#work helped but now i’m back home and i can’t find any real distractions to help

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor anothology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist | cw: oral (reader receiving)

Part Ten: Permission

A/N: We're SO back!

You’ve never been so happy to work an extra day.

Johnny gets the shop to himself on Sundays for walk-ins. Usually, he mans the shop by himself but you need to record the cash income from the convention in the ledger. Sure, you could do that during your usual hours the upcoming Wednesday and catch up on sleep, but you have too much nervous energy coursing through you. If you were home you would just be stewing on your couch the hole day and probably spiral into a panic attack. At least here, with a task and Johnny yapping in your ear, you don’t have to think about the fact that you made out with your boss too much.

Fuck. You really did that. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

You woke up in a cold sweat, fingers brushing over your lips as you tried to decipher if it was real or dreamed. If you really kissed John, if he really held a hand on your lower back as he walked you home, if he really gave you a second, light peck before saying goodnight. The itch of his beard lingers, as well as the warmth where his hands cupped your face. It felt so good. So fucking good.

Then the context settles in. The fact that you kissed your boss makes you want to throw up - not for any dislike of it, just the fact that your job is now in limbo. Hanging in the balance until you can talk to him on Wednesday. At least you can take the next couple days to collect your thoughts - come up with a good apology that will hopefully let you keep your job and some semblance of dignity. Somehow make sense of the fact that you’ve kissed John and Kyle and surely when they find out they’ll think you’re a floosy. Loose and easy and pathetic and gross. You couldn’t quite meet your own eye in the mirror as you tried to get ready for the day.

The current, formerly “Future You” is not very happy with the now Past You. Frankly, you’d like to deck her for leaving you in this state of a permanent heart attack.

“Och, I’m about tae melt.” Johnny mutters, appearing from his room and stretching. His shirt rides up, exposing a thick happy trail that does not help you in your current spiral.

You just hum, gluing your eyes to the physical spreadsheet in front of you as you go through the sales from the convention. Numbers will clear your head. Yeah, nothing less sexy or more distracting than trying to do math with pen, paper and a TI-84 calculator.

“We should go get some ice cream.” Johnny leans over behind you, causing you to jump. Large hands settle on your shoulders as he rests his chin on the top of your head. At least Johnny is always touchy, you don’t have to read into it. You don’t think you could handle reading into it right now.

“Uh, yeah, okay.” You murmur, letting him lead you out of the office and flipping the out for lunch sign. You’ve been so lost in your head the entire day that you can’t fully pull yourself out of it - the same spiral of fears and self-degradation swirling around in your mind. A Cat 5 tornado of your own making. So stupid.

Johnny intertwines your fingers as you make your way down the street. Your hands swing lightly as you walk. Even with the heat, it doesn’t feel like too much. You’re not sure what it is - of you’re just comfortable or if Johnny just has something about him that makes touch feel perfectly natural - but it’s never overwhelming. Even when he’s hanging off you like a leech, it’s just Johnny. He doesn’t make you talk, doesn’t pry into why you’re so spaced out. He probably just thinks you’re tired. You are tired. So tired.

You don’t realize Johnny is saying something until he gently elbows your side. “Huh?”

“What d’ye want?” Johnny asks with a concerned furrow in his brow.

“Oh, uh, I can get my own-“

”My treat.” He shakes his head, batting away the hand pulling your wallet out of your back pocket. You have no choice but to give in to him - there isn’t any point in arguing with Johnny.

“Thanks for suggesting this.” You murmur, as you sit at one of the wooden, outdoor tables in front of the shop a couple blocks down from the tattoo parlor. The tables are covered in the shade of trees and an awning, luckily, keeping the sun from beating down on you. It doesn’t stop your ice cream from melting nearly faster than you can eat it, but you don’t have the heart to complain after Johnny took you out and bought it for you.

“Aye. Seemed like ye needed some cheerin’ up. Never seen ye so sullen.” Johnny comments, casually stuffing a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth. His eyes are sympathetic, though.

“Oh.” You thought you’d been doing alright at hiding it - came into the shop with a jokes and everything this morning. Sometimes it’s easy to forget how much Johnny actually notices between all his volume and energy.

“Gonnae tell me about it?”

“No.”

“Might help.”

You shake your head. “I- I’m- I can’t.”

“Okay.” He smiles gently, giving you a once over. His eyes are so sharp. The others do it too - take your body language in piece by piece. It doesn’t burn like when Johnny does it, though. His gaze is consuming, even when soft.

He seems to let you off the hook, though. It’s impossible to know how much he does or doesn’t know - how much any of them know. It puts you on edge, the inability to ask. After all, to ask is to admit. If you admit to it, you might lose it all. Fuck why did you kiss John? Kyle you can explain away - just a fun little bet. You’re close in age, he’s pretty, you’re together a lot, you get along. Nothing to it - even if it feels like there was. Even if it feels like every time you’re near him you’re going to melt and the air gets too thick and all you want is to pull him to the back room one more time.

John… John you can’t justify like that. He’s your boss. He’s over a decade older than you. Easily. He’s been so good to you but that’s not an excuse - it’s not right. You’re jeopardizing his place in his community. You’re jeopardizing your job. The best job you’ve ever had. The best friends you’ve ever had.

You can feel Johnny glancing at you as you walk, your eyes square on the ground and fists clenched anxiously. The heat outside only makes your head spin faster. Your cheeks feel feverishly hot. The ice cream almost curdles in your gut. Everything is too loud, too hot, too heavy.

You glance up at the clock. The day’s almost over - there probably won’t be more than one or two people that file in at most. You’ve finished with your work, currently just cross hatching on a sticky note in an attempt to calm your frayed nerves. It hasn’t worked. You need a distraction. A real, proper distraction.

“Johnny.” You snap, standing in the door way to his workroom.

“Hm?” He looks up, thick brows raised.

“I want a piercing.”

He cocks his head, taking you in from head to toe. “Aye?”

“If you have time.”

“I’ve always got time fer ye.” He grins.

You almost roll your eyes, but you’re too raw at the edges to really care about his usual flirting. There’s too much weighing on your mind - too much real anxiety knotting itself around your synapses and crushing them in it’s hold. The pain will help. It’ll ground you - sharpen your senses. You can focus on taking care of it for the next couple days between sleeping the days away until Wednesday. Until you can get this shit over with.

The only answer is to quit, right?

That’s your only option.

“What d’ye want?” Johnny asks.

You shrug. “What’d you think?”

He taps his chin, eyes slowly making their way over your body. You wonder if he can see how tense you are - body so locked up your joints ache and your jaw throbs. It’s a wonder your teeth are still there with how much you’ve been grinding them.

“How about a navel?”

“Okay.” You agree too quickly, flopping back on the pairing table. You focus in on a water mark on the ceiling above while Johnny digs through his tool cabinet, laying everything neatly on a small rolling tray.

Johnny stops above you. You don’t even turn your head to look, fists clenching and unclenching.

You’ll have to quit.

That’s your only choice. No reference calls, no contact. Will Simon hate you? Will they all? Will they talk about why you up and left? Will they show up at your apartment to demand an answer? No. You don’t mean that much - only a blip on the timeline of their shop. The corners of your eyes burn.

Johnny’s fingers skate over your soft middle, barely touching as he passes over the button of your jeans. He pauses, glancing down at you. “Bonnie?”

“Yeah?” You reply a little too harshly.

Johnny leans over you, hands on either side of your head, blue eyes burning through your skull. He blocks out the light above. “Yer doin’ this because ye want to, yeah? Not to punish yerself?”

You shrink into the table, hackles raising. It really is so easy to forget that Johnny is an observant bastard. Loud, brash, but he still sees everything. Like how he learned your coffee order by heart without you ever even saying it to him or having it written on the cup. He absorbs things, files it away, keeps it close to his chest and hides it behind his blunt, brash daily manners. You’ll miss him.

“I- yeah, I’m fine.” You wince internally at the shake in your voice.

“Y’know, we all love ye.” Johnny murmurs.

You huff, eyes darting anywhere to get away from his. Laying on the table suddenly feels slightly trapping. You can’t get your gaze fully away from where he stands over you - so close as his thick arms cage you in. “Guess so.”

“An’ there’s nothin’ tae feel guilty or bad about.”

Your eyes snap to his face, wide and worried. Does he know? Was he told? Do you ask? If you ask, you’ll be admitting to it. If you ask, then he will know for sure. If you ask, you might ruin it all. “I don’t-“

“Ye do.” He cuts you off. “An’ ye have permission, even if ye dinnae need it. It’s okay. Ye havennae done anythin’ wrong.”

You stare, mouth opening and closing lamely. Johnny. Straight forward, loud mouth, unsubtle Johnny. Fuck, you love him for it. Doesn’t dance around what he means. Doesn’t avoid what needs to be said - from his end, at least.

“Did- did you talk to-?” You stutter, struggling between needing to know and fear to admit the truth so blatantly. Even if he obviously knows something.

“Not really. Not my business.” Johnny shrugs casually.

Not his business. So they persue separately, you think. That makes sense. Probably. It’s probably wrong to make assumptions about the dynamic, about the implication that they have some sort of free for all. Then again, you don’t really know anything about their interpersonal workings much. They live together, they’re touchy. The dynamic is a mystery to you - only adding to the piles of confusion.

“Yer thinkin’ tae hard about it.” He pokes the furrow between your brows.

Oh. Is that it? You’re overthinking? No, adults talk about these things. You don’t understand the interpersonal workings here at all. Are they together? Do they just do this? Pull girls in and push them around until they get tired? That feels too cruel for them. They’ve taken such good care of you…

“I still… want to talk.” You murmur, cheeks warm.

His face softens, a light smile tugging at his lips. “An’ ye will. Kyle’s been damn near loosin’ it with ye avoiding him.”

“I’m not avoiding him!” You snap far too defensively.

“Sure ye aren’t.” Johnny shrugs, as if to tell you he knows that’s bull. Not his business, though, he said. “Just… donnae be so scared of us, aye? We’ve got yer back.”

Your shoulders drop, sore from being tensed for the entire day. “Okay.”

“Still want tae get peirced?”

You nod, chest far less tight. As though you finally let go of a breath you had been holding the entire day. “Sure, why not.”

Your shoulders slump as Johnny makes his way through the usual song and dance - showing you the freshly cleaned tools and marking the spot for the needle. Somehow the world seems… quieter. As if all the chatter in your mind had been just as deafening to your physical ears. It’s tiring. That same sting behind your eyes that you get after a long night out. Your defenses are down, and your body is finally at rest.

“Ow!” You gasp, lifting your head to meet Johnny’s impish grin with a glare. “A little warning next time!”

“Tha’s what happens when ye donnae listen.” He teases, slipping the jewelry through. “She’s cute.”

You snort. “She better be. Y’know I should tell John on you for improper conduct.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Aye, ye an’ Price know plenty about improper conduct.”

There’s no malice in the comment, or in the grin he settles on you. For once, you don’t freeze up. Don’t send yourself into a panic spiral over what he knows or thinks or feels. Johnny made himself clear. Instead you land a light smack against his arm and huff in embarrassment.

“Stand f’me.” Johnny murmurs after cleaning the piercing, a heat in his eyes that you can’t quite gauge the source of.

You do as you’re told, slipping off the table. You have to hook a finger into the waistband of your jeans to keep them up, cheeks hot as you realize how much is actually exposed with the fully undone fly. You glance up at a far too pleased Johnny. Didn’t even say a word, the mischievous bastard.

He drops to his knees in front of you. Your brows shoot damn near into the sky. Johnny mumbles something about making sure the piercing is sitting right. You roll with it, knowing he’s probably just saying whatever to get you to keep your pants undone a little longer. Your breath quickens as a large, warm hand flattens itself over your soft belly, unabashedly groping. Not that you mind, really, even if it does make your face so hot it might melt.

Your heart almost breaks out of your rib cage when he places a small kiss next to the piercing. His hand lowers, resting beside yours on the waistband of your jeans.

“May I?” Johnny murmurs, big blue eyes blinking up at you.

You have permission.

You don’t need permission.

You have it, though.

“Yeah.” You gasp, shivering at the cold air on your skin as Johnny pulls your pants halfway down your thighs.

“Pretty, pretty lass.” He murmurs, nipping at the softness of your belly and down to your thigh. “Look at ye.”

“Flatterer.” You scoff, attempting to let the tension melt off your shoulders with the usual snide remarks you slide each others way.

“M’just honest…” Johnny mumbles absently, fingers catching in the hems of your underwear. “Ye always walkin’ around in somethin’ this skintie?”

For a moment, your brows knit in confusion. That is until he pulls back and snaps the string of your thong against your hip. Your face somehow gets even hotter and you grumble out a poor excuse of, “S’laundry day…”

Your hips twitch as he traces between your lips through the cloth. So uncharacteristically slow and methodical for Johnny as he feels you, like he’s trying to memorize it. A shamefully harsh jolt runs up your spine as he presses just slightly into your clit.

“Sensitive little thing.” Johnny grins up at you. You swear the devil has a less delinquent grin.

“It’s been a while.” You shrug, aiming once again for casual and missing by a mile.

His grin only grows, eyes bright and hungry. “Let’s get these off.”

You shimmy your hips a bit to help him get both your underwear and jeans completely down. A wave of shyness overtakes you as it settles in that you’re utterly exposed to Johnny, your friend and coworker, in the middle of your workplace just as the sun has begun to edge down close to the horizon. It’s almost too much, and you almost yank your pants back on with a stammered, fake excuse, but Johnny soothes his hands up your thighs, gaze locked onto your pussy like it’s the only thing that exists and yeah… you want that.

You have permission.

“There she is.” He cups you gently, grinding the heel of his hand against your clit just hard enough to make you gasp.

Before you can say or do anything his hand retracts and Johnny settles you with the most serious look you’ve ever seen from him. It looks wrong, almost, on that face that’s supposed to have a permanent ear to ear grin.

“If ye want tae stop, I need ye tae tell me now.”

“No.” The word leaves you before you can even register the thought - desperate and breathy.

It earns a low chuckle. The only warning you get before Johnny licks a long stripe up between your lips, letting his tongue rest on your clit for just a moment before repeating the motion as though he’s not just eating you out but truly trying to truly get a taste for you. To memorize you as he drinks you in.

“Should let me give you a Christina…” He murmurs, pulling back to look at you.

“Ah, wha-“

“Look so pretty on this fat little cunt.” Johnny gives you a light smack for good measure, grinning at the visible jolt that travels up your spine before diving back in. He hooks a leg over his shoulder, leaving you balancing on your tip toes with your hands flat on the table behind you. It’s precarious and with absolutely no room to escape the attention he’s lavishing on you. It’s almost desperate, the way he moves. The way he devours. A man utterly starved.

“Fuck-“ you gasp as his tongue piercing catches your clit. Rough hands knead at the softness of your thighs and hips, urging you to press into him, to take as much as he’s giving.

“Tha’s it, ride m’face…” Your fingers lock into his mohawk and Johnny’s slurred words become the most pornographic moan you think you’ve ever heard. He practically goes limp - body relaxed and pliant while you grind down onto his tongue.

You tilt your head forward, risking looking down only to meet those big blue eyes staring up at you with all the intensity of the sun. A shaky moan passes your lips and his eyes flutter.

“J-Johnny-” The whine of his name only spurs him on - has him pressing his tongue so deep inside you and drinking you in full.

If he has any complaints about the way your heel digs between his shoulder blades as you unconsciously pull him closer, he doesn’t make it known. His nails rake over your ass, biting and stinging in contrast to everything else. It’s so much. Heat continues to pool at the base of your spine - babbling words, please and moans spill messily from your lips.

Your climax catches you off guard as Johnny sucks harshly at your clit; lighting your body aflame with only his mouth. Every muscle inside you tenses and the sounds you let out can only be described as strangled whines.

You have to yank a little at Johnny’s hair to get him to stop when the overstimulation reaches just the wrong side of too much; he’s well and truly lost in the moment. It fuels your ego to dangerous heights - the idea that this gorgeous man became that intoxicated just from your pussy.

There isn’t even time to say anything before Johnny is standing and connecting his lips with yours. You taste yourself on his tongue, his lips - somehow this is the first time you’ve found that pleasant. With heavy breaths you watch him wipe around his mouth his his palm, only to exaggeratedly lick and clean what’s left off his hand. Fucking sinful.

“Nasty man.” You sigh, too blissed out to be truly critical. Johnny winks and you roll your eyes.

“S’about quittin’ time.” He says, tilting his head to look up at you through thick lashes. “Should get ye home.”

You frown, still trying to come back to earth as you glance down. “Don’t- do you want-?”

He looks you over, your mouth goes dry as his hand drops from your hip to adjust himself. The implications of the outline through his thick denim has your head reeling and your breath quickening. Johnny chuckles at you, surely seeing it written plain across your face. You might as well start drooling and panting like a dog.

He buries his nose into the crook of your neck to nip at your skin. “Another time. Want tae savor ye.”

You shiver, unable to stop the smile that quirks up the corners of your lips. You have permission. You don’t need it, but you have it.

A/N: Sorry if this is a little rough, I'm getting back into the swing of things. It's finally time for things to get fun, tho ;)

Also please give some love to this AMAZING fanart from @eurydicescurse

[stilesscott]

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[watchyoubloom]

like i’m falling into you | drw x sfk x reader

2K words | all fluff | lots of kissing | title from “honey” by chance emerson | sometimes you want two boyfriends and you want those boyfriends to be boyfriends, okay? and so what?

summary: you and sam cook dinner while you wait for danny to come home. the three of you get a little distracted catching up.

(this is dedicated to @hearts-hunger , my fellow “i want two boyfriends” brainrot haver, mainly bc i love her but also to cheer her up. maddie, ily ❣️) (and a special thanks to @allieisacrybaby for the read through and encouragement to post even though i was nervous! ily forever ❣️)

A/N: a very gentle reminder that this is fiction and does not in any way translate to reality or my actual thoughts on the two pretty best friends this is about. kapeesh?

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“Are you sure I can’t help?” You ask Sam again, watching him chop the veggies you’d picked up from the farmer’s market earlier that day from where you’re perched atop the counter. “I feel bad, just sitting here.”

You and Sam had decided to whip up dinner for when Danny got home from his round of golf. You had already prepped everything else, the timer on the oven counting down, and Sam had taken over prepping the fresh veggies for a salad.

“Nope,” Sam answers you, making sure to put extra emphasis on the ‘p’. He gives you a faux-serious look and points at you with the tip of the knife he’s using. “You already did most of the leg work. Just sit there and look pretty, please.”

“I will try my best,” you fake mild concern, giving him a little salute and earning yourself a wink.

Sam finishes cutting the bell pepper in front of him and sets the knife down, stepping over so he’s in front of you. He eases in between your legs, your knees bracketing his hips, and reaches up to twirl the strand of hair that’s fallen loose from behind your ear around his finger. “And look at you, succeeding already,” he says, his eyes drifting from your own down to your mouth. “You know what sounds good, though?”

You quirk an eyebrow up and dance your fingers along the nape of his neck, having draped your arms across his shoulders the second he got close enough. His hair is thrown up in a loose bun to avoid it getting in his way while he cooks, but there’s the ever-errant strand at his nape, and you twirl it in the same way he’d played with your hair. “What’s that, Sammy?”

“A kiss.” His hands have found your hips and smooth back to your ass, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter. Closer to him. “Or a few kisses, maybe.”

“Is that right?” You ask, but don’t give him the chance to answer. You cup his face in your hands and draw him to you, and he kisses you sweetly. His hands make their way under your t-shirt, smoothing up your back, and then he grasps your waist, thumbs stroking along your ribcage.

You kiss soft and slow, with no real intent behind except to be close to each other. Sam’s hands wander, as do yours, and your legs wrap around his waist to keep him as close to you as you can.

Neither of you hear the front door open, or Danny’s amused chuckle when he finds you in the kitchen. It’s only when he says, “Oh, hello,” that your brain comes back to Earth long enough to realize he’s home, and you pull your hand from where it had been cupping the side of Sam’s neck to reach for him, continuing to kiss Sammy while you do so.

Danny sets his things down and walks over to the two of you, taking your hand as soon as it’s in reach. He stops once he’s behind Sam, banding his free arm around Sam’s middle and resting his chin on his shoulder.

You pull away from Sam then, a little dazed, and grin when your eyes land on Danny.

“Hi, Dan,” you greet him, pulling your hand from his to cup his face in your palm. You’ve got a hand on each of their cheeks, now, and the way both of your guys are looking at you has your head in the clouds. You lean in and give Danny a quick kiss. “How was golf?”

“Pretty good. Shot two under.”

“Course you did,” Sam says, turning to press a kiss to Danny’s cheek. He pulls back and looks at him for a second, taking in his appearance, before turning back to you. “Someone didn’t wear his sunscreen,” Sam sing-songs softly, telling on Danny, and it’s only then that you finally notice the tell-tale smattering of freckles across his nose, the tint of red across the tops of his cheeks.

“Daniel,” you pretend to be stern, but can’t help but smile when he turns his face and presses a kiss to your palm.

“Oops?” He says, and Sam laughs as Danny tickles his side in retaliation for pointing out his sunburn. “I was gonna wear my hat all day.”

“Would that be the one that’s sitting on your head backwards?” You ask, and Sam laughs again, earning him another squeeze of Danny’s hand at his side. He jolts and giggles a little, but can’t get away with Danny bracketing him against you and your legs still on either side of him. You take pity on him and distract Danny by tracing the pad of your thumb faintly across his cheekbone. “Does it hurt?”

“Nah,” he says, shrugging his shoulder. “Now. Let me in on these kisses, please.”

You oblige immediately, leaning in to press your lips to Danny’s. His free hand, the one not currently resting on Sam’s stomach, joins Sam’s on your hip. You feel their fingers interlock, Danny’s fingers squeezing Sam’s gently. Sam’s other hand is still cupping the side of your face, and he holds you like he’s the one kissing you, holds you like Danny would if it were his hand on your face.

You feel Sam’s lips at your cheek, your jaw, your neck, and you pull away from Danny to capture them with your own. Danny copies what Sam was doing, starts littering Sam’s neck, his jaw, the sensitive spot behind his ear with little kisses. After a second, you withdraw and nudge them towards each other, watching as Sam cranes his neck enough to be able to meet Danny’s mouth from over his shoulder.

“Sammy,” you murmur after a moment, your thumb stroking along the side of Sam’s neck. “Come here.”

He thinks you mean for another kiss, which you give him, but then you turn him so his back is to your chest and he’s facing Danny. You hook your chin over his shoulder and kiss his cheek, then turn your gaze to Danny, who’s smiling softly at the two of you.

“There you are,” Danny says, his eyes flitting between the two of you. He copies what you did earlier and takes each of your faces in a hand, his touch gentle and warm. “Missed you guys today.”

“We missed you, too,” you reply, and Sam nods his agreement, your face moving with his as he does, since your cheeks are pressed together. “Maybe we’ll go with you next time.”

Danny’s face lights up, and you know right then that no matter the early hour, the next time he asks you two to join him, you’ll both be there. Neither of you are very good, but every now and then you like to go join him for a round and catcall him while you sip drinks in the cart, or let him try to adjust your swing or explain the types of clubs to you. You know it can feel a bit chaotic when it’s all of you, so you give him the chance to have a serious round most times- going with his dad or uncle or buddies who are actually decent at the game- but it’s still an occasional fun date for the three of you.

Danny’s pressed all the way against Sam’s front, now, and his hands drop down to rest on your upper thighs, bracketing Sam in. “I think that sounds great,” Danny says, and leans in to drop a kiss to Sam’s bottom lip before doing the same to you. “And I’m gonna hold you to it when neither of you wants to get out of bed to get to the course.”

“Could schedule a later tee time,” Sam grumbles, but he’s unable to hide his smile as he says it. His fingers dance up Danny’s chest and he hooks one behind the strip of buttons of his golf polo, the weight of his hand tugging the collar down a bit and exposing the patch of dark chest hair there. Sam’s head is still leaned back against your shoulder, and you kiss him on the cheek again. “Doesn’t have to be at the ass-crack of dawn.”

Danny laughs, not bothering to point out at eight in the morning isn’t quite the ass-crack of dawn. Sam has never loved early wake up calls- considers anything before ten to be too early- and is well known for his tendency to cut off his alarm and roll right back over in bed.

“I’ll see what I can do, Sleeping Beauty,” Danny replies, one of his hands coming up to cup Sam’s face again, thumb stroking across one of Sam’s now slightly pinker cheeks. “Anything else?”

“Don’t think so, no,” Sam replies, as primly as he can muster with the smile still tugging at his lips.

“I have something,” you interject, raising a finger in the air. You turn it and crook it towards you in a come hither motion when Danny’s eyes find yours, and then pucker your lips expectantly.

Sam and Danny both laugh and oblige immediately, with Sam turning his head to kiss your jawline while Danny leans in and presses his soft lips to yours. You reach over Sam’s shoulder to cup the side of Danny’s neck, and feel as Sam leans in to kiss the other side, always an active participant.

Danny takes turns kissing the two of you, soft and sweet and slow, until the timer going off breaks all three of you out of your haze.

“What’s-“ You start, still a little drunk off kisses. The timer beeps again and brings you back to Earth. “Oh.”

“Oh, damn,” Sam says, sliding out from between you and Danny. He looks over his shoulder at you. “Good thing we remembered to set that timer, hm?”

“Mhmm,” you say, watching Sam put on oven mitts and take the dish out to sit on the counter. Danny slides into the spot Sam had been occupying between your legs, leaning down so his elbows are on the counter on either side of your thighs. It puts you at a slight height advantage over him, and you grin, taking his face in both hands and kissing the tip of his nose before pressing your lips to his again quickly. “We were clearly all very distracted.”

“Don’t go getting too distracted again,” Sam replies, a teasing lilt to his voice as Danny pulls you into yet another kiss. You can hear him puttering around the kitchen, grabbing plates and cutlery, and you start to pull away, to slide off the counter and go to help.

You’re stopped by two big hands at your waist, keeping you in place.

“Dan,” you try to say seriously. “Let’s go help Sammy.”

“Yeah,” Sam chimes in from the dining room, where you can hear him setting the plates down on the table. “Come help Sammy.”

“Or,” Danny offers, and his eyes are on you still even though he speaks loud enough for Sam to hear, too. “And hear me out. We let the food cool for a few minutes and Sam gets his cute ass back in here so I can kiss you two some more.”

There’s silence for a beat, and you grin, your eyes dancing from Danny’s mouth to his eyes and back.

Sam appears back in the doorway to the kitchen. “We should wait for it to cool a little, actually…” He flits back over to the two of you, kitchen towel over his shoulder. Danny turns in your arms to face him, leaning back against you, and Sammy points at you, then at Danny. He steps in between Danny’s legs as he does so, and then drops his hands to rest atop your thighs, now on either side of Danny’s body. “But no getting too distracted.”

Danny salutes and you follow suit, nodding solemnly. “Ay-ay, Captain,” you say, and then reach your hand out to Sam. “Now come here, please.”

Sam is more than happy to oblige, taking his turn as the one doling out kisses.

(And when you end up having to reheat dinner in the microwave later that night, nobody really seems to mind.)

[bonemarrowrites]

To Rule The Roost

Contains:  M / M, Feral/monster x humanoid, dubcon, masturbation, voyeurism, fisting, bound, oviposition.

Explicit short story. A young fae wants to become a Gryphon rider, finding himself hired by a veteran flight master.

-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-

“Never expected to see an ash fae here. You’re kind rarely wanders away from your home isle. Yet, here you are, applying to be the gryphon aide under me. You do realize what that job entails, right?” Asked the flight master Trall as I sprouted back into the present, hearing griffins screeches outside the tall building had distracted me from the conversation.

Trall’s bulky human frame made his belly look like a large sack of flour as he sat on his chair and went through my papers. The Gryphon riders' colorful attire complimented his dark skin and made him look formal.

“Yes,” I answered and nodded enthusiastically to drive my point home, “I’ve always wanted to be a rider and someone told me this is a great way to learn the basics, before applying to the academy.” Before coming here, I had memorized a long list of useful lies to make myself the perfect candidate.

“I see…” Trall muttered back to me with a curious expression on his plump face. 

“Skinny boys like you can’t withstand the wind,” he blurted like he was trying to see my reaction.

“I don’t need to withstand it, I’m delicate enough to go through the wind wall without feeling a thing,” I rebutted, attempting to sound confident. My answer made the flight master snort, but he still looked unsure.

“Why not just go straight to the academy? They teach all you need to know and without. Assigning here might look good on your application, but it will only prolong your graduation if you’re even worth the effort. Taking the exam is the best way to get it,”  Trall’s tone sounded dismissive like he was talking to a young child who didn’t know any better. He didn't know I had taken the exam, thrice, and had failed each time. I knew I could cheat when I took it the next time, but I had to make sure my record showed that I had been somewhere where I might have learned the ropes. This was my only chance.

I composed myself, before telling him another one of my lies, “I believe if I want to be good at something I should learn as much as I can from those who actually work in the field. Teachers at the academy might teach me theory, but the real learning happens here.”

“You’re not going to learn how to fly without the academy’s approval,” Trall declared as if I didn’t already know that.

“I know, but I’m going to do other work, right? The Gryphon riders must also know how to take care of their steed.” The flight master's unwillingness had surprised me. The amount of promised payment had been significant, especially considering how little experience was required, but I was sure his aides' job wasn’t too hard to handle. After all, I had gotten this far, my letter must have made some sort of impression. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have wanted to see me and made me go through an extensive healer’s inspection.”

“I see,” he muttered again, giving one last glance at my papers. “You’ve been an adult for three summers now and your letter was very passionate, consider yourself hired.” The flight master stood up and held his hand out to shake mine. Quickly, I gave him a firm handshake and looked directly into his deep brown eyes.

“Thank you, sire. I’ll make sure you will not regret this!” I stated. The flight master slightly lift his right brown. My enthusiasm must have been a little bit too much. Yet, I actually was ecstatic. The second part of my plan had worked and I was on my way to becoming a Gryphon rider!

Trall waved his hand .“Follow me, better get to work now than later. The last aide’s death has delayed our annual schedule and we’re in a hurry.”

I did not know that. The poster I saw never mentioned why they needed help, only that it was urgent.

“W-what happened to the last aid?” I asked with a concern in my voice.

“One of the griffins kicked him down from the flight pen. He had forgotten to change his clothes after tending another tiercel. They’re very territorial, you can’t put two males together without them getting aggressive with each other. Skilled riders must be dominant and assertive when flying in formations, we can’t have fights within the group.” Trall’s explanation sounded reasonable to me. I made sure to remember that.

As we ascended the long flight of stairs, I took in the view. Even though we were in the mountains, the air here was hot. The warm desert wind blew right into the mountainside and the sun scorched the black rock paving it, making the air dry and sweltering. Had we stayed in the open a little bit longer, I’d surely been burned. My light grey skin was not meant to be under the sun.

“The health of these beasts is very important to me and it is your job to help me keep them healthy and happy. You could say your job is almost as important as mine.” Trall glanced behind as he said it and waited for my reaction.

“As it is to me, sire! A healthy force is a strong force,” I said smiling and the flight master shot a small smile back at me. I was getting through to him.

Trall led me into one of the keep’s many spires and to a wide, round room.

There was a large opening on the wall, which was decorated with a carved stone arch with a small bell hung next to it. It was meant for the griffons, they’d fly in one by one when the bell rang for… Some reason. I honestly didn’t know why.

Various tools were hanging on the wall and there was a chair placed next to them. In the middle of the large room, there was also a tall sawhorse with a simple, but weirdly shaped, saddle with a long seat. It was facing away from the opening of the room. Long leather straps dangled from the saddle as the warm breeze made them sway slowly.

“I want you to clean and polish that saddle,” the flight master commanded, “Taking care of it is a significant part of your job.”

As Trall sat on the chair I grabbed a few items from the wall and climbed the sawhorse to reach the saddle. With a clean rag, I began to wipe the saddle. My mother used to be a well-known leatherworker and she took me with her when she worked in her workshop. The skills I learned had become handy.

Trall watched me work from behind, leaning into the backrest as I focused on my work. Secretly, I tried to take a peek to see, if he was pleased with my performance and I saw him rub his crotch with his hand.

My cheeks flashed red and in my shock, I turned away acting like I hadn’t seen anything, still talking about how important each step was when it came to working with good leather. I heard him mumble in agreement and out of my curiosity took another peek.

The flight master’s clothed member was getting hard and he let out quiet moans while caressing his balls with his other hand. Unsure where he was looking I saw him lick his fat lips in arousal. I began my next step when I heard him get up and walk towards me.

“You’re very good,” Trall said and put his other hand on my shoulder. I was too embarrassed to turn to look at him, “It usually takes a long time for aides to learn the proper leather care.” With me standing leaning on the sawhorse, we were about the same length. I could hear him still rubbing himself as he stood behind me.

“That’s good. Hand me the tools and climb on top. You need to learn how to sit properly.” The flight master said and I handed him the items I had in my hands without looking at him. I mounted the saddle and was now slightly higher than him, feeling kinda relieved that he could reach me. Trall returned each tool to its rightful place and walked back to face me. He had stopped pleasuring himself and took one of the leather straps into his hands. Through his pants, I could see still his half-erect member.

“Lean forward,” he commanded and I did as he said, fearing what he might do to me.

Quickly, he pulled the strap over my head and buckled it tightly around my neck.

“Sire! What is this?” I yelped alarmed.

“I’m showing you the ropes. Your job is to tend my beasts and the only way to learn it is by doing.”

The flight master walked around me, tying me firmly to the sawhorse as I tried to resist. 

“Please, let me go! I will take care of the griffons, I swear! I will do my job!” my pleads fell on deaf ears, as Trall’s straight face turned to a smirk.

“My boy, that you will. This is the job,” he replied and patted me to make sure every strap was holding me down. The flight master then tore my clothes off with a knife, leaving me prone. I was bent over the saddle seat, legs wide apart.

“I knew immediately you didn’t know what you were getting yourself into when I met you, but as I said, our situation here is urgent and you were so ardent about this job.” with glee in his voice he added, “... And the best part is, according to your health report, you’re perfect for the job.”

I struggled against my bonds, the saddle seat rubbed against my naked shaft and nipples, slick from the musky polish I had applied mere moments ago. The leather felt slightly coarse and every move made me grind against it. Struggling made me pant from the heat and sweat ran down my back. I was fatigued, and as I stopped, realized that if I didn’t move too much, my posture felt rather good. The seat was long enough to support me without putting strain on my body.

The flight master had retrieved more tools from the wall.

“This will be much easier if you relax, but I warn you, the first time is always the worst,” he snarked and walked behind me, before I could ask any questions he slathered my hole with thick oil and pushed three fingers inside of me. I yelped in surprise and thrust forward, my body stroked my nipples and cock against the coarse surface of the seat making them hard. Trall stretched my hole wider and wider, adding more fingers each time he assaulted me and each time I thrusted forward involuntarily, stimulating my body even more. My cries turned into whimpers.

“The beasts won’t be as careful as I am, you need to learn to loosen up quickly, otherwise it will be painful,” The flight master attested. Soon he managed to push his whole fist into me, making my hole wider than ever before. While vigorously moving his fist, ramming it against the end of my tunnel, Trall began to pleasure himself again.

I sucked in a breath as the constant strain on my cock made me shoot cum between my body and the saddle. The flight master seemed pleased and pulled his fist out, leaving my gaping hole open. He walked towards the stone arch and rang the bell.

“You better get ready, your true test is just about to begin,” Trall laughed and walked back to sit on his chair. He dropped his pants, pulled his cock out and kept massaging his balls as a sudden whoosh of wind flew over me. I heard a loud screech and turned to look. 

There it was. A large male griffin, folding its huge wings as it stomped toward me, looking curiously at its new servant. Long talons scratched the wooden floor with each long step. The oil Trall spread on my ass must have had something in it, the griffon’s large phallus flopped out of its pouch when it sniffed me. The cone-shaped thing almost touched the floor, already glistening with wetness. The beast shrieked loudly as it lifted its feline front paws on the sides of the sawhorse. The griffon bit my neck with its beak, the thick leather strap around my neck protected me from the damage, but the clutch made breathing harder.

“Oh, and don’t worry!” I heard Trall’s voice from across the room, “They might have feline legs, but their cocks are not barbed”

I whimpered as the creature began brutally pumping its member between my cheeks. The saddle was crafted so it slightly lifted my lower body up, it was meant to make anyone laying on it easier to enter, but the beast trying to mount me kept rubbing its cock on me. I whimpered beneath the monster as Trall watched my attempted breeding with exhilaration.

The tip of the griffin’s rod hit my entrance making me gasp in surprise. The next thrust missed it until finally, it impaled me deep within, the whole length of it disappeared in me until its knot pressured my opening. My tied body rose slightly as the shaft made my belly bulge from its girth. I screamed loudly until the beast bit my neck harder, making my voice fade.

Griffin re-adjusted its back paws before it pulled out and hilted its cock back in within me. The sawhorse below us tilted back and forth with each push. The agitation stimulated my whole body, building pleasure inside of me. Like a rutting animal, the monster showed no mercy towards my abused body. I spasmed from the frantic pumping, bending my tied legs as much as I could, making them numb. My opening milked the beast's shaft as its engorged balls smacked against my thighs.

The flight master admired the scene in front of him, pleasing himself while he watched me being broken in. His balls twitched as his throbbing cock shot string after string of white cum into the air. His chest heaved from the bliss, making his whole fat body shake. As he regained control over his body, he walked to me, his limp rod hanging free.

My mind had blanked as I limply laid beneath the monster, moving like a ragdoll on a string, when the beast drilled deep into me. With one last forceful thrust, it secured itself inside of me and let out a loud roar. The flight master laughed and cupped my face into his hand.

“Now you get to experience the best part,” he said, puzzling me with his words momentarily, “The Males of this breed carry eggs to be fertilized by the females. He’s going to fill you up.”

My eyes widened as I felt the first bulbous shape pressing against my hole. As it passed through, a scorching sensation filled me when the egg was pushed deep within my gut, assisted by flowing hot goo. Another one entered me, making my eyes roll back from the pleasure. I teared up when the beast kept me tightly in its grasp, laying eggs into me one by one. My bulging belly expanded pushing me further away from the saddle, only stopped by the leather straps holding my body down. 

Trall pushed his face against mine and forced his tongue in. Kissing me passionately. 

The griffin must have put at least six eggs inside me, before pulling out, the tip still leaking goo. Satisfied, it flew away, leaving me alone with Trall. I was tired as he carefully removed my bindings and lifted me from the saddle to the floor.

“Don’t worry, my boy” he said, there was care in his voice, “We will take them out after you’ve rested and then sell them to another breeder. You’ve done good.” Trall gently petted my enlarged belly, holding me in his arms, “Tomorrow, you know what to expect and will be prepared for the next breeding,” he whispered tenderly. 

I thought about the academy and about my dream of becoming a Gryphon rider. Now, I had another goal.

I couldn’t wait for tomorrow.

[picturesofthegoneworlds]

When Imogen wakes it is with an ache in her neck

a drop into reality unusually cushioned

a hand combing through her hair

and she can’t help the smile that breaks when she meets Laudna’s watchful eyes peering down at her, flushes shortly after.

“Sorry, did I fall asleep?”

Laudna smiles back at her, halts the hand playing with her hair.

“You did.”

An unspoken mutual agreement allows the moment to stretch in silence –

that or time is still fucky from Imogen only just waking up. It gives her enough of it to contemplate.

The sun must be high, the atmosphere muggy and the fauna all bustling as if it were a market day and the critters had stalls to set up and produce to bring home for their litters in the burrows. She feels the layer of sweat on her skin wherever the sun directly touches it, smells in waves where it heats the floor and diffuses the groundcover as if it were potpourri-

Above her, backlit - Laudna’s wearing a halo. The giant leaves of the giant trees are so high above them that the scale almost looks normal, the light breaking between the canopy in beams, sparkling in places where it catches insect wings and pollen, silhouetting edges of wiry strands of hair that act as though curtains on a canopy bed, all giving cover from the storm (should it come). It all feels so hazy, could be the vision starting to turn to grains of sand in her eyes like before a migraine but it’s also unusually clear, her head weightless despite the aching neck – funny what a handful of hours of good sleep can do.

The unspoken mutual agreement is ended.

“Did you rest well?” what did you dream about?

“I did, yeah...”

Unintentional, excusable really - waking with her defences down.

Wouldn’t be outta the ordinary to share.

“…dreamt we were back at Oddrún’s, was nice-” she withholds the details, just to save a little face. Exposes it anyhow, when she finds herself inadvertently taking the hand that had stilled in her hair, holding her palm up above her head with Laudna's lying flat on top of it “-then the roof caved in again and the place got swarmed with birds.”

“Birds?”

Imogen's thumb traces the knife-edge of the long nail on Laudna’s.

“Birds.” Imogen confirms, distracted, half-awake, giddy. The word already sounds funny; thrown back and forth between them. She chuckles at how her lips form around the repetition of it, says it again in Marquesian to see if it feels as abstract- that causes Laudna to quirk her brow from behind the fan of their fingers. “All different kinds, real cute and stuff, mostly. Place got furnished in feathers, was pretty chaotic - parakeets nestin’ in the cups and saucers and kingfishers in the rafters…” Laudna exhales a single syllable of a choral chuckle and Imogen has never felt so relaxed. “There was a kinda shady lookin’ big one standin’ on one leg in the corner by the hearth though, kept squawkin’.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, think it was a shoebill. You ever seen one of those?”

“You know, I’m not sure. I wonder if there was any significance…”

Their fingers interlace, under Laudna's initiative. Imogen stares at the long nails now reaching to her wrist like plates of fine ebony gauntlets.

“I could try draw it for y’all, but I don’t think it’d help…” comes out audibly distracted, the points of Laudna's talons gently making contact with Imogen's scarred skin-

“Allow me to get my notebook~” Laudna enthusiastically sings – nearly cutting Imogen, their hands separating - and Imogen is left staring at the empty space that was occupied by the shape that the two of them made, wonders if there is a word for that, like ‘bird’ - each hand a wing of some amalgamation, dream chimera, released between palms.

Probably a word she doesn’t have the language for.

Laudna unthreaded their hands and after that, she doesn’t move.

Imogen remembers her position in her lap

sits up abruptly on her bedroll, turning back towards Laudna’s skirts with the same instinct as for making a bed

“No, really, I can’t draw. It’ll just be embarrassin’. It won’t help any.”

“It’s good to draw regardless-”

Imogen would call what falls on Laudna’s face a pout. Hates that she is, unsurprisingly, intrigued to see what lines the pages of Laudna’s notebook. Apparently hearing inside her head is not enough.

Greedy. (maybe she’s hungry?). Gods, Laudna’s been sat cross-legged with Imogen's thick heavy skull in her lap for hours. How does Imogen show her gratitude?

“-have you even eaten? I should make us breakfast.”

She clumsily scatters away before Laudna has the chance to really answer.

(thanks as always to @distant--shadow for the illustrations <3)

[driftingvoid-155]

Not sure if this would be helpful to anyone else, but I went through and gathered all of Jeff's lines from Into the Pit!

Adding a divider as there's quite a few. Also, I apologize if I missed some. I went through a few different play throughs and this was what I found.

(entrance) night 1, before ball pit

You want another slice of cheese and a refill on the orange soda?

Oswald: Not right now, just checking around.

Well, have fun. Not much to look at other than dust bunnies and cobwebs. I don’t think they bite.

Oswald: The dust bunnies?

No, the wolf spiders.

Oswald: Jeff, those definitely bite.

Oh. Good luck, then.

(in ballpit room) night 1

There he is!

-

(entrance) night 1

Have a good night, guys.

Hmm…

Oswald: Wait – Jeff! I think something’s wrong with my dad.

He looks fine to me. The dust probably just got to your head, kid. Go home and relax.

Oswald: W-wait-!

-

(entrance) night 1

You’re here late, kid. Your parents know you’re here?

Oswald: Uh… yeah. Dad burnt dinner so… emergency pizza.

What was he making?

Oswald: … Ramen noodles

As in the microwave kind?

Oswald: Yeah.

Ah, yeah. Been there.

You forget to add water once and the smell haunts you forever.

-

(entrance) night 1

Shouldn’t you be at home doing some homework or something, kid?

-

(entrance) night 1

Oswald: Jeff, do you have a key to the basement?

First the ball pit, now the basement. Are you that bored, kid?

Oswald: Um… Yes? I just feel like exploring.

Well, let’s make a deal. Just between you and me, I don’t pay for trash and forgot to dump a bag at the mill earlier.

Go take that trash over there and I’ll give you the key when you get back.

Oh, but take this flashlight. Gets pretty dark out there.

Oswald: Thanks but… the battery’s pretty low.

Dig around the trash if you run out. Probably all sorts of interesting things in there.

Oswald: Ew…

-

(entrance) night 1

Oswald: All done

Thanks, kid. Saved my back.

Here’s the key, as promised.

-

(entrance) night 2

Don’t cause me trouble.

-

(dining area, jeff mopping) night 2

Oswald: Hey Jeff! Um, do you have any extra slices of pizza that you could give me?

Sorry kid, you know things have been tough lately. You want something, you gotta buy it.

Oswald: Oh, OK…

-

(dining area, jeff mopping) night 2

You’re here late, kid. We don’t sell slices after lunch, so if you want pizza you gotta buy a whole pie.

Oswald: Oh. Um… I’m good for now.

-

(dining area) night 2

Oswald: This should be enough to distract Jeff.  

Enraged customer: AHHHHHH A RAT! IT’S A DIRTY RAT!

New rat in town, huh? You picked the wrong place, pal.  

-

(about Jeff, Oswald in the kitchen) night 2

Oswald: Sorry, Jeff. I’ll try to find a way to pay you back.

Oswald: Jeff makes the pizzas here all by himself. Guess he can’t afford to hire more staff.

-

(entrance) night 3

You here to pick up a pizza?

Oswald: No, just hanging out.

Oh. Someone with the name Ima Lousirr called to place an order, but they still haven’t picked up their pizza.

Ima Lousirr. Must be new in town.

Oswald: Jeff, I don’t think that’s a real name.

Ima… Lousirr… *sigh*

Stay in school, kid.

-

Pizza Fan, about Jeff’s, night 3

The pizza used to be a lot better back in the old days.

Though I have to admit, ever since Jeff took over it got a lot cheaper. Quantity over quality I guess!

-

(arcade) night 4

Hey, kid. Been noticing you tinkering around with these old machines. I don’t mind but-

Wait… did you fix all of them?!

Where’d you learn to do all that?

Oswald: My Dad. He’s pretty good with machines. He repaired all of the equipment at the old mill when he worked there. Sometimes he’d sneak me in during the summers so I could watch.

Wow. I don’t really know what to say.

I’ve been letting this place go for quite a while now. Maybe it’s time I fix things up around here, too.

Thanks for your hard work, Oswald. Here, take this.

Don’t worry about the expiration date.

Oswald: Oh, wow! Thanks, Jeff! It’s… 75 cents off…

Least I could do for ya.

Oswald: What a deal.

-

(dining area) night 4

Hey, kid. Shouldn’t you be in school?

Oswald: Uh… not today.

…

OK.

You know where to find me.

-

(security office - Jeff playing solitaire) night 5

Oswald: Watcha doin’ there, Jeff?

What’s it look like, kid? Working.

If you barged in here to ask about the room with the ball pit: No, I’m not opening the door.

Oswald: Huh? What are you talking about?

Had to start locking the door because some hooligans keep sneaking in, and leaving those balls all over the place…

You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would ya?

Oswald: No! I mean, no, I have no idea. I mean, I do need to get into the ball- I mean, I left my jacket in the room with the ball pit the other day. Could you let me in there?

Ha, nice try, kid. You’re wearing the exact same jacket you wore when you went in.

Oswald: No I’m not! This is my… backup jacket. The other one has my, um, wallet. I kinda need it to buy pizza.

Oh, yeah that’s pretty important.

Here, take the key, but don’t go playing around that ball pit again.

Oswald: I promise I’ll stay out of there as soon as I’m done. Never wanna see that thing again, anyway.

That gross, huh?

Oswald: You have no idea.

-

(in dining area) 2 star ending

Huh?

That kid better not have gotten hurt in there.

*walks to ball pit room and pit bonnie, hanging from the ropes, lunges*

-

(3 star ending)

Creature dies in the ball pit ropes. Pizza place is full of customers and Oswald and his family eat pizza at one of the tables as Jeff serves them pizza.

[johnslittlespoon]

https://www.tumblr.com/johnslittlespoon/749533871172993024/tryna-study-but-puppy-bucky-brain-rot-how?source=share

ACTUALLY GOING INSANE RIGHT NOW, YOU GET IT SAM YOU GET ITTT.

I can’t believe I’m reading this at a wedding right now. I’m sitting in a corner far away from my family just in case. I may or may not be obsessing over this right now, who needs religion imma be praying to this every night.

The way Gale would never be harsh or mean to John and even when he is he never means it because he sees so much of himself in John (specifically him when he was younger) and how he knows what it feels like having a shitty dad and not feeling at home in your own house. He’d try his best to make John feel at home and safe in his house even if it does take a while. Even if sometimes John is “too much”/self-sabotaging, Gale sees through it and understands it’s just John is scared of losing him.

The way John would just walk around the house waiting for Gale to come back from work, literally trying to find anything to keep him distracted. He’d probably do some school work and if he doesn’t have any, do some housework like cook or clean the house (Like some type of housewife holyldkfijf, Gale would definitely tease him about it). And yes he would definitely raid Gale’s closet for his hoodie to chill around the house in it, maybe even fall asleep in it and Gale would come back from work to find him on the couch, hugging himself with the hoodie on. (Just imagining John’s smaller body wearing one of Gale’s big ass baggy hoodies…)

And oh how they would fight and how angsty it could get but at the end of the day both can’t be apart without each other and would eventually apologize and talk it out, how John would probably lock himself away after a fight but eventually come out and see Gale on the sofa head in hands and he’d just walk up to him and hug him. They’d stay there for hours on end just laying and cuddling and Gale would whisper sorry’s and comforting words/praises into John’s ear.

The oral cockwarming is so perfect because it lets John just relax and focus on one thing and that’s pleasuring Gale, which he loves and wants to do so badly (The people pleaser in him and also thinking it’s another reason for Gale keeping him around, whoops more angst. Obviously not the reason Gale keeps him around but John’s self-sabotaging is always there in the back of his mind.) Gale also returning the favor to John helps him see that he does love him beyond anything sexual and Gale knows this. In any situation, Gale would always show John just how much he loves him and genuinely appreciates him as a person and that he isn’t some kind of burden. The praises he whispers to John when he cockwarms him also help with that.

Anyway, *cough* *cough* can you tell I'm absolutely obsessed? Your writing and the things you come up with are just chefs kiss. Take your time and absolutely no pressure but I really can’t wait till you turn this into a full fic. THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME GOTTA GO BACK TO THE WEDDING NOW <333

linked post | PLSSS at a wedding lmfaoo no but that's so real. this leaving!bikerider shit is taking over my life fml

YES EXACTLY!! to tackle the angst first: there would be sooo many dots connected with gale's own childhood/upbringing/relationship with his dad that he would see in john, and it would make him even more fiercely protective and determined to make sure he never ever makes john feel the way his dad made him feel, or how john's dad makes john feel. when he's frustrated with john, he can usually trace it back to a behaviour he himself used to do, and he can realize that it's out of insecurity, or anxiety, or fear, etc.

he knows sometimes he just has to let john push and test boundaries, because as long as he patient and proves to john he will never raise his voice, or lay a hand on him, or abandon him, john will realize that he's someone he can let his walls down with and trust fully, and over time he'll stop feeling the need to push. he just needs to be shown consistency and stability and unwavering love. :(

there's also the fact that this is john's first longterm/serious relationship outside of highschool, whereas gale's had a lot more experience and time to learn communication skills (it's something he still finds himself coming up short with a lot though).

they're on very opposite sides of the spectrum when it comes to fights/arguments. for gale, some issues that might seem small/insignificant might feel really big for john; for example, the way gale words something after a long stressful day might sound at worst blunt to him, but to john it might sound like gale's being short and is angry about something john hasn't figured out yet, so then tension builds.

again, circling back round to insecurity on john's part because of how he's grown up, and circling round to gale needing to work on communication skills because he's not used to having to since he's usually on his own if he's not around friends. and yk, daddy issues on both ends lol.

i think also their ways of trying to resolve conflict would differ from each other, so it would be something they both have to learn to compromise on too. like you said, john is for sure the type to lock himself away or leave the house to get some air and calm himself down, anything he can do to self–isolate until he feels ready to talk, whereas i feel like gale is the type to either brush past it and assume it's no big deal/it'll blow over, and/or the type to want to sort things out the moment something happens, to talk it out until it's resolved. and obviously those immediate reactions to conflict kinda grate on each other, so they have to figure out how to balance things out.

but john's an easy crier and he feels just as guilty when he blows up and walks out on gale as gale does when he's too blunt or harsh when they're arguing, and neither of them can ever go to bed upset with each other. by the time john comes back home, the reflexive anger/hurt has always seeped out and made room for quiet sadness and guilt, and all he wants to do is find gale and attach himself to him and mumble his apologies and be held (and in turn have the relief of the confirmation that gale still wants to hold him.) or if john's shut himself away in the spare room or is sulking on the back porch, gale will be the one to go to him and crouch down in front of him and take his hands in his and ask what he needs, and ask if they can talk. <3

angst aside, YEAH. john doesn't mind being alone sometimes, but in general he's very social and gets his energy and good mood from being around other people, so if gale's at work and his friends are busy and he doesn't have any studying to be done, he keeps himself busy around the house (which also helps alleviate his guilt over 'intruding', or gale not letting him pay rent, because he can feel like he's making himself useful.)

and gale without a doubt teases him about it, calls him his little housewife one day when he comes home to john cooking and pounces on the way it makes john flush, wrapping his arms around him from behind and pulling him and murmuring "yeah? you like waiting for me to get home, like a cute little housepet?" and it's all banter, but it gets to both of them more than they expect. >:)

it definitely does gale in too when he sees john get comfortable enough to start stealing his clothes like that, loving how he looks in them and feeling his heart soften with the knowledge that john still wants a piece of him as close as possible when he's not with him. (he also lays john out on the couch and fucks him in nothing but gale's hoodie the first time he comes home to that <3)

and yes to the sex dynamic stuff, 100%. gale never gives john any reason to believe that he's only in it for sex, especially since gale's the one who holds off on jumping into hooking up straight away, but john does worry sometimes at the beginning until he starts to feel secure with gale. i think gale would be aware of this being a possible issue too and it would contribute to him keeping things slow at first because he wants to establish to john that he's not just a pretty body to him.

and as time goes on gale realizes how he can use stuff like gentle submission/instruction/etc like in that cockwarming drabble to get john out of his head, to help him relax, etc without directly asking john to take breaks or calm down, because john is stubborn and will work himself into the ground unless he sees that ask as something that benefits gale too. (they work on that, though.)

YEAH can you tell i'm obsessed too? this is cooked lmfaoaoo. but omg THANK U i will cry </33 i have so much fun writing all this shit out and bouncing ideas back and forth <33 i don't feel pressured dw!! i'm so excited to write the fic once i finish my current one :'-) thank you for YOUR time, hope the wedding was fun!!

[axel-skz]

I dream we will meet again </3

A/N: I HAVE BEEN SPELLING HYUNES NAME WRONG THIS WHOLE TIME OMG!! I’m like not even slightly aware of anything ever. I cannot for the life of me spell seungmin right… now I find out it’s actually hyunjun… not hyunJIN?! I would pass away. But unfortunately, it’s not in my cards.||| Lmao, turns out that could be wrong but you know what, I’m just gonna spell it hyunjin. Idc. NOW, song roulette time… we get Scars :)

Summary: You and Hyunjin broke up and this is aftermath.

Hyunjin x g/n reader

It was a terrible break up. Your heart felt like it had been juiced for all it’s life blood then ran over, with a monster trucks tough uncle.

For the past week, you spent your time living the hobo life in your apartment. You didn’t go to work all week and definitely didn’t get together with friends.

You spent your days in the same routine, it always happened when you felt like you were having a crisis.

Tonight though, you made a mistake. When your mind told you to check on him, see if he was doing better, you didn’t fight it. Usually, you could find it in you to distract yourself. Tonight was another story. You couldn’t resist.

It was a mistake. The most recent post on the official page for hyunjun was him going to some versace event.

It was infuriating for you, as your eyes filled with tears, his life didn’t stop when you left. Your entire world seemed to have ended but here was this man meeting dua lipa. AGAIN. The universe had some audacity.

You weren’t even the reason for the breakup. You gave him your all but he wasn’t giving you nearly the same back.

You gave into a second urge and went to his secret account. You hadn’t unfollowed it and he hadn’t removed you either… let’s not delve into that…

He had put up his photography from his trip. You scrolled through the pictures with tears in your eyes and a weight on your heart.

You couldn’t help yourself and you scrolled through more pictures. It made you miss him more and more.

You were stupid now because you went to your chat and looked at your old messages. The oldest ones were so cute. It slowly got… less cute…

Least cute of all was when you dropped your phone on your face and called him. It couldn’t get any worse. Except… he picked up.

Before you could hear anything at all, you dropped the call. You threw your phone across the room and sat there with your hand covering your mouth while you stared in its direction.

No. Way. Is this real life?

You got nothing else after. No texts checking why you did that, nothing to follow up in anyway.

The next three days went by… awkwardly… you were coming home with groceries dangling everywhere as you went up the stairs. As you looked up, there he was… at your door… you stood there. Stunned.

‘Really? I’m so paranoid I’m hallucinating now?’ You walked up to him. ‘Can’t you leave me alone? I can’t even have my own mind?’

Hyunjin looked concerned, ‘did you hit your head? Slip and fall somewhere?’ He reached and took the groceries form you and that’s when you realised, this is real.

You turned around and went back down the stairs.

‘I’m gonna be here no matter where you go!! You have to come back! You just gave me your food and I know you hate sharing!’

You stopped, he knew you too well. You turned around quietly and slowly climbed back up the stairs. Cautiously you tried to grab your groceries back, as if doing it slowly would make him hand over his only upper hand. He leaned away and you looked up at him angrily.

‘I’m just here to talk… please?’

A/N: I’m sick. Yeah, I blame my laziness on that. HAH. I mean, I’m not winning here so I dont know why I’m laughing. Anyway, I can’t edit this later so You’ll have to check back if you want to see part 2 :)

[forget-you-morelike-fuck-you]

Heartwork- E.M. Pt. 8

You get another call from a long lost friend.

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 9 - Epilogue Masterlist

TW- Cursing, mentions of cheating, a bit angsty, pining

Pairings- Eddie X Reader

Word Count- 1,773

(Gif not mine, credit to owner!)

The next several days are spent lonely. Work and home, that’s it for you, except the dozens of calls to Eddie trying to talk. There’s a lot of worrying, a lot of crying, and a lot of missing Eddie. 

Maybe he didn’t think you wanted to kiss him? Maybe he didn’t really want to kiss you? Maybe it’s something else entirely... You want to know so bad what happened that night, but the only one who can tell you is avoiding you like the plague.  

As a week of not hearing from Eddie approaches, you sit on your couch, staring out your window. Another thing you’ve been doing a lot this week. You don’t know if it’s just to pass the time or if you’re hoping that Eddie spontaneously shows up with an explanation and an apology. Let’s be real, it’s probably the latter.  

Work is a good distraction. You pore over credit statements and numbers day after day, fixing problems and finding better solutions, turning it into a game. Numbers don’t lie. Numbers don’t leave you wondering what you did wrong.  

You get a call Friday from your mom, asking you to come to dinner, and you oblige, telling her that “No, Eddie won’t be joining me this time.” 

Through dinner, your parents can tell something’s wrong, but they don’t push it. Instead, they try to make conversation to help distract you. “Y/N,” your dad says, cutting through a piece of meatloaf. “We got a call last week from Y/BFF/N. She was looking for you. Did you get to talk to her?” You look between your plate and your dad. You try to think of a good excuse as to why you haven’t talked to her without airing out Eddie’s dirty laundry.  

“No, I didn’t even know she called. My answering machine broke last week. Took a few days to get it fixed,” you explain. 

“Oh,” he says. “Well, she gave us her new phone number. I’ll give it to you and you can call her. I’m sure she’d love to speak to you after so long.” You nod at that, giving a small, tight smile. The dinner table is quiet again for a few minutes before your mom gives it a go. 

“Well, how’s Eddie? I’m sure you two have been having a lot of fun in this weather. What have you been up to? Any rock shows in town worth seeing?” You grit your teeth, trying to keep calm. You appreciate your parents trying to pull you out of your bad mood, but God damn are they doing a terrible job at it. 

“Um, no. We’ve been busy this week at the bank. I haven’t gotten to go out.” You manage to sound mostly casual, though you’re sure your parents can see through it. They’ve always been good at reading you like an open book. “But I’m sure we’ll get together again soon.” You can feel your parents giving each other a look, communicating about you without speaking as they have since you were young, but you ignore it in favor of focusing on your dinner. 

The rest of the evening goes by without having to talk about Eddie or Y/BFF/N or any other touchy subject at the moment, which you’re grateful for, and you finally drive back home in silence. You can’t even listen to music right now without thinking of Eddie. Not that you weren’t already.  

When you get back home, you park yourself at your spot on the couch once again, staring out the window, thinking of Eddie when the phone starts ringing. You practically sprint over to the phone, picking it up to put the receiver to your face, hopeful that Eddie will be on the other side. 

“Y/N?” Your smile falters. It’s not Eddie... It’s Y/BFF/N.  

“Y/BFF/N? Oh, um, hi.” You don’t know what to say.  

“Hey,” she says. You can hear her smile on the other side, and you give a sad smile of your own. “How are you? I’ve been thinking about you lately.”  

“Oh, I’m- I’m good. I guess you heard from my parents that I moved back to Hawkins,” you muse, chewing the inside of your mouth. You’re going to have to tell her that you know what she did. You didn’t ask if Eddie had already told her, but you guess not if she’s called you again. 

“Yeah! That’s so great. I’ll have to come see you next time I come to see my parents,” Y/BFF/N suggests, making your brow furrow. Would you even want to see her? Would Eddie see it as a betrayal? 

“Yeah, maybe...” You don’t want to give a definite answer, but you also don’t want to come off as cold. “Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t call you back. My answering machine was broken last week and I’ve been waiting on a part to get it fixed.” 

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m just excited you answered this time. I didn’t know if you would. Your parents told me you’ve been, um, hanging out with Eddie. I don’t know what he told you, but I hope you can believe that I did what I did for good reason.” You let out a sigh, eyes floating up to the ceiling as you form your reply. 

“Y/BFF/N, all I will say is that I don’t want to get involved. I don’t want to pick sides. You were my best friend for years. But Eddie is my best friend now.” You try to sound firm, but you can’t help but remember the state Eddie was in when he called you that day after talking to her. His bloodshot eyes as he sank, defeated, into your sofa when he arrived. 

The line is quiet for a moment before you hear her take a breath. “I- I understand. Eddie was... is a good man. He just didn’t understand what I wanted.” She tries to explain. Your face scrunches in confusion, and annoyance laces your voice as you reply. 

“Didn’t he give up the band for you? And quit doing Hellfire? And buy a sensible car? And get a sensible job?” 

“Well, yes, but-” 

“But what? It wasn't enough? But Jason Carver and his rich, stick-up-their-asses parents are? Don’t you remember the hell that Jason put us through in high school?” The anger builds in your voice. Any chance for a cordial conversation is gone now. Screw not picking sides, you’ll pick Eddie’s every time after this sorry excuse of an explanation. 

“Y/N, it’s not like that anymore. Jason is so good to me. I love him more than I ever loved Eddie. I need you to believe me!” She sounds close to tears now, but you simply scoff. 

“Yeah, Y/BFF/N, I do believe you. And I also believe that that’s why you decided it was a good idea to fuck him in the same bed you and Eddie slept in instead of having the decency to break up with him before shacking up with the biggest asshole this town had to offer.” 

“But, Y/N-” 

“I’m not coming to your wedding, Y/BFF/N. Not after you broke my best friend’s heart. And just so you know, Eddie is the kindest, most amazing man I have ever met, and if I ever had the elite privilege of being loved by him, I would hold on to that love until the day I died. So, it’s your loss, really. Good luck with your life. Please, don’t call me again.” With that, you slam the phone back down onto the dock, practically shaking with rage. You let out a groan in frustration, pacing back and forth in your living room as you try to calm down. It’s such bullshit. Eddie deserved so much better. You wish you could show him how much better he deserves. Why does he have to keep avoiding you? If you knew where he lived, you could just show up there and demand to talk to him, but he’s never invited you over. 

You stop pacing as a thought comes to mind. Eddie may not answer his phone, but someone else might. Your eyes dart to the box of mementos in the corner that your mom gave you last weekend at dinner and go over to it, moving things out of the way until you find what you’re looking for. 

Your sophomore yearbook. You flip it over and open the back cover, your eyes scanning over the messages from former classmates until you find the one you’re looking for. “Hey loser, I know I’ll see you later but I wanted to write in here anyway just in case I get abducted by aliens or something. X- Ed.” Beneath the chicken scratch of his handwriting is his phone number. You remember asking for it because you kept losing it when he would write it on sticky notes. You go over to the phone with the yearbook in hand and dial the number, hoping Eddie’s uncle still lives there. After a few rings, a gruff voice sounds through the receiver. 

“Hello?” You let out a sigh of relief. It’s Wayne. 

“Hi, Mr. Munson? I don’t know if you remember me, my name’s Y/N L/N. I’m one of Eddie’s good friends from high school,” You explain. 

“Oh,” Wayne says, sounding much lighter than he did in his greeting. “Yeah, of course I remember you. What can I do for you, young lady?” You flounder, thinking of an excuse to ask what you want to ask. 

“Well, I, uh, I moved back to Hawkins recently and reconnected with Eddie, and he was over at my house last night and forgot his jacket. I was gonna return it today but I can’t find the paper he wrote his address on, and he’s not answering his phone. Can you give it to me?” You squint your eyes, hoping Wayne doesn’t think you’re some creepy stalker or something. 

“Yeah sure, get you a pen and some paper and I’ll let you write it down again,” You breathe a silent sigh of relief and get a pen to write down Eddie’s address.  

“Thank you, Mr. Munson. It’s so good to hear from you again!” You’re beaming at the success of your plan. 

“Any friend of Eddie’s is a friend of mine. You call me any time, sweetheart. You have a good night, now.” 

“Thank you! I will. You too, Mr. Munson.” As the line clicks off, you give yourself a small fist pump as you look at the address now written in your old yearbook. You waste no time gathering your essentials and walk toward the door.  

Time to go see Eddie. 

@corrodedcoffincumslut @haylaansmi @bebe07011

[masterqwertster]

Any of 12, 18, 19, 28, or 32 of the Guy in a Situation prompts seems like shenanigans Bell's Hells would get into in the Secret Library AU.

Alrighty, let's go 18 Possession/Mind-controlled. After all, Laudna is kind of possessed normally anyways.

"Come on, Laudna! You're stronger than her!" Imogen shouts, back pressed against a bookshelf.

"Oh really? Is that what you think?" a voice that isn't Laudna’s comes purring out of the dark-haired woman's mouth. “Poor dear. She hasn’t even told you that this isn’t the first time I’ve taken control. It’s not even the second.”

Fear and fury shiver down Imogen’s spine as she hears those words among the slow tap-tapping of Laudna’s possessed footsteps. A bitter and hysterical part of her mind says the bitch is probably miffed that Laudna wears flats, denying her the crisp click of heels for her little predatory stroll.

For the thousandth time, Imogen curses the artifact that came in earlier today. It’s what Delilah is after, what she saw fit to take over Laudna for, so why shouldn’t it bear the blame? There’s hope that if they can get the stupid thing to the forge it’ll be possible to melt down the little verdigris stained statue of a left hand with an eye in the palm, rendering it inert, which will then, hopefully, get Delilah to fuck right off.

Problem is, Delilah cottoned on to the plan pretty fast. Worse, she’s somehow gotten control of Ashton. You would think it would be real easy to keep track of 500-plus pounds of living stone, especially with how Ashton stomps around most of the time. But no, the damn bastard has a near-silent tread when they’re sneaking around. It’s fucking terrifying the way they ghost out of the stacks as they hunt down the rest of the team at Delilah’s command. And certainly not helped by the fact that Ashton knows the library best, seeing as it’s been their home far longer than any of the rest of the team has been here.

Though by now, FCG has, hopefully, tangled Ashton up somewhere else. Even mind-controlled, the punk rock has a soft spot a mile wide for the cute little robot. And FCG isn’t exactly defenseless either.

Imogen looks across the aisle to Chetney, receiving a nod. A steadying breath in, then she darts up the aisle, finding a new hiding place. He shadows her advance a few seconds later, ducking under a blast of magic spun between no longer friendly fingers.

The telepath and the werewolf have been playing leapfrog to distract Delilah while Orym and Fearne try the ventilation ducts to get to the forge. And they’re so lucky that Delilah can’t sense the damn artifact, otherwise the bait-and-switch before they all split wouldn’t have worked out like this.

A tsk echoes amongst the shelves. 

“Try all you like, but you’re not going to beat me,” Delilah calls out, taunting. “Not without killing your precious little Laudna.”

“That’s what she said,” Chetney taunts back. Then yelps when another blast comes his way.

They’re playing a dangerous, dangerous game. Orym and Fearne need time to sneak by and do the deed. But more time means dodging more shots from Delilah, that Ashton has more chances to break free of whatever entrapment FCG has used against him. It’s a race against the clock with no way to know who’s won until the cards are all down.

How’s it going, Orym? Imogen calls down the psychic tether she’d established as the group split.

We’re there. Just trying to get the forge hot enough to melt this thing down. Orym reports, mind distracted with his current activities.

Well please hurry. I’m not sure how long we can keep this game up before someone gets real hurt.

I know. We’re trying.

“Then again, maybe you are willing to kill her. I haven’t seen that poor statue of a boy in a while. What you’ll do to him, you’ll surely be willing to do to her. Or is he just worth less to you? A Nobody that no one wants around,” Delilah continues.

Imogen’s fists clench. Sure, her and Ashton don’t always get along, but that doesn’t mean she’d kill them for what Delilah is making them do. Yet she knows just how deeply such words would cut Ashton, and it scares her that Delilah probably also knows that just from watching from behind Laudna’s eyes. It’s something only friends, like Laudna and Ashton are, should know. Delilah shouldn’t be able to tread on that bond, the fucking bitch. She shouldn’t be able to touch any of Laudna’s friendships.

And that sparks a damn foolhardy and risky plan in Imogen’s mind.

Delilah says she’s possessed Laudna before? Fine. Imogen bets that Laudna’s never had so many reasons to fight the bitch off before. Her friend just needs a reminder.

“Imogen!” Chetney hisses when she boldly steps into the middle of the aisle.

“I care about all of my friends. And that includes you, Laudna. So you better kick this bitch out, or I’m spendin’ the rest of my days lookin’ for a way to bring you back. Even if the rest of my days is just today,” Imogen declares, standing boldly in the open space.

Delilah twists Laudna’s face into a teeth-baring snarl, hands twisting into arcane motions. 

Imogen doesn’t break eye contact with her best friend(‘s body).

The blast misses her by three feet.

Imogen wants to whoop in victory as frustrated confusion spreads across Delilah’s expression. She knew Laudna was in there, knew she was strong enough to throw off that damn ghost.

“Like I said, Laudna’s stronger than you,” Imogen says with a vicious, victorious grin.

“You think that’s enough to stop me!?” Delilah snarls, hands clawing for more arcane might.

“Maybe not, but I don’t think you have a reason to keep fighting anymore.”

Delilah whirls, and Imogen can see Orym and Fearne stepping up behind her. The small man tips his hands, letting a misshapen lump of metal fall to the floor.

“NO! What have you done?!” Delilah shrieks, gathering even more magic to her.

Imogen fears that this blast isn’t going to be one Laudna can redirect away from them all. Even Fearne and Chetney reflect her fear. But strangely not Orym.

The reason becomes apparent when FCG comes wheeling out of the stacks next to Laudna-Delilah, an artifact in hand and arcane words tumbling out of their mouth, Ashton standing protectively at their back.

FCG finishes before Delilah can release her blast, sending the malevolent spirit screeching back to whatever damned hole she’d crawled out of. 

Imogen rushes forward to catch Laudna before Delilah is even fully banished.

“...Hello, darling,” Laudna rasps out as her eyes flutter open to Imogen cradling her.

“Hey yourself. I’m glad you're back with us,” Imogen replies, tears gathering in her eyes.

“Me too, darling. Me too.”

[davnittbraes]

The First Step - Chapter Five

Part of The World Is Light, Embodied.

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader (eventually)

Rating: Explicit (not in this chapter but the series is so 

Word Count: 4400

Warnings etc: Reader insert, female reader, anxiety, alcohol consumption, angsty yearning and tension, I hate slow burns why am I doing this to myself

Notes: I have no idea if alcohol is illegal on Kinyen, but the Gran don’t tolerate it well and the only mention of any kind of cantina on their home planet is a “speakeasy” in Capra so I figured it’s probably outlawed? Idk. Am I overthinking this? Definitely. Moving on. I’m making stuff up about houjix here, though now I really want one.

Please check out the Series Masterlist page for more info.

Hyperspace lines blur past the transparisteel, painting the cockpit in a faint white glow, the hum of the engines a hypnotic counterpart. Takodana is only moments behind you, but far enough away that the sting of the bruises on your arm aren’t so distracting anymore.

A heavy silence lies over the small space. And not the kind of silence you like.

This silence is buzzing with tension and anticipation. It crawls along your skin, quickening your pulse, trying to twitch your fingers and shift your hips in your seat.

There are questions coming. Questions about what had just happened, about your past. You have to find some way to answer without lying - the bounty hunter will be able to tell if you lie, you have no doubt about that.

Mando sits back in his chair, visor on the transparisteel, but you can feel his gaze, like he’s looking at you out of the corner of his eye. Training your expression into a mask of innocent politeness, you silently wait for him to do or say something.

Time passes, minutes ticking by along with the lines of hyperspace.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

He’s waiting you out, waiting for you to break, and even though you know that, it’s not helping the anxiety bubbling up hot in the pit of your stomach.

Ok, you can’t take it anymore. “So where are we headed?”

The helmet turns ever-so-slightly toward you, his voice low and calm. “That depends. Is ‘Katye’ your real name?”

Kriff. Right to the point, no surprise there.

You need to be careful, figure out how to respond without giving too much -

Stop.

I can’t keep doing this.

You chose to follow him - twice, now - knowing how dangerous he is for you.

This is a consequence of your decision. A consequence you accepted in exchange for following whatever it is that keeps pulling you together.

And he’s been… good to you. Kind, polite - well, maybe not by some social standards but the effort was there, at least. He’s helped you get out of trouble despite having no real obligation to you.

Maybe you… maybe you can trust him. A little.

And he’s got the kid to think of. You can’t blame him for wanting to know who you are, with the little guy to protect.

He needs honesty, now.

As much as you can give him.

Turning slightly in your chair, you face him, and the helmet swivels to look at you. “I’ll answer your question as best I can. But there are some things… I can’t talk about parts of my life. I understand your reasons for being suspicious - pfassk, I’m practically a blaring signal horn to a bounty hunter, I get that. So if my answer isn’t enough, I’ll stay where you can keep an eye on me until we hit dirt again, then I’ll leave and we can forget we ever met.”

He’s quiet for a moment, then shifts to face you fully, resting his hands on his thighs. “Tell me what you can.”

The soft tone of his words throws you off for a moment. The fact that he wants to respect your boundaries - and give you a chance to set them - is not what you were expecting from a man who commands the space around him, silently daring anyone and anything to contradict him.

Your throat is dry, you swallow hard and take a deep breath. “‘Katye’ was the name I went by when I was working with Bril’s crew. He found me living on the streets, and I didn’t have anyone, family or friends. I needed money, a place to stay. So I joined him.”

Memories threaten to pull you into the past and you move your gaze to the control console, not really seeing the mysterious switches and knobs, just needing a neutral space to look at. “They treated me like one of their own at first, and I thought I was safe with them. We did jobs, mostly small-time smuggling and robberies. Eventually though, we started to get attention, and Bril wanted us to go after a risky target with a bigger take so we could go underground for a while, wait for the heat to die off.”

A sharp smile curves your lips. “Of course, what I didn’t know was that they had figured out a more efficient way to get a bigger payday and deflect attention - by setting me up to take the fall. But the job went bad, I realized what their real plan was and I escaped. Took what credits I had been promised and left, started over.”

He’s still for a moment, a silent statue of silver, black and brown. When he speaks, his tone is oddly amused. “That’s where you learned to fight like you do.”

“What do you mean, ‘like I do?’” Frowning at him, you shift in your seat. “I’m no Mandalorian, I’m not professionally trained or whatever, but I can defend myself.”

He lifts a hand slightly, a flicker of orange-fingered leather in a subtle placating gesture. “You fight like someone who has done it to survive. You don’t hold back, you fight with everything you’ve got.”

“Because I am everything I’ve got.” Emotion pulls at your chest, and you shove it away forcefully.

That’s an old wound, should be healed by now, for crikk’s sake.

“I… can understand that.”

That same emotion is in his modulated voice.

Right. Mandalorian.

Silence ticks by, and you try to find some way to stop it, something to say to divert from the last words exchanged. But your chest is too tight, and your eyes are stinging, and you know if you try to speak right now you’re just going to humiliate yourself.

He moves, leaning forward so his elbows rest on his knees. It’s a strangely defenseless position for him, as if he’s trying to make himself seem smaller. “The kid and I are… laying low. There are people who want to take him, dangerous people. I’m charged with keeping him safe.”

A pang of concern flashes through your chest. “Who?”

The helmet tilts, black visor considering. “I can’t tell you.”

You fall into silence again, meeting his unseen gaze, chewing on your bottom lip. There’s a tentative trust building in the space between you, one that you don’t want to break. “Ok. We both have secrets. I’ll respect yours, as you respect mine.”

He nods once, sitting back in his chair. “Is there anyone else you’re avoiding?”

“I… yes. But I will tell you if I think we’re going to cross paths with them.” You meet that black visor’s gaze steadily, pushing as much sincerity and honesty into your words as you can. “And I won’t let my past endanger the kid. I promise you that.”

You let your words fall and land as they will. That’s all you can say. If that’s not enough… well, whatever is drawing you to him, that intense attraction that pervades even your dreams, it’s not worth giving up your truth.

For a moment he doesn’t move or speak, just looks at you, weight of his gaze pressing you into the seat.

Then he stands abruptly. “You can stay with us until you find a suitable place to start over.” The atmosphere in the cockpit shifts, tension dissipating. “We’ll reach Kinyen in about sixteen hours. I don’t have a bunk, but you can find a space in the hold for yourself. There’s extra blankets in storage.”

He turns before you can say anything, two strides and he’s dropping down into the hold in a flurry of silver and black, leaving you staring at the empty place where he had stood.

Wait -

Springing out of your seat, you follow him, skimming down the ladder and landing lightly on your feet. He pauses, turning to look back at you, an obvious question in the tilt of his helmet.

You freeze.

Pfassk, he’s right there, barely made it a step from the ladder, his tall frame and broad shoulders block out the lights above him, cast him in shadow, pull you into the darkness. He’s so close, you could touch him if you wanted, just reach out and feel -

The thick fabric of duraweave over solid muscle scratches faintly under your fingertips, warmth of the skin beneath quickly bleeding through. Blinking rapidly, you look down and realize your hand is curled around his bicep, right below his pauldron, gripping lightly but firmly as if afraid he’ll slip out of reach.

Oh.

You hadn’t meant to -

It was almost involuntary, like you couldn’t help yourself -

Pfassk.

That’s a terrifying concept.

“Thank you.” The words burst from your lips, a little too loud, edged with the bewildered anxiety boiling in your thoughts. Taking a breath, you try again. “Thank you for stepping in back there, with-with Bril. And for… for letting me stay, even though I can’t tell you everything you want to know.”

The helmet tips in a silent nod. Then he looks down at your hand, still wrapped around his arm.

Dank farrik. You’re still touching him and now it’s weird and awkward and you pull your hand away -

Smooth leather grasps your fingers.

You stop breathing.

His gloved hand curves around yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles, words falling softly into the space between you. “Everyone’s got their own armour of sorts.”

Then he’s gone, turning and striding away out of sight, leaving you standing there, hand hovering in the air as his last words repeat in your mind.

Everyone’s got their own armour of sorts.

The words are your own, said to him after thinking you’d pushed too hard, making him uncomfortable about never taking off his helmet. Not an apology but something more meaningful.

A statement of acceptance.

Realization runs through your body in a tremor.

Your secrets are your armour, carefully placed over the delicate parts of you, keeping you safe from harm.

But you’d never told anyone about your time with Bril and his crew. Not even the few people in your life who had managed to slide into something like a friendship with you. No, you had kept that secret close, just like all the others.

Until today.

Yes, your secrets are your armour. And somehow, the Mandalorian had slipped underneath it.

*****

Capra was one of the only places on Kinyen to get a decent drink, so even if the city wasn’t nestled along the Saeduree River, a bright blue tract of freshwater that shimmered beautifully in the sunlight, you would have loved it anyway.

There was a little speakeasy on a side street in the northwest quarter, shoved in-between an electronics repair shop and a fabric store. Since the native Kinyen species, the Gran, couldn’t biologically tolerate alcohol, it was legally prohibited planet-wide, though you were pretty sure the local authorities were well aware of the speakeasy and chose to look the other way.

The Gran might be generally sober, but the non-Gran who came to Capra were usually not, and the locals understood the importance of making sure their business partners and tourists were comfortable and relaxed, ideally with a bit of an alcoholic buzz in their system to ease negotiations and help lighten wallets.

You were settled into a cozy corner of the speakeasy with the kid floating in his pod beside you, on the opposite side of the room from the Mandalorian and the Ithorian he was speaking with. They were talking in hushed tones too soft for you to make out what they were saying.

Which was fine, you hadn’t come along to pry into Mando’s business - you figure the only reason he’d agreed to let you come with him was because he was more reluctant to leave you alone on the ship than he was to reveal who he was meeting with. He hadn’t said so, but you had sensed his internal struggle, and suggested your current situation, with you keeping the kid out of trouble while staying far enough away not to accidentally overhear whatever it was Mando was discussing with the Ithorian.

“Kriff, kid, chew before you swallow or you’ll end up ruining another robe.” You reach over and take the sweetcake out of his tiny hands, breaking it up into smaller chunks for him to eat.

He burbles at you cheekily, but he does slow down at least.

Sitting back in your chair, you take a sip from the glass of whisky you’d bought - a couple fingers of Corellian. Not enough to affect you, obviously, since you were babysitting. But enough to settle in your stomach, warm and heavy. And encourage your thoughts to drift as you watch the kid snack away.

What was the little guy to the Mandalorian, anyway? You’re pretty sure the kid isn’t biologically Mando’s - ears like that couldn’t fit under a helmet - unless Mom’s genes were extra strong. Besides, Mando had said he was “charged with protecting” the child, which didn’t sound like a typical father-child relationship. But who would give the kid to someone who couldn’t speak his language? And why to a lone, Mandalorian bounty hunter?

Your thoughts come up blank. It’s no use, you don’t have enough information to come to any kind of conclusion about Mando and the kid.

Movement draws your attention. A blue and yellow striped creature shuffles out from around the corner of the bar, beady black eyes peering at you warily from above a wide mouth.

A houjix!

The four-legged cephalopods prefer freshwater habitats but enjoy scrambling about on land for short periods of time, especially if their owners are around. Known for their friendly dispositions, only acting aggressively when seriously threatened, they’re popular pets among the Gran, but not so much elsewhere - being not exactly pleasant to look at by popular standards, most people pass them over for more attractive animal companions.

Which, of course, means you have a soft spot for them.

You lean down, twitching your fingers just above the floor. The houjix’s gaze immediately locks onto the motion, spiky clubbed tail flicking in interest. Tentatively, it crawls across the floor, pausing every few steps to peer around as if anxiously assessing potential risks.

The bartender stops his tidying to watch the interaction, calling out to the houjix, something in Gran that you don’t understand but that sounds encouraging.

The houjix glances back at the bartender, then turns to you, moving forward with a bit more enthusiasm. You can’t help but smile as the creature sniffs at your fingers, nudges its scaly nose into the palm of your hand.

The kid coos, ears perked with curiosity, watching the houjix as you scratch the space between its eyes, and you smile. “They’re very friendly, see? But they spook easily so you have to move slowly and be quiet around them.”

Leaning forward to see better, the kid giggles when you tickle under the houjix chin and it pants happily, big tongue lolling out from the wide mouth. The whole scene is so endearing - the kid’s delighted curiosity, the houjix’s goofy grin - a warmth that’s not from the whiskey blooms in your stomach.

Then there’s a movement from the far side of the room and the houjix startles, scrambling back to hide behind the bar. You look up to see Mando striding toward your table.

“Making friends?” He sounds amused as the helmet turns to look from you to where the houjix disappeared.

You shrug, swallowing the last mouthful of whisky and reaching over to brush crumbs from the front of the kid’s robe. “Recruiting. Thought you might want to add to your adorable creatures collection.”

“Not sure I’d call that thing ‘adorable.’” He keys in a command on his vambrace and the kid’s pod floats toward him.

“Aw come on, every creature has its charms. Even scaly, snaggle-toothed squid. And big, scary Mandalorians.”

Dank farrik. Didn’t mean to say that.

You push back the flood of embarrassment and change the subject quickly. “Are we leaving?”

The black visor just looks at you for a moment, then turns away as he moves toward the door. “Yes. We’re heading back to the Crest.”

“‘The Crest?’ You stand to follow him. “Is that the name of the ship?”

He pauses, helmet tilting in what you think is surprise. “Yes. The Razor Crest. The name is written on the side, can… can you read Basic?”

A barrage of memories explodes across your thoughts, pulling a wave of hot anger to the surface. You quickly shove it back down - another old wound that should have healed by now. “Oh, I can read well enough. But I try not to look too hard at anything mechanical. It can sense my attention and tends to break instantly just to spite me.”

“Your blaster is mechanical.” He gestures to your thigh holster, his tone lightly teasing.

You pat the blaster strapped to your thigh gently. “I’ve had this one for years, only blaster that has never jammed on me. I’ve deduced that it must be immune to my curse.”

He huffs his laugh but doesn’t respond to that, turning to stride toward the exit door. Following him and the kid out of the speakeasy, you throw the bartender a friendly wave over your shoulder as you step out into the sunny street.

It’s a beautiful day, warm, with a light breeze coming off the river that carries the fresh scent of the grain fields beyond the city. Even though Capra has a population of millions and hosts the main spaceport for the planet, the city itself is clean and almost quaint, architecture inspired by the Gran’s agricultural history, with smaller buildings than what you’d usually see in a big city and narrow streets obviously designed for carts with wheels and other ancient methods of transporting goods.

The Gran you pass by are friendly enough, offering polite greetings though you’re a complete stranger. One even waves to you as you move through the streets back to the ship.

You wave back, smiling pleasantly. “This isn’t a bad little place.”

The helmet turns to look at you. “Are you planning on staying here, then?”

“Oh. Uh…” You hesitate, uncertainty suddenly churning in your stomach. “I guess I could. I’ve worked on farms before, could probably scrape out a living as a hired hand for a bit.”

It’s the right thing to do. Kinyen is quiet and peaceful with plenty of opportunities for you to take the next step.

But that black visor is pinned on you, the mysterious gaze behind it a question that’s impossible to ignore.

Forcing a light chuckle from your oddly tight chest, you smile crookedly. “Who am I kidding, me, on a planet with only one bar? Doesn’t seem like a long-term option, to be honest.”

Mando looks away again - was that a little shift of relief in his shoulders? - as he leads you and the kid around a corner, heading down the street that ends at the spaceport, where the ship is docked. “I wouldn’t have picked you for a heavy drinker.”

Shrugging one shoulder, you scoff. “I did have my days, when I was younger. Now, I enjoy a good drink once in a while.”

“Just whisky?”

He noticed what you were drinking.

Of course he did, the man notices everything.

You throw him a glare of mock offence. “Oh, I dabble in other areas. When it comes to whisky, though, I’ll try it but nothing beats Corellian. Every other whisky is subpar.”

“Is that where you’re from? Corellia?”

The question throws you off, teasing attitude fading slightly. Most people would expect you to either confirm it or clarify where you were actually from. But that’s too close to those secrets you’re trying to keep. “No, I’m just a fan of their main alcoholic export.”

He falls silent. Kriff, there you go again, derailing the slowly growing… whatever it is between the two of you. He’s going to get sick of your avoidance, kick you off on the next planet, maybe even make you stay here -

“I’ve never had it.”

You’re unable to stop from staring at him, struggling to pull your focus out of your spiraling anxiety. “You’ve never had Corellian whisky?”

The helmet tilts just slightly toward you in a way you’re starting to recognize means he’s amused. “No.”

You click your tongue. “That’s a tragedy, right there. Never had Corellian… next time I get my hands on some, you have to try it.”

“Fine. But it better live up to the hype you’re giving it.”

“Trust me, you won’t be disappointed.”

He falls into silence again, but it doesn’t feel strained this time, just a natural quiet that you’re starting to realize is a frequent occurrence with him.

The spaceport pops into sight as you pass some buildings, the ship - the Razor Crest - looming over the speeders waiting for the next transport to come in, and your curiosity sparks. “Where are we headed next? Are you tracking a bounty?”

“I haven’t taken bounties since I found the kid.”

Huh. That’s surprising. Wait - “‘Found’ the kid? Like just stumbled across him on the street one day?”

He’s quiet for a moment again. “Not exactly.”

You can sense the edge of that wall he keeps around his secrets, and you instinctively back off, thoughts picking through what he had said. “So how do you pay for everything?” You immediately clap a hand over your mouth. “Wow, that was wildly inappropriate. Please ignore me, it’s not my business.”

The black visor stays looking straight ahead, but you catch that tilt of amusement again. “I take jobs when I need money. Whatever work I can find that doesn’t put the kid in danger.”

“How long have you had him?”

“A while.”

You raise your eyebrows. “And it’s just been you and him?”

“For the most part, yes.”

“So you’ve been caring for him, by yourself, while taking work for money so you don’t starve or get stranded somewhere with no fuel?” Something like sympathy twists in your chest. “That’s a lot for one person to take on.”

The black visor does look at you then, a quick glance that is completely unreadable to you. “This is The Way.”

He said those words with a rhythmic intonation, as if they were a… prayer? Chant? He had mentioned a creed, of some kind, when you had asked him about why he never removes his helmet. Maybe those words have to do with his creed.

Regardless, the life he’s describing sounds tough, full of struggle and worry.

You look down at the kid floating beside you, reaching out to gently stroke the edge of one floppy ear. He stares up at you, big eyes wide and solemn, and the twinge in your chest grows. “The “way” seems… harsh.”

“The Way is The Way of The Mandalore. To follow The Way, one must protect one’s clan.”

Now that definitely sounds like something ceremonial. Mandalorians are fighters, you know that much. No surprise their culture is focused on protecting their clans - protecting the future of their people in a galaxy that seems to be constantly at war.

You tweak the end of the kid’s ear. “And he’s part of your clan?”

“Yes.”

There’s a note of something in his voice that’s dimmed by the modulator, and you can’t quiet tell what it is, but you don’t want to pry. “Well, that answers that question. I was wondering what your relationship to the kid was, but if he’s part of your clan, I get it now.”

“You do?” His surprise is obvious even through the modulator.

“Yeah. Your clan is your family, right? So even if you’re not biologically related, he’s still your… well, seems like he sees you as his father, so. He’s your son.”

The helmet turns away again, his body language stiff.

Crikking hells, messed up again.

Honesty. It worked last time.

You stop abruptly, and after a step he pauses, turning slightly to look back at you. “Ok, I need to explain something. I’m not used to… uh, this kind of conversation.”

Great job, very concise, now he’s probably more confused than before.

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you try again. “I mean the kind of conversation where I’m not analyzing everything the other person is saying, trying to figure out what they want from me, second-guessing each word. I… I don’t usually let people this close.”

And stop right there, that’s getting a little too personal.

But he’s still staring at you, silent, and the words keep flowing.

“I’m just not used to feeling… free to talk, I guess. But I don’t want to upset you or make you uncomfortable - you’ve been respectful of my boundaries, I want to do the same for yours.” Chewing your bottom lip, you search for the right words to get across what you’re trying to say. “So if I say something you don’t like, please tell me to kindly kriff off and I’ll shut my mouth.”

A strange sound comes through the modulator - was that a laugh?

Those ridiculously broad shoulders quiver.

The Mandalorian is laughing at you. Not just his little huff, an actual, legitimate laugh.

A confusing mix of mild offence and amused delight make you smile in bewilderment.

The helmet moves once from side to side. “I wouldn’t dare. That mouth of yours is one of your best features.”

Then he’s turning away and starting off down the street again, the kid gliding along behind him in his little pod. You stare after them, a foreign warmth blooming beneath your ribs that leaves you breathless.

That mouth of yours is one of your best features.

Dank farrik.

The potential double-meaning behind his words…

Yeah, no. Not gonna go there.

You don’t need any more fuel added to that attraction simmering under your skin. That seems to be getting worse on all its own.

Maybe you should stay on Kinyen. If you keep following the Mandalorian, it’s going to be more and more difficult to ignore whatever that warmth is under your ribs, fluttering within your heartbeat.

Then the helmet turns, flashing in the sunlight, and that unseen gaze falls on you again.

Your feet move toward him without any further hesitation.

*****

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[miss0atae]

The Jungle - 7th Episode Review

I’m late again but here we go with the review of the 7th episode.

We got back at the time where Pladao was explaining the death of her cousin. Hack was kind of surprised while Hunter gave of the impression that he doesn't give a shit. His condolences lacked warmth. I was a bit afraid that the episode would be centered around Hack when they started taling about tarantula. Fortunately it wasn’t the case. Evil Naan arrived and gave Pladao some info about her cousin. I found Hack super weird during the scene. The way he was looking at them and his facial expressions. Something is not right with him.

So the info from Evil Naan was that he knew a friend of Pladao’s cousin and they both went to meet that girl. Evil Naan was pretending to be the doctor of Pladao’s cousin and for that he just decided to wear glasses. I mean who can fall for this disguise? Especially when he put them when she is in front of him. Does he think the girl is so gullible that she would fall for it? Pladoa complains about his stupid lie and she is speaking for the audience at this point. Luckily the plot is helping Evil Naan because the girl indeed fall for it and helps them. She gave him a phone with a picture of the cousin and some gossips about the mysterious boyfriend. Of course no one knows his name because this is really a healthy relationship. If my friend refuse to give me the name of her boyfriend I would really become wary but this friend did not do anything. Everyone is dumb is this show otherwise it doesn’t work. Of course after hearing all of that, Evil Naan is sure that this mysterious boyfriend can't be Naan. Pladao still thinks it's Evil Naan because of the pictures. This episode shows again that Evil Naan and Naan have a weird relationships and the series could have addressed that in a better way but no why writing something that makes sense when you can make it beyond understanding. Anyway, Pladoa wants to send him details that she gathered about her cousin and so she asks for his mail. Back at home she is checking him on internet with it. I can’t believe that he would be stupid to use this mail for everything but I forgot I was watching The Jungle when the most stupid move is always the one they chose to do. So she found a private Instagram and directly she thinks he sells drugs. Who in his right mind would use Instagram to sell drugs??? Can someone explain it to me?

So cut to Pladao and Kitti going at Kaewta’s house. I'm sure the guy is suspicious. I Can't trust him. There is a bad vibe around him Look at him with all his questions! Why is she trusting this guy anyways? He was the one who said it was Naan but he has no real evidences. Don't trust him!! Why Okay, she found a diary and she gave it to him. Don't give him anything! Why is she so trusting with him but the other men she can’t trust any of them. Don't listen to him, pleas! He wants to do something else now. He is avoiding her and trying to distract her from her investigation. How can she trust him?! It's frustrating. She didn't trust any of the Jungle but the friend... No question asked. Back at home and she is still investigating Evil Naan when she should investigate the friend. Why is she still on this exposing the RV and the Jungle? How will it help her? Girl, you're an idiot. Using Twitter for this is even more dumb. I don't understand her at all. She looks like she found the best way but it's not a clever move at all. Okay so people knows where is the RV now. Evil Naan finds her and takes her somewhere else to ask her why she did that. She still acts like Evil Naan dated her cousin. So she is still on with this idea because she followed him on Instagram by pretending to be someone else and found a picture of him and her cousin. Evil Naan revealed that he indeed dated her cousin and she broke up with him apparently. Why did you say it before? Why dragging this to that point? When he met Kaewta, he pretended to be his brother. Why would you do that??? Now I’m sure Pladao and Evil Naan are soulmates because they are both super dumb.

Okay so Evil Naan met Kaewta outside of the bar. They had cute moments but it came to an end when she met the real Naan and he didn't know about her. Again, why Evil Naaan pretended to be his brother? This is stupid. Naan is not happy because he was with another girl and he realizes that she misunderstood him with his twin. After that Naan appeared and she slapped him because well he did something wrong. He tried to find her again and apologize but she doesn't want to listen to him. She said that she doesn't trust the things he said to her which is understandable. That was a dumb move to pretend being someone else. He has a problem. Okay so Evil Naan really liked the cousin but lied to Pladao about knowing her. She asks the real question: why pretending to be Naan? He thinks that Naan has an easier life. (What the hell? Why would he think that?) He has such an inferiority complex when it comes to his twin. Man you need a therapy. All the people who gathered outside could not find the bar so they left. The Jungle made the action to hide but showing a bunch of other addresses on internet. Pladao's plan was bad from the beginning anyway.

Okay so all the men are here except Naan and they are not happy with Evil Naan. Pladoa is still thinking she did nothing bad. Girl, it was stupid and not really well thought out. Why should people knows about the RV? Especially that she has proved continually that she's bad at finding the truth. Stop it trying to be the detective. Evil naan defend her but the others laugh at him. Gosh I will have to change his name to Sweet Naan now. Okay Pine was super cruel at that point because he knows how to be very hurtful by comparing Evil/Sweet Naan with his twin. Ouch! Okay so Evil/Sweet is quitting or getting kicked out? Pladao tries to understand and they all think it's their fault if things didn't work out well. Pladao is right, it's hard to know who is the real Evil/Sweet Naan. He is very confusing! Are they flirting right now?! He was just talking about your cousin and you thought you could kiss him You need to check your feelings Pladao!

Pladao is again trying to find info and finally reading that diary! I knew it was that dude! KittiTiwi was so suspicious. Kaewta wrote in her diary that he helped her during this hard time. He totally killed her. The pregnancy revelation was proof enough that the man who killed her didn’t want to deal with it.

Why is Pladao going to talk to Kitti like that? Please talk to someone who knows how to make a real plan. You're not fit for that job! Thankfully, the plot is so easy to follow. Of course he tries to brush it off but Pladao finally knows the truth. She accused him of murdering her cousin and they are alone in the shop. I wouldn’t feel safe. He tries to laugh and tells her to move on. I believe he wasn't thinking that she would be such a pain in his ass when he killed her cousin. Okay, she wasn't really alone. Evil/Sweet Naan was hiding next so she isn't that stupid. So their plan was to rile him.... It could have backfired. This is not a plan. This is suicide mission. They need real help. So they have a conversation about how to find the truth. They want to make him believe Kaewta is still alive. What a ridiculous plan again. A ghost? Where are we? Their plan sucks but it works to make Kitti being afraid. He is taking a taxi to flee but it’s the wrong taxi because it has Evil/Sweet Naan inside. Kitti then wakes up in the bathroom of the RV. This place is so useful. This is the real main character of the show XD. We learn that Kitti killed the cousin because she was difficult... Why not just breaking up with her? Why pretending to be nice and to have the baby with her? Why being a liar? He pretendedto give her medicine for morning sickness and killed her instead. Well, it’s time to pay for his evil actions and we knew it would happen. Evil/Sweet Naan beats the shit of this guy. It is actually refreshing because he clearly deserves it. What is funny is that Pladao came inside the room just to help Evil/Sweet Naan. It’s their fun couple activity to bond. This episode is completely unrealistic. The police comes to arrest Kitti but says nothing about his injuries that he probably got from Evil/Sweet Naan and Pladao. Anyway, they want a statement and Pladao decide to go their alone to protect Evil/Sweet Naan’s identity. This scene ends with a sweet hug between them.

In the next scene, Pladao meets with Evil/Sweet Naan to thank him for his help. She also add that he needs be his true self because he is as good as his twin. She uses his trick with the coin to tell him to gives his real name to people from now on. He admits that he likes her. I think they should have had more time to develop their relationship. He flirts a lot in this two last minutes. Why are they playing their relationship with the coins? Why not just deciding by yourself? At least we got a kiss. I was waiting for it but I'm disappointed. I expected more from them. All the love stories are disappointing, to be honest, which is sad because the actors are not bad. So it’s definitely right to sat that the story is not well written. The concept was intriguing but it doesn’t make sense most of the time. They introduce ideas and never follow them. Their characters don’t have a real personalities and they don’t get the time to have one either. I think I didn’t understand that scene properly. Are they not together? Why making the story so complicated for no reason. Date if that's what you both want. I mean Naan got married in the last episode and he probably stayed a real short time with Nithan. Why Evil/Sweet Naan can’t get a better love story. He was my favorite… after Hunter.

Pladao has decided to drop the Jungle story. Thank you for finally doing what is the best! So she got a message from Evil/Sweet Naan flirting with her. I don’t like that they are not really dating. I would completely rewrite that story if I was the writer.

The episode is not even finished that we get who will be the main characters of the next episode. Irin is in trouble at the airport and Pine came to help her avoid the journalists. She wants to stay at the RV. While she is there, she opened the door to find Hack and not Pine who she was waiting for and that’s the end of the episode. What can I say… I don’t care about Hack, Pine and Irin. What's his deal anyway…

So I was really disappointed by this episode. It was super boring and I almost didn’t make a review of it. I really wanted something better for Pladao. I expected until the end that she would get a better story but no… nothing. Evil Naan is not evil anymore and was never truly Evil. We still did not get any answers about his relationship with Naan and why he acted crazy in the last episode when apparently he is super nice and sweet. Pladao and him don’t even have the chance to have a second episode centered around them that we jump to the triangle love between Hack, Pine and Irin. The pace of the story is worst than ever. I understand why so many people don’t like it. It has big flaws and nothing can save it anymore. It’s sad because the actresses on GMMTV don’t get a lot of chances to shine. They deserve better.

[ambitionsource]

AMBITION “Reassessment” [ 4.09 ]♮PART 1, half 2

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY

Speaking of said mother and son, Charlie and Eleanor are out shopping as part of the errands Eleanor needs to run. They get distracted from their mission in the NYU neighborhood though when they just so happen to run into Riley outside one of her favorite campus eateries, grabbing lunch between classes and rehearsal.

This is probably Charlie’s one friend that Eleanor is happy to find by surprise. She can’t help but grin as she watches Riley give him an enthusiastic hug, then returns her cheerful greeting.

Eleanor: It’s nice to see you again. I wish we’d be seeing more of you around, now that Charlie is back from abroad. Riley: Oh, believe me, me too. I’m just so busy right now with school, and the musical. It’s a miracle I have time to think straight.

Not to mention the election she successfully organized for that candidate Eleanor dislikes so much, but they choose not to bring that up. Willful ignorance. Instead, she asks more about school. How is Riley liking NYU? While she has nothing but nice things to say about it, she changes tracks, shifting focus to Charlie instead.

Riley: I know Charlie just can’t wait to join us in academia. I tried real hard to convince him to apply to NYU -- Charlie: Okay, please… Eleanor: You did? Riley: But I don’t seem to have won on that front. It’s okay, though. He can’t get rid of me no matter how close or far he plants himself.

Riley gives him a playful side hug, then affectionately boops his jaw. Charlie laughs, brushing her off, but also shooting her a side-eye. Oh she is just milking this for all its worth… and Eleanor is eating up every last bite, failing to hide her utter delight at watching them interact.

Gaslighting aside, Riley is serious about one thing. She takes care to reiterate how nice it is to have Charlie back, but how proud all of them are of him for taking the leap and doing the gap year. Not only is it just plain cool, but it’s more than apparent how much good it did him and how much he’s growing. Riley can’t help but be happy for him, as well as confident he’s only going to continue to do so.

Riley: I can’t imagine how happy you must be. He really does make us all proud.

Eleanor considers that, the authentic admiration not laced with the usual subtle digs common in her social circles. She glances at Charlie, nodding along.

Eleanor: Yes. Yes, he certainly does.

Charlie smiles, then turns it on Riley, who returns it with a beam of her own.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - GARAGE - NIGHT

Zay is back to work in his garage, dutifully putting the finishing touches on his Turner audition. It’s come together, and he’s feeling good about it, so all there is left to do is run it into the ground until he gets it just right. Given his one-track mind mentality, should be a piece of cake.

Only… not quite. Because for as invested as he is, he finds himself constantly distracted. He keeps going back to his phone, absentmindedly clicking into his calendar app and emails.

Mainly to look at the details for his callbacks. The ones he must’ve followed up on after all, because he now has the time and date. Not that he’s actually going to go… but why not? Why shouldn’t he? It’s just like he told Yindra -- any practice is good practice, isn’t it?

It feels like a dangerous game to be splitting his attention before one of the biggest auditions of his life. In fact, in his head, he can’t deny he feels like he should be thinking about absolutely nothing else. The obsession should be natural; the ambition blinders should be intrinsic.

Yet here he is, contemplating even more opportunity instead. Just a passing instinct, maybe…

Yindra, pre-lap: I’m just not sure. I don’t know how to know if it’s the right next move.

INT. YINDRA’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Yindra is in the living room, curled up on the couch in her pajamas. She’s talking through the girl group offer with Jade, who is similarly dressed and sitting on the floor while she works on a sewing project for Pinhead Threads.

Yindra: It’s just… not what I expected. I always had it in my head that my career would be a solo endeavor. It’s hard to reprogram that image, I guess. Jade: Sure, but there are tons of big name stars who started out in groups. It’s not a bad kickstarter. Destiny’s Child is one of your favorite artists, right? Look at Beyoncé. Yindra: No, I know. So everyone keeps telling me. I don’t think it’s a dead-end path by any means -- granted I even make the cut and join up in the first place. [ hesitant ] I just… don’t want to end up on the other side of the girl group spectrum.

That is to say, there’s only one Beyoncé. She doesn’t want to be a Michelle. Or Ally. Or Leigh Anne -- basically any member of a group who is only really still known by their original fans and never broke out into the stratosphere like their contemporaries on their own merit. She doesn’t want to make one choice and freeze her career forever in the shadow of someone else.

She doesn’t want to make the wrong first move.

Jade: I mean, could it really be the wrong one? You have a certified agent with credentials who believes in your ability, which is good. Yindra: Yes. Jade: And even if you don’t end up getting the group gig, it would be putting you in front of other execs and stuff, right? So it’s a fast track way to get your name in front of others. Yindra: True. Jade: I’m not saying it’s an obvious answer. You know I don’t know like, anything about the performing side of all this. So take what I’m saying with a grain of salt. Just, coming from a terrible first start opportunity myself, I still don’t necessarily think it was the wrong move to take it. Yindra: Really? Despite how awful Anya was? Jade: It wasn’t ideal, no, but I’m glad I did it anyway. Partially because of the experience, which was still useful, but also because it did a lot in showing me what I didn’t want. If I hadn’t had such a sour start with AK, I might not have ever been motivated enough to take the leap out here to Los Angeles when the chance popped up. I think sometimes you have to try a few things and discover what isn’t working for you before you figure out what exactly it is that does.

Wise words, and all too true. Yindra takes that point, nodding along.

Yindra: I guess it wouldn’t hurt to see what it’s all about. Do the audition run at least and see what happens.

Jade mirrors her nod, offering a smile. From the kitchen area, DARIUS AMINO pipes up.

Darius: See, it’s funny how when you say all that, she listens. Whereas if I had given her that exact same advice --

Yindra groans, rolling her eyes, while Jade cracks up.

INT. CHARLIE’S APARTMENT - DAY

The next morning, Charlie and Eleanor swing by the apartment to grab a couple things before their adventures of the day. Based on her expression as she looks around, it’s the first time she’s seen the place since they moved him in at the start of the year.

Eleanor: This looks nice. It’s coming together well. Charlie: Thanks. Still kind of settling in, but it does what it needs to do.

Eleanor’s approval dims somewhat when Lucas enters from his room, dressed for a shift at Chubbies. Which is to say, in worn jeans and a Chubbies tee that has probably seen sharper days. Just as schlubby as ever… Charlie greets Lucas cheerfully like always, and Eleanor echoes it, though hers is laced with apprehension. Still, she’s good at faux politeness, as it’s basically her calling card…

Though Lucas sees right through her. He knows she thinks he’s demon spawn, so this chance interaction is more an opportunity for a laugh for him than anything else.

Eleanor: How are you? Lucas: Me? Oh, good as ever. I just got fired, so I’m back to whoring myself out to the capitalistic masses. Eleanor: Oh… dear. Lucas: It’s fine though -- bureaucracy wasn’t for me anyway. I’m thinking I can go bigger this time around. Word on the street is there might be some openings with the mob, and I think I could stand my ground as a bodyguard. I’m quick with a switch, at least, so.

He’s clearly joking, if you know him -- which Eleanor absolutely does not. She has to assume he is, but there’s just enough mystery there to wonder whether he’s serious… which only makes him more terrifying. Charlie gives Lucas a look, like really, to which he smiles innocently in response.

Lucas: But other than that, can’t complain. ‘Bout as good as it ever is.

Charming. Charlie rolls his eyes and claims he’s going to go grab the stuff they need, so he’ll just be a second. This leaves Eleanor temporarily alone, which she doesn’t seem thrilled with. But Lucas does her the favor of ignoring her, finishing up getting ready for his shift by gathering things into his ratty backpack.

Once she gets a look at it, something about it seems to catch Eleanor’s eye. She squints to get a better look.

Eleanor: Where did you get that? Lucas: [ surprised she’s speaking to him ] What? The backpack? It was like five bucks at Goodwill. Eleanor: No, the patch. That one on the front pocket.

Lucas frowns, taking a look for himself. It’s a nondescript sewn patch, featuring doodles of bread, fruit, and a logo of some kind that’s so faded it’s impossible to make out. Lucas shrugs.

Lucas: I don’t know. Pretty sure my mom gave it to me. When I was little. Don’t remember why. Eleanor: Oh… I see.

Eleanor’s tone has lost some of its nerves, but not necessarily for the better. In fact, it seems some of her smugness has returned, that patch for whatever reason reaffirming her sense of the world.

Lucas has no idea what she’s on about, or why she cares, and thankfully it doesn’t matter. Charlie returns in the next moment, offering a bright smile and asking if his mom is ready to head out. She agrees, saying an offhand goodbye to Lucas and wishing him the best of luck with his job prospects. She knows it can be tough out there for a guy like him.

Whatever the hell that means… Lucas nods and lets them go, choosing not to engage with whatever bizarre ego trip she seems to be on now. How someone like Charlie came from someone like her, he has no clue… as a catchy pop beat kicks up --

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - RECORDING STUDIO - DAY

Maya is in the booth recording the vocal line for whatever track they’ve been given by the label. Based on the brief snippets we can get from her vocal line and the glimpses of the production demo, it sounds like your standard pop anthem. Although she’s serving like always, she doesn’t seem totally invested. She’s close to phoning it in, if there’s even a Maya equivalent to that.

Once they finish the take, Maya comments that maybe they should do another. She didn’t feel completely sold on that run. Justin leans over and clicks the mic.

Justin: Don’t worry. You sounded fire. Maya: I know. I always do. But I think it could’ve been better. Melissa: We don’t have much time in the studio. We need to have this track laid down for the shoot later this week. Maya: Okay. But I just think -- Engineer: Whatever needs tweaking, we can clean it up in post.

Maya looks especially displeased with that. If she can have it her way, she would rather deliver a natural killer take than have her vocals edited by some engineer who knows squat about carrying a tune. She takes a risk and pushes back.

Maya: Doesn’t this whole thing feel a bit rushed? I think if we’re trying to impress the label, then we might want to do this right.

The engineer releases a sigh.

Engineer: I thought that whole diva thing was a shtick for a song…

Okay. Bitch. Maya starts to get up in arms, but Melissa quickly intervenes to save face. She calls for a five minute break and steps into the studio to join Maya, signaling to Justin to cut the mics so that they can have some privacy. He does so, giving her a thumbs up.

Once it’s just one-on-one, Melissa asks Maya what’s up. She sounds great, so what is she worried about?

Melissa: And ignore Jake, he’s consistently an asshole. We only worked with him here because it was so short notice. Maya: Well, that’s kind of my point. Doesn’t this all feel so fast? I know I pulled “O.M.G.” together fast, and Josh and I put “LolliPop” together in a couple days. But it was our vision, we had complete creative control. This feels like rushing through something that someone else is dictating, and I don’t see how that’s going to make a good product. Melissa: Welcome to the business, babe. Wish it weren’t so. Maya: I just think -- no offense to the label, but I know for a fact some of the demos in my portfolio are better than this. We could make a way bigger splash with them, with something that has actual character. Isn’t there any chance we could --

So she’s still on this original material thing. Melissa nods along, understanding her instinct, but she shuts her down pretty swiftly. She gets that this isn’t the most ideal way to keep the machine rolling, but it’ll get them where they want to go. She just needs to keep looking good, singing great, and leave the finagling to them.

Melissa: But I tell you what, I will find some time on our calendars after we get this track wrapped up and ready to go to discuss your portfolio. Okay? Sound good?

Maya accepts that bone, placated for now. She claims she’s ready to get back to work, putting her headset back on. Melissa beams, patting her shoulder proudly and leaving the booth.

Maya: Just waiting on you, Jake. Ready when you are.

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - OFFICES - DAY

Meanwhile, out in the office box, Josh is discussing his own client dilemmas. ROWAN PHELPS and BRIAN HARRIS are his audience, and based on their reactions, they share his reservations about the direction Floyd wants to go. Just far less tenderly.

Phelps: Josh, you cannot let that little dude release that cover as his first single. He will crash and burn so hard there won’t even be remains to recover. Josh: I know! I know that. Brian: Where is he getting his absolutely batshit confidence from? Because I need it. Phelps: You have to get him to release something else. Anything else. Because I’ve heard that cover of his, and I swear my ears were bleeding for days after. Josh: I know, all right. I’m aware. But I don’t want to disappoint him. He’s been patient with me, and he’s really excited about this. I want his first single drop to be a good experience. I don’t want to be an asshole or feel like I’m not supporting him.

As far as Brian can tell, that’s the obvious solution.

Brian: Drop him! There is no saving no talent. I would’ve dumped him ages ago. You stick with a sinking ship, you’re gonna get sunk. Phelps: You are the pinnacle of integrity, Bri, really. Brian: Look, call me an asshole, but y’all know I’m right. There’s no saving this one.

And that’s the tea. Josh doesn’t look happy with his take, and wants to disagree, but part of him worries there might be a degree of truth… Phelps rolls their eyes, closing off their conversation to just the two of them.

Phelps: He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. This industry gave the Kardashians a career, as well as Shawn Mendes. Talent is not a prerequisite.

Well, Shawn Mendes would be several steps up for Floyd’s voice, but that’s besides the point. But all of them are right that whatever he does, releasing the “Feelin’ Good” cover will be a death sentence for his barely started career. Not to mention it’ll embarrass the hell out of Josh’s fledgling producership.

Josh sighs, pulling his beanie over his eyes.

INT. REESE’S OFFICE - DAY

Yindra is back in Reese’s office, telling him that she’s decided she is interested in the girl group auditions. The least she can do is show up, feel it out, and see how things go. Reese is pleased with this, and thanks her for giving it a chance. He seriously does believe this could be a great opportunity for her.

Reese: I have to warn you, though, this audition process won’t be quite like anything else you’ve done before.

It’s not a one-and-done process. A group is all about chemistry, and balance, so she’s going to be doing a lot more vocal, dance, and interacting than she’s used to. It’s more like a marathon of standing out from the crowd, rather than a one-time-only show-off. Does she think she can do it?

Intimidating to say the least, but what does she have to lose? Yindra nods, inviting the challenge.

EXT. LOCAL FOOD BANK - DAY

Charlie and Eleanor make their way into a large, well-maintained building, already bustling with activity for the afternoon.

INT. LOCAL FOOD BANK - DAY

This volunteer organization is part food bank, part soup kitchen, but fully dedicated to helping those with less means keep from going hungry. On the wall just inside the entrance, their company brand is painted as a mural -- and suddenly, it looks way more familiar than before. Some doodles of bread and fruit, and a not-so-faded logo.

That explains how Eleanor recognized the patch… and the conclusions she drew from it. If Lucas got this from Grace, all those years ago, then there’s high likelihood the food bank has served Grace before. And in Eleanor’s world, if his mother was desperate enough to be coming to get their help, then much about the way he turned out makes complete sense.

She would never project those biases openly though, and you’d never think it with how she’s received at the bank. All of the employees and volunteers greet her cheerfully as they enter, as she’s a well-established regular at this point from the volunteer and charity side of things. She takes care to introduce Charlie to everyone, and they all take care to tell him just how vital his mother is to the community. It’s a wonder what they’d do without her!

Eleanor is definitely proud of this fact, based on her expression. And Charlie seems happy to hear it, happy to see how glad she is to be involved. It’s this kind of stuff that reminds him just how generous his mother can be, values he’s tried to emulate his entire life.

One of the organizers gestures for them to follow so they can give Charlie the brief tour, before they settle into the work of the day.

INT. MACNAMARA HOME - DINING ROOM - DAY

At the same time, Sydney has set up a home base crisis management station at the MacNamara home. She’s dominated the dining room table, and currently, she’s walking Zachary through potential damage control plans they can implement in the coming days to get ahead of the story. They’re waiting for Leticia to arrive to really dig into the publicity side, but right now, Sydney is mainly concerned with schooling his reactions to protect them.

And it’s understandable why. She laments during their session how much crazier engagement has gotten, and not for the better. She is constantly fielding unsolicited inquiries from media companies to get Zachary on the record, and more than one nosy reporter is looking for an exclusive interview. Not to mention the insane fans -- her block button has been getting way more exercise than usual since the news broke. Zachary frowns.

Zachary: I’m sorry, Syd. I know this isn’t what you signed up for. Sydney: I mean, it kind of is. Comes with the territory. Zachary: I guess, but not to this degree. I’m sorry you’re roped into it too, that you have to field it all. I’ll pay you overtime, just tell me the hours -- Sydney: It’s fine. Seriously.

It’s annoying, but she’ll deal. She’s loyal to him, and anyway she can help, she will do it. Doesn’t mean she has to be happy about it, though…

Or necessarily graceful to the unintended perpetrators. She clams up, tenderness ebbing, when Isa enters the room. They were just stopping in to check how things were going before heading out to meet up with Farkle, but they sense the change in energy as soon as they walk in.

Isa: I didn’t mean to interrupt. Zachary: Oh, no. No, you’re fine.

Sydney doesn’t offer the same reassurance, back to battling the mania on her phone. Isa waits a moment, unsure how to address… everything, so they offer the bare minimum instead.

Isa: I’m going to meet up with my friend, Farkle. But I wanted to check if there was anything I could -- Sydney: He’s vetted, right? He’s not going to take advantage of this, is he? Isa: Farkle? No. [ shaking their head ] No, he’s cool. He would never hurt me -- or us. Like, he knows how much shit affected me with Val. He’s about as safe as it gets for me.

Sydney doesn’t seem convinced, but she’s suspicious of just about everyone at the moment. Zachary is less so, encouraging Isa to have fun. They’ll catch up when they’re back. Isa nods, awkwardly retreating from the conversation.

INT. NYU - THEATER - DAY

Lucas feels just about as awkward arriving at the NYU theater, carrying lunch from the bakery Riley likes. Although he’s no stranger to auditoriums, he knows he’s out of place in this one, especially with the frantic nature of dress rehearsals. Mostly, he just feels in the way.

And some folks won’t hesitate to tell him so. IMOGEN LEE catches him hovering in the wings, shooting him a dirty look and making her way over.

Imogen: What are you doing here? Lucas: Uh, I’m looking for Riley? Imogen: Yeah, no duh. I don’t know if your girlfriend told you, but this is a closed rehearsal. She can’t just invite friends along whenever she damn well pleases.

Okay, girl, this is college theater, not the Great White Way. Let’s calm down. Lucas doesn’t know how to respond, but he’s mercifully spared by Riley appearing at just the right time. She has no such reservations about him being there, greeting him joyfully but quietly purely out of respect for the actors rehearsing on stage at the moment.

Riley: I got it, thanks Imogen. Glad you made sure he didn’t get lost.

Sure, that’s what she was doing… Imogen rolls her eyes and backs off, leaving them alone. Riley gives Lucas a brisk kiss, claiming it’s so nice to see him.

Riley: It’s been a hectic morning. Dress rehearsal blues. And unlike when we were at Adams, I can’t just go climb up into the booth with you when I could use a break. Doesn’t it take you right back, being in the wings again? Don’t you miss it? Lucas: You want the truth?

Riley gives him a playful head tilt, nudging his arm. He informs her of the gifts he brought -- sustenance to keep her going -- and she is utterly grateful. How did he know this is exactly the pick-me-up she needed?

Lucas: [ with a shrug ] I was in the neighborhood. So.

Right. Just like always. EVAN SCOTT makes his exit from the stage and jogs into the wings, joining them and giving Lucas a friendly hello. It’s nice that he was able to sneak his way inside -- usually they’re pretty intense about closed rehearsals.

Lucas: Yeah, I got the memo. Riley: He was just playing the hero by bringing me lunch. [ holding up the bag ] If you thought Clucks was good, you ain’t seen nothing yet. I’ll have to share a bit of it with you during break so you can taste a real good lunch. Evan: Oh, you’re on. Be my guest.

Riley gets called onstage by the director, so that’s her cue. She gives Lucas another kiss on the cheek and tells him he can hang around as long as he likes. You know, so long as he doesn’t get caught.

Riley: But you’re good at keeping a low profile.

With that, she gives him a wink and then jogs towards the stage, joining back in on rehearsal. That leaves Evan and Lucas on their own, both hovering in the wings to watch as Riley gets into character and prepares to start working on a scene. After a beat, Evan takes the opportunity to chat, keeping their voices low as to not blow his cover.

Evan: She really is something else, you know. A real talent. And I don’t say that lightly. [ with a smile ] But I’m sure you know that already. Having gone to Adams for years with her. Lucas: I don’t know about that. [ off his eyebrow raise ] About knowing because of Adams. Obviously, Riley is… she’s, you know. All of that. I just wouldn’t say going there gave me any sense of how to tell the difference. Evan: … really? It’s a school for the arts. I have a hard time buying that you don’t have the chops if you went there for four years. Lucas: It’s a long story.

One that he is not getting into with a near stranger like Evan. Not that Evan is all that interested in the lore. He’s more focused on his lackluster response -- maybe he’s just shy, or doesn’t have a way with words, but Evan is somewhat put off by him. If Riley were his girlfriend, he thinks, he’d miss no opportunity to sing her praises to anyone who will listen.

On stage, Riley quickly glances to the wings and catches that they’re still standing there, and that he hasn’t left yet. She smiles lightly, blowing Lucas a secret kiss before turning back to the scene at hand. Playfully bending the rules just a bit, flaunting his closed rehearsal violation even if only the two of them know. 

Evan: Well, it’s nice that you’re still able to support her. She’s clearly glad you are. Lucas: Yeah. And I’m glad she’s got stuff like this. That other people recognize she’s good. It’s just… not my thing.

Anyone who knows the whole story, who knows Lucas, would get that. Get what he means. But Evan doesn’t, so to him, it just seems like aloof indifference. A diffidence towards the passions of someone he cares about -- someone he supposedly loves.

INT. LOCAL FOOD BANK - CAFETERIA - DAY

Meanwhile, different lunch business is happening over at the food bank. Volunteers of all shapes and sizes are working the hot lunch lines to dish out filling meals to those in need, hair nets and gloves on and conversation light as they chatter with the regulars and welcome new faces. The hall is already bustling with people, packed into the long tables and benches or taking their meals to go.

Eleanor and Charlie, however, aren’t working the front lines. They’re hanging out where Eleanor usually parks it during her volunteer hours, hanging back by the administrative side in a couple of decently comfortable lawn chairs. Immersed in the minutia of keeping the place running, surely, helping the volunteers and organizers, but an easy distance from the folks actually receiving the support.

This gap in connection doesn’t seem to even occur to Eleanor, who is happily in her element chatting with the higher-ups of the organization and helping iron out details from her polyester throne. No sense in messing up her well-kept hair with a net or making her old feet ache standing behind the food line…

Charlie is a different story. He’s seated like his mother, half-listening to their oh so important discussions, but his attention is consumed by the community around them. Taking in the scenery, watching the people come and go with curiosity and empathy. From the way he’s bouncing his leg, there’s a restless energy to being there -- like he’d much rather be on his feet doing something than standing there overseeing it all. Within the community, rather than outside it. But this is how his mom does it, and he’s supposed to be learning from and aiding her, so there he sits…

By happenstance, it doesn’t take long before something breaks the inertia and triggers him to act.

A single MOTHER is doing her best to keep control over her four young kids, having just gone through the lunch line and trying to find a table. But it’s crowded, and the pace to find space for all of them is slow-going, and trying to keep four hungry kids tame is like wrangling cats. So it’s far from surprising when something goes amiss, one of the younger girls failing to balance her loaded plate and keep up with her siblings.

It falls to the floor with a splat, causing the DAUGHTER to shriek and burst into tears. The mother, already overwhelmed, immediately hushes her and tries to keep her calm, but it’s difficult while keeping the others in check and not being in the way of others. They’ve already earned some irritated glares, and they’re in the way of the flow of traffic with the mess on the floor, and now they’re down a plate. The mom isn’t just frustrated, she’s embarrassed too, and already on short patience.

There isn’t much of a push to come to her aid, either -- the food line volunteers are all busy with their current patrons, and the administrators over in Eleanor’s corner don’t seem keen to rush over. They watch with sympathy, of course -- “poor thing” -- but someone else’s mess and unruly children aren’t their problem. The food they spilled is courtesy enough.

Except for Charlie. When he witnesses this unfortunate accident, he doesn’t hesitate. Before Eleanor can suggest otherwise, he’s out of his chair and crossing the cafeteria.

Eleanor: Charlie, wait --

He grabs some paper towels on the way and swoops down to help scoop up the mess, calmly assuring the girl and her mom that it’s okay.

The mother seems genuinely surprised he came over to help. Now that attention is on them, the other kids have gone quiet, watching Charlie interact with their mom.

Mother: I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Charlie: Please, it’s okay. Not a problem. It happens. Mother: I should’ve paid more attention to -- and you don’t have to clean that up. I’m sorry -- Charlie: Ma’am, I promise, it’s okay. No worries at all.

Well, if he says so… the little girl has stopped crying, too shy for tears. Charlie kindly turns his gaze to her, offering a light smile.

Charlie: You lost your balance a little there? Daughter: … yes. Charlie: I get it. I’ve definitely done the same before. I’m a dancer, but if I’m not doing choreography, I’m a total klutz. Daughter: I like dancing too. Charlie: You do? Nice. You’ve probably got better balance than me.

Tension broken somewhat, Charlie offers to help by making sure the daughter gets a fresh plate of food. The mother claims he’s already done enough, sheepish, but he insists. If she’d rather go with her, he’s more than happy to help her kids find a table and keep an eye on them.

They strike a compromise, Charlie agreeing to take the little girl for food while the mom finds a seat. He also tells her that they can swing by the toy drive table while they walk and see if they can pick something out for her and her siblings. The mother is genuinely relieved for a second to breathe, thanking Charlie profusely which he waves off with a shrug.

Charlie: Of course. We’re here to help.

And he’s a natural at it. At the same time, Eleanor’s corner of the room seems less certain -- some are endeared by Charlie’s involvement, while others (including Eleanor herself) seem slightly uncomfortable with the wall between their worlds being breached so casually.

Still, can count on the church lady crowd to find one silver lining.

Admin: He is so good with kids. Oh, you’re going to be such a lucky grandmother once he finds his wife!

Yeah, we’ll see about that. Dream on, though.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

Maya gets up from the kitchen table where she’s working on lyrics when there’s a knock at the door. She’s slightly stunned to find Isa waiting on the other side -- and they’re equally as unprepared to see her.

Maya: … hi. Isa: Hi. [ a beat ] Uh, I’m here to see Farkle?

Oh, right. Duh. Silly to think they could’ve been there for her… Maya nods, stepping back and allowing Isa into the apartment. There’s an awkward beat, neither of them quite sure how to act around one another.

Maya: He’s not here right now. In case that wasn’t obvious. I mean, he should be home soon. Probably. But you never know with him these days. Isa: Okay. Cool. Thanks. [ a beat ] Rehearsal, I’m guessing? Maya: If only. At least that commitment is predictable and consistent. [ with a sigh ] No, he’s probably with --

Jordan. Yeah. She doesn’t even have to finish the sentence. Isa understands. Definitely not what you want to hear when you came all the way over here.

Isa: Oh. Yeah, okay. Maya: Sorry. You can text him. Isa: Guess I will. Thanks.

Isa pauses, thinking they should go… but then they release a huff, crossing their arms.

Isa: Sorry, but am I a bitch for thinking he could’ve at least texted me? I get changing plans -- I mean, actually I don’t if it’s for your lame significant other, but -- Maya: Oh, babe, do not even get me started. I’m on your side. If you’re going to ghost someone, it should at least be for good reason. Not for hanging around with… with… Isa: The human equivalent of a watered-down Americano.

Maya cracks up, nodding along. Yes, that’s exactly it! Isa can’t help but grin as Maya commiserates, the two of them releasing their pent up disdain for Jordan while Farkle isn’t around. For an instant, it’s almost like they’re back to normal, rapport easy and bouncing off another with natural fervor.

But shared resentment can’t rebuild a bridge on its own. And they’re disrupted anyway when Isa gets a text, dimming their back and forth and letting the awkwardness back in. Isa clears their throat.

Isa: It’s Farkle. He got caught up, so he’s gonna meet me at the restaurant. Maya: Oh. Good. Isa: Yeah… better than nothing, I guess.

Maya does her best to hide her disappointment. With that, suppose Isa better go… or whatever… they start to head for the door, but before they can step out, Maya pipes up.

Maya: Izzy. Isa. I’m sorry about what’s going with the media. They don’t know shit.

Isa is surprised Maya is keeping up with it. That they even seem to care. Not that they ever gave an impression otherwise… suppose it wasn’t Maya who burned them down. Even if her actions made it feel warranted.

It’s strange, to know someone still cares -- to still care yourself -- but not have any idea what to do with it. To have no clue what happens next. For now, Isa nods.

Isa: Thanks. [ a beat ] See you.

Maya lets them go, not asking for more. Placating herself with the knowledge that she said her piece.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - HALLWAY - DAY

Isa closes the door behind them, hanging on the doorstep for a moment longer. Part of them wanting to go back and try to make sense of this, iron the whole thing out… but ultimately going on their way, leaving the door closed.

But the confusion follows, not letting itself be forgotten so easily. As the echoey backing track eases in…

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Tell Me How” as performed by Paramore || Performed by Isa De La Cruz & Maya Hart

Maya takes the first verse of this melancholic ballad, contemplative. She moves towards the window to look down on the street, spotting Isa as they emerge from the building.

I know you think that I erased you You may hate me, but I can't hate you

And she can’t replace them. No matter how easy Isa might think it is for her to do.

Do I suffocate or let go?

EXT. LOS ANGELES STREETS - DAY

Isa is asking the same question, picking up the second verse as they make their way down the sidewalk. 

Think I'm tired of getting over it And just starting something new again I'm getting sick of the beginnings

If they’re honest, in their heart, they miss her. They miss that sense of camaraderie, one boss bitch to another. They miss challenging each other, collaborating, picking on Farkle together. But how good could that have all been if it was so easy for Maya to toss aside?

Even so, the ache of that has lessened in the time since. It hurt, and still does, but Maya explained her side. She made her case. It was a mistake, a thoughtless wound. Isa can buy that -- Maya has never been the queen of consideration -- and the resentment that used to burn in their chest has long since simmered.

But they can’t just go back to before. The question is, if they’re not friends, but they're not angry anymore, then what are they? What’s left?

Why can’t someone just tell them how to be?

The two continue to pass vocals back and forth on the chorus, parlaying into the piano interlude. On the bridge, they not only harmonize but also echo one another, circling each other musically but never quite syncing up. Never getting onto the same page.

That is, until they join together on the “oh” just before the 3-minute mark. Then they sing together through the final rendition of the chorus, sharing a split-screen, before begging the universe for the same sign as to how to move forward. The same plea asked in the midst of many a friendship break-up -- the prayer that never has a straightforward answer.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

Maya takes the last outro lines, choosing to believe there’s a positive version of them somewhere safe in the fog of Isa’s memory.

EXT. LOS ANGELES STREETS - DAY

And it’s those memories that make it so hard to let go. Isa turns away and continues their walk alone down the block, stuffing their hands in their pocket as the song peters out.

INT. NYU - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

Vanessa and Nigel are taking a lunch break, seated on the studio floor. It seems they’ve already done a decent amount of foundational work, given Nigel’s sweat. Vanessa is optimistic though -- she doesn’t see him as a hopeless case. He’ll be able to pass, with a bit more practice.

Vanessa: At this rate, who knows? You may even be able to snag a B. Nigel: Passing is all I care about right now. I should’ve taken this pass/fail, but I was so zoned out during course selection I neglected to consider the possibility that my professor for intro to dance would be off his rocker.

Vanessa snorts. Speaking of insane dance, Nigel politely asks how Vanessa’s audition prep is going for the Turner transfer. He knows Zay has been pretty wrapped up in it, so she must be the same.

Vanessa: Is he really? Wasn’t sure I would’ve guessed that, considering he’s flitting off to other auditions left and right. Nigel: Yeah. Haven’t you guys talked about it?

No, Nigel. They’re not doing that right now. Like totally normal couples. Vanessa avoids answering the question, not wanting to get into it and answering with a shrug instead. Nigel doesn’t mind, addressing her original point.

Nigel: Anyway, I wouldn’t read too much into Zay’s choices. He’s always doing weird stuff like that. What you’ll come to realize after being friends with him for long enough is that he will always, always be doing more than you. Working harder. Probably better. Vanessa: I disagree on principle, but… Nigel: I don’t mean that in a mean way. Or even bitterly. It’s just fact. It used to bother me, when we were younger, but after a certain point it just became part of the deal. Like, okay, Zay is Zay. He’s a badass, and he has no mode other than 100, and he will always be two steps ahead. I had to decide if I could handle that, if I could turn off the constant comparison in my head and just take him as he is. I did, and I’m glad I did, but he’ll always have his quirks.

That last part, she’d already figured out on her own. Vanessa thinks for a moment, debating whether she wants to say anything…

Vanessa: It just doesn’t make sense to me. Going on these auditions when we have the biggest one of our year right around the corner. It’s not like he’s going to be able to do both. He has to know that. Nigel: Oh, for sure. He probably just thinks of it as like, I don’t know. Practice. Vanessa: I can’t fathom splitting my attention like that. If this is my one shot to get what I want, like… why would I ever risk throwing my eggs into different baskets? Especially ones I would never actually do? Nigel: I mean, maybe he would? Consider them, I mean. Zay has this endearing but infuriating quality where he goes for things just for the hell of it, like “practice” or whatever, or just to prove he can do it. And then, naturally, he ends up getting the offers. I’m not saying he does it intentionally -- I genuinely think that for all his attitude and confidence, he doesn’t realize how good he is. Like, how far his charisma and grind culture takes him. He wouldn’t admit it, but I think he surprises even himself half the time. Vanessa: Then why is he trying to get into Turner? If he has all these other options? [ frustrated ] Unlike him, some of us don’t have endless paths laid out in front of us. Nigel: Hey, like I said. I get the frustration. Being his friend is a blessing and a curse. And I’m not gonna act like I can make sense of his diva mind. [ after a beat ] I just feel like sometimes, Zay… so the big thing about him is that he’s stubborn. Like, he is the most obstinate person I’ve ever met -- and I went to Adams with a lot of divas. He’s not as flamboyant as some of our other classmates, but Jesus, when he puts his mind to something he is relentless. When he gets an idea in his head of how something is supposed to be, how he thinks he wants it, it’s damn near impossible to get him to change his mind. Vanessa: Cute. Nigel: Somehow, he still is. Yes. But sometimes I think it hurts him more than it helps him. ‘Cause like… [ searching for the words ] He’ll get this idea in his head that one way is the way things have to be. The path he’s meant to take, the reasonable thing to do. Maybe in this case that’s Turner; maybe it’s taking every single audition possible even if he’s never gonna go for it. But he internalizes this idea of how he’s supposed to do it, to have his best shot, and then he traps himself in that mindset. Even if he knows it’s not working, or isn’t making him happy. Honestly, watching him last year felt like that, the way he ground himself down until he literally hurt himself so bad it was the only way to slow him down. He’s brilliant, but like all greats, he’s kind of his own worst enemy at the same time. [ with a shrug ] I don’t know if that helps at all, make sense of your freak boyfriend, but that’s just my take after knowing him for five years.

It actually does help, at least a little. Vanessa and Zay may be similar in some ways, but there’s enough difference between them to create mystery that feels infuriating. It’s nice to have the perspective of someone who’s known him for longer, who can provide larger context to the character that is Zay Babineaux. 

Especially since she’s not talking to him herself. After absorbing that intel, Vanessa suggests they get back to work, climbing to her feet and offering her hands to help Nigel back up.

INT. LOCAL FOOD BANK - CAFETERIA - DAY

Charlie has put himself to use now, still hanging out with that woman’s kids and helping keep them entertained. It appears that in the time he’s been there, he’s totally won over the youngest of the bunch, both of them eagerly talking to him and showing off the toys they picked out from the giveaway. Charlie engages with them effortlessly, encouraging their chatter and listening with an easy smile on his face. Completely in his element.

Eleanor is watching from her safe distance, not sure how she feels about having lost him to the sea of less fortunate. She’s even more apprehensive when the woman he helped actually approaches her, timidly asking if she knows Charlie.

Eleanor: Oh, um, yes. He’s my son. Woman: I thought so. You look alike. [ shy, but sincere ] He’s wonderful with kids. He’s been a huge help today. Eleanor: That’s good. I’m glad we could help. Woman: It’s the most help I’ve gotten here in a while. You must be very proud.

Yes… yes, she should. Eleanor nods, accepting the compliment, but she still appears quite uncomfortable with actually interacting with one of the people needy enough to seek their oh so generous charity.

INT. USC - THEATER - DAY

A pick-up rehearsal for The Last Five Years is wrapping up, the director IRENE KAPLAN talking them through some brief notes.

Farkle is hardly paying attention. He’s continuously distracted by his phone, currently in the midst of a rapid fire exchange with Jordan. But it’s not the kind of rapport he wants -- Jordan has hinted he may need to change his plans with their little dinner he planned, and Farkle is doing everything he can to convince him not to cancel. He’s practically begging in text format, whereas Jordan’s responses seem noncommittal and unbothered.

How can he seem so unconcerned, when Farkle feels like he’s holding his world together with a safety pin? When this feels like the end of the world?

Irene doesn’t miss his lack of engagement. Once she finishes notes and dismisses everyone, commending them for a great first handful of shows, she specifically requests that Farkle hang back to chat. He does so, managing to put his phone away for that long even though the thought of missing his chance to win Jordan over makes him itch.

Although she’s not unkind, Irene doesn’t beat around the bush. She points out that Farkle has seemed distracted as of late, and he’s been late to more than one call time in the last week. He’s a freshman, so she’s not expecting him to be the pinnacle of professionalism, but there comes a point where she needs to draw attention to it.

Farkle is genuinely regretful, launching into apologies and promising he’ll be better about it. In fact, despite the reassurance, his hasty groveling is almost too strong a reaction for the critiques she was giving him. It makes her more concerned than before -- enough to ask if there’s anything going on that he’d like to tell her about.

Farkle blinks.

Farkle: No? Irene: I’m just checking. I want you to know if there’s something going on, you should feel more than comfortable telling me. Both from a production standpoint, but also because I want you to feel supported. If there’s anything I can do to help with that, please let me know.

It’s a sweet sentiment -- one you like to see from a director and professor -- but Farkle just seems confused. He isn’t sure why Irene feels the need to say something like this. It’s not like he’s pulling his hair out again or contemplating popping some pills.

Farkle: Believe me, ma’am, I’ve been in much deeper trenches.

That’s not the cheerful reassurance you think it is, Farkle. Irene raises an eyebrow, but she figures it’s not worth digging deeper if he doesn’t want to talk. She just reiterates her support and reminds him of the call time for that weekend’s show, then lets him go.

He immediately pulls back out his phone as he descends the steps of the stage, awash in relief when he sees Jordan hasn’t cancelled. They’re still on.

He hasn’t totally lost him yet. That’s all that matters.

INT. MACNAMARA HOME - GUEST ROOM - DAY

Isa waits impatiently for a reply from Eric. They messaged him asking if he was free to talk, but they know he might not get the chance until later in the evening -- that is, if AAA was nearly half as dramatic as it was when they were there. 

Instead of a text, Isa’s phone lights up with a call, a picture of Eric and Isa smiling together filling the screen. Relieved, Isa picks up immediately.

After the obligatory greetings, they get into the true reason why they’re calling.

Eric: How are you dealing with the press? Do they know who tipped them off? Do we need to get lawyers involved? I think I still have the number of a lawyer Val recommended if anything like this happened -- Isa: Whoa, okay, slow down. One question at a time.  Eric: Right. Sorry. How are you? 

Isa takes a deep breath. What a question to start with.

Isa: I’m… okay. I guess. A bit stressed. And… Eric: [ off their hesitation ] And…? Isa: I feel like I’ve ruined everything with the MacNamaras. 

It all comes tumbling out. How anxious everyone has been since the paparazzi incident, how upset Milo got, how much Louis and Sydney seem to hate them. It just feels like everything is going wrong, and it’s bound to crash and burn at any moment. They knew it was going too well; something like this was bound to happen. 

Eric: This isn’t your fault, Isa. You’ve done nothing wrong. You shouldn’t be feeling guilt or taking all of the blame.  Isa: I know, I know. Ruby and Zachary don’t seem to blame me, but I can’t help but feel like I’ve blown up their lives. Everything was fine before I showed up. [ with a sigh ] I should probably talk to Ruby about all of this, right?

Eric supports this notion. Communication is always the best solution, and it seems like Isa has had luck connecting with Ruby before. It’s like they don’t even need his training wheels of emotional support anymore! Isa rolls their eyes, but they smile just a bit.

Eric: I have to confess, this is an odd situation for me. I’d love to be able to help you through it, but because I’m removed from it all, not there with you, there’s not much I can do. I can’t do anything other than listen. But it seems like you’ve thought through what to do next, and I have nothing but confidence that you’ll figure out the best solution.  Isa: Thanks.  Eric: I’m always one message or call away. Don’t hesitate. And let me know how it goes with Ruby. 

Eric’s faith in them gives Isa a boost of confidence.

INT. MACNAMARA HOUSE - KITCHEN - DAY

Ruby is set up at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, with a laptop and various pieces of paper spread out on the surface in front of her. She’s currently on the phone, brows furrowed deeply and lips pressed together in concern. On the open laptop screen is an email from the church, saying how concerned they are over the situation and asking the family to refrain from attending service until it all dies down -- for the security and privacy of other members. It’s a known hot spot for Christian celebrities, after all, and they’ve been fortunate to avoid such attention from the press until now. 

On the phone, things seem to be going about just as well. 

Ruby, frustrated: Why is it my responsibility to get rid of paparazzi on your property? We chose this school because you promised privacy for the boys, so why am I getting the blame when you’re unable to provide that? 

As the person on the other end talks, Ruby only gets more worked up. 

Ruby: Isn’t it your duty to deal with situations like this within the school? Louis said that his classmates are pestering him with questions all day about it, so it’s not just the press, but their peers, too --

She gets cut off. After listening to what the other person has to say, Ruby insists that she and Zachary are talking to lawyers and trying to get on top of the issue, but that she would appreciate it if her children could attend school as usual and not have another part of their lives disrupted. In response, she gets asked if she would mind waiting on hold while they get another member of staff.

Ruby huffs, irritated but holding herself back from expressing exactly what she thinks.

Ruby: Yes, I’ll wait. Thank you. [ once the hold music starts ] God help us now…

INT. MACNAMARA HOUSE - DAY

Isa comes down the stairs and wanders around downstairs, searching for any sign of life. There doesn’t seem to be anyone around, so it’s a relief when they stumble across Ruby in the kitchen. 

INT. MACNAMARA HOUSE - KITCHEN - DAY

From the angle that Isa’s at, they can’t see that Ruby is on the phone, only that she has her laptop and seems to be deep in thought. They approach quietly, trying their best to remain as confident as they were moments ago. 

Isa: Ruby, could we talk a bit about -- ? Ruby, snapping: [ turning in her seat and pointing to the phone ] Can you not see I’m busy?

Oop. Yikes. Both of them blink at each other, stunned silent. Isa at the harsh response, and Ruby at the realization of who she just snapped at.

Her expression immediately softens as she rushes out an apology, but just then her phone call picks back up, so she has to turn her attention back to that. Ruby mouths another sorry to Isa, but clearly isn’t available to talk. 

Still shocked, Isa numbly turns and leaves the room. So much for not having earned Ruby’s ire as well.

As the thumping, hypnotic bass floats in…

INT. VIDEO SHOOT STUDIO - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ Maya’s Original Song, “Haute Stuff” || Similar to “Blow Your Mind (Mwah)” as performed by Dua Lipa || Performed by Maya Hart

We finally get a fuller picture of the track Maya has been working on with Justin and Melissa, watching as she films parts of the music video for the song. The number is captured from different angles as the shoot progresses, both from the perspective of Maya running through it and the cameras capturing it that’ll make it to the editing room someday soon. It’s sassy, catchy, bombastic and clever, a perfect compliment to “On My Grind (O.M.G.),” and Maya delivers it expertly. It’s perfectly in her wheelhouse, and she never fails to slay.

But it doesn’t sound quite right. It’s a bop, no doubt, but it doesn’t sound like her. The lines are clever, but they lack her signature style; she looks incredible, but her movements are just a hair more stiff, more of an act than a reflection of her actual flair. It’s strength, being like her breakout hit, may also be its biggest weakness -- you could argue it’s pretty derivative of everything else she’s done so far.

At the conclusion of one of the choruses, she looks towards the camera and blows us a kiss, then offers a cheeky little wink.

Then the director calls cut, halting the pop cocktail as they reset for another angle. Maya takes the opportunity to scan the set until she finds who she’s looking for, jogging over to Justin. For any reservations she might have, he appears to have none -- he’s more than enjoying her performance, thrilled with how its turning out.

Justin: This is number one material. Don’t you feel that? This one is gonna drop majorly -- especially on Tik Tok.  Maya: Right, sure. It’s a fun track. [ a beat ] I’m just wondering if it’s not a bit… repetitive? Like, the video isn’t all that different from --

Justin humors her concern, but he brushes it off pretty easily. He doesn’t see why she’s stressing -- they’re standing on a gold mine right now.

Justin: Girlie, you sound incredible. You hit all the right moves here. Not to mention, you look absolutely banging.

For better or worse, that is a big criteria in success in most cases. Justin makes a point of adjusting her appearance as he says so, tweaking the hem of her mini-skirt and fluffing her money-making blonde hair. Maya doesn’t think anything of it, used to the nitpicks of a production. She still isn’t convinced about the song, but Justin encourages her to drop it and just roll with it.

Justin: Hey, just get through the shoot, and then bam, this project will be basically ready to go. We’ll have a banger on our hands, locked and loaded, and then we can start to focus on other stuff. Melissa set that dinner for us to chat about the EP, yeah? Shift your focus to that. Maya: [ brightening at that ] Right. Totally. Have you had the chance to listen to the demos I -- ?

They’re interrupted when the A.D. calls for Maya to get back in places. Justin gives her a wink, reminding her to knock ‘em dead and make them proud. Maya smiles, accepting his guidance and reenergized with the potential of what’s around the corner.

Justin gives her a proud pat on the head and then sends her on her way back in front of the cameras.

INT. TURNER ACADEMY - HALLWAY - DAY

Zay is on the phone with Yindra, hyping her up before her girl group audition blitz. He has no doubt that she can pull it off, and they’re insane if they don’t consider her good enough -- though whether she wants to take the offer will be another story.

Zay: Look, just think of it like Adams. Go in there, smoke those other bitches out of the water, and take no fucking prisoners. Yindra: There were like seven mixed metaphors in that pep talk, but I get what you’re going for. Zay: Save your smartass for the competition. But you’ve got this. Just show them real Yindra Amino. That’s all it takes.

Yindra thanks him, stating she’ll give it the best she’s got. Zay is about to say something else, but a sound from the end of the hall catches his attention. Someone is playing piano in the practice room, singing along lightly as they try to sound out a phrase…

And it sounds weirdly familiar. Confusingly, hauntingly familiar. Zay frowns.

Zay: Hey, I gotta go. Call me after the insanity.

He hangs up without further comment, following the mysterious siren song towards the end of the hall. As he approaches the practice studio in the corner, the voice becomes clearer -- and oddly enough, more familiar to us, too.

Apprehensive, Zay edges towards the doorway.

INT. TURNER ACADEMY - PRACTICE ROOM - DAY

No, his mind isn’t playing tricks on him. His well-trained ears aren’t deceiving him. Charlie is at Turner, in this practice studio. He’s seated at the piano as if it’s completely ordinary, sheet music in front of him. He doesn’t appear to be focused on it, though, half-improving through piano riffs instead to loosen up. He’s lightly singing along here and there, more like humming occasionally, warming up his voice.

Zay stares for a long moment, transfixed… because it’s so unexpected, obviously. Once he shakes off the surprise, he braves stepping into the room, announcing his presence.

Zay: You know, I could be mistaken --

Charlie jumps slightly, not expecting company. But when he lifts his head and sees who it is, the smile that blooms across his face is instantaneous.

Zay: So correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m like… ninety-nine point nine-nine-nine-nine percent sure you don’t go to this school. Unless you transferred out of nowhere without telling me, which 1) would be fucking rude, and 2) would be a miracle considering the hell I’m going through to transfer. Or, you’re not actually here and I’m having a serious hallucination right now, in which case I should call my doctor to confirm I’m not certified crazy.

Charlie laughs, shaking his head.

Charlie: No, no, you’re right. Not a student here, and not a hallucination, far as I’m aware. So you’re not crazy -- well, not because of that, at least. Zay, mocking: Oh, ha ha ha ha. So funny.

Charlie grins, enjoying the chance to rib him. It’s not usually so easy. Zay has made it across the room now, joining him and standing on the opposite side of the piano. Now that they’ve confirmed he’s really there, it does beg the question: why exactly is he there?

Charlie: I’ve got my college auditions this week, so I’m polishing up the pieces I want to do. I’d been practicing at home before, but suffice to say doing actual focused, quiet rehearsal in that house is like… basically impossible -- Zay: Given your seven-hundred siblings, yeah, that tracks. Charlie: So I was looking for a more dedicated space to practice. Lucky me, I happened to run into Nigel and Vanessa when they were out, and it came up, and Vanessa was nice enough to offer to book me a space here. So I happily took it.

Zay doesn’t know where to begin with that statement. Nigel and Vanessa are hanging out? Vanessa and Charlie are talking when he’s not there? God, you stop talking to your girlfriend for one week… Zay lightly shakes his head, trying to mentally catch up.

Zay: Oh. You know you could’ve asked me? I would’ve done it too. Charlie: Yeah, of course. But you know, you’re so busy, you’ve got your own stuff going on. I wouldn’t want to bother you. And honestly, I don’t think I even would’ve thought of the idea if Vanessa didn’t offer it. I owe her big time.

Even though it shouldn’t be so strange to Zay, considering how he’s worked hard to interweave Vanessa into his social circles, the concept of her and Charlie interacting so casually is just something his brain can’t seem to comprehend. So he moves past it, asking instead how Charlie’s actual practice is going. What’s he doing for his auditions?

Charlie doesn’t hesitate to discuss it, absentmindedly continuing to lightly play the piano while they chat.

Charlie: Well, it’s not as intense as most musical auditions, since I’m not like, trying to get into the performing programs, so I have a little more flexibility. Don’t need to do traditional Broadway or anything, but I still want to do something where I’m my own accompaniment so I can show different parts of my skill set. Hence, the piano, though I haven’t ruled out guitar yet either. I’ve kind of got a couple of songs on deck, so I can kind of feel it out day of and see what feels right. Zay: Wow. So devil-may-care of you. Not very Gardner-esque. Charlie: Yeah, well, like I said. These stakes are pretty nonexistent.

Still, he wants to make a good impression. Zay glances down at his hands, which are still instinctively playing the keys, pointing out that his ability to play more than one instrument is probably already more impressive than most of the music minors they get auditioning at this level. Though, in his opinion, he still thinks Charlie could easily go for a major if he wanted.

Charlie: Thanks. But this’ll do for now. I’m not asking for too much. Zay: Yeah, and that’s why I’m saying you don’t need to give too much either. [ nodding to the keys ] I mean, you’re basically playing with your eyes closed. If you insist on showing off like that, surely they won’t be able to say no. Charlie: What? Showing off? [ playing a more complicated riff ] Whatever do you mean? Zay: Okay, nerd, not all of us are virtuosos. Let’s not get smug. Charlie: I don’t -- [ not breaking eye contact ] I don’t know what you mean? [ with a shrug; playing an even more complex bit ] I’m just playing around -- Zay: All right, all right, that’s enough, Chopin. We get it, you play the piano. Columbia should be falling to their knees begging you to join up.

Charlie breaks into a beam, then dips his head back down to the keys. Zay can’t help but smile, but he reels it in quickly enough to maintain his faux disdain.

Charlie: Anyway, like I said, it’s not that serious, but I still want to do something good. Something that like… you know, feels representative but still like me, without getting all in my head about it. Zay: That’s good. I’d say going for it at all is an improvement. Charlie: I’d say gee thanks, but I know you’re right. That’s kind of the point. ‘Cause I’m trying this new thing where I don’t automatically discount myself or take myself out of the running for things I have interest in just because I don’t think I’m good enough.

Zay gasps, offering a smattering of applause. Charlie bows his head slightly, accepting the teasing praise.

Zay: Wow. That’s incredible. That’s like, groundbreaking stuff right there. Charlie: Thank you, thank you. Zay: That’s so crazy. It’s almost as if someone has been suggesting that for a while. Giving the best advice and shit. Like they’ve always known. You know, someone really smart, and cool, and sexy -- Charlie: [ with a roll of his eyes ] You about done? Zay: Never.

Charlie’s turn to not be able to hold back a smile. But it’s true, Zay’s been saying all that since the start! Even so, Charlie had to get there on his own for it to mean anything.

And now he has, so it’ll be interesting to see where he decides to go with it. Zay asks as much, nodding to the sheet music and asking what he’s working on for the audition beyond cheeky show-off piano riffs. Charlie claims this the more pop-adjacent tunes he’s polishing, adjusting the papers on the piano.

Charlie: It might be a bit too contemporary for the auditions, but I like the song, so I figured I’d hash it out anyway and decide later. I’m still figuring out some of the key changes, but -- well, actually, would you mind listening to it and telling me what you think? I’d love your opinion. But you know, only if you have time. I don’t wanna impose.

Considering he’s torn between drilling his own transfer audition into dust and running off to do some ill-advised shotgun callbacks for productions he’d never actually get to do, and thus moving on neither of them, yeah, Zay has a second or two to spare. Plus Charlie’s a friend looking for feedback, and Zay rarely passes up a chance to offer his opinion on the craft.

Not to mention, it’s been ages since he heard Charlie perform. Perform like this, unpolished and intimate, rather than at his shining best for his church. Passing up the invitation almost feels blasphemous.

So he shrugs, noncommittal.

Zay: I’ve got a few minutes.

Charlie smiles, grateful. He clears his throat and adjusts the sheet music once more, reminding Zay that he’s still refining and admittedly, he’s a bit rusty. Zay waves off his commentary and tells him not to preface. Let the performance speak for itself.

After a beat, Charlie nods, looking back down at the keys. He takes a breath, centering himself.

Then, he starts to play.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Dream No More (Acoustic)” as performed by Ruel & Genesis Owusu || Performed by Charlie Gardner & Zay Babineaux (starting at 00:30)

Charlie’s fingers are delicate on the piano, soft to start as he gets a feel for performing again. It’s different to practice on your own versus with an audience of one -- let alone when that audience is Zay Babineaux. He values his opinion, but he hasn’t stopped being an intimidating presence since they were freshmen at Adams, so the stakes almost feel higher here than they will at the colleges later in the week. So he keeps his head down and his eyes on the music.

He shouldn’t have worried. Zay isn’t going to criticize him. It’s disarming enough just to hear him sing again; to be close enough and trusted enough to be allowed to hear it. It’s kind of mesmerizing, Charlie’s unassuming baritone warm and familiar.

It’s magnetic, in its way, pulling Zay in his direction. He slowly makes his way around the piano and comes to join Charlie on the other side, gingerly settling onto the bench next to him. He watches Charlie for a moment, gliding through the first chorus, hands skillfully dancing along the keys… then his gaze drifts to the sheet music.

Zay drops his reservations and starts to sing.

Said I stripped your love from a mile away Your emotion slides from the palace stays Your defense is gone

Zay picks up the second verse, finding his footing with a bit of improv. Charlie has no complaints about the intrusion. He glances at him out of the corner of his eye, smiling creeping onto his face, and then finds the harmony to jump back in with him.

You shoot your shot love I shot my shot love But we both ended some bullet wounds

Like magnets clicking into place, the duet dissipates any lingering uncertainty. It breathes new life into Charlie’s approach, and Zay brings an undeniable energy. Charlie’s piano playing is especially commanding when he’s supporting Zay’s lyrical game. Playfully harmonizing puts them back in their element, and the collaboration is near effortless.

It’s been too long, and the vocal pas de deux feels light and easy -- it feels right.

They carry the harmonies through to the end, earning a few impressive vocal runs out of Charlie thanks to the comfortable nature of the rendition. But Zay drops off to let him have the final lines, granting him the moment to shine -- and maybe a bit too distracted by getting to experience it to keep up.

Charlie finishes with an acoustic flourish, traipsing through a few notes on the piano to round out the performance. When he hits the last chord, he holds it for a moment, then lifts his eyes to look at Zay.

Who is already looking at him. Caught in the static aftermath, the buzz of magnetism humming between them. Inches apart on the piano bench, elbows brushing, closer than they’ve been in what feels like forever.

Charlie smiles, gentle and instinctive. After a beat, Zay returns it.

Once the quiet hovers a bit too long, and the air starts to feel a bit too thin, Zay clears his throat. He makes the wise choice to seek out some distance again, getting to his feet and heading back around the piano.

Zay: Well. I think if you do something like that for Columbia, you’ll have no problems. [ a beat ] Not that the piano improv doesn’t do that for you already.

And not that he had doubts to begin with. But doesn’t sound like he has any additional criticism at this time. Charlie appreciates his help regardless, reminding him that he can totally ask for his help on any of his audition stuff too. Friendship is a two-way street, after all.

Charlie: Not that I think I have anything to teach you, but principle of the thing.

That’s a nice offer, albeit self-deprecating, but Zay’s feeling dizzy enough from this little tutor reunion. He claims he should get back to said audition rehearsal, so he won’t take up any more of Charlie’s precious siphoned studio time.

Before Zay can fully escape, Charlie calls after him.

Charlie: Zay?

Zay pauses in the doorway, looking over his shoulder at him. He raises his eyebrows.

Charlie: Thanks.

He’s gonna need a little more than that. Zay turns around to face him again and offers a playful head tilt, crossing his arms. With the space between them, he’s regained the ability to be cheeky.

Zay: For what?

It could be as easy as “for listening” or “for taking the time,” but it’s not that simple. It rarely is with them. Charlie seriously contemplates the teasing question, searching for what it is he wants to say.

Finally, he lands on it, with a light shrug.

Charlie: For always knowing.

That he could do it if he tried. That he had it in him -- anything, everything -- before Charlie even knew it himself. For knowing him.

It’s enough to knock down Zay’s defenses even with the distance. His smirk softens to a tender smile. He gives him a nod, then steps out before he can say anything else.

Charlie watches him go, expression bittersweet. Then he focuses back on the piano, releasing a sigh and playing a few stray notes.

INT. MUSEUM - DAY

Jordan and Farkle are on another date, this time exploring a trendy, exclusive new art museum exhibit that hasn’t opened to the public yet. Jordan is taking a handful of photos as he goes, having negotiated a deal to post about it on his social media to drum up excitement as well as help promote his photography. Coincidentally, he never asks Farkle if he wants to be in a shot.

Farkle hardly notices. He’s too in his own head, thinking about how to maximize this time he’s managed to get with his boyfriend and not willing to screw it up by complaining.

And, this time, he has an entirely different distraction. His phone buzzes with a text, pulling up his thread with Isa when he opens it. Aside from a brief exchange from earlier in the week apologizing for messing up the times for their hangout, Isa has revitalized the conversation with a block of text of their own.

“Hey so sorry to bother you with this because I know you’re super busy and everything -- our track record for hanging out STILL demonstrates that clearly enough -- but I don’t really know who else to talk to. I thought things were going well with Zachary and all that but naturally, the Val of it all has managed to blow up in unexpected ways (because how could she not) and now I have no idea whether I’m guaranteed for a shipwreck. I know you don’t really have advice here or can say anything new that you haven’t told me a thousand times before, but I guess I just needed a space to vent”

“And also if this goes to shit, might need a place to shelter for a few days… lmao”

Farkle frowns. He felt bad already about having messed up their hang -- knowing things are getting shaky doesn’t help. Jordan notices Farkle has lost interest in following him and doubles back to ask what’s up, clocking the expression on his face.

Farkle: Nothing. Just uh -- Isa’s having some problems.

Story of their life. This topic already seems boring to Jordan, but he humors it anyway. Nothing more entertaining than hearing the woes of people you don’t care for, after all…

Jordan: What’s going on? Farkle: I don’t think I should talk about it. It’s their business. Jordan: Minkus, come on. We’re boyfriends. You know you can talk to me about what’s going on in your life. With your people. I’m always here to listen.

When it interests him, at least. After a beat of hesitation, Farkle caves, liking the idea of his words… he gives him the brief synopsis of Isa’s situation, mainly sticking to the facts about visiting L.A. and trying to build a relationship with their biological father.

Farkle: It’s not necessarily new territory for them, but they’ve never had good luck with this stuff. It’s like a neverending Greek tragedy or something, with all the family drama. But they want this to be different. I know they really want this to work out. Jordan: With a mom like Valerie De La Cruz, I can only imagine. Farkle: So if it isn’t going as planned… it just sucks. I wish there was more I could do to help.

Jordan gives Farkle a gentle pat on the shoulder, rubbing it soothingly. This… this is the good stuff. Farkle returns his light smile, grateful.

Jordan: You don’t owe them anything. It’s nice you wanna fix it for them, but that’s not your job. Farkle: No, I know. I know. I just -- I don’t know. I figure I’ll at least offer our couch to crash on if things go south. Maya might be a bit weird about it, but she knows the whole saga too, so she’d probably understand. Diva egos, I can manage…

At this idea, Jordan withdraws a bit. He retracts his hand and stuffs them in his pockets, putting a little more distance between them.

Jordan: I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. Farkle: What? Why not? Jordan: I mean, by all means, do what you want. Like I said, it’s sweet. How you want to help. [ a beat ] But I just feel like you’re giving way more here than you’re getting. Wasn’t this the same friend who ignored you like all of first semester? And now they’re going to live off your couch rent-free? Farkle: That’s not how I’d put it. This is an if, then situation. And the stuff from earlier -- it’s complicated. Like I’ve told you, with Maya, it’s just all a bit -- Jordan: I know what you’ve told me. I’m just telling you how I, an objective observer, see it. To me, it just seems like De La Cruz sees you more as a convenient back-up plan when they need it, rather than a priority. Which isn’t a problem, if you’re happy with it being that way.

Wouldn’t you know, Jordan… Farkle frowns, not convinced. Usually, he’s not as hesitant to buy Jordan’s dribs, but something about this really rubs him the wrong way.

Farkle: Sorry, but I don’t think you’ve got this right here. Yeah, Isa mentioned the housing thing here, but it was more self-deprecating than anything else. This is coming from someone who knows how it feels to bounce around place to place. That’s just the way they talk. Jordan: Right. Sure. Farkle: They aren’t expecting anything from me. If I didn’t answer, I don’t think they’d bat an eye honestly. Especially because they know how they treated me last semester -- they’re more self-aware than I’ve probably made them sound. This is like, the least I could do. Jordan: Okay, and I’m just telling you I disagree. Farkle, baffled: I don’t get why you care so much? Wouldn’t you do the same for your friends? Jordan: Yes, if I considered them truly a friend. If they’d proven their loyalty. So far, can’t say that’s what I’ve seen here. The way Isa treats you -- [ with an aloof shrug ] I’d just rather you not be inviting them into your house. I don’t like it. Farkle: Well, it’s not really your choice. Jordan, affronted: Wow. So you just don’t give a shit that your boyfriend is telling you having someone over at your place makes them uncomfortable? That means nothing to you? Farkle: What? Jordan: Cool. Good to know. [ a beat ] I’m just saying, if I were the one who wanted to have like, Malcolm come stay at my place, I don’t think you’d like that very much either.

Whoa, whoa, whoa. When did this become about anything other than Isa’s family drama? Farkle is totally lost. Deep down, he ends up feeling this way a lot these days -- like conversations with Jordan are a chess game he’s never quite aware he’s playing until he’s been checked.

But right now, all he can sense is that Jordan is not happy -- and he’s walking away from him. He’s moved on and gave him the cold shoulder, continuing to move through the exhibit. Compulsively, Farkle jogs to keep up, promising Jordan that he’ll consider what he said. He doesn’t want him to feel bad about any of it. He’ll hold off, at least until he talks things through with Maya anyway.

It’s not a guaranteed dismissal, but for now, Jordan accepts it. He gives Farkle a smile, and a peck on the cheek, before going back to photographing the exhibit. Like the argument never even happened.

But it did. It did, and although Jordan seems ready to move on, it leaves a bad taste in Farkle’s mouth. Dissatisfaction, even as he did what he needed to salvage the relationship. To keep things afloat. He’s doing everything he can.

His instincts are fighting back, though. When Jordan isn’t looking, he turns around and opens his phone again, crafting a quick text response to Isa.

Then he jogs to catch up when Jordan calls after him, already in the next room.

EXT. GRAVEYARD - DAY

Isa’s phone lights up with Farkle’s text, resting on their thigh.

“I can’t get into this right now bc I’m out but I’m so sorry things are turning upside down. We’ll talk later promise but call if you need anything”

“And if you do need a place to crash, our door is open”

Isa smiles, timid as it might be. It’s not quite the pep talk or deep chat they were hoping for, but it’s a reply. A lifeline, and an offer of sanctuary.

Which right now, who knows if they’ll end up needing it or not. With the way things are going… Isa sighs and lifts their head, looking at Val’s memorial. They’re seated on the grass across from her engraving, finding a brief moment of peace with the ghosts.

Isa: You never make things easy for me, do you? How is it you’re haunting me more from beyond the grave? How many human sacrifices do you need me to deliver before you spare me?

Valerie doesn’t answer. Of course not. The small graveyard remains still, tranquil.

Ironic, that they’d find a slice of quiet in the absence of the person responsible for making their life a never-ending circus.

INT. NYU - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

Vanessa and Nigel have reconvened, now well into their little tutoring routine. So it’s time for a progress report. Vanessa places her hands on her hips, taking a deep breath.

Vanessa: All right. Let’s see where we’re at. You ready?

Nigel looks like he’d rather be doing anything else, but after a sigh, he nods. Vanessa returns it, turning and clicking play on her boombox.

It’s Yindra’s voice that sounds off with “hit me,” throwing us into the next sequence --

INT. JUPITER MUSIC - ATRIUM - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Mash-Up: Lose My Breath / Bang Bang” as performed by Destiny’s Child / Jessie J || Performed by Yindra Amino (feat. AMBITION Ensemble)

As the bombastic drums kick off, Yindra steps through the double doors into the atrium of Jupiter Music Group, Reese right behind her. They’ve arrived for the first round of girl group auditions.

And they’re not the only ones. It feels like half of Los Angeles is here, a bunch of hopeful, pretty young women just like Yindra throwing their hat in the ring for this opportunity.

The Destiny’s Child track is the dominant half of the theoretical mash-up here (so listen to that one if you have to choose), but the addition will prove its relevance before long.

Reese takes Yindra to the front and gets her signed in, then one of the assistants takes her away to get her prepped for the auditions. As Yindra is led away, Reese gives her an encouraging nod.

She’ll have to make the encouragement last, because it’s show time. She steps through the next set of doors, and a montage ensues --

INT. JUPITER MUSIC - AUDITION ROOMS - DAY

Showing us the painstaking, laborious sprint that is an audition like this. Yindra is photographed upon entry, from multiple angles. She’s given paperwork to fill out, and a number is pinned to her chest.

INT. NYU - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

At the same time, Vanessa and Nigel rehearsing is intercut. They’re a bit looser, far less tense, allowing for a breath of comedic fresh air throughout the performance.

INT. JUPITER MUSIC - AUDITION ROOMS - DAY

Which is appreciated, because Yindra is going through a juggernaut. She’s assessed quickly, often amidst a sea of other girls, in a myriad of areas -- harmonizing, basic dance ability, interviewing with members of the creative producing team. Although she’s with a set of about twenty other girls in her group, it’s clear as they move through the stages they’re just one group of many.

So much competition. Little chance to stand out.

Even so, Yindra finds her moment. During the vocal try-outs, she channels her Adams diva, finding the one shot she has to make a standout impression. Particularly when the audition panel is looking rather bored, having seen dozens of other women in the last couple of hours.

So she shows them what she can do -- she fucking sings. This is where the “Bang Bang” infusion really shines, because when Jessie J loses her vocal shit on the bridge (“see anybody could be good to you / you need a bad girl to blow your mind”), Yindra does the same. She blows their audition piece out of the water, leaving an undeniable impression.

Then the chaos rolls on, the moment of clarity forgotten to the hustle. Yindra finishes out her audition run as Vanessa and Nigel finish up their rehearsal for the afternoon while the mash-up concludes.

INT. JUPITER MUSIC - ATRIUM - DAY

The latter two manage a successful run-through and exchange relieved high-fives, while Yindra exits the double doors back into the atrium like she’s been spat out of Hell. She closes her eyes and releases a heavy sigh, just as the song comes to a close.

EXT. BURBANK NEIGHBORHOOD - DAY

Isa’s luck seems set to continue, with no divine intervention from Valerie. As they’re arriving back in the MacNamara neighborhood, they discover paparazzi swarming the corner, practically waiting for them. They curse under their breath, debating turning the other way, but they’ve already been spotted.

Paparazzi: There she is! Isadora! Isadora De La Cruz!

They converge in an instant, snapping pictures and starting to ask more questions. Isa tries their best to ignore them, hanging their head low and putting one foot in front of the other, but it’s basically impossible. It’s like being trailed by wasps, stung repeatedly again and again.

Paparazzi 1: Isadora, is it true that Z.D. purposefully hid you from the general public? Paparazzi 2: Is it true Valerie purposefully hid him from you? Paparazzi 3: Isadora -- Isa, snapping: It’s Isa.

Just another block… if they could just walk a little faster…

Paparazzi 2: Did Z.D. Roman abandon you and Valerie because you’re special needs?

Okay, fuck this shit. Isa whips around, staring at the invasive paps who clearly don’t even see them as a human being.

Isa: Are you fucking serious?

It’s only downhill from there. Now that they’ve got a response, they descend like vultures, all shouting louder and trying to get the best shot. Definitely not an ideal scenario for an autistic person, particularly right after having some cute ableism thrown at them.

Suffice to say, it’s not that surprising when Isa loses their grip. They finally hound Isa enough to get them to lash out, lunging in their direction.

Isa: Leave me alone! Jesus Christ, leave me alone!

Naturally, this is the money shot everyone’s been hoping for -- a nice, feral vignette of Isa going Bjork on a fellow paparazzi.

END OF PART 1.

[ ← Last (Part 1, half 1) ] [ 409 Hub ] [ Next (Part 2, half 1) → ]

[goodlives-mitansh]

Is Zoom Fatigue Real? 4 Helpful Tips to Follow

WHAT IS ZOOM FATIGUE?

“Ouch! My back hurts!” “I’m so done for the day!” “Oh, I can’t sit and stare anymore!”Have you experienced this on a daily basis while attending various online meetings for a prolonged period?  Most of you are going to say, YES!

Zoom fatigue refers to the feeling of getting drained and exhausted after attending meetings every day. We might think that sitting for long meetings does not have any impact on us, as we just have to sit and not do anything physically, but, it affects us, both physically and mentally, and has strong implications on our psychological well-being.

So, yes! Zoom Fatigue is real!

Going to school, college and work were normal, until, covid-19 hit us. We, as humans, tried to find an alternative, and with the technological developments, came to the conclusion of shifting to an online mode of functioning. The first 3-4 months were absolute bliss as most people got the time to relax and gather their thoughts by staying home.

Time passed and the pandemic did not come to an end. That’s when small changes started taking place due to the time spent attending meetings. That is where zoom fatigue comes in.

Zoom fatigue affects us in several negative ways and there is a possibility that we don’t even notice it or blame it for some other reason. 80% of U.S. workers experience ‘Zoom Fatigue.

What does Zoom Fatigue do to us?

Long working hours and high dependence on technology have an undeniable impact on our physical and mental well-being. Constantly spending time looking at screens and attending various kinds of meetings drains us too much.

Zoom fatigue results in us feeling exhausted and burnt out to the core, which further results in distraction and boredom after a certain period. At the end of the day, we feel so restless which contributes to us being unproductive.

The physical impact on health because of Zoom fatigue is rather subtle. Our back might get stiffer which can result in chronic back pain, as we tend to sit for long hours in one place.

Zoom fatigue results in a feeling of being stuck. It can also make a person feel very helpless and hopeless. We might feel like our head is getting heavier or lighter. We might feel irritation and pain in our eyes which results in excessive tearing, blurriness, increased blinking, and double vision.

Humans are social creatures. We always look up to something which acts as a driving force. That particular event motivates us to do things that we like, or may not like. We need human interactions but by evolution, we are not designed to look at screens for these interactions.

With the advancement of technology, there is a significant growth in zoom fatigue. But this doesn’t mean that there are no ways to manage Zoom fatigue.

Here are quick tips in which we can reduce the impact of zoom fatigue and that will help us remain fit.

4 Tips to Reduce Zoom Fatigue

1. Take a Break

Taking a break in between online meetings is very important. The break may not be long. It can be just a short 5-10 minutes break, but it should be a quality break. The break can include resting, lying on the bed for some time, going to the balcony and having a look outside, taking a short walk, etc.

You can also read self-help books. Check out our blog on Self-Help Books.

2. 5-4-3-2-1 Coping Technique

Focus on the “here and now”. Sit down, relax and observe.

(i) Observe 5 things that you can see.

(ii) Observe 4 things you can touch.

(iii) Observe 3 things you can hear.

(iv) Observe 2 things you can smell

(v) Observe 1 thing you can taste.

This technique is very helpful when it comes to calming and relaxing our running thoughts. It also helps us feel relaxed physically which results in mental relaxation.

3. Let's Disconnect to Connect

Attending meetings is inevitable. Therefore, try to distance and disconnect yourself from technology at other times. Most of us use social media, watch movies, or play video games during our free time.

Disconnect from technology and connect with yourself by taking out time for things that you love to do to enjoy and feel good about yourself and your day. Connecting with ourselves is as important as connecting with others through zoom. Zoom fatigue results in us being restless and tired, which does not allow us to take care of ourselves.

Therefore, try to engage with activities that you love, to connect with your true self, which would help you to reduce the effects of zoom fatigue.

4. Optimize Your Meetings

Invite only those on call who are required to be present. The aim should be to keep the calls smaller. We at GoodLives follow this technique to reduce video call fatigue. In our meetings, we try to talk to our employees as and when required. When the required conversation with one is complete, people can leave the meeting. This reduces zoom exhaustion and lessens screen time.

Zoom fatigue might feel inescapable, but what we need to believe is that we have the power to make a difference in how we think, and following the above 5 tips would help us reduce zoom fatigue.

If zoom fatigue is affecting you too much then try talking to a professional about it. Book your session here.

LET’S WIN AGAINST ZOOM FATIGUE!

For more visit Goodlives

[worksinprogress1]

Thankfully, it seemed as though Cyllene and her bisharp had been the only things to come in or out of this particular space-time distortion. At least, Cyllene couldn’t see any poor, confused city-dwelling Pokémon within the hive. She returned to the room where she’d left Bliss and Keidan, and found that they’d moved on without her. It made sense, she supposed. She’d been gone a few hours.

“Keidan?” she called out, wandering back into the hall. “Bliss! I’m over here!” The hive’s walls seemed to swallow her voice. 

With the poison cured, the hallucinations were blissfully absent, but she’d lost her innate sense of where the center of the hive was. This wasn’t helped by the monotonous nature of the hive. There weren’t any landmarks aside from the room of psychic types, just tunnel after tunnel made of black chitin. Cyllene quickly found herself very lost. 

A psychic type tried to attack her with a few kleavor corpses, and Cyllene and her bisharp defeated them with a few quick slashes, but it was a reminder of how dangerous it was to be on a mission like this all alone. One wrong step, leading to one compromising injury, and she would be easy prey.

Finally, she heard human footsteps. “Keidan? Bliss?”

“Mom?” came a distant voice, followed by quickened footsteps crunching against the ground. A monferno bounded around the corner, followed by Keidan and then Bliss, looks of relief on their faces.

“Thank Goodness you’re alright. Where were you? Did something happen with Amber?” Bliss asked.

“You’re... clean. And your scars look different,” Keidan pointed out.

“It’s a story you’ll find difficult to believe,” Cyllene said. “Let’s sit down. This will take a while.”

And so they did, the others looking intently at Cyllene for an explanation.

“Amber couldn’t be reasoned with,” Cyllene began, “She is dead. But while we fought, she cut my neck severely enough that I passed out from blood loss. If it weren’t for bisharp dragging me into a time-space distortion, I would have died. The distortion took me to the future, and the people there were able to heal me and clean my clothes with the use of their technology. It seems that their healing machinery faded my scars as well.”

That was all that needed to be said. There was no need to distract Keidan from the mission with difficult emotions. That could wait until after.

“Oh. Wow. I mean, I believe you, but wow. What was the future like?” Keidan asked.

“Beautiful. It’s a peaceful place with streets filled with beautiful buildings and homes filled strange devices. I can’t even imagine what they’re all for, but it seems like the future is a much brighter place.”

“You saw inside someone’s house?”

“Yes. It was a very kind person. But onto practical matters: they healed my poison. That means that I don’t know how to get us to the center of the Hive.”

“So someone has to get poisoned.”

“I suppose so. I learned a bit about the Hive Master while I was in the future. All it is, is a parasitic shellder that’s using the minds, bodies, and psychic abilities of various people and Pokémon. Shellder poison usually allows them control over one Pokémon while they’re in direct contact, but when it’s combined with kleavor’s venom, it seems like it can work at a distance. But once it’s dead, it won’t be able to control anyone’s mind, and the hallucinations will go away. And I don’t think the hallucinations will bother me as much anymore.” Not now that she knew Laventon was alive and well.

“You shouldn’t have to go through it alone,” Keidan said, looking her in the eye. “We’ll all do it. All five of us.”

Cyllene’s heart warmed. She’d raised such a brave and honourable young man. “Not Bliss,” she responded firmly. “Having a healer is very important. We need to keep him healthy. But I... like your idea. Thank you. Remember that whatever it makes you see isn’t real. All it indicates is what the Hive Master thinks will hurt you.”

“Got it,” Keidan said, picking up a discarded kleavor leg from the ground.

Cyllene went first, putting a small cut in her wrist, which Bliss immediately bandaged up. Immediately, she could sense the center of the hive again, calling out to her like a silent command. It was stronger than before. It was close. Her bisharp went next, followed by Keidan and then his monferno.

“Are we ready to go?” Cyllene asked the group.

“Yes,” Keidan responded.

They were at the peak of the hive now, with nowhere to go but deeper in. Monferno’s tail was their only light. Thankfully, they weren’t attacked- accidentally hurting each other would have been all too easy in an environment like this.

Another benefit of the dark was that the hallucinations held no power over Cyllene here. The Hive Master was doing its worst on her, giving her memories of that one early mission where she’d seen her comrade crippled for life by a scyther. Normally, doing a responsible scan of the area would have forced her to look. In the dark, she lost no information by simply looking away, and the hallucinations were too bright to blend in to the background.

Cyllene looked back at her cohorts. The others seemed to be taking it well, but Keidan seemed to be struggling.

“Whatever you’re seeing, it’s not real,” Cyllene reminded him before returning her gaze forward.

“If this about what I think it’s about,” came Bliss’ voice from behind her, “I know, okay? And you’ll always have a place with me if she does what you think she’ll do.”

“She would never. But thank you,” Keidan replied.

Cyllene wondered what they were talking about, what part of Keidan’s life she knew nothing about that Bliss apparantly did. But that could wait.

As they grew closer to the Hive’s center, they began to see humans shackled to the wall with chitin. People that the Hive Master was using the intelligence of.

“Let’s slow down and look for Fleur,” Cyllene commanded, and the others followed suit. Monferno lit its tail up brighter and took the lead so that they could see every person within the tunnel.

Fleur has to be among them, Cyllene reasoned, Otherwise, how would the Hive Master know about Laventon? Wait... can any of these psychic types read minds? I never told Fleur about my guilt over his disappearance. Though she could have guessed it, or blames me, or inferred it.

The center of the hive was growing close.

Maybe she isn’t here...

It was then that Cyllene saw her- crumpled on the ground with her head fallen forward and tangled dark blue locks covering her face. Chitin pinned her arms to the wall and was encroaching over her stomach.

“There she is,” Cyllene said cautiously, almost fearing that it was a hallucination meant to lure them into some trap.

The three people and two Pokémon gathered around her, the humans all taking out their pocket knives before Bisharp took out its hand-blades and made quick work of the thick chitin. Fleur fell forward into Cyllene’s arms, limp as a ragdoll.

“She’s still warm. I can feel her pulse. Bliss, do you have anything for this?”

Bliss rifled through his kit and pulled out a small bag, which he then passed to Cyllene. “Assuming this is a deep sleep-like state- like something hypnosis or sleep powder would cause- these dried chesto berries should work. If she’s just unconscious, there’s not much we can do. Revives don’t work on humans.”

Cyllene fed one of the berries to Fleur, and within seconds, her eyes fluttered open. Cyllene immediately squeezed her tight, and Keidan joined in.

“Mom...? Where are we?”

Cyllene hesitated to answer. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I was going to Jubilife Village... and then me and alakazam ran into some kleavor. Arceus, this is the hive, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Oh, Fleur, you should never have left town unprepared like that. But I get why you did. You didn’t think I would actually listen to your concerns any other way. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Cyllene looked over at Keidan. “I think now would be a good time to tell you two. When I went to the future through that time-space distortion, I met Laventon. He wanted to come back here and see you two again, but he couldn’t. But he still loves us. He loved hearing about the two of you, he’s proud of you, and Fleur, he really wanted to talk to you about all your research. He also wanted you to have this.”

Cyllene produced the necklace from her pocket.

Fleur looked stunned. “...Is this a Mega Stone?”

“It would make sense. He did mention it coming from Kalos, and that it had a connection to Alakazam.”

“Thank you. I hope it is. Say, where is Alakazam?” Fleur began to look around the tunnel.

“We don’t know yet. But once we defeat the Hive Master, it will be free, and then it will be able to communicate with you telepathically. It’s very close now, and it’s just a shellder. Let’s get this done.”

The group began to move again, and before long, they were before the door that Bliss, Keidan, and Cyllene all knew would lead to the Hive Master’s chamber.

“Fleur, Bliss, stay together and retreat if you have to,” Cyllene commanded before they stepped through.

On the other side of the door was a massive, irregularly shaped hollow chamber with its walls covered in those goey green holes, easily two stories deep and a hundred meters from one end to another. It was brighter than the tunnels leading up to it, lit by a glowing ring of unconscious psychic Pokémon trapped in chitin. And in the center of the room, hanging from the ceiling by a tendril of flesh like a macabre chandelier, was the Hive Master. Its spiralling spiked shell had to be at least fourteen feet long, and at the top of it, glaring eyes looked out upon the world. 

A kleavor emerged from one of the doors and the crawled up one of the catwalk-like tendrils of chitin leading to the oversized abomination, carrying a dead magikarp in its mouth. The Hive Master’s eyes turned to it, eager for its next meal. It was then that it spotted the invading humans and Pokémon who were standing on that same precarious walkway. It growled in displeasure.

The ring of psychic-types glowed, and numerous kleavor began to burst through the doors.

“What do we do?” Keidan asked, frightened. 

“Run for the Hive Master. If we don’t make it, Get to the thickest and flattest part of the walkway you can so that you don’t lose your footing. Bliss, Fleur, get to the door so you can escape if necessary. And Keidan, take out the quagsire.” It was no strategy, and Cyllene knew it. There was simply no way they could win against so many Pokémon, and so if they didn’t kill the Hive Master before they were overwhelmed with kleavor, they were done for.

They ran, Cyllene, Keidan, and the three Pokémon for the Hive Master, and Bliss and Fleur for the door. Before the two warriors reached the giant shell, however, kleavor skittered into their path.

“Circle position!” Cyllene barked, and she, Keidan, bisharp and monferno formed a circle, each of them facing different directions so that the kleavor couldn’t attack them from behind. At the center of it was Quagsire, who fired off mud bombs in any direction necessary. The group defeated kleavor after kleavor with their swords and Pokémon moves, but they were tiring out, and the enemies just kept coming.

Monferno struggled the most. after knocking two kleavor off the tendril with its mach punch, it took a stone axe to the head and fainted. Keidan returned it, and circle tightened.

From the distance, Bliss and Fleur watched. Thankfully, they hadn’t had to leave the room because the kleavor were leaving them alone for the time being. Perhaps the Hive Master had assumed, and correctly at that, that they would be defenseless once the five warriors were taken care of.

“We have to help them or they’re going to die!” Fleur cried.

“I’m sorry,” Bliss replied. What else was there to say? “Try to look away. I suppose I could get in there with my knife, but I don’t know how much help I would be.”

It was then, as she was looking away, that Fleur saw Alakazam in the ring of psychic types ten feet above them. “Give me your knife,” she demanded.

“No, you-”

“Just do it.”

Reluctantly, Bliss gave her the knife. She put it in her teeth and began climbing up the wall. The pourous chitin had many good hand grips, and soon she found herself at the ring of psychic types, climbing over espeon and wyrdeer to get to her alakazam. She took the knife in her hand and began to cut the Pokémon out, but the chitin was hard, and it was slow going. She would surely lose her grip before she could free even one of his hands.

It was then that she remembered the necklace. She put the knife back in her mouth, took the necklace out from her pocket, and prayed that it truly was a mega stone as she put it on.

Ten feet below, the warriors had lost bisharp to unconsciousness. Cyllene’s arms were heavy. She blocked a kleavor’s axe with her sword, but its weapon was far heavier, and with a swing to one side, it knocked her off the walkway.

Fleur put on the necklace. “Do you feel anything?” she asked the sleeping Alakazam. She slapped its cheek repeatedly, desperate for it to wake up. “Come on! We need you!”

Then, suddenly, its eyes opened, aglow with beautiful white light. Its body transformed, limbs growing weaker as its psychic abilities increased tenfold. It broke its restraints and those of all the other psychic types, and together the group of them froze every kleavor in the room solid, and telekinetically lifted Cyllene back onto the walkway just as she was about to hit the floor. The Mega Alakazam took Fleur in his arms and floated over to Cyllene and Keidan.

Cyllene was amazed. She’d heard of certain Pokémon taking on powerful temporary forms, but she’d never seen it in person. 

Thank you for saving us, the alakazam said, and somehow its voice was different. Louder, clearer, more powerful. It’s safe now. You can talk to him. I will translate.

“Got it,” Cyllene replied. She began walking towards the abomination. “Alright. What was reason for doing all this?” she asked, giving it a glare that could wither souls.

At first, I was just a shellder making do in a strange land. I caught ahold of a kleavor’s leg while it was wading, it a scratched a human, and for a moment I knew half of what he knew. I knew what time-space distortions were, and I wanted to learn more about them so that I could go home,

I had the kleavor scratch more humans, and that’s how I realized that the combination between its secretions and mine gave me a bit of control even at a distance. I left them alive until they were very poisoned and easy to manipulate. I had them bring more humans to me. To speed up the process, I infected more kleavor, and then built the hive to protect myself.

“So you’re just selfish, then? Is that it?” Cyllene asked, reaching the base of the Hive Master.

No. Once I gained the intelligence of many humans, my ambitions grew further. I realized that I had to stop time-space distortions altogether. I had to gather enough intelligence and power to find my way to Arceus and his children themselves. I had to convince them to end this madness at any cost, or one day, one of those distortions could ruin the natural balance of entire continents.

“I actually agree with you. But you are exactly the imbalance that you were trying to prevent. You stole the lives of countless people and Pokémon. You destroyed a massive ecosystem and forced hundreds of people into a lockdown that lasted years. But I’m not going to kill you. Alakazam, give me a lift.”

Alakazam lifted Cyllene high enough to reach the tendril that connected the hive master to the ceiling. She took out her sword and severed it, leaving the giant creature to fall to the ground. Its shell shattered in places and it squirmed about, now nothing but a confused animal without its former intelligence or power.

“Keidan, pokéball,” Cyllene commanded, and Keidan threw a ball at it as Cyllene was lowered back onto the walkway. The ball captured the behemoth and shook once, twice, three times, but it stayed closed.

“Perfect. I’m not sure what should be done with him, but he was right that we need to find and speak with Arceus about these distortions. We’ll let Him decide this creature’s fate.”

[twilight-orchid]

How the Undatebales React After A Fight

Thank you to my friendo @wholelottatiffy ​ who helped me brainstorm this one. I’m only on chapter 19 at the moment, so I haven’t interacted with anyone but Diavolo much. And thank you to everyone who wanted a follow up to my previous post, I did not expect that. Y’all are super sweet!

tw: Fighting (a bit more in depth than my first post), description of panic attack, minor name calling, insecurity, depression, angst with resolution.

Diavolo:

Diavolo doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

To start, we need to talk about how the argument unfolds.

He’s not used to arguing. 

He’s Lord Diavolo, Prince of The Devildom, head of the RAD student council. No one defys him on anything.

So you raising your voice at him, trying to get him to see your way,

It was very overwhelming.

He tried to reason calmly with you at first, but he felt cornered. 

When fight or flight kicked in, his body chose fight.

His wings burst open in all their glory as he screamed back, his towering frame far more intimidating than yours.

The blind rage is slapped out of him when he sees your terrified face.

If you’re at the castle, he’ll order you to leave if you haven’t already. Anywhere else, he’ll turn and leave without a word. 

He wants to put distance between you both for fear of making things worse.

He absolutely cannot believe he just blew up at you. He would have never thought he'd raise his voice at his partner regardless of the situation.

He can’t shake the image of you flinching from him from his mind.

Now, being the prince of hell certainty has it’s perks; He has power, influence, and everything he could want.

But the one thing he wants the most seems to evade him no matter what: a friend.

A real friend. 

He has Barbatos and Lucifer, but it’s Barbatos’ job to accompany the prince, and Lucifer is bound to Diavolo whether he likes the future king or not.

MC was the first person who chooses to be with and around him for no other reason than the fact that they love him.

And now he’s terrified them. Gotten in their face and screamed at them.

He assumes he’s permanently driven you away.

As soon as you leave or he gets home, he rushes to find Barbatos. To explain what happened and hope his butler would know what to do.

He’ll text Lucifer and ask him to check on you as well.

He just feels lost. 

He wanders the palace aimlessly and he can’t focus on his work without his thoughts drifting to you.

He doesn’t feel like going to school or even getting out of bed. He doesn’t want to speak to anyone - to put on a happy face and pretend his world isn’t shaking.

Yet, a prince has his responsibilities. He will go about his normal public appearances as usual, smile and laugh and carry on, but it’s a mask.

Those close to him clearly notice the prince isn’t himself.

After school he visits the spots that you two visit together frequently.  

Anything to make him feel as if you are still at his side.

If you don’t sleep in his bed that night, he’ll take it as proof that he was right and that you don’t want to be with him anymore.

He doesn’t sleep that night. He clutches your pillow that still smells of you and just bawls. 

He will tell Barbatos he feels unwell the next morning and to postpone his obligations for the day.

This prompts Barbatos to seek you out and see if he can help resolve the issue.

Barbatos tries to stay out of your relationship as he doesn't feel it's his business, but his job is to assist Diabolo in any way necessary. And right now, he needs you more than anything.

If you sleep at his side still, it will be a glimmer a hope. That all may not be lost. 

He’ll give you you space that night. He’ll walk around you on eggshells but always watch you from the corner of his eye to gauge the temperature.

He avoids your gaze, stays on the other side of the room as you prepare for bed, and as much as it kills him, doesn’t hug you or kiss you goodnight.

He spends the night staring at your sleeping face and making silent promises that, if you forgive him, he will never let this happen again.

He thinks of how to apologize. What he could say, what he could do. 

Ultimately though, it feels like everything he could think of is too little of an apology. 

He pretends to be asleep when he sees you stir and decides to let you choose if you want to forgive him on your own.

You will have to approach him first. 

He thinks losing his temper with you was unacceptable and feels like he has no right to ask for your forgiveness.

Worse, he’s terrified of not being given forgiveness.

Thus, I feel a fight with Diavolo will take as long as you let it. He’s willing to suffer as long as you need him to.

Barbatos:

Barbatos doesn’t argue. He sits quietly and watches you, his responses calm but absolute.

He’s no pushover, he will defend his side, but he’s not going to enter a screaming match. It’s just not him.

You know you’ve really gotten under his skin when he offers a tight, forcefully pleasant smile.

He finally shuts down the conflict with "It's your right to feel that way just as it's mine to disagree." And leave it at that.

Post argument, he will avoid you and lock his feelings about the fight inside.

He tells himself he doesn’t have time to deal with the terrible feeling clawing at his heart and takes to his duties as an escape.

If you sleep in another room, he realizes that this isn’t a minor disagreement and he’s suddenly very distressed.

His instinct is to use his future vision. 

To scour the timelines and see how the different versions of himself handle it and to replicate the one with the most desirable outcome.

However, he stops himself. He feels it isn’t fair to you. 

You have a right to be upset about things and he doesn’t want to manipulate the situation, and by extension, you.

Thus, he must find another way to cope.

He’s always a devoted butler, but it’s not his whole life. 

He takes time for himself throughout the day and in the evenings. Unless Diavolo needs him, nights are usually his to do with as he wants.

Now, however, his identity becomes Diavolo’s butler. 

He’s constantly asking for extra work and hovering more than usual around the young lord in hopes of being given a task. 

Diavolo finds it odd and asks about it, but he brushes it off. This isn’t anyone else’s business, least of all his employer’s.

Even though Barbatos won’t tell him, Diavolo can clearly tell his friend is off.

In hopes of giving him something to distract himself with, Diavolo requests hellfire mushroom rolled cigar cookies and Barbatos jumps on the opportunity. 

Baking has always been his escape as well as his happy place. Diavolo’s favorite isn’t easy to make, so he looked forward to the task.

And it worked. Keeping track of the ingredients, the steps, and the technique required was enough to occupy his mind.

But then it was time to wait for it to bake. 

He suddenly feels trapped in the suffocating silence of the kitchen.

His mind replays the argument on repeat as he falls down a rabbit hole of what ifs.

He loves you more than anything and the last thing he could ever want is for you to be mad at him.

No, the worst thing would to no longer be able to call you his.

Suddenly, he becomes aware of the sharp scent of burnt food.

He jumps up and runs to the oven. He’d been so lost in thought he hadn’t noticed the timer go off.

He pulls the blackened desert out, puts the cookie sheet on the stove top, and just stares at the burnt cookies.

His sight blurs and a soft sob escapes from the prison he’s created in his heart.

He wasn’t crying because he burnt the cookies, but because they were a visual representation of everything he’s been trying to suppress.

Once he collects himself, he knows he can’t continue like this. 

He doesn’t want to invade your space in case you’re still mad, but he needs a resolution.

He’ll send a quick text and silently begs you to respond. 

“MC, I understand if you are still upset with me, but would you be willing to talk though it? I look forward to hearing from you.”

If you still sleep with him that night, it is a great weight off of his shoulders. 

He hopes it means that it will be easier to make up with you and that you aren’t too mad.

When you wake up, he will be watching you like he has all night with a small, tired smile. 

He’ll put on your favorite tea as you get ready for the day then asks if you’d be willing to talk things over.

Because of how it affects both his job and himself, a fight with Barbados will not last long. He’ll seek a resolution by one, maybe two days tops.

Solomon: 

Lucifer may be the avatar of pride, but Solomon can certainly give the demon a run for his money.

In the moment of a particularly heated argument, he absolutely will not admit he’s wrong. 

In fact, he really doesn’t consider it a possibility.

There’s no point in trying to get him to see your side until things have calmed down. It’s like talking to a brick wall.

He won’t yell, but he gets a pissy, condescending tone and almost talks down to you.

If you really push his buttons, his patience with this “useless” argument runs out.

“Oh please, listen to yourself! You’re acting like a dull child!”

Freezes as soon as it leaves his mouth.

He didn’t mean to say that.

He opens his mouth to apologize immediately, but upon seeing your hurt reaction he becomes flustered and can’t get the words out.

He’ll simply turn and leave. 

He’s absolutely furious with himself. 

Solomon is old and wise. He’s seen many things, been many places, and he knows many things.

Sometimes though, he needs a reminder that he doesn’t know everything.

Even if he still feels he was right, he knows name-calling is unacceptable.

In fact, he doesn’t miss the irony that he was the one being childish. 

His self-fury is replaced by overwhelming worry if you sleep in another room that night.

Of all the treasures he’s come across, none were as precious as you. 

He can’t stand the thought of losing you because of his thoughtlessness.

For once, he feels like an idiot.

He locks himself in his study that night and brainstorms on how to make it up to you.

He decides to approach you in the morning at RAD. He’s terrified that you think he actually meant the insult and wants to clear the air as soon as possible.

He’s afraid of you taking anything less than his highest praise to heart or for you to think that he views you as below himself. 

The thought of how he must have made you feel makes him sick to his stomach.

The more he thinks about it, the more his body demands that he act. 

While he has many virtues, patience is not high on his list. 

Assuming you returned to The House of Lamentation that night, he’ll text Asmo to explain what happened and asks if he’d let him in first thing in the morning.

Thus, when you leave to head for breakfast, be careful not to trip over your sorcerer who’s seated against the wall outside of your room.

He scrambles to his feet, his hair and clothes a mess and bags heavy under his eyes.

“MC! Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I just- *sighs* I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that. Would you be willing to discuss the matter again? The right way this time.”

If you do sleep with him, he’s at least relieved that you don’t seem like you plan to leave him.

Once again, however, he wants to clear the air as soon as he can.

You’ll both be sitting in silence as you get ready for bed. He’s clearly lost in thought, his eyes focused unblinking on his feet and any movements slow and disjointed.

He's not sure how to apologize, if it's too soon, and is afraid to make things worse if it's not an appropriate time.

However, seeing you move about the room he decides to risk it so he doesn't risk losing you.

Suddenly, he stands up straight and locks eyes with you.

“MC, we don’t have to talk about the fight tonight, but I need you to know that I didn’t mean what I said. I’m sorry.”

It’s up to you if you want to forgive him immediately, but he will at least apologize for the insult as soon as he gathers his thoughts.

Simeon:

If you yell at him, Simeon is just gonna sit there stunned

Your relationship is usually as laid back as he is, so he doesn't know what to do with you blowing up at him.

All he knows it that this is bad and he needs to find a way to make you happy again. 

The thought of losing you takes precedence over everything and, though he will not sway to your side just because you’re upset, the argument loses any worth it had to him.

He’ll go to Solomon almost immediately in hopes your fellow human might know better about how arguments are resolved between human couples.

He becomes very distressed when Solomon says everyone handles it differently. He then asks what he should to make up with you specifically.

He doesn't have a defined emotion right now, he's just on edge. He wants to gather information first and foremost so he can figure out what to do from there.

He’s just a walking ball of anxiety and those close to the angel even become concerned. No one has seen him like this before.

If you decide to sleep in another room, the anxiety just takes over. 

His chest feels like fiery chains are crushing his ribs, he can hear his heart is hammering in his head, and his body begins to shake as if he were buried in an avalanche.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying as he struggles to breathe.

Solomon had expected something like this may happen so he made sure to be nearby to help coach him though it.

Once he’s calmed down, Solomon urges him to talk to you as soon as possible.

Simeon isn't sure though. True, he wasn't in a good place, but he didn't want to push you if you weren't ready to talk.

He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t feel like he can think let alone coherently tell you how he feels.

He begins to feel overwhelmed again and decides to try writing down his thoughts in hopes of it helping him sort through the tsunami of emotions consuming him.

While it doesn't completely calm him down, it does help.

He stares down at the messy, tear blotted papee and has an idea.

The next morning you should expect to find a hand-written letter slipped under you door.

The letter is long and and rambling. His usually pristine handwriting is as shaky as his hands were when writing it.

It's not as dense and heartbroken as his original one, but the further it goes the more desperate his words become.

He writes about how much you mean to him and apologizes for allowing things to get that intense. He writes that he loves you and doesn’t want to lose you. 

He reminisces about his favorite memories of you two together more than once.

Finally, that no disagreement you two could ever have is more importantly to him than being with you.

It's really just a collection of everything sitting on his heart at the moment.

That day at RAD he’ll watch you from the sidelines and pray you approach him about the letter so you two can work things out.

If you still sleep in his bed, he’ll be very conflicted about if he should approach you yet. 

He’s afraid of making it worse if you’re still mad.

However, Simeon is an open book when it comes to his emotions so you will absolutely be able to tell that he’s freaking out.

So please, save the man a terrible night and talk it though with him.

He wants you to not be angry anymore, but even if you’re still upset just having concrete information to cling to will help him immensely. 

He’s thinking of all the worst case scenarios and needs reassurance that the relationship isn’t over.

Simeon will try to make up within a day, so however long it lasts after that is up to you.

Luke (MC is his best friend):

Luke will be very, very distressed. 

You’re his best friend aside from Simeon. Friends don’t fight like this, right?

Wait, so if you’re fighting with him, does that mean you’re not his friend anymore???

As soon as the thought enters his mind, he decides that must be the case. 

Real friends don’t fight with each other like this.

Externally he takes a “I don’t need a lousy human like you for a friend anyway” attitude. 

He’s not just testy with you though, anyone who interacts with him that day learns that chihuahuas bite.

Simeon immediately realizes something isn’t right and is very concerned.

As soon as he asks him what’s wrong, Luke's mask of anger is discarded and he tosses himself in the older angel’s arms crying hysterically.

He doesn’t want to lose you for a friend.

I doubt Luke has ever truly argued with someone so this uncharted territory is earth shattering to him.

Simeon, as he tries to calm Luke, he will text you and ask you to come to wherever they are immediately.

Because of Simeon’s intervention, the fight will only go undiscussed for a few hours max.

Again, sorry if I don’t know these characters as well as I’d like yet. Thank you for reading!