#and the coloring leaves these shitty white lines around everything and its bugging me really bad but its late and im eepy

[draconic-distress]

since you’re doing pokemon, have you ever heard of….

Greyskyshipping, the beloved ship of hugh and nate????

..if you’re fine with drawing that i’d be super happy. don’t have to if you don’t want to though!

GREYSKY SHIPPING YAAY :) they're silly i like them

[spartanguard]

even death won’t part us now (2/?)

Summary: Two covens, both alike in dignity, / In fair New York, where we lay our scene, / From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, / Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes / A pair of star-cross’d lovers take their life; / Whole misadventured piteous overthrows / Do with their death bury their sires’ strife. (Captain Swan + West Side Story + vampires. But not as sad. Probably.)

rated M | part 1 | AO3 | 3.9k words

A/N: I was going to post this update yesterday but *life*. We really get into the story, though—I hope you enjoy it! Thanks again to @optomisticgirl​ for being an awesome beta; to @thesschesthair​ for her amazing art; and to @kmomof4​ and @cssns​ for putting this event on and pushing me to continue this story!

say what you will about Glee, but Darren Criss’s version of this song is amazing

part two— the air is humming, and something great is coming...

2020

The sun was setting on another day, just like it had for the last 5000-plus. At least, Emma figured the number was up there; she’d stopped counting around day 4,588. Which was really an absurdly long time to count considering her days were no longer numbered, but old habits died hard, even if she never would.

She’d accepted that fact somewhere around day 4,040, which ironically was her 40th birthday. But instead of dealing with gray hairs and wrinkles and aching joints, she was still in her 28-year-old body, fairly spry and with exactly one white hair blended into her blonde. (Not that she could see it in the mirror anymore—or, you know, anything—but she knew it was there and that was all that mattered.)

She knew she’d finally settled into her new life when she was looking forward to drinking the deer blood she had at home and not longing for chocolate cake like she had the past several birthdays. Well, she still wished she could eat it—real food didn’t digest properly anymore—but the blood sounded just as good.

“It probably took me about that long to come to terms with it, too. Longer for your dad,” her mom had told her about the revelation.

That had been another epiphany: that the kindly undead couple she’d somehow ended up on the doorstep of—David and Snow Nolan—were her parents. Her actual birth parents. You know, the ones she’d been looking for her entire mortal life? (Had once dreamed would save her from one shitty foster home after another until she finally gave up hope, and instead turned to counting the days until she moved again?)

As it turned out, they’d been attacked and turned shortly after she’d been born—which apparently had been in a backwoods cottage in Maine that her grandparents had owned—and were taking her to the hospital for checkup after the fact. They didn’t trust themselves to face their new reality while also in charge of an infant (an infant with delicious-smelling blood, no less—creepy, but true) and so finished the journey to the hospital, but left her there alone.

Coming to terms with that had taken 1,187 days. There would have been lots of tears, were any of them able to cry; but instead, there was just a lot of emotion, which Emma had never dealt well with. But she was getting better. Who knew the kind of personal growth one could achieve after death? And it was a good lesson in how to handle (or not handle) things should the son she herself gave up ever manage to track her down.

(She looked—once, before she was turned. All she’d been able to find out was that he ended up in the foster system, too. She just hoped he was having a better time of it than she did. Well, had—he’d be an adult by now, wouldn’t he? Damn.)

So. Anyways. Sunset. Which Emma was watching from the roof of their building, which had become something of a refuge for her over the past 15 years. She had her own bedroom, but after so long on her own, being an adult suddenly under the same roof as her parents (who, despite being physically younger than her, still acted like her parents) was a bit stifling at times.

It wasn’t much, but it was her own space: she’d cobbled together a tent with some reclaimed tarps, filled with gently-used cushions, and on nice nights, would bring out a sleeping bag and let the lights and sounds of the city wash over her. It had been overwhelming at first—she kind of envied that her parents only had to deal with forest smells when they turned, and not the incredible everything of New York—but it had dulled over time, which she probably should have expected; it had only taken her a week or so to get used to the smell the first time, right?

That’s to say—the overwhelmingness did; she learned to tune things out and let them fall to the background. But her senses themselves were the sharpest they’d ever been, consequently making her even better at her job than she’d been pre-death. Having ethereal beauty compared to a mere mortal easily drew in most of her targets; her preternatural sight, hearing, and strength made it pretty simple to track them down and subdue them (she loved it when they ran); and she’d found out they were extra willing to comply with her demands when they were down a bit of blood. (It probably was connected to the whole your-sire-can-control-you thing but it didn’t last once they’d recovered from the blood loss and it kept her from murdering random ne'er-do-wells on the street; the lower a body count a vampire kept, the better.)

On a normal night, she’d be getting ready to catch another skip: either gussying up for a honeytrap, revving up her old Bug for a stakeout, or trying to track them down on Tinder while binging Netflix in the background (they kept up on technology...for the most part; she still wasn’t sure what a TikTok was). One thing a lot of the stories leave out is that it takes a long time to build up the kind of wealth and decadence you see with old vampires; even Emma’s parents still had to work, 40-odd years into this thing (David was an after-hours vet and Snow taught night school) and their townhouse was not rent-controlled. 

Of all the vampire media out there, their existence was far more What We Do In The Shadows than Twilight.

(Emma had always preferred comedy anyways.)

God, she was really getting sidetracked tonight. Anyways. No one was working because it was the anniversary of her being turned—her rebirthday, so to speak—and her mom was very much Leslie Knope when it came to anniversaries, but especially this one, given that it marked them finally coming together as a family.

That, and they were all going to get drunk.

“My class is a bunch of assholes this semester—I need this,” Snow had gushed earlier that week, grading papers behind their blackout curtains. (Vampires didn’t sparkle, thank god—at least, not without the help of glitter—but they were dangerously susceptible to sunburns, so the whole pale thing was accurate.) “And David—you’ve worked every weekend the last month; they can definitely operate without you for one night.”

“I put in for it a month ago, dear,” he tutted as he gathered the laundry, placing a kiss on her cheek as he went. 

They were definitely one of those nauseatingly cute couples, so it was a good thing Emma’s gag reflex was dormant. And, though she’d never admit it, she was a bit jealous that they’d been able to find—and keep—something that had evaded her her entire mortal life, and likely would for her afterlife, too.

Every now and then, a flash of blue eyes blinked into her vision; the same pair she’d seen on the night she transitioned. She still wasn’t sure they were real, and her parents genuinely knew nothing when she’d asked, so she never did again. The fact that she hadn’t ever seen them again, despite knowing just about all the vampires in this part of town (for better or worse), had her pretty convinced it was a mania-induced hallucination. But damn, was it a good one.

“Emma, are you ready?” Snow’s voice pulled Emma from her daydreams (nightdreams?). “It’s time to go,” she shouted—not loud enough to annoy the neighbors, but enough for Emma to hear.

“Coming,” she replied, then took one last glance at the night sky. Maybe there was something different in the stars? She didn’t know; she just had this feeling that something was going to change tonight. 

She brushed her hands down the skirt of her light pink dress; it wasn’t what she’d usually wear, but since this wasn’t her typical honey trap, she’d borrowed a dress from Snow. It was definitely sweeter than her taste, with its pastel color and A-line skirt, but just cut low enough to not be demure. Her high ponytail fell somewhere in between. Her fangs would probably take it in another direction, but it’s not like she was going to pose for photos—she only just showed up in those.

In a moment, she was back in the house, grabbing her purse and joining her parents (who equally straddled the line of sweet and seductive; it was a vampire thing). 

Out of nowhere, a flash of light blinded her. “Seriously?” she cursed, blinking away the temporary blindness, only to see her mother holding a Polaroid camera. That was the one thing that could document them; thank god the hipsters over in Greenwich Village had clung to them.

Snow just grinned and shook the picture while David lectured, “It’s not like we got to see you off to prom or anything.”

“Yeah, but are you going to do this every year?”

“Yes,” Snow stated matter-of-factly, smiling at the photo before setting it aside. “Now come on; there’s a bloody mary calling my name.”

“Where are we going?” 

“That new underground club at 43rd and 10th. Figured we should try it, and it should be trouble-free.”

‘Trouble’ meaning the Aurum coven. Emma still hadn’t figured out the reason for this centuries-long blood feud, but she did know that she’d been dragged in on the side of Coroza, under a woman named Cora; turns out Walsh had been one of her cronies. And it normally wouldn’t affect her, save for the fact that her parents were turned by someone in Aurum (led by the mysteriously mononymed Gold) and that had dangerous implications, not to mention the rising tensions between the two groups as they began to encroach on each other (and each other’s feeding grounds) on the Upper West Side. 

“You sure? That’s awfully close.” 43rd had become an arbitrary border between the two factions, and there had been more than a few skirmishes while people were on the prowl for a midnight snack. She’d had a couple close calls of her own while tracking down skips in the part of town, but had somehow managed to evade notice.

“It’s on our side of the street,” her mom shrugged in response and grabbed her purse.

(Why one side couldn’t just move to another part of town, Emma didn’t know, but she was definitely aware of how stubborn vampires could be. And she wasn’t going to move; there’s no way they’d be able to get a place like this anywhere else for a reasonable price.)

She’d hardly gotten out the door when a familiar scent caught her nose—and not necessarily a welcome one: Graham.

“Uh, hi, Emma,” he stammered, while giving her a shy yet adorable grin.

“Hey,” she answered back, not meeting his eyes—and instead finding Snow’s, who was intently studying the sky. Snow had been trying to get the two of them together for at least 10 years, and while Graham was a great guy, a good friend, and handsome to boot, Emma had never been attracted to him like that. A fact that seemed to keep falling silent on Snow’s ears despite her enhanced hearing. 

(His blue eyes were pretty, but they weren’t the pair that kept haunting her.)

Given the sudden awkwardness that settled over the group—because that was apparently something you had to deal with whether you were dead or alive—it was up to Emma to break it. Not that she had any skill in that department.

“Alright, uh, let’s go,” she said with little confidence, and set off towards the club, with the others falling in behind her; Graham stayed close and if she wasn’t mistaken, attempted to put an arm around her, but she walked a bit faster to avoid his reach. The bar was only a few blocks away, which they could normally cover in less than a minute, but they had decided to blend in with the crowd tonight; it was nice to be normal every now and then.

But still—every now and then, the hairs on the back of Emma’s neck rose, and it had nothing to do with Graham’s proximity. Something was coming; she just didn’t know what. 

That wasn’t for her to worry about tonight, though. Tonight was for fun and drinks and dancing. And once they got to the darkly-lit club, that’s what she focused on for the next hour or so—

—Until her gaze locked with the blue eyes from her dreams.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Killian took a deep breath as soon as he exited the jetway—and immediately regretted it. He didn’t know why he expected LaGuardia to have changed at all in the past 15 years. Despite all the reconstruction, it still smelled the same: of old coffee, questionable sushi, and stale humans. (The latter was a double-edged sword: despite eating shortly before he got to Heathrow, there had been a few delays before takeoff and he was feeling rather peckish now, although nothing here seemed appetizing. Which was probably something he had in common with mortals at the moment.)

He didn’t know why he’d assumed that he might have been routed through JFK this time—why would he think Gold would care enough to properly welcome home his best operative from abroad after 15 years?—but he tried to push that ire to the back of his mind as he summoned an Uber.

At least the delays meant he landed just as the sun was setting; his previous plan had been to hang around the terminal until dusk, so at least this prevented any awkward encounters with some overtalkative Midwesterner on their way back to Cleveland. Signs pointed him to the ride share lot, and a gentleman named Marco was waiting to take him home.

On the ride into the city, he marveled at how New York always seemed like a living, breathing thing, constantly evolving and changing. He could still sharply remember the dusty bustle of the town more than 200 years ago, the sound of carriages running over dirt and cobbled streets. He’d watched as the city grew, sprawling both across and beyond the Manhattan island and up into the sky, the smell of horses and people and sweat replaced by the acrid stench of exhaust (although, even his extra-sensitive nose had gotten used to it in short order). 

So it was both surprising and not to see how much the city had changed even in the last 15 years, most noticeably in the skyline: the Twin Towers were still fresh in everyone’s memory when he’d left, so to see the new One World Trade Center in their place was a bit jarring. But the sun still glinted golden off the skyscrapers the same way; pedestrians still hardly waited for the crossing signals to give the okay to go; and though he wasn’t in a yellow cab, a language barrier still lay between him and his driver. 

Cash tips were understandable to all, though, which Killian handed over once they’d arrived at his apartment building on 34th—the Chelsea side. He’d owned his flat since the building was constructed, which was fairly impressive, but did require him to occasionally change the name on the paperwork lest anyone notice anything suspicious. 

(Someone had figured out at some point that it was helpful to have an ally in both the Social Security office and the DMV; Archie and Jefferson traded off every 20 years or so in order to help create revolving identities for the members of the vampire community. The name on his ID at the moment was Kyle Johnson, and during the past 100 or so years since he’d been required to have one, he’d also been Killian James, Ian Joseph, and—though he had to admit, he’d picked this one just to see if he could get away with it—James Hook.)

And thankfully, he’d had a reliable roommate for the past 80 years. “Honey, I’m home,” he called out after braving the still-shaky lift to the top floor.

“About bloody time,” Robin called back from the couch. “You know I had dinner ready for you before you left?”

“Ha,” Killian answered. “I’d hate to see what that looks like after all this time.”

“Oh, I let him go. And good thing, too—he ended up writing Hamilton.”

Killian had barely poked his head into his musty bedroom before he returned to the living room. “You didn’t actually have Lin-Manuel Miranda in here, did you?” To most people’s surprise, Killian was a bit of a theater nerd; the West End was great, but he was looking forward to catching up on Broadway again. 

“No. But maybe that’s a good strategy if we want to get tickets.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

His stomach grumbled in agreement.

Robin chuckled. “There’s a bottle in the fridge you can have; figured you’d be hungry when you got back.”

Killian tossed his luggage in his room and emerged again. “Have I ever mentioned that I love you?”

“Maybe a few times over the past several decades.”

He downed the bottle quickly; the black blood market never gave the best stuff—considering the type of mortals who would be willing to sell their blood for money and didn’t qualify to sell plasma—but it hit the spot in a pinch, and every now and then had something good. This definitely wasn’t, but it sated his thirst long enough to take a shower and wash the airplane off of him.

As he stared at the fogged mirror with nothing looking back at him, rubbing his palm over his permanently well-trimmed scruff, he realized he hadn’t yet checked in with Gold. Even if he’d spent the last decade-plus doing the man’s bidding from abroad, it was still easy to forget about him.

Well, mostly—until he glanced back down at his blunted left wrist. Then it just brought ancient memories to the surface, as fresh as the day they’d happened, no matter how many centuries had intervened.

Which reminded him: he was still missing something. He shot off a quick missive to Gold as he pulled some clothes out of his depressingly dated closet (having left anything more modern in a consignment shop in London), managing to put together something vaguely timeless. But before he dressed, he turned his attention on the nightstand drawer.

He slowly pulled it open, though he knew what would be inside: his hook, as sturdy and sharp as ever, with its well-worn leather brace. Sure, he had a fairly modern prosthetic hand—one that TSA didn’t mind so much—but the hook had come first, and was definitely his preferred artificial appendage. He hadn’t meant to go so long without it, but then again, he hadn’t expected his London assignment to take so long. 

(Although, 15 years to him was roughly the same as 2 or 3 to the average mortal.)

Slipping on the soft leather was like greeting an old friend (well, another one, albeit he’d known this one longer than Robin). And snapping in the hook settled a part of him that he hadn’t realized had been adrift all these years. It didn’t fully still the odd sense of anticipation he’d had ever since he landed, but he definitely felt more at ease.

With that settled, he finished dressing and then headed back to the living room and flopped on the sofa next to Robin. “When did we get a new couch?” he asked indignantly, inspecting the unfamiliar upholstery.

“As soon as you left.”

“And what was so wrong with the previous one?”

“It was from the 70s! It was hideous and uncomfortable and you know it.”

Killian could only sigh; Robin was completely right. 

“Anyways,” Robin continued. “We’ve plenty of time to argue about furniture but very little to decide what we’re doing tonight.”

“Why? What’s tonight?”

“You arrive back in North America for the first time in a decade and a half and you think that’s not a reason to celebrate?”

“Well, I was in Toronto a few years ago.”

“Still the Commonwealth. Doesn’t count. What do you want to do? There are quite a few people anxious to see you.” 

Well that’s good for them, he thought, but he wasn’t so sure of the same. The time away in the UK had definitely made him reconsider some of his connections back here in the States; getting away from the drama with Coroza had made him realize how petty he found it all. Though he’d never be completely extricated given that Gold was his sire, he’d definitely be alright with staying distant from the other frivolous disputes.

(And after spending a bit too much time in Brighton—particularly with some headstones bearing the name Jones and some rather divy taverns that were still somehow open all these centuries later—he wished more than ever to be free of Gold’s influence. Alas.)

He supposed he could placate them for one night, though; it’s not like he was going to sleep anyway. “Are there any new clubs to check out?”

“For you—plenty. For all of us...aye, there’s one that’s just opened up about...10 blocks away? Ish?”

“In which direction?”

“Up, but kind of midtown so it should be in the clear.” Meaning no one from Coroza would be there.

“Sounds fine, then,” he replied; after so many years, every club started to feel the same, but he was willing to give it a shot.  

It wasn’t long before he found himself dressed in a waistcoat and slacks that were trendy a decade ago, hoping his hair was styled appropriately (he stopped caring about 130 years ago), and waiting outside the apartment building of Robin’s girlfriend Regina.

“Jones, it’s the 21st century; why do you still have a fish hook on the end of that arm?” she greeted when she emerged from the tower, with a young vampire behind her. 

“It’s nice to see you too, Regina,” he tossed back. They’d known each other for well over a couple hundred years and this was just how they communicated. Nodding at the young man, he continued, “Who’s this?”

“This is Henry; he’s new.” The statement was matter-of-fact enough that Killian knew she wouldn’t say anything else. But he seemed friendly, albeit nervous, and Gold never complained about new vampires on their side—just Coroza.

It didn't take much for him to immediately think of Emma. His thoughts had drifted to her more than he cared to admit over the past years, wondering if she’d acclimated or if she’d burned out. It was definitely odd that such a brief encounter had left such a lasting impression, but at the same time, it had taken him well over 250 years to get over his first love; he was a romantic at heart, even if that heart no longer beat. 

He of course said nothing about it as they continued on; if no one had discovered what he’d done that night by now, he was content to leave it that way. There were other ways of him finding out if she was still around, such as—

—Such as the green eyes staring at him from the other side of the club, barely a minute after he’d entered it, freezing him in place.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

thanks for reading, friends! let me know if you want/don’t want a tag! @kat2609​ @xpumpkindumplingx​ @shipsxahoy​ @amortentia-on-the-rocks​ @mryddinwilt​ @cocohook38​ @annytecture​ @shireness-says​ @ohmightydevviepuu​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @wingedlioness​ @word-bug​ @distant-rose​ @wellhellotragic​ @welllpthisishappening​ @let-it-raines​ @pirateherokillian​ @bleebug​ @its-imperator-furiosa​ @fergus80​ @killianmesmalls​ @sherlockianwhovian​ @ineffablecolors​ @laschatzi​ @ive-always-been-a-pirate​ @nfbagelperson​ @stubblesandwich​​ @lenfaz​ @phiralovesloki​ @athenascarlet​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @snowbellewells​ @idristardis​ @scientificapricot​ @searchingwardrobes​ @donteattheappleshook​ @lfh1226-linda​

[ddaenghoney]

chapter eleven

masterlist link in blog description.

As a successful songwriter, you want nothing more than the acknowledgment that the chart-topping musical pieces are your own creations. But contracts, relationships, and the difficulty of facing the stakes involved head on, keep your mouth shut until pressure builds too much.

Pairing(s): Park Jimin x Y/N, Min Yoongi x Y/N

disclaimer: any characters depicted do not represent the actual personality of the respected idol in real life.

Series warning(s)/genre(s): Chapter-based written fic, Slow-burn relationship(s), Fake-dating, Unrequited love, Songwriter/producer!oc, idol!Jimin, idol/songwriter/producer!Yoongi, friends with benefits, drama, romance, smut, angst, fluff (updated as needed)

Chapter warning(s): none; just that sweet, sweet character growth.

Word count: 5302

if you enjoy please, please let me know!

You slide two fingers along the trackpad of your laptop, scrolling to the next page of song lyrics that you just finished the evening before. A more somber mix of words to fit the ballad that the group needed for their next album. You rub your jaw as you count syllables, checking the rhyme scheme, then your head tilts as you begin to discern whether the whole thing sounds understandable. Though the track’s ambiguous nature gives it character, deluding the true intention entirely isn’t what you want.

“You know,” Your eyes narrow at the interruption Namjoon’s voice brings, along with some cups of variously colored froths. He hunches over the bartop casually doodling art atop the latte’s white foam top as he continues along, “I think you should take a lawyer with you this time around.”

“What’s the point if I’m just going to resign to, likely, the same terms as before?” You sigh, curling a lock of hair around your finger as you think about the meeting upcoming in a few days. If it was like the first one there would only be Yerin, her secretary, and the company’s primary lawyer that wrote out the first contract.

“But that’s what I’m saying; if you bring along your own lawyer, then they can help argue some change.” He says in a small voice that’s mostly focused with perfecting the lines of a dog image. “It can’t hurt to try, right?”

“She’s just so dead set against any of what I’ve said about receiving credit before though.” You mumble, trying to get back to your own work with hope that he’ll drop the topic that he’s been bringing up periodically ever since you received notice of the meeting.

“You’ve worked for them for five years now.” Namjoon lifts up his head from the design, eyes decisively staring into your own as he speaks with conviction, “They owe you change, even if it isn’t a complete one-eighty from how things have gone so far. They’re shitty people if they don’t treat you like a human by this point.”

You smile at him, dryly speaking the reality, “They’re a business.”

“They’re only doing well because of you. That’s undeniable.” He smiles in return, bringing forth a bit of pride for you as his friend. Namjoon straightens up, stretching his arms as he nudges the drink towards you, “If you threaten to leave then maybe they’ll change their mind about the contract? Here take this, I’m still not good at this kind of latte art.”

Your chin rests on your palm while you glance to the drink. It presents a cute fluffy blue dog, with admittedly oddly positioned eyes. You refrain from laughter. “Looks better than the flower you tried last week. Thanks, Joon.”

Namjoon nods, moving the cups off with a smile as he turns to the sink behind him. Figuring he’s bugged you enough about the lawyer idea for the day he leaves it be, returning to the atmosphere before as he turns down the bar while Jinsol exits with two plates of food for customers.

“Yoongi was also telling me that I should get a lawyer.” You say on your own, not thinking that you could potentially give Namjoon hope that you’ll eventually agree with the two of them by keeping the conversation going. He turns back to you, wiping his hands dry on a rag. “Even said he’d get his lawyer friend to go with me if I wanted. Someone named Kim Taehyung.”  

“How much does he charge?”

“Yoongi said he’d do it for free as a favor to him,” You shrug, taking a slow sip of the drink to see if it was too hot. “They’re good friends and have known each other for awhile.” Namjoon nods, arms crossing as his eyebrows furrow in consideration to the news. “But you and Yoongi need to stop acting like Yerin won’t just drop me if I start talking about changing the contract this seriously.”

“Y/N, you’ve given them more than ninety percent of their musical repertoire. That’d be the most idiotic business decision she could make.” Namjoon frowns, trying to find a reason for why you’re unable to see how much of an asset you are for SoundWave even though they treat you oppositely.

“And I’d take away one hundred percent of their reputation if the public finds out how much I have to do with that, Joon.” You trace the circumference of the ceramic with your index finger, eyeing the art that had further disfigured after you took a sip. “They can go on without me involved, and there’s no reason to keep me if I’m just going to destroy everything they’ve worked for. Cost-benefit analysis is what they call it in the business world, right?”

“Well, no, but close enough,” Namjoon leans back against the counter. “To be honest, even if they give you just a few pieces credited here and there, that would be a big improvement, don’t you think? You could start there.”

You nod, hearing your phone vibrate beside your laptop to alert you of a text, but ignoring it so you can explain the most recent nail in your coffin. “But since I’m now ‘Yoongi’s girlfriend’ any credits they give to me are going to look suspicious as hell.” You watch Namjoon blink evidently not considering that idea before. He all the sudden sighs gruffly and rubs his neck,

“Fuck, I bet that CEO did that on purpose too.” You nod as his bitterly spoken assessment, having come to that conclusion previously. Considering how frighteningly calculative Yerin is, that’s definitely within the scope of possibility. “She really pisses me off, Y/N.”

“Me too, but, fuck, she does her job well, right?” You huff and then take another long gulp of the latte while Namjoon’s head shakes slowly in contemplation. “I can see why the board lets her handle so much stuff independently of them. She has everything figured out.”

A part of you is willing to believe she set the past five years up like a chess board, strategizing from the advent of their song contest. Perhaps only looking for one or two interesting enough songwriters to trap into the pawn slots and lead the company to success at exponential rates. The lens that seemed clairvoyant and absent of illusion in the pitch to work longer in the company, all selected carefully to tie into the bigger picture Yerin created.

With how finely woven the company is, collectively seemed together to stop the outside from seeing what truly goes on behind the scenes, it’s almost believable in retrospect that Yerin had this picture in mind from the beginning.

You’d like to think there are things unforeseeable, however. Hopeful in that respect, though you can’t grasp a thought of what would shake up Yerin’s disposition so that she would agree to new terms in your contract.

“Maybe I’ll take Yoongi up on his offer…” You ponder aloud, not catching Namjoon’s eyes open wider with excitement at your voice. You finally go to your phone, checking it to see a new message,

Yoongi, 4:56pm: If you’re not busy can you call me?

“You should.” Namjoon’s blurt is out into the air as an uncontainable rambling. One loud enough to catch the attention of other patrons if only for a quick glance. You smile at your friend’s eagerness to jump onto that little sway of opinion, watching him nod longer. “If you’re dealing with legal stuff you should involve a lawyer-- even if you don’t think it’ll help. Why not, right?”

“Legal ‘stuff’, huh?” You giggle when Namjoon rolls his eyes smiling despite you cutting him off to tease. “He wants me to call him, so I’ll ask.”

“Wants you to?” Namjoon raises an eyebrow, though the lightness of his lips insinuate he’s somehow pleased with your news. It’s your turn to roll your eyes, and then attempt shooing Namjoon off with your hand, but he doesn’t budge as he questions with a large smile forming, “Bet he misses you like you miss him-”

“Stop, you know it isn’t like that.” Your lips frown, wishing he wouldn’t bring that subject up even as a joke. Namjoon’s lips clamp, but his teasing expression remains, seemingly undeterred by your weak rebuttal. “Not actually dating, Joon.” Namjoon only nods to which you sigh, shifting on the stool to face slightly away from him. “He probably just wants to complain about it being cold where he’s at.”

“Okay,” Namjoon nods again, stepping once down the bar to start assisting with a newly entered party. “Warm him up with your voice then-”

“Fuck off!” You watch him scamper off like a startled cat, and shake your head at him hitting his hip against the corner of the bar. You bite your lip when Namjoon glances back at you with a pained expression from the collision, but nonetheless gives you a thumbs up to cheer you on in your phone call endeavor even though you think he’s acting ridiculous.

It takes only a moment to open the message thread with Yoongi, then click into the contact information to call. You skim through the lines on your laptop screen as quickly as you are able to while the line buzzes in wait. Three beeps and Yoongi’s voice registers in an answer,

“Hello?” He sounds somewhat puzzled and surprised and there’s a small moment that you think you should’ve texted him first, but you go ahead and respond,

“Hey, you wanted me to call?” The screen before you becomes a blur, its shine leading you to shut it close as you listen in on Yoongi’s voice when he says back sheepishly,

“I did, yeah. Just because I’m kind of bored here,” His volume lowers into a mumble as he goes on, making you smile gently. “Ah, but if you’re busy then don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not. Just looking over some lyrics, but I’ve been messing with them since yesterday practically nonstop, so I should probably take a break.”

Yoongi hums, recalling the texts back and forth the day before where you’d mentioned the words not sounding just right. Lying back into the armchair in the green room, he stretches an arm, voice as comforting to your ears as usual, “You at least went to sleep though, right?”

“Yeah,” You tighten your lips after the response, feeling a beat pass as you try and mumble the next part quickly and quietly, “At four, but-”

“Four?” Yoongi chuckles begrudgingly, rubbing his face with his hand, and then sighs in discontentment, “You’re worse than I am.”

“Is that a compliment?” You ask him innocently, trying to navigate away from the potential reprimand for your sleeping habits as if you hadn’t done the same in response to some of the unruly hours Yoongi has said he’s fallen asleep at too. He just laughs on the other side of the line, causing you to bite your lip and try a new conversation that you’re sure would be something he’d react to like Namjoon, “About the lawyer friend of yours… Do you think he’d still be available for the meeting?”

---

Kim Taehyung stands pleasantly in the lobby of the company when you arrive days later. He greets you with a bright smile that makes you wonder if he can actually be as intimidating as Yoongi stated he is in contractual meetings. With his perfectly wrinkle-free suit, clearly tailored for himself, and luxuriously bronze leather suitcase, you can at least say his appearance is telling enough that his finances at least back-up a success record.

“So just to make sure we’re on the same page from the conversation on the phone,” He gestures for you to enter the elevator before himself as he speaks, following you along inside. “I’m here mostly for appearances, correct?”

“Well,” Your voice is high, smile sheepish from the verbiage used to describe Taehyung’s involvement, “Yeah-- but I’d still like to argue a little for it, but,” You pause, thinking that your own disposition seems weak and not positive for the outlook you want to search for in this meeting. “I just don’t want them to fire me for arguing too much, if that makes sense.”

“Although it’s certainly not proper for them to fire you for something as common as negotiating the terms of your contract, I understand why you’re apprehensive to speaking up about it because of the inherent hierarchical differences between you and the CEO. Nevertheless, I’ll take your lead for how much you would like to push for adjustments.” Taehyung speaks with ease, words flowing like silk. Relaxing as it is to have someone like him ready to discuss details on your behalf, you still find the idea daunting.

Even if by some grand means you succeed in somehow regaining all the rights to songs you write and music produced, what will that make the company think of you? Beyond Yerin and the board of directors, exists coworkers you know fondly, some as friends, and some simply respected. People with their own ambitions and work that they try to build high like yourself, and now you stand in an elevator on the way to an office to potentially crack the glass of the established.

As you exit from the elevator on the top floor, Yerin’s head secretary rises from her desk with a smile of familiarity. She gestures across from her to empty waiting chairs, stating pleasantly that Yerin is currently busy, but the meeting is expected to go on as scheduled. You simply nod at her words, sitting in the seats with Taehyung while your mind wraps around the situation about to unfold.

You aren’t so naive to believe that she’ll shut you up from the first word of contention, but where beyond that she’ll let it wander is unknown to you. It’s unimaginable that Yerin’s face would even concave with any shock or fret about this topic, because there’s never been a moment that you’ve witnessed her out of control. The way that the company operates, is organized, stays on top is thanks to her collectiveness. Ethical or not.

Your phone buzzes, jolting nerves across your spine that collected in tense shoulders.

Yoongi, 1:57pm: Hopefully you’re not already in the meeting room, but I just wanted to tell you it’ll all be okay no matter what happens.

You exhale through your lips, reaching to fiddle with your hair as a smile tries to force its way on your lips.

Y/N, 1:58pm: About to go in. Thank you so much Yoon.

“Ms. Y/N,” Your eyes lift from your phone as the secretary calls out to you, “She’ll be ready in just a moment.”

You begin to nod, smile politely in return though the action freezes when the doors to Yerin’s office open. Because of the oddness of coincidences, you stare in a stunned silence as black boots clatter on the tile while Jimin walks out of the office, bowing his head in goodbye to those in the room as he does so. Profanity of different calibers jumble around in your mind, rising in internal volume as the door behind him shuts and Jimin’s eyes find your person.

A moment feels like it freezes, as though crossing paths is unheard of to the both of you. In reality, you’ve both spoken to one another since the party, as short and dismissive the comments in various meetings were. But outside of that space, there’s something unnatural about passing along each other still. You know it’s mutually felt, because Jimin’s eyes remain on you longer than they should, returning your stare that unconsciously questioned what he would do.

Then you wonder why he left Yerin’s office to begin with. Though she is not absent of communication with employees, the setting appears more formal, rather than a casual check on how he’s been. With his manager nowhere to be seen, it leaves the question unanswered as Jimin finally steps along.

Returning focuz from you, he goes to the elevator unspoken. Like he would’ve months ago while you were both secretly involved, but in the current time, it leaves your throat with a tiny knot. Words and actions of the party flash through your mind, and you try to shake it off when the sound of the elevator dings off to your side. You just look at your phone,

Yoongi, 2:00pm: Let me know how things go afterwards, I’ll be here to listen.

Jimin steps into the elevator, turning on his heel to face the front and reach to click the button to his floor. His eyes moves reflexively towards you once more, curious of why you sit evidently waiting to speak to Yerin. He bites his lip, worrying in his thoughts of what she had just mentioned to him, but the tension in his jaw subsides as he takes in your expression. A soft curl of your lips gazing down at your phone, reminiscent of times in the past, Jimin can’t help but remember in that moment.

As the elevator door shuts, he feels every morsel of air filling in his chest that wants to be expelled, but his lips stay in a blank line, while Jimin stares at his blurry silhouette reflected in the elevator door. He has no right to feel the prickling that fights with the oxygen in his lungs, but the image of your brightened expression is infectious to his focus in a way that doesn’t feel good. Regretful.

Jimin shakes his head, sighing as long as possible. He watches the reflection’s arm move with his own as he strokes back his hair, suddenly hit with a harder wave of that emotion. The emotion that was never about you and always about himself. Unchanged still, as he learned from that meeting that went absolutely no where he wanted it to but to further doubt his own capabilities in his career.

He blinks, lips pursing into a frown only to stop a groan from escaping. He instead clicks his tongue, stretching his neck as the elevator stops on his floor. No matter what you’re there for, Jimin hopes you get what you want out of it. The thought strikes him into a standstill when he steps through the door. Jimin’s lips part, wondering why the selfishness escaped from his mind just like that.

In the waiting area before Yerin’s office, the secretary rises as a man exits the elevator. You know from past times that he’s the head contract lawyer, and the memories of his snarky way of speaking nearly cause your eyes to roll outright, but you just hold it in exhaling a breath instead. Taehyoung looks through his phone beside you, presumably through his calendar from your vague glimpse to it, so he’s unaware of the lawyer feet away casting him a look that turns into a stunned stair.

Your eyebrow raises in interest, gathering that in one way or another through the lawyer community, you suppose, that he recognizes Taehyung. You leave it be to speculation, not taking the initiative to alert Taehyung to the lawyer’s somewhat hostile stare because he quickly scampers off into Yerin’s office anyways.

Any kind of reputation to garner that reaction you’re happy with, if you’re honest. That lawyer always pissed you off with his disrespectful deposition anyways.

“Ms. Baek is ready for you both now.”

Taehyung stands before you, doing nothing to question the long sigh that you make. Gathering that you loathe the meeting and are evidently nervous, he thinks the reaction is rather common. Still he’s encouraging when you finally stand beside him, smiling optimistically at you with a thumbs up acted out with his free hand.

The contrast of the other lawyer’s reaction to how mellow Taehyung acts towards you makes you snicker, and return the thumbs up. A little lighter on your feet from his easy to along with personality and Yoongi’s gently comforting texts, you lead the way this time, entering through the doorway as the secretary politely opens it for the two of you.

“So he was her to represent Ms. Y/N, after all.” Nam Dohyun greets the two of you before Yerin who sits calmly in her desk chair ignoring the jab-like remark of her lawyer. “Kim Taehyung independently representing two of our employees now. How coincidental, I wonder if you’ve asked your other client to hand out business cards for you.”

You think the argumentative way Dohyun speaks to Taehyung is odd, considering the fact that meetings like this tend to have outside lawyers assist the employees. Up until now, you’ve likely been one of the odd few who have refrained from seeking independent advice, so perhaps there’s animosity in the business relationship between the two that you don’t know about. You assume the other client Dohyun referred to is Yoongi, which allows your mind to speculate shortly that in the merger maybe there had been alterations made in Yoongi’s contract or other negotiations. Definitely something if Taehyung is already seen in a threatening manner as Dohyun leads you to believe.

“Referrals only, actually.” Taehyung smiles pleasantly, though rather feigned as Dohyun and you feel the chill he sends out. Yerin sighs, standing from her desk,

“Mr. Nam, watch your tone.” She gestures with her hand to the long table set aside for smaller meetings such as this one. “Let’s continue this there, since there are more people than anticipated.”

“This should be a short meeting, I believe.” Dohyun speaks first as the two parties sit across from one another. He reaches into his suitcase to bring about the paperwork as he continues along. “Because there’s been no true push for change, I’m happy to assume that the terms of your contract are still very suitable to what you want out of your position here, ma’am. Financially, I’m positive it will only become more lucrative as the company continues to grow and your royalties continue gathering how more money than someone such as yourself would know what to do with.”

Your lips tighten into a line as Dohyun’s insulting, calm voice rambles irritably along. Refraining from showcasing the annoyance, you try to keep your mind occupied on Yerin as she sits across from you poised. Her eyes follow the path the contract makes across the table, and she’s empty of fervent emotions, simply monitoring the ordeal until her voice is needed.

Taehyung slides the top copy in front of you, while he takes the bottom one for himself to skim through. You finally break away from trying to extract any information about the state of Yerin’s attitude from her expressions, and join in a fast read through. Entirely similar to the first one you signed years earlier, but the percentage of earning through royalties is raised by a considerable margin.

You consider its new amount as a move from Yerin. She knows you’re dissatisfied, and even if Dohyun acts oblivious to that fact, you believe the entire board would have information about the fact. So this increase in revenue, which would tremendously strengthen your financial assets is put in place as an attempt to nullify your mouth. Maybe Yerin thinks money is where the discontentment stems from.

“I’m sure you recognize the pay increase you’ll be receiving through royalties in this new version of the contract. All other terms are kept the same. However, because of the assistance your work has done to bring so much success to the company, we believe that you deserve more recognition through improved finances. It’s quite a lucrative opportunity for someone as young as you are.”

Though you pay little attention to the verbal ego stroke of Dohyun, you nod absently to his words, flipping the page as you try to search for any other changes. Even though he said royalty percentage is the only difference, you give a chance that there is more. A surprise alteration that would actually make you ecstatic in the way that money would never do. But there is no such thing.

It makes you bite your inner cheek that you’re so hesitant now to sign again where years earlier you were so eager you barely cared about listening to Dohyun ask you to take a few minutes to consider. Perhaps it’s maturity, or just dissatisfaction.

You glance towards Taehyung who sits waiting for your reactions to the contract. You slide the paper back to him, not catching Yerin’s eyes narrow slightly from your actions.

“My client is actually interested in adjustments to the contract that are unrelated to finances.” He says fluidly, pushing their contracts to the center of the table so that there is space for his briefcase as he sets it down. “Using her last contract, I revised it with new points of what she desires to change.”

Yerin takes the contract from Taehyung as he stands to properly hand them off, while Dohyun snatches it with a small, unhidden glare. She reads through it silently, while you watch with an increasingly heavy heartbeat. Trying your best to ignore the rumblings beside her from the company lawyer, you instead cast all your attention to Yerin who undoubtedly is more important for how this will play out. She sets the contract down, prompting Dohyun to sit upright and ready himself to speak until Yerin raises her hand to keep him quiet,

“Y/N, I’ve told you before that allowing you to receive public credit for songwriting and production will only lead to dissent from the public. It’ll irredeemably tarnish the reputation of SoundWave and every single idol or group that works out of the company, as well as those of us involved in the original terms of your contract from the beginning.” Her hand rests back on the table as she finishes her direct speech, nothing more than the smallest crease of her brows to indicate that Yerin is at the most irritated that you have continued to bring this argument up.

You feel Taehyung’s eyes as he looks to you, waiting further to gauge how far you’re willing to take this attempt. But the indecision of what you want feels like a tormenting battle, because what she says is true. Undeniably, there would be so much negative repercussions for this change, especially if any word gets out that the artists have all been simply lying about how much they work for themselves.

Even if you are rightfully owed acknowledgement that the creations are yours, it’ll come at the cost of so many careers and reputations that it feels greedy. You know it’ll do more harm for SoundWave than good for you in the public’s perspective, but it hurts watching everyone around you claim what you made is theirs.

“I realize that.” You say carefully, hands in your lap knotted into fists to help you maintain composure. “That’s why the contract only specifies that a certain percentage of music would be properly credited to me. The idols will still largely be seen as the songwriters and producers that the public think they are, I’ll just be added in like some of the other names you allow into the credits.”

“Which songs? At your discretion or ours?” Yerin asks rhetorically, earning an irritated glower from Taehyung who still sits beside you in silence to let you lead. “And what happens when this contract’s terms aren’t enough to satisfy your selfish desire to have your name in all of the albums? Are we simply supposed to grandfather out the perception that our idols are self-sufficient until it has transferred to being completely engineering by songwriters and producers behind the scene, and assume the public will simply be on board to go along with such an outrageous idea?”

You sit still, watching as Yerin’s sentences end leaving her with visible scowl. Clearly annoyed now. Similar to the anger that she expressed towards you, Yoongi, and Jimin months earlier, but presently it’s because of your own stubbornness. Though her own unyielding demands are also to blame, so tension releases from your fists and your eyes tighten into a glare,

“Your plan right now is to continue to lie to the public. The reputation of this company is already destroyed, it’s just waiting for them to find out. Keeping me locked in a contract that forces me to lie with you all isn’t my fault. I didn’t make the original contract that puts business gain above public trust. And frankly, I’m not trying to ruin SoundWave right now, I just want my name next to my songs. The artists still sing them, perform them, make money from them-- this whole company capitalizes ridiculously off of my work, and all I’m asking for is my name to be public.”

Beside you Taehyung watches curiously, a bit surprised that the eruption of a speech left you with such an intense disposition opposite to how nervous you were when meeting with him at the lobby. But this closer resembles what Yoongi mentioned about you to him.

Yerin’s erect posture falters as she reclines back into her seat, eyes fixated in angry slits towards you still. Not as menacing, shifting towards a bothered stare as composure appears to regain itself in her.

She examines you, knowing you’re miles from your comfort zone, having never spoken to her like this before. There’s not a single moment in the history of you at the company where you’re appeared so set in the fire of argumentation, and on one hand it’s mutually respected by her because she realizes completely that you’re just trying to fight for what you believe necessary. Yerin can’t fault that when years earlier she’d done the same for herself to get her to where she is today, but at the same time it isn’t a quality that she can reward in this situation.

“With the addition of your public relationship with Min Yoongi, it’s even more unlikely that the public will give positive attribution to your name should you begin to be credited outright. Your first exposure will be put under scrutiny because people will assume you’re using him for the work, or that he’s manipulating the company for his own gain. In either scenario, you won’t be well received. On top of everything else it’ll do to SoundWave’s reputation. For the sake of the company, and all of its employees, including you, I can’t let your terms be agreed to.”

Candidly said as it is polite, Yerin lets her decision take over the ambience. Spilling into every molecule of air, you’re left with no choice but to consider what she says as unchangeable. Just like you expected all along. From the first time you started to ponder the idea, you knew the outcome would be as it is now.

An uncredited employee is the extent of what you can be in SoundWave.

“While I understand you’re upset,” Yerin starts again, entirely calm. Like she’s won. “There can still be made adjustments into your salary and the royalties you earn as a way to mediate your frustration-”

“It’s not about the money.” You’re voice is calm too; flowing like drops into a lake that don’t disrupt the water. And your eye contact into Yerin’s is direct as well. Incomparably challenging from that of any you’ve made with her years earlier. You can tell by her slightest of frowns that Yerin realizes this is different from other times. Unwavering like you would have been even months earlier at the beginning of the year.

Yerin opens her mouth, to try another angle, but your head shaking is enough to make her stay silent, listening as you finish the meeting in a cut,

“I won’t renew my contract then. Once the time stated in it ends, I quit.”

if you enjoy please, please let me know via ask, comment, rb with tags– however ! i’d just really appreciate feedback 🥺 i hope you enjoy the series, i’m working really hard on it! : )

tag list (send an ask to be added): @jaiuneamesolitaiire @tsvkino-usagi​ @xionysus @baebyjoonie

[beesmygod]

this is what riverdale is about (part 4)

part 1

part 2

part 3

i’m back, to continue from where we left off. obnoxiously, i’m going to take a minute to plug my patreon, which is primarily for my webcomic but i also do movie reviews and talk about bad books i find so if you like these posts, you’ll probably like those as well. all i ask....is one dollar a month.

anyway fuck that let’s get back into this.

images are from the riverdale wiki

SEASON ONE (PART 2):

the last picture show: immediately this show reveals that our beloved jughead has been living in a nearly abandoned drive-in that he also works at. too bad for him, because it’s closing down. hilariously, literally nobody in his circle of friends cares and call his make-shift house a crack den. owned. its revealed an anonymous buyer purchased it from the town and the mayor decided to sell it to whoever.

archie brings flowers to his teacher-girlfriend’s recital and when he and grundy (and his dad) head to pop’s for a good ol malt or whatever, betty confronts him about his relationship. betty is hurt when he says grundy believed in him when no one else did and goes home with renewed purpose: take grundy down.

veronica’s mom is caught having a heated argument with a member of the southside serpents gang next to a dumpster by cheryl who, as she delights in misery and disaster, captures it all on camera. she shows veronica, who confronts her mother who brushes her off.

betty lures grundy into a fake interview for her school paper instead of going to the police. betty seems to be determining all of this based on the fact that she didnt have any social media until a year ago, which really makes me question betty’s journalistic bonefides. its framed like this means she didn’t exist before she got a twitter or whatever. its really weird. more relevant is that the only record of a geraldine grundy.....WAS AN OLD WOMAN WHO DIED 7 YEARS AGO!!!!! she takes this information to archie as well, who doesn’t care at all. he’s way too horny to care.

betty breaks into grundy’s vw bug and finds a gun and her real i.d. with her real name. archie is still too horny to care, even though betty (again, really overstepping her journalistic bounds) says that grundy might have killed jason (BASED ON THE EXISTENCE OF A GUN BETTY!!! COME ON). archie finally asks grundy straight up what the fuck is going on and she cops to trying to escape from an abusive husband, hence the gun and fake names.

jughead finds out that archie’s dad’s construction company won the bid to destroy the drive-in. its a bad time to be jughead. he tries to ask archie’s dad not to tear down the drive-in. through this convo we learn that jughead’s dad was fired from andrews construction several years ago for theft. a scene after this reveals that veronica’s mom is facilitating the purchase of the drive-in with the mayor pn behalf of her incarcerated husband.

i’m so glad the wiki reminded me of this line, word for word: everyone (and i mean literally everyone in town) goes to the drive-in for one last hurrah, where the southside serpents are guffawing up a storm. veronica somehow silences them by saying “You know what happens to a snake when a Louboutin heel steps on it? Shut the hell up or you’ll find out.“ it sucks so bad. veronica then witnesses her mother having an encounter with the same gang member who she is revealed to be paying to drive down the value of the drive-in property so hiram lodge can buy it for cheap.

archie and grundy are caught in a passionate embrace after betty’s mom reads her diary and goes on the warpath, rightfully telling her to get the fuck out of town or she’ll reveal her to be a child molester. grundy agrees to leave and archie is heartbroken. the last show of geraldine this season is her ogling two teen boys. horrible. leave, woman.

jughead leaves his shitty home and on his way out is accosted by the same gang member who was talking to hermoine lodge and is revealed to be....JUGHEADS DAD!!!!!!!!!! whatever.

heart of darkness: the town is abuzz with jason’s upcoming funeral and the teens of riverdale are fighting over who gets to take the dead kids spot as captain of the football team in a really normal and not at all super ghoulish way. archie is working his heart out now that his favorite teacher/pedophile has fled town. he has his time wasted by a member of the pussycats, valerie, who nets him a meeting with a music songwriter who tells archie he doesn’t have time for his shit. its a weird and totally pointless scene in the long run. it doesnt matter because archie’s music thing never comes to anything. the guy tells archie later, when he returns with sheet music, that his songs suck shit and he hates his music and to get out of his office.

jason and polly’s (betty’s sister) relationship seems to be at the center of whatever happened to jason, so betty starts asking around town about her sister, by using dates as a cover to ask probing questions to members of the football team. she also tries asking her father, who explains that polly and jason had a fight, polly tried to kill herself and so was shipped off to a mental institution. learning about jason’s death fucked her up again so they shan’t be exposing her to more sordid info about the events. the only information they get is that jason was selling drugs to raise money to leave town.

betty and jughead trace this thread to find out why jason would want to leave town but veronica is already finding out firsthand after she is invited to the blossom mansion for the world’s worst sleepover before the memorial (cool timing): the blossoms are all insane. they make their money on maple syrup, using the funds to build riverdale as we know it. veronica and cheryl bond over their awful parents and versonic encourages cheryl to act out at jason’s memorial FOR SOME REASON. KNOWING FULL WELL WHO CHERYL IS.

demonstrating extremely normal judgement, betty and jughead plan to raid jason’s room during the memorial to find clues. cheryl goes full hamlet, throwing herself on the coffin and weeping during her eulogy. they use this as cover to sneak away and go commit the worst social faux-pax you truly can do. however, they are interrupted by cherly’s senile grandmother, nana rose, who mistakes her for polly and reveals polly and jason were engaged. 

betty takes this information to her father who reveals he already knows but forbid the arrangement because the blossoms and the coopers have been trying to kill each other for decades over the whole maple syrup empire thing. betty and jughead later suspect her dad broke into the sheriff's office to steal his files related to uhhh everything i guess; a hunch which turns out to be correct.

meanwhile veronica’s mom is sent a live snake by the serpent gang, calls big strong fred andrews to come save her and then asks him for a job.

faster pussycats! kill! kill!: first of all fuck, the name of this ep.

archie, for some reason because i guess he doesn’t know what embarrassment is, decides he’s going to play an original song he wrote for the school talent show. he immediately gets stage fright at the try-outs and wusses out. veronica goes behind his back to sign him up anyway. thanks, asshole!

valerie, from the last ep, quits the pussycats because josie is slightly more stressed than usual about uhhh the talent show. also because she has a crush on archie for some reason.

hermoine, while acting as fred andrews’ new secretary, realizes he’s fucking BROKE. why’d he hire her? who knows. too late now. she suggests firing some people (for example............her, maybe, fred) but fred cant bear it...and is hoping to be saved by the newest construction job he doesn’t know that hermoine is manipulating under the table. much like his son, fred is now too horny to care and they make out while veronica watches awkwardly.

the remaining pussycats try to figure out what to do about their missing member problem. josie’s mom helpfully lays out that they need a strong woman of color, but not one prettier or more talented than josie. enter...VERONICA!!! who is miffed because archie replaced her with valerie in the talent show duet. veronica is now scientifically less pretty and talented than josie by show standards, which just rules because i love thinking that there are teen power rankings in riverdale.

betty and jughead make their way to visit polly at The Sisters Of Quiet Mercy which is literally the best name for a goth cover band in the world. surprise! polly is pregnant with jason’s baby. polly reveals she and jason planned to run away together, but she was caught by her parents and sent away. she then awkwardly asks how jason is and someone has to break the news to her.

josie’s dad makes a brief appearance, which i absolutely do not remember at all. i thought he only showed up in season 3 which makes mayor mccoys character arc way more awkward. anyway, the mccoy family, the andrews and the lodges all have dinner together to discuss business and its awkward as all hell. no one at the table likes the andrews.

betty straight up asks her dad if he killed jason and her mom laughs her ass off at the idea of betty’s soft white suburban ham shank looking dad being able to kill a weed much less a human. keep that in mind.

veronica’s mom forges veronica signature on a form allowing andrews construction to move ahead with the job.

jughead and betty kiss after talking about how they arent their parents. keep that in mind. anyway, betty takes jughead to a car polly mentioned that full of EVIDENCE. they take picture of it and leave the car to go tell the sheriff because i guess suddenly no one has cellphones.  jughead and betty return with the sheriff later to find the car has been light up by an unknown person. almost immediately after, bughead tries to rescue polly at the institution only to find she’s already bailed. welp.

josie and valerie make up and all four pussycats perform. josie’s dad walks out on her performance? harsh. cool dad moves.

archie sings and the crowd loves it. who gives a shit.

a kid died, guys. come on.

[sheepydraws]

And So They Lived (6/6)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 

Ulrich pretty much just dropped into bed by the time they got back to their room, but after his mid-freak out nap earlier and the late dinner that Jeremie had squirreled away for him Odd was too wired for sleep. He sat down at his desk and rummaged around for his favorite pen and a fresh notebook. It was spiral bound with a flimsy cardboard cover. Odd dicked around for a few minutes, scratching his name into the purple cover and then the eye of XANA under it, but he was stalling. He knew where he had to begin.

I brought my dog to school with me because I was afraid that I wouldn’t have any friends here. I have plenty now, but only because I brought Kiwi and Ulrich had the balls to dognap him.

Odd wrote all night. He kept expecting to reach a stopping point, but the words kept coming. Perhaps it was because he didn’t just include XANA attacks. He wrote what the world thought really happened, too. He wrote about Sissi, and the shitty things she did to them, and the shitty things they did to her. He spent more ink than he would care to admit on Yumi and Ulrich’s ‘let’s fight-let’s fuck’ relationship. He wrote about William and his betrayal. He wrote right through Lyoko’s final summer as they took everything apart piece by piece.

Something strange happened. A narrative emerged. Events took on a shape. Days didn’t just end, arcs did. Things didn’t just change, they grew. When he stopped to explain what he thought were simple things to someone who might not understand, stuff he had never stopped to think about finally made sense to him. He knew it all sounded crazy, but as a story it was a pretty cool one. He remembered that it had been an adventure.

He finished the dismantling of the supercomputer and the scanners sometime around one in the morning. Then he kept going. He wrote about school, and Elizabeth, and trying to live without Lyoko, and how it should have been easy. He got a bit disgusting and sappy, and may have made some terrible metaphors about Elizabeth’s eyes and the night sky, and he might have cried a bit about how it was never going to be the same between him and his best friends, but they were always going to be his best friends, whether anyone else remembered all they had done for him or not.

Ulrich woke him at seven. He was hunched over his desk, drooling on his own hand.

“I have to give this to Elizabeth.” He said before he had even sat up, although it probably came out more like, “I hafta givisss t’Lizze.”

“What?” Ulrich said as his head popped out the neck of the sweater he was pulling on.

“I said, ‘I love you’.”

Ulrich had just kicked off his pajama pants and stood there in his boxers for a minute, staring at Odd. Then he smiled. “Yeah. I love you, too.”

In the cafeteria Odd wolfed down two bowls of cereal and a hot chocolate before Elizabeth arrived. He got up and caught her before she had even gotten in the food line.

“Here.” He said, and he placed the notebook in her hands. “It’s everything.”

She idly flipped through the first few pages and then kept flipping. “Whoa.” She said. “It-“ She stopped on a certain page. “Am I in this?”

“Of course.” Odd said.

She closed the notebook and clasped it to her chest for a minute. She had this little smile that Odd though was going to turn into a laugh, but it became a kiss instead. Not a long kiss, not when Elizabeth was blocking the cafeteria door, and Ulrich, Jeremie, and Aelita needed to be kept from cardiac arrest, but a good one.

“Is that why you’ve been so crazy?” Ulrich said the second Odd was sitting down again. “You’ve been falling for Sissi?”

Odd gave him a mysterious smile. Then, because he hated that kind of bullshit, he said, “It’s why I wasn’t in our room last night.”

Ulrich’s eyes bugged out while Jeremie and Aelita laughed.

“You realize,” Jeremie said, “That once Yumi gets here, you’re going to have to tell us everything.”

“Yeah. I think I can manage that.”

It is impossible to separate this movie from the chaos caused by its trailers. Last year instead of the laughably bad slew of christmas movies everyone seemed to be talking about a trailer that had premiered along side “To The Top” (a movie whose only discerning feature is having ten percent on rotten tomatoes). It was rather tricky to discuss, though, since the trailer did not reveal a plot, title, or release date. It seemed like an advertisement for a boarding school, complete with bored student volunteers, bad lighting, and bland pop songs. The camera recording this waste of tuition runs low on battery and is shuffled around before being plugged in, at which point the screen slowly goes white and a symbol flickers across it before disappearing. Aside from a slide with the words ‘coming soon’ that was the trailer in it’s entirety.

People started talking, but thanks to hefty non-disclosure agreements, no one came forward to explain what was going on. The second and third trailers appeared almost simultaneously a month later, and caused even more confusion. One looked like a sci-fi thriller, the other a young adult romance. However, they shared the same title, Code Lyoko, and the setting and symbol from the first trailer.

Finally, writer and director Odd Della Robbia casually mentioned that he was behind the project while doing an interview with Teen Vouge. The director is best known for his work on Buried in Stars the sleeper hit of the summer movie season two years ago, best described as the surrealist, most vividly technicolor rom-com to ever grace the big screen. When the interviewer asked about the discrepancy between all three trailers, as well as the secrecy that surrounded filming, Della Robbia responded with,

“When I pitched Code Lyoko the first thing they said was, ‘How are we gonna market this? Is it a heartwarming coming of age story or a YA sci-fi thriller?’ and I said, ‘If I can’t convince you it’s both by the end of this, then we might as well scrap the whole project.’ I guess audacity still counts for something.”

‘Genre defying’ is a greatly overused compliment, and in my opinion, it dismisses the importance of genre. There’s something to be said for going into a horror movie and getting a horror. Of course playing too tightly to a genre’s guidelines without shaking something up can be dull, but so can a movie that tries too hard to include many different elements without properly following through on any of them. Code Lyoko, however, does manage to step outside genre lines without over-burdening itself trying to be three stories at once.

Della Robbia deftly mixes over the top action and teenage drama with the keen eyes of someone who has been there before. Though the movie follows several different threads, the core of the story is the small group of friends it follows, and Della Robbia never forgets that. Unlike Della Robbia’s work so far the style is simple and sharp, the colors muted and the lighting high contrast. Even the virtual world of Lyoko, which is a bit brighter and more cartoony, has graphics simplified to the point where they are almost cubist in feel.

This serves the plot well. The main conflict at the beginning of the movie is that Walter (played by John Beck) finds an abandoned computer, which contains a virtual world and Gemma (Gina Pedroza), a young girl who claims that she is a real person who is unable to devirtualize. Walter makes it his mission to fix this, and accidentally begins recruiting people to help his cause. Unfortunately, keeping the computer on so that Walter can attempt to understand the code that will free Gemma allows another program in the computer known as ZENAT to wreak havoc on the outside world. While this could be a movie all on it’s own, the group’s interactions with each other, as well as their parents and other students, along with several satisfying twists, completely fill out the story and make it unforgettable.

Interestingly, the technology examined in Code Lyoko bears a striking resemblance to advances in virtual reality being proposed by Nintendo that are currently being developed in a team with Aelita Schiffer and Jeremie Belpois [Article Here], and though the technology isn’t the  showcase here, it is rather shocking to think that this film could theoretically happen in five years time. Although that is not the only element that lends Code Lyoko uncanny realism.

The mixture of high school drama and thwarting an evil invasion shouldn’t work this well outside of an after school cartoon, and it’s not just the depth that Della Robbia gives all the story lines, as well as the fantastic acting, which allows these seemingly dissonant themes to gel. In a subsequent interview with The New Yorker after the film’s release Della Robbia said, “I remember when I first asked my wife to read a draft of the story. As soon as I gave it to her I started to overthink. She told me she liked it, but I said, ‘There’s kids fighting giant robots!…Are you sure I shouldn’t take it out? Or make it a metaphor for standardized testing or something?’ and she said, ‘When I think about high school I don’t think about taking standardized tests, I think about fighting monsters.’ so she saved the monsters.”

By injecting it with sci-fi terror Della Robbia has stripped the fantasy from teenage coming of age stories, allowing it to resonate long after you leave the theater. Five stars.