it was convincing. “Look over there, that plum blossom tree. Let me take a picture of you in front of it.” His smile wavered when a young couple holding hands approached the tree he was pointing at, taking a selfie by it.

Namjoon looked over then back at Jimin, his brows losing their knit as his entire expression softened. He looked back to the couple.

“They look happy, huh?”

“Yeah,” Jimin muttered, looking anywhere but at the couple. “Come on, I’m sure there’ll be a nice tree I can get a picture of you with up ahead.”

He started walking, entirely aware that it was now Namjoon being sullen and silent next to him. They turned down another path, filled with a variety of blossoming trees, and Jimin’s eyes welled with unexpected tears. He blinked them away, trying to keep his face from Namjoon. He didn’t exactly know why he was crying. The scent of the trees, the overwhelming urge just to grab Namjoon’s hand, the peace… It was too much.

“Jimin, can I confess something?” Namjoon whispered, his voice just audible over the wind through the branches.

“Of course,” Jimin’s voice was soft as well, trying not to show he’d been struggling against tears.

“I’m lonely.”

Namjoon’s confession fell like a brick in Jimin’s stomach. He looked over at Namjoon, who smiled weakly. “Hoseok and Yoongi got together, you know?”

Jimin nodded. “And Tae and Jin.”

“And Jungkook’s been flirting with Eunwoo… Hobi thinks they’re gonna start dating soon.”

“Yeah.” Jimin looked back down, not sure what to say. They walked in silence a little longer before Namjoon spoke again.

“Do you know why everyone gets together in the spring?”

“No.”

“It’s a phenomenon they call Vernorexia. Spring fever. Something about the melting of the snow and blooming of the flowers and trees that just puts everyone in a lovey mood. It’s also why some people get so grumpy despite the increase in Vitamin D.”

Jimin chuckled. “I get it.”

“I guess it’s nice. Everyone getting together,” Namjoon said, looking around. He sighed. “Just kinda empty feeling… Being alone during it all.” He looked over at Jimin, smiling sadly. “I’m kind of tired of being alone, Jimin.”

“Me too,” Jimin said. “I heard Ashley is single, she likes you.”

“You know I’m not into girls.”

“I don’t know any single guys you’d want, sorry.”

“I do,” Namjoon said. He grabbed Jimin’s wrist, stopping them on the path. Jimin’s heart leapt into his throat. Namjoon was so close… Before he could really process what was happening, Namjoon went forward, his eyes closing. Jimin’s eyes widened. Not him, it couldn’t be him. Instinctively, he pushed him back, and Namjoon nearly fell, righting himself.

He looked at Jimin with a shocked gaze. “Oh God, did I misunderstand?”

“What?” Jimin asked, his breath coming quickly. Namjoon had almost kissed him.

“I thought…” Namjoon shook his head. “God, I’m a fool. I’m so sorry, I’d never invade your space like that. I thought you liked me, I—Taehyung mentioned it in passing and I—I’ve had a crush on you forever but I never thought it’d work so I…” He scratched the back of his head, his cheeks pinking up adorably. “I’m so sorry, I probably freaked you out trying to kiss you like that. I’m not a creep, I promise.”

Jimin shook his head. He waved his hands, trying to get Namjoon to stop panic rambling. He finally grabbed his upper arms. “You like me?”

Namjoon’s body sagged a little. “Is that so disturbing? I ruined our friendship, didn’t I? I know I’m not much. You’re so talented and beautiful and you’re definitely going to be a star. I’m… I’m just Namjoon.”

Jimin gaped, Namjoon’s words settling like a punch to his stomach, painful and deep. “I’ve been in love with you for a year, Namjoon,” he whispered.

Namjoon looked up. “Then why—Why did you push me away just now?”

“Because you don’t want someone like me. I’m ugly and short and awkward and kinda dumb. I get angry at the stupidest things and I’m not near as slender or muscular as Tae or Jin, even as a dancer Hobi has me beat—”

“You are kind of dumb,” Namjoon agreed. Jimin blinked, surprised.

Namjoon smiled, reaching for Jimin. He stroked his face. “You’re dumb if you think any of those things are true. Or those that are, if you think they matter… You are short and you do have a temper… But they don’t matter to me. For months I’ve dreamed of dating you, holding your hand, kissing you, and… More.” Namjoon smiled weakly. “It’s gotten worse with springtime. I feel like there’s this constant stupid emptiness in my guts and I am so, so angry at all the happy couples. I just want to reach out and grab someone… You and tell you how I feel. That’s what today was about. When Tae mentioned you maybe liking me, I figured now was the time to take my shot, even though I thought I wouldn’t ever be enough for you.”

Jimin’s heart was pounding so loud he worried Namjoon could hear it. He flung himself forward, wrapping his arms around Namjoon’s neck in a painfully tight hug. “You’re more than enough, Namjoon,” Jimin whispered. “You’re my redwood.”

Namjoon laughed, hugging Jimin back. “Your redwood?” He asked, putting his mouth against Jimin’s shoulder. His breath was warm, drawing goosebumps over Jimin’s arms.

“Mhm. Tall and lean and strong… Always someone that will support me when I’m weak. Someone who can last forever. Tae mentioned it and I—He was right.”

“Ah, I see.” Namjoon rubbed his hands lightly over Jimin’s back. “And what did our Taehyung liken my sweet Minie to?”

Jimin’s breath caught when Namjoon called him sweet. He called him sweet. And his.

“Foxglove,” Jimin whispered.

“Bright and beautiful, but deadly if you don’t handle with care,” Namjoon confirmed. Jimin nodded. He felt Namjoon pulling away and squeezed tighter, not wanting to let go. He did though, and Namjoon smiled down at him. “I’ve always found foxglove to be a beautiful flower. Something to be handled delicately and appreciated for its brightness… But respected.” Namjoon curled his fingers under Jimin’s chin, tilting his head up a little. “I want to kiss you, Jimin. Is that okay?”

Jimin nodded. “Yes. If… If you promise me something first.”

“What?”

“That you won’t go away once the spring rains stop.”

Namjoon smiled wider, shaking his head. “I’ll be around much longer than that, I promise you. As long as you’ll have me, Minie.”

He closed the space between their lips, and this time Jimin didn’t jerk away. He leaned forward, meeting Namjoon’s mouth. As they kissed, he draped his arms over Namjoon’s shoulders, pressing against him. He was kissing Namjoon. Really kissing him. His mouth was soft and tasted faintly of mint. Jimin tried not to grin when the kiss deepened naturally, their tongues brushing together.

When they separated, Jimin brushed his nose against Namjoon’s. “You’re not alone anymore.”

“Neither are you,” Namjoon whispered.

“Do you want to go out tonight? A real date?”

Namjoon nodded. He straightened up, shifting over as another couple passed them. He smirked a little, looking at Jimin.

“Still make you grumpy?”

“Not even a little,” Jimin said, barely glancing at the couple. He couldn’t take his eyes off Namjoon. “I’ve got exactly what I need.”

Namjoon took his hand, twining their fingers as they began to walk again.

The sweet scent of the blossoms no longer twisted Jimin’s stomach into a ball of frustration, and the laughter of other couples was no longer grating to his ears. Now he could see the colors, the breeze was comforting and the scent of the blossoms brightened his mood further. Namjoon’s hand fit his perfectly, and the two walked in a comfortable silence as they looked for a good spot to eat the lunch Namjoon had packed.

Vernorexia, Namjoon had called it. Spring fever. Whatever it was, Jimin had found his cure. It was in the form of his beautiful, smart redwood of a man, and it was the best medicine he’d ever had.

[seimeinotaka]

Elusive kindness (Vil x MC)

(Cross-posted from AO3)

One of the worst days in Vil's recent life, Epel and Deuce had just ran away and left him having to face a possible logistics nightmare. To make matters worse (better), someone  (that absolutely obnoxious manager) had to disagree on why he had simply shown Epel the true power of beauty.

Thanks to polyphenols@AO3 for beta-reading this!

Things had honestly worked out in the most obnoxious yet mysterious of ways.

When Epel had run away, merely two weeks before the VDC, Vil needed to apply all the breathing techniques he knew because otherwise he would explode. Two weeks was so little time to do anything; finding a replacement and properly training them would be impossible to achieve in such a short window. The other option, changing the choreography to fit one person less AND upgrading one of the backup vocals to take over Epel’s parts seemed easier in theory. Keywords, in theory.

This would put everything in jeopardy because he would have to select someone and they would have to almost start from zero. With a clear role assigned to each member, the replacement would be at risk of mixing up their original lines and steps with Epel’s, not to mention the others would have to consider the new spatial reorganization.

The perfect symmetry he had arranged everyone to, the distribution of the main vocals and the backup ones, how everyone was in the perfect spot, everything would be ruined.

Then Freshman Potato No.2 had to follow Epel and disappear, further complicating everything.

Five was too small of a number of singers to properly portray the song AND the dance. Two main vocals and three backups complicated dancing distribution. Three main vocals and two backups caused the backups to fade against the three main singers.

Everything he did had been logical and organized for a reason, meticulously taking care of the smallest detail. His hard work would be ruined for a pair of children who were just throwing a tantrum. He was so desperate that he even considered for the briefest moment if Ann could somehow take in a spot.

Actually, she wasn’t bad looking, she was following the same regimen as everyone else so her skin was clear and pretty. With extremely short hair, she might pull it off. The problem was that Ann was a girl, and her singing voice would disrupt the harmony between the original members. No matter if she was a main or backup vocal, her voice would unfortunately stand out, and not in the way Vil needed.

So he quickly discarded the idea, even if he had spent quite a lot of time staring at her when she had arrived to check up on him, to the point she noticed him scrutinizing her. But no, he wouldn’t get a break, as the same troublemakers came back, and not with good news. If it wasn’t a logistics nightmare already barely avoided, he then faced the possibility of being banned from the VDC for the same potatoes breaking school rules AND fighting non-magicians.

The entire day was too much stress for anyone to handle in a couple of hours. He wasn’t a child who threw a tantrum when things didn’t do his way, but was it too much to ask for things to at least not go as bad for once?

“I have finally understood the meaning behind the power that Vil-san was talking about.”

“!”

“Thanks to you, a lot of people are buying the apple juice from my hometown now… They are so happy about it.”

Could it finally be?

“I want this power too.”

Vil smiled smugly, a true victory having taken place before his eyes as Epel had finally seen his way. After a long and stressful struggle, Epel finally understood the true power of beauty. He would finally become the poison apple Vil needed to beat Neige.

-

The atmosphere in Ramshackle Dorm had turned more light-hearted, even If Epel and Deuce had been slightly punished and Ace seemed still confused at what Deuce had told him. But it was a huge improvement over the dreadful tension from the previous days, and it seemed that things were finally clearing up.

Vil had sent everyone to bed, stopping for a moment in the middle of the hall to check his phone calendar. There were still things to fix in their performance, but with the newfound interest and disposition of everyone, especially Epel, he would have to tinker the schedule he had for the remaining two weeks. To polish them so they would all shine brilliantly, Vil had to make the most of this time for a magnificent comeback.

“Ah, I’m glad I could meet you before you went to sleep,” the voice of the lone girl in the room was unmistakable as Vil sighed and closed the calendar app. Whenever she met him like this, he always ended angry with one of her “incredibly important discussions”, so he might as well finish it fast and go to his room to finish his plans.

However, the prefect looked at him, a soft smile on her face, and no intention to argue with him.

“Thank you, Schoenheit-senpai.”

Vil arched an eyebrow, surprised, but not wanting to chant victory too early. “What is this for?”

“You helped Epel’s village. He told us they weren’t doing so well recently. I mean, he received a lot of boxes that hadn’t been sold and were close to the expiration date. The MagiCam post you made really helped everyone, I can see how grateful and happy Epel is thanks to you.”

“Manager, did you pay attention to what I told Epel when they came back?”

“About you liking to make others kneel?”

He smiled snidely at her. Of all the things she had to remember, it was that. Fine then, he would make her kneel too soon enough.

“So you were paying attention. Good.” Standing proudly, almost haughty and captivating, he said, “I simply showed Epel my power. The power to compel others to do what I want. My beauty can get anyone to do my biding, just as I made all these people buy an apple juice. Of course, I used it to make him see my way, so that he focused on the VDC and dropped this rebellious nonsense. Everything I did, it was all for myself, that is all.”

“Huh, so that’s how you want to call it,” she replied, pursing her lips. Then she had the guts to laugh, covering a smile with her hand. “You’re really strange, Schoenheit-senpai.”

He could feel a headache incoming, thanks to her and her completely inappropriate reaction. She always found a way to get under his skin to his dismay and annoy him, no matter how much he mentally prepared himself.

And she would speak her mind to him because she thought her opinion was important to him.

But even if he grimaced, Ann wouldn’t wipe that smile on her face, no, in fact it had become brighter.

“You know you could have told him you would promote his family’s business if you won the VDC, right?” She looked him in the eye, a serious gaze in contrast with the warmth of her lips. “But you didn’t. You went ahead and made that post in your MagiCam. Because you are so popular, anything you promote will become successful, and you probably charge a lot to do that. But to do this for free, under the excuse as ‘doing it for yourself’, you could have done something else but you helped his village… Hehe, you are far more caring than you let on, senpai.”

Vil frowned as he returned her gaze, not wanting to lose that sudden staring contest, as looking away would give off an impression of weakness, that she had hit the nail right on the head. The last thing he needed was for her to think she understood him and his intentions or feelings. He didn’t appreciate her long tongue at all, nor that kind smile of hers, making him feel somehow exposed and annoyingly teased.

But before he could protest anything, she said, “I don’t think you want to argue with me about this, but thank you again, Schoenheit-senpai! I’m glad things got solved somehow between you and Epel, good night!” And without waiting for him to reply and rebuke her harshly, she left to her room, leaving him once more alone in the hallway.

He let out a long drawn sigh, this day had been exhausting, mentally and physically. Seriously, things could work out with less stress on him. And, even though he still mumbled about how annoying she had been, especially now with her cheeky remarks, he didn’t chase away the image of her thanking him before he went to sleep.

-

Thank you for reading!

[argent-vulpine]

A Matter of Logistics

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Rating: G

Characters: Claude/F!Byleth

Words: 1.9k

Read it on AO3

War required a lot of preparation. There were supplies to consider, tactics and strategies to go over, routes to plot. The logistics of it would have been overwhelming if Byleth didn’t have her students to help her. They were brilliant, every one of them, in their own unique ways. She pored over lists of supply requests, eliminating things that were deemed unnecessary and finding ways in which to make it all somehow work.

And for the first months of the long war, everything went quite smoothly.

It wasn’t until Fort Merceus that things went awry. Some of their supply wagons had been far too close to the fort, and while they’d gotten the horses and soldiers out in time, the wagons had been utterly demolished in the wake of the javelins of light.

Unfortunately, half of their tents went with the wagons.

This meant a great reshuffling of personnel. Some of the rank and file gave up their tents for their immediate leaders: the sergeants and officers who gave them their individual commands. Those soldiers were fine with sleeping on their bedrolls beneath the stars, and many were adept at making simple lean-tos which they would huddle under on the rainy nights.

The problems really arose when it came to herself and her (former) students. Byleth sat at a makeshift table – little more than a tree stump – with a candle, some parchment, and her quill and ink, and tried to wrap her head around new assignments.

She could settle Hilda and Lysithea together; the pair seemed to get along fairly well now. Seteth and Flayn, of course, took a single tent and retired for the evening. Ignatz and Raphael had elected to share, being that they were childhood friends, which freed up a tent for Marianne, who really needed her own space. Lorenz grudgingly accepted sharing his larger tent with Sylvain, though neither were excited about the prospect.

Leonie did not need one, she claimed, and Byleth believed her, letting her find her own place to settle in for the night.

Leaves rustled around her, and Byleth placed a hand on her dagger as she looked up and around, relaxing only when she saw Claude stepping through the brush, his signature grin on his face. “Come on, Teach, what’s with the long face?” he asked, plopping himself beside her and slipping the parchment off the stump. “Ah, figuring out how to arrange the remaining tents to appease the nobles?”

She gave a soft sigh, plucking it from his grasp. “Yes. I have it mostly worked out. We’ll need new tents, of course, as soon as we can.” Her lips pursed slightly, the movement so subtle it might have been missed if Claude hadn’t learned how to read her.

“So what’s the problem then?”

“There’s only one tent left.” Byleth glanced at him, her features set into her typical mask. “It has to be yours, of course.”

“It should go to you,” he said in the same moment.

Her brows furrowed slightly. “You’re the duke. The leader of the army. It rightfully goes to you.”

“You forget, my friend, that you are the Archbishop. Seteth would have my head if I let you sleep out on the ground.” A pause. “I’m certain he’s not the only one.”

Byleth winced slightly, brushing a lock of hair out of her face. “You can’t sleep out on the ground, either, Claude. So if you can’t, and I can’t, and there’s only one tent…” Her voice trailed off, coming to the conclusion he must have already reached, judging from the look on his face.

“So we share,” he said with a light-hearted shrug. “What, Teach, you don’t trust me to be gentlemanly?” That little smirk was back, the one that made her stomach flutter. If her heart beat, she was certain it would have been drumming rapidly against her ribs.

She gave him a little shove, trying to ignore the way her cheeks warmed. They were in the middle of a war. Her feelings for him aside, now was certainly not the time… and that even assuming he felt the same way. “I trust you in all things, Claude,” was her soft reply. “I am just concerned that it would be viewed… improperly.”

He sighed and pushed himself to his feet, holding his hands out for her. She hesitated, and then allowed him to help her up. Her hands fit into his so nicely, and even though he wore gloves, she could feel the warmth radiating from his palms. He pulled her to him, leaning down to whisper in her ear. “I’m not letting you sleep out here alone, By.”

She shivered at the sensation of his breath on her ear, glad suddenly for the dark so he couldn’t see the faint blush spreading across her cheeks.

Claude released her to gather up her things, snuffing out the candle. “I know you grew up as a mercenary, but you’re the Archbishop now that Rhea is gone, and the Archbishop simply cannot sleep out in the elements no matter how much you might try to argue. My tent is big enough for us both, and that’s that.”

Byleth huffed out a laugh, admitting defeat. They’d be out here all night if she didn’t, and they had a long trek ahead of them. She found the others as they entered the main encampment, confirming details with them of their new - and hopefully temporary - sleeping arrangements.

Claude’s tent was one of the largest on the field, but with the pair of them and all their gear, including the Sword of the Creator and his own Failnaught, there was little in the way of sleeping space. She surveyed what was available with a keen eye. “The center is the best place for us to sleep,” she finally said, keeping her voice steady. Their bedrolls would be damn near on top of each other, but it made the most sense. Gear at the edges in case of rain or chill, and sleeping beside each other would… would help with any issues with warmth. She knew that much from having been on the road so much with her father.

He nodded his agreement and began shifting things around, tucking packs and weapons into wherever they would fit while Byleth laid out her bedroll, making sure to leave ample space for him to place his own. And then, of course, came the awkwardness of dressing down for the evening. Bits of armor came off and joined their respective piles; Claude’s arm brushed against her back when he removed his coat. Their boots settled together beside the tent flap, looking oddly at home next to each other. That particular thought was pushed away, into the back of her mind.

Claude turned slightly, catching a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye. “Well, Teach, I think I’m ready to call it a night, aren’t you?”

“… yes. We have a long day of ahead of us.” She shuffled around until she was cocooned in her bedroll, her back to him. “Goodnight, Claude.”

He flopped back onto his own bedding with a slight grin. “Yeah, goodnight… Byleth.”

At some point in the night, a chill settled in. Byleth’s shivering stirred her tent-mate, who drowsily rolled onto his side and pulled her against him, one arm settling comfortably across her middle. Byleth sank into a deeper sleep as the warmth surrounded her, a content sigh passing her lips.

She was the first to wake the next morning, the cobwebs of sleep clouding her mind for a long moment until she realized the position she was in… and that Claude was pressed against her, holding her to him almost possessively. When she tried to extricate herself, his arm tightened, and he nuzzled into her hair, a soft, happy hum in his throat.

Well… five more minutes couldn’t hurt, right?

She relaxed into his embrace, her cheeks warm and stomach doing that odd fluttering again. The man was… impossible. Mischievous, sneaky. A schemer in so many ways, but kind and compassionate, too. Perhaps that was why she’d fallen for him, why his face was the first she’d wanted to see when she’d awoken from her long slumber, and was the first she searched for on the field after a battle, to make sure he was alive and unhurt. Feelings she couldn’t have allowed herself when he was still her student had surfaced and grown during the months since she’d returned. And sometimes she thought she caught him looking at her, too, in a way that made her skin tingle. Did he… think about her the way she did him?

“You’ve got your thinking face on, By,” he whispered, lips brushing her ear.

His voice jolted her back to reality, making her jump and earning a chuckle from the focus of her thoughts. “How, uh… how long have you been awake?” Her voice came out a little more strained than she would have liked, but maybe she could blame it on nerves. Or sleep.

“Only a couple minutes,” he murmured, sounding half-asleep still. “You’re a lot softer than you look, did you know that?”

“I… what?”

His laugh rumbled in his chest. She could feel it, pressed up against her as he was. And… it wasn’t the only thing she could feel. Her face reddened. “Surely you don’t need me to repeat myself?” She could almost hear his smirk.

She could pull away. She knew she could force her way out of his arms… but did she want to? It seemed as though he had no intentions of releasing her, and that gave her pause.

“There it is again. And just what are you thinking so hard about, huh Teach?” he asked, the old nickname said with fondness. An endearment; she could hear it now.

Instead of trying to leave his grasp, she managed to turn until she was facing him, pleased to see a flush had crept across his cheeks, staining them pink. It served him right. “You,” she said simply, her features carefully blank.

His eyes widened, just slightly. “Is that so…” Claude smiled - really smiled - as he searched her face, his gaze dipping down to her lips. When her breath hitched and her own gaze dropped, he moved his hand from her waist, carefully placing it on her chin and tilting her face up to him. He moved slowly, giving her time to back away, to signal a no, and when she did neither, he claimed her lips in a gentle kiss.

A jolt went through her at the contact, her eyes fluttering closed even as she returned the kiss, fingers reaching up to thread into his hair. Encouraged, he deepened the kiss, slanting his lips against hers and sliding his hand to the back of her head.

He might have tried to go further, to explore deeper, but the bugle call signaling the start of the day startled them apart.

“We… we should get ready to move out,” was what Byleth finally settled on, her cheeks flaming as she pulled away from him.

He grinned, leaning in to steal another kiss before parting with a theatric sigh. “I suppose you’re right. We do have a long march ahead of us.” His eyes sparkled with mischief as he looked her over. “We can revisit this later tonight.”

Byleth couldn’t help but hear it as a promise.

[arknights-imagines]

The Sankta Sniper Trio reacting and dealing with having feelings for the Doctor

Headcanon/note format; From the perspective of the Operators

Contains: Gender neutral Doctor, Executor, Exusiai and Adnachiel

Word count: 3k in total

And so the imagines begin! I wanted to start off small, so please enjoy~

--------------------

Executor

･ The man may seem emotionless, but he was definitely not unfeeling.

･ With that being said, Executor has trouble with emotions, so chances are he won't even really understand why he's feeling the way he is. That doesn't stop it from showing, though.

･ It would be hard to spot if you're not looking for it, but the Sankta slowly starts to be seen with the Doctor more.

･ He made an extra effort to interact with the Doctor more on the daily. He'd greet the Doctor in the hallway, approach them about battle formations or mission plans, or even stops to ask them how they are occasionally.

･ Executor started getting into the habit of having the Doctor in the corner of his eye at all times. The Doctor was his boss, so their well-being mattered. The Sankta was cold, but he was a lot kinder than he stated he was.

･ If someone had to enter the Doctors' office while they're busy, they'd have to get approval from him first. If the Doctor looked tired, he'd encourage them to rest. If they were working on something important, he made himself free to help them.

･ Vermeil was the first to notice something going on with him, especially when his attention snaps to the Doctor if they happen to be nearby during their training sessions. She was a bit hesitant about it, but because no one else would, she eventually brought it up.

･ "...do you have a thing for the Doctor?"

･ Executor doesn't get what she's saying at first; it's clear by the lift of his brow when he looks at her.

･ "I'm afraid I do not understand what you mean by that."

･ After a string of huffs from Vermeil, she elaborated,

･ "Hmph. Do you, you know, like them? You have any feelings for them?"

･ Executor was quiet for a moment, pausing for longer than usual. Though, all he gave in reply was another question.

･ "That is a good question."

･ Factually speaking, it would be a likely possibility, he concluded. He wasn't good at understanding emotions, but the Sankta knew that what he was feeling was more than just respect for the Doctor.

･ Executor thought about it more after that - it wouldn't be that he didn't understand, it would more so be that he wouldn't know how to act on it - if he acted on it at all. So, he didn't; He just kept being at their side, ready when they needed him.

･ Vermeil approached him again about it some other day.

･ "So...did you tell them yet?"

"Tell who what?"

"The Doctor, that you like them."

･ He didn't argue with Vermeil claiming he didn't harbour some kind of feelings toward the Doctor, so he shook his head and told her 'no'. Executor wasn't that great at reading people, but judging by Vermeil's exasperated expression following his reply, he couldn't go on ignoring his feelings forever.

･ It would take time for him to take any action. The Doctor was supposed to just be the one he answered to; His promise to them was to complete any task assigned to him, and that was what was expected of him. Bringing emotion into missions would only complicate them. But with that said, they were kind to him, they didn't treat him like he was abnormal or otherwise. Executor couldn't just brush off the way they made him feel.

･ So, after what felt like centuries, he finally took his chance.

･ The Doctor would be alone with him in their office or on the deck, both of them in conversation. He'd stray from whatever topic they were discussing, and with his heart beating a little faster than usual, Executor spoke.

･ "I do not enjoy interacting with others because they do not understand me and I do not understand them. But, with you, Doctor, I look forward to our interactions every day. Talking with you is very interesting. I'm grateful that you do not treat me differently for the way I live."

･ The Doctor smiled, but before they could get a word in, Executor spoke again.

･ "With that being said, I'd very much enjoy having lunch or dinner with you any day you're free."

･ When he noticed Doctors' face of surprise, a small wave of anxiety came over him, and it was something he wasn't used to. Though, when they stepped closer and nodded at him with a grin, any worries he had were gone in an instant. The feeling that came over him is odd - a warmth in his chest he wasn't quite used to.

･ "I'd love that, Executor. How does tomorrow evening sound?"

･ The Sankta took a second to answer, but when he did, his words were accompanied with the smallest of smiles.

･ "I have no objections. Thank you, Doctor."

Exusiai

･ It would be hard to notice with Exusiai

･ She probably wouldn't even think too much of it, and would just think of it as admiration; Until Texas speaks up after she catches Exusiai staring at the Doctor.

･ "Do you like them?"

･ The redhead was a little surprised at Texas' straightforwardness, but it made her ponder a little.

･ "Whatta you mean? As in like like them?"

･ Texas would just stare at her a little before going back to moving cargo. "Yeah. I was asking if you have feelings for them. You don't have to answer, it's fine."

･ As curt as usual, The Lupo didn't Exusiai much time to answer, and so the redhead was left thinking about it. She did want to protect and be with the Doctor as much as possible, but could it really be a crush?

･ After that, the Doctor started occupying her mind even more.

･ She used whatever free time she had to chat with them, and while she didn't have the best attention span, when it came to the Doctor, listened intently no matter the topic. The Sankta actively tried to get the Doctor to relax with her, being as upbeat as always.

･ "Leader! Are you busy? Let's go get something to eat!! I'll buy~!"

･ "Working all the time isn't good for you, you know! Come on, let's go out and do something!!"

･ Exusiai would insist on buying the Doctor gifts and treating them out to food or even a cup of coffee whenever she can.

･ It didn't take long everyone at Penguin Logistics to pick up on the fact that something was different. Texas wouldn't say much by Croissant and Sora would pitch in lightheartedly, "You've been spoilin' the Doctor a lot, huh Exusiai?" Sora would giggle a bit at Croissants statement, "Yeah! It's almost like you have a crush on them!!"

･ Sora meant it as a joke, but the more they thought about it, the more they realized that was exactly what was going on.

･ "Wait, wait! Do you have a crush on the Doctor?"

･Exusiai was pretty open with it, though in reality she's having a little trouble figuring out what her feelings are, "A crush? Like a thing? I don't know about that, but I'd protect them until the end of the world!"

･ Her reply was a little vague, but Sora and Croissant caught on regardless. With that, they made it their mini goal to get Exusiai to ask the Doctor out.

･ "What if you wrote a song and senrade them? That would be fun!"

"Yer kidding - Exusiai doin' karaoke for the Doctor?"

"What? You don't think it's a good idea, Croissant?"

･ Exusiai decided to jump into the discussion, still being laid back about the situation.

･ "I think the best date would be a party with apple pie!!"

･ Sora would huff a bit, "Come on Exusiai, don't be evasive!! How are you gonna tell them?" Croissant added in, "Yer not going to keep it a secret forever, are ye?"

･ Judging by their tones, The Sankta knew that they expected a true, solid answer, but she couldn't give that to them; It wasn't in her nature to get so serious, and if she was honest, she didn't have a plan to tell the Doctor her feelings.

･ "Aw, thanks for looking out for me, but I think I should figure this sort of thing out on my own, right?"

･ And so, that's exactly what she does.

･ Exusiai wasn't one to stress out about things, and this time wouldn't be different. Still, she would be against acting impulsively in such a case.

･ What she did know is that she felt for the Doctor outside of her work for them, and she saw them as more than a boss, and even more than a friend.

･ For awhile, the redhead didn't act on it. She just kept hanging around the Doctor as always, wanting to spend the most time with them. Plus, it wouldn't be right to get involved with someone who was her boss, she told herself.

･ When the Doctor spent time with her, Exusiai enjoyed seeing them happy and away from work. It wasn't often they got moments without war when fighting against the Reunion. She was just happy to be able to see them relax - she truly didn't need any more than that. Why act on her feelings and risk making the Doctor uncomfortable?

･ Though, one afternoon, Texas stopped Exusiai in the hallway a little suddenly.

･ "Are you going to their office?"

･ Exusiai nodded joyfully, "Yep! I wanna go see if they're done their work so we can do something!"

･ Texas had stared at her for a few seconds, before placing one of her chocolate coated sticks in between her lips, returning to walking down the hall after saying one last thing; "You should tell them. Worst case scenario, they don't return your feelings."

･ Just like the first time, Exusiai was left to think for a little while. Though, one she was done, she walked to the Doctor's office with a new spark in her eyes.

･ "Yo, Leader! Are you there? Don't tell me you're still working~"

･ Exusiai seemed to glow once in the Doctors presence, especially when they invited her in with a grin.

･ "I'm sorry Exusiai, I can't go anywhere with you right now. Amiya gave me some paperwork to handle." The Doctor informed her apologetically, causing a small pout to form on her face.

･ "Aw, that's okay. I can totally wait for you!" She took a seat, seeming a little jittery, "But hey, leader, I was thinking."

･ Her tone was a little softer than usual, and it caused the Doctor to turn to her with rapt attention, awaiting her words carefully.

･ "You know - you're a very important person to me! I'll never ever forget you!" A beaming grin was on her lips, "So I was kind of wondering if you'd wanna go and do something special when you're not busy. You know, just the two of us! That would be cool, right?"

･ The Doctor blinked for a moment, but a grin almost as wide as Exusiai's came on their own face.

･ "Yes, that would be cool! If that's something you want to do, then let's do it Exusiai!!"

･ Exusiai lit up so much she could've rivaled the sun, "Okay~! Just me, you, and a lot of fun, leader!!" The Sankta grinned, one of the most widest smiles the Doctor had seen. "Ehehe, I can't wait!!"

Adnachiel

･ Adnachiel recognized his feelings when they arose, but he felt like acting on them had too many bad outcomes, and so, he tried his best to keep quiet about it. The Sankta told himself that a small crush wasn't a good enough reason to stir up unnecessary tension.

･ Unfortunately, he wasn't the best at hiding it. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't help but light up whenever the Doctor asked him for his assistance with fixing or repairing something, nor could he hide his enthusiasm while doing whatever task they had given him.

･ The Sankta seemed to be practically glowing when around the Doctor, smiling and giving them his rapt attention.

･ On occasion, he would even take time to walk the Doctor though every step of the repair if they had the time. This was more tedious of course, but the time Adnachiel spent talking with seemed to fill him with a bright attitude. On top of that, the Sankta seemed even happier when the Doctor expressed interest in his words and actions during repairs.

･ It didn't take long for his teammates to notice his happy, beaming behaviour around the Doctor.

･ Steward spoke up first, "Adnachiel seems very radiant when around the Doctor." With his statement came others from his teammates, all in agreement. Ansel's voice came next, "Hm. I suppose you're right. He does seem a lot more energetic around them." Then, cutting through their calm observations was Cardigans high-pitched excited voice, "You don't think- He has a crush on the Doctor?!" The girls' energy filled question was followed by an excited yell, but before she could start bouncing off the walls, Melantha cut in quietly, "Uhm, Merry, calm down. It's not good to yell so late at night."

･ However, Steward and Ansel were interested in such a possibility.

"A crush..? That would explain a lot, what do you think Steward?"

"Adnachiel does admire the Doctor very much. It's hard to tell, but I think he could have feelings for them."

･ Just as Cardigan was spewing out ideas on how to get Adnachiel and the Doctor together like rapid fire, the Sankta himself walked in.

･ In an instant, he was hit with excited yells from Cardigan that soon mixed with the pleads of her teammates asking her to calm down. Despite the voices bouncing off the walls and melding together, Adnachiel was able to pick up on why there was such a commotion;

･ "Do I…have feelings for the Doctor?"

･ His voice was a little soft, but it caused quiet to settle around the room in an instant. All the eyes of his teammates were on him, blinking and wide. Before Cardigan was about to begin yelling again, Melantha stepped in. "Uhm, sorry. We were just…wondering about it."

･ They couldn't tell what he was thinking, but under his curious expression, Adnachiel was jumping from foot to foot in anxiety.

･ Just the mention of the Doctor seemed to make his chest fill with this odd warmth. Adnachiel sighed - his feelings were undeniable at this point.

･ When he hesitantly admitted to having feelings for the Doctor, his teammates sparked with energy again - or, more so, Cardigan exploded with excitement.

･ While she gushed about the new news, the other 3 in the room spoke their mind to Adnachiel, who was admittedly a little flustered.

･ Melantha spoke first, "I think that's really nice, Adnachiel."

"You should tell them! I'm sure it'll turn out fine no matter what." Steward added in, followed by an agreeing Ansel, "Well, from what I've seen, they seem to like you too. There's no harm in telling them how you feel."

･ Their comments just seemed to multiply his timidness tenfold, but he gave a small smile. "I appreciate your thoughts, but I'm just fine by the Doctors' side. I don't need them to reciprocate my feelings."

･ They didn't want to bother him about it for very long, and the concern that Cardigan would end up breaking yet another piece of equipment caused them to turn away from him and to their energetic teammate.

･ Adnachiel lingered on the words of his teammates for a little while, but he stood by his words; acting on his feelings wasn't worth the risk, especially when his Friendly relationship with the Doctor could be ruined.

･ Though, what he didn't plan for was his teammates actively trying to get him to take the next step.

･ Even after insisting he wasn't going to tell the Doctor about his crush, Team A4 seemed to make it their goal to get Adnachiel to at least take them out somewhere.

･ Adnachiel remained against it until Cardigan piped up with a decent proposal; "You can make sweets, right? What about you give them some?"

･ The idea sparked conversation with the rest of the team, "Ah, that's not a bad idea at all." Ansel added, with Steward nodding in agreement nearby, "I think there's no harm in doing it." Quietly, Melantha's voice came last, "Uhm…I think you should do it too, but… it's just a suggestion."

･ Adnachiel went quiet for a few moments, before sighing. His team left him alone after that, moving on with their conversation, but he still thought about their words.

･ The next day, the Sankta walked into the dormitory with something small and wrapped in plastic, tied with a ribbon. Ansel piped up, curious, "Um, What did you bring, Adnachiel?"

･ Biting the inside of his cheek a little, the Sankta replied, "I made sweets for the Doctor, like you said. I hope they like them."

･ And much to his surprise, they did.

･ The Doctor accepted the gift with a smile and multiple 'thank yous'. Adnachiel couldn't really believe he was the one that made them light up like they did.

･ He kept giving them sweets, even if he was too tired by the end of the day to make them. He managed to always find time for the Doctor.

･ Though, he knew that he couldn't just keep giving them sweets to see them happy forever. It felt wrong not to tell them the truth. The Sankta was worried about what would happen if the Doctor didn't feel the same, but they had grown to be such good friends that he felt he had to tell them the truth.

･ It was a random day, the Doctor had asked him to help fix some broken medical equipment on an uneventful evening.

･ Adnachiel had it working again in no time, smiling at the thanks be received form the Doctor. But, just as they were about to leave, the Sankta spoke up.

･ "Doctor, are you free any time this week?"

･ The Doctor turned around, seeming a little surprised for a split second, but it was soon replaced with a friendly smile, "I'm free later this afternoon. Why?"

･Adnachiel took a deep breath, before speaking without nervousness, "I was wondering if you would like to take a walk with me later? You always listen to everything I have to say when I show you how I repair equipment, so I think it's only fair I give you the time to talk to me about anything you want." He paused, scanning their face for any reaction, "I would be so happy to spend some time with you."

･ The Sankta braced himself for rejection, but what came instead was a wide grin from the Doctor followed by an enthusiastic nod. "That sounds great, Adnachiel! I'd love to spend some time with you, too."

･ Adnachiel was unable to contain his smile, and he stood up straight, eyes shining.

･ "Okay, I'll look forward to it!"

--------------------

[ellewritesathing]

So Close  -  S.S. XLI

Summary: The universe has a funny way of putting the things you want right in front of you, but just out of reach. Stiles and Y/N have been best friends ever since Scott brought him home, but when Stiles realizes that he might want to be something other than best friends, she leaves to go to some fancy private school up North. Now that she’s back though … maybe he’s got a shot? A Teen Wolf AU in which the reader has always been so close to Stiles and yet so far.

Masterlist   Prev. | Part 41

Word-count: 6.7k+

A/N: not to like shamelessly self-promote but like. you guys might like this prompt i did for stiles 👀

You couldn’t sleep. Even with your friends safely back in your life and Stiles asleep next to you, you couldn’t sleep. Eventually, you rolled onto your side and watched the rise and fall of Stiles’ chest as he snored. You smiled and reached over to play with his hair. His heartbeat slowed after a little while and his snoring became a bit softer. 

Taking your hand back after a while and lying down again, you pulled up your shirt and ran your hand along where the bullet hole should have been. It was freaky; your skin was perfect. You’d been injured internally plenty of times and healed but this was the first time you’d had a proper external wound. It healed slowly at first, better than a human but nothing to write home about, and then Deaton gave you blood. It made you feel sick. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

“Hey,” Stiles said softly. When did he wake up? He yawned and moved closer, putting his hand on top of the one you had on your stomach. His thumb grazed where the wound should have been. “You know I didn’t mean what I said earlier, right? My mouth kinda moves before my brain does sometimes.” 

You smiled. “Yeah, I know.” You squeezed his hand before turning back onto your side to face him. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did, though. I mean, it is pretty weird.” 

“You could never be weird to me,” Stiles said. Then he squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. “That was, like, ridiculously lame. I’m sorry. I just meant … you know. I’m usually the one being maimed, not you.” 

“Yeah and it hurts like a bitch,” you said with a sharp exhale and a roll of your eyes. 

Stiles laughed and lifted his hand to your face. “Yeah, the worrying isn’t that great either. You wanna trade back?” 

“Kind of wish we could give up both,” you said with a small smile. 

Stiles shifted and pulled you into his arms. He kissed the top of your head and sighed. “At least, for now, we’re both safe. Neither maimed nor worried.” 

“I like the sound of that.” You found his hand again. “Almost as much as your use of ‘nor.’”

“You liked that, huh?” 

“Yeah, it really distracted from the blatant lie that neither of us is worried right now.”

Stiles laughed and then it was quiet for a moment. You could hear Noah’s heart beating in his sleep down the hall, but Stiles’ beat louder. His fingers drummed your arms in the silence. You didn’t want to ruin the moment, but you had to tell him what happened. 

“Theo wants me in his pack,” you said. No use sugar-coating it. Stiles’ drumming stopped. “He called me the shadow wolf. Said that I was more like them than I was like you guys.” 

“He’s wrong,” Stiles said instantly. You could almost hear him frowning. “You know that, right?” 

“The thing is … I don’t think he is wrong,” you said quietly. “With all the chimeras - even before we knew they weren’t like us - I felt bound to them. Like whatever they’re made of … maybe I am too. I- I’m not going to join them. I hate Theo. And even if I didn’t, I could never leave you or Scott.”

Stiles was quiet, working hard to choose the right words. As much as you loved him for it, if he didn’t say something soon, you were going to throw up. When he did speak, he didn't start asking the questions you knew were bouncing around in his head. All he said was: “You promise you’re not gonna leave?” 

“I promise. No matter what.” 

With that out of the way, Stiles relaxed. Still, you waited for him to say something. To ask what you meant, maybe even what it felt like to 'be bound' to the chimeras. But he was quiet, so quiet that you thought he’d actually gone to sleep until he said, “I’m gonna kick his ass.” 

“Can I shoot him first? I’m still pretty pissed off about that.” 

“Of course. Then you can hold him down while I kick him in the-” 

With that colorful image in mind, you went to sleep with a smile on your face. Unaware of Stiles lying awake and anxious next to you.

---

Usually, after half of your group got injured and while you were making plans, things were at least a bit quieter for a few days. Unfortunately, the Dread Doctors weren’t so kind as your other foes; you’d only been shot yesterday and now you were racing down the highway with Scott and Stiles, chasing after the Beast behind a group of police. 

“Unit Five heading northwest on Crescent reporting an incredibly large … something,” Clark said over the radio.

Another deputy responded, “Unit Nine to Dispatch, I think I’ve got eyes on the same thing. Some kind of rabid animal.” 

“Unit Five to Nine, trust me: That’s no animal,” Clark said. 

You laughed and unbuckled, leaning forward to poke your head between Scott and Stiles in the front. “She’s not wrong.” 

“Yeah, but-” 

Scott was cut off by Strauss coming in over the radio. “Unit Six to Dispatch, we have a situation downtown. Multiple fatalities.”

The voice of the dispatcher sounded cold compared to the overwhelmed officers. “Copy, medics on the way. Do you have a perp insight, Unit Six?”

“Negative,” Strauss said. He sounded overwhelmed. You guessed as weird as Beacon Hills was, not many people knew how to react after a werewolf attack. “Looks like a 10-91E. Animal attack.”

“10-4, can you say what kind of animal?” the dispatcher asked. 

Stiles pulled out his radio before Strauss could answer. He also pumped the accelerator and you held onto Scott to keep from sliding back into your seat. “All units stay back. Do not engage,” Stiles said. “I repeat, do not engage.” 

“Stiles, get off the radio,” Noah snapped. You almost laughed as Stiles handed you the radio to put back. Still, Noah added, “All unit alert: Wait for back-up. Repeat: No one goes near this thing.”

“Unit Five reporting a sighting on Hill Road southbound.” 

“Unit Nine. I’ve got it turning off Oakridge, southbound on Beachwood.”

“All units, this is Dispatch. We’ve got a 911 call with an additional sighting on Mitchell.”

“Wait a second? Beachwood to Mitchell?” Stiles asked. 

“It’s headed back for the hospital,” Scott said. 

“Mom’s working tonight,” you said. “I’ll call her. Stiles, you gotta tell your dad.” 

Stiles grabbed the radio instantly. “It’s headed to the hospital. Dad-” 

“Stiles, get off this channel,” Noah said.

Stiles started arguing with his dad and you bounced your leg as you waited for your mom to answer her phone. The first call rang out so you texted her and tried again. 

Melissa sounded tired when she answered. “Hey, honey, we’re pretty swamped at the-” 

“Mom, you’ve gotta evacuate the hospital,” you rushed out. She started arguing but you talked over her. “Whatever the Beast is, it’s heading towards the hospital. And it’s going to kill people.”

You fell back into your seat as Stiles changed course towards Beacon Memorial. He was going as fast as the Jeep could manage, but the drive felt agonizingly slow. It was made worse by the constant updates from the police radio. The latest being a man on fire running into Beacon Memorial. 

When you eventually did get to the hospital, it felt abandoned and eerily similar to that night with the durach and a dying Cora Hale. You shoved those thoughts aside when a gun cocked behind you, overridden by your instinct to pull Stiles behind you. 

“Jesus Christ.” You let out a breath when you realized the threat was only Noah. He held his index finger to his mouth and shushed you. 

As much as you loved Noah, you could have strangled him right there. Once again, you shoved those thoughts aside when the lights flickered and snarling rose in the distance. 

“Fourth floor,” Scott said. 

You all nodded and headed up as quickly as you could. Noah took the lead, followed by Scott and then Stiles - you’d insisted on taking the rear in case anything snuck up on you guys.

The fourth floor was ruined. Almost none of the lights still worked (luckily, not a problem for you and Scott), the electricity crackled through torn-open wires, and parts of the ruins were on fire. You wandered around the dark halls until something flew down the hallway in front of you. Since you noticed it first, you pulled Stiles into you and Scott pulled Noah back just before the fireball roared past. 

It hit some partitioning and the flames went out. That wasn’t a random fireball; that was Parrish. Cut, charred, and disoriented Parrish. Parrish with glowing eyes. 

His eyes extinguished as Noah made his way over to him, but you couldn’t focus on their reunion. Something had thrown Parrish across the fourth floor. Something big.  

Scott walked ahead of you, but soon you found a paw print in the dust. The two of you didn’t need to say anything to know that you were going to follow the trail. The paw prints started changing, turning into something smaller and more human. Eventually, you found a sneaker print. 

It struck you as odd that it would be a shoe print and not a footprint. Parrish was made out of fire and completely naked when you found him, and the Beast was made out of shadows. Maybe it was just different. Parrish wasn’t a chimera. At least you didn’t think he was. 

“Scott …” You weren’t sure what you were going to say.

“I know,” he said with a sigh.

---

Once again, you and your friends were gathered around the island in your kitchen talking through the logistics of a crazy plan. The only thing that made this time different from all the others was the fact that Lydia was missing. 

“We get into Eichen, we get into the Closed Unit, we get Lydia, and we get out,” Stiles said, summarizing his (already very long, very detailed) explanation.  

“And we have to do it all of this while getting past orderlies, guards, electric door locks, and a Mountain Ash barrier,” Scott said.

“You guys have a plan for all that?” Malia asked. 

Stiles pulled out a keycard. “I stole this off an orderly when I visited Lydia.” He paused, looking over at the card. “But it’s useless ‘cause they reset the codes each night.”

“So why did you take it?” Kira asked. 

“He’s building up to that,” you said quietly, taking your eyes of Stiles to look at Kira.

“The only way to get Lydia out of Eichen is to make that keycard work again,” Scott said.

“And how are you going to do that?” Liam asked. You held back a smile.

Stiles held out a hand. “We’re getting to that, okay? Just listen.” He spun the laptop around to show you guys a data table. “I pulled all the history off the keycard. Two weeks ago, there was a brownout and the security system rebooted. During a reboot, all of the keycards revert back to a default code. So, if we trigger a reboot …”

“The card goes back to the default code,” you said. “All the keycards work again.” 

“But how are we going to cause a brownout?” Kira asked. 

“That’s your part,” Scott said with a hopeful smile. “You’re going to draw power from the mainline, but only enough to cause the brownout.”

That’s where Stiles jumped in to ruin their moment. “But not a blackout. If you do that, you send Eichen into lockdown which would be bad. Very, very bad.”

You touched Stiles’ arm lightly to get his attention. He was freaking Kira out. Stiles looked at you with an expression that said he was sorry, and you gave him an encouraging smile. He got a little carried away sometimes but he always meant well. 

Scott, forever oblivious, kept talking and tapped on the blueprints that covered the island. “There’s an electrical room behind the reception counter,” he said. “The main power line goes into two breakers that run power to all of Eichen.”

“Okay, slight problem,” Kira said, looking ready to have a panic attack. “I don’t know how to do that.”

“That’s okay, you have time to practice,” Scott said with another trademarked hopeful smile. 

“Let’s say all this goes perfectly,” Malia started in a voice that said she expected none of this to go perfectly. “How does the brownout get us into the Closed Unit of Eichen?”

“The system takes five minutes to reboot.” Stiles looked over at Malia. “In those five minutes, all the alarms will be turned off. And the keycard should work-” 

“And then Liam, you, me, and Y/N get Stiles to the gate of the Closed Unit,” Scott said.

“After that, Stiles is on his own,” you said. Stiles reached for your hand under the table. “He’s the only one of us who can get through the mountain ash barrier.”

“And when we’re gone, all anyone’s going to think is that there was a reboot of the security system caused by a brownout,” Scott finished.

“So, uh … any questions?” Stiles asked. 

They all started talking at the same time. From Liam: How do we get into Eichen House in the first place. Malia wanted to know what the worst-case scenario was. Kira asked what happened if she couldn’t trigger the brownout.

“Okay, admittedly, a lot could go wrong,” Stiles said, holding up his free hand in surrender. 

“Everything could go wrong,” Liam said. 

Stiles' open hand turned into a fist as you tilted your head. “Biscuit,” you said softly. Liam shrugged and started defending himself when Scott started talking.

“Guys, if we don’t do this, we lose Lydia,” Scott said. “She’s going to die in there tonight. And she might take a lot of innocent people with her.”

“We can do this,” you said. Your friends didn’t look convinced. “Okay, we’ve done a lot worse. At least this time we have a plan.” 

---

Eichen House still freaked you out, but you could only imagine what it felt like to Stiles. So many bad things had happened to him here, and you had the feeling that more bad things were still going to happen. Then again, maybe the paranoia was coming from the fact that you were inside a body bag and lying next to an actual dead body.

Parrish was surprisingly good under pressure; when the guard made him open the bags, he was completely calm. Your heart spiked at the sound of the first zip being undone, but then Parrish started opening yours and you got ready for a fight. The fight never came. The guard valued his dinner too much. 

Once you were in the morgue, you had to wait a few minutes before any of you could do anything. Stiles' heart was beating out of his chest. Admittedly, so was yours. You tore the bag open without waiting for the others, but they didn’t need any more encouragement after they heard you breaking out. 

“Oh my god,” Stiles said between gasps of air. “Never again.” 

“How much time do we have?” you asked as you got to your feet. Liam was closest, so you helped him out of his bag and to his feet. He mumbled a thank you as you waited for an answer.

Scott checked his phone. “Fifteen minutes, starting now.”

“Then let’s get started!” Stiles started fumbling to get out of his bag and fell to the floor. “Ow! Jesus.” 

You hurried over to help Stiles up. He muttered obscenities the whole time but he accepted your help nonetheless. Scott got out of his bag safely, and then you just had to wait for the orderlies to leave the hallway. As soon as they were gone, you were on the move. 

You wanted Scott to take the lead but Stiles knew this place better than any of you did, and personal knowledge trumped an hour spent studying floor plans any day. The best you could do was follow behind him and keep a careful watch for anything that might be a threat. 

The orderlies blocking your way to the closed unit were definitely a threat. 

You pulled Stiles back and Scott grabbed Liam. The four of you pressed yourselves against the wall in an attempt to hide, and the memory of doing something similar with Isaac, Erica, and Stiles popped into your mind. That felt like such a long time ago. 

“What are they doing here?” Scott whispered.

“I don’t know,” Stiles said, stealing a glance down the hall. “Their rounds should’ve ended five minutes ago.” 

Liam was decidedly less subtle with his look at the orderlies. “I can take them,” he said. 

Both Stiles and Scott glared at him for a moment. “No one’s taking anyone,” Scott said. 

“How much time?” Stiles asked, cutting Scott's alpha moment short. 

Scott checked his phone and sighed. “Three minutes.”

“I’ll just knock them out and hide the bodies,” Liam said. He was adorably oblivious. 

Stiles looked so close to slapping him that you instinctively reached for his hand to calm him down. “Oh my god, please stop,” he said.

One of the patients banged on the glass and scared you all out of your mini-argument. “Did you talk to the doctor?” he asked. 

“What?” Liam whispered. 

“Did you talk to the doctor?” he repeated. You looked over at Stiles uncertainly. “I haven’t had my medication. I need ten milligrams at 8am, 15 milligrams at 1pm, and no more than 20 at dinner.”

“We’ll get the doctor,” Scott said.

“Doctor Fenris?” the patient asked. Another beat of silence and you hoped that your nod was enough to calm him. “Doctor Fenris.” Then he started crying. He hit the glass as he said, “They took Doctor Fenris.”

“Guys-” You flinched when he hit the glass again. “He’s going to blow our cover. I can take the blame and get the orderlies out of here.” 

“No way, you’re not going anywhere,” Stiles said. “Scott, do something.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Scott whispered.

The patient stopped banging on the glass, but he was still distressed. “I haven’t had my medication. I need to see the doctor.” Stiles looked down the hallway. The orderlies were coming closer. “They took Doctor Fenris.”

“Somebody shut him up,” Stiles said. 

“I need to see the doctor!”

“Shut him up.” 

You pulled your hand away from Stiles before he could argue and stepped into the hallway. “I told you: I don’t know where the doctor is, alright?” you said to the patient. “I’m just looking for my brother- nurses, could you help me? This place is like a freaking maze.” 

“How did you get here?” one of the orderlies asked, roughly grabbing hold of your arm. 

“I was looking for my brother. They said he was moved to another unit and that they’d take me to see him but no one ever came.” You shook your head and gave them a very clueless smile. “I’m sorry. Is this area, like, restricted or something?” 

The orderly that had your arm looked ready to bite your head off but the other one just shook his head and gave you a tired smile. Either he wasn't paid enough or people wandering around the halls was a common occurrence.

“Let’s take you back to the reception area, okay?” he said. “They can sign you in and track down your brother. You can come to see him during visiting hours tomorrow.” 

You forced a laugh and started following them down the stairs not too far away from the gate that your friends would need to break through in a few seconds. “You’re the nicest person I’ve run into all night,” you told him, careful to smile at the grumpy one too. 

You carried on with your charade all the way back to the reception area, and then you gave them an annoyingly over-the-top thank you. They smiled and told you to wait for the nurse behind the counter to come back. You did not. As soon as they were out of sight, you made a b-line for the electrical room. 

Malia immediately grabbed you and threw you against the wall as soon as you opened the door. She looked confused to see you but still held onto you. 

“Relax, it’s just me,” you said, holding your hands up defensively. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked. "You're supposed to be with Scott and Stiles."

“The dummies almost got busted,” you said with a small shrug. “I fixed it and came to check on you guys. Hey, Kira. How’s it going?” 

Kira looked away from her small opening in the door and gave you a small smile. “Could be better. I don’t know if these guards are supposed to be here. How are we going to get out?”

Malia let go of you and the two of you walked over to check out the guards. “We don’t want to set off any alarms until Lydia is out,” she said. 

“You’re right. Maybe we could-” 

You stopped talking when one of the guards came in over the radio. The perimeter guard hadn’t checked in. You looked at Malia when the two guards rushed out to see what caused the delay. She shrugged and closed the door. 

"Not our problem," she said.

Kira leaned against the door to get a better listen, but you and Malia didn’t need to. You heard the nurse loud and clear when he told someone that visiting hours were over, and then you heard Tracy tell him that they weren’t there to visit. 

“Shit,” you whispered.

They pulled the nurse across the counter and slammed him to the ground. Tracy wanted to finish him off, but Theo said they were on a schedule and it was better to leave him. You, Kira, and Malia held a collective breath until the chimeras left. 

Malia was the first one out the door and she slapped the nurse to get him to wake up. It didn’t work but at least his heart was beating. 

“It’s started,” Kira said, looking down at her electrified hands. 

“Then we need to get you out of here,” you said. You reached out to grab her arm but stopped when you remembered how she fried Scott. “Let’s go.”

“But what about the others?” Kira asked. 

“They should already be back at the morgue,” Malia said. “We need to go.”

Kira took a second to decide and then jumped over the nurse and the three of you made a run for the morgue before Kira messed up Eichen’s frequency again. The others weren’t there, so you hoped they’d gone to the van instead. The alarm started blaring before you could share your theory. 

You grabbed the sides of your head and collapsed in on yourself. Malia grabbed your arm to pull you out and reached for the doorknob, but it was electrified and both of you got electrocuted as a result. To top it off, the alarm still made your ears bleed. 

Malia took a deep breath once she got back to her feet. “Lockdown,” she said. 

You were still cringing on the ground when Scott started roaring. When your body got to its feet, it felt like being possessed again; you weren’t the one who moved your body. But once the brief discomfort was over, your head was clear and the alarm didn’t hurt so much anymore. 

 “Something’s wrong,” you rushed out. “I need to go help them.” 

“No,” Malia argued, turning back to the door as the lights went out. “We need to get out of here.” 

You were still arguing when Kira started lighting up again. The buzzing of the electricity didn’t freak you out so much as how worried she looked. She was terrified of messing things up again. 

“I don’t know how long I’m going to last,” Kira said.

“How did you stop it before?” Malia asked. 

“Scott carried me outside, which almost killed him,” Kira said. 

“I’ve already died. It’s not so bad,” you said. You shrugged. “I can take you out.”

“Maybe we could try grounding her to something,” Malia said. “Lydia was teaching me about circuits before-” 

You tackled Malia as a bolt of electricity shot out from Kira and hit the door where Malia had been. You held onto her as Kira’s lightning struck every metal surface it could find. 

“You guys have to get out of here!” she yelled.

“We’re not leaving you,” you told her. 

Kira hit one of the body holds as she turned her back to you. You and Malia got to your feet as Kira cried, “I should’ve stayed in the desert with the Skinwalkers. I can’t control this. I’m never going to be able to.”

“Kira, it worked,” Malia said. “You saw it work. You controlled it enough to cause the brownout. You can stop it.”

“I can’t!” Kira turned to glare at you and her eyes glowed an angry golden color. “Go!” 

Even if you wanted to, an escape wasn’t possible because Kira electrified the entirety of her side of the room. Malia pulled you closer to her again and you both waited for the electrical storm to pass, careful not to touch anything conductive. 

The storm passed as quickly as it started.

“Kira?”

Slowly, you both got to your feet, but then you had to pull Malia back from grabbing Kira’s unconscious body. She argued with you but you shook your head. 

“She’ll kill you,” you said. 

“She’s right,” Josh said. You both pulled away from Kira to focus on him. “Electricity is still coming off your friend. I can feel it from here. But I can help her.”

“Why?” Malia asked. 

“Because I need your help.” Josh stepped away from the door and revealed Corey bleeding out in the hallway. “With him.”

“Oh my god, Corey.” You started forward when Malia caught your arm. She didn’t trust them; you didn’t blame her. “Mal, we’ve gotta help him.” 

Malia let go and you rushed over to Corey. You tried to lift him but he was in too much pain. Josh took Corey’s other side and looked over at you. “I knew you’d help,” he said. 

You didn’t know what to say, so you just hurried to get Corey on one of the exam tables. He was in so much pain. Almost his entire body was charred. He must have gotten caught up with Parrish. 

“Why isn’t he healing?” Josh asked. 

“Maybe he can’t. Maybe it’s too much,” Malia said. 

“He’s going to die, isn’t he?” Josh asked. 

“His heartbeat is getting slower,” you said. “But I can try to take away his pain. It could help.” 

“It might even get him to start healing,” Malia said generously. “But we’ll only do it if you help Kira.” More sparks flew and you all ducked. “You said you could help!” 

“Yeah, but it’s not like taking voltage from a car battery,” Josh argued. “She’s got a lot more power than that.” Corey groaned on the table. “Are you two going to do something or not?”

“Mal-” 

“After you help her. I don’t trust you,” Malia said.

“I don’t trust you either!” 

“Josh, do you trust me?” you asked. You’d never been close before, but you were something else now. “You said you knew I’d help him. I will, I promise.” 

More sparks. 

“We go at the same time,” Malia said, snapping his attention back to her. “Deal?”

Josh nodded reluctantly and walked over to Kira. You and Malia held each of Corey’s arms as Josh knelt over Kira. “On three?” he asked. “One.”

“Two.” 

“Three.”

The lights started flickering as Josh absorbed Kira’s electricity, but it was the least of your concerns after only a second of taking Corey’s pain. Until now, you’d never understood the phrase ‘blinding pain’ but with your vision blurring and your entire body burning, it had new meaning. 

But Corey’s heart started beating again. Rapidly. He was breathing. Kira gasped for air on the floor but it was almost impossible to hear over Josh’s screams. 

Between you and Malia, Corey’s pain faded after a minute. Josh managed to get Kira conscious and not electrified. You stayed with him but Malia went to check on Kira and Josh came back to Corey.

“Anybody know how we’re supposed to get out of here?” Corey asked, sounding scared and hurt.

“This place is still in lockdown,” Malia said.

“But it’s not just locked,” Kira said after shooting a look at the door.

“Yeah, I can feel it, too,” Josh said.

“Well, what are we supposed to do?” Corey asked. “Just wait here?” 

“We had a backup plan,” you said. Malia didn’t look like she wanted you to tell them, but you did anyway. “Mason is supposed to reset the transformer.”

“How’s he gonna do that?” Josh asked, at the same time that Corey asked if you meant his Mason. 

“He’s got the blueprints of the building,” Kira said. “And he has the full map of Eichen’s electrical system. All he has to do is get into the transformer shed behind the building.” 

“Don’t worry. Mason knows exactly what he’s doing,” Malia said. 

You had to smile to yourself. Thinking back to your first few weeks with Malia when you couldn’t stand her and she said that she would leave you in the desert, you almost couldn’t believe how much she’d grown. 

Malia and Kira kept huddled by the body holds while Josh rushed to the door to wait. Everyone was healing now, but you still felt ready to throw up. Taking away Corey’s pain had taken it out of you and if you didn’t drink some blood soon then you weren’t going to be much of a help to anyone. Surprisingly, Corey stayed with you by the exam tables. You heard the shutters on the windows roll back and then Josh pushed the door open. 

“He did it!” Josh said. 

“We gotta get to the Jeep,” you said, hopping off the table and running out with Kira and Malia. 

It didn’t take long to get to the parking lot, and even less time to get to the front and pick up the guys and Lydia. You tossed the keys to Scott as you got out and asked if Lydia was okay. 

“No, and we need to go,” Scott said. “We need to get Lydia out of here.”

Before he could get very far, Parrish collapsed onto the Jeep’s hood with claw marks all over his back. “Sorry, but she’s coming with me,” Tracy said. She held onto Lydia, no doubt paralyzing her as she did. 

“Okay, Tracy. Just wait,” Scott said. “You don’t know what’s about to happen.” 

“I’m taking her. That’s what’s happening,” Tracy said. “And none of you are going to do a thing-” 

Electricity crackled and Tracy collapsed. Natalie stood behind her with one of the guard’s nightsticks in her hands. You and Stiles reached out to catch Lydia, but you faltered and he caught her. 

“Could somebody please get my daughter out of this hellhole?” Natalie asked.

You helped get Lydia into the car with Stiles in the back. She looked awful, and you could smell the dried blood and gore in her hair. It was nothing on her fear though, nothing on Stiles’ fear either. 

Scott drove as fast as he could, but Lydia’s heart was beating too quickly. Without any warning, she let out a scream that burst your eardrum closest to her. Heightened senses meant you were weaker when it came to loud noises like that, and Lydia's scream wasn't like any other loud noise. Stiles started bleeding and the mirrors cracked. You yelled at Scott to drive faster. 

Even though the drive to the animal clinic was stressful, helping Deaton treat Lydia was even worse. Your brain was addled by the scream, and she kept screaming until Deaton injected her with mistletoe, straight into the spot where she’d been trepanned. Her final scream shattered all the windows in the clinic but you reacted too slowly. 

Scott protected Lydia but Stiles tackled you to the ground, bits of glass sinking into his back. 

“Stiles,” you said softly, hands reaching up to his face. The side of his face was still bloody from Lydia’s screams. “What are you-” 

“Someone has to take care of you,” he said quietly. 

You were both snapped out of your moment by Scott trying and failing to wake Lydia up again. You held onto Stiles’ hand as the two of you joined the others by the table. You couldn’t even hear her heartbeat. 

She let out a low moan as her heart started again. Lydia looked terrified when she opened her eyes again but she held onto Stiles’ other hand when he reached for her. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. She held onto him and nodded quickly. “You’re okay.” He took a deep breath. “Do you want to try to sit up?” 

Stiles helped Lydia sit up, wincing slightly from the glass, and she looked around slowly. Her eyes landed on Natalie in the doorway. “Mom?” 

“Oh, honey.” Natalie rushed over to Lydia and pulled her into a hug. She looked relieved for the first time in weeks. 

“They saved me,” Lydia said weakly. “Stiles saved me.”

Natalie looked up from Lydia to make eye contact with Stiles. “Thank you,” she said. After her blow up the day before, you knew it meant a lot to him for her to apologize. 

Stiles smiled at her to let her know that everything was fine, but then he winced again and ruined his heroic image. He still looked pretty heroic to you, but Natalie was a mother and all she saw was a broken boy covered in glass. 

“Let’s get you home, huh?” Natalie flattened Lydia’s hair and kissed her head. She looked ready to cry when she touched Lyd’s trepanation wound. “You can take a bath and we can watch The Notebook. Hmm?” 

“I can come with, if you want,” Scott offered with a smile. 

Lydia nodded, not bothering to hide the tears in her eyes. She thanked you on her way out and soon it was just you, Stiles, and an awful lot of broken glass. 

“Sit with me,” you said gently, tugging on Stiles’ arm to bring him to the exam table. It was so reckless of him to shield you like that but you couldn’t be mad at him. Not when he'd gotten hurt protecting you. “Do you want me to take your pain while I take the glass out?” 

“And here I was thinking you wanted to makeout with me to say thank you for saving you from all that glass,” Stiles said with a lazy smile as he watched you get Deaton’s tweezers. You gave him a look and he laughed. “No, I can handle it.” 

“You sure?” 

Stiles nodded and you bit your lip. You weren’t sure if you had it in you to take his pain away, but still. Taking out all this glass was going to take a while and it was going to hurt. 

You started with the shards furthest away from his spine, doing your best to ignore his wincing. The closer you got to his spine, the worse his pain got. You put your hand on his shoulder and tried to take his pain away like you did with Corey, but you pulled your hand away when it started burning. 

Thankfully, Stiles was too wrapped up to notice your blunder, but it was pretty hard not to when your hand started shaking. The glass clattered into the metal dish with the other shards and you took a deep breath. 

“Hey, you okay?” Stiles asked, looking over his shoulder at you. 

“Yeah, just-” You took a breath and squeezed your eyes shut. “Just a bit light-headed. It’s been a while since I’ve had anything to drink.” 

“Oh,” Stiles said softly. He looked down for a second and then used his hands to turn on the table to face you, no doubt opening some fresh wounds in the process. “You know you could do it if you wanted to.” 

You frowned. “Do what?” 

“Drink my blood,” Stiles said. God, when did this become your life? “If you can’t wait until we get home … you could do it.” 

“No. No, I couldn’t,” you said. You took a step back. “Stiles, I would kill you. And even if I could control it - which I can’t - I could never ask you to do that.” 

“But you didn’t ask, I offered.” Stiles reached for your hand and you felt so guilty for putting him through this.  

“I know, but I- I can’t risk hurting you,” you said. 

Stiles was quiet for a second. He looked down and drummed on the table for a second. “Malia told me you don’t heal without it.” 

Snitch.

“Yeah, but I’m not the one that’s hurt right now.” You sighed and took a step forward to press your forehead to his, your hand holding onto his neck. Your thumb ran across his neck. “Let’s just get you cleaned up, alright?”

Stiles was so still, but eventually, he took a breath and nodded. “Okay,” he said softly. He kissed your hand before you pulled away to finish cleaning him up. He took in a sharp breath when you pulled out the largest (and, thankfully, the last) piece of glass. You apologized repeatedly but it just made Stiles laugh and then wince. “Hey, at least it's over now,” Stiles said in an attempt to comfort you. 

You laughed and put the tweezers down. “Close. We still have to clean the cuts if you don’t want an infection.” 

“Maybe I want an infection. I could get superpowers,” Stiles said between yawns. You walked around the table and he pulled you into a hug. His face was in your hair when he mumbled, “Do you think it’ll scar?” 

“Not if I have anything to do with it,” you said. You pulled back and ran a hand through his hair. “This part will be quick, okay? Can I take your shirt off?” 

“You can take my shirt off any time, babe.” Stiles leaned back and gave you a lazy grin which made you laugh despite the horrible night you’d had. 

“Slow down, Stilinski. Let’s finish this first.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Don’t call me ma’am.” 

“Sir, yes, sir.” 

You rolled your eyes and pushed the open button-up off his shoulders so he could take his arms out of the sleeves. You lifted the bottom of his gray t-shirt and threw it at him when he made another flirty joke. 

Cleaning and bandaging the cuts went a lot faster, which was a relief because you were exhausted and Stiles must have been freezing. When the last of the bandages were on his back, you leaned in and wrapped your hands around him.  

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you said softly. You pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “Let’s go home. Do you have a shirt in the Jeep that I can bring you?”

“What’s wrong with my other shirt?” Stiles asked. 

“It’s torn and covered in blood,” you said as you pulled away. 

Stiles shrugged and pushed himself off the table. “You just want to see me walk around shirtless for a while.” 

“You know me well, Stilinski.” You took his hand in yours and lifted it to kiss him again. Stiles rolled his eyes but he pulled you closer anyway, only letting go so you could lock up the animal clinic and then to pull on a sweatshirt. 

Exhausted and worn out from the night, you fell asleep almost immediately as Stiles drove home. You weren’t sure what it was about the Jeep that did that to you; maybe the familiarly worn seats or how Stiles pumped the heat all the way up, or maybe just the way Stiles would drum on the steering wheel and play his favorite song on repeat. He was one of the only people who you trusted, and the Jeep was one of the only places you still felt safe.

Part 42

Tagged: @ietss​  @used-avocado​

[third-man-mimura]

Completed Utsumi’s test. Looks like she doesn’t just have a good taste in skirts that show off her legs, she’s got a great taste in interesting tests, huh?

Type ���The Debater” (ENTP-A) 

Traits 

 Extraverted - 75%

 Intuitive - 88% 

 Thinking - 83%

 Prospecting - 64% 

 Assertive - 100% 

 Role - Analyst 

 Strategy -  People Mastery Introduction

   Introduction

No one loves the process of mental sparring more than the Debater personality type, as it gives them a chance to exercise their effortlessly quick wit, broad accumulated knowledge base, and capacity for connecting disparate ideas to prove their points. Debaters are the ultimate devil’s advocate, thriving on the process of shredding arguments and beliefs and letting the ribbons drift in the wind for all to see. They don’t always do this because they are trying to achieve some deeper purpose or strategic goal, though. Sometimes it’s for the simple reason that it’s fun.

An odd juxtaposition arises with Debaters, as they are uncompromisingly honest, but will argue tirelessly for something they don’t actually believe in, stepping into another’s shoes to argue a truth from another perspective.

Playing the devil’s advocate helps people with the Debater personality type to not only develop a better sense of others’ reasoning, but a better understanding of opposing ideas – since Debaters are the ones arguing them.

This tactic shouldn’t be confused with the sort of mutual understanding Diplomat personalities seek – Debaters, like all Analyst personality types, are on a constant quest for knowledge, and what better way to gain it than to attack and defend an idea, from every angle, from every side?

There Are no Rules Here – We’re Trying to Accomplish Something!

Follow the path of the unsafe, independent thinker. Expose your ideas to the dangers of controversy. Speak your mind and fear less the label of ’crack-pot’ than the stigma of conformity. And on issues that seem important to you, stand up and be counted at any cost.

Taking a certain pleasure in being the underdog, Debaters enjoy the mental exercise found in questioning the prevailing mode of thought, making them irreplaceable in reworking existing systems or shaking things up and pushing them in clever new directions. However, they’ll be miserable managing the day-to-day mechanics of actually implementing their suggestions. Debater personalities love to brainstorm and think big, but they will avoid getting caught doing the “grunt work” at all costs. Debaters only make up about three percent of the population, which is just right, as it lets them create original ideas, then step back to let more numerous and fastidious personalities handle the logistics of implementation and maintenance.

Debaters’ capacity for debate can be a vexing one – while often appreciated when it’s called for, it can fall painfully flat when they step on others’ toes by say, openly questioning their boss in a meeting, or picking apart everything their significant other says. This is further complicated by Debaters’ unyielding honesty, as this type doesn’t mince words and cares little about being seen as sensitive or compassionate. Likeminded types get along well enough with people with the Debater personality type, but more sensitive types, and society in general, are often conflict-averse, preferring feelings, comfort, and even white lies over unpleasant truths and hard rationality.

This frustrates Debaters, and they find that their quarrelsome fun burns many bridges, oftentimes inadvertently, as they plow through others’ thresholds for having their beliefs questioned and their feelings brushed aside. Treating others as they’d be treated, Debaters have little tolerance for being coddled, and dislike when people beat around the bush, especially when asking a favor. Debater personalities find themselves respected for their vision, confidence, knowledge, and keen sense of humor, but often struggle to utilize these qualities as the basis for deeper friendships and romantic relationships.

Opportunity Is Missed Because It Looks Like Hard Work

Debaters have a longer road than most in harnessing their natural abilities – their intellectual independence and free-form vision are tremendously valuable when they’re in charge, or at least have the ear of someone who is, but getting there can take a level of follow-through that Debaters struggle with.

Once they’ve secured such a position, Debaters need to remember that for their ideas to come to fruition, they will always depend on others to assemble the pieces – if they’ve spent more time “winning” arguments than they have building consensus, many Debaters will find they simply don’t have the support necessary to be successful. Playing devil’s advocate so well, people with this personality type may find that the most complex and rewarding intellectual challenge is to understand a more sentimental perspective, and to argue consideration and compromise alongside logic and progress.

Debater Strengths

Knowledgeable – Debaters rarely pass up a good opportunity to learn something new, especially abstract concepts. This information isn’t usually absorbed for any planned purpose as with dedicated studying, people with the Debater personality type just find it fascinating.

Quick Thinkers – Debaters have tremendously flexible minds, and are able to shift from idea to idea without effort, drawing on their accumulated knowledge to prove their points, or their opponents’, as they see fit.

Original – Having little attachment to tradition, Debater personalities are able to discard existing systems and methods and pull together disparate ideas from their extensive knowledge base, with a little raw creativity to hold them together, to formulate bold new ideas. If presented with chronic, systemic problems and given rein to solve them, Debaters respond with unabashed glee.

Excellent Brainstormers – Nothing is quite as enjoyable to Debaters as analyzing problems from every angle to find the best solutions. Combining their knowledge and originality to splay out every aspect of the subject at hand, rejecting without remorse options that don’t work and presenting ever more possibilities, Debaters are irreplaceable in brainstorming sessions.

Charismatic – People with the Debater personality type have a way with words and wit that others find intriguing. Their confidence, quick thought and ability to connect disparate ideas in novel ways create a style of communication that is charming, even entertaining, and informative at the same time.

Energetic – When given a chance to combine these traits to examine an interesting problem, Debaters can be truly impressive in their enthusiasm and energy, having no qualms with putting in long days and nights to find a solution.

Debater Weaknesses

Very Argumentative – If there’s anything Debaters enjoy, it’s the mental exercise of debating an idea, and nothing is sacred. More consensus-oriented personality types rarely appreciate the vigor with which Debater personalities tear down their beliefs and methods, leading to a great deal of tension.

Insensitive – Being so rational, Debaters often misjudge others feelings and push their debates well past others’ tolerance levels. People with this personality type don’t really consider emotional points to be valid in such debates either, which magnifies the issue tremendously.

Intolerant – Unless people are able to back up their ideas in a round of mental sparring, Debaters are likely to dismiss not just the ideas but the people themselves. Either a suggestion can stand up to rational scrutiny or it’s not worth bothering with.

Can Find It Difficult to Focus – The same flexibility that allows Debaters to come up with such original plans and ideas makes them readapt perfectly good ones far too often, or to even drop them entirely as the initial excitement wanes and newer thoughts come along. Boredom comes too easily for Debaters, and fresh thoughts are the solution, though not always a helpful one.

Dislike Practical Matters – Debaters are interested in what could be – malleable concepts like ideas and plans that can be adapted and debated. When it comes to hard details and day-to-day execution where creative flair isn’t just unnecessary but actually counter-productive, Debater personalities lose interest, often with the consequence of their plans never seeing the light of day.

More info

[ocular-intercourse]

oh man

so far transitioning and everything it entails has been fairly easy, sure a lot of paperwork and waiting and logistics, but i never had the problem that i had to fight for something

except now, because one of my former internships is refusing to change the certificate they gave me back in 2015

which is a whole thing because i had contact with them back when the name change went through and they were super nice, the lady responsible was all like: yeah sure, will do! and sent the text for me to read through and correct pretty much immediately, but said the boss was not in office for some days and she’d had to wait for her to get back for the signature

fast forward to her sending me a mail telling me that they are not responsible for my certificate because i was only working for them during a bigger internship with the museum they were working with to prepare an exhibition, i should ask the museum, they would give me the certificate

which they did not, of course, because they had nothing to do with that document and its contents, they gave me the new certificate for the big internship, but could not give me the other one

so i wrote back to her, that i had contact with the museum and since they did not issue the certificate, they could not give me the new one because the foundation was responsible for it

today i got an answer... my god, i don’t even know what to make of it, it is a text FULL of typos, and i’m talking FULLLL you cannot imagine, there are so many things misspelled it is barely legible, including my name, there are words doubled, there are _’s instead of upper case letters, really, it is a mess, and she’s all like... actually we can’t legally give you a new certificate since you were not employed with us and who are you even and most of all the boss does not even remember you, she was not even in the office during your time there, and how dare you expect even more from her when she has been SO NICE to get into contact with the museum to ask about the certificates (which tbf does count as the boss lady doing something nice cause she was the literal devil) and the boss did not put her signature on the certificate but her assistant back then so it cannot really be counted as a document i got from the foundation, and that i should please stop asking for more in the future

ho boy

so huh, it went from yeah sure i just need the boss’s signature to how dare you expect this from us, so what happened in between, she went to the boss and asked for a signature? i can only imagine that boss lady is either a transphobe or just immediately goes ‘not our business try to shoo them away with some legal terms’ to anything ever which i can imagine very well, cause it’s literally just… unnecessary? It’s: print that thing out since she wrote it already, put a stamp on there and a signature and send it over, so i legit cannot imagine a proper reason for them to make such a fuss about it (but then again boss lady is a monster who loved screaming at ppl so idk maybe she just wants to start shit)

anyways, i spend the afternoon writing a very concise answer explaining that a) miss boss lady has very much been in the office during my time there, as I recount getting invited to eat with her and her partner (since the office was also her apartment), I remember her trying to get me a room with a neighbor, I remember watching the documentary they were working on at the time with her, I remember her screaming at people about her mothers medical care (I did not mention this one in the mail in case they would be all like… you cannot talk about these things in emails, legally) b) my former colleagues who were there for some time and met with us all could confirm that c) that it does not matter if the contract I had was with the museum and not them cause internships in germany don’t even legally need written contracts but are still obliged to give out certificates, and that I signed a confidentiality statement so I definitely was in some sort of contract with them (I sadly don’t have the document but I remember the specific date and have an email with said assistant talking about me signing the document on that date) but most of all that how the certificate came to be does not matter much because it DOES currently exist?? With official paper, stamp and signature (also my argument is that assistants typically are allowed to issue documents in the boss’ name but I don’t know how their structure looks like and that it does not matter cause it’s in the past and it does not matter if they have informed themselves that they are legally not allowed to issue a new certificate, cause they don’t even need to do that, they just need to correct the old one)

so they tried to tell me they are legally not required, no, not allowed to issue a new certificate, because I was not in contract with them, and that the certificate I have should not even exist cause it was not signed by the boss but her assistant, so they could not possibly issue a new one

so I ended the letter with how the legality of it all looks from my side, with german law being that transgender people do not have to out themselves and past papers therefore MUST be changed in case it would force the person to out themselves, for example if the person has to explain a gap in their cv and would have to show them the old certificates, and that them refusing to do so breaks a bunch of laws, all nicely listed with § and everything and finally ending the letter with how if they still refuse to send out the document despite it already being written I would have to assume it is a case of discrimination and I would have to resort to legal actions

oof

I refrained from mentioning that the state their email was in was incredibly unprofessional and could hardly be taken seriously, cause damn, they must be aware of that themselves, yeah? Maybe when they get my wall of text in the most polite proper german I can muster. In a way I feel sorry for her cause I can very well imagine how the boss lady would react to her mentioning this again, especially mentioning legal threats and everything.

Thing is, you could probably argue that I would have had to be in a work contract with them for the law to apply to them, but all of that is a matter of interpretation. I wish I had a contract I signed with them on hand, I can’t remember if I really never had one aside from the confidentiality thing, but if it really came that far it would probably be possibly to argue that my time with them was considered a separate internship and therefore, they are obliged to give me the certificate, contract or no.

For now, I hope they will just be intimidated by me listing more and in-depth legal stuff and just cave cause I really don’t want to have to go to court over this, especially cause I can’t tell how much that would cost me. But I feel like they don’t have all that much money either and they probably want to avoid a court case as well. I feel pretty confident about my arguments, but you can never be sure when you are dealing with a nutcase like that boss lady.

For a moment I just considered taking the document the lady gave me to read and to photoshop the signature and stamp from the old one on it but that would be fraud so uh..

[ambitionsource]

AMBITION Season 2 ♫ “Trapped” [ 2.06 ]

CREATED BY Esther (rapunzles) & Maggie (quincywillows) || S2 Tag || Official Page

NOWHERE TO HIDE – Forced together for a group assignment, a surprising collection of students find themselves locked in the school as a snowstorm hits Manhattan. Emotions bubble to the surface when there’s nowhere to run. Farkle makes an overdue apology. Lucas finally lets go.

55 Minutes (12.5K words) || CONTENT WARNING: discussions of death, mild suicidal ideation. Take care of yourselves and read with discretion.

[ ← How the Twinks Saved Christmas ] [ S2 Synopsis ] [ Contingency Plan → ]

( Follow along with the music on Spotify here! )

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Revolting Children” as performed by Matilda Original Broadway Cast || Performed by Maya Hart, Riley Matthews, Zay Babineaux, Farkle Minkus, Isadora De La Cruz, and Lucas James Friar

A spotlight beams into the camera, obscuring our vision until a shadowed, angled shot of MAYA HART belting out the opening note of this Broadway tune fills the screen. She carries us through until the rest of the ensemble joins in, each of the other performers spinning to face the front of the stage as the camera pans past them.

ZAY BABINEAUX, in a crop top and rehearsal sweats and looking somewhere between determined and irritated. RILEY MATTHEWS, sporting a new look with her hair cut just above her shoulders and doing her best to keep up with the divas -- mostly just not to add anymore hiccups to an already stressful performance.

FARKLE MINKUS, wearing the world’s frumpiest cardigan and looking worse for wear. His hair is an absolute flyaway mess, his clothes are wrinkled. He does the steps listlessly, going through the motions rather than putting any energy into it. ISADORA DE LA CRUZ, finally keeping up with her performing peers but aggravated from the general bad mojo of the group and hair pulled back out of her face with a dark scrunchie.

Then, yes, LUCAS FRIAR. Snapback on, brow furrowed, looking overwhelmed and confused as he attempts to sing and dance along with his classmates. Sticking out like a sore thumb, but in attendance and participating even though it goes against every fiber of his being.

It’s a wild sight to behold. The six of them don’t give a horrible rendition of the number, but it’s rough and unrehearsed. Everyone aside from Maya and Zay fumbles with the choreography -- or in the case of Lucas, drops the ball entirely. This lack of precision is what prompts the “Come on!” from Zay about 2 minutes in, an outburst of exasperation rather than a rallying cry.

When Isadora “takes out her hockey stick and uses it as a sword,” she grabs a prop and literally takes a swing at Lucas. He ducks just in time, giving her an incredulous scowl and holding out his arms in indignation as the song continues. Maya almost trips over Farkle when he takes too long to get to his next mark, glaring at him and performing more aggressively in compensation.

They’re not the only ones playing bumper cars. Riley and Lucas ram into one another, the latter stabilizing the former before immediately brushing past her and getting as far away as the choreography will allow. Riley is stunned frozen for a few moments, literally having to shake off the daze and frustration.

The whole thing comes to spectacularly disastrous finish, Lucas tripping over his own feet and ramming into Riley. He manages to catch her as they both go sprawling to the ground, causing Isadora to trip as well and accidentally push Farkle. Maya just barely manages to avoid the destruction, scrambling out of reach as Farkle face plants into the stage.

Close on Zay’s frustrated expression, at his wits end.

Zay: You’ve got to be fu -- !

Cue title sequence.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

We come back on a bloody tissue, pulling back to reveal Farkle dabbing at his lip. He doesn’t seem all that perturbed by the injury. Isadora is in the process of helping patch up Riley from their tumble, Lucas pacing a few steps away and not even bothering to fix his own scrapes.

Zay and Maya are doing most of the talking, arguing about the choreography and whether or not they’ll be able to pull it off. Zay claims that these are incredibly simple steps that any mediocre performer with a shred of coordination could pull off, but as Maya points to the rest of them recovering from their inability to do just that, clearly they need something different.

Maya: Sorry, but I’m not going to fail this assignment just because y’all over there can’t get your shit together.

Lucas: Bold of you to assume we’ll ever get anything right considering this is the absolute worst possible combination of people to be in a group together.

Farkle and Isadora both make faces at that -- he might have a point. Zay tells Lucas to speak for himself, before stating that they’ll obviously just have to stay after school and rehearse more. No one seems thrilled about this, not to mention there might be logistical issues.

Riley: Is the school even going to be open? It’s supposed to start snowing after lunch.

Farkle: And? It’s New York. What’s your point?

Hard to argue with that. The matter is settled, and they’ll be regrouping after school to give it another go. As the group of them begrudgingly head out, Riley tries to catch Lucas and offer some help since he’s definitely the weak link in this chain.

Riley: I can try and help you with the --

Lucas: [ without looking at her ] No.

He brushes past her, Riley taking a deep breath. Keeping her cool, not letting it get to her. It’s a stressful situation, one that none of them want to be in at that moment.

Still, the show must go on…

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

The bell rings, signaling freedom for the end of the school day. Farkle is alone at his locker, Isadora hanging down the hallway a few feet and observing. She finally works up the nerve to approach, tentatively kicking up a conversation with him. Bonkers, how this project is going, huh? Been a while since they worked together. How was Hannukah?

Farkle stares at her, blinking as she continues to throw polite questions at him. He doesn’t seem interested in having a conversation.

Farkle: [ interrupting her ] Smackle. Isadora.

Isadora: Yeah, yes. Yeah?

Farkle: What are you doing?

Isadora: … just… striking up conversation. Project partner to project partner. It’s a shame you weren’t at Riley’s holiday party there was… lots to discuss. We missed you there.

A lie, and Farkle knows it. He points out that he wasn’t invited, which seems odd to Isadora. But he questions her presence there before she can question his absence, following up with a query of his own.

Farkle: What about that little illegal techie party that happens every year that you think is a big secret but everyone knows about?

Isadora: [ ignoring his sarcasm ] Oh, yeah. Well… didn’t end up panning out this year. Scheduling conflicts, you know?

Farkle, flatly: Tragic.

He closes his locker, curtly thanking her for the pity friendship. She tries to refute this take but Farkle is already walking away, snapping at her not to be late to rehearsal because he just wants to go home and go back to bed.

Farkle: Maybe then I’ll wake up from this nightmare.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

Riley is with Maya, the latter opening her locker and glancing at her reflection in the mirror. She’s obsessively touching herself up, fixating on her appearance given that it’s one of the few things she can control.

Maya: This is a living nightmare.

Riley is distracted, finishing typing a text on her phone. She cheerfully confirms that she let her father know they would be late at school for rehearsal.

Maya: I didn’t realize we needed to give him a play-by-play? Does he want to know what I ate for lunch, too?

Riley: … it’s just common courtesy?

Maya rolls her eyes, obviously not in the mood for courtesy. The exchange makes one thing very clear, however, which is that Riley and Maya had very different upbringings. Whether this will make for them being good roommates, well, only time will tell…

As they begin walking to the auditorium, Riley gently suggests that Maya take it easy on Lucas. Like yeah, he’s not good, but he’s also not a performer. She could afford to cool it on how critical she’s being, and then maybe he’d be able to come around.

Maya: I don’t see him ever coming around. You need talent to do that.

Riley: Okay, but I’m just saying --

Maya: I’m not going easy on anyone, least of all Jackass Friar. And you know, Riley, I hate to say it, but it’s a little pathetic that you’re still out here defending him when he’s made it quite clear that he doesn’t care about anybody but himself.

Ouchie, Miss Maya. Riley absorbs the blow, letting Maya walk ahead of her and blinking off the daze of the hit. It’s obvious that Riley doesn’t believe that, but the more people continue to say it to her like she’s being an idiot…

She lets out a huff, jogging to catch up to Maya.

Asher, pre-lapping: So how goes rehearsal?

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

Lucas is at his locker, stuffing his bag into it unceremoniously. ASHER GARCIA watches with pity for the poor backpack receiving all his aggression, DYLAN ORLANDO standing behind him and leaning over his shoulder.

Lucas: God awful. You’re more than welcome to shoot me on sight, I would consider it a mercy kill.

Dylan claims that he’s totally jealous, because he wants to see Lucas pull off some sick moves. He shoots him a glare, obviously not in the mood to be complimented. Asher encourages him to keep his chin up, reminding him that it’s just another week and by the time they hit Friday it’ll be onto the next thing.

Lucas: And the next week, and the week after that… thanks Asher. That’s exactly what I needed, to remember that my torture in this circle of hell is continuous and cyclical.

Asher: [ rolling his eyes ] You know that’s not what I meant. Look, you’re doing exactly what Burgess told you to do, keeping your head low and falling into line --

Dylan, forlornly: God, this must be killing you.

[ Lucas makes a face at Dylan, accenting the point. Asher plows onward regardless, upholding his optimistic outlook. ]

Asher: And right now, that’s all you can do. But this too shall pass. You know, one day, we’re going to look back on how stressed we were about all of this stuff, and it’s gonna be hilarious because we’ll realize that none of it really mattered. What mattered was that we got through it, and we got through it together.

Even if Lucas isn’t convinced, Dylan is charmed by his boyfriend’s positive outlook. He smiles as he talks, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek when he finishes his thought. Then he follows up on the idea, pointing out that they thought the techie party was dead too and they managed to get through that. And it ended up being great in spite of the darker moments. So Asher is right.

A nice sentiment, but a confusing tidbit for Farkle to overhear as he passes through the hall. It seems like news to him considering what Isadora literally just said about the party being cancelled, but not like it’s any of his business. He keeps walking without comment.

Lucas is placated enough for now, nodding in acquiescence. He closes his locker, turning his focus to them and questioning how their rehearsal group is going.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

CHARLIE GARDNER responds to the same question in lieu of Dylan and Asher. They’re by his locker, Zay leaning against the rows and listening attentively as Charlie laments his own group.

Charlie: Exhausting. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Nigel and Yindra are mega talented. And Yogi is… well, he brings a certain special something to the table.

Zay: Sure.

Charlie: But it’s just a lot, working in such a big group and trying to cooperate when there’s no clear leader. Not to mention how weird it is that they mixed up the performers and techies like this -- not that I’m like, a separatist or anything [ Zay snorts ] but it just seems like a complicated aspect to the assignment. And Asher and Dylan keep looking at me, like they’re expecting something out of me, and then when I catch them looking they immediately look in the complete opposite direction which is not subtle and just makes me way more freaked out.

Zay gives him a sympathetic smile, Charlie closing his locker pointedly.

Charlie: Suffice to say, I am grateful that we’re not bothering to rehearse any more today. I would rather do anything else.

Zay: Wish that were me. I’m gonna be stuck here for hours teaching Friar how to dance with two left boots.

Charlie: Yeah, good luck with that. You’re good, but you’re no miracle worker.

Zay scoffs in faux offense, causing Charlie to laugh. This earns an immediate smile from Zay, who then questions what his evening plans are. Charlie shrugs, admitting that he doesn’t have many before clearing his throat and growing a little more bashful.

Charlie: Although… some all-you-can-eat fries at my favorite diner might be a good way to destress…

Zay: [ raising his eyebrows playfully ] Yeah?

Charlie: Well, this guy I know gave me a coupon, so…

It’s a lowkey flirtatious conversation to be having in the middle of the hallway, and the way they’re looking at one another is not subtle. Nice growth, boys. Proud of you.

Zay states that he could probably make that work, given that they can’t possibly hang around and rehearse their pointless number forever. He’ll be sure to text him and let him know when he’s heading out, and he’ll come pick him up.

It’s a date, then. In theory. As the conversation wraps up and they promise to see each other later, Zay leans forward and almost gives Charlie a kiss on the cheek on instinct. It’s so natural between them that he almost doesn’t pull back… until he remembers they’re in public and he suddenly flinches away.

An awkward moment passes between them as they lock eyes, the realization sinking in again that this is what their relationship is. Wonderful in so many important ways, and then… that. Charlie recovers first, managing a smile and patting his shoulder. He reiterates that he’ll see him tonight, accenting the point with a nod.

The message is clear. It’s okay, we’re in love, just… not here. Zay struggles to return the smile, obviously stung by that unexpected reminder.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Maya and Riley arrive back in the auditorium first, not talking much given that the former is in queen bitch mode and Riley is still sort of stinging from her earlier commentary. Zay enters next, glued to his phone and not bothering to look up as he drifts over to join them by the portable speaker.

Farkle saunters his way in, glancing in their direction and making fleeting eye contact with Riley. He opts to sit alone, plopping down on one of the acting blocks. Lucas follows soon after, eyeing all of them without comment before heading to the opposite end of the stage and settling on the lip of the stage.

Isadora is the last to straggle through the wings, surveying the scene and contemplating where to go. Maya waves her over before getting lost in the sound system again, but Isadora can’t stop looking at Lucas sitting on his own and isolating himself from the rest of them. So she opts to head in his direction, sitting down next to him instead.

She makes a playful comment about how she’s impressed he actually showed up, and while it was innocent Lucas sort of takes it personally given how off their communication has been as of late and how he’s still bruised from Harper’s takedown of him earlier in the year. So he bites back, defending himself and commenting on the stupid assignment and how he’s just trying not to derail all of them although there’s no place he’d rather be less.

Isadora nods along, but she’s clearly not in the mood for his negativity. She apologizes, stating she should’ve just not said anything. Lucas recognizes she didn’t mean it, starting to say something to try and salvage the exchange when Zay claps his hands loudly.

Up and at em, then. Time to get this trainwreck back on the tracks. Five, six, seven, eight --

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Revolting Children” as performed by Matilda Original Broadway Cast || Instrumental

If it’s possible, things are even worse than before as the hours pass and they run the routine over and over again. It all starts to run together, the motion blurring and overlapping. The soundtrack almost sounds like it’s skipping, repeating itself as they hypnotically repeat and screw up the choreography again and again.

Zay is clapping along aggressively with the track, counting out the beats and drenched in sweat by the time they’re on their dozenth or so run through. He’s less forgiving than usual after the weird moment with Charlie. But the fact of the matter is, Lucas isn’t going to get this choreography. It’s just not happening.

The point is made as much when he stumbles into Zay during another run, the latter growing aggravated and lightly pushing him away. This develops into a half-serious shoving match between the two of them, Isadora having to jump in between them.

Isadora: HONESTLY. COULD WE NOT?

Riley jogs to pause the music, the group of them instantly erupting into arguments. After a few opening shots are fired Farkle grows fed up, making his complaints for the first time all rehearsal. And boy, does he have a lot to say.

Farkle, bluntly: Here’s the read. [ to Maya ] You’re hogging the spotlight. [ to Lucas ] You’re in the way. [ to Zay ] You're so focused on the dancing, you’re off key. [ to Riley ] You're a pushover, now quite literally. [ to Isa ] And you picked this song, which I’m surmising has something to do with whatever internal baggage you’ve got going on right now, but it’s whiny and abrasive and yet still too difficult for Lucas. [ clapping his hands together ] So we're gonna fail! Buh-bye.

Farkle starts to walk away, but Maya grabs his attention again. Riley reaches out and takes his arm, tugging him back into the circle as he rolls his eyes.

Maya: If the song is too hard for you, we can pick another one that you might be able to manage. Maybe… the alphabet song? Twinkle, twinkle, little star?

Lucas, weary: Can we do a song where we just… stand still?

Farkle: Are you sure that’s what you want, Lucas James Friar? Are you sure you want your voice on display like that with nothing to distract the audience from the inhumane growling coming from your end of the stage?

Isadora: We’re doing “Revolting Children” and that’s the end of that. Last thing we need is to change our entire routine now.

Maya: That’s right. And you wanna know why she picked it, Farkle?

Farkle: Why’s that?

Maya: It reminds us of you.

Isadora: Don’t drag me into this shit, I just want us to work this out so we can get it over with.

As the group of them are bickering, Zay marches back to his duffle and begins packing up his things. Riley notices he’s parted from the group first, calling out for him and causing the rest of them to turn on him as he slings his back over his shoulder.

Maya: And where do you think you’re going?

Zay: Oh, me? I’m getting out of here. This is useless, I hate this... [ gesturing amongst them ] energy, and I have places and people I would much rather be with right now. So peace out, drop outs. I’m gone.

He starts his march out the doors through the house. Lucas gets in on the uptake, eagerly pointing to him and claiming that if he’s leaving, he’s so out too. The girls exchange looks before basically chasing the two of them out of the auditorium, shouting all the reasons why they can’t leave yet. Not when everything is such a mess!

INT. AAA - ATRIUM - NIGHT

Lucas has caught up to Zay, the two of them marching right for the doors while the girls jog after them and tell them to stop. The atrium is dimly lit, none of the natural light filtering in due to how it’s darkened to night outside.

Riley finally gets them to halt when they’re steps from the doors, pleading with them to just give it one more chance. It’s quite a comedically dramatic little scene. She says to think of their performance; Isadora begs them to think of their grades. Maya goes for the most blunt approach.

Maya: Think about not being a pain in the ass to the rest of us!

But Zay has had enough, and Lucas is more than ready to follow his exit. Zay gives them one last salute, backing into the doors and expecting to be able to push out into the night… only the door doesn’t budge. He hesitates, turning and trying again. Nothing. He pushes with all his might, but still it won’t open.

Lucas approaches and asks what he’s waiting for, and Zay defensively claims he’s doing everything he can. As they attempt to figure out what’s wrong with it, Riley saunters her way up to another door and looks through the glass windows to the scenery beyond them.

EXT. AAA - NIGHT

Easing out from Riley’s face in the window, we’re looking out towards New York in a winter wonderland. Snow is still falling, having coated the steps and iced around the doors. It’s sealed them in tight.

For all intents and purposes, the six of them are snowed in.

INT. AAA - ATRIUM - NIGHT

Isadora blankly states the realization just as it seems to hit Riley, the two of them locking eyes. As this bleak reality settles in, some are less receptive to the possibility than others.

Lucas: Oh, hell no. I’m not going to be stuck in here with you all.

A little ironic, given how much time Lucas voluntarily spends in the school overnight -- but understandable given the circumstances. He claims he’s going to push his way out anyway, gearing up to ram at the door with a lot more raw force than Zay…

Farkle: It’ll be your death by frostbite.

The rest of them turn as Farkle finally catches up, slinking casually into the space. He claims Lucas can try all he wants, but even if he manages to get the door open he’ll die of hypothermia walking home alone with nothing but his denim jacket for coverage. Especially in the dead of night. He goes on to plaintively list all the ways this terrain is guaranteed to kill him, the others listening and watching the two of them like a tennis match.

Farkle: But by all means, go ahead and try it. I certainly won’t stop you.

Lucas grits his teeth, glaring at Farkle. He glances back through the windows at escape so close but so out of reach… then definitively steps away from the doors.

Officially stuck. Trapped, if you will. A-wink.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - NIGHT

The six of them are sprawled across the stage, laying on the ground and accepting their fates. It’s quite a fun cinematic shot. Farkle stares up at the lights and the catwalk above them -- they seem to stare back, unmoved. The whole auditorium is strange with a stillness we’ve never experienced before, usually so alive and bustling in the day time.

They’re very much moping, and there doesn’t seem to be anything to be done about it. Their conversation confirms that service is too spotty due to the notoriously bad reception in the auditorium combined with the storm. They can’t exactly call anyone to come help.

Zay: Well. We’re gonna die in here.

Isadora: Can’t think of another place I’d like to die least.

Maya: At least we’ll be missed.

Lucas: Maybe some of you.

Riley frowns, not a fan of the doom and gloom. Getting stuck on being stuck isn’t going to solve anything, and she’s always been a gal of action. She pushes herself to her feet, declaring that they’re going to be fine. They just have to think creatively.

This prompts the rest of them to slowly sit up, Riley leading the charge in brainstorming. First things first, the things they might need most immediately. Food. Hydration. Sustenance.

Farkle tilts his head back and forth, thinking. He half-heartedly suggests the teacher’s lounge, claiming they might be able find some salvageable food in there. Isadora seconds the idea, stating that they definitely have a microwave and refrigerator. There has to be stuff in there to work with -- not stuff that belongs to them, but better than nothing.

Zay: Sure, genius move. Only the teacher’s lounge is 100% locked. How the hell do you suggest we get inside?

A fair point… but perhaps not insurmountable. The group of them think on it… and slowly, all eyes turn to Lucas.

He lifts his head to see them all staring at him. After a moment, he rolls his eyes.

Lucas: Whatever.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

Clunk! A canned beverage falls into the output port of a humming vending machine. Farkle reaches down and picks it up, tucking it under his arm.

He and Maya are on drink duty, painstakingly depositing spare change into the machine to procure beverages for their sad dinner party. It’s a… slow business, feeling even slower considering neither of them know what to say to one another. They haven’t spoken since Maya declared their chapter closed over a month ago, although both of them have evidently thought about it.

Maya is handling the money, at least giving her something to do. But Farkle is being unwittingly distracting, tapping his feet and exhaling through his lips. It clearly irritates the already moody Maya, causing her to snap.

Maya: Stop.

[ Farkle pauses. Silence prevails save for the clinking of coins and the operations of the machine… until he inevitably starts fidgeting again. ]

Maya: Could you stop?

[ He raises a hand in surrender, leaning down to pick up the next drink. More silence… but then once again… ]

Maya: How are you so annoying? Jesus…

Farkle doesn’t hold the same level of irritation towards her as she seems to him, and after another long moment of silence and another drink collected, he decides to try and explore the problem. He questions why she still seems so mad at him, given that most people have simmered down to general distaste or indifference at this point. Even more than that, she herself said she was done with him, so why is she still so upset?

Maya: … don’t flatter yourself.

Farkle: I’m just saying, you’re the only one still actively firing shots at me all the time. In spite of your own declaration that the chapter was closed.

Maya: Yeah, and?

Farkle shifts to leaning against the side of the machine, cradling his growing collection of drinks in his arms. He examines Maya as she continues to ignore him. Then, an attempt at vulnerability:

Farkle: I guess I understand it, actually. With everyone else, you know, it was… everyone else. What I did to you… revealing things that you trusted me with…

[ Maya closes her eyes, trying to keep her emotions in check. ]

Farkle, softly: That’s different. We were different --

Maya: God, Farkle, just stop!

Maya snaps, whipping to face him. She’s clearly operating on emotion when she lashes out again, stating that he can’t just do this. He can’t go all pathetic and vulnerable and expect her to feel bad and like him again. It’s not fair for him to play with her feelings like this. It’s not fair for him to have this kind of effect.

Farkle obviously doesn’t know what she’s talking about, operating with no ill intent. And for what it’s worth, it seems as though Maya is far more torn about what she should be feeling towards him than he is. She’s angry, sure, and she’s hurt, but there’s something else there that keeps the chapter from being closed… something that doesn’t want to let go…

Maya: You can’t keep doing this to me. I can’t keep doing this. Because it’s clear you only care about people when they’re operating in your favor --

Farkle: Maya --

Maya: And you know what, Farkle? You’re not God. You don’t control people, and you sure as hell can’t control me.

Maya drops the rest of the change onto the floor, scrambling to get away from him. She can’t be near him right now, when her emotions are so high and threatening to spill over.

Farkle watches her march off, before crouching down and robotically staring to pick up the change. As the angry guitar licks lead us in…

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Playing God” as performed by Paramore || Performed by Maya Hart

Maya launches into this pop rock vent as she marches through the halls, running her hands through her hair and obviously struggling to deal with her emotions. The number progresses in a very Troy-Bolton-Scream capacity, Maya falling back against lockers and the room feeling as though it’s tilting as she fights to stay on her own two feet.

It’s a change of pace for the usually Broadway / pop classic diva, but in some ways it almost feels more authentic than anything we’ve heard from her yet. It’s raw and erratic, and the shift in genre reflects how conflicted she truly is over whatever her dynamic with Farkle is supposed to be. She keeps saying it’s closed, that she doesn’t want anything to do with him… and yet…

She stomps all through the familiar halls of AAA, until she drifts back towards home base…

INT. AAA - DRESSING ROOM HALL - NIGHT

Maya thrashes her way through the dressing room hall, blasting into the dressing room.

INT. AAA - GIRLS DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT

This is where Maya rounds out the emotional performance, chewing up the scenery of her safe space at AAA as she rails through the last chorus. When she hits the last notes and “points you to the mirror,” she looks at her own reflection. Overcome with emotion, flushed, but maybe not completely absent of blame in how this relationship has fallen apart.

Difficult to stomach, as the look on her face clearly indicates.

INT. AAA - CATWALK - NIGHT

Unprecedented ground for a performer to be trekking, Zay is climbing around in the rafters up on the catwalk as he desperately searches for service. His messages are open with Charlie, where we can see he has tried to send a couple of texts with no luck. He’s attempting to give him a heads up of what’s going on, rather than just standing him up.

His endeavor isn’t going well, despite how he stretches as far as he can and practically begs the universe to have mercy on him. For a moment, it seems as though he might get a bar… maybe just enough time to send this quick text --

Isadora: What are you doing?

Zay jumps, surprised at being addressed. He nearly drops his phone, scrambling back and cradling it against his chest. He glances down over the rail of the catwalk, Isadora peering up at him with a critical eyebrow quirked in his direction.

He manages to cover smoothly, stating that he’s merely attempting to find cell service so he can get them some help. Someone has to try and get them the hell out of here. Isadora points out that even if he could reach someone, no one is going to come to their rescue in this weather.

Zay: You’re just a cock-eyed optimist, aren’t you, Izzy?

Isadora shrugs. He’s welcome to waste his time if he wants to, she doesn’t care enough to argue the point. Once she’s left him alone and drifted off elsewhere, Zay leans against the railing and checks his phone.

Still no dice. He sighs, cursing to himself and heading back to the other end of the catwalk.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - NIGHT

A quick series of shots show the process of breaking into the lounge -- practiced moves with a paperclip, jimmying the door handle, and a swift ID card through the crack in the door.

INT. AAA - TEACHER’S LOUNGE - NIGHT

The door slowly creaks open, Riley and Lucas poking their heads into the darkened teacher’s lounge. They exchange a brief look, Lucas pushing the door open more and leading the charge inside while Riley flicks on the lights.

The act of scavenging begins, Riley wisely starting with the cabinets and fridge while Lucas takes his time sorting through the rest of the faculty belongings. He digs through the drawers on the cabinets, finding a lighter, an assortment of utensils, and a lot of spare change. He pockets all of it casually, basically a certified kleptomaniac at this point.

Riley opens the fridge and begins sorting through unclaimed items, gathering them onto the counter or into her arms. Lucas approaches to take a look, Riley explaining her thought process about which ones they can swipe as he leans over her shoulder to observe.

It’s the closest they’ve been in months, that fact seeming to strike both of them in the midst of Riley’s reasoning. They glance at one another when the other isn’t looking, each subtle shift in their expressions worth a thousand words.

As Riley trails off and silence settles over them, Lucas hangs in the close proximity for a second longer before swallowing and nodding. He takes some of the frozen food from the counter and focuses on heating it up, crossing the room to the microwave and putting more distance between them again.

Riley takes a deep breath, collecting herself from the tension of the moment. Although it would be easy to go through the motions and continue on as they have been, when she glances over her shoulder to look at him she can’t keep quiet. She can’t pass up the opportunity to speak to him when she has no idea when she might get one again.

Riley: I’m just going to talk for a second, okay?

Lucas doesn’t respond, keeping his back to her. But he doesn’t tell her off either, which is better than an outright rejection. She can’t see his reactions as she speaks, but she works up the courage to say what she needs to say anyway.

Riley: You don’t have to listen, and I know you won’t believe me. But I never… I never meant to hurt you. [ a beat ] It wasn’t about pity for me.

Although she can’t see it, Lucas is in fact listening. He’s listening, and her words do hit him in a way he wasn’t expecting. Whether or not he believes it, just hearing her say it sands down some of his defensive sharp edges.

Riley starts to ramble, explaining that the whole video was projecting from Farkle’s perspective. She definitely didn’t sign off on anything he said, but that’s not what she cares about really anyway. She just really wanted him to know that when she chose to hang out with him, it was her choice. Just as she’s stammering over why she chose to do just that, Lucas interrupts her.

Lucas, timidly: We weren’t bad, were we?

Riley stops cold, honestly not even sure he actually spoke. He’s still not looking at her, so it’s a bit difficult to tell for certain. He clears his throat, searching for the words. His hands are shaking on the countertop, his voice delicate with uncertainty.

Lucas: I know we weren’t… [ shaking his head ] it wasn’t perfect, but…

She knows what he means. Riley can’t help but smile, but there’s an ache to it, too. Everything about it aches.

Riley, softly: We were good.

The sentiment hangs in the air between them. Comforting, even if everything else remains uncertain. Lucas lets it sink in, nodding and swallowing hard. Clearly grappling with a lot of emotion, even if Riley can’t see it.

Then he clears his throat again, grabbing the finished food and giving Riley rushed instructions on how they should handle the rest. He makes his escape, brushing past her and disappearing out into the hallway without another word.

Riley watches him go, inhaling another shaky breath. She makes her way over to the microwave, trying to follow through on his directions and shake off the tension that consumed the room.

But she can’t escape it. She drops the food container back on the counter, closing her eyes and composing herself again. When she looks over her shoulder at where he left, her eyes are shining with unspoken emotion.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Close To You” as performed by Rihanna || Performed by Riley Matthews

Riley’s rendition of this soft, gentle song is hauntingly beautiful, and the lyrics truly do say it all. It’s obviously growing increasingly more difficult to straddle this line that’s been drawn between them, even though she knows he’s more than capable of being fine without her.

She wanders over to the door to the teacher’s lounge, almost leaving but then leaning back against it instead. Panning just a little bit through the wall, we see that Lucas hasn’t gone all that far -- he’s just outside the doors, trying to catch his breath and mirroring her emotion. Just a wall separating them, as there seems to be emotionally as well.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - NIGHT

As the song progresses, Riley meanders her way through the halls with all the space and freedom to take her time given that there’s no one else around. As we make our way back to the auditorium…

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - NIGHT

Similar visuals of Riley and Lucas pepper the remainder of the sequence, instances where they’re just out of reach of one another -- separated by curtains, on opposite sides of a set piece, etc.

As the piano carries through to the end, Riley mindlessly wanders her way through the house seats… until she finds herself standing outside the technician’s booth door. Because of course that’s where she’d end up.

Riley slides down in front of it, sitting outside the door and tilting her head back against the wood. Locked out, in more ways than one.

She closes her eyes as the gentle notes on the piano take us home…

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - NIGHT

Supper time! The six are assembled on the floor behind the center section, cramped there with the back section to the booth looming behind them. It’s not the most comfortable set-up, Farkle opting to slouch in one of the auditorium seats in the back center section instead of the ground.

Isadora looks at her microwave meal with distaste, but opts to complain about something else. Namely, the fact that they’re cramped there to eat when they could easily eat on the stage and spread out a little bit. Riley coughs at Zay and Maya, but the latter defends their stance.

Maya: Sorry, but the stage is not meant to be eaten on like a common kitchen table.

Lucas, deadpan: Not meant to be defiled either, but y’all do that every week when you basically pee on it to claim your territory.

This earns a reaction or two, Riley choking on her food and covering her mouth -- and potentially a giggle. Isadora chuckles, chewing her food with a smirk. Zay rolls his eyes, Maya even more disgusted.

Maya: Oh, please.

Lucas: No, really. Now that Farkle has stopped giving a shit for attention, you’re the new one stomping all over people in your psychopathic climb to the top.

Maya, sarcastically: Whew, ouchie! That really hurt! I’ll remember that twenty years from now when I’m touring Madison Square Garden and you’re in prison.

This devolves into another argument, this time zeroing in on everyone’s attitudes. There’s a jab from Zay about Farkle’s pathetic woe-is-me routine, and Lucas ends up slighting Isadora when he responds to another criticism by highlighting her near split personality at this point considering she’s torn between two different realities.

Riley steps in to try and defend Isadora, and even give Lucas back some credit, but that only sets her up to be the next target. Maya hits her with “and there she goes again,” and even Zay incidentally jumps on the bandwagon when he agrees it’s pretty stupid to try and defend Lucas…

In front of Lucas. He glances at Riley, who looks like she wants to die of embarrassment.

All of this leads up to Maya finally taking a direct shot at Lucas, saying what apparently everyone has been thinking -- that he very clearly doesn’t care about anything or anyone but himself. This seems to light a fuse, and suddenly Lucas unexpectedly snaps.

Lucas: I don’t care? [ viciously ] I wish I didn’t care!

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Untitled Free Verse” || Performed by Lucas James Friar

Less of a song and more of an experience, all of the oxygen seems to get sucked out of the room as Lucas finally, finally cracks. The rest of them freeze as focus directs solely to Lucas, who launches into a frenzied, unfiltered rant. It’s reminiscent of Alexander Hamilton’s free verse in “The World Was Wide Enough,” moments before the bullet hits him that ends his life.

For Lucas, it’s not going to be a bullet wound that takes him out but the sheer weight of everything he’s feeling. It’s practically slam poetry as he attempts to sort through all these emotions that he can’t grapple with, coming out as a blistering display of blunt vulnerability.

Because it’s not just Farkle’s stupid rant video, it’s not the senseless drama of AAA. It’s everything. It’s the booth being taken from him, it’s the fact that he has to rely on the booth in the first place. It’s his parents being shit parents, it’s him being a shit son. It’s Dylan and Asher and how they love him, even though he kind of wishes they would hate him instead so he could leave them alone. It’s being an inevitable disappointment to Jack, it’s the detestable desire for Riley. It’s Isadora and her talent taking her over; it’s having no fucking talent at all.

It’s all of that that is spilling out of him like an open wound, stammered and out of breath and glossy-eyed. All these things he wishes he didn’t, tries desperately not to care about, but yet still does. He cares, he cares too much, and it’s gonna suffocate him. It’s all he can do not to burn everything down with him, so it’s easier to pretend none of it matters. Because he doesn’t matter -- God knows he doesn’t matter -- so why should anything else? It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter! It doesn’t matter --

Just as the scene becomes so claustrophobic and feels like it’s going to implode -- there’s a click and suddenly it flattens out again. Lucas isn’t standing in the center of the circle but is back where he was sitting earlier, having not made any moves at all. His expression is blank, Maya snapping him out of it when she grabs his attention.

Maya: Well? Aren’t you going to say anything, Jackass?

Whatever we all just heard, they certainly didn’t. It was all in his imagination, still threatening to suffocate him. But despite everything he obviously needs to say, Lucas merely grits his teeth and forces a sardonic smile.

Lucas: Nothing that matters.

Despite what remains unsaid, that pressure is leaking off of him like lighter fluid. Riley can’t take the tension, searching for a change of subject and perhaps a way to get away from them for a bit considering how Zay and Maya effectively embarrassed her. She declares that they need to shift gears and focus on something else. Something fun to lighten the mood.

Isadora, flatly: Oh, this isn’t fun for you? I’m having the time of my life.

Sarcasm aside, Zay agrees with an encouraging nod. Doing something a little less stressful might keep them all from killing each other before morning.

Farkle: We were just eating…

Riley gets to her feet and paces, lighting up with an idea. Considering her uncle is basically the ambassador of non-stressful activities at this school, perhaps he’ll have something in his office that will offer a little reprieve. She jogs to her backpack, unzipping the front pocket and retrieving a spare key to his office.

Isadora: You’ve had that the entire time?

Riley tilts her head, handing the key to Isadora and placing it definitively in her palm. She assigns the task to her and Farkle, sending them on their way to go searching while they all scour in here.

They disband, off on another mission. At least it’s something to do. Farkle and Isadora exchange a look, wearing somewhat matching expressions of resignation.

INT. AAA - COSTUME LOFT - NIGHT

Zay is back to searching for a signal, up in the costume loft for some height as he wanders the space. He carefully climbs onto one of the costume racks, actually managing to get a couple of bars. He reacts in excitement, going to Charlie’s contact and hitting call.

INT. GARDNER HOME - CHARLIE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Charlie is doing homework on his bed, seemingly not in that great of a mood. Considering he thinks he just got stood up by his boyfriend, the gloom makes sense.

He jumps when his phone rings, crawling forward to grab it from the end of the bed. He obviously seems relieved to see it’s Zay, but he pulls back on the emotion and tries to exude something more aloof as he answers the call.

Charlie: You know, being late isn’t a heavenly sin, but not showing up at all…

INT. AAA - COSTUME LOFT - NIGHT

The ensuing conversation is split between the two locations, Zay exhaling in relief and attempting to maintain his balance and keep the signal. He starts to explain what happened and assuage Charlie’s concerns and indignation, but the connection isn’t great and he keeps breaking up. Charlie tries to tell him as much, growing more confused than frustrated, but Zay isn’t even really getting his replies.

Then, the real kicker -- Zay’s phone dies midcall. When he checks to confirm this grim reality, he loses his balance and falls off the rack, collapsing into a pile of costumes. Charlie says his name a couple of times in concern, pulling back from his phone to confirm that he did actually hang up out of nowhere. What the hell?

So close, only to be thwarted. Zay growls in frustration and then grabs a costume piece, using it to stifle his scream of frustration. Then he sits up, taking a deep breath and pulling himself back together as he heads back down the step ladder.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - NIGHT

Maya is glued to her own phone, mindlessly flipping back and forth on the home screens since there’s nothing else to do. Riley marches over to where she’s seated in the back section and demands her attention. She musters up her nerve before stating that she doesn’t care for the way Maya has been constantly dismissing her. Regardless of her intentions by doing it, Riley is more than capable of making her own choices and doesn’t need her approval.

Maya claims she’s just looking out for her. She simply isn’t impressed by her decision to stand by Lucas for any reason -- the man himself currently in the background, climbing around on the leftover set pieces from Into the Woods and looking for a place to perch and be left alone. But as Riley points out, that’s none of Maya’s business. Whether or not it’s stupid, the choice belongs to Riley and all Maya needs to do is respect it.

Riley: If you and I are going to share a living space, we are going to have to start respecting one another as more than just performers.

Definite food for thought. Maya absorbs this, the challenge lingering between them when Zay approaches to disrupt the confrontation. He asks if either of them has a charger he can borrow.

Riley nods and digs through her bag to grab hers. Maya questions why Zay has been so desperate to find a signal all evening, seeing as the rest of them have given up. Who could he possibly be trying to reach so badly? He once again claims he’s just trying to get help, but she retorts that it’s far too late for that and they’re stuck until morning at this point no matter what.

Maya then starts brainstorming out loud, puzzling over who else Zayby could possibly be trying to contact. Someone… special, perhaps? This excites Riley as she returns with the charger, immediately jumping on the notion with delight. Romance, now there’s something to lighten the mood!

Riley: I can’t believe it. I can’t believe you could have a significant other and not tell me about them.

Zay: [ with an incredulous scoff ] Who said I did?

Despite his lack of confirmation, Riley and Maya latch onto this theory and start eagerly trying to guess who it could possibly be. Not Yindra, Maya would have definitely heard about that. Nigel? No, he’s too deep in his serious artiste phase right now… Zay keeps shooting them down but they’re practically giddy with interest. Come on, Zay, tell us! Tell!

Obviously, Zay isn’t going to say a word about Charlie. But he can tell they aren’t letting up any time soon, so he’s got to give them something. Defending his boyfriend’s privacy and non-present honor, he decides to give them something to tide them over -- which is to say, absolutely nothing real at all.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Particular Taste” as performed by Shawn Mendes || Performed by Zay Babineaux

Zay launches into this boppy pop tune, basically building a fake significant other for Maya and Riley to daydream about as a distraction. The three of them get into the groove of it, dancing around the auditorium while Zay sings about the eccentricities of his mystery lover.

When they make their way onto the stage around the second verse, he makes a point of poking at Lucas sitting up in one of the leftover trees a la Troy Bolton in High School Musical. He swats irritably at him, Zay grinning and ducking around to the other side of the set.

Although most of the details in the lyrics are made up, not all of it is entirely fictional. Zay’s expression is what acts as a giveaway, becoming more thoughtful or smitten on phrases that could most certainly apply to Charlie. It’s glimmers of truth hidden within the facade, ones that Maya and Riley don’t notice as they jam on the stage with him.

The best example of a lapse in the charade comes at the bridge. Zay seems more than a little lost in a memory as he soulfully sings about fingers in hair and knowing exactly what you want, before snapping himself out of it and launching into the last verse.

It’s the most energized fun they’ll have while trapped against their will, so might as well enjoy it. Riley, Zay, and Maya descend into laughter as they wrap the number, Zay taking a bow and waving them off with a “thank you, thank you.”

INT. AAA - ERIC’S OFFICE - NIGHT

The door creaks open, Isadora stepping inside before opening it wider for Farkle to enter. She turns on the lights and gets to searching, but Farkle hangs back in the doorway. He seems tentative to enter, reluctant to cross the threshold.

Isadora starts digging through shelves, looking for where Eric might hide fun activities.

Isadora: Feels weird, being in here without him.

Farkle: Feels weird being in here regardless.

Isadora tosses him a look, message clear from her expression. Okay, edgelord.

Isadora: Are you gonna help, or are you just going to stand there?

That seems to startle him out of his fugue. He steps inside, cracking the door closed behind him and settling into searching as well.

As they start gathering things to take -- not many offerings, unfortunately -- Isadora contemplates another topic of conversation. It doesn’t have the smoothest of starts, considering both of them are terrible at communication.

Isadora: I’m not trying to pity converse with you --

Farkle: Oh, sure. Totally. The queen of the techies wants to befriend the freefalling Icarus of the performers, someone she so strongly dislikes she once referred to him as “the spoiled produce of people.” Or, alternatively, described interacting with him like “stepping on a LEGO brick without shoes.”

Isadora: … well, you deserved those things. At the time. [ off his eye roll ] But, well, things change.

Farkle, blankly: Sure do.

Isadora eyes him curiously. Something about his plain response is so… off. So unlike Farkle X. Minkus, the Icarus of the performers. She settles on the floor across from him, slouching back against the desk.

Isadora: Honestly, I’m not even sure “queen of the techies” is an applicable title for me anymore. So I guess we’ve both fallen from grace.

Somehow, in spite of the conversation being painfully awkward, it hits on everything that is up in the air in their lives. Isadora’s struggle to join a new side of the school, Farkle’s increasing isolation, his odd behavior as of late…

He asks why she even bothered to try and make the change, wondering what she could possibly gain from joining the performer side of things. Isadora wonders why he would even ask considering performing is like his whole world -- something he’s seemed to have forgotten.

Farkle: I don’t know why you would even bother. Being a performer is hell.

Isadora: Isn’t that like… your entire reason for existing?

Farkle: [ a beat, blankly ] Well, yeah. Sure. But seems like you’d be having a lot more fun sticking with the techies.

When she gets him to elaborate, Farkle reluctantly admits -- without the exact words, of course -- that he’s always been jealous of the techie crew. Sure, they’re annoying and rude and constantly make their lives more difficult (Isadora: The feeling is mutual.), but they’re such a united front. They’re a team, and they tackle things collaboratively rather than having to knock one another down to succeed.

Not only that, they’re friends, which may as well be a miracle at this school. They support one another, they actually know one another, they have parties for God’s sake --

Isadora: Well, like I said, sometimes those things don’t last. We’re not nearly as perfect as we seem.

Farkle: … really? Are you sure?

Isadora asks him what he means, and Farkle innocently explains what he overheard between Lucas, Asher, and Dylan. He doesn’t mean to stir up trouble -- really, this time -- but as far as he could tell, there was definitely a celebration of some kind.

Isadora is obviously shocked to learn this. She curses under her breath, hitting her head back against the desk in lieu of actually dealing with her emotions in front of Farkle. Still, this is a big whammy to absorb, and she doesn’t do a great job of keeping it all sealed away.

Isadora: This fucking sucks! [ with a huff ] It’s like I’m back in freshman year, stuck in this mass of people who don’t know who I am. And I don’t have Lucas there to clear the way for me, because he doesn’t know who I am either. I’m on the outside looking in all over again. Like… fucking isolated.

Farkle: Tell me about it.

Oh. Huh. The two of them exchange a strange look, having a moment they didn’t expect to have. Farkle and Isadora have always considered themselves opposite ends of a spectrum, only suddenly they’re experiencing the same things. Perhaps, potentially, there is more in common between the two of them than they realized. And perhaps, there is a whole other side of their adversary to explore and understand that they have never even contemplated before.

There’s a weird heaviness to the realization, both of them looking away from one another and clearing their throats. Both suddenly very aware that there’s depth to the other person, and maybe they don’t really… hate one another. Not the actual person underneath the facade.

Isadora escapes by shifting her focus, climbing to her feet. She claims she has to go deal with this betrayal, grabbing the cushion off the chair across from Eric’s desk and pummeling it in her hands. She tucks the one from the other chair under her arm, marching towards the door.

Before she exits she pauses, doubling back and locking eyes with Farkle.

Isadora: Maybe Icarus and the Dethroned Queen could afford to hang out sometime. Just. Not when they’re locked in a pressure cooker doing the worst assignment on Earth.

Farkle: … yeah. Maybe.

Isadora: Now if you’ll excuse me. [ lifting the pillow ] I have to go kill my best friend.

Isadora storms out, leaving Farkle alone.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - NIGHT

Maya and Zay are back on the stage again, arguing in low voices about the assignment and whether or not they’ll have to change everything. Lucas saunters past them, hovering uncertainly near the wings and trying to work up the courage to approach Riley.

Finally he does, subconsciously wringing his hands as he does so. She’s standing at the stage manager’s podium, idly flipping through a discarded copy of the Into the Woods libretto.

Lucas: … hey.

Riley lifts her head, staring at him. Not sure why he’s deemed to talk to her, maybe hoping it’s for a good reason, dreading it’s for worse. Mostly, she’s waiting for him to say something, which it seems as though he’s lost the ability to do.

He finds it again eventually. He clears his throat, torn between forcing himself to look at her and averting his eyes to the floor.

Lucas: I just wanted to, um -- what they were saying during dinner. About… [ quickly ] you know you don’t have to do that. You don’t have to keep defending me.

Riley: [ not moved ] I know I don’t have to. I don’t have to do anything.

Riley goes back to looking at the script. Lucas blinks, even more confused than before. He crosses his arms, considering just walking away but not able to let it go.

Lucas: I don’t get it. I don’t get why… why would you waste the effort? Especially when everyone is telling you not to.

Riley: Because I don’t let other people’s opinions form my own? [ a beat ] And because friends don’t need a reason. And just because… just because you decided we weren’t friends anymore because of something someone else said doesn’t mean I did. So.

The sentiment seems mindblowing to Lucas. He can’t wrap his head around it, having only ever understood the relationships in his life to be conditional. While he’s struggling to grasp it, Riley is clearly having an internal debate of her own. She looks up at the wall before turning to him, deciding to say her final piece.

Riley: I feel like I know who you are. I know who I wanted to be my friend and… [ changing direction ] I feel pretty confident that I know who he is. And if that person is who you really are, then it’s not effort to defend you. I will always believe in you.

[ Lucas is speechless. Riley powers through, sincerity shining through her gaze. ]

Riley: That’s not something I have to do, but… I don’t think I could do any differently.

They can’t look away from one another. It’s as if the whole world has frozen around them, and whether or not it’ll keep spinning depends on what Lucas says next. He’s clearly searching for what to say… if there’s anything to say at all…

But, of course, the world is not only the two of them.

Isadora: LUCAS JAMES FRIAR!

Lucas whips around just in time to see the cushion flying at him. He pushes Riley protectively behind him on instinct, covering his face as the pillow hits him in the torso. Isadora is marching across the stage, another cushion ready to fire.

Lucas: What the hell, Dora?

Maya and Zay jog over to Riley, pulling her away from the fray.

Riley: What’s happening?

Maya: Don’t know, but I’m not surprised.

Riley: Should we do something?

Zay: [ already pulling her away ] Go, run, go --

The three of them bolt, leaving Lucas and Isadora to have their great showdown. Lucas provokes her to tell him what the hell she’s going off about, to which she throws the revelation of the techie party.

Lucas, incredulous: That’s what you’re pissed about? Don’t throw shit at me, then, go after Asher and Dylan. You know I don’t do things for myself.

Isadora: And yet, nobody told me! So I guess you all just had a super great time without me, like you always do.

Lucas: Don’t turn this on us. Like you even fucking care, you’ve got a whole new crew to hang out with. That’s what you did, isn’t it?

Isadora: … don’t make this about what it isn’t --

Lucas: You were the one who brought it up. You don’t want to get real?

Isadora: Oh. Oh? You want to get real? Fine. You wanna tell me when you got the money to get those new boots? [ off his guilty expression ] No, seriously, I’d love to know. I know Grace and Kenneth didn’t get them for you --

Lucas, fiercely: Hey, shut up.

Their argument quickly escalates, but the fact of the matter is, they don’t get real. They keep jabbing at one another for the petty, annoying things they’ve done to each other in the last couple of months, rather than actually addressing the tension and distance forming in their relationship. Lucas takes a pointed dig and claims she’s becoming just like Valerie, and this offends Isadora. She fires back that she doesn’t want to abandon anyone, he’s the one who hasn’t been there for her at all this year. Friendship is a two-way street!

It’s more than clear -- something in their dynamic is in serious disrepair. Neither of them can articulate it, but boy, are the emotions from it loud and clear.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Defying Gravity” as performed by Wicked Original Broadway Cast || Performed by Isadora De La Cruz (feat. Lucas James Friar)

This argument segues perfectly into the opening fight of the Broadway showstopper, Isadora claiming that she hopes Lucas is happy that he’s ruined his life forever with his behavior. He fires back that he hopes she’s happy too, now that she’s submissive and a suck up and just like the rest of the performers “to feed her own ambition.”

Once the song settles into quiet before the actual number, Lucas tries to appeal to her one last time. He points out that she could still come back to the techies, and things could go back to normal. Things don’t have to change.

Isadora: I know… but I don’t want it. I can’t want it anymore.

This is what truly kicks off the number, Isadora taking the Elphaba role while Lucas jumps in on the Galinda beats -- trying to convince her she’s being delusional, to make her realize what she’s giving up, whereas Isadora instead feels like he wants an unfair compromise from her. She’s spreading her wings and trying to be something that feels closer to who she actually is -- can’t that be a good thing? Can’t he be happy for her?

As the number unfolds, Isadora drifts closer and closer to the lights on center stage, whereas Lucas symbolically stays tied to the shadows of the wings. Even as she gets close to moments of pulling him into the light, he shies away or turns the tables.

At the bridge, as they’re exchanging genuine “I hope you’re happy” sentiments, it’s clear that the two of them are not going to be able to bridge this divide they see built between them. As they sing the last harmony in the performance, they clasp hands, and it’s the most emotive the two of them have ever intentionally been with one another. When they wish each other happiness “in the end,” it’s clear that they really mean it.

Then, as the music swells, Isadora backs towards the lights again… and Lucas lets her go. Their hands slip apart, and Isadora stumbles right into the stage lights to deliver a commanding rendition of the remainder of the song.

The other four take the chorus parts, scattered within the house of the auditorium. In the last escalating chorus, Lucas watches from the shadows of the wings before turning away and disappearing into the shadows. Isadora belts out the final note with gusto, proving exactly why she needs to see this performing thing through to the end.

One just has to wonder, as Lucas walks away, if everything will be worth it in the end.

INT. AAA - PROP LOFT - NIGHT

Quiet has settled over the space as the group attempts to get some sleep. As we pan across the auditorium, we get glimpses of Maya, Zay, Isadora, and Lucas all trying to get as comfortable as possible in their chosen nooks so they can rest. Notably, they’re all a good distance away from one another.

Riley isn’t giving it much effort, knowing she’s not going to get restful sleep. She’s wandering around instead, just climbing her way up into the prop loft.

She doesn’t spend much time up there, but now she’s wondering if maybe she should. It’s neat, cozy, and has a calm air for being somewhat “above it all.” She gently handles props as she passes along the shelves, smiling at the peach-colored paper slips taped all over the place that detail Asher’s intensive procedure for keeping the place organized.

Riley stops at the back wall, sliding down into a seat against it amidst the shelves and tables of props. She tilts her head back, looking at the shelves to her left until her brow crinkles. She leans forward and pulls another piece of paper from the shelf, tucked inside one of the cubbies and only visible from where she’s sitting.

It’s plain white notebook paper, different than all of Asher’s reminders and notes. She unfolds it, finding Dylan’s big, messy scrawl instead.

Hi, Ash!

Remember to unclench your jaw, relax your shoulders, and breeeeathe. Also, you’re the best and I love you!

Love, Dyl

Although the message was not intended for her, Riley finds herself following the directives anyway. She can’t help but smile, relaxing her muscles before folding the note back up neatly and putting it back right where she found it. She isn’t sure whether it’s new, or if it’s been there for ages and Asher keeps it there simply to revisit it when he’s feeling exactly how she’s feeling right now. She could honestly believe either possibility.

It’s a nice reminder, that people can treat one another with warmth and kindness even in the face of so much uncertainty.

Farkle emerges from the step ladder, hesitating at the top. He looks to Riley and waits for permission of some kind to enter.

Farkle: Sorry we couldn’t find anything to do.

Riley: [ with a shrug ] We’re all gonna die in here anyway, so. I can’t pretend a board game would’ve fixed everything.

The actual conversation is as good an invitation as any. Farkle treads cautiously and joins her in the space, settling down into a seat against the shelves and propping his elbows on his knees.

Riley awkwardly fills the silence, lamenting the fact that students could even get stuck in the school. What procedures failed that led to them getting stuck in here anyway? And if they decide to close schools tomorrow, what then? She knows it’s unlikely given that New York hardly closes unless Hell is freezing over, but --

Farkle: I’m sorry you had to pay for it.

Farkle’s statement is abrupt, like it’s spilling out of him. Riley stops talking and looks at him, waiting to see if he’s going to clarify his outburst. He digs his nails into his knees, frowning at the ground as he tries to articulate it.

Farkle, shakily: For the video. The things I said. [ a beat ] I know what I did was stupid. Pure idiocy. And I don’t have an excuse. Even if I did, I hardly think it would matter. But I never meant for it get so out of control. I didn’t think everything would get so… I never thought everyone else would --

He swallows, clearing his throat. Riley waits patiently. Finally, he lifts his gaze to meet hers.

Farkle, timid: I didn’t mean to mess everything up for you. [ voice cracking ] I’m really sorry.

Riley can tell he’s being genuine. His nervous demeanor and glassy eyes make it hard to believe he could be flubbing his way through the apology. After a moment, she extends the only reassurance she thinks she has the power to give.

Riley: I forgive you.

It’s barely a dent in everything that’s gone wrong. It’s far from fixed. But it’s something, and that’s better than nothing. Farkle gives her a weak smile, dipping his head down again.

The two of them settle into the quiet.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Much like when they first learned they were trapped, the six are sprawled across the stage again. Backpacks are being used as pillows -- aside from Riley, who has her head on Zay’s torso. Lucas and Isadora are on opposite ends of the space. Their eyes are closed, but it’s evident none of them have gotten any actual rest.

Although there’s still plenty of tension, sleep deprivation and loss of fucks to give leads to Isadora asking some silly sleepover-esque question that causes everyone to shush her or groan. But they get into the discussion anyway, the conversation veering in a couple of comedic random directions before petering out again.

In the silence, Zay grows solemn. He pats Riley’s head affectionately, releasing a sigh.

Zay: Does any of this matter?

Maya: What do you mean?

Zay: Like… everything we’re doing. The things we’re stressing about right now. Assignments, rivalries --

Isadora: Party lines --

Farkle: Big mistakes --

Zay: The secrets… is any of it going to be worth it? In ten years, is any of this going to mean anything?

Riley: Are we even going to remember it?

Zay: Does it even matter?

The group ruminates on the big question, hanging over them like the winter storm. Lucas chimes in first, although he stays turned on his side away from the rest of them. His expression is melancholic, starting to crack his aloof facade due to lack of sleep and time alone.

Lucas: No. It doesn’t matter.

Zay: Big surprise from Mister Truancy.

Lucas: You asked. I’m telling you. We’re going to graduate -- or not -- and go our separate ways. Get jobs we don’t care about, lose touch with people we swore we never would, start relationships and get married because we’re supposed to. Then we’ll die, like everybody else.

Maya: You’re so fucking charming, you know that?

Riley jumps in, aiming to divert the discussion from becoming a scrap between Maya and Lucas. She asks what all of them think about that -- what happens after they die?

Riley: I mean, my parents always said… we were never really religious. But there has to be some sort of purpose to it all, right? If all of that is what we’re destined to do, then there has to be something later. It has to be leading to something.

Isadora: Heaven, you think. But that presumes there’s a God up there to impress.

Maya: [ with a snort ] Okay. Thanks, Charlie Gardner.

Zay: Hey, come on.

Lucas: There is no God.

Maya: Oh, wah, wah, wah --

Lucas: There isn’t. If there was, would he seriously let all this just happen? All this shitty stuff in the world, and he just lets it happen? [ a beat ] Some higher power.

Riley: I guess that depends on whether or not we deserve it.

Isadora: God has nothing to do with what happens. Humans have free will. We make those choices. Whatever happens, that’s on us.

For being surprisingly quiet through a majority of the conversation, Farkle wraps it up. His statement is genuine, catching all of them off-guard.

Farkle: Well, I hope you all would. Get into heaven.

This sinks in slowly, obviously impacting each of them differently. Lucas looks unconvinced. Riley and Zay are thoughtful. Isadora seems to be contemplating Farkle’s odd change of heart.

Maya is the most affected, obviously torn on how to take the sentiment -- wanting to believe it’s sincere, clearly wanting to absorb it, but also wanting to stick to her guns of being done with Farkle Minkus.

Zay breaks the meditative silence, letting out another declarative sigh and stating the obvious.

Zay: Afterlife aside, we can all agree this assignment is fucked, yeah?

Riley laughs, launching into uncontrollable, sleep-deprived giggles. The kind that are contagious, so then Isadora is breaking into chuckles. Hearing them laugh makes Lucas smile in spite of himself -- Zay starts laughing too. Then Maya, even Farkle. All of them are in delirious fits of laughter, but it’s the most any of them have laughed in ages. Least of all together.

For a moment, things feel better.

The prison sentence is interrupted when HARLEY KEINER enters with JACK HUNTER, the two of them coming in to check out how the auditorium is holding up before school officially opens for the morning. Jack is tired and holding his morning coffee, stunned when they walk out of the wings to find the six of them lazing around.

Jack: What on Earth are you all doing in here?

Sunlight! A savior from the outside! Maya is the first to jump to her feet, the rest of them getting up and scrambling up to escape. Jack tries to get them to explain what’s going on, and why it seems as though they’ve been here overnight. But they’re making bee lines for the exit, happy to get the hell away from one another. They breeze past him, Maya even yoinking his coffee with a quick thanks and flip of her hair.

Farkle is the last to leave, just sitting up at center stage while Jack tries to get his bearings on the situation. He blinks, spinning around.

Jack: What the hell happened in here?

Farkle: Don’t worry about it, Principal Hunter.

Farkle slowly gets to his feet, sauntering over to Jack. He gives him an exhausted smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Farkle, matter-of-factly: Everything is the same as it always is. Nothing is ever going to change.

Farkle heads out the dressing room hall, leaving Jack to ponder what terrible things must have unfolded in that auditorium overnight. He places his hands on his hips, looking around at the vast space. As the robotic, spacey tones of “Agnes” float in…

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Agnes” as performed by Glass Animals || Performed by Farkle Minkus

Farkle meanders into the detached and dreamy conclusion to the episode, floating through the empty halls and singing at a rather monotone pitch. It’s a groovy track with some subtly dark undertones, the echoing refrain of “You’re gone but you’re on my mind / I’m lost but I don’t know why” feeling particularly heavy. On the lines “this time you overdid the liquor, this time you pulled the fucking trigger,” Farkle glances at his reflection in one of the classroom windows before pithily pretending to shoot himself with a finger gun.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Intercut with the performance, Farkle dances loosely at center stage in the dark, nothing but the ghost light illuminating a small circle of the stage. It’s the most free-wheeling Farkle has ever seemed dance wise, but there’s an uneasy quality to it too.

As the number comes to an end, Farkle ceases his dancing. He almost seems like a completely different person -- frumpy cardigan, hair a tangled mess, expression blank and devoid of any of his usual eccentricities as he stares out at the empty auditorium.

Then he walks off stage, only the ghost light breaking the swath of darkness until it flicks out.

END OF EPISODE.

[zdbztumble]

So About That Roxas…

Well, it’s that time - time to invite unholy disdain upon myself for my blasphemous views on fan favorite Roxas!

OK, that’s an exaggeration. I don’t know how unpopular what I’m about to say really is. And to make this perfectly clear up-front - I don’t dislike Roxas. I think he’s a fine character, and his (very) long prologue is one of the strongest parts of KH II. But I do find Roxas more valuable and compelling in how he relates to other characters, and in the fact that he is an aspect of Sora, than in his own right. All on his own, I don’t find Roxas to be particularly active or interesting.

And that isn’t a flaw. Given what Nobodies are (prior to DDD, at least), I would expect that from Roxas. Almost every member of Organization XIII isn’t terribly dynamic or dimensional on their own merits - their personalities are one-note (if that), which can be by turns tragic, obnoxious, or an effective foil for the protagonists. When Roxas draws jealousy from Hayner, general confusion from his friend group, some amount of pathos from Axel, mixed emotions from Riku and disdain from DiZ, and attraction from Namine, he’s a great example of the latter. I never find him obnoxious, and when he is on his own, there is a sense of tragedy with him. Because while Roxas may have agency, and does display a curiosity - almost an obsession, after a while - with gaining answers for the strange things happening to him, he’s ultimately empty. None of his joys, none of his curiosity - and not even his rages and despairs - last. He ends up defaulting, always, into a quiet, resigned, and hollow state, and he doesn’t seem happy about that. 

This is true of the Twilight Town prologue, at least. In the brief flashbacks we’re given in KH II, and at the beginning of the Sora/Roxas fight, a different Roxas appears. He’s still empty at the core, but his front to the world is crueler, dismissive even of the words of his supposed best friend Axel, and predatory. We learn later in the game that DiZ altered Roxas’s personality when he dropped him into the digital Twilight Town, and it’s not hard to see why. Even with the altered personality, the strongest display of feeling Roxas can manage is anger. It’s only when Roxas confronts Sora, accepts him as “a good other,” and fully rejoins with him, that Roxas appears genuinely happy and alive in KH II.

But I do have problems with how Roxas is used, in KH II and especially in 358/2 Days. To start with II - there are some pretty big missed opportunities. Roxas was a member of Organization XIII, presumably working toward their goals (to go just on what we see in KH II), and every member of the Organization who sees Sora recognizes Roxas within him. Wouldn’t it have been nice to have someone else do the same? If, when visiting one of the Disney worlds that Sora hasn’t been to before, there was a character who had a negative encounter with Roxas, and therefore fears Sora and the Keyblade?

The lack of any such scene speaks to a larger problem with Roxas in KH II: his limited relevance once the prologue ends. He does come up here and there throughout the play time, which I do appreciate, but he doesn’t really have an impact on Sora before their clash other than as a source of mild confusion. Sora’s reactions to being called by Roxas’s name never progress much past “huh? Cut that out!” and he has no real reaction to learning that his own Nobody was a member of Organization XIII. Had Roxas’s activities over the past year created a negative consequence that Sora had to deal with, that might have invited some internal conflict within Sora’s heart, culminating in a much more emotionally charged clash with Organizers like Xibar and Saix. Hell, even without such a scene, the knowledge that a part of him was a member of the bad guys could have, and should have, made Sora feel at least a little upset. That’s not to say that the absence of such a mini-arc is a dealbreaker for KH II; what we did get works well enough. But, much like Roxas himself, something seems to be missing.

A future game might have been able to address this issue...had it not been for 358/2 Days.

This isn’t a revisit of Days; I can’t very well revisit a game I only ever played the first few minutes of, years ago, before losing touch with the friend who had the DS card for it. You’ll get no views of the gameplay here. But I am familiar with Days; I’ve read the breakdowns, researched its writing, and watched the movie multiple times. And I gotta tell ya - I know the game has its fans, and it may have some strengths and concepts missing from other titles, but I really don’t care for its story. And that has a lot to do with how it mishandles Roxas.

I’ll start with a caveat - I am not the audience for Days. At no point while playing KH II did I ever want to know any more about Roxas or the Organization than that game saw fit to reveal. What we got was enough for them to work as the villains in that story, and that’s all I ever needed them to be. This was always going to be an easy title for me to skip, or at least not take any real interest in. But that’s a matter of taste. Plenty of people take more interest in the backstories of Roxas and the Organization than I do, and this was perfectly acceptable as a subject for a midquel game. But the execution, IMO, is a complete mess. It ignores or retcons several of the snippets we get about the Organization in KH II, to poor effect, and fails to expand on any of the villainous Organizers in a way that might turn them from one-note video game bosses and elements of a hive mind into fleshed-out characters. Axel is given several coats of whitewash, and his history with Saix lacks any resonance when Saix is left as such a hollow villain. There’s no playing alongside Disney characters in a game so given over to original KH lore, and that lore is rewritten in ways I don’t like. The trends of mystery for its own sake and teasing histories and future events at the expense of the story at hand continue, the same few points of lore and logistics are over-stressed, and the dialogue and voice acting just isn’t good (and can anyone tell me why they re-dubbed Christopher Lee in the HD movie version? I mean...it’s Christopher Lee!)

But as I said, the real problem is with Roxas. For a character meant to be the protagonist, Roxas cedes a lot of narrative real estate to new character Xion. Like Days itself, I know Xion has fans - ardent fans. I can’t argue with that, nor would I want to; you can like what you like, and I won’t assess and critique her as a character here. But all I can say about Xion is that, as a writer, she strikes me as redundant. A member of Organization XIII, unusually lacking in knowledge about their life beforehand, wielding the Keyblade, inducted into the Organization within this game, derived from Sora through unusual means, with a connection to Kairi and whose existence arrests Sora’s full restoration from the events of CoM; setting her character aside, Xion’s narrative function is exactly what Roxas’s was established to be by KH II.

One could say that the game makes a point of this, turning it into an orchestrated conflict between the two by Xemnas, but practically speaking, this means that Roxas spends a key chunk of the story displaced. He becomes a friend on the sidelines as the real meat of the story concerns a character who, from the very beginning, anyone who played KH II would know isn’t going to matter past this game. This ends up making Xion more important, and more interesting, than Roxas within Days itself. But almost everything that Xion goes through could have easily been given to him by dint of what we see in KH II. That Sora’s restoration is upset because his memories of Kairi are being absorbed into another being would have been especially appropriate for Roxas, since Kairi’s very name is always fractured in the restoration process during II’s prologue at first, and the process itself is at such a low number despite a year having passed until Roxas is in DiZ’s hands. Those character elements unique to Xion herself, and the conflict between her and Roxas engineered by Xemnas, aren’t enough to justify her presence in the larger KH story IMO, and end up confusing elements of the lore (replicas, memories, etc.) If she had been cut, and those aspects of her story relating to Sora’s restoration given to Roxas, the story and lore integrity would’ve been better for it.

But that wouldn’t have solved everything wrong with Roxas in Days. Let’s look back at what KH II shows us of a pre-DiZ Roxas again. A cold and predatory figure; the Dusks who first come for him in Twilight Town address him as their “liege,” implying that they served him the way other Nobodies serve the Organizers; the Organizers themselves seem to have been quite close to Roxas, taking his betrayal hard and referring to him as “brother.” And Organization XIII, as we see it in KH II vanilla, is a collective, with no real secret about its motives within the ranks - that motive being, in so many words, to let the remaining Heartless continue their genocide across the worlds just so that they can swoop in with the Keyblade, harvest the captive hearts, and offer them up to their Kingdom Hearts in a mad bid to gain hearts of their own.

So why is Roxas so innocent in Days?

That cold exterior, the flashes of temper - that’s not what we get from Roxas here. What we get is a blank slate who becomes a puppy as he strikes up a buddy-buddy relationship with Axel, and who later performs the same function for Xion. He talks about fighting the darkness and asks hopefully if he’s performing “good” deeds. His interactions with his friends show him to be cheerful and open. The Samurai are supposedly under his command, but that’s a detail relegated to the reports. His relationships with anyone in the Organization other than Axel and Xion don’t even warrant scenes in the movie, and nothing suggests that they would deem him “brother;” Saix and Xemnas regard him as no more than a tool . And even though he’s destroying Heartless with the Keyblade, and those hearts are becoming part of the Organization’s Kingdom Hearts...somehow this is a point he needs explained several times? And he and Xion openly doubt why they need hearts at all - a point presented as one to be sympathetic toward, despite everything from KH II and a good chunk of this very game stressing that it is in fact a problem that Nobodies lack hearts?

This is not what was indicated in KH II. What’s worse, it’s boring. A far more effective choice IMO would have been to let Roxas be villainous. Go the dark protagonist route; give us a cold hunter of a character, with the impulsive anger and fractured psyche Sora showed in CoM, fully aware of what the Organization is up to and the price that others will pay for it and still committed to the cause. Then, when the events of CoM play out in the background, and fragments of Sora’s memories find their way to Roxas (assuming we still cut Xion in this scenario), that’s the turning point. That’s when Roxas can doubt the Organization’s cause, when he can begin to question his lack of memories and his true identity, and betray the Organization by setting out to find Sora. Give him two separate fights with Riku, to justify the dialogue claiming such in KH II. Let him develop some awareness of Namine after he gets Sora’s memories; Namine’s dialogue in KH II indicates that they’ve never met before, but a connection at a distance could serve to give more substance to their relationship, and supply Namine with opportunities to develop as a character. Depict the scenes where she first comes into contact with DiZ and Riku, agrees to take on their help in restoring Sora’s memories, and feels conflicted about the moral gray area their harsh but necessary actions occupy. Let her be ultimately responsible for setting Riku on the right trail that ends up bringing Roxas into their hands.

Of course, one reason why they may have opted not to do this is because having a dark protagonist complicit in an evil scheme involving the deaths of countless people may have been difficult to pull off while still earning an E10 rating at most. And honestly, the story told by Days doesn’t strike me as  necessarily the best fit for a video game even as-is. They might have been better off with planning it as a proper movie from the get-go, instead of a string of cutscenes divorced from the gameplay as they ultimately presented it in the HD collections.

And another objection to this approach might have been that a villainous Roxas and morally ambiguous Namine might have been less “likable,” and therefore less usable in future titles. To that I say - so what? I didn’t want Roxas and Namine as characters in any titles past KH II anyway - not because they were bad characters, or because I didn’t like them, but because their stories concluded. Concluded on terms they chose, and were at peace with. It was tinged with a bittersweet quality, but they did get a “happy” ending. If a midquel story complicated their morality, that wouldn’t negate the events of KH II or the resolution they received; it would have created a journey to get them to that point, starting from a much darker place, and given more weight to the idea that it was necessary for them to rejoin with Sora and Kairi. I’d argue that would enrich what we see in KH II, whereas the actual route they took in titles like DDD and KH III disregards or undermines everything that made the ending of KH II work.

[storyunrelated]

Will it go round in circles

Look at me, ma! I wrote Star Wars fanfiction!

Well, ‘fanfiction’ might be giving it too much credit. Rather, it’s basically me attempting to organise some of my thoughts on the matter, put into the form of a dialogue between two Resistance grunts following the conclusion of Rise of Skywalker.

So spoilers? I guess? By default?

Anyway. It’s in in two other places and now I’m putting it here, too.

Because I’m bored.

-

Will it go round in circles

First Order? Defunct. 

Logistically improbable fleet of Star Destroyers? Star destroyed. 

Emperor? Dead (again). 

If there was ever a time for a celebration now was definitely it.

And so it was that the Resistance or at least what remained of it at this point was having something of a shindig. Hugs of joy, kisses of jubilation, handshakes of camaraderie, drinks of relief - that sort of thing. Everyone was having a fine old time.

All, perhaps, barring Rot, background Resistance grunt, who was sitting on a crate being quiet and looking thoughtful amidst all the happiness.

Spotting him doing this Cin, another background Resistance grunt and Rot’s friend, broke away from the conversation she’d been having with a group of surviving pilots (about how great X-Wings were - the conclusion so far? That they were pretty great) and headed on over.

“Why so glum, chum?” She asked, sitting heavily along the crate and making Rot jump.

“Hmm? Oh, sorry. Just thinking,” he said.

“What’s there to think about? We won!” Cin said, giving him a playful - though perhaps somewhat harder than she’d initially meant, drinks had been taken after all - jab to the shoulder.

Couldn’t argue with that, and Cin’s enthusiasm and joy was so apparent that Rot couldn’t help but chuckle. He rubbed his shoulder, too, but felt it best not to make an issue of it.

“I was thinking-” he started, but that was as far as he got.

“Wait, hold that thought, there’s Rose,” Cin said, pointing, and indeed there was Rose, hurrying, looking harried.

“Hey Rose,” Cin called out and Rose, snapped out of whatever reverie she’d been in while walking looked up, saw her, and zeroed in on the pair of them on their crate.

“Hey guys,” she said, a little on the breathless side.

“Feel like I haven’t seen you in ages. You alright?” Cin asked.

“Yeah, yeah. Just, you know, busy,” Rose said. She seemed strained.

“But it’s a party! It’s the party!” Cin said, utterly appalled that, following on from what had been a fairly significant space battle (to put it mildly) poor Rose was still being rushed off her feet doing...whatever it was she did. A little bit of everything, seemingly.

“Just wrapping some things up,” Rose said, smiling weakly.

“Surely you can sit for a minute?” Rot asked and for a moment Rose did seem tempted, but then some invisible psychic weight appeared to reassert itself and whatever strength had entered her left. She visibly deflated.

“Soon, maybe. Just got to go and do something somewhere where no-one’ll see me for a bit,” she said.

That seemed quite an oddly specific thing to say. The two grunts were perplexed.

“If you say so. When you’re done and free there’ll still be a spot here,” Cin said, patting the crate beside her.

“We’ll save a drink for you,” Rot added.

“Thanks guys,” Rose said

And then she was off again. They watched her go. She disappeared into the crowd far faster than they might have expected her to. It was kind of odd.

“Poor Rose, she’s had a rough time,” Cin said, shaking her head.

News to Rot, who only knew Rose in passing.

“She has?” He asked.

“Course! Her sister dies, she goes on some madcap adventure that doesn’t turn out so great, she nearly gets executed - mean, that’ll put a kink in anyone’s day - then she just gets saddled with enough Resistance busywork to keep her in the background while all this business with the Emperor is going on. That, and a lot of people just don’t like her. It’s rough, like I say.”

“Who doesn’t like her? She’s lovely!” Rot protested and Cin held her hands out, palms up and open, empty of answers.

“I don’t know what to tell you. Some people are just like that,” she said.

“Bastards. She’s lovely,” Rot said, clucking his tongue and shaking his head.

Some people indeed. Mean, her crashing into Finn that one time had been a bit weird and - according to rumour - she’d given a pretty hamfisted speech following the crash but what of it? Everyone has their moments of weakness. 

And it all worked out alright in the end, hadn’t it? All that business with the running away and Holdo and Krayt and all that had turned out to barely matter anyway, somehow, having next to no impact on the resolution of things, so who cared about Rose crashing into anyone? She remained lovely regardless of the quality of her speeches!

“Bah,” Rot said, still annoyed at having learned of this dislike, a sour fact now sitting in his brain. To distract he thought back to what he’d been thinking about before, and tried to get it rolling again: “So yeah like I was saying, I was thinking-”

Cin cut him off again, to his chagrin.

“And Poe’s over there, looking over at - hey, who’s that?” She asked, pointing. Rot - mouth still open from being midway through his sentence - swallowed his words, looked over and frowned, seeing someone he did not recognise.

“The lady in the gold helmet? No idea,” he said.

Cin squinted at the lady in the gold helmet and at Poe gesturing at her.

“Are they friends?” She asked.

“I guess? We weren’t introduced.”

There were a lot of new faces around lately. Things had been pretty hectic last few days. Hours? Hard to keep track, especially in space.

Just one of those things.

“Huh. Well, whatever. He’s allowed friends. And ah, speaking of, there’s Finn! Let’s wave!” Rot said.

Rot waved while Cin personally favoured a hearty thumbs up. Finn, in turn, responded by giving both a wave and a thumbs up at once, much to the delight of the grunts, and then carrying on along his way to go talk to whoever it was he was going to talk to. Busy lad he was.

“Top bloke that Finn,” said Cin.

“Top bloke, top bloke,” Rot agreed, nodding.

“You know he gave me credits for the vending machine the other day? Wouldn’t let me pay him back!” Cin said and she wasn’t kidding - he wouldn’t accept it! Said she shouldn’t worry about it!

“Top bloke,” Rot said again, frowning a little to himself. “Which is a bit worrying, if you think about it.”

“Why?”

“Well you know how he got nabbed as a kid, right? He told you about that?”

“Yeah, but we knew the First Order did that anyway, bastards. Stealing kids, messing with their heads, turning them into cannon fodder,” Cin growled, pounding a fist into her palm. 

Even by the standards of an organisation that had shown a willingness to blow up planets - hell, whole systems! - stealing kids was still a dick move. Just seemed unnecessarily evil, really. Cin was fairly certain the First Order handbook also mandated that all pets in the houses ransacked for kids should be kicked, too.

She wouldn’t put it past them.

“Exactly. first rate pricks. So yeah, we know that. A good chunk of the Stormtroopers are just kids who got taken, brainwashed and made into soldiers without a whole lot of say in the matter. And then we have to fight them and we have to shoot them - you and me have shot a bunch just on our own, ain’t we?”

“A whole bunch,” Cin nodded with perhaps a touch more relish than was required.

“But, like, Finn was like that, wasn’t he? And look how he turned out. How many of these poor fuckers were just doing what they’d been beaten into shape to do? How many could have turned out as nice as Finn if they’d had the chance? Only we shot them?” Rot asked.

“Oh,” said Cin, this time without relish.

She hadn’t thought about it that way before.

“I know, right? Doesn’t make me feel good. Like hell, that horse lady, she’s ex-First Order too,” Rot said, nodding over to the horse lady in question.

“She seems nice,” Cin said.

“Haven’t really got to know her yet but yes, she does seem nice. And that’s kind of the problem. They could all be nice! And they were just kids! Mean, back when dad was gunning down Stormtroopers he said you could be pretty certain they were a card-carrying bastard who’d signed up - not like the Imperial Army, Stormtroopers were the hardcore ones. But these were just kids! Stolen! And we shoot them. See what I’m saying?”

“I do, I do,” Cin said.

“Kind of too late now, I suppose,” Rot sighed.

Some part of him wondered whether now, with hostilities either wrapping up or wrapped up, there would have to be some sort of system set up to reform the Stormtroopers, and whether it’d also work to try and get them back to the homes they’d been snatched from. A daunting task, surely, but it had to be the right thing to do. Didn’t it? The decent thing.

Rot was glad it wasn’t his job either way.

The two of them went quiet for a moment, the wind kind of taken out of the sails of the conversation by this rather grim aside. It was something that had been gnawing at Rot for a while now, and would gnaw at Cin too now that he’d passed it on.

Keen to move on Rot sat up straight and looked around.

“Where’s the lady of the hour, anyway?” He asked, slapping his thighs.

“Who? Rey? Oh, who knows. Probably doing something else important. She’s always being pulled this or that way to do that or this thing. Sometimes it kind of feels like the galaxy itself can’t quite settle on what it wants to do with her,” Cin said.

She’d bumped into Rey briefly once, and she’d seemed nice. Busy though. Always something needed her attention, always something she had to be doing. Rot felt much the same.

“Probably a Force thing. Probably?” He ventured. Cin shrugged.

“Probably,” she said.

Most things that seemed arbitrary, random or difficult to explain turned out to be Force things. You kind of got used to it after a while, particularly if you were just a background grunt. If you didn’t make a fuss about it you tended to live longer.

“Anyway, sorry, before all that I think you were saying something?” Cin asked, swivelling a bit on the crate so she was better facing him.

“Was I?” Rot asked, blinking, baffled. They’d gone off on so many tangents he’d quite lost the thread. It all came back to him quickly enough though - all the surroundings reminded him. “Oh! Oh yes. I’m happy about all this, about us winning, obviously I’m happy, I’m just concerned.”

“About what?”

“Well,” he said, shifting in a little so he was sitting more comfortably, his bottom starting to go numb. “I was thinking. My grandfather was involved in the Clone Wars, right? Not fighting, just some contract work on one of those old Star Destroyers.”

“Star Destroyers?” Cin asked, confused. Weren’t they bad guy ships?

“Yeah, the old ones. Uh, not the old ones we were just blowing up, the ones before those. Venators? The Republic ones? That kind of thing. Anyway, point is, my grandfather was involved in that war, right? That ends, Empire comes in, my dad gets into the Rebellion, he fights in that war. We get the New Republic which sticks around for a bit only to get destroyed in this war that you and me fought in. I’m just…”

He trailed off, fishing for the words.

“My kids aren’t going to have to be fighting in the next one, are they? When this all happens again in like, twenty, thirty years time?”

“You really know how to puncture the mood, don’t you Rot?” Cin said. She sounded sour.

“Hey look, I’m sorry but it’s a concern, isn’t it? Dad told me about all the celebrations after the second Death Star got blown up and the Emperor got killed - well, not ‘killed’ killed but, you know, everyone figured he was dead so it works out the same. Dancing in the streets! Statues pulled down! Galaxy-wide party! Everyone was happy! Figured that was it! Job done!”

Rot’s dad had been very effusive about this, telling a young Rot not to take the peace he grew up in for granted, to remember the sacrifices, the struggle, and young Rot had done so - it had been a primary motivating factor in his joining up himself.

“Then it all just...happens again. Only bigger and shinier. They even still had Stormtroopers! All over again! Star Destroyers again! And something that made the Death Star look like a cheap joke! Poor dad. Felt like he’d done all he’d done for nothing. He had friends die in the last one, just so his son could go in for the next one,” Rot said.

Rot’s dad hadn’t been very happy in the last few years, the only ray of hope being that grandfather - Rot’s dad’s dad - had lived long enough to see the Republic come back, but not long enough to see it go away again. That would have just been depressing. 

“Yeah but it won’t happen again this time. We won! That’s it!” Cin insisted. She felt very, very strongly about this. Rot wasn’t so sure.

“That’s what they thought last time though, ain’t it? And it depends on what happens next. A lot of what led into this was just how badly handled everything after the last war was. Just a fucking mess. I mean, I know we had the Military Disarmament Act, but-”  he started but, again, true to form, Cin cut across him.

“The what?” She asked.

“The thing that reduced the New Republic’s military? Greater emphasis placed on planetary defence forces? It’s why there wasn’t a Republic army or fleet or anything to come crashing down on the First Order when they started causing problems. Well, that and general flip-flopping and bureaucratic inertia. Politics, eh?” Rot said with a ‘what you gonna do’ kind of a cadence. Cin stared at him, appalled.

“Why would they do that?” She asked.

“What? The act? Eh, I guess towards the end of the war - the last one, not this one - there was a feeling that having a massive army sitting around was an invitation to use it. And I guess the last time the Republic did have a big army sitting around someone did use it.”

Took Cin a second to work that one out, but then she got it.

“Oh, right. The Empire. Still seems like a dumb idea,” she said.

“It was a dumb idea but that’s politicians for you. Not the best long-term planners. And I guess they figured what with having just got out of a war they couldn’t afford to throw their weight around, wanted to keep everyone on-side,” Rot said.

This explanation had always seemed vaguely convincing to Rot. At least, he could see some sort of logic running through it. It made sense to him. He didn’t like it, but it held together.

For her part, Cin was hearing about it for the first time and wasn’t feeling especially happy about it.

“Wish someone had told me this earlier, it’d have made the whole ‘Resistance’ thing make more sense…” She grumbled, taking a swig from the bottle she’d been nursing the whole time.

Cin had always felt that dubbing themselves ‘The Resistance’ right from the start had been needlessly undermining. ‘Resistance’ implied a certain level of passivity to her mind, suggestive of struggle against a force that was by very definition stronger and more powerful, but she hadn’t been in charge of branding and had arrived too late anyway - the name had stuck by the time she’d signed up.

“You didn’t do the required reading?” Rot asked and Cin sputtered, spitting out her drink.

“There was reading?!”

She’d just been shooting at the guys in the scary armour! She hadn’t thought there’d be much more to it! Certainly the instructor at the Resistance camp hadn’t mentioned any of this! They’d just told her which end of the gun to point towards the guys wearing white.

“It was all in the Resistance introduction packet they gave out. Or it was in mine. Didn’t you ever wonder why we were having to basically fight the Empire all over again?” Rot asked and Cin shook her head vigorously.

“No! I didn’t think I was supposed to be wondering that! Just thought we were meant to be getting on with it,” she said, coupling her statement with a very emphatic fist-pump, to demonstrate ‘getting on with it’.

Rot considered this, and saw her rock-solid sincerity and - not for the first time - wondered if maybe he was in the minority in thinking about the things he thought about.

“Huh. Maybe it’s just me…” He said.

They went quiet again.

The party continued.

[commentaryvorg]

Danganronpa V3 Commentary: Part 3.5

Be aware that this is not a blind playthrough! This will contain spoilers for the entire game, regardless of the part of the game I’m commenting on. A major focus of this commentary is to talk about all of the hints and foreshadowing of events that are going to happen and facts that are going to be revealed in the future of the story. It is emphatically not intended for someone experiencing the game for their first time.

Last time in chapter 3, Kaito ditched the training that would have helped him feel at least a little better thanks to his delightful idiotic selflessness, Maki and Shuichi discussed why Kaito has been good for them (hint: not because he’s invincible) and Maki started opening up just a little about her awful past, the student council became a dictatorship, and Kaito was still not able to properly be himself despite trying as hard as he could.

Now it’s free time again.

Kokichi:  “I went to check on the manhole, but it was covered in debris. But Gonta’s simple. Do you think he’d move it for us if we gave him a little nudge?”

Like you actually care about that tunnel when you never did before. When you were the one to manipulate everyone else out of even thinking about trying it again, because you’re a coward.

(The game designers actually did put rubble on the manhole, for the record.)

Gonta:  “Oh, Shuichi… Um… Gonta is member of student council now… Angie tell Gonta, he need to set good example. So Gonta no can spend time with you! Sorry!”

Oh, Gonta. Of course he wouldn’t question it, but it makes blatantly no sense how him not hanging out with Shuichi could be “setting a good example”. Surely the best way for him to set a good example would be to actually hang out with Shuichi and spend the time acting in the proper student council way (whatever the hell that is) so that Shuichi can learn from that example? Angie doesn’t care about setting a good example at all and is just manipulating Gonta.

But it’s not just Gonta – literally everybody in the student council will refuse to hang out with you today. The others who aren’t Gonta don’t even give you a reason; they just tell you to go away and leave them alone.

So, given that plus the fact that Kaito is also still holed up in his room feeling too unwell to hang out, this means that for today’s two free time slots, there are only four options out of the eleven surviving non-Shuichi characters: Kokichi, Kiyo, Miu, and Maki.

It should go without saying that there is only one correct choice here. There is no conceivable universe in which Shuichi, if left to his own devices and not controlled by a player with separate opinions from him, would actively choose to spend his free time with any of Kokichi, Kiyo or Miu in this situation. I could maybe imagine him deciding to tolerate one of them if they were his only options, but not when there’s also the option of him spending time with a Maki whom he’s already started to become friends with.

That’s part one of the reason I didn’t hang out with Maki yesterday. Part two is that Maki’s FTEs are written such that her third one and onwards clearly canonically take place only after a specific scene in chapter 4. So the only way for today’s two FTEs to make any sense in terms of keeping Shuichi in character and in terms of keeping their contents in line with canon is if they’re spent doing Maki’s first and second events. That’s why I couldn’t do them yesterday, and that’s what we’re doing today.

Maki:  “If you want to know my job, then I don’t mind talking about it. It won’t be a problem.”

Implying talking about something else might be a problem? Perhaps it’s not a surprise her first FTE is spent talking simply about the logistics of how her job works – that’s easier to talk about than how she feels about it, and much easier than talking about her normal life back at the orphanage that she can never have back.

Maki:  “It’s a new cult. From behind the scenes, it trains assassins.”

Shuichi:  “Th-That sounds… made up.”

I don’t know if you’re noticing a pattern here, Shuichi.

Also, remember your alligator hunt? Your own past sounds a little bit made up too.

Maki:  “There are several assassins besides me, but no one is devout. We don’t really get along with each other anyway, so I wouldn’t know.”

It’s implied later in Maki’s FTEs that all of her cult’s assassins are child slaves like her. It’s a shame they couldn’t be friends and help each other through this awful ordeal… but of course their training would condition them not to think of each other that way.

Maki:  “When the time comes, assassins will be cut and disposed of.”

…That and getting attached to a fellow assassin in this cult sounds like a recipe for heartbreak anyway. I wouldn’t be surprised if the cult leaders dealt with any troublesome friendships between their assassins by forcing the friends to fight to the death and keeping whichever one survived.

This line is also, of course, implying that the cult was just going to kill Maki off once she was no longer useful to them (possibly when she reached adulthood and was therefore too likely to start thinking for herself and fighting back?), so that’s a thing.

Shuichi:  “…” (Her tone hadn’t changed. She’s just accepted it. …What did I say to put her in that state of mind?)

It wasn’t you who did that, Shuichi! It was the awful people she works for! She’s had no choice but to accept it; it’s the only way she can cope with it.

Kokichi:  “Aw, maaan, stupid student council! Maybe we should just get Maki to ‘clean’ them up!”

Oh, so now you’re okay with the fact that Maki’s an assassin, when she’s only potentially going to kill someone who’s inconvenient to you and not you yourself? That’s noble of you.

If you try and talk to Tenko here, you catch her looking really worried for a second before she snaps herself out of it and goes into I’m-totally-on-the-student-council mode. Probably worrying about Himiko, heh.

Gonta:  “…Sorry! Gonta no can spend time with you… Cuz Gonta member of student council. Shuichi… will you join student council? Please? If everyone join… we all can spend time together with Atua.”

Aww, Gonta! He really wants to be able to spend time with Shuichi and thinks that the only way for that to be possible is if Shuichi joins the council too. He has no comprehension of how fucked up it is that Angie is forbidding him from being friends with half of the people here as a price for him getting to “be useful”.

(He’s also hanging out in the room with the manhole, making me wonder if he’s sort of regretting covering it up.)

Maki is hanging out under the terrace at the training spot, which makes me smile.

Maki:  “…Is Kaito alright? He complains about others, but he can’t even take care of himself… Irresponsible idiot…”

Look at Maki being worried about Kaito! She really is a lot more caring than she thinks – and cares about Kaito a lot more than she lets on considering that she claimed two nights ago she was only training to stop him from bugging her.

She’s also completely right. Usually when someone calls Kaito an idiot I try and argue that that’s not quite the right word, but, in this context? No, his inability to look after himself – to even want to try to – really is incredibly stupid of him.

Maki:  “I mostly have knives. Also poison, sniper rifles, jiu-jitsu, bombs—”

Maki’s go-to weapon of choice being a knife is certainly going to be relevant later, as is the fact that she knows a thing or two about poisons. (No mention of crossbows, though. Apparently that’s not a common one for her.)

Shuichi:  “…So what kind of people have you assassinated?”

Maki:  “What do you mean?”

Shuichi:  “Well, I only know about assassinations from movies and stuff, so…”

Maki:  “…This will probably disappoint you, but I don’t kill only bad people.”

Shuichi:  “…”

Maki:  “I kill anyone on my orders list. It doesn’t matter who the person is.”

Shuichi:  “I suppose that’s just the way it is.”

It kind of sounds here like Shuichi was fishing for a reason to try and think that Maki’s not such a bad person because maybe she only kills bad people – and Maki picked up on that and deliberately shut him down. She could easily have instead talked about the reasons she kills people and the fact that she really has very little choice in the matter, but she didn’t, because she still feels like Shuichi should think she’s a bad person.

Maki:  “…But, I’ve also had to dispose of people who I knew well.”

Shuichi:  “Huh? Like who?”

Maki:  “Friends from school.”

…This is probably part of the reason she feels that way. It turns out she’s only talking about one single friend, someone who was the daughter of a yakuza leader, but still. Couldn’t the assassin cult have given that job to a different assassin? No, they probably wanted her on the job because she already knew the target well and they didn’t give a fuck about how she felt because their child slave assassins are just tools to them. God damnit.

(More to the point, god damnit Tsumugi not easing up even a little on the mountain of awfulness you’ve given this poor girl to deal with.)

Shuichi:  “Just make sure you don’t forget her.”

Maki:  “Why are you looking at me like that? I don’t have time to remember every face I killed.”

I think it’s less that she doesn’t have time than that if she remembered every single person she’s killed then the weight of that guilt would absolutely crush her. She’d obviously try and make a point to not remember them as much as possible, simply so that she can keep going.

Maki:  “But… I actually do remember her. Is this… …No, it’s nothing.”

…But of course a friend that she’d killed would be someone she couldn’t forget even if she tried to. This is you regretting it, Maki, and feeling bad about it, because you’re not a heartless killer who kills without remorse, however much you try and tell yourself you are.

Maki:  “Everyone does what they can to live. You, me… and everyone I’ve murdered. I kill. But I can also be killed. That’s all.”

This is actually a really respectable mindset for Maki to have, given that she’s an assassin. She fully accepts that the people she kills had reasons to live and yet she killed them anyway – and in order to not be a hypocrite about that, she also accepts that she can be killed at any time despite her own reasons to live. (Said reasons are, of course, the kids at her orphanage, not that she’s ready to talk about that yet.)

Nighttime comes around again, which means more training… and more Kaito not feeling well enough to train.

Shuichi:  (I’m worried about him…) “I wonder if Kaito’s okay… I hope he’s feeling a little better.”

Can we take another moment to appreciate how adorable it is that Shuichi is this worried about Kaito. They are friends.

Kaito:  “O-Oh, hey bro… Perfect timing. I gotta apologize to you, too…”

Kaito, you’re not supposed to apologise when something’s not your fault.

So here’s part of the reason I kept stressing Kaito’s convictions about apologising – because as it turns out, under certain circumstances, he will break his own principles on this and apologise more than he believes a person should, even when he hasn’t done anything wrong. Specifically, the times when he does this are when he feels like he’s let his sidekicks down. No matter how much he didn’t want to do so, no matter how much the reasons for him having done so aren’t remotely his fault, it’s still something he feels like he has to apologise for, just for having done it at all.

Recall how the main reason Kaito believes you shouldn’t apologise when something’s not your fault is so that you don’t go making yourself feel bad for no reason. But when this is applied to him? Apparently he doesn’t care about not making himself feel bad unnecessarily. If he let down his sidekicks, even though he never meant to, then he should feel bad about it, right?

(This isn’t the first time he’s apologised for this, either – it just seemed most appropriate to talk about it here, since he’s making a point that he believes he has to apologise. No, Kaito, you don’t.)

Kaito:  “It’s pathetic, but… I haven’t been able to eat or sleep much since yesterday.”

It’s not pathetic! You��re sick! That’s not your fault and not something to be ashamed of!

Part of this is down to the fact that the real reason for him feeling this way is his phobia, and Kaito feels like he should be able to not let that get to him so much and stop him from functioning normally. But no, that still counts as him being ill, just in a mental illness sort of way instead, so it still isn’t his fault.

Mind you, even his phobia wasn’t involved, I feel like Kaito would be calling himself pathetic anyway, just for being sick and having the sickness hinder his ability to do stuff. Which, you know, given that he is also physically sick and that’s going to be affecting him more and more from here on, is pretty relevant.

Kaito:  “I think I’ll get better if… I just rest a little longer, y’know?”

This sounds sensible. This would be Kaito dealing with his sickness in a reasonable way and making efforts to take care of himself, if he really was just physically ill.

But since that’s not what’s wrong with him right now, this is actually almost entirely an excuse so that he can hide away in his room and not risk letting Shuichi and Maki see that he’s scared of ghosts, which he believes is even more pathetic of him than just being sick. After all, I went over yesterday how him coming to train with them would be more likely to help him feel better about this than staying shut up in his room. And we know that when he really is just sick and nothing else and absolutely should be looking after himself and resting, he won’t even try to.

Shuichi:  “Yeah… sure, Kaito. Do what you have to do.”

Shuichi is smiling and being glad that Kaito is going to look after himself. Man, he has no idea how much of an idiot his friend really is.

Kaito:  “We’d have to reschedule our training sessions either way, come to think of it… The student council said being out after nighttime was prohibited, right?”

This is so unlike Kaito and it’s heartbreaking. He would never usually let anyone push him around and tell him what to do. His phobia really is just draining his emotional strength in a way that absolutely cannot be his fault, because if he had any control over it, he would refuse to let this happen to himself.

Maki:  “If you’re feeling sick, that’s one thing. But I don’t want you to change the training schedule. You don’t… need to do that.”

And I love that Maki realises just how unlike Kaito this is and she hates it! It was Kaito’s indomitable stubbornness that got through to her and convinced her to change in the first place. She hates that he seems to be compromising that part of himself now. If he’s not really that ridiculously stubborn person after all, then why the hell did she even begin to change?

Maki:  “…Do you want to die?”

Shuichi:  “D-Die!?”

Maki:  “Oh, sorry… That’s an old habit. Just pretend you didn’t hear that.”

Here’s the first instance of her catchphrase! That’s a landmark. Let’s appreciate: A, how fucked-up it is that she developed this catchphrase at some point during her training presumably as some kind of twisted black comedy coping mechanism, and B, how safe she feels around Shuichi and Kaito by now that she’s able to let herself use it in front of them without being afraid they’re going to think she really wants to kill them.

Maki:  “Anyway… I don’t want to give up now. I’ve finally started to think about… how I can confront it. So… if I have to train alone, so be it.”

She’s talking about her “enemy”! She’s really committed to figuring out how she can get stronger and find a way to like herself, and she’s thinking of these training sessions as a way to help her do that! Kaito has been so, so good for her!

…And Kaito’s apparently in too much of a state to even respond to that and be able to feel proud of how far she’s come already, which makes me sad. Hopefully he still noticed it, though? That can be something for him to think about while he’s cooped up in his room, to take his mind off the resurrection ritual and get his phobia to leave him the hell alone.

Shuichi:  “…Maybe it’s just because you’re not feeling well, but this is really unlike you, Kaito. I never imagined that you would obey Angie. I thought you did whatever you wanted.”

Shuichi also cares about how Very Not Kaito this is of him! Don’t worry, Shuichi – it is just because he’s not feeling well. He would never compromise his principles if he had any control over it.

Kaito:  “Shuichi, I’m sorry, but… can I leave the training to you until I’m feeling better?”

I can’t be completely certain because this is one of those ways in which English is ambiguous, but… I’m pretty sure that’s meant to be a singular “you” there. (When Kaito uses a plural “you”, he usually says “you guys”.) It’s almost like he’s asking Shuichi to take his place and be the figure of support and motivation for Maki’s growth. Like he wouldn’t ask Shuichi and Maki to support each other, because he feels like Shuichi doesn’t really need as much support any more – but since Maki still does, Shuichi is enough of a “hero” that he’d be capable of providing it.

(And look at Kaito still apologising about not being able to be there for them himself.)

Shuichi:  “Maki, about Kaito… You shouldn’t worry about it. He’s just feeling a little weak because he’s sick, I’m sure he’s not—”

…not being such an irresponsible idiot that he’d flake out on the unshakeable stubbornness that convinced you to change in the first place, Maki. Again, Shuichi understands just how much Kaito cares about trying to back up his own words and that any appearances to the contrary are misleading. That if he doesn’t appear to be trying to do that right now, then there must be a really damn good reason for it and it’s not just that he doesn’t really care after all.

But before they can start training, Tenko shows up, and Maki gives her her most terrifying glare.

Tenko:  “You probably want me to leave, right? But… I won’t run away.”

[Maki drops the glare]

Maki:  “I’m not here to fight you… and I don’t think you’re here to enforce the curfew.”

Seems like maybe Maki was only glaring so terrifyingly to test Tenko, assuming that if she was here on behalf of the student council then it would have scared her off, and the fact that she stayed anyway means that she’s here for a more important reason. It is pretty brave of Tenko to be asking Maki for help, and to not break under her terrifying glare, after she showed signs of feeling threatened by Maki earlier in the chapter.

Maki:  “You’re not brainwashed… Does that mean you willingly joined the student council? That sounds… worse.”

Pfft, that’s just like Maki to think that – being brainwashed wouldn’t be her fault, but joining it willingly would just be her being stupid.

Tenko:  “I only believe in Aikido! As long as I have that, I can’t be swayed by anything! Aikido values mental fortitude, and Aikido moves are a reflection of that fortitude.”

Look at how much Tenko cares about sticking to her convictions! Have I mentioned how much she and Kaito would get along swimmingly if it weren’t for her stupid annoying prejudices.

(Which have barely been brought up at all in this chapter, by the way, and I very much appreciate that. Again, this chapter’s writing is worse in a lot of regards, but significantly better with how it handles Tenko.)

Tenko:  “I think… Himiko has gotten so lazy, she’s given up on thinking for herself…”

It’s a shame that not even Tenko understands the fact that Himiko’s problem isn’t that she’s lazy but that she’s horribly depressed. Laziness as bad as Himiko’s doesn’t exist. That’s just what people call depression when they don’t realise what it is.

Tenko:  “Angie… truly believes in Atua. She believes that she is under Atua’s protection. That’s why… she does whatever she wants. She thinks she’s Atua’s vessel, so she doesn’t feel guilty about anything she does.”

And that’s Angie’s character. At the very least, there’s no active malice about her, but even so, she’s deluded into believing that her whims are always right and she doesn’t have any culpability for her actions. So still not a great person.

Maki:  “And that’s why you want me to kill her?”

Shuichi:  “Huh!?”

Maki:  “Asking someone like me for a ‘favor’ can only mean one thing.”

Maki, no! Even though she’s been making some progress, she still sees herself as just a tool that others use to kill people and assumes that’s surely the only reason anyone would ever want her help. How could she possibly ever help anyone in some way other than that? Guh.

Tenko:  “I… won’t deny that. I’ve wanted her gone even before all this happened… And I think everyone has wanted someone to die at least once in their life… But going through with it is a different thing! It’s wrong for a person to commit murder! It doesn’t matter what the reason is!”

I really like this! I like that it shows that Tenko’s not a perfect person and her jealousy of Angie getting more of Himiko’s attention has led her to have some pretty dark, twisted thoughts – but she’s still a good enough person in her principles that she would never even consider consciously acting on those thoughts.

This is also setup for the part in the trial where people start suspecting that Tenko killed Angie and then herself – in order to move past that assumption, Shuichi has to trust that what Tenko is saying now is the truth. Which it is.

Maki:  “Do you… realize who you’re talking to?”

Tenko:  “Oh! I’m so sorry! That’s not what I meant…”

Apparently Maki took Tenko’s speech as an attempt to guilt trip her specifically. It’s not like Maki doesn’t also believe killing is wrong, but she still hates herself enough for doing it that she feels people have every right to attack her for it and automatically assumed Tenko was doing that. In reality, to someone not in Maki’s position, it’s pretty clear that Tenko’s speech was mostly to herself, to remind herself that her desire to see Angie dead is wrong and stop herself from acting on it.

Tenko:  “That’s why I came to ask you two! You’re the only ones who can stop Angie!”

Shuichi:  “Only us?”

Tenko:  “Well… I obviously can’t ask Kokichi, Miu, or Kiyo. And Kaito’s not feeling well, y’know?”

Look at Tenko considering her best options to include Shuichi and Kaito without a single comment about how male they are! And treating Kokichi and Kiyo like bad options because they’re shitty people and not because of their gender! Tenko is at her best when the writers completely forget about her stupid prejudices and I wish they were just never a thing at all.

Shuichi:  “We didn’t even answer yet!”

Tenko:  “Grghhhhh! Quit complaining and do this favor for me, you degenerate! I’m even bowing to you! And I would never do that for any male!”

…Well, mostly. At least the writing acknowledges that she’s willing to put aside her prejudice for this.

Maki:  “So what will you do, Shuichi? This seems like something you’d ignore.”

Shuichi:  (This is something I’d ignore? Who do you think I am���?)

…Apparently Maki isn’t a great judge of people? I don’t see why it shouldn’t be pretty clear to her by now that Shuichi would care about stopping the potential motive. I guess she’s mostly seen the meek, nervous Shuichi that he is outside of investigations and trials and assumes that he’d be too passive to take action here.

Man, those Flashback Lights can do some serious work if they can make an ordinary, untalented person into someone capable of creating these near-perfect waxworks of people who aren’t even there anymore for her to use as reference. This is one of the parts of the whole implanted-talents thing that’s a little difficult to buy, but, eh, let’s just go with it.

Maki:  “You do such cruel things so innocently.”

That’s saying a lot coming from Maki… or maybe not, as someone who has done plenty of cruel things herself but who had to become so, so far from innocent to be capable of doing them. She still realises that they’re cruel, and she still sees this – creating lifelike representations of their dead friends – as an act of cruelty even though she herself is probably desensitised to it and not as creeped out as the others.

Maki:  “You try persuading her first. Detectives are good at talking, right?”

Shuichi:  (I feel like she might have some misconceptions about detectives… But I know Maki isn’t very good at persuading people. So it’s up to me.)

Look at Maki again assuming she’s worthless at doing anything except killing people. She probably wouldn’t actually be that bad at persuading people if she tried – she has a very blunt, pragmatic way of approaching issues, but that can be kind of useful sometimes.

Shuichi also isn’t the greatest at persuasion either. Too bad the most persuasive person they have is currently shut away in his room not feeling like his usual self. 

Shuichi:  “The effigies were nearly perfect, but the real bodies still had traces of a soul. A soul desperate to live, struggling, fighting for life… That’s something that can never be replicated.”

This is a bit of a weirdly poetic way of putting it, because I’m going to assume Shuichi isn’t being completely literal here. (Kaito would balk at hearing his sidekick talk like souls are things that really exist.) I imagine what he really means by this is that looking at the bodies gave the sense that they were once alive, and you can’t copy that by creating a fake body that was never alive at all.

Shuichi:  “No matter what technology you have, you can’t fake a soul.”

…Not quite in the way Shuichi is thinking of it, you can’t. But Flashback Lights can create entirely new “souls” and shove them into living bodies to overwrite the one currently existing there, as it turns out. Even “souls” that are exact copies of previously existing ones, if one wanted that. So in a sense, the technology to fake a soul actually does exist here.

Angie:  “Hmm, are we done talking now? Cuz I’m still busy preparing for the ritual.”

What other preparation is there to do? All that’s left is to burn the Necronomicon and sprinkle its ashes on Rantaro’s effigy. If Angie went to get a candle for that right now instead of randomly at 2am, then she wouldn’t get murdered tonight.

Angie:  “It’s safe to say that Tenko has betrayed the student council, right?”

I don’t think she’s realised that Tenko was never even on board in the first place. Not that she actually cares about being betrayed, because she doesn’t care about anything except her own whims, and Tenko’s trust or betrayal has no bearing on that.

Himiko:  “Nyeh!? She betrayed us!? That sounds like a big problem, but if you’re saying ‘it’s nothing’, then…”

Himiko shows up and hears this and seems to actually care about being betrayed for a moment – you know, like a person with feelings would – before slipping back into being brainwashed and worshipping Angie.

Tenko:  “Please, snap out of it! Aren’t you a mage?”

Himiko:  “That hurts… let me go…”

Tenko:  “Himiko, why can’t you see that you’ve been brainwashed? If you can’t even see that, then… you’re not a real mage at all!”

I like how Tenko tries to appeal to Himiko’s belief in her “magic”. She knows that’s very important to Himiko, kind of like Tenko’s own belief in her Aikido that she was talking about earlier, or at least she’s hoping that it is and that this will help her get through to Himiko.

Tenko:  “Feeling angry? If you are, then show it! Get mad! Get upset! Yell at me! Just fight back already! Do something!”

It’s also sweet how Tenko wouldn’t even mind Himiko getting mad at her just so long as she starts showing some kind of emotion and facing up to her own feelings. I appreciate Tenko’s feelings towards Himiko the most when they cause her to try and help Himiko selflessly like this, without the ulterior motive of trying to get with her that Tenko seems to have half the time she does anything involving Himiko (but which, again, isn’t really a thing in this chapter specifically and I appreciate that).

Tenko:  “I-I’m so sorry! I can’t believe I just yelled at you!”

Because you had emotions, Tenko, and you acted on those, which is exactly what you’re trying to get Himiko to do! Don’t be ashamed of that!

Himiko:  “…”

(Himiko didn’t look Tenko in the eyes.)

Here’s a small indication that Tenko did get through to her a little bit and that she’s ashamed she doesn’t have the courage to do what Tenko wants her to and face up to her emotions.

Tenko:  “Augh… I know she’d never hate me, but she’ll demote me from best friend to just a friend!”

Maki:  “You guys were best friends?”

Tenko:  “Well, if you round up to the nearest whole number, we were basically best friends!”

Shuichi:  (I feel like you’re rounding up a little too much there…)

Yeeeaaaah, Tenko is absolutely deluding herself about how much she and Himiko are friends. At least Maki and Shuichi (and therefore the narrative, too) are aware of this.

Tenko:  “Don’t worry! I’ll use my own words to apologize to Himiko!”

Admirable as it is that Tenko wants to apologise to Himiko… if we go by Kaito’s logic regarding apologies, then she shouldn’t really do so. She still meant what she said about wanting Himiko to show her anger and would still stand by that now, and it did get through to Himiko just a little bit. Without Tenko’s outburst just now and her future, admittedly rather less heated speech about it just before she gets killed, Himiko might not have been able to change at all. That is absolutely not something Tenko should apologise for. Perhaps she should apologise for the way in which she said it here, but not for what she meant by it.

Maki:  “She bounced back rather fast… I guess I didn’t need to worry.”

Shuichi:  “Ah, you were worried?”

Maki:  “…Huh? Is it weird for me to worry?”

Nope! It’s really starting to look like it’s not weird at all to see that from you, isn’t it, Maki.

Maki:  “…Do you want to die?”

Shuichi:  “…Ah!” (There’s that habit again! Well, I suppose on the positive side, she’s able to act more like herself around me.)

Aww, Shuichi’s realised that Maki beginning to use that catchphrase is a sign of her growth, even if the phrase itself is kind of alarming until you get used to it.

Shuichi:  “But I’m glad.” (Especially now that I’m able to talk about things more with Maki.)

He’s glad that they’re becoming friends! Did you know this game is about friends.

---

[Next post]

[douxreviews]

American Gods - ‘Muninn' Review

"Burn, baby, burn."

American Gods mostly gets its groove back after last week's misfire, Wednesday and Laura go on a literal trip down memory lane, and New Media finally makes an appearance.

Billie is not going to be OK with what happens to the library, however.

Interestingly, after my complaint last week about missing the Bryan Fuller signature soundscapes and dreamscape imagery, we open with exactly that. To be fair, that was probably largely due to avoiding the cost and logistics of actually showing a train derail after hitting a car on the tracks. Disorienting yet suggestive imagery combined with an off putting soundscape tell the story of a train v. car collision just as well and are much, much cheaper.

Whatever the reason, it was nice to have them back. It's interesting however, to note that there were several instances where the stylized camera work made it difficult to follow what was actually happening. For example, it wasn't entirely clear what was going on when Betty the Car reformed herself post accident. Were they reversing the footage of the car being crushed as a way to indicate the fractured way one of the characters present experienced that moment of the accident? Was it a visual metaphor? A dream someone involved in the crash was having? No, apparently the car was literally reforming itself, as it was sitting there good as new a few shots later. Another instance was when the scene transitioned from Shadow looking out of it in the wreckage to Shadow walking through some trees in daylight. All of the visual language of television was indicating that we'd transitioned to a dream Shadow was having, but we weren't, we'd just cut to later in the day when he'd gotten out of the wreckage and that hadn't been communicated to the viewer in a clear way.

Honestly, the whole immediate aftermath of the crash sequence just made you realize how good Fuller is at that sort of thing, because I can't think of a single occasion where he's used that same distorted imagery technique and it resulted in the action being unclear. At least, not in a way that didn't feel one hundred percent deliberate.

So, after last week's absolutely delightful pairing of Sweeney and Laura, this week we get Laura paired with Wednesday which worked much better than I was expecting it to do. It seemed odd at first that Laura would reject Sweeney and choose to go with Wednesday instead, particularly as she knows that Wednesday basically destroyed her entire life just to get her out of the way. She and Sweeney clearly were really connecting last episode, so turning on him for picking up her body parts off the road seemed like a forced way for the show to separate them. Then I thought about it for a minute and remembered that sabotaging her relationships with people that care about her is pretty much Laura's entire character description. Viewed with that in mind, the whole sequence of events makes perfect sense. It would have been nice if the show had made that point a little clearer. I hate to criticize a show for giving the viewers too much credit for figuring things out on their own, but in this case they could have stood to underline her motivations a little more.

Ah, Mad Sweeney. Pablo Schreiber continues to be the show's standout, and is more so every week. Thank god(s) that they kept both him and Laura around past their appearances in the novel and that they continue to give both of them so much to do. Hypocritically, I also feel like they probably should have cut Sweeney out of this episode after they left the funeral home, as all we really got of him were comic relief bits showing his bad luck road trip to New Orleans. But then, if they'd cut him out we'd never have seen the look on his face when he realizes that he's been 'rescued' by a Christian rock band, and nothing is worth that.

The thing that this episode felt like more than anything was a series of videogame side quests. Now, I'm not a gamer myself. I have an inherited tremor which makes trying to use a game controller kind of a pain in the ass. But my understanding of the whole side quest thing is that at various points in the game you have to stop working toward the main goal of the game, whatever that may be, and instead fulfill a little side mission, or earn some money, or solve a puzzle or something. That's what this episode felt like to me.

Taking the side quests in order, Laura and Wednesday head off to find another old god that has allowed himself to be co-opted by the new gods because Wednesday wants to kill him and somehow doing that will 'recharge' the coin in Laura's chest that's keeping her alive and making her superstrong. Again we continue this episode's theme of not explaining things properly, as it's never really made clear why killing Argus will do that, plus we're all pretty sure that Wednesday is lying to Laura the whole time anyway, which it turns out he is but the coin recharge thing still works anyway because reasons. Having accomplished that, Wednesday immediately betrays Laura and leaves her stuck in whatever Argus' realm is supposed to be. It might possibly be a TARDIS, there were some very distinctive roundels in that last hallway.

Great job with the design of Argus, by the way. This is our first god that we've seen who doesn't look like a standard human to us as his standard desktop theme and they did a great job making all of the eyes look real and disturbing. The fiber optic cable bundles that writhed like serpents were also a nice look. I don't recall ever seeing anything quite like it.

Technical Boy and New Media are also on their way to see Argus, because Mr. World wants them to... um... scold him for not updating his Norton Antivirus or something, possibly? Again, it's not entirely clear what they're there to do. You might be seeing a theme here. Similarly vague are New Media's actions with Argus. Was she actually betraying Mr. World to join an alliance with Argus? It would make sense, as he represents watching and she represents being watched, but if that's the case shouldn't Technical Boy have reacted in some way to that development? Instead he just politely stands back and doesn't stop Laura from killing Argus, then he and New Media leave without even mentioning it. And I've been remiss in mentioning it, but Bruce Langley really deserves a lot of praise for his work on this show. It's hard to play a character that irritating in a way that isn't irritating to the people watching at home, and he pulls it off.

Then we have Ifrit and Salim, who head to the corn palace to pick up a magic spear, as you do. Instead of the corn palace, they end up at a strip club called the Porn Palace, whose neon sign has a faulty first 'P,' making it appear to be a 'C' at first glance. That was a cute reveal. There they pick up the spear with no incident from a Lakota trickster god named Iktomi, who was played by the always wonderful Julian Richings, who many will remember as being the definitive Death over on Supernatural. This plotline felt the most perfunctory, and probably could have been replaced with a line of dialog later on down the line, but it's always nice to see Mr. Richings.

Lastly we have Shadow and his new friend Sam Black Crow, who gives him a lift to the storyline's next destination. Again, not a lot happens here and Sam feels very much like a mouthpiece for the writing staff to muse about things philosophically, but it works. Mostly because Devery Jacobs has an indefinable charm about her, but also because it opens up the concept of Two Spirit gender identification, which more people should know more about.

Quotes:

Wednesday: "Ah, Mrs. Moon. Did we sit on a wall?"

Mad Sweeney: "You just gonna lie there, let nature have her way with you?"

Laura: "Are you eating me?"

Sweeney: "Coward? I saved you." Laura: "I’m dead, coward." Sweeney: "Well, you’re welcome for picking up all your gory little f**king pieces up off the road."

Ibis: "The advantage of love at first sight is it doesn’t require a second look."

Technical Boy: "How the f**k is that an upgrade?" This felt like the writers pre-empting complaints about New Media. It probably was intended as such.

Wednesday: "So, you’re working on faith, huh?" Laura: "I definitely wouldn’t use that word."

Sam: "You ever hear of the Crow nation warrior named ‘Finds Them and Kills Them’?" Shadow: "No, but he sounds very efficient."

Laura: "Please. Tell me more about what I want."

Wednesday: "What’s the worst thing you can do to a book?" Laura: "Um.. Ignore it..?"

There are not words for how much I love the Hello Kitty collar on this shirt.

Bits and Pieces:

-- It's awfully convenient that Laura was literally blown to pieces in the train crash and Shadow only got a little bruised. But then, her body is actively decaying, so I supposed she'd be more explodable.

-- I know I'm fighting a losing battle here, but I have to say it again. A lit cigarette will not ignite fuel, no matter how many TV shows and movies show it happening. It will either be smothered by the liquid before it gets anywhere near generating enough heat for combustion, which doesn't happen in the liquid but happens in the off-gasses, or it will smolder until it burns out unless by some miracle the off-gassing reaches LEL (Lowest Explosive Level) before that happens. Please stop.

-- You could, however, use a lit cigarette to start a fire in a library full of parchment. It would take a little effort, but you could do it. But despite having a lit cigarette on hand at the time, Laura takes the easy route and uses a match.

-- It seems that Sweeney's bad luck only hits him when he's not around Laura, which sort of makes sense since he's also near his coin at those times.

-- It's interesting that Sweeney is still heading to New Orleans to see someone who I presume is Baron Samedi, since he was only going there to help Laura and she's not with him anymore. That's sweet. I hope he's the one who rescues her from Argus' domain.

-- Sweeney seemed genuinely hurt when Laura chose to go with Wednesday instead of him. I'm 'shipping those two so hard.

-- Argus isn't in the book, nor are any of the Greek Gods. Neil stated that he decided against featuring any of them since they get used so much more often in popular culture.

-- New Media just isn't working for me yet, although I know it's way too early to judge. I miss Gillian Anderson's celebrity impressions.

-- Laura's dad was a drunk. Now we know why he wasn't at the wedding. No word on if he's dead or alive.

-- I wonder what Wednesday is going to need the seedling for?

I know I'm sounding like I didn't enjoy much about this episode, but that's really not true. There was a lot of good stuff here, and many, many little details that show that someone was really putting their heart into it. I just wish that some of the storytelling had been a little clearer.

Three out of four creepy eyeballs.

Mikey Heinrich is, among other things, a freelance writer, volunteer firefighter, and roughly 78% water