#but she was happy to let those stories run for two years to bolster her image

[blackandwhlteaesthetlc]

Olivia in her Variety article just a few days ago:

“I say this as someone who is such an admirer of his work. His process was not conducive to the ethos that I demand in my productions. He has a process that, in some ways, seems to require a combative energy, and I don’t personally believe that is conducive to the best performances. I believe that creating a safe, trusting environment is the best way to get people to do their best work. Ultimately, my responsibility is to the production and to the cast to protect them. That was my job,” Wilde said.

Olivia when Shia quit:

“I feel like I’m not ready to give up on this yet, and I too am heartbroken and I want to figure this out,” she says in the video. “You know, I think this might be a bit of a wake-up call for Miss Flo, and I want to know if you’re open to giving this a shot with me, with us. If she really commits, if she really puts her mind and heart into it at this point and if you guys can make peace — and I respect your point of view, I respect hers — but if you guys can do it, what do you think? Is there hope? Will you let me know?”

#not her throwing Florence under the bus like that #she never had her best interests at heart #she never let Shia go to protect her actors or anyone else on that set #but she was happy to let those stories run for two years to bolster her image #what a mess #fuck olivia wilde #DWD #dont worry darling #warner bros #florence pugh #shia lebouf #get Harry far away from this already #the woman has lied through her teeth for months and months now #it’s enough already

[ambitionsource]

AMBITION Season 4 ♫ “Growing Pains” [ 4.02 ]

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

TO THE LIMIT — The crew faces challenges as they adjust to their new set-ups, while happy homecomings shake things up. Bold branching out leaves some stranded, and one relationship doesn’t meet expectations. Zay’s past choices come back to haunt him; Lucas is haunted by the present. Those who can’t adapt might hit a dead end—or maybe just drop dead.

102 Minutes (65K words) || No content warnings apply.

[ ← New Start (Part 2) ] [ S4 Synopsis ] [ Organic Chemistry → ]

CREATOR’S NOTE: Please don’t blitz at the minute count there! Although not reflected in the title, this is split into two parts within the episode, marked clearly by an “END OF PART 1.” We’ve also brought back the popular “breaks” feature peppered in during the episode to provide convenient pausing points during reading. While the episode is posted in full here on Tumblr, it’s broken into 2 separate chapters on AO3, so read whichever way is best for you. We’re still trying to figure out the best way to navigate the ever-growing story, and appreciate your flexibility from the start on this admittedly quirky format and series. Whether it takes you a month or a day to read, enjoy, and thanks for being an AAA warrior!

( Follow along with the music on Spotify here! )

RECAP

Over a shot of the New York crew performing “My Shot” in Chubbies:

Zay, voiceover: Previously, on AMBITION…

Our season kicked off, with characters scattered around the globe and one major takeaway.

Bridgette: Summer’s over.

Indeed it is. Our main ensemble jumped into their new worlds, whether that was colleges in New York and Los Angeles, industry and day jobs through the states, or hitting the ground running on finding their big break. This included new people (with all sorts of quirks, like junior producers, pretentious film boys, and a large variety of professors), new settings (the scenic campuses of NYU and USC, the trendy offices of Anya Kelly and Global Beat) and plenty of new challenges. Also, Farkle got hit by a bicycle.

Farkle: God! It’s brutal out here.

College proved quickly to be a different ball game than the familiar antics of Adams, especially for Zay, who jumped into the cutthroat Turner transfer program. He’s working hard to stay at the front of the pack against ambitious adversaries (like the disconcertingly charming Gia and his formerly established rival, Vanessa from Quincy).

Zay: Let dance do the talking. I’m not afraid of a little competition. So if that’s what you really are, then bring it -- and when the best bitch comes out on top, then we’ll know.

Challenge accepted, Zay -- and with a ponytail flip to the face at that. Still, Zay seems well-suited to take his drive and talent straight to the end… provided the mistakes of his past don’t come back to haunt him (such as a torn tendon that screwed everything up the first time).

Nearby at NYU, the Tisch trio began their own college careers. Riley and Nigel share a class as well as enthusiasm for their curriculum, but the similarities to their starts seem to end there. Nigel is struggling to adjust to the unfamiliarity of the new social scene, his shyness more pronounced without the strong personalities of his two best friends to bolster him and in contrast to the high octane worlds of NYU and Jade’s new world of fashion.

Nigel: It’s… a lot.

Jade is more equipped to handle the rush after four years of grind at Adams, but even she isn’t prepared for the new mind games at play. She thought she was off to a strong start, even going above and beyond on an inventory project… until Anya Kelly’s executive assistant undercuts her and throws her good standing into jeopardy in an instant. And the designer herself remains elusive, hidden away behind the frosted glass doors at the top of the open studio.

The music industry is less opaque, thanks to our inside look through Josh Matthews, the mysterious youngest Matthews brother and Riley’s fabled cool uncle with connections -- although how cool is up for debate as we watched him spill coffee all over himself. He’s got his foot in the door, but still facing stagnation of his own as his most promising client dropped him to go work with a bigger name label. So he’s back to square one, on the hunt for promising new talent… and isn’t he lucky, as three of Adams’ brightest (Maya; Yindra; Farkle) are out there in L.A. searching for their way in.

Well, maybe not all of them. Farkle’s got a lead of his own -- an email response back from Jonathan Turner, the agent who discovered him at the end of the Season 2 and offered him his business card for if he ever returned.

Maya: Everything we want, Farkle. That’s what we’re getting.

Farkle: Everything we want.

While ignoring how well Maya and Farkle seem to be coping without them, Isa had their own adjustment period to NYU film school -- prompting a pretty big self-discovery journey as they questioned their gender identity and how they want to define themselves for the next four years. College is a chance to reset, and they take full advantage of that (officially checking the non-binary box on their student information form). They’re looking towards the future, even if their past continues to linger… like ignored messages from a best friend they miss but don’t know how to talk to (for many reasons), unanswered letters sent into the ether towards a man who may or may not be a lead in their ongoing family mystery, and doubt about whether this new self-reflection is authentic or just another attempt to mask in self-defense.

Lucas: Can I still call you Dora?

Isa: Yeah. I mean, I guess. I don’t care.

Lucas: Cool. Then what do I care about the rest of it?

Isa wasn’t the only one experimenting with presentation, although Charlie’s was admittedly a bit more glamorous as he galavanted around Europe. As fun as playing with a romanticized, mysterious version of yourself with no family name can be, it’s all too easy to slip so far into it that you lose sight of everything (and everyone) else -- something that the reemergence of said family can remind you of, as Bridgette did when she went to visit him. Once she gave him a reality check, Charlie was all set to start looking westward towards home… even if he’s still figuring out what exactly that means or who he’ll be when he gets there.

But you don’t have to be abroad to be lost. Lucas proved that perfectly without leaving the city -- in fact, he’s so stuck in it, he may as well be part of the scenery. That and the increased presence of his father, now battling cancer, makes for an unideal situation, and was causing Lucas to ghost more often than not… something Riley and others did not appreciate. And Lucas didn’t want to do that, to cause that stress, but it’s also hard to explain.

Lucas: Everyone else is… they’re over there, past all this, and I’m just stuck. Doing the same shit. And I don’t know how to tell people that, you know, that I’m trying but sometimes it just gets… too…

But he was only one piece of Riley’s new college anxiety puzzle. As everyone went their separate ways, she feared they were falling apart, and stretched herself too thin trying to keep it together. It took a bolstering conversation with Uncle-Counselor-now-Principal Eric to get her head on straight, and remind her that while this new journey has a lot of hard change to face, it’s full of opportunity, too. It’s Riley’s future just as much as it is anyone else’s, and it’s up to each of them whether they make the most of it.

Farkle: “I know it’s weird but I’m trying to work out how to handle this. Who to… be.”

Riley: I’m focusing on right now, bringing the best that I’ve got and enjoying what I’ve got while I have it. At any moment it could change, but… maybe for the better. And no matter what… I think it’s going to make for an adventure I don’t want to miss.

No doubt about that, Riles. And even if we weathered the first storms, Bridgette was right when she said summer’s over. The semester is in full swing now. Now that we’re all caught up on the past, it’s time to face what’s next…

End of recap.

EXT. NYU CAMPUS - DAY

We start on the beautiful skyline of New York, slowly easing down and narrowing in on our usual neighborhoods. This time, we’re starting in NYU’s turf, catching up with ISA DE LA CRUZ and NIGEL CHEY. They’re on their way to their morning classes, Nigel sporting a purple NYU sweatshirt now that the weather is cooling into fall.

An upbeat instrumental underscores their stroll, but it’s not quite yet the focus of the scene. At present, they’re discussing what’s on their plates for the morning. Nigel notes the fact that Riley isn’t with them, which seems distinctly out of character -- Isa points out that there’s one thing that trumps them.

Isa: Lucas stayed over last night, so she’s spending the morning with him. [ with a disturbed face ] Doing what, I do not want to know or care to discuss, but that’s where she is.

Nigel: Oh. That’s… nice?

Isa: She was gonna check in with him this morning regardless. It’s kind of a big day.

Nigel: How come? [ nervous ] It’s not like, someone’s birthday or something, is it? No one gave me the Riley Inner Circle event calendar.

Isa: Nah, not a birthday. It’s a homecoming.

Very detailed and helpful, Isa… Nigel scrunches his face and tries to find the answer in his head. He really needs that Riley calendar download! Honestly, everyone would likely benefit from it…

Nigel: Charlie? No, can’t be. I thought he was still traveling.

Isa: No, we wouldn’t care that much. [ a beat ] I mean, they would. Riley would. That’s not what I meant.

Nigel: Right…

Isa: But he’s not the same as this. This return, it’s mythic. Basically everyone I know is falling over themselves about it. I’ve heard about nothing but this for days.

Nigel: Okay, but who -- ?

Isa’s socializing skills with those who don’t know them could really use some work, but that’s beside the point. They’re right, a big day is upon us, and there’s no time to waste! The music intro has built up now, taking over the soundscape as Nigel jogs after Isa still waiting for an answer.

As for us, we’re gonna get it a different way.

INT. ANGELA’S APARTMENT - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “What’d I Miss?” as performed by Hamilton Original Broadway Cast || Performed by Jack Hunter (feat. Ensemble)

SHAWN HUNTER tells us first, tossing on his leather jacket as he barges out the door.

Jack Hunter is coming home!

INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT - BEDROOM - DAY

ERIC MATTHEWS echoes the sentiment in his room, straightening his tie in the mirror. He’s teeming with excitement, going for extra professional in his attire today to show exactly what a great job he’s doing stepping into his shoes.

Jack Hunter is coming home!

He fixes his hair quickly with one more flourish, and then he’s on his way --

INT. NYU APARTMENT - DAY

And RILEY MATTHEWS and LUCAS JAMES FRIAR bring us home, in the small kitchen together. Lucas spins towards the counter and leans against it, sharing the last echo of the declaration with equal excitement and just a hint of exasperation.

Jack Hunter is coming home! Lord, he’s been off in Paris for so long…

Riley comes up behind Lucas as they finish out the lines, wrapping her arms around him and propping her chin on his upper arm. Lucas tilts his head back, closing his eyes.

As we lean into the oohs…

EXT. WASHINGTON D.C. SKIES - DAY

A large airliner is making its descent, making for a smooth landing at Dulles International Airport.

INT. DULLES AIRPORT - WALKWAY - DAY

A familiar baritone takes over the lyrics as the flight from France deplanes, our gaze following a sleek but worn pair of dress boots. They’re strutting smooth, confident strides, as the camera pans up to reveal…

JACK HUNTER. Yes, baby, he’s back! He looks relaxed and well-rested, an easy smile on his face and a healthy glow to his skin from all that European sun. Charlie wasn’t the only one getting a much-needed tan, it seems!

But now he’s back, and the work at home begins. As he launches into the more jaunty portion of the song about 90 seconds in, there’s a spring in his step as he makes his way through the airport. He blows a kiss out the window towards the DMV.

Virginia, my home sweet home, I wanna give you a kiss! Muah!

But there’s no time to hang around and visit -- he’s got a train to catch.

INT. JACK’S APARTMENT - DAY

Jack throws open his door, cheerfully reentering his quiet apartment and filling it with life again. He’s got a pile of mail on the floor that he leans over to grab when he drops his bag, commenting that he’s already got information about the upcoming school board elections, reminders about his current employment status, etc.

Lots to catch up on, and he knows exactly where to start. He quickly deposits the rest of his things and breezes back out the door.

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY

Jack walks briskly through the streets in the beautiful mid-morning sunshine, spinning and marveling at the city it’s so good to be back in.

I can’t believe that we are free Ready to face whatever’s awaiting me in NYC!

EXT. AAA - DAY

He makes it to his destination, smiling automatically when he looks up at the grand structure of Adams Academy of the Arts.

He bounces his way up the steps.

INT. AAA - DAY

If he was expecting a warm reception, though, he doesn’t get that. Shawn is waiting in the atrium for him, face set in a frown.

Who’s waiting for me when I step in the place My bro Shawn Hunter beet red in the face

Jack gives him a wave as he enters, but Shawn doesn’t return it, marching over without comment and grabbing his arm. Jack scowls in protest, but lets Shawn drag him into the front office --

INT. AAA - PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE - DAY

And into Eric’s office, where he and HARPER BURGESS are waiting. They’re already in deep discussion, Eric in his chair behind the desk, but they halt when Shawn yanks Jack in and brings him to the front of the room.

Jack: What’s going on?!

Harper begins to explain, but Jack doesn’t fully listen at first -- he’s busy taking Eric in, a fond smile effortlessly sliding onto his face. He nods a hello, Eric holding back a grin as he returns it. They’re about as subtle as a bullhorn, how excited they are to see each other again.

But right now, we’ve got bigger things to focus on.

Harper: Jack, we’re engaged in a battle for Triple A’s very soul. Can you get us out of the mess we’re in?

That’s news. Jack looks between them, bewildered, but Shawn wins his attention. He slams his hand emphatically on the desk, revved up.

Shawn: Graham and Yancy’s financial hold is nothing less than government control!

Harper: We’ve been fighting for our school alone.

Shawn: Where have you been?!

Jack shoots Shawn a glare. What, like this is his fault? He holds out his arms. They know he was on vacation. And he doesn’t work here anymore.

Jack: Um, France?

Still, valid as Jack’s defense is, they’re grateful he’s back. The conservative half of the school board isn’t letting up, and Eric isn’t sure he can face it alone. He meets Jack’s eyes, undercutting the brotherly bickering with a genuine plea.

Eric: We have to win.

Well, when you put it that way! Jack whips around and launches into the next chorus, Harper, Eric, and other office employees echoing him on the chorus.

INT. AAA - MAIN OFFICE - DAY

They jaunt their way back through the office, Jack singing about how he’s going to have to help them figure this out -- and what the hell he’s going to say next time he sits down with someone from the school board. He’ll meet with Evelyn any day now, he’s sure.

I’m already on my way to get to the bottom of this!

INT. AAA - ATRIUM - DAY

As Jack is exiting the office, still engaged in intense conversation with Eric, Shawn, and Harper, he’s stopped in his tracks when he finds another familiar face.

Lucas is heading towards him, matching Shawn for energy this morning. Only Lucas isn’t irritated. Jack automatically breaks into a smile, starting to ask what the hell he’s doing there -- but he’s cut short when Lucas barrels him with a hug. Now that he did not expect, but Jack happily returns it, patting his back.

No, Lucas isn’t upset at all. He’s downright relieved.

Lucas: Mister Hunter, welcome home.

Jack is about to question why Lucas is calling him “Mister Hunter” -- a weird amount of formality for them -- but he gets his answer pretty quick. As it turns out, Lucas has a shadow: TIMMY, the freshman techie, is tailing him, acting aloof but not really playing it off too well considering he’s literally following Lucas around like a duckling. Guess it shows how much Lucas respects Jack that he wants them to think of Jack as important, when he was perfectly fine calling Shawn by his first name.

Anyway, Timmy takes the annoying Hamilton line of introducing himself just to be included, which Jack humors with his usual politeness. He shakes his hand and gives him a nod, but then eagerly turns his attention back to Lucas, smile brightening once again. He playfully -- and fondly, some might say -- pats his cheek while everyone continues to sing their welcomes.

The camera spins around them all as they reiterate how long it seems like Jack has been gone, surrounding him with things he doesn’t know. Why is Lucas at Adams? What the hell is going on with the school board? Clearly, there’s a lot to catch up on.

As we stop on Jack once again, he holds out his arms, delivering the final redundant question.

Jack: So what did I miss?

Cue title sequence.

We hear our return from titles before we see it. Stomping, rhythmic steps being executed in perfect unison, with only the occasional squeak of a shoe interrupting the beat.

INT. TURNER ACADEMY - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

The hopeful Turner transfers are in the midst of another intense class, running through a hip-hop style step routine. It’s fast, precise, and definitely not beginner, all scrutinized under the watchful eye of ROSARIO GAO as she paces the front of the studio.

Naturally, ZAY BABINEAUX is leading the pack in terms of performance. He may be drenched in sweat and not quite at his usual peak charm, given his expression of concentration, but stage presence isn’t a requirement for class. The only ones truly matching him for energy and precision are VANESSA JOHNSON and GIA VALDEZ, both a person or so down on either side. Vanessa is a bit stiff with determination of her own; Gia is slightly less precise but makes up for it with a personal flair.

Once the music comes to a stop, Rosario gives them a few moments to catch their breath. Then she comments that if they feel tired after that, they better work on building their stamina -- doing a Broadway show seven days a week or spending hours on tour is going to ask much more of them.

That’s what their assignment these next couple weeks is going to be about: endurance. The routine they just finished learning today is the first part, and for the next week or so, they’ll be building choreography on top of it. This process will flex a few important muscles -- muscle memory, retaining blocks of choreography over a stretch of time, and of course, being able to stay high-energy and precise through such a long routine.

Rosario: So if you’re feeling weary after this class… well, all I can say is, it might be time to start taking this seriously if you’re not already. [ a beat ] Class dismissed.

All of them hold in place until Rosario steps past them and exits the studio, class only feeling over once they’re free of her critical stare. The dancers immediately launch into chatter as they grab their water bottles and take off their dance shoes, some visibly jittery about the new challenge laid down.

But not Zay. For Zay, this is what he’s been waiting for. The grind is in his bones. If this is about testing their endurance, he knows he can show up and stand strong.

Vanessa seems to feel the same way. She doesn’t exude as much easy confidence -- or arrogance, as she might characterize Zay’s vibe -- but it’s clear she’s no stranger to the grind either. The two of them exchange eye contact as they gather their things, accurately continuing to size one another up as their greatest competition.

Vanessa takes a pointed sip of her water and then turns away from him, heading out of the room. Zay watches her go, then swipes the sweat from his lip, reaching for his own water bottle.

INT. AAA - PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE - DAY

Now that the fanfare has concluded, Jack has a second to breathe. He heads straight back for Eric’s office once he finishes greeting and catching up with the receptionists. Eric smiles as soon as he appears in the doorway, coming from around his desk to meet him properly.

Jack mirrors his smile, happily accepting a tight hug. They just hold each other for a few moments, and then when they pull back, Jack’s beam brightens. He pats Eric’s arms.

Jack: It’s good to see you. It’s so good to see you.

Eric: Think former you would believe that sentiment?

Jack shakes his head fondly, then gives him a kiss. Now that he no longer works here, they’re free to act as couple-like as they please, and it is a wonderful feeling. Jack makes sure to note how professional he looks. He’s even wearing a suit jacket!

Eric: I must admit, it does offer a certain amount of confidence. Mental armor.

Jack: It suits you. No pun intended. [ off his eye roll ] You fit right in. Feels like this place has been yours for ages. Not that I ever had a doubt.

Eric bashfully accepts the compliment, heading back to his desk chair. Since he has his own doubts about how things are going, with the board breathing down his neck, Jack will never know how much his praise really means. Jack also takes care to compliment his eclectic little paperweight as he examines the space, and other changes he’s made in his absence.

Speaking of things that suit them, though, the post-vacation glow definitely suits Jack. Eric comments that he seems well-rested and energized -- was it a good trip? Jack grins, humming appreciatively.

Jack: It was spectacular. I had forgotten how long it was since I took an actual vacation, you know, went somewhere else for a bit that wasn’t related to school. I didn’t even realize how much I needed it.

Eric: Well, good thing the rest of us insisted then, hm? [ matching his side-eye ] How was France, then? And your friends?

Jack: All well and good. Rachel says hello, by the way.

Eric: Oh? That’s nice. [ a beat ] Have I met her?

Jack: No, but that’s Rachel for you. And well, technically? Maybe? She visited me a few years ago and came by the school -- if I recall correctly, you may have had your monthly tantrum about test scores ruining education that day.

Eric: Oh. Perfect.

Jack: Not to worry, she wouldn’t mind. And all my complaining about you over the years would’ve prepared her for that regardless.

Ha ha… well, anyway, as nice as it is that Jack got to have a break, it’s really nice that he’s back. All of them think so -- I mean, he saw his reception this morning. Jack nods along, but his expression grows contemplative.

Jack: Yes. That was lovely. [ tentatively touching the back of the chair opposite the desk ] So… Lucas is working here now? When did that decision come to be?

Based on his tone, Eric can tell Jack isn’t sure about it. He sighs, shrugging.

Eric: You know, before you say anything, he’s actually doing a pretty good job.

Jack: I wasn’t going to say anything. I believe you. Lucas is industrious when he wants to be.

Eric: It was just… something I could do. Something to offer. I wanted to help, and Shawn pointed out that there were opportunities we could build for him here. And I thought, you know, for once, Shawn is right. If I could do something, what’s my excuse for not doing it?

Jack nods, understanding. He totally gets the intention, and it’s not to say that he wouldn’t have done the same… it was just a surprise, that’s all.

It seems like there might be more to his reservations, but their conversation is interrupted by the needs of the workday. NORTON pokes his head in and asks if Eric has a moment to discuss a student concern, then brightens in surprise when he finds Jack there as well. He greets him cheerfully, offering a bracing handshake that Jack happily returns.

Norton: Jack, what a wonderful surprise! I didn’t realize you were back in town already.

Jack: Just got back, in fact. But you know, it’s hard to break an addiction -- had to come get my fix and see how this place was doing for myself.

Norton: Rest assured, it’s going great. Eric is doing a terrific job.

Eric smiles. Norton says he can pop back in later if he’s disrupting, but Jack waves him off. He needs to let them get back to the important work. Norton steps out for a moment to allow them to say goodbye.

Jack claims he’s going to let Eric get back to outshining his legacy, but the two of them will have dinner very soon, and he will want to hear all about how things are going. Perhaps in more… intimate detail. Eric clears his throat, then agrees.

Eric: Can’t wait.

Jack grins, then leans over the desk to exchange a quick kiss goodbye.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

All things considered, Lucas is faring okay at this job he never wanted to have. Aside from picking up Timmy as a shadow, he’s building decent rapport with the freshman techies, including the ones we got to know in the premiere -- JAKE, BEAN, and GRETA. Today, he’s got them assembled on the stage, and behind him is an empty rolling flat base.

Lucas: This week, you’re going to be building your first set piece.

Jake: Yessss, I’ve been waiting for this! When do we get to use the power saw?

Lucas: Never.

Bean: May I please be excused from having to use the staple gun? I still think it’s trying to kill me.

Timmy: I wouldn’t be worried about the staple gun, but who’s wielding it.

Jake: Chekov’s staple gun.

Anyway… Lucas clears his throat, pointedly getting them back on track. Considering they all shut up, he’s already training them well. He goes on to explain that they’ll be working through it during the week, the ways they’ll be doing certain elements as a team and then individually, and that they’ll be following the plan he laid out.

He hands out an instruction sheet -- a lesson plan, of some sort, if you can call a scrap of paper with crude diagrams and doodles on it a lesson plan -- and then asks if they have any questions to start. Greta immediately shoots her hand up, nose wrinkled at his… casual notes.

Lucas: Yeah, you. I mean, Neda.

Greta, flatly: Greta.

Lucas: Yeah, that.

Greta: Why?

Lucas: … why what?

Greta: Why are we doing it this way? [ waving his notes ] What makes this the right way to do it? I didn’t see it written this way in the textbook.

Jake: We have textbooks?!

Lucas: You know in real life, you don’t get a textbook. You just gotta figure shit out on your own.

Greta: But that didn’t answer my question. Why are we doing it this way?

Lucas: Because I said so, Greta. That’s why. Now get up, we’re going to the wood racks.

Okay so… maybe Lucas doesn’t have the best personality for teaching. Greta is understandably miffed, but the others don’t care -- Bean and Jake seem unreasonably excited about getting to see the wood stacks. The latter starts singing a song about it and skipping as they follow Lucas to the prop loft, Timmy making sure to stay at the front right behind him. Not that he cares.

INT. NYU - THEATER CLASS - DAY

Riley and Nigel are getting their first scene work assignment in their musical theater class, PROFESSOR HILL explaining that before they get into marrying the music and acting, she wants to take them piece by piece. So to start, they’ll be working on scenes from straight plays -- a fact that clearly excites Nigel. Riley smiles fondly at him and gives him a playful elbow nudge.

Another exciting element? This assignment will be a duet. Not only is connecting with your fellow performers crucial to theater in any capacity, but getting to know their classmates more on an individual level will help build trust as they move through the school year. With that, she encourages them to get up, move around, and find a potential scene partner to collaborate with.

This, Nigel is less enthusiastic about. He glances around the classroom as his more extroverted peers get up and start chatting away, not making any moves himself. He likes working as an ensemble, no problem there, but the whole working-with-people-you-don’t-know thing he’s still struggling to push through.

Lucky for him, he has a life preserver right there in class -- and it should still be fun, anyway, since he and Riley hardly got to perform much together at Adams. Perfect plan.

Only when he turns to say so, he discovers his plan has already been thwarted. EVAN SCOTT has found his way back in their orbit, having slid into the chair next to Riley. He’s got an easy, wonderfully charming smile directed right at her.

Evan: So what do you think? Should we put this Haverford-Adams partnership to the test?

Riley is beaming right back.

Riley: Challenge accepted. Time to burst the rivalrous bubble for good.

Evan nods, endeared by her bravado. And while it’s a real noble cause they’re pursuing, or whatever, it definitely leaves Nigel a bit high and dry.

That gets highlighted real quick when Hill steps back up to the front, asking whether everyone has found a partner. Nigel frantically looks around again, finding to his horror that it seems like everyone has in fact paired up. He’s been left the odd one out. Riley turns her smile to him and it dims immediately when she clocks his concern, realizing what must’ve happened.

Hill: All good, then? I’ll start taking down the duos --

Riley: Um, no, ma’am, I think --

Nigel, abruptly: I’m not -- I still don’t have a --

He can’t even finish the sentence. It feels too humiliating to say out loud. God, what kind of actor is he if he can’t even speak up in class?

Professor Hill doesn’t make a big deal of it, commenting she must’ve miscounted in her lesson plans. She quickly brainstorms a solution by having Nigel jump in with two of the girls to his right, including IMOGEN LEE, making their duo a trio. There, all solved!

Perfect plan… Nigel manages a weak smile as the professor goes back to taking down names for the duets, Evan chiming in to offer his and Riley’s together. Riley casts another sympathetic glance in Nigel’s direction.

INT. USC - THEATER CLASSROOM - DAY

The pressure is on for FARKLE MINKUS as well, now well into his first month of classes. As the professor explains, soon the directing sophomores will actually begin to work with the freshmen actors on various assignments, and so for the next week while they’re going through scene work presentations, the directing students will be sitting in on all their sessions (rather than the one or two a week they usually do). By the start of next week, they will all group off for their first acting-directing assignments, each directing student selecting their choice actor after deliberation amongst themselves.

So more scrutiny then… well, welcome to the business. Farkle glances over his shoulder to the back rows where the sophomores are, watching them all with interest and maybe just the tiniest bit of arrogance. It’s like you survive one year of art school and it really goes to your head…

As class ends and the freshmen begin to file out, Farkle eyes the gaggle of his classmates who he almost went to the comedy performance with the second week. They’re all joking around with each other, discussing the news, but to him they feel a million miles away. Like he missed the boat back when he got booted from the bar, and there’s no way to find his way onboard the S.S. social scene.

So he shoulders his messenger bag and heads out of the auditorium alone.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - MAYA’S BEDROOM - DAY

MAYA HART is in a similarly flat mood, features crinkled in frustration as she types away on her laptop while seated on her bed. Based on the fact that she’s still in her pajamas and her signature hair is just up in a haphazard ponytail, the hype motivation train seems to have stalled a bit recently.

Mainly because she is stuck on what exactly to do next. She’s kept auditioning, as her open calendar clearly shows, but nothing is breaking. Any meetings she has managed to get, she seems to be hedging on, because they’re not the right kind of meetings she wants. And for those she’s actually interested in, she seems to have hit snags -- her message thread with Josh Matthews is open, but hasn’t had much traction in the last week or so. Following his response to her initial message, she tried to schedule a defined time to meet up. He has yet to respond.

Maya does not handle delays well. She searches for a more positive task to focus on, switching windows to jump to social media. This, it appears, is still going well all things considered -- she’s continuing to build a small following on Instagram, TikTok, and Youtube, and a couple of her recent posts on the latter two have garnered quite a few views.

It’s like she’s just a stone’s throw away from hitting viral… she just has to figure out how to break the glass. At least, in the meantime, she has comments to tide her over. There’s no shortage of effusive ones, followers complimenting her vocal range or her impeccable style and, as to be expected, the fact that she is absolutely gorgeous. In fact, watching her scroll through them, it seems like at least a third of them are focused on her looks, with plenty of fire, hot and sweaty face, and heart eye emojis to go around.

A compliment is a compliment, so Maya will take it. A smile returns to her face as she takes it all in, using the reassurance to bolster her energy again.

While the wannabe dulcet, painfully awkward stylings of Floyd float in… it’s a great day, a great day, yeah…

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - RECORDING STUDIO - DAY

The chorus of “Very Best Day” keeps turning over on itself as JOSH MATTHEWS painstakingly goes back over the mix again and again, making tiny tweaks as he tries desperately to squeeze something good out of a song that is just simply destined to be bad. Like, camp is one thing, but Floyd isn’t trying to make camp and Josh isn’t trying to sell it that way, so right now, he’s fucked.

Still, he’s giving it the best he’s got -- because now, with Iris having dumped him, it feels like all he’s got. And even if he’s got Maya Hart impatiently waiting in his messages, based on the determination Josh has as he battles with the very best example of a very mediocre track, he really doesn’t want to be stuck resorting to picking off his niece’s friends.

He’s only saved from the self-inflicted torture when ROWAN PHELPS comes looking for him, swinging their gangly frame around the doorway. They scrunch up their face when they get a good listen to “Very Best Day” so up close and personal, shaking their head emphatically.

Phelps: Oi, Josh, we can hear that dying animal all the way down in the Box. Just put it out of its misery, won’t you?

Josh: Don’t talk about my client’s work that way. It’s more like sickly, not yet dying.

Phelps: It was dead on arrival. [ with a sigh of relief when Josh clicks off the track ] How long have you been in here listening to it?

Josh: Long enough to have cluster headaches.

Phelps: That’s not cluster headaches, that’s sustained brain trauma. Thankfully, you’re spared -- producers meeting in five.

Josh nods, thanking Phelps for the reminder and gathering his things. While they wait, Phelps debates reaching out and hitting play on the track again, with unwise curiosity, but ultimately manages to stop themselves.

Phelps: Honestly, man, why don’t you just drop the guy? Have mercy on us all.

Josh cringes at the mere suggestion, waving them off. But they insist, so he sighs, leading the way out of the studio.

Josh: I like Floyd. He’s a nice kid.

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - HALLWAY - DAY

Josh and Phelps walk the halls back towards the offices and their desks, walking at typical Hollywood pace… just slightly slower, because Phelps is too laid back to be bothered with moving like they’ve got somewhere to be.

Phelps: Never said he wasn’t nice. But can he sing?

Josh: That’s beside the point.

Phelps: We’re music producers. It’s the whole point.

Josh: Not all musicians have to be brilliant singers. And he’s so invested, you know? I mean, his name is literally Ernest. He’s the most hard-working and dedicated client I have, and that’s not nothing.

Phelps: Considering he’s one client out of two, that’s not exactly the shining stamp of praise you make it sound like it is.

Leave Floyd alone, Phelps! But then, they did kind of hit the nail on the head there… with so little clientele on his roster now, it would not only feel cruel but also foolish for Josh to drop another one. And Cricket isn’t exactly saving his portfolio. It’s starting to wig him out, because if he doesn’t start building up his prospects soon the higher-ups might start questioning why he’s a junior producer and not just a glorified assistant with only (barely) two clients.

Phelps says rather than squeezing the non-existent lifeblood out of his existing clients, he should go focus on finding some new ones. Preferably, ones that can actually carry a tune.

Phelps: We live in L.A. The amount of wannabe star wafting off the millions of hopefuls that live here is the reason we have smog. Surely you can go find one of a million.

Josh: Maybe, but not one in a million. And that’s what I need.

Phelps: Yeah, sorry, love. Hannah Montana’s already passed on.

Josh: If you’re so smart, how do you do it, then? Pick up clients.

Phelps, deadpan: Hm. Bridal style is my preferred method, but I can be persuaded into a piggy-back now and again.

Josh: You’re an asshole.

Phelps: Sorry, man, I don’t know what to tell you. I just go out there and I do it.

Josh: Really illuminating. Seriously, you’re changing my life here.

Phelps: And I won’t even charge you for it. Because we’re such good friends.

Josh shoots them a glare which they match with a wry smile. In a huff, Josh rolls his eyes and leads the way into the conference room for the producers meeting.

INT. NYU - HALLWAY - DAY

Once class lets out, Riley quickly catches up to Nigel. She apologizes for not thinking about partnering with him, everything just happened so fast, but Nigel waves off her groveling. He claims it’s all good, that she shouldn’t have to worry about his feelings over something like that. It would have been fun to work together, but it’s totally not a big deal.

Riley is relieved, but it’s clear she’s not totally convinced it’s okay. She rationalizes the decision as they continue to walk, trying to make both of them feel better about it.

Riley: I mean, it’ll be good for both of us, won’t it? Getting to know our peers.

Nigel: Yeah. For sure.

Riley, playfully: We see plenty of each other anyway, you’d get sick of me before too long. This way we can branch out a bit, and hey, we get to be the most avid supporter in the audience when the other person gets up to go. You know you’ll be getting at least one standing ovation.

Nigel: [ with a laugh ] Well, don’t promise it to me before I’ve earned it…

Riley bumps him lightly, emphasizing again that she thinks this will be good for both of them. But she’s really glad he’s being so cool about it and that everything is okay. Nigel lets her take the lead as they head out of the building, nodding as if he’s trying to convince himself.

Nigel: Peachy keen.

INT. NYU - FILM CLASSROOM - DAY

On the film school side of things, Isa is just wrapping up another class with DAVID BENNET. He’s at the front of the room, sitting on the edge of his desk and flipping the projector remote in his fingers as he finishes lecturing on the use of camera perspective to affect narrative.

Normally Isa would be riveted by the cinematic drudgery of something like this, but they’re a bit tuned out. Mostly because Bennet’s less-than-rosy first impression hasn’t waned, and Isa doesn’t feel keen to learn much of anything from him. Still, they have to get through this course to move on, so gotta power through.

They do perk up when the lecture ends and the conversation turns to something more exciting -- grades. Bennet has finished reviewing their first short film assignment.

Bennet: The grades you received are a composite score based on how well you followed the prompt, your technical strengths and weaknesses, the average peer feedback from when we screened last class, and of course, the overall strength of your story and your effectiveness in conveying it.

All things Isa is an ace at. As Bennet gathers the write-ups from his desk and prepares to hand them out, MOLLY SINGH leans over and elbows Isa playfully. She looks nervous, but excited as well. Their first big film school review! Isa returns the smile, trying to share some of their easy self-assuredness.

Bennet claims that once they receive their grade, they’re dismissed. Isa waits impatiently as he makes his way slowly through the desks, tapping their fingers and trying not to listen to the relieved exhales and dismayed groans of their peers. Two desks away… then one…

Finally, Bennet arrives at Isa’s desk. He places the write-up face-down on their desktop without comment, only exchanging a beat of eye contact before moving on to Molly. Isa tries to mine some signal from that look, but he’s not giving anything. They aren’t sure whether to be intimidated by that or not… but after a glance in both directions, Isa picks up the slip and flips it over.

The write-up seems thorough. A checklist on the left-hand side marks each of the elements of the assignment Isa did or didn’t hit, and a huge portion of the rest of the slip is littered with notes from Professor Bennet. But Isa doesn’t take in any of that -- their eye is drawn to the large, block letter grade in the upper righthand corner.

And based on the defensive frown that takes over their features, it wasn’t what they expected.

C+?!

Isa is speechless, glancing up to see if there must be some obvious mistake. What they find instead is that most of the class has left already, so they hustle to gather their things.

INT. NYU - FILM CORRIDOR - DAY

Isa looks livid enough that they want to march right home -- or back in there to complain -- but they’re startled back into passivity when Molly greets them excitedly from where she was waiting by the door.

Molly: That was so nerve-wracking. I can’t believe he goes and hands out these slips one-by-one like that. Couldn’t he have mercy and send us an email?

Isa: Right.

Molly: Was kind of invigorating, too, though. Guess that’s the whole weird conundrum of being an artist. That strange relationship we have with viewer feedback. There’s something frustrating yet absolutely mesmerizing about it, the way people respond to your work. Isn’t there?

Isa: For sure. I completely agree. And you know, art’s subjective, and all that. So just because someone responds one way, positive or negative, doesn’t actually mean anything. It’s just their perception of the film.

Molly: One-hundred percent. 

Isa: Grades especially. Like, is my grade on an assignment in freshman year of film school even going to matter in five years when we’re out there actually creating? Hardly. [ a beat ] It won’t, right?

Molly: No, totally. Like, it sure feels like it matters now, but you’re right. We shouldn’t get all up in our heads about it. That’s such a good mindset to have.

Damn right! But um… just out of curiosity, how did Molly do? Isa casually asks and Molly is happy to show them her write-up, a blocky “B” written in the upper right.

Molly: Definitely a bit of a hit from how it felt to be the film kid back in high school, but I’ll take it! I’m glad he appreciated my use of lenses.

Isa nods along, but seeing their peer already getting a better grade only amps up their internal alarm system. Molly starts to ask about their grade -- she’s sure it must be great, since she so enjoyed their film when they screened in class -- but Isa searches for an excuse to escape the conversation.

Isa: Shit, you know, I just remembered. I left my -- I left it in the classroom.

No clarification on what “it” is, as Isa is already backing away. Molly doesn’t question them.

Molly: Okay. Do you want me to wait up, or --

Isa: Oh, no, that’s fine. You go on. Don’t wait for me. I’ll just be -- okay, bye.

Isa turns around and starts to walk back towards the classroom. Molly waves goodbye and starts off to her next class. Isa glances over their shoulder and makes sure Molly is heading in the opposite direction… then breaks into a jog and rushes past the classroom and around the other corner. Smooth.

INT. TURNER ACADEMY - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

Before one of their additional dance classes, the Turner transfer cohort is assembled doing warm-up stretches. Now that they’re about a month into the semester, none of them would necessarily call the other friends, but there is definitely more casual chatter as they work through stretches.

Vanessa doesn’t contribute much. She’s somewhat isolated herself, sitting a bit away from everyone else as she reaches easily to touch her toes. Gia laughs loudly with a couple of their classmates, far more bubbly, to which Vanessa subtly rolls her eyes towards the floor.

Zay comments on the general chatter occasionally, but he too is quieter while he puts his focus on the stretches. He knows how badly he can fuck things up when he doesn’t take them seriously, so he’s really giving it due diligence now that he’s working his muscles that much harder every other day.

Some of their peers don’t seem as concerned. Half of them aren’t really stretching much at all, using the warm-up time more as social relaxation and vibing than a crucial part of the curriculum. Based on their conversations, too, they have a much more mild approach to the transfer situation -- that is to say, a more reasonable, common teenage perspective instead of the hyper-dedicated ambition of our A class divas.

And this is something that clearly doesn’t impress Zay. As friendly as he can come off, expert socializer he is, if you know him you can catch the subtle judgment in his expression while he listens to them talk about blowing off certain rehearsals or how they only ran through x routine once or twice. When someone outright admits they only practiced the summer routine once and the rest of the cohort burst into laughter, Zay doesn’t join in. He shakes his head to himself…

And happens to catch Vanessa doing the exact same thing from her corner of the room. Clearly, neither of them find the ambivalence humorous -- not when they care so much. There’s a weird moment of camaraderie to that, the moment of accidental eye contact after they both were caught being lowkey bitchy. Zay almost smiles.

Almost. Vanessa drops her gaze to the floor before the moment can crystallize, keeping the wall of war firmly up between them. Zay resists the urge to roll his eyes -- barely -- and tunes back into stretching his arms.

INT. NYU - CLASSROOM - DAY

In playwriting class, Nigel thinks his day just might turn around when they’re given their next assignment. For the next couple of weeks, they’ll be working on their first concrete draft of a play, and to start they’re going to be practicing emulation. If they learn from and take a little time mimicking what works for the greats, they’ll be sure to retain those senses moving into building their own plays. So for this assignment, they’re to choose their favorite playwright and build a draft of a play that stylistically follows that model.

Nigel beams, maybe nerdy excited about this. It’s no question who he’s going to choose to imitate, and all of his studying of Shakespeare is sure to come in handy now in trying to reproduce the same effect. Who knew school exercises could be so fun…

Well, he feels that way up until he turns to chat with Imogen and ABBY about it. They’re markedly less enthused, laughing about the assignment and commenting on how lame it is.

Abby: Total waste of time. Feels like they don’t even trust us to build basic play structure.

Imogen: Literally. If I wanted to pretend to be Arthur Miller or whatever, I’d go write a fanfic.

Oh… yeah. Ha ha. Peachy keen. Nigel manages to laugh along, tempering his own enthusiasm as he keeps his mouth shut.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - FARKLE’S BEDROOM - DAY

Some things are about to get peachier and keener, though, it’s true. Farkle isn’t alone for much longer that afternoon, immediately halting his pacing and monologue rehearsing when there’s a knock at the front door. He brightens considerably.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

And we don’t have to wait to see why. Farkle darts to the door and when he pulls it open, CHARLIE GARDNER is on the other side, fresh from the airport and back in the States. Farkle greets him cheerfully, the two of them exchanging grins and then a quick hug once they get Charlie and his things securely into the apartment.

Maya emerges from her room to watch the grand entrance, then waits for a choice moment to swoop in -- particularly, when there’s no longer a need to move anything. She approaches Charlie with her usual condescending smile and head tilt, the one she seems to reserve specially for him.

Maya, sweetly: Charlie Gardner.

Then, she extends a hand -- not to shake, but as a signal of expected respect. Charlie blinks at it, then glances at Farkle, not exactly sure what the heck he’s supposed to do… so he takes a wild guess, awkwardly taking Maya’s hand and giving it a brisk kiss. Like this is the 18th century or something, and he’s a guest in her court.

Suppose part of that is true, and Maya seems pleased with the gesture. She delicately retracts her hand and welcomes him more officially, now that he’s passed her bizarre test.

Maya: I hope you’ll appreciate our thoughtfulness in allowing you to stay at our humble abode while your travels necessitate you stop here. Not that you surely could’ve taken another flight back to New York. But in the meantime, per Farkle’s discretion, our couch is yours to borrow.

Charlie: … uh, thank you?

Confusing as interacting with Maya is, Charlie’s gratitude is genuine. He makes a point of saying so as they invite him to settle in, Farkle helping move his duffle while they ask all about his adventures so far. Where did he go? What did he see? What exactly is he planning to do next?

That much, Charlie can answer -- sort of. While he’s not done with his exploration quite yet, hence why he didn’t take that direct flight back to New York, now that he’s back in the U.S. he is starting to shift his focus more inward and start narrowing down what he might want to do when the gap year is up. Since that is likely going to be school, he needs to start preparing applications again…

Charlie: But like I said, there’s still stuff I want to see even while I’m making that transition and nailing down what I want to do. Some stuff along this coast, National Parks, things like that -- which is why I’m very grateful for the opportunity to have a place to recharge in between.

Farkle reiterates that they’re happy to have him, and he’s welcome to pop in and out whenever. Maya echoes this, though with perhaps a bit more sarcasm…

Maya: So much Charlie Gardner. How exciting.

It’s her overly pleasant delivery that kills the believability. But Charlie isn’t fazed. He remains in good spirits as Maya walks away and floats back to her room. Farkle settles on the arm of the couch as Charlie drags his things towards him and starts unpacking, now an expert at temporary set-ups.

Farkle: So when’s the first west coast adventure?

Charlie: Not sure yet. I figured it would be good to have a bit of time to reorient back in the country -- jet lag, for one thing. The time difference between Tokyo and Los Angeles is no joke.

Farkle: Seriously. I guess you’re like a time traveler now.

Charlie: [ with a laugh ] With all the different time zones, time definitely feels faker than it did before. But yeah, I’ll probably be way off today and just need to rest, so I built in some time for that readjustment. But then after that… [ with a shrug ] don’t really know. World’s kind of my Los Angeles oyster for now.

Farkle: Well, you’re more than welcome to visit campus with me. Give you something to do, at least.

And make Farkle feel like less of a friendless loser. Maybe if people see that he actually did have friends, once upon a time, it’ll make him seem like a more viable candidate now. Charlie contemplates the idea.

Farkle: I’d have to ask my professors, of course, but I’m sure they’d be fine with it with a day’s notice -- which shouldn’t be a problem, if you’re sleeping off the travel. And since you think you are planning to go to school again… I don’t know, could be useful, you know? Getting a taste of collegiate life before you decide what you want to do with yours.

It’s honestly a great idea, and much less intimidating a concept when the offer is from a friend. Charlie nods.

Charlie: Yeah, that’d be great, actually. Thanks.

Farkle: No problem. I mean, I know USC is no Yale or anything…

At that, Charlie rolls his eyes. Given people are literally going to jail for bribing their way into USC, Farkle, its own snooty prestige is nothing to scoff at!

Farkle gets back to his feet to give Charlie space to unpack, quickly running through any other relevant bulletins he might need to know off the bat -- where to find things, full access to the fridge, etc. They’ve got blankets and stuff there for him by the couch, but if he needs anything else, he can just let them know. And what else, what else… oh yes…

Farkle: Also just a heads up, so it doesn’t catch you off-guard. Maya can be… a bit of an interesting roommate.

Charlie: Whoa, you don’t say. I’m shocked.

Farkle: Not for the reasons you’d assume. I mean, for those reasons too, but… she can be… she has this habit… well, she sleepwalks.

Charlie: Oh?

Farkle: Yes. Well, actually, more like sleep performs.

Charlie: Oh…

Farkle: I usually don’t have to deal with it since, you know, got my own room and everything, but since you’re on the couch… well, if you wake up and she’s got some middle-of-the-night choreo going on, you can probably assume that’s why. But you should be fine. She won’t bother you. I mean, there’s a slight chance you might get a kick-ball-change to the head, but -- no, yeah, I wouldn’t worry about it. [ with a smile ] Welcome back, Chuck. Glad to have you with us.

Yeah… that’s promising. Charlie manages a smile, but his expression has clear shades of what the hell have I gotten myself into?

Welcome home indeed, Charlie. Oh, don’t you just miss the insanity of your cohort…

Isa, pre-lap: It’s unhinged. It’s unjustifiable. It’s worthy of formal reparation.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - DAY

Isa is on a roll, pacing furiously as they rant over the feedback they got on the assignment from Professor Bennet. Now that the immediate shock has passed, Isa is stuck with indignation, having had the time to read through Bennet’s notes and find irredeemable fault with every single one. Riley is seated on the couch, patiently listening and nodding along while also subtly attempting to get a bit of work done on her laptop.

Isa: I mean, listen to this. Listen to this bullshit.

Riley: I’m listening.

Isa: “Lacks a compelling thematic throughline.” Like, what the fuck does that even mean? Is this man really telling me that I don’t know how to write a theme into my narrative?

Riley: Well --

Isa: Fuck, my fucking life is a clusterfuck of themes. I’m a living thematic tragedy! And yet my work is [ pausing to scan the write-up ] “strong in aesthetic, but lacks emotional follow through?”

Riley, thoughtfully: Well, actually --

Isa: I know I suck at emoting on a regular basis, the way people like you do, but that’s not true of my work. I know how to incorporate fucking narrative.

Riley doesn’t argue that. She’s seen Isa’s work for years, she knows they can deliver really meaningful and often subtly deep themes.

Isa: I mean, you watched this one. Did it seem so far removed from my usual output? Did it seem C+ worthy?

Riley: Of course I thought it was great. You’re one of my favorite filmmakers. But I’m not a film professor, so I’m not sure I can say. As your friend, though, A+ from me.

Isa: Helpful. Thank you…

Riley beams. Then she elaborates, pointing out that if Isa is that confused about the professor’s grade, they should go to office hours and ask about them. That’s one of the great opportunities of college, having the chance to discuss and learn from the feedback you receive. Isa can have the moment to raise their concerns, hear where Bennet is coming from more in-depth, and it might make a good impression to show that they’re interested in digging deeper into the criticism to grow from it.

Isa grumbles. It’s not clear that they are interested in that… but it’s not bad advice.

With perfect timing, Lucas enters the apartment just as Isa seems to burn out, so he’s spared the brunt of the tirade. Both Riley and Isa greet him, the former admittedly far more chipper than the latter. Riley jumps up with excitement when his presence reminds her of something, scampering off to her room while Isa collapses and deflates into the armchair.

Lucas: You look absolutely radiant this afternoon.

Isa: Bite me.

Lucas: Another beautiful, glorious day of college-ing at the beautiful, glorious institution of higher learning that is New York University?

Isa: Ugh.

Lucas: Riveting. They should really hire you for their recruitment materials.

Isa is clearly not in the mood for cheekiness. Teasing requirement satisfied, Lucas asks whether the grumping is over something he should actually be concerned about.

Isa: It’s not Wyatt-level calamity worthy of your concern or intervention, no. [ a beat ] Though if you want to hear about it --

Lucas: Are you in any harm, imminent or eventual?

Isa: No.

Lucas: Is anyone fucking with your emotional or mental well-being --

Isa: Well --

Lucas: On a personal, targeted level?

Isa: … no.

Lucas: Is Riley involved?

Isa: No.

Lucas: Then I’m good, thanks.

Isa rolls their eyes, slouching further in the armchair. Still, it’s nice to know Lucas cares if a serious situation actually arises.

Riley returns from her room lugging the time capsule trunk in her arms, smile infectiously bright. Lucas jogs over to help her with it and takes it off her hands, carrying it much more easily with his techie strength.

Riley: Farkle’s stuff finally arrived last night, so I finished putting it all together this morning. The items have been stowed and the lock has been fitted with the secret combination --

Isa: That seems risky. What if something happens to you? Then what are we gonna do?

Riley: Mourn me, ideally. [ off their groan ] But rest assured, Dylan knows the combo too. We picked it together. So now, all there is left to do…

Is bury it. Or at least stash it away, wherever that might be. This seems to be Lucas’s job, as he dutifully assures Riley that he knows what his task is. He’s going to take care of it that evening, around his shift at Chubbies.

Riley beams, thanking him and rewarding him with a quick kiss.

INT. JACK’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Barely settled and unpacked, Jack is back to work, sifting through all the mail -- electronic or otherwise -- that he’s fallen behind with while he was abroad. He’s got remarkably fewer emails now that Eric is saddled with that burden as principal, but still plenty to sort through…

Including more than one about the upcoming race for the open school board seat now that Morris is retiring. Evelyn forwarded him the initial public announcement about it, given their prior conversations, but other people have sent it his way as well with words or encouragement or curiosity as to whether he’s planning a bid. Former colleagues, people in his network and outside it, folks from all over the district.

Apparently, Evelyn is not the only one who sees potential in him beyond the administrator’s desk… and it leaves Jack with much to consider.

EXT. LOS ANGELES - RESTAURANT - DAY

He isn’t the only one with big choices to contemplate. Farkle is finally having his reunion meeting with JONATHAN TURNER, the agent who discovered him by chance and gave him his card at the end of Season 2. Now, almost a year and a half later, they’re coming back together as discussed to explore a potential partnership -- that is, if both parties are still interested. Time moves fast in this city, and that much of a gap can be a death sentence.

Lucky for Farkle, that doesn’t seem to be the case here. Turner is quiet but attentive as he reviews the actor’s resume Farkle put together during the first couple weeks of classes, one of his more professional headshots stapled to the back facing the table. They’re seated on the patio of a trendy, likely expensive bistro, so good thing Farkle isn’t strapped for cash.

Once he’s seen what he needs to see, Turner places the resume down and reclines more comfortably in his chair. He asks Farkle how he’s liking Los Angeles so far, how USC is treating him. Although that hardly seems like relevant information, Farkle answers with his usual candor.

Farkle: Los Angeles is cool, though not quite as eclectic in nature as New York. So given I’m overly eclectic by default, I’ve been adjusting to that lifestyle change.

Turner: Certainly a bit more laid-back here, or so they say.

Farkle: I don’t do laid-back all that well. I’m very action-oriented, try as I might to not be insane. Though I’m sure this is the part where I’m supposed to elaborate on how that insanity makes me really productive and ambitious and thus a lucrative investment.

Turner: Most probably would, yes. Though I think your resume to this point speaks to that well enough.

Farkle: As for USC, it’s legitimate. The classes seem rigorous, in a good way. I’m honored to have been accepted, though it’s not without its faults -- but I think that’s just college, no matter which one you’re stuck at.

All in all, though, he’s enjoying it. Mostly. Best not to get into the whole having-no-friends thing. Turner smiles lightly, evidently still won over by Farkle’s unique personality. They’re briefly interrupted while a waiter refills their water, and then Turner gets down to business.

Turner: I’m pleased that you decided to come give Los Angeles a try, Farkle. And you’re right, it’s no small feat that you were admitted to an arts major at USC. They must see potential, as I did when you first came out here. Potential I still see now, that I am still interested in fostering with respect to your career.

Wow. That was easy? Farkle sits up straighter, not sure how to handle a potential management offer so soon.

Turner: That being said…

Oh. Never mind. Farkle recedes a bit, even more uncertain than before. Where is Turner going with this -- why is Hollywood so confusing?

Turner: I’m not quite ready to shake on it. Not for any negative reason, mind you. If I had reservations about you as a potential client, I wouldn’t be as forthright as I am right now. I’m not trying to pull any punches or string you along, and I hope you feel you can trust me on at least that much.

Farkle pauses, then nods. For as dodgy as Hollywood seems to be as a whole, reputation wise at least, as far as Farkle can tell Turner has done nothing to demonstrate he deserves doubt.

Turner: The reason for my apprehension is more, I hope, to benefit us both. I’m more interested in seeing how you spend the rest of this year, what opportunities you forge while in your first year. I know you’re just a student, but that doesn’t mean you’re without options for showing your capability or improving your marketability. Essentially, I want to give you the chance to enjoy your freshman year and make the absolute most of it -- while I get to assess what making the most of it means to you.

How Farkle deems to spend his time might be a more revealing display of his character and tenacity than any dinner interview could be. Plus, it would give Farkle the chance to just be a college student for a bit, before the transition into sharing it with a potential career begins.

Turner: Of course, I acknowledge that that means more waiting, and you may not want to do so. If you’re gunning to go, please understand that this isn’t an exclusive agreement -- if another agent snatches you up or you decide to go in a different direction, I understand that. No harm, no foul. But if we both come to the end of the year, and we’re both still interested and available to try a partnership, then we can reassess when the time comes. Does that sound fair to you?

To be frank, in Hollywood, that’s a generous offer. It’s not a closed door or an immediate jump-start, it’s simply… an open window. A pathway with potential for the future, if by the time they arrive at it both parties have determined it’s the right one to take.

After a moment, Farkle nods, then extends his hand to seal the deal. Turner smiles again and clasps his hand, shaking on it.

Nigel, pre-lap: I don’t know. Maybe I’m overthinking it.

INT. BEAMON HOME - JADE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Nigel is hanging out with JADE BEAMON, having had dinner with her family and now chatting with her in her room. The evenings are really the only time she’s easy to catch, with the exception of lunch, but even that feels less guaranteed depending on his class schedule and what falls into her lap at work that day.

Though they’re on her bed together, they’re not up to anything nefarious -- the door is half-open as to not give anyone any ideas. And who has time for kissing, or anything else for that matter, when it feels like you barely get time to talk during the week? Nigel only gets so much time with her these days, so he’s going to take whatever conversation he can get. Right now, they’re discussing his classwork while he gently massages her shoulders, dutifully doing his boyfriend responsibility of trying to help her destress after work.

Jade: Probably. I mean, I think you’re right when you said that Riley likely just wasn’t thinking about you when she agreed to work with Evan. That’s not a reflection on you, he just got there first.

Nigel: Yeah. Yeah, totally.

Jade: You know Riley likes you, she’s your friend. She’s Riley, she’s everybody’s friend. There’s no reason to think she’d be actively plotting to avoid working with you. [ a beat ] Though I have to admit, I feel like the real story is how fast Evan jumped on that train. Is there something going on there?

Nigel: I mean, I’m not the person to ask. It took me years to figure out my own vibes.

Jade: True…

Nigel, sheepishly: Well, better than late never, right?

Jade looks over her shoulder to give him side-eye… but then she smiles, giving him a quick kiss of affirmation. Better late than never indeed.

Nigel: But yeah, I don’t know. It definitely seems like something might be there, at least for him, but… Riley’s got Lucas. He’s got to know that, it’s not like Riley keeps that fact a secret.

Jade: Definitely not. I’m not worried about it, or anything, I was just curious. [ a beat ] It’s not like I have worry to spare when I’m convinced I’m gonna get the axe any day now.

Nigel frowns, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pulling her to him. He gives her a kiss on the cheek and she smiles, relaxing back against him and sighing before elaborating.

Jade: I honestly don’t know what they’re waiting for. It’s like, psychological torture, sitting there waiting for the other shoe to drop. I know Anya has to have looked at the inventory by now -- there’s no way Melanie would withhold it that long.

Nigel: Well, maybe it turned out okay. Maybe Anya just didn’t care.

Jade: Then why can’t I know that? Why can’t someone tell me it’s fine and it’s over so that I can like, go back to breathing normally? I swear, I’m so stressed about doomsday coming it’s like I can’t focus at all. If I’m not careful, that’s going to get me fired before the inventory can.

Nigel: … and do you think it’s worth it?

Jade’s turn to frown. She sits up and turns her body to face him, asking him what he means. Nigel hesitates, not trying to fray any nerves, but he just wonders whether all this stress for the apprenticeship is worth it. Sure, industry jobs aren’t walks in the park, but if it’s taking that much of a toll on her…

Jade: I don’t know what you mean. I’m fine. I mean, I’m stressed, but I’m fine. It’s not like I wasn’t stressed at Adams every day.

Nigel: No, yeah, totally. I didn’t mean to say -- I know you can handle it. I think you can handle anything, you know that.

Jade nods, taking that to heart and letting the awkward moment pass. Right now, she doesn’t need doubts -- she’s got plenty of that on her own in her head. She returns the compliment as she settles back against him again, assuring him that she knows he’ll do fine with his assignments, too. He’s always been great at scene work. He doesn’t need Riley to hold his hand through that.

True enough, true enough. Nigel brings up his other assignment as well, finally able to appropriately geek out about how excited he is to write a story in the Shakespearian frame. Jade asks him to go on, tracing her fingers along his hands and smiling fondly as she listens to him launch into the ideas he’s already been workshopping. It’s nice to see that enthusiasm teeming in his voice be encouraged, not sarcastically doused with too-cool-for-school freshman attitude.

And more than that, it’s abundantly clear how much getting to share it all with Jade means to Nigel, scarce as that time may feel sometimes these days.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - LUCAS’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Lucas is seated on his bed, slouched against the wall with a dense reference book in his lap. By the looks of it, he’s attempting not to fall behind on what would be his studies at Davis… the biology textbook he’s using is banged up but still decent enough, and he’s flipping through a syllabus Isa managed to help him download from a previous year.

Right now, though, his focus is mainly on his phone. He’s scrolling through the transfer requirements for Davis, specifically looking for details about deferment. If he isn’t going to fully give up on this dream thing, or whatever, he should probably make sure he has everything in order.

And while acceptance wise, it shouldn’t be much of an issue since they granted his deferment, it’s the scholarship that will be tricky. He’s going to have to reapply for it, and given his flakiness this go around, there’s no guarantee they’ll be as keen to give him money again. With everything that’s happened, he’ll need it more than ever -- who knows what his personal financial status will be in a year…

The reason for which is painfully glaring at the moment. Even though he’s in his room and the door is closed, he can hear his dad on the other side. Talking to Grace, having dinner, dishes clinking and his low baritone just an indistinct drone. Not doing anything objectionable, at least for now.

But it hardly matters. Even just hearing his voice feels invasive, bringing tension to Lucas’s muscles. He’s read the same sentence over and over, but nothing is sinking in -- he can’t concentrate when that voice is so close.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when there’s a gentle knock at the door. It takes him a second to find his own voice. He clears his throat.

Lucas: Yeah?

After a beat, the door creaks open, GRACE FRIAR poking her head in. She looks preemptively apologetic.

Grace: Sorry, are you studying?

Lucas: Not really.

Grace: Oh. I was wondering if you’d be able to run to the Walgreens? We’re out of --

Kenneth, off-screen: You don’t have to ask him, just tell him to go. He’s not paying rent, is he? Not like he’s got anything else going on, since he’s refusing to eat with us. For Christ’s sake…

Mm. That’s pleasant. Neither Lucas nor Grace let it show in their expressions, but the commentary hangs heavy between them for a long moment. It almost makes Lucas say no, out of indignant spite…

But Grace is asking. Helping her out with all this is the whole reason he even bothers to be here at all. So he swallows his pride.

Lucas: Just write me a list.

Grace gives him a soft smile, mouthing a thanks before backing off and shutting the door again. Lucas glances down at his college stuff, how little progress he made, then sighs and sets it to the side as he climbs off his bed.

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - OFFICES - DAY

Josh is yet again one of the last in the office, still at his desk as the clock nears 7PM. He’s scouring his inbox and messages, looking for any potential client routes he might have overlooked when he was banking on Iris. Sending out potential feelers, on the off-chance some of these might lead somewhere still -- ideally, somewhere with potential.

One of those options is Yindra, per Riley’s earlier recommendation. He dashes off an email to her, though it clearly pains him to do so considering he wanted them to come to him. But desperate times…

INT. PERFORMING DINER - NIGHT

YINDRA AMINO is working the evening shift at the diner, pausing from clearing a table when her phone buzzes with the email. She pulls it open and skims through it, excited at first…

But then she sees who it’s from. Josh Mattthews. As in Riley Matthews, who probably told him to send the email in the first place. While the idea of using him as a connection a couple years ago seemed so easy, a surprising amount of reluctance bubbles up in Yindra now. Whether he’s genuinely interested in her or not, she can’t stand the feeling that she’s just being handed something. That she’s going to get somewhere because of a favor, not because of her hard work and talent.

And right now, her defensiveness is at higher rates than usual. So rather than responding, she archives the email and pockets her phone again, going back to cleaning the vacated table.

Zay, pre-lap: If I’m going to get this, then I’m going to earn it. It’s not like anyone is just going to hand it to me.

EXT. TURNER ACADEMY - DAY

Zay is walking through campus bright and early the next morning, there far earlier than most people. That’s made clear by the pretty vacant campus and HENRIK VON FELDT trailing behind him, barely trying to keep up with Zay’s determined march as they head towards the Turner buildings for an early morning warm-up.

Henrik: Sure. For sure. But can we at least let my 5-hour Energy kick in first?

Zay: Gao said this is all about endurance. Well, mark my words, I’ve got endurance. I’ve got what it takes. Better than the rest of them.

Henrik: Dude, I believe you. Hell, I think you’ve got it better than me. Or like, anyone else in the program right now. Damn sure no one else is as zealous…

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY

Ah, but that is where you’re wrong, Henrik. There is one other person on the same insanity pitch as Zay -- Vanessa is out running at the same early hour, getting in a fitness warm-up with her friend from Quincy, SUMMER LIONS.

While Summer seems more awake than Henrik, she’s equally as perplexed with Vanessa’s relentless motivation. When the two of them stop to catch their breath and grab some water, Summer questions what exactly she’s getting out of this.

Vanessa: Think that should be obvious? Stay in shape, stay on top, get into Turner. Domino effect to our choices, Summer.

Summer: No, yeah, I know. But like, are you aware you’re already in banging shape? You’re already the best dancer I know. Surely you can’t be falling behind.

Vanessa: I’m not. But that’s the point. By doing this, staying on top of the game, I stay at the front of the pack. I’m not slipping up and messing that up.

Summer: Girl, I’m pretty sure you are the only person thinking about it that hard.

Vanessa: [ with a snort ] You have not met my classmates.

Summer: And I’m not saying you should slack -- God knows it wouldn’t work anyway. Never worked at Quincy, don’t see why it would now.

Vanessa: Glad you recognize that.

Summer: And if doing your hardass thing makes you feel alive, and stuff, then that’s great. Good for you, stay grinding. But I’m just worried about like, the rest of your life? Is there a rest of your life? [ a beat ] Like, how’s the social scene? Any good parties? Hot girls? Hot guys? Like V, I’m telling you, I think you just need one good honest --

Vanessa: Not this again…

Summer: Okay, fine, that aside, have you made any friends?

Vanessa pauses a second too long, with no answer to give, and that’s what gives her away. She clears her throat and starts into a jog again, nodding towards campus.

Vanessa: Gotta get going. Clock’s ticking, and I’m not running late. Let’s go, one more mile.

Summer sighs, letting Vanessa take off and avoid the question.

Summer: It’s always one more mile…

She shakes her head, starting to jog after her.

INT. ANYA KELLY DESIGN STUDIO - MAIN FLOOR - DAY

Jade is keeping her head down, working unassumingly at her desk. At the adjacent desks, SKYLAR ALBRIGHT and JAMAL ALLEN are working less quietly, holding a somewhat silly conversation about fabric softener and its usefulness (or lack thereof). So far, just another day…

Until it isn’t. All of them jump when the phone on Jade’s desk rings. She stares at it, uncertain, then looks to the other two -- who look equally surprised. The apprentice lines hardly ever ring.

Jamal: Mine has rung once in the entire two years I’ve been here, and it was because Melanie wanted me to go on a coffee run.

Skylar: That’s not our job. That’s the assistants’ job -- that’s her job.

Jamal: Try telling her that.

In any case, Jade should pick up. And she does, once she gets her brain to connect to her hand again. She lifts the receiver to her ear.

Jade, uncertainly: Anya Kelly Design Studio?

Melanie: This is an internal line, Beamon. I know who I’m calling.

Jade: Oh. That’s good. [ a beat ] So, why are you calling me?

Melanie: Anya would like to see you in her office.

Jade goes pale, freezing in place. Jamal and Skylar mirror her concern, just based on the way her expression dropped and eyes widened.

Melanie: And be quick about it, please. She doesn’t like to be kept waiting.

The line clicks off, Melanie hanging up. Jade sits frozen for a moment longer before slowly hanging up herself. Jamal and Skylar ask her what’s up; she looks like she’s seen death.

Jade, blankly: Anya wants to see me.

Oh, so maybe she is seeing death. Skylar and Jamal’s jaws drop. This is unprecedented… sure, a glimpse here and there isn’t unheard of, but being beckoned to Anya’s office within your first couple months? Simply isn’t done.

Skylar: I literally didn’t see her until a month before you started.

Jade: What does it mean?

Neither of them speak, exchanging a wary look. Suppose there’s a chance it could be for good reason, but more likely than not… Jade reads their sympathetic signals without them having to say a word.

The other shoe is ready to drop.

INT. ANYA KELLY DESIGN STUDIO - UPPER FLOOR - DAY

Jade cautiously ascends the spiral staircase and approaches the frosted glass doors, MELANIE MURPHY typing away at the desk stationed just outside the office. She hardly casts a glance in Jade’s direction, looking back at her computer screen.

Melanie: You can go in. She’s expecting you.

Jade: [ with wide eyes ] … go in? To Anya’s office.

Melanie raises her eyes again, expression flat. Like, could Jade be any more stupid…

Melanie: Yes. That would be where Anya is. Unless you want to wait out here for her to come beckon you…

Jade: No, no. That’s… um, okay. Right.

Jade swallows, stepping up to the glass doors. She uncertainly knocks once, timidly, then pulls the door open… and casts one last glance over her shoulder towards the main floor below. Where Skylar and Jamal are chatting at their desks, where the seamstresses are hard at work -- the world she’s barely gotten to know that might just be ripped away from her.

Then she takes a deep breath, stepping inside.

INT. ANYA KELLY DESIGN STUDIO - ANYA’S OFFICE - DAY

The private office of our head executive is even more alluring than the main floor, designed with a keen eye for style and color. It looks like a mix between an upscale therapist’s office and an art gallery, interesting, eye-catching paintings on the wall alongside blown-up photographs of the most impressive AK designs and miniature sculptures and pottery occupying the shelves and corners of the room. A fountain installation takes up the left wall, while the opposite is floor-to-ceiling windows with an enviable view of Manhattan. From here, you can actually see the top of the Minkus’s building in the financial district where Farkle no longer dwells. It’s beyond glamorous without being gauche -- Asher would be in awe.

And seated behind the central set piece, a large, modern desk with plenty of room to spread designs, a figure is concealed behind a magazine they’ve got propped open to read in front of their face. On the cover, one of Anya’s designs is front and center, worn by the hottest celebrity of the month.

Jade hovers uncertainly by the door, not sure whether or not to interrupt. Suppose Melanie could be messing with her…

Jade: Um… Miss Kelly?

With a sharp movement, the figure drops the magazine from her face, and we finally see ANYA KELLY (30s). She’s attractive and bright, with thin features and piercing blue eyes. Her whole look screams trendsetter, from her choppy brown bob kissed with highlights to the bold color of her professional blazer. She could easily pass for one of the models she dresses.

But there’s an intensity to her gaze, too, a hint of the same expertise and high expectations that colors Rosario Gao or even Farkle Minkus. There’s an aura that just tells you she’s fucking amazing at what she does -- and she knows it.

Right now, that scrutinizing stare is directed right at Jade. She raises an eyebrow.

Anya: You’re Jade?

Jade nods. She’s clasping her hands together to keep them from shaking, using every ounce of her self-discipline not to immediately break down into tears. If she withstood four years of Maya Hart, she can handle this… she hopes.

Anya assesses her for a long moment, expression betraying nothing, then gestures for her to come closer.

Anya: Sit.

Jade does as she’s told, coming to perch in the velvet chair placed opposite her desk. Once she’s settled, and Anya’s gotten a good, long look at her, she continues.

Anya: So you’re the one who fucked with the inventories.

Oh God. So it is about that. Jade tries not to panic, quickly debating her next move. She could lie. She could blame someone else. She could say Melanie mislead her; she could claim she simply misunderstood the instructions.

Or she could tell the truth, and face the consequences. Jade manages another nod, casting her eyes to the floor.

Jade: Yes.

Anya: You went in and scrubbed the databases to update them, despite no one telling you to do so or giving you any instruction whatsoever.

Jade: Yes.

Anya: And you did this without guidance, without assistance, with no regard for the hours it took or the extra work you may have created for yourself or others. You thought it was a good idea, so you just did it.

Jade: … yes.

If Jade could melt into the floor and disappear, she would. The silence hangs heavy over her head for a long moment while Anya takes that in, like the sword just waiting to be cut loose and strike her down…

Anya, blithely: Well, thank fucking God for that!

Jade lifts her head, surprised. Um, what? That definitely didn’t sound like a scolding…

Jade: I’m sorry?

Anya: Those inventories have been absolute shit for years. Completely useless aside from the latest entries. And I’ve had apprentices try to fix it in the past, even pawned it off on Melanie a couple of times -- rumor has it that’s why the assistant before Mel decided to quit. And those kind of errors, they just pile up and pile up, until it’s a gigantic clusterfuck that no one wants to or seems capable of handling. [ eyeing her ] But not you.

Jade: … so I’m not in trouble?

Anya: In trouble? Jade, you’re a blessing!

No one in the last few years ever showed nearly the same amount of self-motivation, or interest in improving the systems for the good of the company. Let alone of their own volition, without being asked or required. And now that it’s been updated, thanks to her hard work, all of them have been spared multitudes of headaches down the road.

Anya: See, the thing is, everyone wants the chance to come work at the studio. Everyone wants to step foot in here, take a look around, build their resume with a strong name in the company slot. But it feels like no one actually wants to work; no one wants to fucking learn. But you, you took initiative. You seem to actually give a damn.

Jade: I do. I mean, I am seriously passionate about costuming. And I love your designs -- I studied them all the time in high school. I care about this a lot, I didn’t want to mess it up. And when I saw the inventory, yeah, I suppose I just, have this instinct to make things right…

Anya: And that’s brilliant. That’s [ chef’s kiss ] unparalleled, Jade. That is what we need in this industry -- that’s what I’ve been waiting for.

Well, this is a lot better than getting the boot! Jade isn’t sure what to do with the praise, awkwardly mirroring Anya’s effervescent smile. Anya goes on to say that she’s intrigued now, and she wants to see what else Jade is capable of. She’s going to begin giving her small additional tasks, just between the two of them, to see how she responds. She shouldn’t think of them as tests or anything, just practice exercises and tasks for Anya to get a better assessment of Jade’s strengths, weaknesses, and current ability. So she should keep an eye out for that in the coming days.

With that, they’re done chatting for now. Jade thanks Anya, shaky with relief, getting to her feet. Before she leaves, Anya calls for her to pause, meeting her eyes and getting one more good look at her. Sizing her up… then she smiles, eccentric and electric creative genius embodied.

Anya: Excellent start, Jade Beamon. I see a lot of potential in you. [ a beat ] Don’t prove me wrong.

Jade is going to darn well try her best. She returns the smile, nodding and stepping out of the office. Anya watches her go, then goes back to her magazine, crooked smile still intact.

INT. ANYA KELLY DESIGN STUDIO - MAIN FLOOR - DAY

Jade returns to her desk, practically floating. Jamal and Skylar share her enthusiasm when they see she’s returned without being in tears, rejoicing when she confirms she wasn’t fired.

Skylar: Hallelujah.

Jamal: Seriously. I’m not gonna lie, when you got that call I thought that was the end.

If she wasn’t getting kicked, though, that does beg the question. What did Anya want with her? Jade opens her mouth to tell them all about it, but suddenly she finds she has no words. Looking at the two of them, she realizes the strange situation she’s found herself in. Neither of them have ever had such a meeting with their highest-up boss -- despite being here much longer than her. They’ve both been doing the same job as her, for much longer, with little to no acknowledgement from Anya at all. Telling them about what she said, how she’s been waiting for someone like her, seems like a shitty thing to tell them.

So she fudges the truth, claiming nonchalantly that Anya just wanted to go over the inventories. Considering her effort to rework them, Jamal and Skylar buy this answer without further curiosity. They obviously wanted a slightly juicier answer, but hey, as long as Jade isn’t boxing up her stuff in exile, it’s all good.

Jade gives them a smile, grateful for their support… and determined not to lose it. If she’s going to keep it, she’s better off not bragging about her praise for the whole office to hear.

Farkle, pre-lap: Welcome to the big leagues, Chuck.

EXT. USC - CAMPUS - DAY

Farkle is leading the way through the main thoroughfare of campus, Charlie keeping up but moving at a more leisurely pace as he takes everything in. Farkle plays half-baked tour guide as he points out the main pieces of interest -- Bovard auditorium, the old and revered Doheny library, the arts and humanities building they’re renaming since the original namesake was a eugenics supporter.

At the same time, Farkle runs through the classes he’ll be tagging along to this week: film theory, music theory and composition, a Gen-Ed or two including a freshman philosophy seminar. Charlie’s expressions brightens at that.

Charlie: That sounds great. Do you know what branch or school of thought? Or is it more of a general overview of more prominent theories? A couple of the books I read this summer really got me thinking about --

Farkle: You’re practically foaming at the mouth to guest attend a freshman philosophy class, and yet you’re not completely sure if you want to go to college?

Touché, Farkle, truly. Charlie smiles bashfully, laughing at himself. Like yeah, he doesn’t have the details figured out, but let’s be honest. He was built for academia.

Still, the question of what to explore in academia is a valid question. And there are definitely many paths to choose from, another consideration Farkle highlights as he changes the subject.

Farkle: Anyway, if you’re keen for my basic Gen-Ed, then you’ll love the other class you’re invited to this week. I have to take this “movement” course for my major, which is basically, for all intents and purposes, Dance for Dummies. Which, to be honest, I’m offended I have to be in -- as if I didn’t dance for years before this or have a junior district medal for tap dancing.

Well, okay, don’t humble brag too hard, Farkle… but yes, that does sound fun. Although Charlie has some reservations, admitting that he might need the refresher more than Farkle. It’s been a while since he danced, or at least it feels like it’s been ages -- beyond the type you’d find on the club dance floor, that is. He might’ve forgotten how to do it all.

Farkle: Please, Chuck. You were the best dancer in our class --

Charlie: Well, Zay --

Farkle: Okay, okay, second best if that makes you feel less controversial. Point is, you were great, and that doesn’t just evaporate because you flitted off to Europe for four months. It’s like riding a bike, isn’t it? You never forget.

Charlie: I don’t think that’s true at all, but…

Anyway, Farkle disrupts Charlie’s self-doubt by frankly bulldozing past it. He notes that the only class Charlie can’t attend with him is his acting class, because apparently his professor is pretentious and takes everything way too seriously. So no outsiders allowed, but hopefully Charlie can find something else to do in the meantime this week.

Given how Charlie is still totally enthralled just looking around at campus as they walk, yeah, surely he’ll manage. Plenty to explore. For now, they’ve got film theory to enjoy -- Farkle marches onwards to the film school, Charlie taking in one more sweeping view of the campus before jogging to catch up to him.

INT. AAA - PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE - DAY

Eric is sorting through emails -- a task that seems to take a lot more of his time and concentration than it should. He frowns to himself as his computer beeps indignantly at his action, shaking his head. How does he seem to always have new emails?

Eric: Is this inbox bottomless or what?

He’s relieved from the technological burden when Isa arrives, capturing his attention. They’re there for lunch, but mentally they’re still in Bennet’s classroom, having slept off none of their indignation overnight. They start to launch into another tirade about the grade, and wondering if they should bring it up with Bennet or not, but Eric raises a hand to halt them.

Eric: First off, you know I will always advocate for communication. If this professor is a good teacher, he should be open to a conversation, provided you approach it the right way.

Isa: I never approach anything the right way.

Eric: We’ll discuss how. Before that, though, this came to my apartment yesterday.

Eric retrieves a letter from a pile on his desk, cautiously handing it over to Isa. They take it, confused as to why anyone would be writing them -- until recognition hits upon reading the return address.

Zachary MacNamara. Their potential maybe father got their letter. He read their letter.

He actually wrote back.

Isa: Shit. [ glancing at Eric ] Sorry. Shoot.

Eric: I’ll allow a shit. It’s a big deal.

Isa: Yeah. Should I open it?

Eric: I think that’s up to you.

Isa: True. I did write to him, so… [ suddenly shy ] What if it’s bad, though? What if he’s cussing me out and he never wants to hear from me again?

Eric: I highly doubt someone would put in the effort to mail a letter just to cuss someone out…

Isa: Matthews are different breeds.

Eric: But I understand your fear. Putting yourself out there like this is scary. Either way, you sent that first letter, and I already think that’s brave as hell. If you don’t want to move any further, even reading this, I would support that. [ a beat ] But you won’t know unless you open it.

Isa holds his gaze, uncertain… then takes a deep breath, nodding. They put the feeler out there, now it’s time to see what came of it.

They hesitate a second longer, then starts to tear open the envelope.

Break 1.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Given his apartment was such a bust, Lucas has changed tactics. He’s now attempting to do a bit of studying while at Adams, the biology textbook open on the stage manager’s podium. But it’s equally hard to focus here, between the sounds of construction and HARPER BURGESS loudly lecturing to the freshmen performers and a bunch of them rehearsing vocals -- slightly off-pitch, given they’re freshmen.

That, and he really shouldn’t be diverting his attention while he’s on the clock. Not because it’s bad employee etiquette, but because leaving the freshmen techies alone for even a second is a recipe for disaster. This is evidenced by Jake and Greta racing to get to him first, the former lit up with joy while the latter looks downright vexed.

Jake: Mister Lucas -- !

Greta: TA FRIAR!

Lucas raises his hands in surrender, irritable and still a bit on edge from the evening prior.

Lucas: What? What?

Greta: You’re never going to believe --

Jake: It’s amazing!

Lucas, impatient: What?

Jake, in unison: [ with delight ] We painted Bean to the set piece!!!

Greta, in unison: [ with grievance ] They painted Bean to the set piece!

Jake: Come see, you’ve gotta come see!

Oh, Neptune… Lucas sighs, pointedly shutting the textbook.

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - RECORDING STUDIO - DAY

Speaking of well-meaning collaborators who just can’t seem to do anything right… Josh is having a session with CRICKET, desperately attempting to get her to produce… something. Anything. She’s in the recording booth with her guitar, and he’s brought her a pre-mixed track to work off of. A good one at that -- it’s a base Josh is pretty proud of, one he was planning to save for when Iris got the deal for the EP and they could build out the project -- and it’s more than clear Josh really does have an ear for music. He’s got the potential to be something special in the world of producing…

But he’s got nothing to mold. Or at least, nothing promising -- as Cricket sings through some vocal riffs and tries to find a place to land on the track, it’s evident she has a lovely voice. There’s a sound there, something Josh obviously heard when he first sought her out. If he could just get her to spread her wings and actually soar…

But nope. No such luck today. After a few half-hearted lines and a declarative strum, Cricket gives up, shaking her head.

Cricket: I’m sorry, Josh, man, this just isn’t working for me.

Josh does his best not to snap, taking a deep breath. They’ve only been at this for like half an hour… and God, does he really need something to move right now…

Josh: It doesn’t have to be brilliant, Cricket. We’re just trying things out. Experimenting, throwing stuff at the wall and seeing what sticks.

Cricket: I know, but this just isn’t my vibe. The track is sick, don’t get me wrong, but it’s sparking nothing in my soul. This just isn’t how I create.

It takes everything in him not to point out that she creates nothing… but he manages to hold his tongue. He patiently gets her to agree to fifteen more minutes of noodling around, so they can take advantage of the studio time, but he’s resigned to the fact that he won’t magically be getting anything out of her this afternoon.

INT. AAA - PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE - DAY

Isa has had the chance to read through the letter -- twice, in fact -- and now it’s in Eric’s hands. As he finishes reading, Isa paces and watches impatiently, obviously processing what it says and waiting for Eric to provide much needed insight. Once he’s done, he lifts his eyes to meet theirs, inviting commentary.

Isa: So he responded.

Eric: He did.

Isa: He seems open to… talking. More. In whatever way. That’s good, right?

Eric: I’d say so, on both counts.

Isa: But he wants to do a DNA test. What do you think that’s about? And how the hell would we even do that -- doesn’t it take like, weeks? Or months?

Eric: I’m sure with the right amount of money, you can expedite the process. Technology is a marvel these days.

Isa: But like… why? Does he already not trust me?

Eric: I wouldn’t jump that far.

Isa: Why else would someone ask for something like that? It feels like he thinks I’m some kind of scheming scammer or something.

Eric: I get why you might feel that way. With something as… sensitive as this, matters of family, you’re going to be prone to strong reactions. I completely get that. But I think if you were outside the situation, and it was someone else going through it with you as the observer, your more logical side might hold a different opinion. How would you view it in that context?

Isa sighs pointedly, clearly too antsy to be in the mood for counselor mind exercises… but they relent and think through it anyway.

Isa: I think that if I were in his situation, already with another wife and career and everything figured out, I would be hesitant to let a potential long-lost child into the picture. Even if I’m open to it, I’d want to be one-hundred percent sure I’m only potentially inviting upheaval into my life if I’m positive it’s the real deal.

Eric: Good start. And given the information he’s shared with you here, there’s a public image angle as well. He tells you that Zachary is his real name, but he’s much more well-known under a stage name -- it’s possible he gets accusations and claims like this all the time. You know the kind of shenanigans Valerie had to deal with day-to-day being as famous as she was. He could very well be in the same boat.

Isa, flatly: Why was I so blessed with famous parents…

That, Eric can’t answer for them. But Zachary does seem open to communication, just with this simple caveat prior to going any further. To Eric, it seems reasonable -- it just matters if Isa feels it’s worthwhile. If so, then he’ll help them go through all the steps to make it happen.

As uncertain as the request makes them feel on the surface, the buzz of a potential lead on their actual family is a far more alluring prospect. Isa honestly never expected this Zachary person would reply -- now that he has, it seems like a fool’s move to refuse on something as prideful as a bit of self-protective doubt. If they’re being honest, they know they would probably do the same. Maybe that’s a signal as much as any other that they share blood…

After a moment, Isa nods.

EXT. USC - CAMPUS - DAY

After film lecture, Farkle and Charlie head across campus to grab a snack before they split up for the afternoon. It’s here that they happen to run into some of Farkle’s peers from his major, the ones who were going to go to the comedy show with him. We learn through quick introductions as they greet Farkle and notice his new companion that their names are MASON (18), NATALIA (19), and the cheeky one for whatever reason goes by the nickname BUZZ (18).

Natalia, in fact, is very keen to introduce herself to Farkle’s new friend. She makes an effort to make sure Charlie knows her name, shaking his hand and batting her eyelashes. Charlie remains polite as ever, but it’s clear from the twinkle in his eyes that he’s trying very hard not to laugh.

Natalia: Are you a new student? Are we going to be seeing you in class?

Charlie: Oh, unfortunately, no. Just visiting.

Natalia: Oh, no.

Mason: From where?

Charlie: New York, technically, but I flew in from Tokyo. I’m taking a gap year.

Natalia: [ still going for it ] So there’s a chance we might see you here again?

Buzz: [ ignoring her thirst ] Yo, that’s dope! Wish I had taken a gap year instead of like, coming to learn or whatever.

Mason: I’m more impressed that you’re walking Trousdale with the Farkle Minkus. Lone ranger over here, I figured he was solitary by design. You must be an elite!

It’s clear from his tone that Mason is joking, and it seems like the comment is more intended as a hint that they’d like to get to know Farkle better. But Farkle can’t interface like a normal person, so to him, he just assumes it’s another strike against him in the social scene of USC.

Farkle, dryly: Yeah, it’s very hard work, maintaining this fashionable isolation.

The three of them laugh, assuming he’s just being sarcastic. Classic Farkle! They think! As they head off, they claim they’ll catch him in class -- but not Charlie, much to Natalia’s disappointment -- and then go their separate ways.

Farkle is obviously embarrassed by the chance interaction, pale cheeks slightly flushed. If there was any quicker way to show his Adams friend what a loser he is here… but Charlie doesn’t see it that way. As far as Charlie could tell, smiling as he watches Farkle’s peers go, they seem pretty cool with him.

Have to wonder how much of Farkle’s isolation is real, and how much of it is a self-defeating product of his own imagination.

INT. NYU - CLASSROOM - DAY

Riley arrives at one of the theater classrooms not in use for her first assignment rehearsal and finds Evan already waiting for her. He gives her a friendly wave from where he’s perched on one of the desks, laptop open to search for scene options. There’s a couple of other duos scattered throughout the room, but there’s enough space to make it feel as though they have plenty of room.

Riley returns his smile and comes to join him, depositing her bag on one of the adjacent desks. She asks if he’s already started brainstorming ideas, playfully peering over his laptop screen to take a look.

Evan: I’ve been browsing, but no definitive ideas yet, no. I mean, there’s great options for sure, but I didn’t want to choose without you. Figure if we’re partners on this, we should make executive calls together.

Honestly, in a program supposedly as competitive and ego-based as Tisch, Riley is pleasantly surprised by this approach. She smiles brighter, nodding.

Riley: I concur. If we’re both aiming to get the most out of this, then by being partners I’d assume we should be operating in our best dual interest. Making creative choices to benefit the both of us.

Evan: Agreed. I’ll trust your instincts if you trust mine.

Riley contemplates that… then nods again, offering a hand to shake on it. Evan smirks, perpetually slightly amused by her natural charm, and happily takes her hand.

Riley: Okay. So down to business. Obviously, this assignment is about collaboration, so I think we should definitely try to find a piece that holds the characters in equal importance. Give both of us the opportunity to actually demonstrate some skill or stretch our performing muscles.

Evan: For sure. And ideally, play off one another as well -- that’s not necessarily a natural skill. Knowing how to share the stage with someone, having chemistry.

Riley: Absolutely. Of course that doesn’t necessarily mean romantic counterparts, though it’s more than likely there’ll be many, many options for a male-female duet in that genre.

Evan: And would you be cool with that? If we decided to do one of those?

It’s sweet that Evan is even bothering to ask. Riley only hesitates for a second, feeling somewhat silly, then shrugs.

Riley: I don’t see why I shouldn’t be. It’s only acting. You saw Beauty and the Beast -- I’m more than capable of pulling off romantic chemistry with my friends.

Evan: Yeah, Farkle Minkus was certainly an interesting leading male to fall in theatrical love with. But y’all were great.

Riley: Thanks. Anyway, in this case, whether romantic or otherwise, I’d really like to stretch my genre if possible. I’ve done ingenue and heroine competently enough at this point, so I want to try something totally unexpected. College just seems like the time to push the envelope, you know? Experiment, explore.

Evan: So I hear, in many realms.

Riley: It’s like, people look at my big ol’ brown doe eyes and they see one thing. The plucky, sweet ingenue. You know? I want to play against that. You know, something darker, a challenge. Like tragedy… maybe a mystery? Honestly, I should’ve asked Nigel for recommendations -- he loves tragedies.

Evan: I’m sure we’ll be able to find something. Helpful parameters to start us off. [ typing on his laptop ] Gotta tell you, though, Riley, I really can’t think of a genre or role I don’t think you could pull off.

He tosses the compliment off casually, but Riley is surprised by it anyway. She smiles bashfully, then brushes past the moment to come stand by him and look over his shoulder as he starts pulling up potential scenes.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - ISA’S BEDROOM - DAY

Isa is on a video call with CHAI FRESCO, catching her up on all the latest drama of the day. Even though Chai seems much more interested in the potential father update -- who is it? How long did it take for him to respond? Is Isa going to talk more or, more than that, actually connect with him? -- but both out of nerves on that subject and a natural tendency to one-track-mind, Isa is still stuck on the film class grade.

Chai: I gotta tell you, and I say this with nothing but affection, it is insane to me that that is the event of the week that you’re hyperfixated on.

Isa: Look, I’ve had a fucked up family saga going on my entire life. That’s not new. Yes, this is… there’s a lot there, but in the grand scheme of my day-to-day, it’s like white noise. It’s like the fire drill that happens once a month where, oh, there’s some family bullshit development I have to deal with again. Life-changing, great, awesome. See you again next month.

Chai: You really would make a great telenovela or something. Your life is full of drama.

Isa: I said thematic narrative, but thank you! You’re telling me. But this thing with the short film, that’s a wrench. That’s throwing everything out of whack. Being a filmmaker is like… I mean, it’s like my whole identity. It’s who I am. And now all of a sudden, some old white man is telling me actually, you’re shit. That is much more pressing a concern to me than whether my daddy issues ever get resolved.

Bit odd priority, yeah… but what can you do? Chai ultimately shares the same advice as Riley, noting that if Isa disagrees with the notes then they should feel more than empowered to discuss it with Professor Bennet. If he’s willing to dish the crit, then he should be able to defend it. Or maybe, as Isa clearly wishes, he’ll realize he was harsher than he intended, or misguided, and having that conversation could change that grade.

Now phrasing it like that perks Isa’s interest a bit. If there’s a chance he might just be plain wrong, then they’re more than happy to challenge his perspective and courteously raise it to his attention.

Chai: I’m not saying it’ll guarantee a grade change, but if you’re that upset about it, you have every right to dispute it. Just make sure to approach it the right way, and not like… you know, like Maya Hart style.

Isa: Eric gave me some pointers.

Chai: That’ll do the trick. Just go in there and be your confident, creative badass girlboss self, and I’m sure you’ll be able to find common ground.

As nice as that advice is, part of the phrasing bumps Isa. It takes them a moment to realize what felt wrong about it, and then it hits them -- girlboss.

Isa: Oh, yeah, that reminds me. Actually. There was something I’ve been meaning to tell you.

Chai: Oh? What’s up?

Isa: Yeah, so… um. [ a beat ] So I decided that I want to go by Isa now. That’s what I’m having people call me at school, and here and stuff. I didn’t think to mention it, just because we rarely like, actively use each other’s names, I guess.

Chai: Oh, cool. I like that, it sounds very snappy. A great film industry kind of name. Not that Isadora didn’t have its charms.

Isa: Right… well, and the other reason was that, uh, I’ve been thinking about my gender identity.

This seems to catch Chai more by surprise. Not in a bad way, but she clearly wasn’t expecting it.

Isa: So, yeah. I’m going by they/them pronouns now. Trying it out.

Chai: Oh. Okay.

Isa: Well, I guess I’ve been trying it out.

Chai: Been? How long have you been?

Isa: … since the start of the semester? About.

Chai: Wow.

Chai doesn’t seem upset, but she’s definitely caught off guard. She remarks that it feels weird Isa didn’t think to mention it sooner -- she might have misgendered them multiple times in the last few weeks and not realized it. Isa assures her it’s not a big deal, and they did think about it a couple of times. The moment just… never seemed to arise.

Isa: That doesn’t… this doesn’t like, change anything between us, right?

Chai: What? No. No way. And sorry if I’m coming off like… that’s really great Iz, seriously. I’m happy for you. It’s great that you’re trying to do more self-discovery, finding what feels true to you. I’m all for that. I’m just... a little surprised.

Isa: I really get that. You don’t have to like, be all on board right away or anything --

Chai: No, no, I am. Like, fully support. And I don’t see why it would change anything -- at least, I don’t want it to. I just… I was not expecting it. Right this second. That’s all.

But otherwise, all good. Neither of them see how or why that should change anything between them. Gender and sexuality are all tied up and together in weird and confusing ways… but no, they’re fine. They’ll be good. They’ve lasted this long.

Chai thanks Isa again for telling her, delayed as it was.

EXT. USC - CAMPUS - DAY

Now that Farkle is tucked away in his oh-so-exclusive theater class, Charlie is wandering campus on his own. He proceeds a bit uncertainly, still not immune to the self-doubt perpetually in his mind, but admittedly it’s not hard for him to blend in. He sticks out even less here than he did in Italy -- here, he’s just another nondescript young adult in a sea of tens of thousands, minding his own business and looking slightly confused and overwhelmed. Welcome to college!

He treads with dancer’s grace, though, able to nimbly avoid collision from bikers, skateboards, and large hordes of students walking together. He steps around an incoming DPS officer on a Segway and ends up in Ronald Tutor Campus Center, the central lunch spot. It’s as populated as ever with students, graduate and undergraduate alike, seated at the tables and along the steps and chatting with friends or working on their laptops as they eat.

To be honest, Charlie could probably spend a whole afternoon sitting there just people watching, if his excited smile is any indication. Especially more interesting considering most of these people are actually speaking a language he understands.

But for now, he’s got more to explore. He heads towards the left-hand steps and makes his way into one of the buildings surrounding the campus center.

INT. USC - CAREER CENTER - DAY

Through his meandering, Charlie finds himself at the campus career center. The office is quiet but active, employees having soft conversations with students and others focused on their own work. He unobtrusively enters and takes a look around, curiously perusing the pamphlets and guides on display near the front. There’s plenty of opportunity here it seems -- listings for campus jobs, networking info sheets for different schools and majors, services like career counseling and the classic aptitude test.

Charlie jumps slightly when he’s addressed, having gotten too used to being invisible since he’s not technically supposed to be at the school. One of the women working the front desk kindly asks if there’s anything they can help him with. At first, he politely brushes them off, claiming he’s just stopping in. Then he pauses, looking back at the services offered. It’s not like he has anything else going on…

Charlie: Actually, how long does the test take?

INT. CHUBBIES - DAY

All other options having failed, Lucas has resorted to multitasking at the diner. He’s “working” the counter, as usual, but he’s not exactly signaling he’s open for business when he’s got his biology textbook open on the counter and he’s jotting down notes for transfer things into a notebook rather than… you know, working the register. Or taking orders. Or doing anything remotely diner-related.

Unfortunately, this isn’t really a solution (regardless of the fact that the moment Joe shows up, he has to hastily pretend like he’s working). Even though it doesn’t hold the harsh edge that being at his apartment does, the diner is no less distracting. The cooks chatting and frying food in the kitchen, patrons chattering, dishes clinking… sure, it might not be accompanied by a deep sense of dread, but Chubbies is not the best place to do some serious studying.

MAISIE and EFFIE emphasize this perfectly, at their same usual booth enjoying an early evening dine-and-write session. Maisie tells Effie to pause and turns to Lucas at the counter, gently calling for him to get his attention.

Maisie: So sorry, dear, but could I bother you for another side of the queso ranch?

Lucas: Yeah. One second.

Effie: [ nudging Maisie ] Shame on you, Maise, can’t you see he’s working?

Maisie: Well, yes, and I believe part of that is getting the side of ranch.

Effie: You know what I mean. He’s over there working hard. For someone who purportedly “stands” him --

Maisie: Stands? I’d say we like him more than stand him --

Effie: No, no, “stands.” It’s what the kids are saying these days, you know? Like when you like a lad on a television programme, you say, oh, I stand him.

Maisie: I don’t know where you learn this stuff. I will never understand the social media.

Effie: Anyway, for someone who says they support Lucas, you shouldn’t be interrupting his personal studies.

Maisie: Well, I agree, but I’m not sure who else I’m supposed to ask for my queso ranch. You want to get up and get it for me?

Effie: Eh. That’s not my job.

Maisie: You don’t say…

Effie: I think you should just live without your cheese for a change. What you need to do is be lactose intolerant like me. Boom, problem solved.

Lucas returns with the side, Maisie taking it gratefully and apologizing for interrupting his very important work. He shrugs.

Lucas, plainly: It’s my job. Or whatever.

Maisie: See.

As Maisie and Effie continue their amicable banter, Riley pushes into the diner. She’s still got her bag, so she must’ve come straight from NYU. She perks up when she meets Lucas as he’s walking away from their table, taking his hand and exchanging a quick kiss in greeting.

The two of them head back to the counter, Riley hopping onto her typical stool across from him.

Riley: Sorry I’m running a bit late. Rehearsal ran over.

Lucas: Already?

Riley: Well, I guess it’s not really running over if it’s my timekeeping. My scene partner and I just got really into trying to pick the best scene and then starting to block it out.

Lucas: Oh? Nice. Should’ve asked me for help, I’m an expert at blocking things out.

Riley laughs, shaking her head. Different kinds of blocking… anyway, Riley zeroes in on his makeshift study set-up. She questions whether that’s a very effective way to focus, which Lucas admits it’s not, but he isn’t really stacked with better options. Riley reminds him he is always welcome to use their apartment, and that might be less risky than getting fired for doing double duty. Lucas shrugs off the concern.

Lucas: Joe has definitely seen me doing this and so far he hasn’t said anything. Which I guess isn’t all that surprising. Given I’m such a pathetic sob story at this point I’m sure he doesn’t want to yell at me any more than necessary. Merciful of him, really.

He says it so pithily, as if he’s resigned to the way things are, and Riley doesn’t seem pleased with it. She’s always been trying to wean him off the self-deprecation, and these days that’s a harder task than ever. She decides to change topics, ideally something more positive. She asks if he’s gotten to see much of Jack yet since he got back -- he was so looking forward to his return. Lucas admits it’s nice he’s back, but otherwise…

Lucas: I don’t want to bother him. He’s got to like unpack and stuff, get situated again. I don’t need to like get in the way of all that.

Riley: You wouldn’t be bothering him. Surely he’s looking forward to catching up. You said he was happy to see you at Adams.

Lucas: Yeah, I know. I just… you know, when he’s ready we’ll figure shit out. I don’t wanna like, eat up his time.

Riley frowns slightly, not convinced.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - HALLWAY - DAY

Farkle and Charlie return from campus, heading towards their door at the end of the hall. As they walk, Charlie tells Farkle all about his solo adventures, pulling the aptitude test results from his pocket and unfolding it to share with him.

Charlie: So here’s the top ones it gave me. Are you ready for this?

Farkle: I’m shaking in my chucks, Chuck.

Charlie: Okay. Here we go. [ clears throat ] Number one, social worker.

Farkle hums, nodding along. He can see that.

Charlie: Number two, nurse. Three, teacher. And four -- you’ll never believe this one -- [ a beat ] preacher.

Farkle: [ with a gasp ] Whoa. How could they ever have arrived at such a conclusion… it’s like they know you’re religious…

Charlie grins. Obviously, this isn’t some clear-cut answer to his future, but it’s a start. Farkle points out there isn’t a lot of art-based careers on that shortlist. Charlie acknowledges that, though he isn’t sure how he feels about that fact quite yet.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

When they step back into the apartment, their conversation is immediately derailed by Maya. She greets them cheerfully.

Maya: Finally, you’re back!

Aw, well, that eager reception would be sweet -- if it wasn’t so coupled with expectation. Maya is glad they’re here because she needs to put them to work. She’s completely rearranged a corner of their living area to get the perfect angle and backdrop for a photo, and she’s dressed up even more stylishly -- and suggestively, if we’re being honest -- than she normally would for loafing around their place, even in Maya terms. She’s dressed like she’s about to go out on the town than stay holed up in her room strategizing.

That’s the name of the game in influencer land. If Maya isn’t going to get producers to jump at her beck and call, she can at least keep building her cult following in the meantime. Numbers, numbers, numbers, that’s what matters these days.

Maya: I’ve framed the perfect shot for my latest post -- teasing some concepts, you know, lots on the way but have to keep the masses satiated --

Charlie: [ to Farkle ] She’s going to church now?

Farkle: Less holy masses.

Maya: But I cannot get the right angle for myself. So Farkle, please, bring your creative eye to my rescue.

Farkle shrugs, sauntering over to join her. Charlie trails behind, still trying to wrap his head around what Maya is even doing. Getting one social media post out of him these days is asking a lot, even when he’s doing something as photo-worthy as globe-trotting -- willingly staging huge swaths of your life for consumption sounds like his nightmare.

Maya: And Charlie Gardner, you’re my light.

Charlie: Aw. Well, that’s unexpected, but nice --

Maya hands him her phone, flashlight on. Light, literal. Charlie nods in understanding.

Charlie: Right. Okay then…

They get the set up just right and then Maya leans into her poses, expertly conveying effortless glamor and easy charm. Suppose it’s all another facet of performance, and the shots seem like they’ll look great on Instagram, but it’s a bit ridiculous watching it from the outside where it’s just Maya and a couple of dudes standing in their living room.

Once he’s taken a handful, Maya takes the phone from Farkle and takes a look. She seems pleased with the results, patting his cheek in thanks. The boys ask what else Maya has going on this week, aside from… whatever all this is. She loses a bit of her spark when she responds, plainly stating she has some meetings lined up but not seeming all that keen for them.

A meeting is a meeting, but not every door in this industry is actually one you want to open and walk through. Still, best to check out the prospects and see what she can get.

INT. NYU - FILM CORRIDOR - DAY

Speaking of reluctant meetings, Isa hangs around before office hours to take Riley and Chai’s advice to consult with Professor Bennet directly. But another student beat them to it, so while they wait, they end up scrolling through social media as one does…

And somehow, even when they’ve blocked her out, Maya Hart manages to sneak into their feed again. Since her posts have been gaining traction, her more public-facing account comes up on Isa’s homepage as “based on posts others have liked.” The one recommended is one of her looking fabulous and gorgeous in the L.A. sunshine, another well-manufactured snapshot likely very staged but that comes off effortlessly cool. Like she’s got it all figured out, not a care in the world.

Basically the exact opposite to how Isa is feeling this week. But like a gateway hit, Isa suddenly finds themself going to look for more, not going directly to Maya’s page where they might accidentally click but maneuvering to Farkle’s instead as an intermediary.

His page is far less active, the last post being from a couple of weeks ago -- no sign of Charlie, no indication of his own struggle to acclimate to college. In his latest post, he and Maya have just completed a successful hike, the latter looking more like her authentic self but still serving in a bright pink exercise fit. The caption: “Maya made us walk this mountain and almost killed me again.”

It really is so easy for them to carry on as if Isa isn’t even there, huh… Isa is spared from having to process that feeling when the door to the classroom opens, the other student heading out. It’s now or never.

INT. NYU - FILM CLASSROOM - DAY

Hesitantly, Isa pokes their head around the doorframe. Bennet is at his desk, looking the same as always -- that is, unimpressed, busy, and slightly grumpy. He doesn’t look up or beckon for Isa to come in, so if they want to have this conversation, they’ll have to assert themself and initiate it.

This meeting is on their terms. They used to be this assertive all the time. Squaring their shoulders, Isa saunters into the room and declares that they’re there to use Bennet’s office hours.

Bennet: De La Cruz. Nice to see you too.

Isa: I want to discuss the grades from our first short film assignment. Or, actually, the feedback. I want to talk about your notes.

Bennet: Sure. Which one?

Is there a non-demanding way to say all of them? Isa pauses, then pulls out the slip and reviews it.

Isa: The stuff in the right column. I was hoping you could explain it.

Bennet: How so?

Isa: … what do you mean how so?

Bennet: I already explained it when I wrote them down on that sheet. I don’t write vague notes. If I gave you a note, then the reason for it should be clear in the write-up.

Isa: Well, I don’t think it is.

Bennet: How so?

Isa, frustrated: Because I don’t agree!

Bennet quirks an eyebrow, but his expression remains unreadable. And while he claims he’s open to having further discussion on the assignment, he questions what exactly Isa is hoping to get out of such a conversation. If they’re looking for clarity on what could be improved, then he suggests they should review the write-up again.

Isa: I did read it. I’ve read it numerous times, and it never makes more sense.

Bennet: Dare I repeat myself, but I’ll ask again. Did you actually read it? If you don’t have a specific question on a note, then I’m not gonna have a specific answer. So how about you go and take a step back, read the notes, and if you still have questions, we can try this again.

Bennet isn’t being harsh, but his delivery is just so… blunt and male, it’s grating on Isa’s last nerve. And more than that -- though they’d never admit it -- the fact that he’s holding the line is what is really driving them crazy. In some part of themself, Isa maybe hoped Chai would be right, and Bennet would just confess to being overly critical and all the wrongs would be righted.

But nope. Just another person out to get them, and not concerned with trying to understand them at all. Isa grits their teeth but holds it together until they can leave the room, brusquely thanking Bennet for his time without a hint of sincerity. Bennet isn’t fazed, nodding a dismissal as he goes back to his laptop.

INT. NYU - FILM CORRIDOR - DAY

As Isa bursts out of the classroom, the raucous guitar line kicks up.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “So What” as performed by P!nk || Performed by Isa De La Cruz

It’s Isa’s turn to march through campus in an angsty punk rock tirade, and boy, do they have the turbulent emotions to pull it off! No one does grungy empowerment like old-school P!nk. Who exactly is Isa metaphorically flipping the bird towards -- Bennet? The clusterfuck family structure that left them to sink or swim and the now reappearing father who may or may not even want to fuck with them based on DNA? Maya and her constant gloating of Farkle’s company? It’s a crowded field for Isa’s ire these days, and any or all of the above are fair guesses.

I wanna start a fight!

EXT. NYU - CAMPUS - DAY

Though in Isa’s case, it may be a bit hollow -- while the song parades through confidence and dismissal towards those who have wronged you, their performance of it feels way more loaded and maybe more compensating than liberating.

That being said, it’s still a banger! Isa has always had a flair for punk, and it’s a great opportunity to get a more scenic, cinematic glimpse of the NYU campus.

On the bridge, the tone changes a bit, some of that vulnerability leaking through. Isa looks at some mural art painted along the side of a building, originally having nothing to do with them… until when they look again, the faces on the mural have taken the visage of those subjects populating their constant narrative themes. There’s Val, big and bright upfront (“you weren’t there / you never were”); Farkle (“I gave my all”); and of course, Maya painted equally as starry as Val at the opposite end (“you weren’t there / you let me fall”) …

But that’s getting a little too close to confronting some of these complex emotions, so Isa pushes away from them instead as they launch back into the closing choruses. They kick up their energy and take us through to the end, gathering a crowd of fellow NYU students to head-bang and jump around with them to the final lines.

When they end up back in front of the film building, they look back at the camera and blow an unenthusiastic raspberry, bringing it to an end. Instantly, the campus returns to normal, the other students going about their day as if they were never involved in their musical fantasy.

INT. CHEY APARTMENT - DAY

Nigel is seated on the couch with his composition notebook, sketching out an outline for his playwriting assignment. In the armchair adjacent, REYNA CHEY watches daytime soaps, occasionally making commentary to Nigel in a mix of Tagalog and English.

Reyna: This stuff, I tell you, it makes no sense. All a bunch of nonsense. Promise me when you’re a famous actor, Nigel, you won’t be in this nonsense.

Nigel: On my honor, lola, I’ll try my hardest.

Reyna gives him a smile, full of grandmotherly fondness. She playfully taps at his notebook and claims he’s going to write all the good future things too, with how he’s scribbling away over there. He nods along, jokingly claiming maybe… but it’s nice that she takes an interest in his artistic pursuits. That she believes in him, even if she doesn’t really get what all his admiration and hype is for.

And for someone to just show a consistent interest in him in general. Reyna ends up somewhat hitting on that very thing, asking whether his friends have gotten to hear about his play idea yet. Surely, Zay will be making fun of it, no? Nigel laughs at that, because most likely, but he hasn’t gotten the chance to tell him much about it. Honestly, with everyone so busy with their own projects, he’s mainly been keeping to himself.

Except for Jade, who of course already knows. Reyna hums, asking when Jade will be coming around the apartment again. It feels like it’s been a century since the old woman has seen her. Nigel brushes off the comment, reminding her that she’s just busy with her new job… but soon. Hopefully, soon.

Reyna goes back to the silly soap, placated for now, but now Nigel’s thinking about Jade. It would be nice to have her around more, or to just be able to tell her updates without potentially infringing upon her carefully regimented work day… especially when it’s not like he’s got much else eating up his free time.

But there’s nothing objectionable about a text. Nigel pulls up their thread.

INT. ANYA KELLY DESIGN STUDIO - MAIN FLOOR - DAY

Jade is in fact deep in work, but now she actually has tasks to fill her hours beyond mind-numbing apprentice stuff. She’s currently working on a practice task Anya assigned her, titled “Obsidian,” based on the title of the formal wear line. She’s scanning through an online portfolio of each item and reading through descriptions of the pieces, making tweaks to the language and clarifying design details while also proofreading. It’s Anya’s way of testing her familiarity with terminology as well as seeing how familiar she is with describing fashion, and seeing what her eye is drawn to and deems worthy of remark.

It’s fun, even if a bit tedious, and it’s way more adjacent to fashion and the things Jade actually cares about than anything else she’s done yet. So she’s taking it quite seriously… but it’s not totally engrossing enough to make her miss an incoming text from her boyfriend. She pauses with a few entries to go and takes a mini break, reading the messages he sent.

Jade smiles at his enthusiastic blurb of text about this one concept for the play he’s excited about, and then chuckles to herself at the couple of Shakespeare-esque pick-up lines he’s sent her that he claims are part of his first draft but are one-hundred percent just his way of nerdy-cute flirting. She props her elbow on the desk as she debates what to text back -- whether to play coy or outright admit she thinks his playwriting geek mode is adorably silly and honestly a little bit hot in Nigel’s uniquely nerdy-hot brand -- only to accidentally hit the wireless mouse and knock it against the keyboard.

Which causes the mouse to incidentally click, hitting the submit button on her unfinished portfolio notes.

Jade curses, dropping her phone down and frantically going back to her computer. She tries to click around the site for an undo, for a way to take back the submit and finish, but no such luck. She got distracted, and she made an avoidable mistake -- and flippantly left one of her coveted Anya test projects half-finished.

Panic stations. Jade abandons her phone as she fruitlessly tries to fix the mistake, leaving Nigel’s messages unanswered.

INT. YINDRA’S APARTMENT - DAY

Yindra is up bright and early, breakfast in front of her but distracted from eating it. She’s scrolling through social media, naturally coming across Maya’s most recent post. Where she looks like she’s living the life, gorgeous and polished and up to many glamorous things. It looks as exciting and envy-inducing as she planned, not a hint of how robotically and awkwardly it was put together behind the scenes.

And though she tries not to care, Yindra can’t help but get stuck on it. She clicks into her own account, with significantly less followers than Maya, but that she also hasn’t updated in a while. Should she be doing the same thing? Is that the only path? It feels weird to her, like selling out, prompting aversion in her gut just like taking a handout from Josh.

But if she isn’t willing to stoop to Maya-level antics, and she isn’t keen to take charity, what are her options?

DARIUS AMINO enters, already dressed for work. As one of the new curators at a smaller Los Angeles museum, he’s got no morning to waste. The two of them exchange quick chatter about what they’ll be facing today -- noisy customers, improperly filled out artifact metadata -- and wish one another luck with the worst of it.

Darius: Chin up, baby. No one ever said living art was without work.

True that, sir. Yindra’s heard his mottos plenty of times before, but she offers a small smile anyway as she nods in agreement. At least she has a parent who gets her creative dreams -- who believes in her enough to cross the country to let her pursue it.

And maybe even do a bit more than that. Darius doubles back after grabbing his briefcase and informs Yindra that there’s been some movement on the studio front thanks to a couple of his buddies who are connected to some of the smaller recording spots in town. Obviously, there’s no set guarantee or date yet, but he really does think she’ll be able to jump into the studio soon. She’ll get her chance to record a demo, he truly believes that.

Yindra perks up a bit at that -- it’s part of what she’s saving up for, and part of what she knows will be her first step towards legitimacy. But first, she’s gotta go back to the grind to keep earning that food service coin… and if she’s gonna be able to record a demo, she’s going to need a song first.

Lots to think about on another day to push through. Darius gives her a kiss on the head and then heads out, Yindra closing her phone to escape the Instagram trap and finish her breakfast.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

Charlie is in the kitchen on his own when Maya emerges from her bedroom, traipsing in to have her breakfast. She’s also got a busy day beyond the metaphorical walls of her social media operation, so she’ll need to actually glam up for action today and needs the energy. She pulls a low-fat high-protein yogurt from the fridge while Charlie brews some decaf tea to start the day, greeting her politely.

Beyond that, though, neither of them really know what to say to one another. They don’t… well, it’s not like… are they friends? By association, maybe, but surely not on their own merits. Maya grasps for straws to fill the silence with the best topic she knows -- herself -- pulling up the photo he helped with yesterday to show him how much interaction it’s already gotten.

Charlie, uncertainly: Congrats. Pretty cool… stats.

Maya: Ugh, Charlie Gardner. You don’t have to feign your gentle enthusiasm for me.

Charlie: My what?

Maya: I get it, you think all this stuff is weird or pointless or sinful or whatever. That’s fine, to each their own. But don’t feel like you have to placate your disdain on my account -- I’d rather you be blatantly disinterested with a solid opinion than just shallowly invested with your sweet little Charlie Gardnerism.

Well that’s… an interesting way to put it, but honestly not a bad tip? Underneath the Maya delivery? Charlie raises a hand in surrender, admitting she’s right and he doesn’t get the social media angle at all. Truth be told, he doesn’t get the appeal of much of how Hollywood operates, but then he’s not the one trying to be in it. Teaching or social work or literally anything that doesn’t require public scrutiny is way more up his alley.

At the social work bit, Maya brightens, having found the perfect conversational button. Since he’s apparently so naturally gifted at philosophy and social etiquette and compassion, or whatever, then he must be fundamentally suited to offer perspective on a social dilemma she has been contemplating lately.

Charlie: I would not call myself a social savant by any stretch of the imagination, but -- 

Maya: [ ignoring his self-effacement ] So here’s the situation. Say you’ve got two people. Two very driven, very talented individuals with their own ambitions, convictions, goals, etc. And they understand this about one another, in fact, it’s one of the things they admire most about the other person. Certainly, it’s something they get in a way most people don’t.

Charlie: Okay.

Maya: So then, when a major opportunity rolls along, the very pretty and talented and clever of the two knows she can’t let it go to waste, and so she makes a big jump to chase after it and perhaps, potentially, leaves the other badass bitch behind. And so now, this other badass bitch is being super ridiculous about the whole thing and is completely dumping the beautiful clever one as if it was personal.

Charlie: You mean Isa.

Maya: [ ignoring that too ] Don’t you think, given the other badass bitch is also a driven badass bitch, that they should understand where the hot one is coming from? That making it into some personal, interpersonal sleight when it had absolutely nothing to do with that is kind of stupid and now it’s spiraled into something it never was in the first place? I never meant to make Isa -- I mean, this other theoretical person -- feel bad, but it wasn’t about them. Aren’t they being the selfish one by making it about them when it’s literally just about the dream?

Okay, lots to unpack in a short amount of time. Charlie does his best, absorbing her side of the story -- well, as much as she gave him -- and trying to make something out of it. He concedes that an action done without ill intent is better than with, but thoughtlessness can start just as many wars. In fact, the consequences of our actions rarely align perfectly with our intentions.

Charlie: It’s fine that this... “badass bitch” didn’t mean to hurt anyone, but every choice we make has a ripple effect. And sometimes, people get hit by that ripple, even if that wasn’t our intention. Believe me, I know that better than anybody. Even actions you make with the most noble of intentions can have pretty tragic consequences.

Maya: … uh-huh…

Charlie: So I’m not saying that either person in this theoretical situation is in the wrong. I see both sides. I think that you have to let the other person feel the emotion they feel about it -- you can’t control how someone else reacts, you can only control yourself. And if you’re not planning to make amends, or are going to double-down on your initial reasoning, you can’t expect them not to do the same. It’s just asking for a stalemate. There’s a reason pride is the deadliest sin; it often causes the most carnage.

Maya scrutinizes him, contemplating… then she groans, rolling her eyes.

Maya: Charlie Gardner.

Didn’t quite win her over. He may have had more luck just blindly agreeing with her. Charlie starts to offer more concrete advice, like ways Maya can try to build a bridge with Isa -- or the theoretical nobody -- but Maya brushes him off, claiming she’s had enough for one morning. As she flutters off, Charlie shrugs, taking a sip of his tea.

Charlie: Strike one for social worker…

EXT. NYU - LUNCH SPOT - DAY

Isa looks about as grumpy as they have lunch with Riley and Nigel, maintaining their once a week tradition. They stab at their food, politely listening to Riley talk avidly about her scene work with Evan and using all their willpower not to unload about Professor Bennet for the hundredth time.

Riley: We’re doing this excerpt from this niche Roman play where I’m Evan’s daughter and after years of oppressive, repressive control I finally cave to madness and with the godly rage of Bellona turn on him and take back control of the family name for myself. There’s this super juicy back-and-forth we’ve been working out that I’m really excited to dig into -- Nigel, it’s so Shakespearean, you’ll love it. It took us hours to find this scene, though, so I hope it plays off well.

Either way, it’s clear Riley is very keen about the assignment, and getting her chance to play against type as promised. When she asks Nigel how his assignment is going, he has less glowing commentary -- since he was somewhat tacked on to this trio, he’s ended up with the more bit part in their scene they chose. Guess that’s what he gets for hesitating on picking a partner…

On the other hand, he’s more focused on his playwriting class at the moment anyway. He starts to detail how he’s already laid out the outline for the Shakespearian tragedy homage he wants to pen. He’s going to start writing it this afternoon between classes, but he honestly can’t wait until he’s got a working draft and can share it with them. Riley nods enthusiastically; Isa’s response is less rosy.

Isa: Happy for you, Nigel. Truly. I remember that feeling, that joy of being excited to share your passion with the world. Remember it like it was yesterday. Just be careful, lest some know-it-all, smug, has-been old white man takes your dreams and your creativity and crushes it like a bug in his crusty patriarchal grip.

Okay… Nigel and Riley exchange a look.

Riley: Still bothered about the short film assignment, Iz?

With permission to vent, Isa takes off, dropping the loose hold on their frustration and running through the same complaints. The indignation only seems to metastasize as the week goes on, and their ranting is growing impressively more specific and slightly comical. When Isa reiterates their biggest defense -- that no one else seemed to have vocalized these criticisms that Bennet seems so confident in dishing out -- they turn their focus back to their friends.

Isa: I mean, you both watched it and you didn’t say anything about this. You still feel that way, right?

Riley: Of course!

Nigel: Oh, yeah, for sure.

Riley: It was great, Isa, seriously. You know I love your work.

Nigel: Yeah, I thought it was super great. We know you’re a talented filmmaker.

Riley: Support you 100%. I really did love it.

Nigel: Same. Super great. Absolutely.

Isa nods a thanks, pleased and somewhat placated by their praise. See? Bennet must be the one who has no idea what he’s on about. Riley reminds Isa that one bad review doesn’t mean failure. And the semester is still revving up. Who knows what the day -- and future -- might hold!

Riley’s positivity is plucky as always, but Isa and Nigel may not be the best receptacles for it at the moment. They both nod along, but perhaps aren’t totally convinced.

INT. USC - MUSIC CLASSROOM - DAY

Meanwhile, Farkle arrives a bit early to his advanced music course with Charlie in tow. PROFESSOR WEBER greets them cheerfully as they enter, Farkle taking care to introduce Charlie as the friend he said was visiting and would join him for class. Charlie shakes the hand Weber offers.

Weber: Yes, yes, welcome! Are you considering coming to USC, then?

Charlie: Oh, um, I don’t think so. It’s a fantastic school, and the campus is beautiful. But I’m not sure I’m built for Los Angeles.

Farkle: Chuck here’s an authentic academic. He’s passing fair enough with his European-baked tan, but don’t let it fool you -- he’s one breath away from serious stuffy Northeastern culture withdrawal.

Charlie shoots Farkle a side-eye, which does nothing to deter his sarcasm.

Weber: Well, if you’re any bit as intelligent as young Minkus, here, then USC will be sorry to have lost your enrollment.

Weber goes on to sing Farkle’s praises, commending his aptitude for music theory and impeccable ear. It’s evident Farkle doesn’t know what to do with the unabashed compliments, awkwardly smiling and looking like he might want to evaporate. But it’s nice, honestly, to hear someone give Farkle credit -- he’s not getting much reassurance otherwise these days.

Weber: In any case, it is no mystery how he got into your arts school or through the admission gates of USC. [ to Charlie ] And how about you, are you also into composition?

Charlie: Oh, no, not really. I mean, I like music, and I play here and there, but dance was way more my thing at our school. [ patting his shoulder ] No, we let Farkle handle the musical prodigy.

Farkle’s turn to give Charlie a bit of side-eye. No need to exaggerate, Chuck… anyway, Weber instructs them to go ahead and settle in now that the rest of the class has found their way along. They’re in for a good lecture today!

As Charlie and Farkle settle into a couple of the seats and class kicks off, Weber begins a brief lecture on what they’ll be studying over the next couple of weeks -- musical motif. Those melodies, rhythms, and flourishes in a production that recur and carry as little or as much meaning as the composer intended, often elevating a piece beyond its mere beauty or lyrical message. To do so, they’ll be starting off digging into the master himself, Stephen Sondheim. The motifs in Into the Woods alone could consume a whole semester.

In the meantime, though, Weber wants them to start thinking about their own favorite motifs or composers, because that will be a part of this unit -- they’re going to select their favorite musical, and then write an essay illuminating some of the motifs present in the score. This will allow them to start connecting music to story, theme to motif, and get that practice going in their heads for when they approach their own compositions someday. So they all should start ruminating on what musical they want to spend a handful of weeks with.

INT. NYU - LECTURE HALL - DAY

As if Isa wasn’t already bristling enough, another curveball throws everything even more out of whack. As they’re settling into the seats for theory lecture, JASPER CHASE gets their attention from where they’re sitting with a couple of peers from Bennet’s class and waiting for Molly to show up.

Jasper: Yo, Isadora. I’ve got a question for you.

Isa: I don’t go by Isadora. Call me Isa, or don’t talk to me -- actually, spare me and just do the latter.

Jasper: Damn, somebody’s huffy this week. I just wanted to ask a simple question… or was that too much for the girl who can’t even comprehend Fight Club?

If Jasper thinks he’s pulling off witty banter, he’s gonna get a real shock when Isa fights him… but they maintain their cool, ignoring the misgender and stupid teasing to get the conversation over with and answer his dumb question. It’s a relief when Molly appears at the end of the aisle, smiling as she starts to make her way towards them just as he blurts out his big question.

Jasper: So is it true that Valerie De La Cruz was your mom? Like, on God?

Oh, shit. Somehow Isa had managed to avoid the whole Valerie thing on a public scale this long, and now Jasper has casually and gleefully blown that wide open. It seems he was the only person who cared enough about Isa to dig into their background -- as, let’s be candid, many freshmen are wont to do when meeting or beefing with new classmates in those early weeks -- and now he’s helpfully informed everyone else within ear shot. Even though Valerie’s been dead for over a year, the shine of her Hollywood stardom has barely dimmed.

So naturally, Isa is suddenly the center of attention with this question. At first, they freeze, not sure how to respond -- bringing Valerie into this space brings a whole mix of complicated emotions back, infusing them into a place where she was never going to exist. Adams was riddled with the memory of her; NYU was supposed to be different.

And yet, Isa finds their voice again. They don’t live in Valerie’s shadow, in life or in death, and now that they’re starting to figure things out for themself, her dominance over their life is even less iron-clad. Yes, Isa is Valerie’s child -- but that’s only a piece of the puzzle. Like hell are they going to let some pretentious film boy decide that for them.

Isa: Yes. She is. And you can keep her name out of your mouth, thanks.

The clapback, Jasper didn’t see coming -- but his stunned reaction doesn’t matter anyway. He’s an afterthought as Isa is swarmed by fellow students, all suddenly wanting to chat with them and hear more about having a famous mom and some even questioning if Val is the main reason Isa got into the school. Molly seems taken aback by the revelation, but she’s washed aside as well, not able to cut through the thick of the crowd that has formed around Isa -- much to Isa’s concern and chagrin.

Even so, there are some who react in the opposite way. The moment they learn about Isa’s famous heritage, it’s like they lose all respect, tuning out and starting to gossip on their own. From that moment, Isa’s branded “nepotism baby” in their minds, and that’s all there is to it.

Isa is saved from the deluge of attention when PROFESSOR WRIGHT enters and begins lecture, instructing them to disperse. He seems displeased that the focus isn’t rapt on him, benevolent and wise professor that he is gifting his time to them all… and it appears Isa and their newfound celebrity are the cause and culprit. As he starts his monologue for the day, he makes sure to make his stance crystal clear.

Wright: Be sure that the rise or fall of any great creator is due to their talent, their work ethic, and their use of all the techniques we study to master in this course… and that shall be the rule of law in this lecture hall as well. Despite what some might say or do out there beyond these hallowed halls, I judge the work in this class solely on its merits. The names you may or may not have attached to you certainly do no good with me.

Thank you, Wright. Real subtle. And questionable, considering how you certainly seem to naturally favor some members of the class… Jasper smirks at the commentary, glancing over his shoulder to snicker in Isa’s direction. Isa glares back at him, a look any A Class denizen would recognize as the warning bell for imminent murder.

This week just keeps getting better. As the whimsical, electronic tones of Glass Animals float in…

EXT. LOS ANGELES STREETS - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Life Itself” as performed by Glass Animals || Performed by Maya Hart & Josh Matthews

The instrumental opens guides us over a series of shots of Los Angeles, getting us down in the weeds of Hollywood -- long stretches of Hollywood Boulevard, the comings and goings of studios like Paramount, Warner Brothers, and Disney, the millions of residents who have little to nothing to do with the gilded glamor of the industry.

In the middle of this, we zoom in on Maya, walking amidst the daily hubbub on Hollywood Boulevard but naturally standing out. She’s a bright pink, vibrant spot against the slightly desaturated dry Los Angeles heat, but her expression is harder than usual. She’s pounding the pavement, marching from one meeting to the next.

When I grew up, was gonna be a superstar

She moves through her relentless march on the different pockets of industry -- Hollywood, Burbank, La Brea, etc. -- while she bluntly sings through the first verse. As it arcs towards the chorus, she arrives at one of the buildings on Hollywood Blvd, stepping inside…

INT/EXT. MEETING MONTAGE - DAY

And then we’re off, watching in quick succession to the music as Maya goes on a series of meetings with potential management / producers. She’s scraping the bottom of the barrel at this point, taking any lead she can get, and that’s clear in the glimpses we see -- conversations with disinterested producers who barely give her the time of day; sit-downs with sleazy managers who give her too much interest; high-out-of-their mind weedheads and plucky overzealous “managers” who aren’t even older than her.

It’s a draining, demoralizing process. With each meeting that we flow through, all seemingly fading in and out of each other indifferently to the hypnotic flow of the chorus, Maya’s expression grows dimmer and more disgruntled throughout. By the time we dwindle back into the verse, the screen flips --

INT. CONVENIENCE STORE - DAY

And now it’s Josh facing the camera with exhausted discontent, flatly singing the second verse as he makes his way through the store to stock up on energy drinks. He’s looking particularly scruffy this morning, about as deflated as he feels. But he can’t give up, which means he’s in for a slate of meetings of his own.

He pays at the register and pops open an energy drink, downing a big gulp before stepping out through the sliding doors…

INT/EXT. MEETING MONTAGE - DAY

And into his own series of less-than-promising meetings. Now, we’re seeing it from the other side, that it’s not just hopeful stars getting stuck with untrustworthy management and exploitative skeeves. For Josh, it’s unpolished and unprepared wannabes; overly polished child talent and their aggressive momagers; TikTok influencers who need autotune; an equal amount of weedheads and “idea” artists with only a vague idea of what they actually want to do.

That, and plenty, plenty of people with no talent at all. Just absolutely, pathetically talentless, and not even in a charming way like Floyd. Josh cringes his way through all of them, doing his best to hold it together but crumbling bit by bit just like Maya’s starry resolve.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - MAYA’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

During the instrumental bridge, Maya retreats to her room, diving back into research about who might be looking for clients. It feels like the entire world is, and yet in reality, no one actually wants fresh talent to show up on their doorstep. It’s a tricky mind game in Hollywood, you need your invitation in -- and Maya can’t seem to find it.

It doesn’t help that it seems like everyone else has their golden ticket. Every site she checks, social media thread she crawls through, has dozens of hopefuls happily sharing their success story and how great it is to be repped / to nail the audition / to finally be discovered. It seems so easy. It should be so easy!

Maya looks almost sickly in the glow of her laptop screen, obsessively scrolling through it all in pursuit of her next in.

INT. JOSH’S APARTMENT - BEDROOM - NIGHT

And Josh continues to mirror her, up late in the glow of his computer screen as he scours industry threads and social media accounts for potential new talent that hasn’t been found yet. Someone he can really help grow and soar, that magical it-factor client he and every other manager purports to be looking for. Someone he finds all on his own, his client to mold and foster with his own merit.

If he can’t find them, well, it’s his reputation and career progress on the line.

And when it’s the dream, the stakes feel higher than ever. Enough to drown in. Josh reaches out to set up a few more meetings, downing another gulp of coffee.

INT/EXT. MEETING MONTAGE - DAY

When we launch back into the final chorus through to the end, we’re back on the meeting grind, a whole other slate of wrong matches breezing past us in a well-edited and seamless montage. This time, though, Josh and Maya’s journeys are happening concurrently -- but they never cross paths. For each smooth, slightly psychedelic transition the camera makes between meetings, Josh and Maya never overlap, always separate and apart even as they’re theoretically marching towards one another. Both searching for what the other person has...

EXT. LOS ANGELES STREETS - DAY

That is, except for one moment, when Josh is heading back to Global Beat in a tired funk just as Maya is leaving a nearby cafe from another awful meeting. She screws her eyes shut and huffs in frustration, then marches down the sidewalk -- right past Josh as he makes his way towards the revolving doors of his building.

They pass right by each other, taking no notice of the other.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - MAYA’S BEDROOM - DAY

When Maya makes it back to her place, wiped and frustrated, she flops onto her bed and releases a theatrical sigh. She grabs her pillow and holds it over her face, letting out a perfectly-on-pitch screech and then tossing the pillow to the side.

Enough of this. She’s done being patient. She pulls up her phone and goes to her messages with Josh. She risks potentially screwing the opportunity up by sending another text to nudge on a response -- at this point, she’ll come off like a bitch if it means getting an answer.

EXT. USC - CAMPUS - DAY

Farkle and Charlie are having lunch, seated in the shade of a big tree in the middle of the music school portion of campus. It’s a nook Farkle has grown fond of, a good place to take refuge and eat alone before class since the film, theater, and music departments are close by. Charlie appreciates it due to the architecture of the music school (which is fun to look at, with some interesting statues) and the taste of nature that manages to thrive on a desert campus with the grass they’re sitting on and the tree or two.

Since they’re nearby, Charlie comments on Weber’s music class. It was fun to sit in on, it seems like something Farkle will really excel at. He nods along, admitting he’s really excited about it so far, but he’s kind of an odd duck there. None of his acting peers are in the class since it’s advanced level, and most of them aren’t into music the way he is. Somehow, even in a major dedicated to his passions, he sticks out compared to everyone else.

But he doesn’t want to dwell on that right now. He’s got a friend with him at the moment, so he’s going to take advantage of it. Farkle asks Charlie what he thinks about the assignment Weber gave -- what musical would he choose to analyze?

Charlie: Gosh, I have no idea. I’m not really good about choosing stuff.

Farkle: Oh, yeah. Sorry, forgot you’re chronically indecisive.

Charlie: Thanks…

Farkle: But honestly, I feel the same way. I have a lot of favorite musicals, and I don’t want to pick the wrong one.

Charlie: Is there a wrong answer? I think it’s just supposed to be whatever you want to spend weeks studying, so it should be one you like. Plus, I think Professor Weber is just curious to see what you pick. See what it says about you, what your preferences are.

Farkle: But that’s exactly my point. That’s exactly the problem.

Charlie tilts his head, confused. Farkle being indecisive isn’t really in character, far as he remembers. Farkle rolls his eyes, sighing, obviously not keen to have to explain it.

Farkle: Everything you do at college is like, a statement. It says something about you. The monologue I pick is telling people what I think is good literature, and what I think I’m good enough to pull off. The musical I choose to analyze tells my professor and my peers whether I’m inquisitive and unconventional and intellectual, or if I just pick Wicked because I’m an absolutely basic bitch of a theater kid and of course I have a spiritual connection to Elphaba. Like, naturally. Could I be anymore of a cliché?

Charlie: … so you’re thinking about Wicked?

Farkle: I want to pick something that tells people who I am, but I don’t know that I can do that. At least, not in a way I’ll be sure they understand what I want them to understand. Like, I can pick whatever I damn well please, but I can’t make everyone else get why I picked it. I can’t control the narrative and make them see my full complexity no matter what I do, and I don’t even know if I want them to see that. [ chomping his sandwich ] Everything is such an ordeal.

Charlie: Yeah, I get that. [ making a face ] Unfortunately for us both, I think.

More notably, Charlie is surprised that Farkle feels that way. He never seemed to care much about what other people thought when they were at Adams, not when it came to performing. That was one of his strengths, honestly, at least when it wasn’t causing him to go on the fritz and cause mass mayhem. Farkle shrugs, admitting he doesn’t know where it came from either. Guess that’s the struggle of leaving the nest and going to college.

Farkle: Either that or it’s the medication. Perhaps mental instability was my superpower all along.

Charlie shakes his head, but he’s smiling. But yeah, Charlie wouldn’t know where to start with the assignment either, and not just because he’s indecisive. Right now, it’s more like he couldn’t even figure out where to start. Farkle has too many to choose from, but Charlie feels like he doesn’t have any.

Farkle: Oh, Chuck. Come on. Not even Jesus Christ Superstar?

Charlie: First of all, you joke, but that’s a culturally significant show. It’s a classic.

Farkle: Bit too punk rock for your congregation, no?

Charlie: Yes, my mom banned it from our house. That’s not the point. [ off Farkle’s smirk ] Anyway, it’s like yeah, I still like those shows. I still love music, I just feel like… it would take me a while to find it. When I was gone, I didn’t listen to a lot of… or do a lot of… I don’t know. I’ve been disconnected from it.

It’s the same way with dance, what he was talking about before. Traveling was good, and he learned a lot -- about the world and hopefully, about himself, once all the dust settles -- but he left things behind when he left. It was different. He wasn’t fully himself while he was away either, and there’s still a lot of pieces he’s trying to rediscover and work into his world now. It’s a weird sort of dissociation, this delayed process of having to figure out how the old and new pieces fit together and make him… well, whatever he is.

Charlie: It’s part of why I kind of felt weird about coming back, and why I wanted to stretch it out more. Like, there’s more stuff I want to see, obviously, but I also think I just… need more time. When I get back to New York, and see everyone again, I want to feel like I have things figured out. Like I’ve got me figured out, so that whatever I’m giving them is as authentic as it can get. I owe them that. Proof that all that time I was away was worth something. [ a beat ] Or just enough that it won’t crumble to pieces the second I step back inside my house on the Upper East Side.

Kind of heavy, but Charlie is serious about it. He really is trying, doing the hard work to come back better than when he left -- and sometimes, that process takes time. Farkle nods, commending him for the effort when he can’t even seem to pick a monologue these days without a mental breakdown. And if it means Charlie gets to hang around with them for a while longer, then all the better.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Lucas and Grace are quietly working in the kitchen, not chatting but seemingly not opposed to the mutual quiet. White noise is provided by the sizzling of dinner Grace is cooking on the stove and the mindless chatter of the television from the living area.

Lucas is still trying his best to study, hunched over his deferment materials at the cramped table. He’s making slightly more progress than he was at Adams or Chubbies, but still, there remains the unavoidably daunting distraction that looms just a few feet away…

Kenneth, off-screen: Grace? Is my thermos in there with you? I think I may have left it on the counter by the sink.

Lucas lifts his gaze to the sink, spotting said thermos at the same moment that Grace casts a glance towards it. She’s pretty preoccupied with cooking, though, and it doesn’t seem like she can spare a second (or potentially, the emotional bandwidth) to run another errand.

She doesn’t have to ask. Grace locks eyes with Lucas, briefly, and the request passes between them without a word. And although it looks like Lucas would rather do anything else, like he’d rather eat his Davis papers or climb out the small window and throw himself to the mercy of the seven-story drop below, he gets up with a sigh and goes to grab the thermos.

Lucas, pithily: [ under his breath ] And he can’t just come get it himself…

Grace gives him a look -- not worth it -- but there’s a twinkle in her eyes and the slightest curve to her lips that indicates she might just agree with her son on that comment.

Kenneth, off-screen: Grace?

Grace: Just a second, Ken.

Grace mouths a thank-you. Lucas nods, bracing himself with another deep breath and heading out towards the living area.

Seated on the couch, KENNETH FRIAR is waiting. He doesn’t seem too worn down just yet, still diligently working on what looks like grading essays from health class, but he’s noticeably gaunter than when we saw him at the beginning of senior year. Lost some of his athletic muscle, the Quincy coach’s polo looser on his still large frame.

Even so, he doesn’t seem content to let his illness hold him back. In fact, he seems to just be ignoring it to the best of his ability, focused on his papers. Perhaps it’s not just Grace who passed on an uncanny knack for choosing to act as though nothing is wrong… and truth be told, it’s striking how similar Kenneth looks to Lucas when he was concentrated and hunched over his work just moments ago…

Kenneth raises his head when Lucas arrives by the couch, quirking an eyebrow. Yes? After a moment, Lucas remembers why he’s being forced to face him, stiffly handing over the half-full thermos.

Kenneth: Great. How kind of you. [ a beat ] You volunteer to be generous this evening, or did Grace have to bargain for it?

Suddenly, it’s clear where Lucas gets his dry snark from, too.

Lucas: … she’s busy. Cooking dinner.

Kenneth: Ah. Smells good, that’s for sure.

Well… that’s that, then. Lucas starts to walk away, but Kenneth clears his throat -- a sound that’s remarkably more pathetic-sounding than he looks, a constant reminder of the cancer crawling its way through his lungs despite efforts to combat it -- and pipes up.

Kenneth: Hey, where you going so fast? I know you’re not cooking dinner.

Lucas: I’m studying.

Kenneth: Studying what? You ain’t in school. [ please, rub it in ] What, you don’t have a few minutes to spare to chat with your Pops?

As inherently snarky as their dynamic seems tainted to be, underneath the bite there’s a genuine invitation in Kenneth’s tone. Like maybe he’s just bored, but for whatever reason, his interest in chatting more seems authentic.

And while Lucas clearly wants nothing to do with that, he isn’t sure how to react to that slight hint of vulnerability. It’s new, and unexpected, and honestly a bit unnerving coming from his father. So perhaps against his better judgment, he relents, sauntering back to the couch and tentatively perching on the arm.

Not that conversation is just going to be natural and easy. For a few moments, they don’t say anything, Kenneth admittedly a bit surprised that Lucas actually stayed. He goes back to grading his papers, CNN coverage on the TV covering for their lack of initiative.

Kenneth: What are you studying, then?

Lucas: Deferment stuff. [ a beat, realizing that’s not very informative ] Paperwork. And bio things. I don’t want to fall too far behind.

Kenneth: Sure. Sure. [ searching for what else to say ] You’re not doing all that during work, are you? You better not be so disrespectful, people are gonna think we raised you not to know better.

Funny that he claims he raised him at all… Lucas grits his teeth, keeping his eyes on the TV.

Lucas: Work is fine.

Kenneth: Good. That’s good. Hope that goes for the Adams gig too. It’s great they were able to set you up with that -- we can’t afford for you to screw up and lose either of those things. You know how money is right now.

Oh, surely, Lucas knows “how money is right now” better than anyone. He keeps his mouth shut, not biting back the way he so obviously wants to -- and could, easily, with so many different points -- but the tension is visible in his body again. He curls his hand into a fist against his knee, squeezing tight enough that his knuckles turn white.

Grace, off-screen: Lucas? Can you come help --

Grace doesn’t even need to finish. Lucas takes the valid escape without hesitation, launching back to his feet and heading back towards the kitchen. The further away he gets, he loosens up just enough to unclench his hands.

INT. ERIC’S NEW APARTMENT - KITCHEN - NIGHT

Jack and Eric are sharing dinner, finally having found time to actually sit down and catch up. They’re pretty casual about it, though, sitting on Eric’s couch and opting for take-out. What’s more important is the conversation, anyway -- and seated like this, they’re able to sit closer and oh so casually touch while they converse.

Once they’ve covered Jack’s travels, the subject comes around to what he wants to do now that he’s back. With Adams in good (theoretically) hands, there’s a whole wide world out there for him to explore. Jack sighs, slouching back against the couch cushions and admitting he isn’t sure. Like, he has a few ideas, but…

Eric: Please tell me one of those is school board.

Jack: It might be…

Eric: I don’t know who Yancy and Graham are planning to set up to run, but I’m sure he’ll be the same brand as the two of them. Morris was a neutral moderate, so they’ll want to tip the scales if they can. And to be honest, I’m not sure Adams can handle another one of them.

Jack: So they are still breathing down your neck. How bad are we talking?

Shawn and Harper seemed pretty concerned when he got back… Eric pauses, not sure what to say. He doesn’t want to dump a whole bunch of stress on Jack his first week back, and honestly, he doesn’t want to come off like he can’t handle it on his own. Suddenly, he has a better understanding of why Jack withheld some of the things he did when he was in this role.

For now, he shifts topics, simply saying that it’s less about him and more about Jack. He would be perfect for the board, and it would give him the chance to address many of the issues he wanted to during his administrator era but didn’t have the means to. It seems like the next logical step, and he’s far more qualified than any puppet Graham could conjure up.

Jack claims that’s all part of his hesitation. Him running might look good on paper, but it would be so easy for them to spin things against him since their feud is already well-known, thanks to the publicity Riley’s student protest garnered when all this started. If he runs, then that might just be scuttling any shot of a more progressive member joining the board. It’s hard to figure out how much of a risk -- or liability -- he would be. And he doesn’t want to make Eric more of a target either…

Eric: Well, don’t let that be your deciding factor. I’m already under the bus, so you’re welcome to come join me there.

Jack: Oh, please.

Eric: And anyway, that’s old news. It’s like we said, we’re in this together. Partners. Whether you decide to run or not, I’ll be there to back you up. At this point, we’re tied together by some sort of red string -- if we rise or fall, for better or worse, I think it’s going to be in tandem.

Jack smiles at that. The good news is, he has time to figure it out… which means for now, it’s just the two of them and a whole lot of time to kill…

Eric: Speak for yourself. I’m the sorry sack who picked up your job, and now I have no life.

Jack cracks up at that, and for all his protests, Eric is smiling too. He also knows damn well what Jack was getting at, not shying away when Jack lifts a hand and caresses his cheek. He slowly pulls him towards him, into a gentle kiss… then they start another one…

Just in time for Isa to unlock the door and storm in, declaring that they have the worst professors in the history of collegiate torture. Jack and Eric immediately separate, basically rolling to opposite ends of the couch and trying to act casual. Talk about a mood killer!

Well, that’s what happens when you have kids… even college age ones you never planned to have. Isa seems to realize Jack is there only after they’ve ranted in short about Bennet, and Wright, and the suffocating relentless iron grip of the white patriarchy on the art industrial complex.

Isa: Oh, hey Principal Jack.

Jack: [ a bit dazed -- gotta get used to this again ] Hello, Isa. Nice to see you.

Eric: He’s no longer your principal. You’re going to have to find a new way to address him.

Isa, uncomfortable: But… he’s Principal Jack.

Fair enough. Eric asks Isa to start over, giving them the concise rundown of what exactly has them riled up enough to march here and complain about it. Isa takes a deep breath, blowing through the annoying men in their cinema classes, including head annoying man Professor Wright, and how the ghost of their mother is going to follow them until they’re dead, and maybe even after that. And on top of that, they have to deal with pretentious, jerkass men who think they know everything giving them unwarranted harsh criticism just because they can. It’s a power trip, that’s all it is!

Jack: Did you ask the professor about the feedback? Perhaps they could clarify it, if you’re concerned it’s unfair.

Isa: What’s the point? I tried, and clearly, he’s decided how seriously to take me already. And now I know that thinking I’m a fucking celeb handout probably contributed. [ with a huff ] Besides, if he’s the only person giving me this feedback, when multiple other people said the opposite, why should I listen to a word he says? If you’re just looking for something to criticize, you’ll find it -- that doesn’t mean I should give him what he wants.

Eric: Sure, but you know, different perspectives can be helpful --

Isa: I mean, you watched it, and you said it was great! So did everyone else I showed it to. I know you have artistic merit. What makes your opinion less important than his?

Jack: Oh, Eric watched it, did he?

Eric glances at him, then tells Isa that if they’re planning to stay the night -- which it seems like they are, since they’re here at like 8PM with an overnight bag -- how about they go unload their stuff and then they can continue this conversation. Give them a second to calm down, so they can talk rationally. Isa sighs but obliges, marching past them and down the hall to their bedroom.

Once they’re gone, Jack turns back to Eric and raises his eyebrows.

Jack: How honest were you with your feedback, Eric?

Eric: I don’t know what you’re implying. I watch all of Isa’s work. It was wonderful as always. I would never lie to them.

Jack: There’s a difference between lying and omitting criticism to focus on the positive. I know you know that -- you’re a damn high school guidance counselor.

Eric: Um, actually, now I’m a principal.

Jack: Eric.

Eric: Look, I didn’t want to psych them out. And I didn’t have anything bad to say! I don’t think I need to look for problems when my kid shows me their work. It’s my job to support them. They were nervous about it, too.

Jack: Okay, I hear you. But if they’re looking for how to improve it, maybe it would be better to hear it from you than from their critical professor later. I get that you want to protect them, but do you really think it’s helping to shield them from different perspectives? Isa’s tough -- surely they can handle a critique or two.

Based on how they’re handling it this week, questionable… but point made. Eric considers that, reluctantly… principaling may be a new challenge, but parenting is a learning curve like no other.

INT. CHEY APARTMENT - NIGEL’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Nigel is nearly finished with a draft of his assignment, well ahead of schedule since he was so excited about it. But he’s paused before the climax to take a mental break, wasting it on scrolling through social media. A bad call -- he scrolls past photo after photo of his former peers having a great time in their new social scenes. Yogi is out with some new journalism friends at Northwestern; Yindra is now keeping up appearances with an aesthetic, cool shot of her doing a pick-up gig in a local eatery. Dylan’s always got something going on; Maya’s glamorous staged shots are on everyone’s feed.

Even Riley is posting new variety, her latest story showing her going out to dinner with Evan and a couple of other folks from their department who must’ve hung back late to rehearse. All people Nigel also sees every day in class, and yet, here he is holed up in his bedroom alone.

It obviously doesn’t make him feel too good. Not sure what to do with the feeling, he closes the apps and goes to speed dial, calling the one person he knows will make him feel better. It’s the evening, so he shouldn’t be interrupting…

INT. ANYA KELLY DESIGN STUDIO - MAIN FLOOR - NIGHT

At least, under normal circumstances. But not so this evening -- Jade is still at the studio, one of the last ones there as she painstakingly attempts to finish the project she was given by Anya and desperately searching for a way to fix her submission error. She’s got plenty of Google windows open, looking for hacks or workarounds to undo it, but searching all day for such solutions is what caused her to fall behind in the first place.

So when Nigel lights up her phone, she makes a small, stressed noise in the back of her throat -- not now -- and then picks up.

Jade: Hi.

Nigel: Hey. You got a second? I just finished up this scene for my play, and --

Jade: Nigel, I’m so sorry, but I actually can’t talk right now. I’m still at the studio --

Nigel: Still?

Jade: I messed up on this project earlier today and now I’m really trying to fix it before tomorrow, because Anya trusted me with it and I don’t want to let her down. But I made a stupid mistake --

Nigel: Whoa, whoa. You met Anya Kelly? Like, in the flesh?

Jade: Yes. Did I not tell you that? Shoot, sorry, I’ll have to -- anyway, I really need to finish this up so I have to focus. I’m sorry. I promise we’ll talk soon. I’ll call you. Okay?

Nigel: Yeah. Yeah… for sure, of course. Whatever works.

Jade: Thank you. Thank you, you’re the best. Love you, I’ll call later.

Nigel: Okay. Love you too --

INT. CHEY APARTMENT - NIGEL’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

He barely gets the sentiment through before Jade hangs up, leaving him alone in the silence of his room once again. He swallows the isolation, focusing back on the play. Might as well finish, if he’s got nothing else to do.

He stretches to put his phone as far away from him as possible so he’s not tempted to look at how silent it is as he gets back to work.

INT. TURNER ACADEMY - DANCE STUDIO - NIGHT

A different pair of hands splays out on the hardwood flooring of the studio, Zay stretching his fingers out as he finishes leaning into a straddle forward bend. He releases a long sigh as he rolls back upright, then jumps back to his feet. Endurance week is well on its way, and so far, he’s proving up to the challenge.

And one more run-through is going to keep that locked in place. Zay swings his arms and rolls his neck as he goes to start up the music from the routine again. He bounces on the balls of his feet as he waits for the right beat, nodding along, then he bursts into the choreography.

Watching him dance, as prescriptive as this routine might be, it’s evident as ever that Zay more than deserves to be there. He’s taking it seriously, he has the talent, and even with something as rote as an endurance test he demonstrates clear passion. He was meant to dance. No one can argue otherwise. All things being ideal, there’s absolutely no conceivable reason he won’t be able to transfer in by the end of the year.

But as the universe so often likes to remind us, life isn’t fair, and things are rarely ideal. In a second, Zay gets a sharp reminder of this fact he already knows -- with a sharp pain suddenly shooting through his leg.

Zay: Ow, shit --

He stumbles through the step he was in the middle of, then winces… and then the dread takes over. He glances down at his left leg, shaking his head.

Zay: No. No no no no, no, no…

He winces again and limps slightly as he lowers himself down to the floor, gingerly stretching out his left leg in front of him. He cautiously rotates his ankle and stretches the limb, grimacing as he does -- it’s not nearly as brutal as when he tore the tendon last year, but the new pain is coming from the same place.

Zay: Shit. Shit! Come on, don’t do this…

He cusses again, then slowly reaches over to grab his phone from the top of his duffle. He pauses the music and sends the studio into oppressive quiet, dialing a number instead and continuing to nervously prod at his tender leg. His voice is shaky when he speaks again.

Zay: Mom? I’m at Turner -- something’s wrong.

END OF PART 1.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Bright and early the next morning, Shawn is one of the first into the school that morning (an impressive feat). He whistles to himself as he heads into the house, only stopping and letting his tune dwindle away when he hears movement from somewhere else in the auditorium. Unsettling, considering he’s supposedly the only one there.

After a bit more rustling and thumping, it’s clear the sound is coming from the booth. Shawn looks up the stairs towards the door, cautious… he knows that shit the techies pulled three years ago about a ghost was just a prank… just a scheme…

INT. AAA - TECHNICIAN’S BOOTH - DAY

The door to the booth slowly creaks open, Shawn entering now with a wet floor sign from the wings in tow. He’s brandishing it like a weapon, creeping his way up the stairs… though a wet floor sign probably won’t help much against a ghost…

The real culprit is no ghost, although considering he’s old news, he may as well be the equivalent. Lucas jumps and lets out a yell when he suddenly sees Shawn emerging on the stairs and packing metaphorical heat, Shawn mirroring his scream and stumbling down a couple of steps.

Lucas: What the fuck?!

Shawn: Jesus fucking shit -- Friar, what the hell are you doing in here?

Lucas: What the hell are you doing with that sign?

Shawn glances down at the sign, awkwardly dropping it. Wasn’t gonna use it on a former student or anything, obviously…

But Lucas didn’t answer his question. What is he doing there so early in the morning? As it turns out, all it takes to figure it out is a quick look around… Lucas’s study materials spread over the sound board, his overnight bag tucked against the electrical cabinet.

Lucas gives Shawn a sheepish look, the latter raising his eyebrows. Busted.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Shawn and Lucas are seated on a couple of steps leading up to the booth, the auditorium still quiet around them. Shawn is munching on a quick but filling breakfast he packed, sharing some of it with Lucas.

Shawn: Eat, would ya? You know these critters take every ounce of energy we can give.

Lucas: I’m not hungry. [ poking at the food ] Haven’t been feeling well.

Shawn: Well, I figure squatting in that musty tech crypt would cause some mild illness, yeah. Or perhaps that’s just the guilt talking.

Lucas rolls his eyes. Thankfully, though, Shawn isn’t going to turn Lucas in. Rather, he just wants to understand why the hell Lucas is reverting back to old habits -- old habits, they both know, aren’t permissible. Especially now that Lucas isn’t even a student here anymore.

Lucas: What, aren’t there faculty perks like that? You fell asleep in the teacher’s lounge enough.

Shawn: Oh, ha ha ha, you’re so funny. You’re damn lucky I’m not a snitch on principle.

Once the banter runs dry, Lucas admits that he didn’t actually come here initially to stay the night. He came to study. It’s one of the only consistently quiet places he knows of -- that is, before school hours, when it’s not crawling with techie ducklings or obnoxious performers. He just wants to be able to focus on his college stuff for a few solid hours, but increasingly, that feels like apparently too much to ask.

Shawn: And this is your last resort? There must be better options. You can’t go study at Riley and Isa’s?

Lucas considers that, thinking on it --

INT. NYU APARTMENT - FLASHBACK - DAY

And quickly demonstrating in a cheerful flashback exactly why that’s not a great set-up for study. Lucas is seated on the couch, presumably to get some serious, thoughtful work done… when Riley appears, leaning over the back of the couch to give him a kiss on the cheek and see what he’s working on.

Lucas turns to look at her, and she smiles at him… and with that it’s all over. It takes almost nothing for Lucas to abandon his work ethic, Riley coming around enthusiastically to join him on the couch and pulling him into a playful, longer kiss…

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Back on Lucas’s contemplative expression, now tinted with both fondness and embarrassment. Suffice to say, Riley’s apartment is not the most focus-friendly establishment for his brain.

Lucas: Um… no. That’s not an option.

Shawn doesn’t pry, but he does reiterate the fact that Lucas sneaking in here isn’t the solution. In fact, it’s likely just going to make matters worse if he gets caught by someone who isn’t him -- particularly with how Graham and Yancy continue to keep Adams under a microscope.

So he’s trapped, basically. Shawn tries to keep brainstorming, offering help in whatever minimal way he can, but Lucas declines. He’s emotionally shutting down, thanking Shawn for looking out for him but claiming he’s overthinking it. He doesn’t need help. He’s survived on his own in scrappy situations this long. He’s fine.

Shawn doesn’t get the chance to argue. He wraps up the breakfast he didn’t eat and tells Shawn he’ll see him when class starts, heading down the steps on his own. Shawn watches him go, disappointed and frustrated he doesn’t know what else he can do.

When he passes the trash can, Lucas tosses the uneaten food away.

INT. DOCTOR’S OFFICE - DAY

Speaking of people who hate asking for help, Zay is back at the doctor. He’s seated up on the examination table, impatiently tapping his fingers, but at least this time he’s not in excruciating pain. Still, he can’t help but fixate on his gently aching leg, slowly moving it in different directions to subconsciously test that it’s not about to split on him again.

He straightens up when the DOCTOR arrives, greeting him with the same no-nonsense demeanor as their first go-around.

Doctor: Based on the x-rays, your tendon looks fine. I don’t see any reason to believe it’s in immediate danger of tearing again.

Zay exhales a huge sigh of relief. But perhaps it was premature -- the doctor cautions him that just because it doesn’t tear now doesn’t mean it won’t again. While it’s not serious yet, the pain Zay is feeling is real, and there is evident strain based on the examination.

Doctor: When you recovered the first time, I advised you to take the health of your body seriously. Stretching, awareness of boundaries --

Zay: I did. I am, I do more stretching than a damn taffy-puller.

Doctor: And above all, listen to your body. The pain you felt yesterday, the ache you feel now, that’s your body trying to tell you something. It’s giving you a warning. You must be working hard, and I’m not going to tell you that you shouldn’t.

Yeah, that’s kind of the core tenet of endurance week. Zay frowns, managing not to compulsively argue.

Doctor: But it sounds like you may just be pushing yourself to the brink again, and your muscles are trying to give you the chance to avoid the same mistake. If you back off, give it a rest, continue your stretches? You’ll be better by the weekend.

Zay: … and if I don’t?

Doctor: Well, it certainly fares well for my pocketbook. Less so for the longevity of your dancing career.

So he’s got two options. Pull back and rest and live to see another dancing day, or power through and stay on top but risk losing everything.

His choice. Lucky Zay. He sighs in defeat and shakes his head, pressing his palms to his eyes.

INT. NYU - CORRIDOR - DAY

Isa makes their way to class on their own, trying to ignore and avoid the whispers and occasional point they get from fellow underclassmen. The acknowledgement of their famous bloodline has spread fast through the film school, and Tisch as a whole… if they somehow add the actor father to this shitshow, how much more ridiculous is their life going to get?

They face one test almost immediately, spotting Molly exiting her discussion section at the end of the hall. It’s the first they’ve seen each other since Wright’s class when the Valerie reveal was made, since Isa basically booked it out of there like lightning afterwards. They look at each other uncertainly as Isa approaches, not sure what to say… if Molly is like the crop who suddenly wants nothing to do with them, Isa isn’t sure whether that would be better or worse than if she was all starstruck…

Refreshingly, Molly seems to be neither.

Molly: Is it okay that I totally have no idea what to say?

Isa: No, that’s cool. I don’t either. [ attempting a joke ] Haven’t for eighteen years.

Molly: Actually, well, I guess I do have one thing. [ sincerely ] I’m sorry for your loss.

Unexpectedly, that touches Isa. It’s one of the most human reactions she’s gotten to the Val connection in all the time she’s been a part of their legacy… they nod a thanks.

Molly: Sorry I didn’t reach out before. Like I said, I just didn’t really know what to say. It’s not every day that one of your new friends turns out to have a superstar mom.

Isa: Story of my life. Literally.

Molly: But I promise, I’m not going to be weird about it. Or, I’ll try my best. And you don’t have to tell me anything about her, but if you want to talk, I’m down for that too. I wasn’t like a superfan of Valerie or anything, but I did like a lot of her songs. She was a talent, no denying that. But I’m sure it must be so annoying having everyone automatically compare you to that.

Molly doesn’t know the half of it. But Isa is relieved -- they were grateful for their friendship in this hellscape so far, and they really didn’t want to lose it because of Val. They’ve been way too good at losing friendships.

That doesn’t seem to be the case here. Molly continues to treat them as before, and only comments further on the fact that Jasper truly is the most obnoxious asshat of a film boy she’s ever met. That, Isa can get behind, eagerly jumping on the dragging bandwagon to vent out their frustration in giggly solidarity.

INT. NYU - THEATER CLASSROOM - DAY

Meanwhile, in musical theater class, rehearsals are well under way. Everyone is broken out into their duos, finding their own space to run through their scenes. Evan and Riley are engrossed in the middle of their scene, holding intense eye contact as they argue tragic Roman lines back and forth as promised. That is, until a line flub makes Evan crack a smile and then they’re both laughing, Riley bursting into giggles and waving him off. She encourages him not to make her laugh more -- they need to maintain the momentum!

From where Nigel’s sitting, they sure seem to be having more fun than him. He’s in the middle of his scene as well, but they’ve stalled, Imogen and their other peer working through a couple of blocking kinks in a part of the scene Nigel isn’t even involved in. Imogen notices his lack of interest and follows his gaze, watching Riley and Evan fall back into their very serious scene work. Admittedly, Riley isn’t the best at dark tragedy -- she’s not Farkle -- but she’s giving it her all. You gotta hand it to her for commitment.

Well, maybe you don’t. Imogen snorts, shaking her head.

Imogen: I have no idea why they’re doing like grimdark ancient Greece. This is like the most basic assignment there is. They do not have to go that hard.

Girl: Guess they get points for taking the assignment very seriously. It’s like the athletes in high school gym class of theater kids.

Nigel: Riley is pretty excited about the project. She doesn’t usually get to do edgier stuff, so she was keen to pick her own scene. She’s usually typecast more ingenue.

Imogen, sarcastically: I could never imagine why. [ after another second of watching them ] I mean, for real, what could Matthews possibly have to use to channel dark and edgy? She’s little miss walking on sunshine over there.

The other girl laughs. Nigel manages a weak scoff, more out of discomfort than humor. Not sure what to say and not wanting to drag Riley down further, he clears his throat and turns back towards their corner.

Nigel: We should do another run through with the new blocking, yeah?

INT. USC - THEATER CLASSROOM - DAY

Gossip abounds in theater classrooms across the nation. As their lecture is wrapping up for the day, and they’re released for a small break before part two when the directing students roll up, Farkle overhears a group of his peers discussing the impending director-student partnership. He eavesdrops to see if he can pick up any good intel, the freshman debating things they’ve heard about each of the sophomores and who is or isn’t worth working with.

Natalia: All I know is I don’t want a dude. Like, offense intended, but I could really go without some nineteen-year-old theater major telling me how I should compose myself. I run that uninvited risk every day of my life so long as pretentious white boys roam the Earth.

Mason: I’ve heard you don’t want Connor. His dad is rich so he’s got access to the best technology and stuff -- he’s also a cinematographer -- but he has an ego the size of Cali.

Peer: Angelica is supposed to be nice? She told me she liked my sweater the other day, so I wonder if she’ll pick me.

Farkle: Angelica Hewitt is a hack.

Oh. Whoops. Well that just slipped out, didn’t it? All eyes turn to Farkle, who they obviously didn’t realize was listening. And now that he’s chimed in, he’s got to explain himself, so he adjusts his bag and clears his throat.

Farkle: The Hewitts are one of the richest families in Los Angeles. My father’s done business with them multiple times. I’m not saying Angelica isn’t nice, I don’t know, but I’m fairly sure I wouldn’t want to work with her. Her family has been giving hefty donations to USC for the last couple of years, so I wouldn’t inherently assume she’s got any directorial vision.

For a beat, there’s just quiet as everyone takes that in… and then his classmates nod, grateful for the intel. Buzz grins, once again thoroughly amused by Farkle’s mere existence.

Buzz: Farkle Sparkle, coming in with the insider trading tips! Loves it.

Natalia: Do you have any pref for which directing student you want to pair up with, Farkle?

At this rate, he just wants to not be picked last like another awful theater kid version of gym class. He shrugs.

Farkle: As long as it’s someone who appreciates my ability and actually has something to contribute, I can handle whatever.

Mason: I don’t know. I don’t want someone who acts like they know it all. Like that dude Jordan, the one who always looks like he’s all deep in thought scrutinizing your every move? No thank you.

Buzz: So true, bro. I heard he’s like, hella intense. You’d really wanna put up with that all semester, Sparkle?

Farkle: My last director -- well, director friend, but basically director since she basically lived her whole life in director mode -- was like that. Intense, but purposeful. She had vision and she knew what she wanted, so you had to respect it. Didn’t always get the message across the best way, and she sure loved to boss people around, but I’d rather have a strong production than a bunch of niceties that go nowhere.

Buzz: Whoa. Hardcore. Respect.

Mason: And that didn’t drive you crazy?

Farkle: Oh, yes, but also on the contrary. She was my best friend.

Natalia: Was?

Oh. Hm. Farkle didn’t even realize the slip, but when he opens his mouth to correct himself, he finds he doesn’t have anything to say. Considering Isa hasn’t kept him up to date since school started, is he really wrong?

Can you call someone who won’t answer your texts your best friend?

EXT. USC - DOHENY LIBRARY - DAY

One of the most famous locations on campus, the historic Doheny Library stands right at the center of University Park. Charlie stares up at it, admiring the architecture, before he passes by a few other students leaving and jogs up the steps and passes through the heavy double doors.

INT. USC - DOHENY LIBRARY - DAY

Now, Charlie is really back in his domain. He leisurely explores the building and makes his way through the shelves, blending in effortlessly as just another studious member of the student body. It smells like cleaning supplies and old books, the undisturbed quiet more than welcome. His muscles relax as he examines the spines of some of the older tomes, running his fingers along them and brushing some of the dust away.

He’ll easily be able to kill a couple of hours here. To be honest, he knows he could spend the rest of his life hidden away in shelves like these. It may not be the passion exercise that dance is, but reading and learning has always felt like sanctuary.

Farkle might be right about one thing. Even if he isn’t sure what he wants to do with it yet, and despite the needed detour, academia is the obvious next step towards wherever he’s meant to be. And without the pressure of doing it for someone else, of getting to decide where and when and why for himself, Charlie has the feeling he’s really going to enjoy it.

The nerdy peace is interrupted when his phone vibrates in his pocket, bringing him back to the real world. Charlie retrieves it and backs away from the shelves, meandering further down the aisle while he skims the incoming text -- and then he stops in his tracks, growing more serious.

Whatever it is, academia can clearly wait. He immediately shifts his focus and settles down into the nearest chair at a table to read more carefully, then starts typing back a prompt response.

EXT. NEW YORK COLLEGE OF THE ARTS - DAY

Zay is seated on some steps on NYCA campus, hanging around so he has plenty of time to get from place to place but a safe distance away from where his peers might be more likely to run into him. His lower leg is bandaged again, hopefully aiding in the nurturing and recovery process for his strained muscles regardless of how begrudging he seems about it. He’s frustratedly adjusting his sneaker around it, retying the laces.

He reaches for his phone next to him and finds new texts waiting for him -- a response from “catholic demon” to the text he sent a few minutes ago. A couple of them are links to articles for stretch routines and muscle care regimens, to which Charlie has followed up with specific suggestions for exactly what Zay should do and urging him to take it easy.

“No grade or assignment is worth risking it all. Even if the point is to keep up, better to fall behind and keep your own pace then stay at the front but collapse before you make it to the finish line. You know you’re going to make it to the finish line. Don’t kill yourself on the way there. That’s what I would tell you if I were there... except I’d be more annoying about the stretches in person.”

His texts are a bit nagging, but only out of concern. Zay knows he means well, and honestly, that’s part of why he texted him. A little goody-two-shoes advice not consumed by insatiable ambition is the exact clarity of thought he needs at the moment.

Riley: It’s not torn again, is it?!

Zay lifts his head as Riley rushes towards him, fresh out of class. She drops down on the steps next to him, dropping her bag and reaching forward -- with a glance to gain permission -- to touch his calf and inspect the damage. He assures her that no, it’s not danger zone like it was last year, but he’s pushing it. Unless he lays off for a bit and lets it have a break, he could be heading in that direction again.

Riley: That’s good. That’s great. So it sounds like there’s an obvious solution.

Well… Zay avoids her eyes, suddenly very interested in picking at his bandage again. Riley gives him a look, tilting her head.

Riley: Zay.

Zay: Listen --

Riley: Zay!

Zay: Look, I don’t think it’s that straight-forward, all right! Like sure, it sounds easy -- it’s real easy to just do nothing.

Riley: Yes, exactly. So do nothing!

Zay: But that’s not me. And that’s really not the position I’m in right now. The whole point of this week -- hell, the whole point of this year -- is to prove I can handle it. If I just roll up and say hey, actually, I gotta sit this one out, that doesn’t prove I’ve got the endurance, does it?

Riley: So what’s the alternative? Snap another tendon? I don’t think that’s the point you want to make.

You got him there, Riles. Zay knows she’s right -- just like Charlie, just like his doctor -- but it feels far from an easy decision to make. It’s the same forces that are always battling inside him, the pride and determination versus patience and humility, and with the stakes being what they are it’s harder than ever to find the balance.

That, and to be honest, he’s embarrassed. He’s humiliated that he’s still struggling with this, and he doesn’t know if he can face having to tell Professor Gao when he made such a scene out of getting to come here. He’s convinced she doesn’t care much for him -- wimping out in the week she’s testing them on exactly this sort of thing seems foolish.

Riley: She’s your teacher. Surely she would want you to take care of yourself.

Zay: Self-care isn’t exactly the guiding principle of the industry. She’s preparing us for our careers, not a cake walk. [ a beat ] She already thinks I’m arrogant, showing up to my audition and not bothering to dance. I think showing up to class and not bothering to work would have the same effect.

Riley: Those situations are not at all the same, and if that was her impression, then she’s wrong. But I stand by my original point. She’s a teacher. If she cares about what’s best for her students and wants the best for them, I don’t see how she wouldn’t support your decision to take a time out this one week for the sake of your health. And honestly, if she doesn’t, then you don’t want her respect anyway.

Say that, Riley. Zay sighs, absorbing that point. Decisions, decisions…

INT. ANYA KELLY DESIGN STUDIO - UPPER FLOOR - DAY

Jade is grappling with a similar dilemma, torn over whether or not to tell Anya about her mistake. She’s nervously pacing outside her frosted glass office doors, willing herself to have the courage to go in and then chickening out two seconds later. Back and forth, back and forth… she knows she should be upfront, come clean and face the consequences sooner rather than later, but she doesn’t want to squander this so fast. Just like Zay, she knows this is her shot, and the possibility of fucking it up before it’s really gotten started is paralyzing enough to keep her immobile.

Thankfully, she has Melanie to nudge some action out of her. She returns from her lunch break and finds Jade pacing the hallway by her desk. She wrinkles her nose.

Melanie: Beamon. What are you doing up here?

Jade: Oh, hi. Uh, sorry.

Melanie: I don’t remember requesting for you to come up here. Anya’s office is high-clearance only. 

Jade: Right, absolutely. Sure. Just, um -- well, Anya gave me some projects.

That genuinely seems to catch Melanie by surprise. Her sneer drops away, leaving only shock in its place.

Melanie: She did?

Jade: Yes. So, um, because of that, she said that if I needed to come ask about, you know, those things, her door was open. Metaphorically speaking.

Melanie: Oh. Well then.

Melanie’s tone is short, but underneath the chill, there’s a hint of... sadness? Hurt? But maybe it was just a trick of the light -- she’s back to snippy seconds later, stating that whether she’s going in or not, she better decide, because she doesn’t want her breathing down her neck while she does her very important assistant work.

Jade: For sure. Sorry. Of course… right. Okay.

Melanie rolls her eyes, sliding into her chair just as Jade finds her courage and takes a deep breath. She pulls open the door, stepping in.

INT. ANYA KELLY DESIGN STUDIO - ANYA’S OFFICE - DAY

When Jade enters, Anya is already occupied, pacing the floor while on the phone. From the pointed click of her designer heels on the floor and frown on her face, it’s clearly an important call. Watching her stride back and forth, fashionably bringing back the power suit, the reason Anya is a force in the industry right now even so relatively young is more than evident.

And whoever is on the other end of the line, they clearly fucked up.

Anya: No, no, no. No, you listen to me. We went over this multiple times when the contract was laid out. The citrus palette was a key element of the design, and your team went ahead and royally fucked that up. These are details, important details, and details matter. So here’s what you’re going to do -- first, you’re going to apologize to my assistant for your absolutely abysmal etiquette in arranging this conversation. Then, you’re going to remedy this situation, and get the right orange, and how you get it I don’t care, but that’s a problem you’re going to have to figure out if you want to get paid as per the terms of our contract. And if all goes well, this doesn’t ruin you. And last, but certainly not least, I want you to find whoever on your team thought substituting citrus orange with navy would be an acceptable work around, and you fire their ass before they ever work on another project with my team again.

Wow. Okay. Compelling, but God, never mess with Anya Kelly! Jade stares, trying to hide her terror considering she’s got some fudged up details of her own to confess.

Anya: That’s what I like to hear. We’ll see. Thanks, buh-bye. [ noticing Jade for the first time ] J. Bee, didn’t see you there. So sorry you had to hear all of that.

Oh, wow, chic nickname with the boss already… that would be neat and exciting if Jade wasn’t sure she was about to bring it all crashing down. She hesitantly steps further in as Anya heads back behind her desk, sorting through some paperwork.

Jade: Oh, it’s no problem. Sorry to interrupt.

Anya: [ waving off her apology ] I hate when I have to get like that. You know, like, bitchy -- as if we women aren’t scrutinized enough for simply holding our ground. But that’s what happens when you have an international brand to run. I’m holding out for excellence, and unfortunately, I can’t take the fall every time some dumbass intern at another company decides they’re going to mess with something that ultimately has my name on it. I swear, this entire industry has become so engrossed with fast fashion it’s like we’ve forgotten that the details matter.

Jade: Right. I completely agree.

Anya: I know you appreciate the details, so. Anyway, what can I do for you?

Oh, right… Jade swallows, clearing her throat. She apologizes again for bothering her, but Anya interrupts, shaking her head.

Anya: Oh, no. No, no. Don’t do that.

Jade: … do what?

Anya: Apologize. Apologize for nothing. Men love it when we do that, like we need their approval to exist. Like our mere existence is an affront worth condolences. We’ll work on that, you’re going to stop doing that. Anyway, go on.

Jade resists the urge to apologize again, then takes a deep breath, slowly explaining that she made a mistake on the Obsidian assignment. She was in the zone and had it all going well, but then she totally spaced, and she submitted a whole chunk of it incomplete and couldn’t figure out a way to undo it. She knows it was careless, and she’ll accept any consequence it might warrant. She’s sorry if she let her down when she took the time to trust her with more preliminary projects.

For how much time Jade spent stressing over this, the moment is over in an instant. Anya doesn’t seem remotely bothered, shrugging.

Anya: Oh, that’s fine, don’t worry about it. I’ll just have Melanie review the submission and she can finish up the sections you missed.

So that’s it… Jade blinks, almost in disbelief.

Jade: Oh. Um, great, thank you. [ a beat ] Are you sure?

Anya: Jade, please. Don’t fret. Things happen. I’ll read over whatever you wrote, but I’m sure it’s fine. Thanks for letting me know, though. Keep me posted about when you’re done with reviewing the Spring portfolio, and we’ll discuss. I’m quite interested to see what you have to say about that. Oh, and I left a small set of instructions on your desk -- there’s a composition task I want you to try your hand at so I can see what we’re working with there. You can use the machines when the seamstresses head out.

So that’s really it then. No demise for her careless mistake, and entrusted with even more testing tasks at that! Jade thanks Anya enthusiastically, ready to dive back in and not screw up what feels like a miracle second chance.

INT. NYU - CLASSROOM - DAY

As a screening is wrapping up in class with PROFESSOR CHELSEA SCHWARTZ, she dismisses them all cheerfully and reminds them to respond to discussion questions on the student portal for their homework. Isa hangs back until the rest of their peers have filed out, then approaches Chelsea’s desk. Once they’ve exchanged pleasant greetings, Isa tentatively asks if she’s had the chance to look over the short film they sent her.

Isa: I understand if you’ve been too busy, I’m sure there’s a lot going on and this is pretty low priority --

Chelsea: Oh, I’ve been meaning to shoot you back an email with my thoughts. But I absolutely loved it.

Isa: Really?

Chelsea: Yes! I thought it was a great start, particularly for your first short at NYU. Very clear vision, clean technical expertise -- you’ve clearly been studying the craft for a while. And I loved what you did with color to convey the mood.

Isa, relieved: Yes, thank you! That’s exactly what I was going for.

In complete contrast to Bennet, Chelsea’s got nothing but good things to say. She’s very excited to see what else Isa De La Cruz has in store, and they should feel welcome to send her material any time. That’s one of her favorite parts of being a mentor and professor, after all!

This totally changes Isa’s mood. Bolstered by this alternative perspective, it only cements their suspicions further -- Bennet’s notes must just be because he’s a bitter old white man. He can’t possibly see Isa’s perspective, and if he’s just looking to knock a young filmmaker down a peg or two, that’s his problem…

And yet, even with the glowing praise they were so desperately searching for, in the back of their mind something still doesn’t feel quite right.

INT. USC - THEATER SCHOOL - DAY

Charlie is seated in one of the armchairs outside the theater classrooms, quietly journaling while he waits for Farkle to finish class. He glances up as the class starts to let out, freshmen and sophomores alike breezing through the halls and chatting with one another as they exit.

Farkle isn’t in conversation as he leaves, as usual -- that is, until someone calls for him to wait up. JORDAN NELSON jogs out of the classroom after him.

Farkle: What? [ a beat; that’s not very approachable ] I mean, yes? Did I forget something?

Jordan: No. No, I just wanted to talk to you. If you’ve got a second.

Farkle looks confused as to why the hell he would want to do that, but nods for him to go on. Charlie watches the exchange with interest, an invisible passive -- but observant -- bystander.

Farkle: Sure?

Jordan: I just wanted to comment on your scene work today. I thought your rapport with Natalia was good, and you’ve got excellent diction. You project even when you go softer, which is great -- too many people drop so low, it’s like you can’t hear anymore. Far too easy to fall into the film fallacy and forget that this is live theater, and they won’t be bumping up your audio in post. You didn’t fall for that trap.

Farkle: Well, thanks --

Jordan: But your monologue needs work. You deliver it well, in terms of conviction, but your rhythms tend to get repetitive. You have to find a way to make your strengths not also become your weakness. If you lean compelling the whole scene, as you should, that just means you have to be even more creative to find a way to make that monologue moment stand apart. And you have a tick -- you flex your fingers. Did you know that? When you’re in the moment, you move your fingers like this [ demonstrating ] and it can be quite distracting. You want to be fully in your body during a scene, it’s not just about being there mentally. Does that make sense?

Farkle: … okay?

I mean, no one asked, Jordan… but he sure seems happy to give Farkle critical feedback. He says it all with nonchalant pleasantry, though, like they’re just pals exchanging notes, so it’s not shared with malicious intent.

Jordan: Since we’re supposed to be observing this week, I simply thought I’d let you know my thoughts. [ examining him ] Does that bother you?

Farkle, frankly: If unsolicited critique bothered me, I wouldn’t be trying to be an actor.

Somehow, it seems like Jordan likes that answer. He smiles lightly, nodding.

Jordan: Well, you can do with that whatever you will. Just my two cents. [ with another light lingering smile ] See you around, Farkle.

Farkle: Yeah. Sure. Bye, then.

Jordan casually heads off, passing Charlie without notice. But Charlie is noticing, having watched that whole bizarre exchange unfold. He smiles to himself… many intriguing perceptions to draw… Farkle approaches him, waiting for him to stash his journal and get to his feet.

Farkle: What are you smiling about?

Charlie: Who, me? Nothing. [ as they start to walk ] Is that one of the directing students?

Farkle: Yeah. Jordan. Supposedly one of the hard-asses of the directing major, but hey, takes one to know one.

Charlie: Sure. Seemed like he had a lot to say to you.

Farkle: No clue why. He’s never spoken to me before. And all he did was give me a bunch of notes from class today, like completely out of pocket -- which, whatever, some of it was useful. I’m kind of a magnet for torment, I don’t know if you noticed. But if he really needed to take it out on someone, that’s fine. I guess some people just really can’t help themselves.

Charlie: Yeah. Someone else used to be like that not too long ago…

Farkle: Like I said, takes one.

Charlie isn’t sure him wanting to talk was just about an insatiable need to direct-splain, and it didn’t seem antagonistic from his point of view… but anyway, as long as Farkle wasn’t bothered. He didn’t seem all that put off by the sudden, unexpected criticism. Farkle shrugs.

Farkle: I know I’m like, on a constant neurotic rollercoaster about caring what people think, but performing isn’t really like that. Like, from a professional lens. I care about whether my peers are going to think I’m a freak due to my undeniable, compulsive freakishness, but the work is just the work.

Charlie: That’s impressive. It seriously doesn’t bother you at all?

Farkle: Chuck, I spent four years in class with Isadora De La Cruz. If she doesn’t set you up for imperviously thick skin, I don’t know what will.

Charlie: They.

Farkle: What?

Charlie: They. I’m pretty sure they’re using they/them pronouns now. And I think they’re going by Isa.

Farkle: Oh. Really?

Charlie: I’m like ninety percent sure. I can check my messages again, but that’s what Zay told me. I think Riley mentioned the name thing. [ a beat ] Isa didn’t tell you about that? I would’ve thought you’d be one of the first to know.

You’d think, Charlie, wouldn’t you… Farkle manages a shrug. He clears his throat, claiming they probably just forgot. With time zones and everything, it’s easier to let a message or two slip by.

But based on the shift in his expression he’s working quite hard to conceal, the neglect is an actual reason in his book to feel bothered.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

On the stage, the techie ducklings are in the midst of putting together the inaugural set piece. But it’s kind of a mess at this point, halfway built and full of errors, so now they’re in heated debate about how to fix it. Jake wants to go bigger and fix it through pizazz; Timmy, frustrated and over it, just wants to destroy it. Greta is trying to take over and boss everyone around, totally ignoring the fact that Bean has yet again stapled himself to the set piece and is nervously trying to free his sleeve from the wood.

It might help if they had some more professional guidance, but their teaching assistant isn’t really tuned in. Lucas is at the front of the stage and he’s got the schematic they’re supposed to be following in his hands, but he feels a million miles away this afternoon. He’s finding it hard to stay present, and he’s got an increasingly bad headache. It still feels like he’s carrying all the tension in his muscles and it won’t ebb… he only snaps back to reality when Greta yells for him.

Greta: TA Friar!

Lucas: What?

Greta: Would you please tell Timmy that we can’t just knock the whole thing down and start from scratch? We’re on a deadline, we have to make the most of what we have. That’s like the whole mindset of technical arts.

Timmy: Yeah, well, don’t see the point when what we have is some bullshit!

Greta: You are a pest, did you know that? A full-on, unapologetic nuisance.

Timmy: I know you are, but what am I?

For some reason, the bickering is really grating on Lucas’s nerves today. He rubs his temples, trying to keep his cool, but the whole world is starting to feel oppressive and a little fuzzy.

Bean: Can someone please help me? I don’t want this to be the way I go.

Timmy: Just wait until we tear it all down. You won’t lose your arm or anything -- probably.

Greta: We’re not tearing it down!

Jake: Dude, you’d look sick with a missing limb. That’s like the coolest way to lose it.

Bean, nervous: I’m not sure I agree!

Greta: Ugh, TA FRIAR --

Lucas snaps, telling them all to cool it. Greta’s right, they’re going to have to make do with what they have, but right now, they’re all being so unbearable that he needs a break.

Timmy: Are you serious? How are we supposed to make do with this shit?

Lucas: Welcome to the real world. I’ll be back in five. [ off-handedly ] Jake, you’re in charge.

That’s apparently the best news of Jake’s young life. He pumps his fist in the air as Lucas stalks towards the wings.

Jake: YES! Okay, get your hammers, we’re amping this biz up to eleven!

Safely in the more muted shadows of the wings, Lucas exhales a breath, rolling his shoulders and trying to shake off the headache. He presses his palms to his eyes, hiding in the darkness of his eyelids, only pulling away from it when his phone buzzes in his pocket. It’s from Grace, which if she’s texting him during the school day, already signals it’s probably not good news.

“Bad day today.”

She doesn’t have to elaborate. He’s lived through enough “bad days.”

And there’s nothing he can do about it. Lucas frowns, shaking his head and pocketing his phone again. Suddenly, that headache throbs even worse than before.

INT. TURNER ACADEMY - FACULTY HALL - DAY

Zay makes his way through the hallway of Turner Academy faculty offices, scanning the doors for Rosario’s name plate. As it turns out though, he should have been listening instead -- he hears her before he sees her, slowly approaching the last door on the right.

Rosario: It’s despicable. Absolutely unacceptable behavior, from the both of you.

Yikes. That doesn’t sound good. Zay slows his roll, cautiously coming to the wall by the door but keeping himself out of view.

INT. TURNER ACADEMY - ROSARIO’S OFFICE - DAY

Rosario is standing behind her desk, still dressed for class in her ballet garb with dark hair tied back in a tight bun. But she may as well be wearing a power suit with how effectively and unequivocally she commands the room -- the two Turner upperclassmen she has standing at attention on the opposite side of her desk look about ready to melt into puddles of shame.

Rosario: I don’t know what made you think it was a good idea, and I am not going to waste my own time enumerating why it was not. I’m sure you’re both clever enough to figure that out on your own. But I will remind you, emphatically, that this is a competitive program with appropriately competitive standards and expectations. It is your privilege to be here, not a God-given right that you can use and abuse as you see fit. And if you don’t feel that you’re up for it, that you can’t meet those standards we expect of Turner Academy students, then you’re well aware of where the exits are to this school.

INT. TURNER ACADEMY - FACULTY HALL - DAY

Zay has no clue what those students were getting berated for. He has zero context, and it’s very unlikely it was a situation remotely close to his current predicament. But Rosario’s words feel scarily applicable to him, too, and he doesn’t want to incur her wrath. He’s already started off on the wrong foot.

So no way is he going in there and asking for some slack. No way. He turns on his heel and makes a beeline out of there, just as Rosario dismisses the other students.

INT. USC - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

As it turns out, Turner isn’t the only school with some intense dance instructors. For an introductory seminar, Farkle’s DANCE PROFESSOR is taking their movement class very seriously. She’s run through the routine they’ve been building on step-by-step, dissatisfied with the rate at which they’re picking it up. Farkle seems to be faring okay, but to be honest, the fact that it’s not too difficult might be hurting him more than helping.

Charlie, meanwhile, is pretty very polite and unobtrusive as he observes from a chair at the opposite end of the room. He’s been watching the slow run-through, listening to the class discussion, slightly amused at how frustrated this professor seems to be with her beginning-intermediate level students.

Or he thinks he’s being unobtrusive. When the professor asks a glaringly simple question of the group about the routine and nobody bites -- not because they don’t know, but because they’re freshmen, and no one wants to raise their hand when the professor asks a question -- Charlie can’t help but smile to himself.

Professor: Something funny over there?

Oop. Charlie realizes he’s being addressed, smile dropping from his face and cheeks growing rosy. He straightens up.

Charlie: Sorry?

Professor: You seem to be having a grand old time back there, smiling up a storm. I know it can’t be because you’re impressed -- nothing about this routine is smile-worthy. You find it funny?

Charlie: Oh, no. No, I wasn’t --

Professor: You think you know the answer?

Farkle crosses his arms, smirking. Given Charlie has been in particularly peak form so far, it’s a bit satisfying to watch him fumble a bit.

Farkle: Bet he does. Charlie was the best dancer at my high school.

Professor: That so?

Charlie: No, really, I wouldn’t say…

Farkle goes further, claiming Charlie is probably real amused over there because they’re all stumbling through this and he could likely do it in his sleep. Now he’s just getting built up, and the other classmates are starting to jump in on it, challenging him to prove it. Oh, yeah, this rando from the east coast is so good? He thinks he’s hot shit? Like to see him try.

Natalia: I’d sure like to see it.

Well, if he’s so good and the routine should be so easy -- and from the professor’s perspective, it really should be -- then why doesn’t he come prove it? They’ll give him a run to see the routine, and if he’s so good, he should be able to dish it back to them, right? Charlie fields comments, uncertain, all his usual flight instincts flaring with all this sudden attention…

But then he considers it. He’s done braver things. And dance is supposedly his thing -- if there’s any time he should feel willing to step out of his comfort zone, it’s now. If he actually managed to bring any of his confidence back with him from abroad, this might be the time to show it.

So after a moment, he smiles, nodding.

Charlie: Okay. Challenge accepted.

The class reacts in turn, both intrigued at the low-stakes drama and also just grateful for the time-killer that means they don’t have to run the routine another time. They scatter to the sidelines as a couple of the more skilled students stay front and center to demonstrate, allowing Charlie to come join them and observe. He only gets one chance to pick it up, so best pay close attention…

The professor tees up the music, kicking them off.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Crazy” as performed by Gnarls Barkley || Instrumental

A classic dance routine track if there ever was one from the 2000s thanks to its strong and hypnotic beat, the funky alt-pop track sets the stage for the class routine. For the first verse and chorus, the two USC students run through the actual steps, Charlie mainly observing. He bobs his head along and his foot naturally taps along to the beat, and occasionally he’ll half-perform one of the steps as he’s starting to mentally put them together in his head.

The other students are enjoying having a break. Farkle watches in amusement, while behind him, Buzz and Mason place a bet on whether Charlie is actually going to be able to pick up the routine after like two run throughs.

When the first chorus wraps, that’s it! Time to step up. The two USC students step back and leave Charlie standing front and center on his own. All eyes on him… he waits for the right downbeat to find an entrance (“come on now, who do you think you are?”), and then he’s off.

They really shouldn’t have doubted him. Charlie was the best dancer in the A class -- or one of, at least, if you want to get pedantic -- and a big part of that is because of how quickly he picks things up. Dance is in his blood, and he’s a fast learner. Not to mention these steps are amateur-level, way below his skill, so he can piece them together like letter blocks. It’s not perfect, but by the time he hits the chorus, it’s clear he’s as good as Farkle claimed, confident enough in the simple steps to actually breathe life into them.

Farkle’s grinning now, pleased to be associated with the cool dancer from back home. Behind him, Mason rolls his eyes and hands Buzz a $10. Natalia shushes them, trying to enjoy the view.

Just for good measure, Charlie shows off a little bit by improv-ing for a few seconds after the chorus and into the bridge, then he sets his sights back on the class. He spins and locks eyes with Farkle, sliding over and gesturing for him to come back out on the floor and join him. It’s their routine, he’s just borrowing it! The two of them move through a few of the steps as mirrors (“ever since I was little, ever since I was little it looked like fun”), then Charlie moves into pulling more of the actual students into it. It takes nothing for Natalia to rush out to join, and then the rest of them are going, all taking places along the dance floor.

So for the final chorus, the whole class is participating, running through the routine with much more vigor than before. It’s like Charlie’s groove is infectious, his enthusiasm for dance bleeding through to the rest of them and giving the simple, lifeless routine an actual punch. Charlie leads the pack, Farkle right behind him, and for a second it almost feels like being back at Adams.

When the song ends and the class wraps, they’re much more energized than before, laughing and clapping. Farkle and Charlie exchange a high-five. Good vibes all around… until the professor comes back to the front, scrutinizing the group of them and all of them falling silent again. Charlie is the one truly under her critical stare, sizing up his performance…

Professor: Charlie, is it?

Charlie: Yes, ma’am.

Farkle: Chuck works too.

Professor: Well, Charlie… [ a beat ] You can stay here in the front while we run this again. Maybe if they watch you at least one of them will pick it up faster.

All right! A kind of weird win, but we’ll take it! The mood is higher in any case, which is always ideal when you’re dealing with dance. The professor tells them to take it from the top. Five, six, seven, eight --

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - OFFICE BOX - DAY

The clapping becomes the click of Josh’s mouse, rhythmically tapping as he stares blankly at the screen. He’s taken to the mindless, tedious task of cleaning out his inbox, since he literally has nothing better to do with no clients on his agenda for the day. He’s basically sleepworking.

Justin: Hey-o, Josh!

The call of JUSTIN MILLER snaps him out of it, making him sit up straighter. His producer boss is standing in the doorway to his office, dressed effortlessly cool as always and looking right at Josh in his fugue state. He taps the top of the doorway, then gestures for Josh to follow him.

Justin: Come on, my office. Scoot, scoot.

Wonder what that’s about… Josh uncertainly gets to his feet. Phelps eyes him curiously from their desk.

Phelps: Should I be praying for you not to get fired?

Josh: No. Shut up. [ now he’s worried ] Shut up.

Phelps: Just as well. I’m an atheist, so my prayers wouldn’t be worth shit anyway.

Figures. Josh takes a deep breath, making his way into Justin and Melissa’s office.

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - JUSTIN’S OFFICE - DAY

Josh awkwardly hovers in the doorway, Justin seeing him and waving him in. He points to the funky orange armchair opposite the desk set-up and invites Josh to take a seat. He does, uncertain, waiting for Justin to tell him what he’s doing there.

Justin reclines back in his desk chair and kicks his feet up on the desk, rolling one of Melissa’s squishy stress balls between his palms.

Justin: So what’s going on, man?

Josh: Going on? Nothing. Nope. No… no, nothing’s going on. All good. Nothing to report here.

Justin: Wow. You really have me convinced, Joshie. You ever think about becoming an actor?

Josh: I don’t… [ lofty ] I don’t know what you’re insinuating.

Justin: Bud, you’ve got like, mad gloomies. You’re sitting out there slumped like your cat just died and it is radiating. It feels like the whole office is settled under a sad, grey Josh rain cloud. [ a beat ] You don’t have a cat, do you?

Josh: No.

Justin: Oh, good. I mean -- you didn’t have a cat? It’s not dead now and that’s why you said no?

Josh: Never had a cat.

Justin: Okay. Great. Really didn’t want to be unintentionally spot on there. So, what then?

Josh pauses, trying to see if there’s a way out of this conversation… but there isn’t, and his boss is looking at him expectantly as he tosses his stress ball in the air. So Josh sighs, briefly going into his trouble finding clients and the blow of losing his most promising one to a competitor.

Justin: Oof, yeah. I heard about Iris. That’s a low blow, sorry about that.

Josh: Like, I’m happy for her. I’m happy it seems like things are going to work out for her. I just wish she didn’t have to leave me in the gutter to do it. And now I feel like… it feels like I’ve got no way forward.

Justin: Oh, come on. You’ve got other clients. [ a beat ] Don’t you?

Josh: A couple, but they’ve got their own eccentricities. Cricket has promise, but getting something out of her is like pulling teeth. And then Floyd --

Justin: Ohhhh, yeah. Floyd. I remember you telling me about him. He’s… interesting.

Sure is. Case in point, Josh feels stuck, and he feels like he can’t seem to find anyone new. Has every potential star just evaporated out of Hollywood in the last few months? And even for the ones who are out there hitting the pavement, he can’t seem to find them. He doesn’t know what he’s doing wrong.

Josh: How am I supposed to rope in clients when there’s a million other dudes just like me who can offer them the same things, if not more?

Justin: There’s your first mistake. That’s where you’re wrong. [ pointing at him ] There isn’t another dude just like you, Josh. That’s where you’ve gotta start. You gotta bring to the table all the awesomeness that you are, make it so potent that people smell it off you when you’re walking by.

Josh: I think that’s just the stained coffee…

Justin: Take me for example. I, just like you, am just some guy. A farm boy from Indiana with nothing to his name but a family-owned grocery store I was set to inherit and a dream to get as far away from it as possible. But I’ve got clients. Me and Melissa, in fact, we’re signing a new one this week.

Josh’s jaw drops. Another one? How? Justin holds out his arms.

Justin: Because I believe I’m more than that, and so they believe it too. You come into a meeting with confidence, folks will feel that. I’ve seen it in you, Josh, there’s a reason why Mel and I hired you to be our junior in the first place.

And as for the clients, it takes persistence and a very open mind. Josh used to have that, when he was first starting out -- that’s how he found Iris, after all. He needs to hold onto that ingenuity, not let the minutia of Hollywood jade him. That’s something he and Melissa remind each other of all the time, that the next best thing could be just around the corner. They don’t want to be walking around with their eyes shut because they think they’ve got it all figured out.

Justin: Fact of the matter is, the biggest key to this industry is taking every opportunity. You don’t let any potential moment slip by. You’ve gotta always keep your ears open. And don’t be afraid to look in unconventional places. No name is too small if there’s a glimmer of talent there -- because if all goes well, you’ll be the one blowing it up big time. We’re musical miners, Josh. To find the diamonds, you gotta hit every rock along the way.

Josh absorbs that. Then he jumps when Justin unexpectedly throws the stress ball at him, catching it just in time.

Justin: So go out there and do some digging! You know we believe in ya, kid, make mama and papa Beat proud.

Bit ironic to call someone 6 years younger than you kid, but… whatever. He is the higher-up. Josh places the stress ball back on the desk and thanks Justin for the pep talk. He gives him a thumbs up and hang loose gesture, already back to scrolling through items on his desktop.

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - OFFICE BOX - DAY

Josh steps back into the office box, slowly making his way back to his desk and settling back down. Phelps leans back in their chair and raises their eyebrows. So?

Josh: For now, still employed.

Phelps sighs in theatrical relief. They reach out and pat Josh’s shoulder, placing their other hand on their heart.

Phelps: Bless.

Then it’s back to work. Phelps puts their headphones back on from around their neck, leaving Josh back in silence. But he’s got Justin’s advice rattling around in his head now. Every rock along the way…

Finally, Josh pulls up his message thread with Maya and responds, offering a few potential dates and times to meet up. Then he goes to investigate further, popping his own headphones on as he opens up her social media and takes a look.

She certainly looks the part of diva starlet. But can she sing… based on his subtle expression change when he plays one of her sample videos, that’s an easy question to answer. We know the answer all too well. He settles in to listen and queues up a couple more videos, grabbing his notepad to jot down thoughts.

Maybe there’s hope after all.

INT. USC - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

Movement class is wrapping up for the afternoon, students heading out. A couple girls -- including Natalia -- have hung back to get last-minute tips from Charlie, who is generously walking through the last few steps of the routine with them and giving them feedback. He’s encouraging and patient, though it’s a wonder whether any of the girls actually needed help…

Regardless, his tutelage is worthwhile. They eagerly thank Charlie as they head out, the professor also commending him for his good work as she follows the students out. Based on the smile on his face, Charlie definitely feels back in his element.

Last ones to leave, Farkle saunters over to join Charlie. He gives him a look, deadpan.

Farkle: How is it you’ve been here for like three days and you already have more friends than me?

Charlie beams.

INT. CHUBBIES - DAY

Unlike sunny Los Angeles, it’s pouring in New York, the rain splattering the windows of the diner. Lucas watches it idly from his spot behind the counter, well-matched to his general mood as of late. He looks exhausted, dark circles starting to form under his eyes. Studying when dad is home is hard enough -- sleep feels out of the question.

Of course, that doesn’t go unnoticed. He stops aimlessly watching the rain when his phone buzzes, Riley continuing an ongoing conversation. She insists that he at least stay the night tonight so he can get some decent sleep. They’re not in high school anymore; “school nights” aren’t really important signifiers.

The stormy weather also matches Zay’s mood, though he’s not enjoying the rain. He’s huffy as he strides into the diner, pushing his hood off his head and marching over to the counter. Lucas doesn’t bother to greet him, given it’s Zay.

Zay: Hello. I’m a patron. Aren’t you going to say hello?

Lucas, robotically: Hi, Zay. How are you?

Zay: Shit. And that greeting? Shit. And this weather? Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!

Zay crashes onto one of the stools, shaking the stray droplets off his jacket. Lucas slides a napkin dispenser in his direction, which is about as helpful as he’s going to get. Zay tosses him a scowl.

Zay: Please tell me Riley is here and you’re just hiding her somewhere because you hate me and want me to suffer?

Lucas: No. To all of the above -- I don’t think about you enough to hate you. [ off his eye roll ] But I’m pretty sure she’s still at school. Rehearsing her scene, or whatever.

Zay: Perfect. That’s just great. The one time I really need to -- ugh, whatever. I’ll just deal. I’ll talk to her later.

Lucas: Okay.

Zay: I guess I’ll just go then.

Lucas: Okay.

Zay gets up, about to march right back out… but then he doesn’t. Because Riley’s busy, and Yindra barely answers him, and he already walked all the way here in the rain. He just wants someone to listen -- at this point, it hardly matters who.

Zay: You know what? Fuck it. I’m staying.

Lucas: … okay.

Zay: Yeah. I’m staying here. Because I have just been having the worst fucking week, and I need to vent about it. So I’m gonna sit here and make you listen to it, because I know that’s like your worst nightmare.

Lucas: … o… kay.

Zay: Misery loves company. So get comfortable.

Zay launches into an impassioned lament, not holding back as he complains about his stupid recurring injury that seems bound to haunt him for life; his ridiculous classmates and overly competitive coursework; his soulless instructor who he doesn’t have a do-over card to play with because he royally fucked up his standing before he ever even started at NYCA. And he knows he can hack it, he knows he’s good enough to be in the program, but it’s like he’s going to be his own downfall because of a stupid mistake he made a year ago and can’t take back. He already repented for not taking care of his body and nearly lost his chance because of it -- now he’s supposed to just do that all over again?

Lucas obviously doesn’t get any of what he’s talking about, but he doesn’t interrupt him, so suppose that’s about as nice. Once Zay has burnt himself out, he releases a monumental sigh… then glances at Lucas again, not sure what to say but not sure he earned a thanks.

Zay: So… what’s going on with you?

It’s about as half-hearted as Lucas’s forced greeting, but they’ve made it this far, so Lucas provides an answer. He doesn’t get as deep as he might with Riley, or Jack, or any of his actual friends, but he does skim the surface of his frustrations with not having time to study. The rest sort of goes without saying -- as much as he acts like it’s not happening, the situation with Kenneth is basically the A class’s worst kept secret. No one knows, but everybody knows, so it fills in the blanks on its own.

And that’s genuinely unfortunate, Zay knows, but he has no idea how to empathize with Lucas when their entire dynamic since they met has been irritation, disdain, and majority disinterest. So he awkwardly nods, offering something between a sympathetic frown and a grimace.

Zay: That’s tough.

Lucas: Yep...

Yeah… although neither of them truly get what the other is going through, the moment is bordering on authentic enough emotional sincerity that it’s starting to weird them out. So Zay searches for a way out, back to the comfort of the old ways and maybe a distraction from the heaviness that seems to have overtaken their lives. Sure is fun, being God’s punching bags or whatever…

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Schadenfreude” as performed by Avenue Q Original Broadway Cast || Performed by Zay Babineaux & Lucas James Friar

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

Zay kicks off with melancholy flair, seemingly about to take us down a different tonal road… until he abruptly u-turns, throwing us into the comedic, satirical zone that Avenue Q is known for.

Zay: And when I see how sad you are, it sort of makes me… [ smirking at the camera ] Happy.

Lucas: Happy?!

Sorry, Lucas, human nature! Zay jumps up from his stool and finishes out the rest of the line as the tempo picks up, launching us into the rest of the number. Lucas takes the Nicky bits, which works well considering he more talks than sings and does not need to sound good, especially in comparison to Zay.

The miracle to the song is that it actually seems to do the impossible -- allow Zay and Lucas to bond. That is, the snarky lyrics bridge their differences via their uniting traits: being petty, grumpy, and sarcastically cynical.

It takes a bit for Lucas to warm up to it, Zay taking the first verse to point out to him that yes, he also is guilty of schadenfreude too. When they get to the line “don’t you feel all warm and cozy, watching people out in the rain,” they both look out the windows towards the sad New Yorkers marching through the downpour, Zay offering them a dainty little wave from where they’re sitting all pretty and dry. By that point, Lucas has been won over, hopping onto the counter and swinging his legs over the side so he’s sitting next to Zay.

Lucas: “Schadenfreude.” What’s that, some kind of Nazi word?

Zay: Yup. It’s German for “happiness at the misfortune of others.”

Lucas: Happiness at the misfortune of others… that is German!

Then Lucas hops off the counter, taking the lead on the next round of suggestions. The two of them try to one-up each other with ideas, cracking each other up and fully enjoying leaning into their lesser instincts. They haphazardly toss around sugar packets, climb onto tables, growing louder and looser the more they rile each other up and forget about the actual things making their lives so miserable.

As they land on the softer bridge about two minutes in, the two of them crash in unison onto opposite sides of a booth. Lucas reaches for a sugar packet and tears it open, pouring it onto his tongue while Zay philosophizes about their ongoing torment.

Zay: The world needs people like you and me who’ve been knocked around by fate. ‘Cause when people see us, they don’t wanna be us -- and that makes them feel great!

Lucas: [ with a laugh ] Sure! We provide a vital service to society.

Zay/Lucas: You and me --

Then they roll through the final chorus to the end, arriving back where they started with Zay on the stool and Lucas on the counter. They both descend into mischievous laughter, remarkably having enjoyed more than two minutes of conversation with one another -- not that anyone will ever hear about this.

And even if his intention was to annoy him, Zay may have actually helped more than he realizes -- by not treating Lucas any differently than he normally would.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - NIGHT

Lucas does head to Riley and Isa’s that night, rolling in after he finishes his shift. The strange not-bonding moment with Zay does seem to have improved his mood somewhat. He didn’t fare much better in the rain, though, woefully unprepared in just his denim jacket. He shakes his head like a dog when he steps into the apartment, Isa sitting up eagerly at his arrival.

Isa: Great, you’re here. [ less pleased ] You’re dripping all over my floor.

Lucas: Sorry. I’ll turn on my sponge mode.

Isa: You know, your sarcasm wasn’t cute when we were fourteen, and it’s not cute now.

Lucas: You know, it was never my life goal to make you find me cute.

Wah wah wah… Isa makes a face, moving past it. They could go back and forth like that all night otherwise.

Isa: Anyway, I’m glad you’re here. Just in time to watch my --

Lucas: No.

Isa: You don’t even know what I was going to say!

Lucas: You want me to watch your short film, the one I already said I would not watch, because you’re pissed about the feedback you got and want second opinions to prove your professor wrong.

… okay, so maybe he did know what they were going to say. Isa huffs, searching for a way to convince him.

Isa: You’ll like it. Just watch the first minute.

Lucas: No.

Isa: Riley liked it!

Lucas: Riley likes everything. And I say that with no disrespect, before you try to threaten me with telling her I said that.

Isa: [ tartar sauce ] Lucas, come on. You know I’m a good filmmaker.

Lucas: Sure. You know that too. Why do you need me to tell you so?

Isa: I need backing from my loved ones and long-time supporters. And you’re the most ruthlessly honest person I know. Just watch it and give your unbiased opinion, all critiques are welcome.

Lucas: You know that literally means nothing to me. I have no credentials, I’ve seen like four films, so my feedback is worthless. No.

Isa: … [ after a stare off ] Ugh, fine.

Thank God. Lucas passes them to head into Riley’s room and get settled, Isa slouching back in grumpy defeat against the couch.

INT. JOHNSON HOME - KITCHEN - NIGHT

Vanessa is having dinner with her parents, RAY JOHNSON (50s) and ALEXIS JOHNSON (late 40s). She’s quiet for most of the meal, focused on her food while her parents discuss work at their analytical desk jobs, family finances, and neighborhood gossip of Brooklyn. Eventually, Alexis finds a way to bring conversation around to her, asking how classes are going. Ray turns his inquisitive gaze on her, waiting expectantly for her response.

Given how cautiously Vanessa chooses her words, it’s clear her classwork may not be the most agreeable subject in their house. She finds a delicate balance of describing how important the course assignments are to her without making it sound like just a bunch of dancing around, but even with her most prestigious word choice, Ray doesn’t seem all that impressed.

Vanessa: This week is all about endurance. We’re working on this intensive routine, building on it, and I have to prove I can keep up. So I’ve been keeping up.

Alexis: I’m sure. How hard you work, surely it should be a breeze.

Ray: I should damn hope so. All those dance classes we paid for and medals you’ve got cluttering your shelves, you’d think it would have paid off for something.

Alexis: Ray…

Vanessa: I know, dad. I’m aware.

Ray: If this week is about keeping up, then I hope you’re showing them that. You remember what we agreed on. We’re not paying for another dance school.

Alexis, gently: We’ll discuss it.

Ray: No, no, we already did discuss it. We’ve discussed it, Lex. If Ness wanted to use that brilliant brain of hers, and go to NYU or Columbia to study medicine, or law, we could invest in that. But if she really wants to do this dancing around thing…

Vanessa tunes out, going back to her food -- better to step back than get heated over the same old argument. This is always how conversations about Turner go, and she knows the expectations well enough.

If she can prove she’s good enough to get into this elite program, then okay, she can give it a real shot. If not, that’s that -- if she wants to go to school with their help, it won’t be for something that will never give her stability or pay her bills. She’s not just proving this admission to herself; she’s proving it to them too.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - FARKLE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Farkle has his Broadway playlist going, softly underscoring his pacing around his room, but it’s not helping. He can’t seem to make a decision -- and Charlie is right, when did this become so hard for him to do? Why is he suddenly so strapped for creative confidence?

He knows he’s overthinking. He’s just getting caught up in his head, and he needs to knock it off and find his vision again. He needs a good metaphorical kick in the teeth. A real talk from someone who actually knows how to knock him off balance, in the way that makes things reset to stable ground rather than sends him crumbling.

Farkle knows exactly where to find that. He knows what he needs.

Releasing a sigh, he settles into his desk chair and pulls up his phone, going to the right message thread. Things may have gone dead, and he might be causing more harm than good by rocking the boat… but he doesn’t know what else to do. Friends are supposed to be able to reach out when they need some guidance -- and when it comes to the two of them, this is supposed to be someone who promised they’d be on standby for when he needed a well-meaning drag.

He caves and hits dial, bringing the phone to his ear. It’s not a surprise when it goes to voicemail, but he powers through and decides to leave one anyway.

Farkle: Um, hey. It’s Farkle. Hope things are going good. I… I was really hoping to talk…

INT. CHEY APARTMENT - NIGEL’S ROOM - NIGHT

Nigel is also on the phone, with Yindra, only being able to catch her late at night when she’s off the evening shift in L.A. -- and occasionally, the odd bar or club gig she’s picking up here and there. The scene is intercut between their rooms as they chat.

Nigel: Is that fun? Do you think it’s going to lead anywhere?

Yindra: Like a big break? Hardly. But I get to sing what I want to sing, and it’s paid, even if it’s pennies. I can at least try material on an audience paying like a fraction of attention.

Silver linings? Yindra turns the question back to him, since we get the impression the reason he wanted to call was to vent. He hedges a bit at first, since making a fuss is inherently opposite of his nature, but Yindra manages to get it out of him. He’s just frustrated about his musical theater class, that’s all -- he feels like he can’t seem to get it right. He totally blew it on the first day making a good impression, and now he’s faded to the background in this scene assignment.

Nigel: I thought it would be different, I don’t know. Right now it’s looking like it’s just going to be Adams 2.0.

Yindra: You could do worse. And like, isn’t that just college? Obviously I can’t speak from experience, but I thought feeling like a fraud and not knowing what to do and not being able to socialize was kind of like the freshman starter pack. Everyone’s going through that.

Nigel: Not everyone.

Yindra raises her eyebrows, noting the edge in his tone. When she prods further, Nigel reluctantly admits he can’t help but notice how well Riley has jumped right into NYU life. It just feels like she’s got it all figured out. And Jade is totally thriving at work -- now that she’s not getting fired -- so he can’t really talk to her about it. Not that he even wants to, even just vocalizing this minor envy feels problematic.

Yindra: Honey, this is the entertainment industry. You gotta get used to envy.

It’s a natural human emotion. As long as he’s not acting on it, or letting it make him behave differently, then he’s just gotta feel it and then let it go. And as for the Riley of it all…

Yindra: Look, you know Riley is a diamond of a human being. She was inevitably going to shine. It’s just like being friends with Zay -- some people are just blessed with natural winsomeness, that’s how it is. And I think any of us could’ve predicted that Riley, who fixed our entire class and led us to showdown victory, was going to be one of the people who triple-flipped into excellence upon jumping to college.

Nigel: Yeah… yeah, you’re right. I know.

Yindra: And you’re lucky that she’s in your corner. You just can’t compare yourself to her, or anyone for that matter. It’s gonna kill us, the comparison.

Nigel nods, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Yindra continues.

Yindra: So Riley’s got it all figured out and is living her perfect, winsome Riley life. Good for her. Focus on yourself, and let it go.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - RILEY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

And for that matter, Riley’s life is far from perfect. She gets reminded of that pretty swiftly, blinking awake in the middle of the night. She’s still groggy, wondering what startled her awake -- until she hears it again.

Lucas is whimpering. Riley rolls over.

Riley: [ in a whisper ] Lucas?

He’s not awake, but his sleep definitely doesn’t seem restful. Riley frowns, reaching to touch him but then thinking better of it. She isn’t sure what you’re supposed to do when someone is having a nightmare -- isn’t it worse to try and wake them up? Or is that just sleepwalking?

In this case, she doesn’t have to do anything. Lucas suddenly jolts awake, letting out a yelp and causing Riley to jump. His breathing is hard as he scrambles to orient himself, close to hyperventilation. Whatever he was dreaming about, it must’ve been terrifying… and given how things are going these days, it only takes one guess.

Riley: Hey. Hey, hey, it’s okay --

Riley tries to touch him, to offer some comfort, but he instinctively flinches away from her. In fact, it’s like he just realized she’s there, and he seems utterly confused as to where he is or what’s going on. Still half-asleep, caught in the muddy waters between what’s real and what isn’t. Riley stares at him, wanting to help but having no idea what to do.

One thing that’s undeniably real? Bile. A wave of nausea suddenly seizes Lucas, causing him to launch from the bed and scramble through the dark.

Riley: Lucas? Lucas!

INT. NYU APARTMENT - NIGHT

Lucas disappears into the bathroom and slams the door, Riley emerging after him moments later. She slides up to the bathroom, worriedly asking through the door if he’s okay. He doesn’t answer, but the sound of retching kind of answers her question for her.

Across the apartment, Isa’s bedroom door slowly creaks open. They poke their head out, eyes crinkled with sleep, but awake enough to realize that something is wrong. Riley looks at them apologetically over her shoulder, barely lit by the light leaking through the crack under the bathroom door.

Neither of them say anything. Isa glances towards the door, listening to Lucas’s faint gagging, then back to Riley. They seem to have an entire tacit conversation in no words at all, their expressions saying everything.

This sucks. I’m sorry. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.

Riley offers a weak smile, nodding. Isa returns it, stepping back into their room and giving them privacy.

There’s not much for Riley to do at this point either, but she doesn’t want to just leave him alone. And she knows she’s not going to be able to fall back asleep, not when he’s like this. So she lowers herself down to sit in front of the door, leaning against the wall and pulling her knees up to her chest. On the other side, the heaving seems to have halted for now, but it’s been replaced by muffled sniffles.

Riley frowns, clearly wishing there was more she could do. She gently touches the door.

Riley: I’m here. It’s okay. I’m with you.

She can’t know if that makes a difference -- she doesn’t even know if he heard her. But for now, it’s all she can give. She lets her hand drop back to her lap and tilts her head back against the wall, settling in for a long night. As the piano opening floats in…

INT. NYU - PRACTICE ROOM - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Better - Piano Version” as performed by Regina Spektor || Performed by Riley Matthews

Perhaps the most simple performance of the episode, yet also one of the most impactful. Riley works through her emotion as Adams kids do best, infusing the Regina Spektor tune with her usual level of feeling. It speaks to the things she can’t put into words -- the way her heart aches for Lucas, her frustration at the situation they’ve found themselves in, that no matter what she does she can’t just Riley fixer their way out of it. Pushing back against the notion that it should be easy for her to just forget about it and focus on herself when their lives are so intertwined; wishing that love could be enough to make it right.

INT. CHUBBIES/NYU APARTMENT - DAY

At the same time, the performance is intercut with Riley singing from the familiar locations where she and Lucas share space. She watches him from a table at the diner while he works, or from behind the kitchen counter while he struggles to focus on his textbook on their apartment couch. Able to see the ways the situation is taking a toll on him -- his exhaustion, his restlessness -- even if they’re more subtle than waking up from a nightmare to stress vomit.

You're getting sadder, getting sadder, getting sadder, getting sadder I don't understand, and I don't understand

INT. NYU APARTMENT - NIGHT

As the song winds down into its final repetition of the chorus, growing softer and softer, Riley struggles to keep her eyes open as she leans against the wall. Not having moved from her place by the bathroom, only blinking the sleep away when the door creaks open and light floods the room, causing her to squint.

Lucas quietly steps out, looking equally as tired as her. He flips off the bathroom light and sends them back into darkness, only the moonlight and city lights from the window illuminating them in dull grey-blue.

Without a word, he lowers himself down to sit next to her. She looks at him, full of sympathy, gently placing her hand on his knee. After a moment, he scoots closer and leans into her, Riley adjusting to wrap an arm around him and letting him rest his head against her shoulder.

Will you feel anything at all? Anything at all…

They stay like that in the dark, not saying a word, as the song slowly peters out into silence.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - DAY

Riley is up first the next morning, having a quick breakfast before she has to head off to class. She’s catching up on texts, but she immediately puts down her phone when Lucas steps out of her room. He’s already dressed and late for work at Adams, but he takes the time to address her properly.

Lucas: Sorry about last night.

Riley: Don’t apologize. Don’t.

She shakes her head, smiling. It’s not his fault. And she doesn’t care.

Lucas: I don’t want to keep you up. And you’ve got stuff to -- I mean, I know you’ve got that test today, too --

Riley, firmly: Lucas, I don’t care. I don’t. [ softer ] I just care that you’re okay.

Be that as it may, Lucas still doesn’t seem pleased about it. But it happened, so yeah, all that matters now is whether he’s okay. And he doesn’t really have an answer to that either… but he figures he has one way to make both of them feel a bit better. He steps closer and closes the distance between them, letting Riley pull him into a hug.

For a long moment, they just hold in the embrace, savoring the quiet and temporary safety. Lucas gives her a soft kiss on the top of the head, then they pull apart, Riley broaching the topic more directly. She points out that regardless of the details of last night, something about what he’s got going on right now isn’t working. It’s affecting him, and he shouldn’t have to live like that. Lucas frowns.

Lucas: What am I supposed to do, exactly? The problem is -- other than do the leaving thing, which I don’t want to do.

Riley: I know. I know you can’t… there’s parts you can’t control. But I was thinking… I mean, maybe if you talked to someone --

Lucas: I’m talking to you.

Riley: I mean someone who can actually… who actually knows what they’re talking about. Or can at least help us figure out what we might be able to do to fix things you do have control over.

Lucas seems highly uncomfortable with the suggestion. Yeah, things are bad right now, but when have they ever been good? This is just how shit is. He’s done fine this long, and he’s not fleeing, which is progress. Isn’t that what they wanted?

Riley: I mean, even just Eric might be able to provide some insight. If you just --

Lucas: No. I mean, I -- I’m fine. I’m making it work.

Riley: I don’t think throwing up in the middle of the night is fine.

Lucas: That’s not… I haven’t been feeling well. It’s nothing. Probably just a bug. I’ll be fine.

Riley: If being there with him is making you physically ill, then that’s --

Lucas: [ with a slight edge ] Riley, please. Just drop it. It’s nothing.

Well… Riley really doesn’t agree. But she doesn’t want to push him when he’s already worn down. Lucas sighs, telling her not to worry about it. She should just focus on her acting stuff, and her test, doing what she’s supposed to be doing. Not dealing with his shit. He wants her to have a good day.

If that’ll make him happy… Riley nods, offering a light smile. Lucas manages to return it, leaning forward to give her a kiss. He promises her he’ll see her after school. She agrees, letting him go.

INT. CHUBBIES - DAY

Isa pushes their way into the diner, scanning for Lucas in one last-ditch effort to get him to watch their film and prove once and for all that Bennet is a hack. For some reason, all the kind words they’ve received so far still just don’t seem to be doing the trick…

But in this case, they luck out, because the universe will do them one better -- Lucas is nowhere to be seen, but Jade is here, seated at a table and working through some tasks while she wolves down a quick early lunch.

Isa makes a beeline in her direction, greeting her eagerly and settling down in the chair across from her. They ask how the job is going -- it feels like they never see her. At least, it’s been a while since Riley’s back to school thing.

Jade: Tell me about it. And you’re not the only one who’s said so. Having a job? Not the most time-friendly concept.

Isa: Encouraging. But I’m so glad you’re here.

Now that they’ve caught her in a rare moment, they can’t pass up the opportunity. They ask if she’ll watch her short film.

Jade: Oh, is this the one you’ve been railing about all week? Nigel mentioned some professor really pissed you off.

Isa: … I wouldn’t say railing. I’d say a normal amount of righteous complaining.

Jade: How does a normal amount of Isa compare to a normal amount of anyone else?

Anyway, Jade has seen plenty of Isa projects over the years, so surely she would be able to chime in. Isa pulls up their laptop and starts to pull it up, Jade reluctantly trying to escape by claiming she really doesn't have that much time. She just came here because she happened to be in the neighborhood running an errand for the office, and she needed to eat, and she really should get back soon…

But Isa insists, promising it’ll only take a few minutes. And Jade has such good taste and always gives really insightful perspective. It would mean a lot to them to get her feedback. Please? Jade hesitates… then she sighs, agreeing and gesturing for Isa to hand over the earbuds.

Isa smiles, passing them off and letting Jade take control of the laptop.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

The techie ducklings have made progress on their set piece, and it’s… well. It’s something. It’s not bad, and that’s what matters, since this is their first go at the project.

But some folks are having more trouble accepting that than others. Greta and Jake are in a fierce debate about it, Greta insisting that it’s become a total disaster and they’re all going to fail while Jake takes offense at the criticism. It was his vision at the end of the day, so why does Greta get to determine whether it’s good or not. Art is subjective!

Greta: Well, this art needs to be able to actually support actors that step on it, or we’re going to end up with twenty Beans!

She points to the edge of the stage, where Bean is holding a paper towel to his bleeding knee. He seems to have fallen through part of the set when testing its foundations, so now he’s skinned his knees and will probably have a couple bruises to show for it.

Bean: I’m okay. Thanks.

Jake: Well, I personally would love twenty Beans.

Bean: That’s nice. Thanks.

Greta: Ugh, that’s not what I meant, and you know it! Where’s -- TA Friar! TA FRIAR!

Admittedly, TA Friar is not listening. Lucas is back by the prop loft, trying to go through paperwork for the next assignments that Harper and Shawn passed off to him. But he can’t concentrate, and he keeps accidentally dropping pieces of paper which just makes him more frustrated.

Maybe that’s because of how his hands are shaking. They’ve been like this since last night, and he can’t seem to get them to stop. And his nausea hasn’t passed -- if anything, it’s getting worse, which is part of the reason he’s purposefully avoiding the ducklings at the moment. For a second, the words on the page he’s reading start to blur, disorienting him and causing him to shut his eyes.

It’s nothing. He’s fine. It’ll pass. It’ll pass.

Timmy: Mister Lucas, will you please get Greta and Jake to shut up?

Timmy has managed to find him in the shadows, complaining that their arguing is extremely annoying and at this rate, he just wants to tear the whole thing down.

Lucas: Don’t do that.

Timmy: Well, I wasn’t gonna actually do it. Maybe.

Lucas: Just -- just figure it out. I can’t deal with this right now.

Timmy: Isn’t your job… [ looking at him ] Are you okay?

No, Timmy. No he’s not. Lucas brushes him off, but the dismissal is oddly breathless. His voice quavers, and as he starts to walk away from him, his steps are a little uneven. Timmy follows him, uncertain.

Timmy: You seem kinda fucked up.

Lucas: I’m fine. Go back to the set.

Greta has found them now, stomping over, both she and Timmy following Lucas even as he continues to try and get them to leave him alone.

Greta: You need to step in. Jake is being a tyrant --

Timmy: Bug off, Greta. He can’t deal with you right now.

Lucas: Stop fighting. Jesus --

Greta: What the hell does that mean? He’s our teacher.

Timmy: Is that so? I thought he was the teaching assistant.

Greta: Well -- ugh! TA Friar --

Lucas opens his mouth to tell them to both knock it off -- but he winces instead. His whole body has been tense the last week or so, but right now, all the sudden, it hurts. His whole chest feels tight, sharp.

Moments later, his legs buckle, and he stumbles a few steps before he loses his balance and collapses against the stage manager’s podium. Timmy and Greta immediately stop their bickering and react in terror, rushing over to him.

Greta: TA Friar?!

Timmy: Yo, man, what the fuck?

Greta: Oh my God, is he dying?

Lucas: I’m -- don’t -- it’s not --

His protests aren’t very compelling, because they’re barely comprehensible -- his breathing is so shallow, he can barely get the words out between trying to catch his breath. All the color has drained from his face.

Greta: Jake! Jake! Go get Mister Hunter!

Greta pulls out her phone, starting to call 9-1-1. Lucas would protest if he could, but honestly, everything is starting to feel like a blur -- the room feels like it’s spinning, and fading, Timmy’s scared expression coming in and out of focus as he crouches down in front of him.

Jake returns with Shawn and HARLEY KEINER, the latter corralling the freshmen and getting them to give him some space, though Timmy seems especially reluctant to leave him there. Shawn drops down in front of Lucas, grabbing his shoulders and helping him sit up.

Shawn: Easy there. Stay with it, Lucas. We’re getting help.

Lucas, panicked: [ shaking his head ] No. I can’t --

Shawn: Hey, do us both a favor? Shut up. Save your energy ‘cause I’m not hearing it.

Hard to argue with that. And Lucas barely can anyway, since he’s definitely teetering the line of consciousness. Shawn calls over his shoulder for the freshmen to get back to work, and that he’ll be fine, but all of them still watch with uneasy fear.

How else can you react to your teacher -- or teaching assistant -- seemingly having a heart attack right in front of you?

Break 3.

INT. JACK’S APARTMENT - DAY

Jack might already be growing a bit bored, restlessly pacing his apartment as he reads through mail and the paper -- he can’t seem to make his mind up about which to focus on. But his attention is grabbed by a headline that comes up on the local news he’s got on mute on the TV. He reaches for the remote and unmutes it, listening carefully as JEFFERSON DAVIS GRAHAM introduces their preferred pick for the upcoming school board race, RYAN CONNELLY (50s). 

Graham: Ryan has a long history working with schools in the district as an independent fundraiser, and he has strong ties in the community across many different groups. We are certain that he will bring his standards of excellence to the board and help us guide our schools in the right direction towards prosperity, achievement, and focus on the right issues and topics for the minds of our children.

So with another shrewd, polished-looking white guy from the corporate sector, their nominee for the spot is basically exactly what you’d expect. Jack isn’t surprised, but he has to admit he’s more bothered than he thought he might be. Like, they’re really not even going to try and hide their conservative agenda…

Jack is already frowning when his phone rings, so it doesn’t take much for that worry to deepen when he picks up and hears Shawn on the other end.

Jack: He’s where?

INT. NYU - THEATER CLASSROOM - DAY

Riley’s phone buzzes from where it’s laying facedown on her backpack. But she doesn’t hear it -- she’s halfway across the room, immersed in scene work with Evan. They’re taking somewhat of a mini-break, though, each sprawled comfortably across a handful of chairs and memorizing their lines. Well, they’re supposed to be doing that, but mainly they’re just chatting while Evan works his way through a bag of Cheez-Its. He offers some to Riley, which she happily accepts, collecting a pool in her hand.

Evan: What’s the one food you couldn’t live without?

Riley: Oh, God. That’s an impossible question.

Evan: No it’s not. It’s easy.

Riley: It’s easy? Okay then, hot shot, you tell me your answer.

Evan: With pleasure. Chicken nuggets.

Riley bursts out laughing. Evan continues, undeterred, but his smile brightens at having made her laugh.

Evan: Specifically, the chicken nuggets from Clucks, the food spot three streets down from my house. Best restaurant in Brooklyn -- no, best in New York. Straight up.

Riley: Very specific. I admire your attention to detail.

Evan: I’ve had that chicken my entire life, it’s basically built into my cognitive function. And come on, you can’t act like chicken nuggets aren’t a good answer. We can act like we outgrow them all we want, but that’s a lie. They’re classic. They never go out of style.

Touché. Riley concedes, nodding. So Evan puts it back to her again -- the food she can’t live without? She tilts her head back, humming as she thinks about it.

Riley: Okay. There’s this bakery in lower Manhattan that makes the best breakfast pastries. Particularly their blueberry scones -- and I’m not really much of a scone girl, but oh my God, these are Heaven. My mom took me there for the first time when I was like, four, and we were having this girls day. I have been obsessed ever since. 

Evan: See? Childhood imprints, they never lose.

Riley: And I guess it’s kind of a special treat, too, since it’s not a super convenient place from where I grew up in Greenwich. Like, it’s a trip to go get it. But yeah… it would be sad to never get another one of those scones. I guess, for now, that’s my answer. Although now I am very curious about this almighty chicken nugget.

Evan: Oh, and you should be. I’m a one-man marketing team. [ off her chuckle ] You’ll have to try it sometime. [ a beat ] You know what, why don’t we make it a plan? After we perform this showstopping scene, we’ll roll up to Clucks and you can determine its excellence for yourself. My treat.

That does sound fun… but Riley hesitates. She claims she would have to check her schedule, just to make sure she doesn’t have anything else going on… but on the other hand, isn’t this what college is supposed to be about? Fun, random outings, trying new things? Lucas told her he wants to focus on what’s going on here; Eric told her she should be embracing the new. Why shouldn’t she make plans without having to check with everyone else on Earth first?

Riley: Actually, I should be good. Let’s do it.

Evan: You sure?

Riley: Yeah. I mean, I still want to check my schedule, but I’m mentally penciling it in. [ off his beam ] Is it cool if I invite Nigel? He’ll be coming with us from class, so it would be fun to have him come along.

Evan: Absolutely. Nigel seems chill. And I’m more than happy to spread the Clucks gospel to all who will listen. Invite all of Adams if you please.

Riley giggles, shaking her head and popping a Cheez-It in her mouth. Honestly, it feels good to be making plans, making friends… to feel, for the first time in a while, like she’s just another typical college kid.

Her phone buzzes again as she and Evan shift back into scene work, remaining unanswered.

INT. CHEY APARTMENT - NIGEL’S BEDROOM - DAY

Having nearly finished a draft of his play -- way early -- Nigel is left with little to do, so he’s taking refuge in the safest place he knows: Shakespeare. He’s flipping through one of his limited edition copies of Richard III, annotating in the margins.

LEONA CHEY passes by his room as she’s heading out… then doubles back, poking her head in and taking a look at the sorry scene. She scoffs, asking if his plan is literally to sit there and read his stupid plays for the hundredth time.

Leona: I know it’s not a fair fight since I’m indisputably cooler, but I don’t think your younger sister is supposed to be busier than you. Seriously, do you even have a social life?

Nigel: You know, I don’t remember when I asked for your opinion… oh, that’s right. I didn’t.

Leona: I’m just saying, I go out more times in a day than you go out in a month. And I’m the one who still has a curfew. Don’t you have friends? Did Jade already break up with you?

Nigel: If you’ve got somewhere to be, then go be there.

Leona rolls her eyes, claiming he’s going to make her a nerd by association. Nigel remains aloof until she’s gone, but once he’s alone again, insecurity trickles into his expression. Leona doesn't have to verbalize his inner thoughts so loud like that.

He checks his phone -- no new notifications. Everyone is either working, or rehearsing, or thriving. Effortlessly socializing and making new connections in a way he just cannot seem to figure out.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Location” as performed by Khalid || Performed by Nigel Chey

Nigel starts the song from where he’s listlessly laying on his bed, tossing his phone away and falling back against the mattress. He sings blankly towards the ceiling, Richard III resting on his stomach, the camera easing in closer to his empty expression…

INT. NYU - THEATER CLASSROOM - DAY

And then out from it again, only he’s laying in a new location now. He’s stretched across three assembled chairs in the middle of his theater classroom, his two scene partners carrying on their scene without paying him any attention. He’s the third wheel, so it’s not like they really need to anyway -- other peers (including Riley and Evan) work through their assignments as well, everyone in strong, active motion. All except him, stuck in passive mode while the world moves on around him.

INT. SOAP OPERA SET - DAY

The other concept in this performance takes on the imaginary format of one of those ridiculous soap operas his grandmother was criticizing, the ones Nigel has had way too much exposure to thanks to being around in the middle of the day. It’s in black-and-white to set it apart, Nigel and Jade both dressed like 90s daytime soap stars in a plain living room set.

Through Khalid lyrics, soap Nigel attempts to appeal to Jade, working to get her attention while she seemingly is too preoccupied with other things to give him the time of day. Although it’s stylistically over the top and over-acted, as daytime soaps are, the subtle desperation in Nigel’s delivery bleeds through.

Let's focus on communicating 'Cause I just need the time and place to come through

INT. NYU - THEATER CLASSROOM - DAY

Back in theater class, Nigel has sat up, but the arrangement has changed -- now, his two scene partners who aren’t including him are Riley and Jade. He tries to break into the scene, interject into the action, but it’s like he’s been blocked out. The two of them carry on happily without him, as if he’s not even there.

INT. SOAP OPERA SET - DAY

As the performance builds to the end, the scenery of the imaginary soap changes too. A party is ongoing at the fictional Jade and Nigel apartment, all of the usual players present -- Riley, Jade, Yindra, Zay, Isa. Even though he’s supposedly a part of this shindig, they continue to laugh, chatter, and engage as if Nigel isn’t even there.

So he grows more overwrought to compensate, leaning more dramatically into the lyrics even with the rather even cadence of Khalid’s music. As the performance comes to an end, we cut back and forth between the soap and the classroom…

Until Nigel takes it too far. As the song devolves more into riffing and instrumental, his partygoers turn on him, growing tired of his whining. Isa is the first to dip, then Yindra. Zay follows, Riley not far behind, all of them leaving without so much as a goodbye. Nigel falls to his knees, silently imploring for them not to go. Jade comes around to face him and tilts his chin up, giving him a sympathetic look. For a moment, it seems as though she’s going to kiss him…

But she leaves him hanging. Instead, she lightly nudges him away, enough to, in his weak state, send him falling onto his backside. Then she follows the others out the door, blowing him a kiss and closing the soap set door behind her.

Nigel stares at where she left, now alone in this greyed-out fictional nightmare. He collapses onto his back and stares listlessly up at the ceiling, mirroring how he started the performance in the real world.

INT. NYCA - LIBRARY - DAY

The quiet carries into the next scene, less oppressive in the setting of a library. Since he can’t obsessively rehearse, Zay decides he may as well focus on the other stuff he’s supposed to be doing in school. But academia is his least favorite thing, and so hard to stay committed to, so he’s succumbed to scrolling through social media instead -- something he usually doesn’t have time for when he can lose himself in choreography.

And right now, it’s not helping. He’s only a few scrolls into his TikTok FYP when he stumbles upon a post from Gia’s account -- which must be boosted thanks to algorithms, because he’s definitely not following her -- where she’s showing off in an oh-so-casual workout video. Girl knows how to build a platform, but that’s not what Zay is focused on. He’s much more concerned with how good she looks at the routine, the one he’s supposed to be rehearsing non-stop this week too. She’s confident, precise, playful in her movements.

And she can move, period. There’s no slumbering injury holding her back, seemingly not one knot in her toned dancer body.

He’s going to fall behind. There’s only two transfer slots open to him; he can’t afford to slack off and let them slip out of his grasp. Sure, it’s a risk, but if the alternative is losing his shot…

His phone buzzes with an incoming text, the banner appearing over Gia’s looping video. Zay clicks it, taking it back to his messages with Charlie. He’s sent another link to a muscle care routine, this one specifically for calves and tendons.

“Not nagging, I promise!! Just remembered this other article I thought might be helpful. I very much recommend #4, it’s really effective on muscle strain.”

For once, Charlie might have perfect timing. He’s successfully distracted Zay from the pressure spiral, giving him the second to actually think. Rushing to the studio is not the right idea. He just needs to keep his head on straight.

His phone buzzes again.

“At the very least, don’t risk it all before I come back and get the chance to see Zay Babineaux dance one last time. Selfish, but grant me that pity. Please.”

“If you want to talk about anything, just call.”

The frown has melted from Zay’s features, replaced with a delicate smile. He considers how to answer, and even considers taking him up on that offer and hitting the call button…

But he’s distracted. He looks up when an increasingly familiar voice quietly speaks to the masters student stacking the shelves, asking about where to find a specific reference book for a course. Vanessa thanks them and starts to head in that direction, turning and locking eyes with Zay.

It’s weird, seeing each other out in the wild like this. In the studio, on their turf, they know what they’re doing. They know what they’re all about. Here, in the library like supposedly normal students going about their business, it feels strangely different.

Still, the competitive edge doesn’t take a day off. Zay adjusts subtly to make sure his bandaged leg is concealed under the table so she can’t see.

Neither of them speak as she approaches, the shelf she intends to search naturally is the one just a few steps away from where he’s seated. They acknowledge one another with the held eye contact, but don’t do much more than that, Vanessa pushing her hair behind her ear and turning away to the shelf. While she’s not looking, Zay takes the opportunity to really examine her, less guarded than when they’re facing off in the Turner studios.

Vanessa: Didn’t see you this morning.

Zay: Huh?

Vanessa: In the studio. You weren’t there taking up the entire space with your big head. [ a beat ] Giving up already?

Oh, so you noticed that, did you Vanessa? Just casually… Zay rolls his eyes.

Zay: Likely. If anything, if you’re as wise as you think you are, my absence should keep you on your toes. Don’t need to put in the extra practice every morning if I’ve already got things on lock.

Nice save, Zayby. Vanessa’s turn to roll her eyes, but to be honest, the usual fire that charges their interactions when they’re on the dance floor has lost some of its heat in the quiet of the library.

Vanessa: Sorry, my bad. I suppose I just assumed you’d never miss the chance to show everyone else how much harder than them you’re working.

Zay: Don’t need to. It goes without saying. And unlike some people, I don’t need to broadcast it all over social media to make the point.

At this, Vanessa actually looks at him. She glances over her shoulder at him, cautiously, taking the bait.

Vanessa: … you see Gia’s TikTok?

Zay: How could I not? She must’ve paid to promote it specifically to the Turner transfer community with how fast it showed up. Psychological warfare or some shit.

Miraculously, Vanessa laughs. Then she realizes she did and grows bashful, for like a split second, but it’s enough of a glimmer of humanity to earn a tentative smile from Zay. Vanessa looks away again and clears her throat.

Vanessa: It’s cheap is what it is. If she wants to be like, Addison Rae or whatever, that’s fine, but she can do that anywhere. I’m trying to do this for real, so it’d be great if she’d get out of my way and not waste my time.

Zay: I’d say I agree, but would be easier to write her off if she didn’t look competent while gloating all over social media.

Vanessa: Posing pretty for the internet doesn’t mean shit. Anyone can take a thousand photos or record a dozen takes until they find the perfect one. What matters is how you show up in the moment. I’m not slipping; I don’t need it on video to prove it.

Okay, now Zay has agreed with her more than once, which feels unsettling and not right. And yet… kind of validating, too. It’s nice to hear someone else echo his perspective rather than just replay it over and over in his own head.

Would be nicer if that someone else wasn’t his most direct competition, a fact Vanessa suddenly seems to remember after she steals her turn to look him over in the neutral zone of the library. She bundles the book she came for in her arms and turns up her nose, defenses back up.

Vanessa: Don’t slack, Babineaux. Your laurels aren’t going to hold you up forever.

Zay: That’s some advice. Shouldn’t you be telling me the opposite? You want actual competition to get out your way.

Vanessa: I want fake bitches to stop wasting my time. You, I need. When I make it into the program, I don’t want it to have been a cake walk. That’s not a victory. I’m earning it, and I play to win -- so I need someone to actually beat. Don’t chicken out.

Zay: Wow. How sweet.

Vanessa: What can I say? You play the role of loser so well.

It’s honestly quite unclear what the tone of their conversation -- and dynamic -- is at this point. Vanessa clearly intends to crush him, there’s no doubt about that, but… it kind of sounds like she means it when she says she needs him there? Perhaps wants would be a more fitting word…

Regardless, the game is still on. Vanessa makes her exit, Zay watching her go and knowing damn well her threats to beat him are not just a tease. The competition is real, online and in-person, and here he is debating whether or not to sit a week out. He groans, hiding his head in his hands.

What the hell is he going to do?

INT. CHUBBIES - DAY

Jade is intently watching Isa’s project, earbuds in, while Isa impatiently sits across from her and watches her watch. Finally, the short film concludes, and Jade removes the headphones. For a long moment, she says nothing, nodding lightly and processing what she just watched.

Somehow, the non-reaction is worse than an outright dismissal. Isa stares, practically crushing an unopened sugar packet in their fingers.

Isa: Well? What did you think?

Jade: It was good. Well-made, interesting. I thought it was fine.

Isa: … that’s it? That’s all you have to say?

Jade shrugs -- what do they want from her? Isa prods further, insisting there must be more to say. Jade is one of the most thoughtful people they know, and they know she has opinions. They saw that little crinkle between her eyebrows that she gets when she’s thinking hard while she was watching.

Jade: I have a what?

Isa: Come on, Jade, seriously. We went to school together for four years and gave each other notes all the time. I just want your honest feedback. What did you think?

Based on their tone, they really mean it. Jade sighs, nodding and holding up a hand so she can have another few seconds to gather her thoughts. Isa holds their breath.

Jade: I mean, it was good. Like, objectively, this is a good short. You’re in film school at NYU, so that’s not really surprising.

Isa: Right. Thank you.

Jade: But… I don’t know. It wasn’t your best.

Uh-oh. Isa frowns, asking what makes Jade say that. This is one of the best shorts they’ve ever shot technically, especially with the new camera equipment they bought before the semester started. Jade nods, acknowledging that, but she comments that beneath the shiny cinematography, it didn’t really feel like it was like… about anything. She wasn’t sure what Isa was trying to say -- not that every piece of film needs to have a capital-P point, but even narratively the story felt lost.

Essentially, without even knowing it, Jade goes on to list out basically every single note that Bennet gave in his initial grading. Worded differently, but the same gist. Isa’s expression grows grimmer the more Jade goes on, until finally they frown and drop their head onto their palms.

Isa: Oh, fuck…

Jade: I’m sorry if that was harsh. You wanted to know what I thought.

Isa: No, no. No, it’s not you. Seriously, I appreciate you telling me the truth. I just… [ with a groan ] I’ve gotten myself into a pretty pickle.

Jade: Nice Dylan-ism. You miss him?

Isa: More and more every day, unfortunately. Caring about people is so tiring. Exhausting. Draining.

Jade: Thesaurus bonus.

Isa: Thank you so much. [ blowing air out through their lips ] Okay, I guess like, can you explain in a nutshell what you thought was wrong with it? I mean, you said a bunch of stuff, but if you had to hone in on one thing. I’m not sure where to even begin to fix it -- everyone else said nothing but good stuff about it.

Jade: Who did you ask?

Isa: Most of the usual people. You know, Eric, Riley, Dylan. Lucas refused to watch it, because he’s a dick. Nigel --

Jade: Oh, babe. You should never ask Nigel for feedback.

Isa: Why not? He’s intelligent and has good taste.

Jade: I completely agree, but he’s also a horrible critic. He hates confrontation. I once listened to him complain about a local production of Hamlet we saw because his friend from Shakespeare camp was in it, I mean really tear into it, just for him to wholeheartedly assure said friend it was like the best show he’d ever seen when we met them afterwards in the lobby. It’s not his fault, it’s like a compulsion. But yeah, you should never take his notes at face value.

Well damn, that would’ve been helpful to know a week ago!

Jade: I don’t see why this is hitting you so hard now. You were never weird about taking criticism at Adams.

Isa: Yeah… yeah, I don’t know either. I guess that’s kind of part of the problem.

Jade: Super weird. I mean, you chose to be friends with Farkle and Maya, who have to critique everything or they’ll explode. It’s amazing you were a super trio if this amount of criticism now makes you all twitchy.

Oh… oh. Something about that hits Isa right in the chest. Of course this experience isn’t going to be like the others -- they always ask their friends for notes, but their friends have shifted since the last time they were looking for feedback. Now, their biggest sources of friendly fire are gone… and they’ve been replaced by yes-folks who rang praises in their ear instead.

It’s like no matter what they do, remnants of the friendships they lost resurface at the strangest of times.

Anyway, Jade answers their actual question, arriving at the conclusion that the reason the film felt off was because it didn’t really feel like Isa. Usually, the films and projects they make, Jade can tell in an instant that their fingerprints are all over it. It’s not always the most polished piece or most impressively made, but their storytelling and approach and themes are interesting. They’re unique, and fresh, and make them the creator they are. This didn’t have any of that. Sure, it looked pretty, “aesthetically strong” one might say, but it just felt like any film student could’ve made it.

Conforming does nothing when it makes you lose your creative spark. The best thing Isa could do, in Jade’s opinion, is continue to tell the stories that mean something to them.

EXT. NYU - CAMPUS - DAY

Riley emerges from the theater building, energized with a smile on her face as she heads out of rehearsal. She’s feeling good about it, and that good mood is visible on her face as she heads towards her next class of the day.

That is, until she checks her phone. The smile is wiped from her face when she catches up on her texts, finding more than one missed call and many bulletins from Eric and Shawn about Lucas’s episode in the auditorium. When she reads that he was sent to the hospital, she freaks, dialing Eric’s number.

When he answers, she immediately launches into frantic questions -- is he okay? Is he going to be okay? Why did he have to go to the hospital? Is he still there? Eric tries to talk her down, admitting he doesn’t have all the answers but as far as he knows, Lucas will be fine. Sending him to urgent care was more of a precaution than anything else, based on his symptoms.

Eric: Any time someone in the building is showing signs similar to heart failure, it’s our responsibility to --

Riley: Heart failure?!

She tunes out for a day, and look what happens. Eric backtracks, rushing to remind her that he said precaution. Lucas is an objectively healthy barely-20 young man, the odds of him having a heart attack are practically nil. And more importantly, he is getting care, which is what matters. Eric didn’t mean to frighten her, he just wanted to keep her in the loop.

Riley takes a deep breath, nodding and closing her eyes. Trying to let her uncle’s soothing skills calm her, to stop the racing of her own heart. At least to clear her head enough to problem-solve what she’s supposed to do next.

Riley: Okay, well, um -- I mean, should I go meet him? I have a test in my next class, but I can email in sick --

Eric: No, Riley, I wouldn’t suggest you do that. Lucas is fine, and I don’t think he would want you to set aside your stuff to rush to him either. I know you know that, too.

She does. But what, is she supposed to focus on her stupid Gen-Ed exam when all she’s going to be worrying about is him?

Apparently, yes. That’s exactly what she should do. Eric promises her if there’s any emergency developments, he will call her even during her test, but she shouldn’t worry. They were able to get him help, and he’s not going to be alone. Someone else is headed to the hospital to pick him up as they speak.

INT. HOSPITAL - URGENT CARE ROOM - DAY

Lucas is pacing the confined room, unable to sit still on the cot. He seems to be in better shape than he was at school, slowly sipping his way through a styrofoam cup of water, but he’s still noticeably paler than usual. His exhaustion looks starker now under the bright lighting of the hospital.

He straightens up when the NURSE returns, letting him know he’s cleared for discharge. She reiterates what they apparently discussed earlier -- that while his EKG was normal and his heart is in good shape, what he was experiencing were acute physical manifestations of anxiety, compounding into a full-blown panic attack that yes, often mimics the sensations of heart failure. She emphasizes that his blood pressure was elevated as well, and that it is her strong recommendation that he seek additional mental health services. Whatever stressors may be causing his heightened levels of anxiety, he should work immediately to mitigate those factors for his overall health.

Yeah, that basically goes in one ear and out the other. Lucas is focused on a more immediate concern, nervously insisting that he shouldn’t be there and he didn’t ask for the consult.

Lucas: I appreciate it, or whatever, but I didn’t want it. I don’t think I should be charged for it.

Nurse: That’s not exactly how it works.

Lucas: I don’t care how it works. I’m saying -- I didn’t want this. I can’t afford to pay it.

Nurse: You don’t have to worry about that. Your bill was paid upfront.

Lucas, confused: What? That’s not -- by who?

Nurse: Your father? He settled it when he arrived to pick you up.

Shit. Any subtle color Lucas was getting back is gone again. The nurse states he’s good to go, and that she’ll let his dad know he’s okay to come back and meet him.

Lucas tries to stop her, to tell her otherwise, to let him escape before Kenneth can get back here -- but the protests die in his throat and she’s gone. He crunches the styrofoam in his hand, only realizing he’s done it when water begins to leak out. He curses and drops the cup into the trash can, wiping his shaking hands on his jeans. He might just pass out again.

Nurse, off-screen: He’s just in that room there. Yep, you’re good to go.

Here it comes. Lucas takes a deep breath, facing the doorway and bracing himself.

Only there’s no Kenneth. 

Instead, it’s Jack who appears in the doorway, giving Lucas a knowing look and leaning against the doorframe. He raises his eyebrows.

It’s an unbelievable relief. Lucas exhales, sheepishly meeting his eyes.

INT. PERFORMING DINER - DAY

Yindra is in the middle of another shift, just finishing up with a table of elderly patrons. She takes their check and cash tip and heads back towards the hall to the break room, counting out the tip to herself.

Not terrible -- but not a jackpot either. It’s always hit or miss with older folks. She sighs, pocketing most of the tip and dropping a bill in the jar for the cooks.

What she needs is some richer patrons… and just her luck, a couple are heading in right now. She glances around the corner towards the front entrance as the bell jingles to signal a new customer, eyes widening in surprise when she sees who has arrived.

Farkle and Charlie. Out of all the eateries to try in Los Angeles, out of all the places they could’ve possibly gone in the window of time that Yindra’s in uniform, of course they end up here. They’re holding easy conversation while they hover in the entrance, the hostess podium empty considering Yindra is hiding back in the hall.

And hiding is the key word. For someone who is seeing a couple of her former peers for the first time in months, Yindra looks like she’s facing certain death.

Yindra: Oh, shit --

She ducks out of view and sneaks her way into the kitchen, weaving around the cooks who ask her what the hell she’s doing back there. She apologizes in a whisper and keeps bopping her head above the commotion to see if they’re still there.

Yindra: Leave. Leave. Oh my God, leave --

YOLANDA spots Yindra’s shenanigans from where she’s restocking napkin dispensers at the counter, raising her eyebrows.

Yolanda: Girl, what in God’s name are you doing?

Manager, off-screen: Yindra!

Yindra jumps, wheeling around to face their burly and very unimpressed manager, ANDRÉS. He’s kind of a Los Angeles equivalent of Joe, a jolly Latino with a dedicated work ethic and good rapport with his employees but with a short fuse for nonsense.

Andrés: What are you doing? We’ve got customers waiting, and someone’s gotta greet ‘em.

Yindra, innocently: I’d rather not.

Cute as her smile is, it’s not gonna work. The manager cocks his head, giving her a look. Really?

Andrés: And I’d rather not have employees who talk back on the clock. Hell, I’d rather be running a restaurant in the luxurious streets of Spain or Italy than this grease-stained corner of Burbank, but I guess we’re both outta luck, huh?

Point taken. Yindra scurries out of the kitchen, hovering out of view for just a few more seconds while she pulls herself together. She just has to seat them. She can get Yolanda to wait on them and just hide out in the bathroom any time a music cue comes on. She can get through five minutes.

Hiding in humiliation from Farkle Minkus and Charlie Gardner of all people -- man, how the mighty have fallen. Yindra takes a deep breath and steels herself for the inevitable, coming out of the shadows and heading towards the hostess podium.

As expected, it takes almost no time for them to recognize her. Both Farkle and Charlie brighten when they realize it’s her walking towards them, the latter’s jaw dropping open. What a great surprise! Yindra manages a smile as she greets them, and accepts a warm embrace from Charlie. Maybe that’s not so bad…

Charlie: What are the odds? I had no idea you worked here.

Yindra: [ only half-joking ] Mm, well-kept government secret.

Farkle: So crazy. They say this town is small, but I feel like I haven’t seen you since you moved. Suppose it was only a matter of time.

Yes, that was intentional, Farkle. Anyway, they’ve found her now, so moving on. As she grabs menus and goes to seat them, Yindra asks Charlie what he’s doing in town and how long he’s here -- she didn’t realize he was coming through the west coast. He gives her the short version that he gave Farkle and Maya, how he’s going to be in and out for the next few weeks, but he’s really glad they stumbled in here on a whim.

Charlie: Seriously, we were debating like three or four places to go. But I’d had this one on my shortlist for a bit when I was researching, so I thought why not?

Farkle: East Side upbringing doesn’t make you immune to gimmick, clearly.

Charlie: Life is meant to be enjoyed with a healthy amount of gimmick. And you can never, ever go wrong with diner food.

Farkle: Says the dancer with the perfect body. I hate you, Charlie Gardner.

Yindra is so disarmed by their friendly banter -- and the familiarity of it, like being back in the black box -- she forgets for a second that she’s supposed to be booking it. She only remembers when Charlie brings the conversation back around to her.

Charlie: But like I said, best part of the place is something we didn’t even know was here. [ eagerly ] How is everything going with you? You’ve already been out here for a whole season, right, I mean, how is that going? I want to hear all about it.

Farkle: Yeah, I’d be interested as well. We can compare notes.

Yindra: Oh, well, I’d love to, but I’ve really got to get back to the kitchen --

Her excuse is cut-short by a ringing on the opposite wall by the counter; a sound that sends dread through Yindra’s expression. All of them look towards the bell.

In an instant, the mode of the diner works shifts. The fry cook leans through the pass-through to the kitchen and loudly plays the triangle hanging there, calling the wait staff to attention. They all know what that means!

Yindra: God, please no…

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Candyman” as performed by Glee Cast || Performed by Yindra Amino (& the Performing Diner Wait Staff)

This is a performing diner, isn’t it?! That bell means there’s been a performance request, and the time has come to deliver one for this hour. And of course, the one that comes on over the sound system is one of their cheesiest selections -- an exaggerated, 50’s doo-wop version of Christina Aguliera’s “Candyman.” The Glee version does a good job of approximating what that might sound like.

It’s one of the ten or so routines each of them know by rote, but when this rendition kicks off, Yindra is frozen in place at first. The other waiters, waitresses, and hosts jump right into it, starting to sing along and doing the choreography from where they are, but she can’t bring herself to move when she’s standing right in front of her former classmates -- keen as the two of them might look. It takes Andrés making a lap and basically nudging Yindra into steps that snaps her out of it, Charlie and Farkle nodding and clapping her along.

Well, too late now. Yindra relents and joins fully into the performance as she’s getting paid to do, joining the other waitresses on select table tops and positions around the diner as they run through the cheeky lyrics and bubbly choreography.

And considering this staff is populated by wannabe stars, it is a good performance. Yolanda is impressively strong on vocals, doing most of the major vocal runs, but Yindra harmonizes with her well. It’s a lot of fun, and if you lean into the shtick and don’t take it too seriously, it’s a damn good time -- a bit less so if you look as subtly embarrassed as Yindra does through her practiced show smile.

The diner patrons don’t notice, though, and groove along as they always do -- especially Farkle and Charlie. Aside from a couple of shots that show them reacting in amusement to some of the truly silly suggestive lyrics (like okay, yeah, it’s a little cringey), they’re genuinely enjoying the performance and wholeheartedly supportive of Yindra. In fact, if he’s not careful, Charlie might very well jump up and join her. What can he say, Farkle’s right, he’s a dancer in his bones! You just don’t get unapologetically campy art like this the way they do it in the States!

The wait staff brings it home with their usual practiced flourish, finishing in the back around and on the counter in formation and throwing their arms up. The diner bursts into whistles and applause, Charlie and Farkle going as far as to teasingly give Yindra a standing ovation.

Lovely… she keeps her smile plastered on, but she may just want to evaporate a little.

INT. RESTAURANT - DAY

Lucas is seated at a table in the back of a cozy local restaurant, still not looking too great but at least no longer pale and shaky. He’s got a plate of food in front of him, but it doesn’t look like it’s been touched. Honestly, he looks like he’d rather be sleeping.

He jumps slightly when a kid shrieks behind him -- but it’s out of joy, not fear. The little boy, who can’t be older than three, happily toddles past his table like he’s in a race, his father chasing after him and scooping him up moments later. Another woman, presumably the mother, laughs and calls after them as she follows behind, playfully shushing them as they make their exit.

Lucas is only pulled out of his fugue watching the family depart when Jack returns to their table, sliding into the chair opposite him. Given he had to rush out of his apartment, he wasn’t exactly prepared for an afternoon out. He starts to take stock of what’s on his plate and then eyes Lucas’s untouched one, giving him a look.

Jack: Eat.

Lucas: I’m not hungry.

Jack: Yes you are.

Lucas: I’m not. I feel like I’m going to throw up.

Jack: I’m sure you do. And you know why? It’s called “low blood sugar.” [ insistent ] Eat. It will make you feel better.

Lucas: And if you’re wrong?

Jack: You have permission to vomit all over me. And I’ll throw in fifty bucks for some spice.

Pretty confident offer, then… Lucas hesitantly picks up his fork, taking a bite. And lo and behold, when he starts, he suddenly realizes how hungry he actually is. Jack lets him eat for a bit by carrying on the conversation, lightly describing his travels on his vacation. From the sound of it, he really did have a good time. Lord knows he deserved the time to recharge.

Lucas: And now you’ve got this to deal with. Welcome back.

Jack: I don’t mind. It’s good to be home. And I’m glad we’re finally sitting down to chat, though I must admit, I wish it was under better circumstances. I figured you would’ve reached out already.

Lucas averts his eyes, sheepishly poking at what’s left on his plate. Jack gently treads conversational ground, asking Lucas how things have been going since he left. New job at Adams, everyone else starting school. Must be a lot going on. Lucas shrugs.

Lucas: It’s chill. I’m whatever. Joe said he might promote me to assistant manager, but I think he mainly just said that so I’d stop complaining about working the counter. But clearly I’ve got a bright career as a diner administrator in my future so. Life couldn’t be better.

His sarcasm would be sharper if he wasn’t also trying to genuinely pass off like everything is peachy. Jack leans back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. Not buying it. He heard his voicemail. Does he want to try again? Lucas holds his glare until it becomes too difficult, huffing and looking down at the table.

Jack waits patiently, knowing he just needs to give him time. All those conversations across the principal’s desk weren’t for nothing…

Lucas: I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s not like anything’s changed. Things were mediocre before, and they’re mediocre now. It’s just like all of a sudden, my body has decided it’s had enough and is rebelling from the inside. Which like, sure, okay, I guess I get it. If I were stuck in this shitshow with no choice, I’d want to end it all too.

Jack: If I weren’t already, I’d flag that comment as concern-worthy.

Lucas: [ shifting uncomfortably ] I’m not saying like -- I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not -- this isn’t Farkle Minkus. Or whatever. [ a beat ] I just mean like… [ with a scoff ] how else am I supposed to react to my body literally breaking down for no reason?

Jack: I think starting by acknowledging that it isn’t for no reason. I know the doctor told you about anxiety, about your body’s response to stress. You’re experiencing panic responses, which is a totally normal human --

Lucas: But that’s what I’m saying. I don’t get it. I don’t get -- it’s not like I haven��t been dealing with this shit my entire life. Why is it that now, out of the blue, it’s a problem worth going to the fucking hospital?

Jack: Lucas. You can’t seriously believe that nothing is different. You really can’t think of even one reason why this situation might be tougher now than it was before?

Lucas shrugs, defensive. He tries not to think about his life, period, so. Jack cautiously addresses the elephant in the room.

Jack: Illness… it changes the order of things. He’s not out as often as he used to be. You’re around more because Grace needs help. Remarkably, the three of you managed a good long while maintaining this status quo where all of you knew the score, and took routes to avoid it as much as possible, but that’s not an option anymore. Your worlds are colliding again, and you don’t have as much room to run. You used to be really good at finding escape -- you’re past that now, but your circumstances weren’t the reason for that shift. In fact, they’ve only become more prevalent in the meantime. Suddenly having to adjust to that, to being around… that’s stressful, Lucas. That’s going to take a toll on you, whether you realize it or not.

And his greatest escape plan yet, getting to go three-thousand miles away, was ripped away from him by the very thing he’s trying to avoid. That leaves an impact. Lucas doesn’t comment, but he doesn’t argue either -- mostly because his eyes are glassy, and he’s not sure what might come out if he opens his mouth. Jack softens his tone.

Jack: When you called me, you said that you felt stuck. Like the rest of the world was moving on, and you were stuck in the same place. Feeling trapped is about the most panic-inducing response known to any living creature -- figure you should know that, as a wannabe vet. And even if most of your peers didn’t go anywhere, physically, things have still changed. They have new priorities now, different social spheres, and the balance of your circle has shifted. That’s a contributing factor, certainly, including me.

Lucas: Don’t -- no. You’re not -- [ struggling to find the words ] I don’t want you to feel bad because you took a well-earned vacation and my body just decided to explode in the meantime.

Jack: I don’t feel that way, so you can relax. I think not conflating people caring for you as you impeding upon their well-being is one good place to start. I’m sure if Riley were here, she would likely strongly agree.

Yeah… well. Lucas clears his throat, not able to argue that.

Jack: You’ve been knocked down, and now you’re lost. It’s okay to feel that way. What isn’t doing anyone any good is acting like you feel nothing -- that’s how you end up with overblown panic responses. You can’t create solutions if you won’t even acknowledge the problems exist.

Lucas processes that… then finally nods in agreement. With that, Jack smiles.

Jack: So. What we need to do now, then, is build a new game plan. Tackle the things we can, learn how to cope with the things we can’t. I obviously can’t lay everything out for you -- only you can make most of these decisions -- but I’m happy to help where I can.

The first thing, he insists, is getting Lucas out of Adams. As nice as Eric and Shawn’s offer of employment was, it’s not helping Lucas in any tangible way. It’s not helping him learn something new or building on anything he cares about, and it certainly can’t be helping with the feeling of being stuck. He doesn’t have to disappear fully if he does enjoy the work, but it shouldn’t be his main reprieve away from home. There are better, more interesting options for employment to have during a gap year, and Jack has a few ideas up his sleeve already.

Jack: You’re not trapped, Lucas. We just need to restrategize. Your path doesn’t have to be the dead end you think it is.

It’s hard to tell what is really comforting Lucas: the promise that maybe everything isn’t destined to stay frozen, or the fact that Jack is back and sitting there across the table to reassure him of it. He manages a weak smile, nodding and trying to believe it.

INT. PERFORMING DINER - DAY

Yindra emerges from the employee break room, officially done with her shift for the day but still in uniform. She makes her way around the tables and finds Charlie and Farkle at the same table, winding down their meal but still conversing and meandering time away. Charlie waves her over as she’s passing by.

Yindra: Sorry, if you need something, I’m no longer on the clock.

Charlie: Oh, no. No, I just wanted to say bye, if you were leaving.

Yindra: Oh.

Charlie: Actually, I was thinking if you were off, you could sit down and join us. You know, only if you want to.

Yindra: Oh…

Farkle: They might boot us out of here if we hang around too much longer and don’t order anything else. We’ve been camped at this table for a while, and this isn’t Chubbies. You may have to fork over some more cash to avoid diner eviction.

Charlie: That’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make. [ casually glancing at the menu ] I was kind of eyeing that dessert section…

Farkle: Fucking menace with your dancer’s metabolism. Hate you.

Charlie gives him a grin. Yindra admits that their skillet brownie really can’t be beat… but they should in no way feel obligated to buy something just to hang around and talk to her.

Yindra: I mean, really, not a whole lot worth hearing…

Charlie: No, no, it’s no bother at all. Seriously, I want to catch up.

Farkle: And he wants the brownie.

Charlie: I just don’t want to impose on you. Like, I want to hear what’s going on with you, but I know you just worked a whole shift. I don’t want you to feel like you have to hang around and humor us if you’d rather just head home and relax.

Farkle: Humor him, more specifically. [ gathering his things ] I’ve got assignments, so I’ve got to get going either way. But it was great to see you, Yindra. We shouldn’t be such strangers when we’re only a stone’s throw away.

Yindra: Right. Totally…

Farkle, dryly: A class forever, am I right?

Honestly, this fresh out of Adams, it’s hard to know whether that’s true or not. Farkle gives them one more goodbye and tells Yindra to pass on his regards to the rest of the staff, then heads out. As the doorbell jingles, Yindra looks back to Charlie, who gives her a light smile.

It’s been so long since she talked to anyone from home, mainly by choice. What can she possibly say when she’s accomplished nothing? But Charlie alone is a lot less intimidating than with one of the divas. He’s there, if she wants to hang around…

Yindra contemplates, unsure.

EXT. TRENDY CAFE - DAY

Josh is seated at the eclectic garden furniture of one of the trendy local cafes buried in downtown Los Angeles, nursing a coffee and impatiently waiting. He appears aloof on the outside, eyes casually scanning the sidewalks at passersby, but underneath the table, his leg is bouncing a mile a minute.

He checks his watch, then his phone. A handful of minutes past the hour, no new messages.

Perfect. That’s exactly what he wants. Sticking his neck out to meet with Riley’s fresh out of high school friends, getting handed leads by his niece, only for them to stand him up. As if he didn’t already feel pathetic enough these days.

He grits his teeth and starts to type out a new message, ready to rail on about professionalism and timeliness like a middle-aged executive…

Maya: Josh Matthews?

Being addressed startles him out of his angry typing -- and almost makes him spill his coffee again. He lifts his gaze and there’s Maya, strutting down the street in his direction and looking her usual level of glamorous. As unrepped and stuck in the trenches as she might be, no one can deny that Maya is very good at looking like she’s someone to know.

In fact, her delivery is so confident and compelling as she approaches that Josh finds himself getting to his feet to greet her. He only realizes he’s done so when he’s already up, towering like a foot over her, and that seems to put everything back in perspective somewhat. He’s the one with credentials here -- why is he tripping over himself for a nobody?

Still, he’s already up, so may as well follow through. He offers a hand to shake, which Maya takes with a starlet smile.

Josh: That’s me. And you’re Maya.

Maya: The one and only.

Josh: Great. So, shall we -- ?

Maya: Actually, would you mind waiting just one second? I’ve got a tea in there waiting for pick-up. Give me just one moment. Thanks, darling.

Maya moves past him without waiting for a response, confidently cruising into the cafe. Josh stands there for a moment, blinking off the dismissal. As if she wasn’t already late… and she’s really walking with the bravado of someone like Valerie De La Cruz for someone who has exactly zero equal output to support it.

Stay cool. Keep calm. This is just a general meeting. So she’s a little immature -- that’s to be expected. She’s fresh out of school. She’s got talent, and that’s what Josh cares about. If he can mold that into something workable, they can work on the professionalism too.

So he takes a deep breath and settles back into his chair, once again impatiently waiting. Maya returns a few moments later, giving him another big grin as she slides into the chair opposite him with her tea. She pulls off her sunglasses as Josh looks for a way to start the conversation, asking how she’s liking the city so far. It’s not quite like New York.

Maya: Oh, it’s excellent. Such great energy, you know? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love New York, that’ll always be home. But to me, any city with opportunity is a place I want to be. I follow the stars. But yeah, since I’m coming from New York, it’s not all that different pace wise -- I’m sure it’s much more of an experience for you, coming from small-town Pennsylvania and all.

Josh: … well, actually, I’m from Philly --

Maya: Totally. Sure. And I can totally get that vibe from you, that sort of earthy authentic thing. Some of the meetings I’ve been on already, I’ll tell you, it’s like you can spot a native-L.A. hawk from a mile away. You know, they’re all look at my connections, look at my accolades, look at my sheen of L.A. sweat from being born and raised here. Such a fake vibe.

You mean… kind of like you’re coming off right now, Maya? Josh looks for a way to break in, not sure where to interrupt her influencer-trained monologuing.

Maya: I don’t get that vibe from you at all, though. Seriously, so refreshing. At this point, I’m like looking for someone who has little to no shiny credit to their name.

Josh, shortly: And how many of those meetings were you on time for?

Oop. That halts Maya’s steam train a bit. She pauses, searching for the most strategic way to respond.

Maya: Yes, right. So sorry about that. I’m still getting used to accounting for the traffic around here -- can’t just walk it all like you do in Manhattan. And I would’ve left sooner, but I was super wrapped up in a project. You know like, when you get that creative spark, and you’ve just got to get it all down in the moment? So easy to lose track of time.

It’s hard to tell if she’s telling the truth or not… but Josh decides to give her the benefit of the doubt. He does know that feeling, and if it means she at least is creating output, that’s more than he has to work with right now.

Josh: Sure. I can respect that. I just think, you know, if we decide to work together, you’ll want to be more cognizant of stuff like that. Hollywood is a business as much as it’s a producer. We want to make sure we demonstrate professionalism, reliability.

Maya: Of course. Absolutely. If we work together.

Okay… well… Josh doesn’t seem very pleased by her last statement. He’s supposed to be the one hedging and acting like he has the power here. The more they talk, really, the less sure Josh feels about anything.

But talent. He knows she has talent. He saw it for himself on her socials. If they can start there, then maybe they’ll be able to find a better path forward.

Josh: So I checked out your platform. Pretty good presentation for where you’re at.

Maya: Thank you. Oh, did you see the follower count? Just broke another ten-thousand on Instagram -- the numbers tend to hit a bit heavier there than Youtube, but I’m working to balance them out. TikTok is climbing, too, that’s where I show off most of my dancing. Triple threat, naturally.

Josh: For sure. And that’s great. If you want to see those numbers grow, though, you’re going to need more tangible output. Songs to stream, content to follow beyond a good photo and occasional snippet here and there. That’s where I come in.

Maya: Completely. That’s what I like to hear.

Josh: Great. [ pulling out a piece of paper ] So I listened to some of the samples you’ve got on all the platforms, and they’re good. I think there’s plenty to work with. These are some of the thoughts I had, if you want to take a look --

Maya raises her eyebrows, surprised by this. She takes the paper, narrowing her eyes as she skims through his feedback. Josh stammers to fill the silence.

Josh: Like I said, your numbers are good -- great for a fresh break into the industry -- and it’s clear you’ve got ability. People are into your stuff, your whole… thing, and I think we can work with that. There’s just some places I think we should start if we go into partnership, refining your sound and clarifying your objectives. And overall, with the right equipment, really polishing up the quality --

Maya: Who said I needed this?

Josh pauses, surprised she’s pushing back. Maya is frowning at the paper, obviously not thrilled by it. It’s the first serious look she’s gotten from any producer so far, and all he’s got is a bunch of critiques?

Maya: If I wanted a complete overhaul, I would’ve asked for it.

Josh: That’s not -- that’s not what that is. Those are just some initial thoughts, based on what you’ve presented --

Maya: [ reading from the sheet ] “Weak lyrical transition. Basic chord progression.” [ a beat ] “Child-like lyric composition could be beefed up.” I thought you indicated you thought I had talent?

Josh: I do. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have taken the time to analyze your product and draw up suggestions. They’re just off-the-cuff reactions, me jotting down my --

Maya: I didn’t ask for suggestions. I’m looking for someone to take me on and foster my stardom, not tear it down before it even takes flight.

Okay, that escalated quickly. Guess that’s what happens when you’ve got a couple of strong personalities with equally strong passions… Josh shakes his head, thrown by her response.

Josh: I’m sorry, what did you think this was going to be? What do you think a producer or manager does?

Maya: It was my understanding that you’re supposed to help me break in and make it big with what I’ve got. I bring the goods, you broadcast it to the world.

Josh: Okay, sure, but that’s after we build something together. What, did you think I was just going to sing your praises and tell you how pretty you are and then bam, suddenly we’ve made it?

Maya: Well, tens of thousands of people already like what I’m putting out, and that was before your page-long criticisms. Why should I change the formula when it already seems to be working enough for me? I don’t see ten thousand followers giving your musical opinion any more weight I should change my whole approach for.

Josh: Jesus, and how much weight would I need to outweigh the size of your ego?

This is spinning out spectacularly. Maya put her foot in her mouth from the moment she decided to show up late, and they’ve been increasingly dancing in the wrong direction since. At this point, Josh is completely turned off, and Maya is really over puffing in compensation. Enough rejections has put her on offense -- and she might just drive away her actual foot in the door.

Maya: For your information, this “ego” has gotten plenty of places on her own just fine. I’ve done this much, and I don’t need some pretentious 20-something in a beanie telling me how to make my music sell. I’m Maya Hart -- I win on that alone.

Josh: [ with an incredulous laugh ] Oh my fucking God. And how’s that going for you so far? Clearly you’re just dripping with representation.

Maya: And maybe that’s for the better. How many of your clients with your super generous feedback have you sent to the top of the charts, Josh? They rolling in thousands of followers yet?

Ouch. Josh scoffs, lost for words for a moment, before he reaches forward to take his notes back. But Maya pulls them out of his reach, instinctively with admittedly child-like reactivity.

Josh: This is ridiculous. I don’t need to be wasting my time with this.

Maya: You know what, neither do I. [ getting up ] If you can’t see what I have to offer --

Josh: Again, that’s not what I said --

Maya: Then I don’t have to grovel to show you. You can keep your suggestions.

She says, and yet she still doesn’t return the paper. It’s crumbled in her fist as she slings her bag over her shoulder, but she hasn’t let it go. Josh shakes his head again, fully bewildered by the entity that is Maya Penelope Hart.

Josh: I’m amazed Riley thought you were worth sending my way, but then, she always sees the best in people. Maybe more than they deserve.

Maya: The feeling is mutual. I thought she was sending me to someone with actual credit -- now I stand corrected.

Josh: You’re such a brat. And what are you gonna do, Blondie, huh? What exactly do you think is going to happen if you’re pushing through with no support and waiting for someone to give you everything you want without compromise? How far do you think you’re going to get if you won’t even listen to another perspective?

Maya stalls at that, processing the question before she storms off. Yes, what is she going to do -- if she’s not hitting it out of the park on her own, through the usual channels, and isn’t getting the praise she thinks she deserves from everyone else? If she really thinks she deserves blind support, like that’s the way to progress forward, and no one is delivering?

That’s never stopped her before. Maya squares her shoulders, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she turns back to look at him. Her icy blue eyes are fierce with determination.

Maya: Prove them wrong.

With that, she spins on her high heel and makes a grand exit, marching down the street and away from Josh. He stares after her, utterly dumbstruck by her arrogance. Hollywood is sure going to knock her down real hard. He has to believe that it will -- and no talent is worth that attitude.

If only it didn’t mean he was still sitting there alone.

INT. AAA - ATRIUM - DAY

Isa makes their way into Adams long after classes have ended for the day, just Harley mopping up the atrium floor as they enter. The two exchange friendly nods, and Isa heads towards the main office… but then they get distracted, making a detour and walking towards the trophy case instead.

Our focus is drawn not to the Showdown trophy -- though that does look mighty nice, still gleaming and proud in the display -- but the photograph framed above it. A group photo of the A class in their Showdown outfits, taken right after their win in their Jade-designed dazzling costumes and with the trophy in hand. In fact, senior year Isa is nearly front and center, just to the right of Farkle who stands in the middle holding the prize. Maya and Isa huddle close on either side, a matched set to accompany him, with one hand on the trophy while the rest of the A class reaches for it as well with grins on their faces.

Feels like just yesterday… and a lifetime ago. Not so long ago, they were kings and queens.

And now, they’re all starting from the bottom again. Takes a bit to get used to that. Isa sighs, lingering a bit longer on the sight of being so close to their former best friends.

INT. AAA - PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE - DAY

Eric is just wrapping up for the day and shutting his laptop when Isa saunters in. He raises his eyebrows.

Eric: How often should I expect for you to roll up here unannounced? We might have to get you a recurring visitor’s pass.

Isa: It’s after school hours. And also, everyone should know who I am. I ran this place.

Eric: Sure. So what brings you here? Seeking some guidance?

Isa: No… not quite. Just need some dad I think. [ a beat ] Real dad.

Eric smiles at that, touched, as Isa slouches into the chair opposite the desk. He invites them to elaborate on where they should start. Isa pauses, thinking about it, and then slowly tries to unpack the highs and lows of the week. The criticism, the Valerie legacy haunting them, realizing how when friends go in separate directions they lose more than just the physical person.

Isa: I think… it’s weird, to no longer be the film kid. Even coming here, it was cutthroat as hell, but that was mainly about performing. Film was still my thing. I was the best at it. Now I’m in this program and I’m just another one of fifty other folks who were the best, too. I guess I cared about that more than I realized.

Eric: Specialization is a gift and a curse. I’m sure some of your friends are feeling the same things.

Isa: Yeah. And I think that like put me on defense, if that makes sense, so then when my professor gave me even minimal criticism it just felt like, oh, yep. There it is. They’re gonna figure out I’m a fraud, that I’m the odd one out, that of course I’m going to bomb this and fall to the bottom of the pack. [ hesitant ] And I was looking for confirmation that that wasn’t the case, for someone to give it to me straight, but I don’t think I was looking in the right places. I have nice friends, who are willing to say really nice things, but it took me a long time to actually find the truth. I don’t have the same failsafes in my circle anymore to keep me honest. I miss…

Mm… no. Isa shakes their head, unable to finish the sentiment. Still feels too raw. Eric doesn’t push them, although he seems to know the conversation must have to rise eventually.

For now, though, the absence remains unspoken. Instead, Isa powers through.

Isa: But I don’t want to be that way. I want to be resilient, to be able to earn standing with my new ranks, and I know I’m gonna need to be able to take some hard takes -- warranted or not -- on the way there. I want to be able to take it. From my schooling, but from my friends, too. I don’t want my circle to feel like they have to puff me up. [ eyeing Eric ] Including you.

Eric sighs, nodding in acquiescence. He agrees and apologizes for enabling that, for not being more honest with them upfront about his impression of the film. Not that any of the nice things he said were a lie, but he knows he wasn’t being as forthright and objective as he could have been. After talking things through with another important friend and source of feedback, he realizes he didn’t make the right call.

Isa: Jack?

Eric: Oh, wow. No Principal Jack?

Isa: … I guess I can get used to just Jack. Or at least, I can try. Figure I have to get used to it, if you all are going to be… whatever you are. For real. And clearly that’s for the better, since he was bold enough to tell you a hard truth.

Eric: Gently, but yes. Believe it or not, doing this whole “parenting” thing is not as cut and dry as you’d wish.

Isa: Maybe just better with help. You should listen to Jack more often -- seems like the two of you make a pretty decent team.

Yeah… yeah, they do, don’t they. Eric beams.

They’re both still doing some growing, figuring things out in their new situations. But Eric commends Isa for arriving at this place, wanting to be better -- that demonstrates how much they’ve already grown. And because of that, Eric doesn’t need to shield them. He understands that now. If Isa will keep working on bettering themself and trying to embrace the change, then Eric will do his best to treat them that way. More honesty and candor for both of them, in their own lives and together.

Isa can get behind that. They nod, and then sit forward to accept the playful fist bump that Eric offers across the desk to seal the deal.

INT. PERFORMING DINER - DAY

Back in L.A., “a bit” ends up being “a while,” as Yindra finds herself enjoying conversing with Charlie much more than she expected. They demolished the brownie dessert together and have been chatting for at least an hour, the edge gone from Yindra’s mood.

They’ve gone from chatting about their current situations to reminiscing about high school, ruminating on how different things are and how something that was only a few months ago can already feel like eons ago. Yindra comments that talking like this is nice, with someone who gets how things used to be -- she admittedly hasn’t been great about keeping up with people, though she leaves out the part about how that’s an intentional choice.

Charlie: You’re not the only one. I get it.

Yindra: Honestly, it’s my fault. It’s not like people haven’t been reaching out. I’m just… [ with a shrug ] But God, Zay is going to be such a diva about it when I finally get back to him.

Charlie: Ah, I wouldn’t worry about that. You’re one of his best friends, he’ll forgive you. And you know what the key is to making amends with him.

Yindra: Mm?

Charlie: You already said it. Diva Zay. Throw a compliment in there and his not-so-secret ego that he totally doesn’t have because he’s not a diva will take care of the rest.

Yindra cracks up. Much as they both love him, there’s no denying that Zay isn’t exactly the most humble person.

Yindra: You’re so right. He so would. [ shaking her head ] He is such a Leo.

Charlie grins, nodding in fond agreement. The two of them continue to chuckle for a few moments more, then a thoughtful, reminiscent quiet settles between them. Yindra examines him.

Yindra: Was it worth it?

Charlie: Hm?

Yindra: Leaving. Doing the gap year thing.

Charlie: Well, the year is still going.

Yindra: Right. For sure. I just meant like… the whole going away thing. Saying fuck it and going so far away to figure out what you needed. Do you think it was worth it?

Charlie: To be fair, most of where I was isn’t that much further than being here in L.A. Just in the opposite direction.

Touché… and perhaps a bit illuminating as to why Yindra’s even asking. Charlie contemplates it, seriously thinking about it for the first time now that he’s not actively immersed in it.

Charlie: I think it was good. For me. To try something like that, to have to stick it out on my own. It definitely… I’ve figured out things, yeah. I guess the independence and the distance helped me like... see more clearly than I was able to when I was stuck in the same place. [ a beat ] But it was hard, sometimes. Harder than I thought.

Yindra: You miss it? The city.

Charlie: Yeah. Yeah, I do. And I knew that when I made the choice, you know, that there were things I was going to be missing. Sisters’ birthdays, people’s send offs -- there’s this big summer event my church does every year. That was hard. Just being away from you know, family. Friends… [ searching for the right word ] loved ones.

Yindra does know. For how hard she’s been trying to pretend, she knows that all too well.

Charlie: But I don’t know. I’d just try to think… I’m really fortunate, at the end of the day.

Yindra: For being alone? You are weird, Charlie.

Charlie: [ with a laugh ] No -- though I do think there’s a benefit to some solitude now and again. No, I mean like… the fact that I felt that way, like there was something I wanted to come back to. The fact that I love something enough to feel it when it’s gone. I don’t think feeling that is such a bad thing. [ a beat ] We’re really lucky, I think, to have something worth missing.

Well, when you put it like that… Yindra manages to mirror his light smile. She hadn’t thought about it like that, hadn’t been able to think about the things she left behind as anything but a weakness. Something she had to hide from until she proved her choice was worth it.

Maybe what she actually needs is to let that feeling, and those things, back in to ever move forward.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

Farkle is doing homework as promised, seated cross-legged on the couch with his laptop. He’s got the Wikipedia list of musicals open, a few of their track lists tabbed in his browser. He could go edgy and unexpected with Sweeney Todd (though, in some ways, maybe is that exactly what one would expect?); he could dig down in the bottom of the barrel and do something no one remembers like Curtains to show off his musical buff status. Young Frankenstein is always a classic in his book, if he’s feeling cheeky…

And yet, he keeps coming back to Wicked. Maybe it’s predictable and nerdy, but if he’s got to spend a chunk of the semester with it, shouldn’t he go with something that feels right? Is being different, setting himself apart, really all that important? Or is it better to be who he is -- even if that’s a little bit predictable and especially nerdy?

The apartment door opens and Maya returns, slamming it shut behind her with a flourish. It’s a wonder where she’s been all day -- her meeting with Josh was hours ago -- and when Farkle asks, she brushes him off with a vague response about cleansing her aura. Whatever that means. She still looks as glamorous as she did earlier, but some of the gloss has worn off. When she flops down on the couch next to him and removes her sunglasses, deflated, she just looks tired. Frustrated, indignant, stuck on the same questions as him just in a much bigger contextual pond.

That being said, style slightly disheveled and cheeks flushed with emotion, Maya looks more real sitting there slouched with her best friend than she has in days. The part the Instagram doesn’t see is perhaps the most compelling part of her, when that cool, effortless sheen is replaced with impassioned, genuine emotion.

Farkle: How did it go? Any luck?

Maya: This industry is full of hot air and men who think they know everything. And nobody wants to actually nurture new talent. Also, Josh Matthews is perhaps the least Matthews Matthews I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.

Farkle: [ with a whistle ] That bad?

Maya: If I wanted his Philbilly take on my process, I would’ve asked him -- after I decided he was worth working with. But a pretentious man just can’t resist. [ fixing her hair subconsciously ] How was your week?

Farkle, plainly: About the same, actually. My only friend on campus, who doesn’t even go here, easily outshined me because he’s hot and approachable and naturally charming, and unrelatedly, a pretentious man who thinks he knows everything told me everything I did wrong in class just for the hell of it. I think he might hate me, and if he’s any indication, I’m going to be last picked on the theatrical football pitch when directors announce their mentees -- you know, just for some flavor.

Maya: Tsk tsk. You are the only man I love. The rest can go. [ a beat ] No solution to the Charlie Gardner of it all, though. Sorry, darling.

Farkle shrugs. That’s his life, nothing new. Maya releases another dramatic sigh, the two of them sitting in silence for a long moment. Farkle leans over and elbows her.

Farkle: I’m sorry Josh didn’t work out. He doesn’t know what he’s missing.

Maya: None of them do, Farkle. None of them do. [ resolutely ] So I have to show them. We’ll have to show them. Just have to keep finding new ways to show the world how brilliant we are.

Farkle offers a small smile. Hope she’s right.

Farkle: Aye, aye. I believe you, at least -- I don’t think you’re capable of being any other way.

Maya tilts her head at him and narrows her eyes, playfully taking him in… then she smiles, taking his chin affectionately.

Maya: Only man I love. And I hope you never change a thing. True Farkle is the only one worth knowing. [ patting his cheek ] Someday, everyone will know it.

For now, they just keep trucking. Maya widens her smile, sitting up to give him an affectionate peck on the cheek. Then she flounces off, on to find the new way. Farkle watches her go, fond and appreciative, before going back to his laptop. Still left with choices about who to be…

And as he hovers back towards Wicked, true Farkle seems to be calling him more than ever.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “I’m Not That Girl” as performed by Wicked Original Broadway Cast || Performed by Farkle Minkus

The gentle instrumental starts off as Farkle dives into his assignment, more confident in his choice than before. And based on the song he chose -- one of the more muted, vulnerable tracks in the entirety of the musical -- he’s really leaning into authenticity rather than hiding behind bold belts or dazzling distraction.

As the soft performance unfolds, taking us through the prism of Farkle’s present perspective…

INT. USC - CAMPUS CENTER - DAY

For the first verse, the focus is on Charlie, smiling and as socially amicable as ever as he keeps up a light conversation with Farkle’s peers when they run into them at campus center. Natalia is in full-on flirt mode (“hands touch, eyes meet,”), but mainly, what’s more on display is how effortlessly Charlie wins people over. Even if he feels like he’s far from a social savant, his well-trained presentation doesn’t show it -- and with the newfound confidence he’s slowly acquired while on his travels, it shines even more pointedly.

It’s a skill set Farkle doesn’t have, one that he clearly wishes he does. Resigned to that fact as he watches Charlie interact with the others, not realizing that his personality does have unique charm of its own.

He could be that boy, but I’m not that girl…

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

Farkle isn’t the only one grappling with presentation, though. Even if she’s succeeding in some ways, watching Maya contort herself and create the perfect plastic snapshot for the masses is its own kind of indecision. She’s prepping another Insta live from her corner of the living room, fully glammed up and obsessively checking her angles before she goes live.

She may not be obsessing over what a musical choice says about her, but she’s letting a supremely posed image a day do all the work for her. And Maya has always been cognizant about image, there’s no denying that, but lately that feels like the only thing she’s banking on. Farkle watches her self-nitpick from his perch on the couch.

Don’t dream too far, Don’t lose sight of who you are…

But hey, Maya must know what she’s doing. She doesn’t seem to have any hesitation about how she’s marketing herself, and he knows she’s willing to do whatever it takes. He doesn’t want to get in the way of that -- even if he’s not sure who either of them will be when they make it out on the other side.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - FARKLE’S BEDROOM - DAY

Farkle heads into his room after getting ready for bed, flopping onto his bed and setting his alarm for the next morning. When he reclines back against his pillow, he looks towards his bulletin board -- zeroing in on one photo in particular.

The photo of him and Isa at the London Eye. He thinks on it for a moment, looking wistful, and unlocks his phone to pull up their thread…

Every so often we long to steal to the land of what might have been

But then he remembers he already called them, and they didn’t pick up. They haven’t answered his texts. And they didn’t even bother to tell him that they’re identifying as they now -- something he knows, if he figured something like that out for himself, he’d want to tell them first.

Guess that’s how it is now. He shouldn’t be too surprised. He closes his phone and puts it on the side table, leaning over to turn off the light and sending the room into darkness.

But that doesn’t soften the achy feel when reality sets back in…

INT. USC - THEATER CLASS - DAY

A couple of Farkle’s classmates, Natalia and Buzz, are running through one of their scenes while the directing students watch and take notes. Judgment day to partner up is nearing ever closer… but Farkle isn’t paying attention. He’s slouched in his chair in the back, phone subtly in his lap as he scrolls through social media.

Right now, he’s on Chai’s page. She seems to be thriving in London, full of photos with her new classmates. It doesn’t take too long to find a photo of her with Isa from before she left -- which of course, Farkle can’t help but use to click the tag and jump to Isa’s page.

Definitely less updated, as is typical, but the latest posts are still enough to drive the feeling home. The latest one is them, Nigel, and Riley on campus, and before that some old, cinematography-styled shot from junior year. And then there’s the same one Chai posted, the two of them together before she left for London.

Gold hair with a gentle curl That’s the girl he chose, and Heaven knows…

Maybe all this insecurity, this doubt about who he’s supposed to be, isn’t just about college. Maybe it’s partially because for whatever reason, who he is isn’t good enough to keep one of his best friends -- and if he can’t manage that, if he can’t keep his team, then does the rest even matter?

INT. USC - MUSIC CLASSROOM - DAY

Farkle rounds out the performance actually performing it in class, at the piano and singing through the last verse. Even subdued, his usual amount of emotion shines through, performing one of the only times it’s easy to be vividly authentic. That is a skill set he’s undeniably got. His peers listen politely, Charlie included, both he and Professor Weber smiling lightly.

There’s a girl I know, he loves her so I’m not…

Farkle pauses for a moment on the last line, holding in the silence for a long moment… then he gently takes it home, fingers delicately tapping out the final keys.

INT. ANGELA’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

The lullaby-like quality of “I’m Not That Girl” is the perfect transition to Jack’s next destination. He arrives at Shawn and Angela’s and Shawn lets him in, claiming dinner is apparently almost ready. When Jack asks if that means he cooked it, Shawn hedges, before confessing they just ordered in.

Angela: We’re working on building this skill set, but he didn’t feel confident enough to cook for his big brother quite yet.

Shawn rolls his eyes, disappearing back into the kitchen as ANGELA MOORE comes into the living area cradling NAOMI HUNTER-MOORE. Jack grins as soon as he sees them. Angela lets Jack take Naomi from her arms and then they exchange warm greetings, exchanging kisses on the cheek. Then Jack turns his focus to the baby in his arms, lifting her to eye level and gasping theatrically.

Jack: Look at how big you’ve gotten! You’re so grown up. [ to Angela ] These things grow at lightning speed, huh?

Angela: They do, though I’m sure it seems more so when you don’t see them for months at a time.

Shawn, off-screen: Rather than staying up all hours of the night, every night, changing them and feeding them…

Jack and Angela laugh. Jack continues to lightly bounce Naomi in his arms as he takes a look around their living area -- it’s been revamped during the summer, starting to feel more like an adult’s space. Like they actually could build a family there. Jack compliments it as such, lowering onto the couch and holding the baby in his lap.

Angela admits it hasn’t been easy, but she’s excited about how things are coming together. She was honestly more than a little nervous about this big transition in their lives, but now that they’re in it, it doesn’t feel nearly as scary. Things are starting to feel more settled.

Angela: It’s nice, you know, to have the people I love here together. To feel like I’m building something more permanent. [ with a smile ] We’re building a home.

Jack mirrors her smile, though there’s a hint of melancholy in his expression. A bit of wistfulness, perhaps… Shawn reemerges from the kitchen to answer the door as soon as there’s a knock, waiting a couple of seconds and then stepping out to pick up the delivery left on their doorstep. He offers a wave to the departing delivery person.

Shawn: By the way, thanks for helping with Lucas today. That shit was crazy.

Angela: Oh my God, yeah, Shawn told me about what happened. Is he going to be okay?

Jack: Immediately? Yes, he’s fine. His physical deterioration was more psychosomatic than anything else. Long term… that’ll depend on how much he’s willing to do about it.

Shawn: Of course…

Angela: Still, thank God you were there. That both of you were there, and able to help. I’m sure he’s grateful for it.

Shawn: Hope so, considering it took nearly dying today for him to accept it.

Jack: I’d do it any time. I think he knows that. Besides, at this point, it’s not like I have much else going on for him to interrupt.

That is true. What is Jack planning to do now that he’s back? Naturally, the school board topic comes up, Jack mentioning that he saw the candidate Graham is putting forward for the spot Morris is vacating. Shawn groans, indicating he’s seen it too. Angela says what all of them are thinking.

Angela: Jack, you’re perfect for it. 

Shawn: I mean, anyone would be better than Connelly.

Angela: You’ve dedicated years to this school district -- as an actual force in the schools, not just some fundraising elite.

Shawn: You actually give a damn about the students.

Angela: And isn’t much of what frustrated you about being principal stuff you could explore and tackle at that level? You were always complaining about larger, systemic issues that felt above your paygrade.

Shawn: All the stuff with Lucas…

All excellent points -- ones Jack has already thought long and hard about. It’s clear there’s a wide open field for a candidacy like his. He just has to decide if that’s what he wants, and if the fight to get there would be worth the effort.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Zay is on his laptop on his bed, frowning as he attempts to type out an email to Professor Gao. He tries to succinctly explain his recurring injury, the reason he needs to take it easy the next couple of classes, his insistence that he isn’t going to fall behind even though his slipping on the week where endurance matters indicates otherwise… but it’s all wrong. Nothing sounds right, and trying to write it anyway feels like the coward’s move.

Not to mention, in his heart, he doesn’t want to fucking do it. He doesn’t want to take it easy, even when his muscles seem to be screaming at him to listen. He groans in frustration, pushing his laptop away and hiding his head in his hands.

He grabs his phone, knowing he needs another perspective to shake him out of this. But he isn’t sure who to call -- Riley and Charlie have both already told him what they think. Nigel will just tell him what he wants to hear, because that’s the kind of friend he is. And although that’s nice sometimes, Zay knows that’s not what he needs to hear right now.

In fact, he knows exactly who he wants to talk to. The question is simply whether she’ll give him the time of day. Zay scrolls to their messages and hits call, stretching out his legs restlessly while it rings.

INT. YINDRA’S APARTMENT - BEDROOM - NIGHT

Yindra has changed into her comfy clothes for the evening, still worn down but seeming in better spirits after catching up with Charlie. She returns to her bed and finds her phone ringing, a diva-esque photo of her and Zay from last year lighting up the screen. After a moment of hesitation, she takes a deep breath and swipes to answer it.

Yindra: Hello?

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Zay is surprised she actually answered. The scene goes back and forth between their rooms as they talk.

Zay: Hey. Sorry for the sudden call. You have a second to talk? I know you’ve been like, hella busy.

Yindra: Yeah… yeah, um --

Yindra fights back her nerves, reminding herself to breathe. This isn’t a test; Zay isn’t trying to get her to prove anything. And honestly, after being primed by a couple of familiar faces, it’s extra nice to hear her best friend’s voice again.

Yindra: Yeah. I just got off work a bit ago, so I’m free. What’s up?

Yindra settles onto her bed as Zay launches into the predicament. He has to give her the full low-down, since it’s been a while since they actually talked -- about how intense the program is, his bitchy and calculating classmates, the high expectations of the program. And how none of that would be a problem, he could hack it, if it weren’t for his own poor judgment of the past coming back to bite him.

Zay: The thing is, I know what the right answer is. I know I should take it easy. And everyone keeps telling me that, like duh, so no one gets why it’s so hard for me to pick that and be done with it. Like, most of my friends aren’t as… I don’t know --

Yindra: Relentlessly driven and prone to diva?

Zay: I was going to say ambitious, but sure, that works too. And the only reason I’m not taking offense to that is because I know you say it because you get it.

They always have been birds of a feather… Yindra nods. She confesses she’s no stranger to making the less reasonable choice because of pride or the sense that it’ll ruin all her progress if she doesn’t.

So yeah, now he needs to decide whether he’s going to risk it tomorrow when he shows up to class or humiliate himself by telling his already reproachful professor he has to step back. Yindra tilts her head back, seriously thinking about it.

Yindra: Okay, well, at this rate, I think you’ve got to lay it out analytical. You’ve got to take a Nigel approach, because our usual hot girl instincts aren’t cutting it. So choice A, you take it easy and tell Prof Hardass you need to sit it out. What’s the worst that could happen?

Zay: I immediately get blackballed from the program and she kicks my ass out for unacceptable laziness? She already thinks I’m arrogant and entitled.

Yindra: Well, you don’t know that for sure, but real talk. How likely is that possibility? Do you really think she’s going to kick you out for taking one class off? There has to be something in the syllabus about that if they’re gonna be that strict. Y’all got syllabuses, right? Syllabi? Syllabees?

Zay: … okay, yeah, maybe not that likely.

Yindra: Cool. So what else?

Zay: I’ll fall behind. Maybe not a lot, but during a pretty crucial week.

Yindra: Be honest. Isn’t every week going to be crucial? Every single week, you’re going to find a reason why that week is the most important week to not slip up. But everybody’s gonna slip up at least once.

He already did, in fact, if tumbling in his collision with Vanessa during Week 1 counts. Zay acknowledges that, nodding in defeat.

Zay: True. But if I sit this one out, it’s gonna make a statement. Everyone else is going to notice, and they’re going to think I’m weak.

Yindra: So what? Since when have you ever cared what everyone else thinks?

Zay: … I don’t know.

Yindra: And besides, even if they do, then you get to do your second favorite thing after dance -- make them eat their words. If they wanna underestimate you, that’s on them, and won’t it feel so much sweeter when you take the crown from them anyway?

Zay smiles to himself. It really is so good to talk to someone who gets it -- who gets how he thinks.

Zay: You got me there.

Yindra: I know I do. So then plan B -- you push through and ignore your doctor. What’s the worst that could happen?

Zay: I severely damage my tendon again, with less likelihood it’ll heal fully the second time around.

Yindra: And if you do that, then it’s all shot. No more Turner, ‘cause you won’t be dancing for a long while after that, if ever again. No more dance, period. At least in plan A, if this really does end up being the early shot that kills your Turner dreams, you still have other routes. I know this school is important to you, but I never believed it was your only path.

Zay: Maybe…

Yindra: Zay, you are the most dedicated, clever, annoyingly go-getting person I know. And I’m including myself in that list. You got Kossal, you elbowed your way into an Off-Broadway role in high school, and you ballsed your way into the transfer program despite completely blowing your original audition. You don’t give it all up when one door closes -- you always find a window and keep climbing. You will find a way to get what you want eventually. If you stop thinking of Turner as this end-all-be-all objective where one move makes or breaks your entire future, then I think yeah, you know what the right move here is.

He does. He did -- he just needed the right person to find the exact right way to drill it through his stubbornly thick skull. He smiles wider, thanking Yindra for the advice.

Zay: I miss you, bitch. I hope you know that.

The sentiment hits Yindra harder than she expected. She smiles, eyes a bit glossy.

Yindra: I miss you too. Now don’t be an idiot.

Zay laughs, promising he’ll do his best. He lets her go, but only with the reassurance that they’ll find time this weekend to actually properly catch up. Yindra agrees.

Once they hang up, Yindra leans back against her pillows, definitely emotional. Only this time, it feels different -- this time, it feels useful. Suddenly, she feels inspired.

How lucky she is, to have things worth missing.

She sits up and reaches for her songwriting notebook.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - RILEY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Riley is practicing her memorization, sitting with her scene on her lap. She murmurs the words under her breath, looking up at the ceiling, then skims to check her recitation. She pauses when she hears the apartment door open, though, expectantly glancing towards her doorway.

Lucas appears moments later, offering her a small smile. He definitely looks better than he did earlier in the day, so for now, it seems he’s recovered. Riley gets up and comes to meet him, sharing a tight embrace.

Lucas: Hey.

Riley: Hi. I’m so glad you’re okay. [ pulling back ] Are you feeling okay?

Lucas: Yeah. For real, this time. Jack picked me up. Did you know that actually eating stable meals makes you feel way better?

Riley gives him a look, torn between amused and exasperated. No duh, Lucas… but at least he knows now.

And that wasn’t the only problem… the two of them settle on her bed, Riley asking if the hospital gave him any advice so this doesn’t happen again. Lucas shrugs vaguely, but does reference what he and Jack talked about regarding working to figure out what he can control and what he can’t.

Lucas: I’m sorry I got weird with you this morning. Clearly, you were right to be concerned. And I don’t want this to become a pattern, the like… friction. I know it’s not good. Just the way things are right now… [ shrugging aimlessly ] something isn’t right. Something’s not working.

Riley: I know. I’ve been thinking about that. When it comes to things you can control… I know you want to be there for Grace. And I think it’s good, really good, that you’re being present rather than disappearing. But I don’t know if the way things are now is the solution either. Having to be there with him, all the time… it can’t be good for you. It would be better if you were able to separate from it, if you had a designated safe place. [ off his nod ] That’s why I think you should live here.

Lucas raises his eyebrows, surprised. Is she serious? Riley holds steady, insisting that she thinks he should move in with her. It will give him a place to be, somewhere not infested with unfriendly stressors or unknowns. The people in this apartment know him; they love him. He spends plenty of time here anyway, so what would be so different? And he’s said it himself that he sleeps best here -- maybe if he had more stability, if he could rely on a soft place to land and a good night’s rest, some of the health issues would improve.

Riley: And it goes without saying, but I certainly would not be opposed to having you here with me.

She takes his hand, running her thumb along his fingers. Lucas considers it, obviously interested in the idea, but he has his reservations.

Lucas: I don’t want to impose on you guys.

Riley: You’re not. You wouldn’t.

Lucas: And what if it doesn’t get better? What if I just get worse? And then you have to deal with that even more --

Riley: Then we cross that bridge when we come to it. I’d much rather try and see what happens then never give it a chance.

Lucas: … and what about Dora? It’s their space too. I don’t wanna like, invade --

Isa, off-screen: Dora is cool with it.

Lucas looks over his shoulder, finding Isa hovering in the doorway. They lean against the doorframe and give him a light smile, crossing their arms. It’s evident that Riley and Isa had this conversation long before he got back.

Riley: We want you to have a home, Lucas. You’ve got one here… if you want it.

Lucas turns his gaze back to Riley, meeting her eyes.

INT. ANYA KELLY DESIGN STUDIO - MAIN FLOOR - DAY

Jade is back to doing her grunt work, having finished the tasks Anya gave her. Back to the humdrummery, it seems. She smiles at some banter Jamal and Skylar are sharing, but gets distracted when an email comes through on her computer.

Even more when she sees who it’s from. Anya Kelly. Subject: This Week. She sits up and clicks open the email.

“Jade,

Excellent work. Everything you turned in this week is exactly what I was hoping for and more. I see a lot of potential in you.

I think we’re going to have a lot of fun.

AK”

Jade’s heart is pounding. She must be dreaming. Her boss, the Anya Kelly, sees potential in her. She put her through the test, and apparently, she passed it with flying colors.

She glances up over her shoulder towards those mysterious frosted glass doors -- where Anya is standing at the balcony overlooking the main floor. Surveying her queendom… then she locks eyes with Jade, giving her a subtle knowing smile.

Then she turns, heading back to her office. Jade tries to hide her excitement, but it bleeds through anyway, smile blossoming on her face.

INT. CHEY APARTMENT - DAY

Nigel is back on the couch with his grandmother, those silly soap operas on the TV again. She’s more focused on her embroidery, though, while Nigel is focused on his laptop. With a flourish, he finishes up the final draft of his first take at his playwriting assignment, smiling to himself. He hits export to PDF and then reaches for his phone, about to eagerly text Jade that it’s done and send a copy her way.

Only he hesitates. He knows she’s busy, and he’s already bothered her enough this week. She never did call him back, and if she really cared to hear about it, she would’ve.

So he puts his phone down, choosing to say nothing, and pulls up an email to send it to Yindra instead.

INT. YINDRA’S APARTMENT - BEDROOM - DAY

It comes through on Yindra’s phone, but she won’t get to it until later. That’s because right now, she’s deep in the creative process, up early in the morning to play out some chords on her electric keyboard in her songwriting corner of the room. She’s totally immersed, more energized than she’s been in weeks. She may have stayed up all night penning the lyrics.

From the notebook open on the edge of her keyboard, we can see her messy scribbles. From the glimpse we get, it seems like her conversation with Charlie is the foundation of the song. Questioning what’s worth the leave, what gets left behind.

Home.

INT. TURNER ACADEMY - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

Rosario’s class is just about to start, all of the transfer hopefuls completing their warm-up stretches or lingering to chat. Rosario herself is at the front of the room, adjusting the sound system to make sure their routine music is ready to go for another day of endurance. Vanessa finishes a leg stretch and sits up straighter, scanning the room. She can’t help but notice a certain someone is missing…

But he shows up. Zay enters the classroom later than usual but still arrives on time, dressed as if it’s any other day. For a moment, it seems like he’s really going to power on through like nothing is wrong… but he passes the rest of the students and approaches Rosario at the front of the room. When he requests her attention, she turns to face him, quirking an eyebrow.

With only mild reluctance, Zay concisely explains the situation with his tendon and that in order to let it heal, he will need to sit out the next couple of classes. He still showed up, and he intends to sit there by the mirrors and not miss a second, but he can’t get up there and give it his all right now. Rosario listens without interruption, expression inscrutable as always.

Rosario: You recognize it’s endurance week.

Zay: Yes.

Rosario: You understand it will be up to you to make up the rehearsal you miss, and that there will be no leniency given if you fall behind.

Zay: Yes.

Rosario: And you’re absolutely sure this is what you want to do?

Although her line of questioning is blunt, it’s unclear how Rosario actually feels about his choice. She doesn’t seem to be convincing him to do or not do it -- she just wants to see whether he actually means it, perhaps as coldly as the industry will ask it of him someday. It’s his choice, but he needs to be prepared for the consequences, whatever they might be.

But even though he’s intimidated, Zay holds his ground.

Zay: Yes. I understand, but this is what I need to do.

Rosario doesn’t comment or argue further. She gives him a curt nod, and Zay makes his walk of shame to the mirrors, settling down in front of them and stretching out his strained leg. His classmates watch in quiet shock -- most of them had no idea he was injured, in the past or now. Gia doesn’t bother to hide a little smirk.

Vanessa stares longest of all. Unlike Gia, though, she doesn’t seem smug about it -- dumbstruck, more than anything else, that Zay Babineaux of all people would willingly back down.

Rosario: Class has started, I don’t see any reason why you all aren’t in formation. Let’s go.

That’s enough to disrupt the stunned mood, the rest of them scrambling to get in place and jostle for top spot now that the toughest competition is, at least for now, out of commission. Zay grits his teeth but stays committed to his choice, rolling his ankle while the rest of his classmates launch into choreography without him.

INT. NYU - FILM CLASSROOM - DAY

Meanwhile, as another class is letting out, Isa makes their way to the front of the classroom and slaps something down on Professor Bennet’s desk.

A thumb drive. He glances at it, then lifts his eyes to look at them, subtle intrigue in his expression prompting what the hell exactly he’s supposed to do with that.

Isa: I thought about it, and I decided that maybe, your feedback may have had some merit. I don’t agree with everything you said, but I can admit it wasn’t my best. So I took your notes and recut the film.

Bennet: That wasn’t part of the assignment.

Isa: I know that. I did it for me. You get a copy just so you know I’m the real deal. I’m not here on borrowed credit and I’m not blowing it off.

Bennet: Okay.

Isa: And I’m going to deliver better. I’m going to prove I deserve to be here.

Bennet: Okay.

Isa: [ irritated with his deadpan reaction ] So I look forward to your next assignment. I intend not to disappoint. Don’t write me off just yet.

With that, Isa huffs and storms out, glad to have made it right but still not a fan of their professor. Bennet watches them exit, still pretty hard to read… but then he picks up the thumb drive, turning it over in his fingers. A light, almost invisible smile ghosts over his features.

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - OFFICE BOX - DAY

Josh is back to square one, with no more clients than before and even less leads. It really feels like he’s hit a dead end, and he has no bright ideas to turn it around or where he might search next. His prospects feel grimmer than ever, and it shows on his face.

But at least he dodged a diva bullet. He spitefully deletes his text messages from Maya, cleansing himself of the memory.

Laughter erupts from the left-hand office, Justin and MELISSA SUZUKI stepping out with one of their new clients -- talented, hip, and beautiful as always. While Justin starts to walk the singer down the hall, Melissa locks their office, then doubles back to address Josh.

Melissa: Yo, Josh, we’re going to have lunch with Delilah and then we’re planning on taking off for the day. Feel free to head out too, take a couple hours off.

Justin, off-screen: It’s Friday, Joshie! Gotta get down on Friday -- get out of here and go live a little!

Melissa beams, echoing the sentiment and then waving goodbye to all the junior producers and assistants in the box. Once they’re gone, Josh settles back into his chair. Leave early? He’s never left early a day in his life. How could he, when there’s so much to do, so much creative labor to be done…

Only, no. There isn’t. Because his career has stalled, and he can’t seem to figure out how to get it out of the ditch. Full disclosure, there really isn’t any reason for him to hang around. He doesn’t need to be there. He’s got nothing to do.

Reluctantly, Josh gathers his things and heads out early in defeat.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - MAYA’S BEDROOM - DAY

Yindra isn’t the only one hard at work. Left to her own devices and full of indignant spite, Maya is deep in the process of crafting something of her own. On her laptop sitting on her bed, she has multiple windows open of her social media pages. She has her headphones on and has her guitar in her lap, leaning over it to scribble furiously on a pad of paper.

She’s got something up her sleeve… and on the edge of her bed, her notes from Josh are half-slipping off the blankets -- tossed aside yet not discarded.

INT. USC - BING THEATRE - DAY

Farkle’s acting class has assembled in the theatre, in the process of getting selected by the directing students to be mentees for the rest of the semester. The directing students are up on the stage, the freshmen out in the seats. They’re well on their way -- the aforementioned Angelica Hewitt apparently picks Buzz as her mentee, who grimaces based on Farkle’s intel from earlier. Mason laughs under his breath and elbows him tauntingly.

The professor calls forward Jordan. He steps up to center stage, taking a moment, scanning the seats and seemingly scrutinizing all of the freshmen under his intense, contemplative gaze.

Then, his eyes settle on his pick, a light smirk gracing his lips.

Jordan: Farkle Minkus.

Oop! Farkle’s eyes widen. He must’ve misheard. But no, Jordan is staring right at him, and the professor confirms it a moment later when she repeats the pairing as she jots it down.

Jordan Nelson and Farkle Minkus.

Great. Perfect. Wonderful. The way things are going, what else did he expect? Farkle forces himself not to shrink, channeling some of his old-world stubbornness as he matches Jordan’s stare.

If he thinks he’s going to run him into the ground or that he might be fun to mess around with, then just like Maya said, he’s going to prove him wrong.

INT. AAA - PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE - DAY

Eric is just finishing up work for the day when Jack swings by, surprising him with flowers and an unusual amount of energy. Eric smiles and greets him, coming around the desk and accepting the flowers and a kiss.

Eric: Honestly, I should be the one giving you something. You were right about Isa. Thank you for the advice.

Jack: We can settle the score later. Right now, two things. One, I want to run for school board. I think I can make a difference, and we’re going to stick it to those rigid assholes once and for all.

Eric can get behind that. But Jack isn’t done. He delicately takes the flowers from Eric and places them on the desk so he can take his arms instead, crazy smile still on his face.

Eric: What French post-high are you on right now --

Jack: I want to move in together.

Now he’s really got Eric’s attention. His jaw drops open slightly.

Eric: What?

Jack: I want us to live together. I want us to find a place, and move in, and start our new life. [ sincere ] I want us to build a home, Eric. Together.

Eric blinks, trying to figure out if this is real. But both of them are grinning. Jack shakes him lightly, impatient and buzzing with excitement.

Jack: Cool?

Eric: I… yes. Okay, cool, yes, let’s move in together.

Hell yes, partner! Jack squeezes his arms and then pulls him into a hug, Eric returning it happily.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - ISA’S BEDROOM - DAY

Isa returns back from class and drops their bag on the floor of their bedroom with a flourish, releasing a sigh. It’s been a long week, but overall, they’re feeling better about things than at the start. Suppose in college, that’s all you can really ask.

They pull out their phone, having been so hyperfixated on this assignment drama this week that they feel like they’ve gone off the grid. They scroll through a couple of missed messages from Chai, updates from Eric during Lucas’s episode yesterday -- and then they notice the little red badge next to their phone app.

A voicemail. Isa frowns, no clue who would be calling them, or at least not adamantly enough to leave a message. They lift the phone to their ear to listen.

Farkle: [ through the phone ] Um, hey. It’s Farkle. Hope things are going good. I… I was really hoping to talk…

Isa’s expression drops, eyes widening. They slowly lower themselves into their desk chair to listen, way more rapt than moments earlier.

Farkle: [ through the phone ] I know you’re super busy with classes and all that. I mean, so am I. Obviously. And other college life type things. But, uh… well, this week I’m working on this assignment, and for whatever reason I’m having a really hard time deciding some stuff about it. And I just keep thinking about you, and how you’d be able to help me narrow this down with like, no effort at all, so… like I said, I know you’ve been busy, but I… I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to see if you had a second. And just wanted to say that… um, I miss you. A lot. [ with a sheepish laugh ] That sounded so stilted. God. But I mean it. So… yeah. Uh, that’s it. Give me a call if you get the chance… bye.

The voicemail ends, but Isa doesn’t move. It’s got them frozen, for all the exact reasons they’d been avoiding him -- because they have no idea how to respond, because it stirs up all these complicated feelings about so many things that it’s easier not to think about. Because hearing his voice again sent ice through their veins, made their heart race, and felt like the most natural melody to fall back into.

All of that for Farkle Minkus. Isa screws their eyes shut, pressing their hands to their face and letting out a pained groan.

Isa: Fuck.

Indeed. The time for running, for denial, for stubborn inaction is past.

Your move, De La Cruz.

END OF EPISODE.

#402 #episodes #s4 #thanks for ur patience for this being a wee bit late!! ur creator has covid lmao so im doin my best #BUT ENJOYYYYYYY

[hurt-care]

The Reunion - WW2 era fic

I've been listening to an audiobook about WWII in the UK and there's been multiple mentions of people writing in their diaries about suffering from lengthy colds as well as a discussion of the increase in casual sex during the war (especially during air raids, when it became a welcome distraction). So, let's just say I was inspired...! 

Male, cold, OCs, contains 18+ content

The Reunion -

The club was positively bursting with young revellers and the sounds of a jazz band playing as couples moved across the dance floor in tight embraces, flitting in and out of shadow of the chandeliers sparkling overhead. Champagne flowed liberally, delivered by waiters in smart tuxedo jackets and white gloves. If a time-traveller had been magically transported inside, they would have no idea that outside the walls of the club there was a war on.

Making her way through the throngs of people was Katherine Marsh, or Kat to her close friends. Close at her heels was Mary Alderman, an old school chum who'd come up through London society with her. The girls wove through the dancers on route to a table up on the balcony that circled the dance floor, providing a spectacular view of the room below. Only the uppers of society generally occupied the tables here and the demand was such that often bribes had to be given to the head waiter to ensure a spot. Peter Halford, one of Kat's other longtime friends, had been in charge of the evening's transaction and now he waved cheerily from a spot in the corner as the girls approached.

“Hello, Peter!” Kat said joyfully as she sided into a chair along the wall, tucking the skirt of her silk gown around her. “Have you ordered a bottle yet or shall I do the honours?”

“It's just coming now,” Peter replied, nodding towards the approaching waiter who carried a magnum size bottle in a silver ice bucket while another waiter followed behind deftly balancing a tray of champagne coupes.

“Your timing is impeccable as ever,” Mary said with a laugh. “I'm parched.”

She flashed a smile at Peter, her eyes sparkling in the light of the crystal scones along the walls. Kat smirked knowingly at her friend. Mary had been pursuing Peter over the course of several of these evenings out on the town, but Peter remained seemingly oblivious to her advances.

Tonight, Mary was draped in layers of royal blue silk with a spectacular diamond bracelet glinting on her wrist. She looked radiant and Kat thought Peter had to be completely daft to not notice. Kat, on the other hand, had no particular beau in mind. She'd danced with dozens of men and dined at parties across the countryside around London, but no one gentleman had captured her heart. Besides, she was barely twenty and so many of the young men her age were away at service. For now, she was content with dancing and snogging sessions in dim alleyway with soldiers on leave and officers posted to city stations.

The waiter poured them all glasses of champagne and the trio toasted to health, happiness, and the victory of Britain. The chat was light and merry, with Peter filling them in on his new job at the Royal Airforce's London offices near Whitehall. At the hour neared eleven, someone took to the microphone to introduce the next band complete with a line of cabaret dancers dressed in feathers and sequins for entertainment. Mary squealed in delight as the drums kicked up the beat of a popular dance tune and she reached for Peter's hand.

“Oh, will you dance?” she asked breathlessly. “I love this song.”

Peter downed the last of his champagne glass as he stood up.

“Of course. Kat, find yourself a man and let's go.”

The two disappeared into a sea of people moving towards stairs that led to the dance floor. Kat drained her own coupe and stood, surveying the crowded tables for familiar faces or handsome strangers.

A few girls were lingering at a table of Naval officers and as the men stood and paired off with them, one man remained seated alone with a cigarette in his hand. As the duos passed by, Kat realized with a heart-dropping thud that she recognized the lone officer that had stayed behind.

Oliver Hartnett had danced with her at her first debutant ball when she was seventeen and she'd been completely enraptured by him. Two pages of her diary were dedicated to extolling his virtues, from the gentle tambour of his voice to his green eyes, from to his broad shoulders to his chestnut hair. As quickly as he'd come into her life, he'd left it again. They'd shared two dances that night and some brief conversation at a dinner party a week later, and then she hadn't seen him since. Word in the upper circles said he'd gone to Scotland to work for an aging uncle's business and he disappeared from London's upper crust.

Kat dumped the dregs of the champagne bottle into her coupe and gulped it down, feeling the rush of bubbles to her head as she bolstered her courage. She reached into her small handbag for her compact, inspecting her face and reapplying a coat of her precious lipstick, as the bright red shade was now nearly impossible to find with the war rations and so she reserved it for nights out alone.

With a smile on her face that she hoped concealed her nerves, she glided as confidently as she could over to the table.

“Ollie Hartnett, is that you?” she said over the din of the music and the crowd. The man at the table seemed startled by the interruption and he looked up at her, his face vacant for a moment. Then, a grin spread across his face.

“Oh my goodness, Miss Marsh,” he said, standing suddenly and extending his hand.

She laughed.

“It's Kat, please,” she said, taking his broad hand in her and shaking it. “Do you mind if I sit?”

“Of course, please do,” he said, fumbling to get around the vacant chairs nearby in order to pull out one for her. She folded herself gracefully into the seat, crossing her ankles as her mother had always instructed. For once, she was glad she'd listened to Mary's constant chatter about fashion and had worn the deep emerald green silk gown with the black trim that she'd purchased for the previous winter's New Year Eve celebration at Mary's family estate. It set off her figure nicely and contrasted with her auburn hair and milk-white complexion.

Oliver was shaking her head, still grinning.

“What a surprise,” he said, his gentle voice barely audible over the music. “You look well.”

She smiled back.

“I am! Well, as well as anyone is in London at war, I suppose. You've joined up, I see. On leave?”

“For a few more weeks,” he replied, taking a slow drag of his almost burnt-out cigarette. “I'm posted at Brighton, usually.”

“And you're not on the arms of a dozen girls dancing your night away?” she teased.

He snubbed out the cigarette in the ash tray and shook his head.

“Honestly, I wasn't keen on going out at all but the other gents insisted.”

“If I recall, you were quite popular on the dance floor,” she continued. “What's changed?”

“Just a bit under the weather, that's all,” he replied. “Haven't felt up to much dancing tonight, but I'll spare one for you, for old time's sake.”

She felt herself blush.

“Not yet,” she said. “I have to hear all about where you disappeared to that summer. You left a lot of us wondering why one of our dashing debs up and left London at the height of the season.”

“It's not a particularly exciting story, but if I'm going to tell it we ought to do it over a drink.”

He beckoned to a waiter who returned shortly with two cocktails on a black lacquered tray and a serving of peach melba for each of them.

Oliver detailed how the rumours were true; he'd left London for the banal task of running the business operations for his uncle's small factory in Glasgow. A year ago, as the ferocity of the war had begun to increase, he'd enlisted in Royal Navy and left the factory in the hands of the old foreman and his cousin, a savvy young woman named Rose.

More than once during the story he'd paused momentarily to clear his throat with a cough or take a sip of his cocktail to revive his waining voice. Kat felt a pang of sympathy now that she was close and could see clearly the weariness in his face. Though it was spring, the weather had been dreadful and frigid for weeks and many people she knew had been battling heavy colds.

She told him about her adventures in London with Mary and Peter, and about her volunteering posting with the Women's Auxiliary Service where she worked to find temporary housing for those displaced by air raids.

When they'd finished their peach melbas and cocktails, the band struck up a lively tune and Oliver appeared to summon some energy with a broad smile aimed at Kat.

“This is the one,” he said, extending a hand. “Would you like to dance?”

She nodded, trying not to let her rush of enthusiasm show too greatly.

He led her down to the dance floor and took her into his arms, leading the gentle sway as they danced among the other couples. His broad hand rested on the small of her back and Kat felt a rush of heat to her body as they touched, cheeks almost against one another. The gentle warmth of his breath tickled her neck and she was sure he was about to lean in to kiss her there.

His voice mumbled something deep and low into her ear but she couldn't discern it over the music.

“Mmm?” she replied.

“Oh Christ, sorry,” she heard him say and suddenly he was moving swiftly away from her, his one hand leaving her back and his other dropping its grip from hers.

Eh-TSGHT! He turned his face into the sleeve of his officer's uniform, sneezing inaudibly to her as the rest of the dance floor continued their rhythmic sway.

“So sorry,” he shouted, leaning back so she could hear him. He reached into his pants pocket for a handkerchief, which he dabbled briefly under his nose.

“Sorry,” he repeated as he took up his embrace once more.

“It's okay,” she said into his ear. “I hope you don't feel too poorly.”

“No,” he said into hers, his lips almost brushing against her. “Better now.”

She leaned herself closer against him and he pressed his lips to her neck. She sighed with delight, feeling all the rush of emotions that she'd had when they'd first danced. His body was more muscular and square now, without the lanky lines he'd had as an eighteen year old.

Tilting her head upwards, she met his lips and they kissed briefly.

He leaned over to speak into her ear again.

“I hope I'm not catching.”

“I don't care,” she said and captured his lips again. The kiss deepened and a couple nearby sided away to give them a moment of privacy.

The song ended and Katherine stayed in the embrace of Oliver's arms as the next began.

He looked down at her with a soft, tired expression.

“I'm dreadfully sorry, but I'm afraid all this noise and such is too much for me tonight.”

“Can you stay up a little longer?” she asked. “There's a nice restaurant not too far from here. We could go and have a drink there and talk. It's much quieter.”

It was past midnight now and while Oliver looked like he might consider declining in favour of being tucked up in bed, he nodded and smiled.

She grinned back at him and kissed his cheek.

“I'm so glad. I'll find my friends to tell them I'm off. Meet me by the doors? Would you be a dear and get my coat for me?”

She fished the small coatcheck tag from her handbag.

After she'd shouted her goodbyes to Mary and Peter (who looked very cozy together on the dance floor, she noted with pleasure), she found Oliver leaning against a wall by the exit with her coat over his arm and his own Navy-issued wool peacoat already on. He held up her coat to help her into it and offered his arm to her, walking at her side out into the cool spring night.

The air was clear and crisp, with a half-moon overhead. The streets were brutally dark thanks to the blackout and they made their way clumsily along the road, squinting to see landmarks in the dim moonlight.

“It's down to the left, one more block,” she said as they passed the entrance to another dance club where the only light came from several cigarettes that glowed as young people poured in and out from the doors and slipped behind blackout curtains into the well-lit hall.

“Can we pause a moment,” Oliver asked. “Sorry, just a moment.”

She stopped, turning to look at him.

“Sorry,” he repeated, reaching for his handkerchief. She could see him silhouetted in the dim moonlight as his shoulders trembled and he shook his head for a moment. Then, with a deep breath, he pitched forward with a wrenching sneeze.

Hurhhh-TSGHXTT!

Unable to mask the sound, he gave a brief but noisy blow into the handkerchief afterwards before hastily tucking it into his coat pocket.

“I'm so sorry,” he said, taking her arm up again. She gave him a light squeeze, leaning against his side as she did so.

“Don't apologize,” she said. “I'm only sorry to hear you so poorly. Blasted cold seems to be going around everywhere.”

“The boys in my unit said that if I can't spend a night out with a head cold, there's no way I'd last through a month at sea battling the Germans,” said Oliver, his voice a little hoarse. He cleared his throat with a cough. “I suppose that's true.”

“Well, we'll find you something warm to drink at the restaurant and that should revive you,” Kat said cheerfully.

They were just rounding the last corner onto the street where the restaurant was located when a sound split the air. The wail of the air raid sirens began their raised pitch, increasing to a loud din of pulsing noise.

They paused in the street, stunned. It shouldn't have been entirely a surprise; the sirens were a regular occurrence in the city but neither one of them had encountered the alert while out on the street.

In the darkness, a voice shouted authoritatively.

“To your shelters, please! Nearest public shelter is the Piccadilly Circus station. To your shelters please!”

The figure of an air raid warden with a metal helmet on passed by.

“Which way is Piccadilly?” Oliver asked.

Kat glanced up and down the dark street.

“My rooms are only two or so more blocks past here,” she said. “If we hurry, we should be fine. There's a cellar in the back.”

Gripping his arm tightly, she led the way down the road. Several times they nearly collided with others making their way to safety. As they neared the house where she rented lodgings, the sky began to shine with searchlights and in the distance, the sound of anti-aircraft guns began to crackle. The bliss of dancing and the haze of champagne cleared from Kat's head as she steered them down an alley between some homes and to a metal hatch that covered the entrance to the cellar. She tugged it open and hovered a foot over the void, finding the top step.

“Six steps down. Pull the door shut behind you,” she said to Oliver. Her hand trailed along the earthen edge of the wall until it met the edge of a candlestick and a pack of matches. She struck one alight as Oliver shut the hatch with a loud bang.

The tiny chamber glowed in the candlelight, illuminating the stone and soil room. Oliver was breathing heavily, almost wheezing. Katherine tipped the lit candle to light others, gradually brightening the room enough to see without too much strain.

“Sit,” she insisted, gesturing to a small crate topped with a cushion. “Catch your breath. I'll put some tea on.”

Hhh-TSGHHH!

The sound of the sneeze startled her and she looked over in time to see Oliver building up to a second. He tipped forward, nose nestling into the folds of his waiting handkerchief.

Ehhh—hhehhTSXHHT! “Bless you!” she said earnestly. “Are you warm enough? There's plenty of blankets. My landlady, Mrs. Beecher, is up north visiting her sister and the other girl who rents rooms is at her family home for the week. So it's just you and me here unless we get some surprise guests from next door.”

“No, I'm fine,” he said quietly, wiping his nose. “Sorry.”

“I don't mind a bit of sniffling,” she said teasingly. “You don't need to keep apologizing.”

“Have you had to spend many nights down here?” he asked, surveying the cellar. It was appointed with provisions for the three woman who lived above plus extras for any visitors who might end up sheltering there. Two wooden bunks were stacked against one wall, each with pillows and blankets and thin mattresses. Another mattress was rolled and stored in a nearby trunk with additional linens. A small table held a kettle on a fuel-powered heater and several teacups. There was a deck of cards, a basket of knitting, and a lidded chamberpot. Someone had cheekily hung a framed piece of embroidery that read “Home Sweet Home.”

“Oh, I've lost count,” Kat said as she set the kettle to boil once she'd filled it with water from one of the three large canteens by the steps that led outside. “This is only the second time I've ended up down here in an evening gown, though.”

Once the kettle was heating, she opened a chest and took out a wool jumper and a pair of socks.

“Good thing I'm prepared,” she added.

Oliver watched as she sat on a wooden chair and unstrapped her high heel shoes and slid her hand up under her gown to unclip her precious nylon stockings. Careful not to snag them, she rolled them down her legs and pulled on the socks.

He laughed as she put the jumper on over her evening gown, put her coat back on top of that, and donned a pair of Wellington rubber boots. She struck a pose for him.

“You'd be the toast of all the fashion magazines,” he declared.

His chuckle turned to a cough that sounded strained and painful. She frowned at him and shook her head.

“I'd say you should've followed your own ideas and stayed home instead of the advice of your mates,” she said. “But I have to admit I've awfully glad I ran into you.”

He recovered from the coughing spell and looked at her with affection.

“I'm glad too,” he said. She poured the hot water from the kettle into a teapot to steep and selected two teacups.

Outside, the din of the air raid sirens had ended. There was the sound of distant explosions, but for the time being they were far from the action.

“I'm afraid I've no milk to offer but we have a bit of honey.”

“That'd be lovely, thanks,” he said.

She poured them each a cup and sat opposite him, savouring the warm tea. He drank his own cup, clearly soothed by the hot liquid. He dabbed at his nose a few times with his handkerchief as it began to run from the warmth.

When the cups were empty, they sat in silence for a moment. A bomb exploded somewhere a few blocks away and the candles flickered as the shockwave trembled through the earth. The remaining teacups on the table rattled against each other. Kat closed her eyes for a moment, sighing.

“Are you frightened?” Oliver asked.

“No, I don't think so,” she said. “I suppose I always am, a little. But not terribly.”

She set her teacup down on the table and moved to sit on the bottom bunk bed, patting the mattress beside her. He stood and moved to her side. The next thing she knew, they were kissing, his hands were in her hair and she had a hand on his chest. She kicked off the boots and pulled up her dress so she could sit astride his lap. He kissed down her neck and tugged her coat off, his hand going under her jumper and stroking her breasts through the silk of her gown.

She exhaled with pleasure, starting to slowly grind against his hips. She reached for the waistband of his trousers and he helped her with his belt. He made a soft moaning noise as she fumbled with the buttons at his fly and found her way downwards. His lips brushed her shoulder, pressing kisses where the neck of her jumper was stretched to the side. A brief cough escaped him, puffing against her skin. He muttered an apology and she murmured a sweet assurance as she began to stroke him.

“Wait,” he said breathlessly. He pulled her arms upwards and guided the jumper off over her head. She pushed his coat off him and made quick work of the buttons of his shirt, tugging that off too. He urgently shed his shoes and trousers as she stood and slipped off the silk gown revealing a satin bra and knickers with mother-of-pearl buttons.

He watched her hungrily as she slid out of the knickers and climbed back onto the mattress, guiding his pants off his hips. They kissed tenderly and she settled down on top of him, hips rising to meet hips. He made that same low moaning noise and she felt her body jolt with pleasure, hands roaming through his chestnut curls.

He made love to her urgently as the sound of bombs echoed outside. They moved together, breath increasing to gasps. His nose was running freely and he briefly sniffled and pressed it against his own shoulder to rub it. She kissed his neck and felt the expanse of his chest press against hers as he took a sharp breath. His body shuddered under her as he sneezed a restrained outburst, clearly trying to keep the explosion minimal.

Ngh-GHXT!

She moaned involuntarily as the spasm thrust him against her.

“Fuck,” he groaned under his breath. “Sorry.”

“Please,” she gasped. “Oliver!”

He sniffled thickly and then resumed with vigour until they both lay panting and shivering on the bed. He looked utterly exhausted but there was a smile on his lips. She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

“You sweet thing,” she whispered. “As if you weren't exhausted at the start of the evening.”

She slipped out of the bed with a blanket around her shoulders and found his shirt and socks and underthings on the ground.

“Best put at least your socks on before you drop off entirely,” she said tenderly, helping him dress before they both slipped under the quilts again.

She woke at some ungodly hour to the sound of nose-blowing and the roar of the 'all clear' siren. From feel, she could tell Ollie was sitting up in bed, straining to clear his nose with his sodden handkerchief. It was pitch black in the shelter and she had no idea how long they'd been asleep.

She managed to find the matches and lit a candle. Oliver sounded dreadfully congested and by the dim light of the single candle, she could see his nose was red and angry-looking at the edges.

“Oh, love,” she said, leaving the candle on the bedside table and climbing back under the quilts next to him. “How do you feel?”

He exhaled noisily.

“Rather poorly, I'm afraid,” he said hoarsely. “I hope for your sake it's not catching.”

She squinted at the wristwatch she kept wrapped on the bedpost. It was half-past four.

“It's still early but there's the all-clear. Do you want to get rugged up in my bed upstairs or stay here.”

He folded the handkerchief and tucked it at his side, snuggling back down beside her.

“That answers that,” she said, tucking his head against her breast. She stroked his hair and planted a kiss there. “Try to get some more rest, darling. I'll take good care of you.”

#dustyfic #snzfic

[butwhatifidothis]

3H and Bleach: Where the Fuck am I

So, I’m finally hunkering down and trying to write out this post lmao. I’ve mentioned here and there how my personal experience with the 3H’s fandom is similar to my experience with the Bleach fandom’s in more than one way, and - look. Like, I get there’s definitely a semi-universal thing that goes on across all fandoms. I don’t mean for this to say that this only happens within these two fandoms, because duh, of course they don’t. But!! This post is partly me wanting to air years long annoyance towards the Bleach fandom that just so happens to coincide with my feelings towards the 3H fandom, sooo... yeah lmao

I’ll probably be skimming over some bits about 3H, since most people who come across this will already be familiar with what I’d be talking about in that regard vs Bleach, so just a heads up

Note: This is gonna talk about Bleach which will spoiler territory (writing this off the cuff so not sure where this is goin’ yet lmao but I know that much), so if you don’t wanna see that then don’t read this post lol, I know for sure I’ll be spoiling something ahhhh... noticeable, lol

Ableism against the mentally ill

Now, most people reading this post will be familiar with the blog and how this very, very much applies to 3H, but for the sake of this post I’ll lay it out anyway with a brief summary

Dimitri and Rhea are both characters within 3H that suffer from severe trauma that heavily impacts their mental state. Both are the sole survivors of a horrific slaughter, with that slaughter redefining who they are and leaving a permanent marker within their minds in some way (Dimitri with having auditory and visual hallucinations, Rhea with having obsessive tendencies towards bringing her mother back from the dead). Specifically in CF, both characters are set up in the plot as antagonists, with both characters having to relive their trauma in some way due to the actions Byleth and Edelgard take against them (for Dimitri, having his home be razed to the ground and everyone he cares for dying around him, for Rhea having someone use her mother’s mutilated remains be used to end her and her race) and express extreme anger towards Byleth and Edelgard before they are killed to progress/end the story

Now, uh, sad shit right? Not exactly fuckin’ happy sunshine rainbows. These two characters are put through the wringer and are then murdered. They are rightfully not the fuckin’ happiest because of what happened to them before and what happens to them within the present story. But we’ve heard it all before: “They were crazy!” “They couldn’t be reasoned with!” “They had to be put down out of mercy because they were too ~far gone~ to live happily!” “They needed to be killed for the good of everyone!” It’s an extremely ableist rhetoric that gets passed around the fandom as though it’s totally fine to directly state that mentally ill people should be put down if they’re deemed a “lost cause.” Especially worrying because. You know. If they are a “”””lost cause”””” then it’s directly and specifically because of actions Byleth and Edelgard take against them. 

But how does this remind me of Bleach? What kind of similar extreme, worrying ableism exists there? Well, let me introduce to best girl a certain character with... a reputation, to say the least:

Meet Momo Hinamori.

Holy shit it’s so weird writing this out because I’ve been wanting to for years but have never worked up the nerve to do it lol

It should be noted, in the Bleach verse there’s two worlds out of three - Soul Society and Hueco Mundo, though I’ll only be talking of the former - that deal with “souls” (the essence within a living human). Souls age far more slowly than human bodies do in terms of body, not necessarily the mind (so a teenage soul will likely behave as such for a long while) so keep in mind that I’m going to be using numbers that may seem weird to someone who hasn’t seen Bleach lol.  With that out of the way, here’s a similar, if longer for context to those who haven’t seen Bleach, summary for Momo’s character as it relevant to this post:

Momo is a character in Bleach that grows a deep admiration towards Sosuke Aizen, a respected captain of the military force called the Gotei 13. She comes to views him as the most important person in her world due to him both noticing and paying direct attention to her as well as saving her and her friends’ lives during a training mission gone wrong while she was younger. Note that “younger” here means 40 years ago from the start of the story. Aizen would praise her all the time, allow her to sleep over in his quarters, would drape his cloaks over her when she looked cold, and would overall treat Momo as though he was his daughter for most of the time we see them interact in the beginning portions of the show. Note that none of this is sexual in nature, nor is it ever implied to be seen as such. That’ll be important later in this post

To make a long story short, Aizen comes to betray her. He stabs her through the chest and shows and tells her that she never meant anything to him, throughout the 40 years they’ve known each other (which, mind, for a soul Momo’s approximate age 40 years is still a noticeable amount of time), and he was only using her to help bolster his image as a loveable captain so that he can hide his plan from everybody that much easier. He did horrible things to Momo - from setting her alarm clock back to a later time so that she would more likely come across his pinned, bloody fake corpse. to framing her childhood friend for the apparent murder and tricking her into fighting that friend, to far later in the series tricking that friend into stabbing her (hypnosis shit, to sum that up) for literally no stated reason - that ended up mentally breaking her. She couldn’t believe that the last four decades were all nothing but lies and she fell into a deep denial about Aizen’s true nature - someone else made him do everything he did, she must have missed something that would have warned her about Captain Aizen’s unfortunate situation that forced Captain Aizen to hurt her and everyone else. This denial would take the majority of Bleach’s entire runtime for her to get over completely, with her having hiccups in her recovery even as she works up the nerve to fight him.

Now, uh, also not the fuckin’ funnest of times to be had here. The deep, long-running mental and psychological manipulation of what approximates as a teenage girl from a trusted older figure is something that is very clearly horrific and bad of the older figure, right? Like, we’re on the same page here on that?

This wouldn’t be in this post if that was the case. No, Momo was the one constantly on fire for what happened to her. She was one of the most hated characters in the western audience, and there were endless jokes about “lol look at Momo, the pincushion!” “Crazy bitch Momo, better watch out!” making fun of her and her trauma relentlessly. If you managed to find a Momo fan in the early 2000′s you should have also bought a lotto ticket because holy fuck, everyone hated her. She acted in a startlingly real if deeply uncomfortable way in regards to years long manipulation and she was lambasted for it. She didn’t immediately get over decades long psychological abuse and she was called useless, weak, a horrible representation of female characters, stupid - you name it, she was likely called it. To this day I still tense up when I hear that someone likes Bleach and they mention Momo at all because I’m always thinking “does this person think this abuse victim is dumb for being abused?”

Dimitri, Rhea, and Momo are all victim-blamed to a disgusting degree in the 3H and Bleach fandoms. Dimitri and Rhea are always hit with “well if Dimitri hadn’t have fought back against Edelgard/Rhea caused the “”tyranical systems” in the first place, nothing would have happened to them!” and Momo was constantly hit with” well, it’s not Aizen’s fault Momo was so clingy to him, what could he have done!” and I get so fuckin’ mad dude.

But for Dimitri and Momo specifically, there’s one thing in particular that caught my attention:

The “Rejection Theories”

This had my head spinnin’ a bit when I first heard it, cuz I had managed to avoid the theory for a while in the 3H’s fandom, but apparently a sizeable amount of people seem to believe that Dimitri wasn’t just mad at Edelgard in the Holy Tomb because of... you know *waves hand* fuckin’ everything, but that the primary reason for his anger was that Edelgard... rejected his advances to her? And that the dagger he gave to her when they were 13 was a phallic symbol of baby Mitri’s want to have sex with Edelgard? And. Like. What in the fuck are you talking about. 

But like?? Bleach did this shit too with Momo?? It was also a sizeable amount of people - not everyone, but a noticeable amount - that believed that Momo was just mad that Aizen wouldn’t sleep with her? You’d see it pop up in fics so often, that Momo would want Aizen to fuck her and she’d “go crazy” when he denied her and Momo was actually just this shallow bitch who wanted a good fuck like... what.

Like, when I first heard the Phallic Dagger take the first thing that came to mind is “wait Momo was also accused of just wanting to have sex with the person who traumatized her wtf” 

“Actually it was the perpetrators that should be forgiven because lonely and also some shit about ruling better”

Those in the 3H fandom know how often the “Edelgard was lonely!” line gets thrown by just about every one of her stans. Edelgard was lonely and couldn’t trust anyone, so of course she did what she did! If she had someone near her she could trust she wouldn’t have acted like she does in the rest of the game! Nevermind that she “gets” this in CF in the form of Byleth and still acts just as shittily as she does in the other routes, or how being a little lonely doesn’t fuckin’ mean you get to start war. But anyway, we also hear that Edelgard was justified in doing what she did because her ruling Fodlan would have lead to more peace in the end, once she got rid of the power structures in place now (except that doesn’t happen but whatev I guess lmao)

Aizen? He was lonely too! He was far too strong for anyone to truly be able to understand him, and so he tragically fell down a dark path. If he had known someone who could be considered an equal to him he would have never done all the horrible things he did. And the Soul Society is unjust! It needs to be reformed! So him slaughtering hundreds of thousands of souls at the minimum to harvest all of their power to use as his own is justified because it’ll be used to create a more just society under his rule!

Like. Y’all. Lowkey? I’m so fuckin’ glad Edelgard proved herself to be just as fuckin’ awful with Byleth as without because this shit drove me up the fuckin’ wall back in the day. There was 0 ways to prove that Aizen would damn sure be just as fuckin’ bad if he had an “”equal”” to stand by him than if he didn’t, and I get to kinda be right because without fundamentally changing these characters’ backstories they would not give two flying shits about whether or not they had someone “equal to them” (which is still kinda degrading to think about anyway).

Now, this is where I move away to a different topic lol

A split in the narrative cause divides in the fandom

With 3H houses this is really fuckin’ easy to point at: there’s 4 routes, three consistent stories and one radically different story, and that difference in story causes heavy contention within the fandom. It’s very obvious so I won’t go over it much.

But how in the fuck is there a divide in Bleach? It’s not a fuckin’ Choose Your Own Adventure manga, it’s an anime and manga showing off the characters of Bleach’s stories and interactions (with, you know, plot and shit thrown in).

Well. It’s more accurate to say the anime told a story about the characters, and the manga told... the story about the characters.

In terms of plot, the anime didn’t change much from the manga, but hoo fuckin’ boy, did they change shit about some of the characters. Specifically, they changed a shit ton about three characters: the two main protagonists, Ichigo and Rukia, and another main character, Orihime.

Orihime. Got. Fucked.

The anime would make her far more ditzy and clumsy, her crush (turned growing love later on in the story) for Ichigo during more deeper moments that showcases her feelings for him were downplayed if not removed entirely in exchange for talking or thinking about food, key moments she has with Ichigo early in the manga were cut or deadass changed to something else in the anime, some key moments with her relationship with Rukia were cut, her backstory was watered down - so much of Orihime was fucked with in the anime (her fuckin’ introduction was changed drastically). Meanwhile Ichigo and Rukia were given moments that didn’t exist in the manga, they have filler arcs (remember those lmao) that would be stuffed with shit ton of moments for them that have no basis in the manga, other characters would change their behavior from the manga to reflect a sort of “thing” going on between Ichigo and Rukia.

Look, guys, the anime fucked up so bad the fucking mangaka, Tite Kubo, has said he gets stomach aches watching the early anime because it was that awful. And this divide between the anime and manga’s portrayal of these three character helped spawn the ship war of Bleach: Ichiruki vs Ichihime (oh but more on that in a bit). It tanked Orihime’s popularity because people thought she was the stupid dumbass that would stumble ass first into situations when that wasn’t her character at all. And because the majority of anime watchers only watch the anime... yeah, you can see where this went. So just like in 3H in Bleach you have these radically different tellings of the same characters that drove a big-ass wedge in the fandom

Marketing

Imma be transparent, like I’ve said before I managed to avoid nearly every marketing tactic for 3H so it’s a tad hard for me to speak personally, but from what I’ve been told Edelgard was heavily marketed towards the player base pre-release. She was the poster child of 3H, she got the figma, she was in the spotlight - unless you cleansed your board of 3H content you knew exactly who she was. On top of that, it doesn’t stop in-game - loading screen messages would assume you picked BE, Adrestia is the first option to pick when you want to impress one of the lords in the prologue, the BE class is the first option to pick in choosing which route to play, every character has some moment in the game post ts where they express sympathy with the woman who waged war on them for five years (even characters with no business doing so, like Seteth entertaining the idea that maybe Edelgard isn’t that bad during Myrddin). With all of that good PR for Edelgard in and out of the game it heavily impacted how people saw her, and much of it is used by stans to justify her being a good guy (mostly in the game marketing) despite everything else in the game clearly showing that Edelgard is the bad guy

With Bleach in that regard... you have Ichiruki

holy shit it’s so weird talking about Ichiruki i’m still lowkey nervous about talking about them lmao

With Ichiruki stans, they would cling onto outside material that promoted Ichigo and Rukia together as proof that their ship was going to be canon. Spreadsheets, calendars, poems (some of which didn’t even apply to Ichigo and Rukia’s relationship but they insisted they did anyway), novels - outside material that either wasn’t canon or didn’t pertain to Ichigo and Rukia’s relationship. They would shove it in the face of Ichihime shippers that “see, we have all this stuff for us! We ain’t starving tonight!” when the canon (note: in the manga particularly) would clearly show Ichigo and Orihime’s relationship being the one that leans romantic in multiple significant ways. They would latch onto irrelevant shit that ain’t had nothin’ to do with anything and wave around as a paragon of romance when it literally wasn’t even canon

Just fuckin’ ignoring the creators deadass

Creators and developers of 3H: Edelgard is the typical Red Emperor the only difference is Girl

Stans: that’s just a headcanon

Kubo: Ichigo and Rukia have a platonic relationship and I’ve publicly said this since 2008

Stans, now, to this day: Ichigo and Rukia were robbed

Making people reject what they’re stanning for

I’ve seen a few people express that the more they interact with the fandom and see what her stans are doing, the more they grow to dislike Edelgard despite (some) initially liking or even loving her. To put it simply, the same thing happened with Ichiruki - hell, this happened with me with Ichiruki. I can’t fuckin’ stand the ship anymore because every time I think about it I’m reminded of the absolutely rancid, disgusting things Ichiruki stans have to done to others in the fandom, and even after nearly five years after Bleach has ended I still tense up when someone says they like Ichiruki over Ichihime precisely because of the behavior of the stans, just like I side-eye people who say Edelgard is the best lord. Do they like them because they simply prefer them over the other(s) and they’re not totally fuckin’ bonkers, or are they totally fuckin’ bonkers. 

And, like, that’s not fair! I know that! But I can’t help but think that when such a loud amount of people act in such deplorable ways just because someone didn’t like a bunch of lines on paper/pixels on a screen.

To all the nice Ichiruki and Edelgard fans, hope y’all are havin’ a nice day.

Long, crazy ass explanations as to why X =/= X (and if anything actually means Y)

Teacher theory for 3H. How Edelgard totally didn’t hire Kostas to kill Dimitri and Claude and was only thwarted because Claude booked it, but how she definitely actually meant to simply scare away the teacher that was with them so that Jeritza could be pulled from his already existing position in Garreg Mach to teach one class so that Edelgard can kinda keep a sorta closer eye on exactly one of the other classes (and just do shit all about the other one I guess), because Jertiza’d be able to gleam so much from teaching a class for a few hours a day I promise 

But for Bleach, you also have one particularly infamous theory positing shit that don’t real, with enough renown to be known by a specific name, and that’s the Lust Arc = Fail essay

To explain what the essay is about, I have to set the scene up a bit. Imagine, you, with your tiny little monkey brain, are watching Bleach, and you get to the part where Main Boyo is fighting against Villain to save Girly. Other Guy is there too - this is important. Main Boyo tries his hardest to fight Villain, but is ultimately shot through the fucking chest with a laser from Villain and dies. Like, for bit actually dies. Girly breaks down, has a straight up mental breakdown because she always “knew” that Main Boyo could do anything, and now he’s been killed and is dead in front of her. She screams out Main Boyo’s name, hysterically begging him to save her and protect her because holy shit the love of her life has been brutally murdered in front of her what the fuck. But Main Boyo, from literally beyond the line of death, hears her pleas and snaps back to life as a monster, with the sentence “I MUST PROTECT” repeatedly running through his head and being the only sentence he ever says while in this form, with him fucking destroying Villain and even going so far as to directly hurt Other Guy when Other Guy tries to stop Main Boyo from utterly stomping on Villain. Girly is the only person Main Boyo does not directly hurt, and when Villain is damn sure gonna fuckin’ kick the bucket that is when Main Boyo reverts back human. Everyone is more than a little shocked at what happened, but it’s clear from how relieved Girly is when Main Boyo comes back safe and sound that while this event fundamentally will change their relationship (and it does), it is still one that is extremely strong and they won’t let it get between them (and they don’t).

Now, when looking at the summary, you, with your absolutely miniscule peanut of a brain, might come away thinking, “Hm, Main Boyo might kinda care for Girly given that he literally rose from the dead to protect her and only her and went back to normal once she was safe” and you poor fool would be oh so wrong, because actually, this is all proof that Mian Boyo doesn’t care for Girly and that Villain actually cared more for Girly than Main Boyo ever could.

Without diving too deeply into the absolute lunacy of the Lust Arc = Fail essay, that was its main premise. That Ichigo, after rising from the literal dead directly after Orihime begged and pleaded that he protect and save her and then going on to protect and save specifically her (as Uryu - Other Guy - is also a friend of Ichigo’s and got his fucking arm cut off by Monster!Ichigo), is proof against Ichihime being romantic in any way and was not, in fact, a fuckin’ giant neon flashing sign that read THESE TWO ARE GONNA GET TOGETHER. It was the dumbest shit ever, but Ichiruki stans, much like Edelstans with Teacher Theory, clung to it like white on rice. It didn’t matter how much it was utterly debunked, it didn’t matter how the base premise was stupid as fuck, they point to it as the pinnacle of meta for their respective fandoms in their respective spaces.

And all of this leads me to um... the one I’m kinda the most worried about?

Stan Behavior

Edelstans are their own unique brand of awful in that that the shit they spew is particularly... worrying (”genocide isn’t bad if they aren’t human and also they kinda deserved it” “imperialism isn’t that bad really” the mentally ill should be put down if they’re deemed ~too far gone~” among other... wonderful takes...), and their behavior is also quite shitty, harassing content creators that go against the Approved Opinions (Ghast) or forcing people to take down fanart and in general infecting nearly every Rhea space with all kinds of disparaging comments no one asked for. They actively make the fandom a worse space, and when they flare up it’s almost always noticeable (again, Ghast)

Bleach?

Oh boy.

Guys. If you weren’t there for the Canonization of Ichihime (2016). You dodged a fucking bullet.

The outrage was out-fuckin’-rageous. Their behavior was some of the worst reactions anyone has ever seen come from the canonization of a ship in a shounen. This includes, but is not limited to:

Someone tearing apart all 70+ volumes of Bleach and burning it in their bathroom

In fact, multiple people tearing up Bleach and burning it, while keeping the Ichiruki moments and taping it to their walls

A Rukia cosplayer, in Rukia cosplay, printing out the final color spread of the end-game couples and their friends lounging about - with colored ink and all - and burning it, while filming herself doing so

Ichiruki porn being sent to Tite Kubo

Tite Kubo being accused of grooming a 15 Orihime cosplayer with no proof

Tite Kubo being accused of lying about his various health issues

Ichigo and Rukia being drawn cheating on their spouses with each other - and some of that also being sent to Tite Kubo

Tite Kubo being chased off Twitter by Ichiruki stans... again

Ichihime shippers getting sent death threats

Ichihime shippers getting called delusional for thinking their ship had a chance before the endgame couples were revealed, and then being called delusional for thinking their ship had any real basis and wasn’t pulled “out of nowhere”

Tite Kubo being accused of hating women because of Orihime being shown in an apron in the last chapter and Ichiruki stans jumping to the conclusion she became a housewife, and then Tite Kubo being accused of hating women because when it was revealed that Orihime has a job in a bakery to pay for college later they insisted what Kubo should have done was have Uryu, who’s a doctor at that point, pay for Orihime’s college instead of having Orihime pay for it with her own money 

And mind you, this is only the stuff I’ve personally seen and experienced

I am hoping and praying that Edelstans never get as bad as Ichiruki stans did in 2016, but with how otherwise similar they are my hopes are dwindling more and more. I guess I can take solace in the fact that they aren’t quite... that bad yet? In terms of actions, at least? Their sentiments though are infinitely worse, so like... cool

#what the hell do I even tag this #i guess like #fandom observations #fandom critical #fandom criticism #yeah shit got BAD in the Bleach fandom in 2016 #and I fear what the return of the anime is gonna have in store #things already don't look good in the 3H fandom so like... yeah #wanted to get the Bleach rant off my chest for a long ass while now lol so glad I could do that #again wanna reiterate that this isn't exclusive to Bleach and 3H this is just my experience with them

[noladyme]

La Cuervo - Chapter 18

She is used to the biker-life, having grown into a woman in the familiar embrace of SAMCRO. A bad decision and a gun-shot later, she gets whisked off to Santo Padre, and put under the protection of another club. What is supposed to be a short stint in the Mayan headquarters just north of the border to Mexico, turns into something more; when la quervo begins to develop feelings for el angel - and he seems to return them in kind...

TW: violence, blood, drug use, alcohol, smut, fluff, angst

In the spirit of "The Crown Princess of Charming", this is a story about O.C. Nina and Angel Reyes. It is obviously non-canon, as characters who have passed on, on Mayans M.C., are present in it, and others have been excluded completely. Nina is written as a cis-female, but I have tried to keep her race and looks as ambigous as possible. Should you find any of this story offensive, please let me know.

18.

It was a quiet morning in the Teller-Reyes residence. Nina woke up to Angel’s beard tickling her neck, as he nuzzled up to her; still sleeping like a baby. His arm was locked around her in a vice grip, but Nina desperately needed to pee; so, she kissed his forehead, before scooting downwards in the bed, to get out from under his hold. He muttered something unintelligible, and Nina smiled to herself as she slipped on one of his flannels, and snuck quietly out of the room.

After handling her business, Nina went through the living room – hearing Angel beginning to rouse and get out of bed – and headed into the kitchen. She smiled through the serving hatch at the biker, who returned the gesture, and walked into the bathroom; rubbing his eyes. He’d put on a pair of sweatpants that hung dangerously low on his hips, and Nina couldn’t help but think a couple of impure thoughts about what was hiding behind them.

As she began searching the cabinets for something edible, Angel got out of the bathroom, and headed towards the bedroom again. Nina found a box of pancake-mix, and turned to the fridge to see if there was any chance Angel had stored anything other than beer and stale pizza in there – preferably, milk. Something small, with long antennae scuttered across the floor; and she screamed at the top of her lungs. “Angel…!”, she squealed, and climbed onto the counter. “What the fuck?”, she heard Angel roar. He came storming through the house, and barged into the kitchen; his gun drawn. “Where are they?”, he growled, his eyes scanning the kitchen. Nina was shaking, and she pointed at the bug, which was calmly wiggling its feelers on the floor. “There…”, she croaked.

Angel let out a deep breath. “Fuck, I thought someone had come to…”, he began; before looking at her, as she sat, hugging her knees, on the counter. “Ma’… It’s just a cockroach”, he smiled. “Get rid of it!”, Nina demanded. Angel sighed, and grabbed a newspaper, getting ready to fold it up. “No, don’t kill it! Take it outside…”. “Are you…? Shit, whatever…”, Angel muttered, and gently picked up the cockroach. While Nina moved backwards on the counter, to get as far away from the bug as possible, Angel carried it out the back door; muttering to himself all the way. He came back a few moments later, and reached out to help Nina down to the floor. “Nuh uh. Nope. Wash your hands first”, she said. Angel rolled his eyes, went over to the sink, and washed his hands. Nina watched him, to make sure he was thorough. “Call an exterminator, or burn down the house. Those are your two options”, she growled. Angel rolled his eyes. “You know, it’s your fault it was in here. They like clean houses”, he said, and pulled Nina off the counter with a firm grip on her waist. His shirt rode up her hips, and he smirked at her. “No panties?”. Nina scowled at him, and pulled the shirt down to cover herself. “I’m gonna take a shower; and don’t tell me roaches like water, ‘cuz I’ll run naked out the front door; and you’ll never see me again”.

She went into the bedroom, and dug out some clothes from the drawer Angel had cleared out for her few belongings. Angel had followed her, and when she went to pass him; when he halted her with a light hand on her hip. “I could go in with you… Squash any little monster that tries anything”, he offered. “No thanks. But you can get me some coffee. Extra strong…”, Nina said. When Angel pouted, she relented, and gave him a small kiss. “I though you got enough last night…”, she smiled against his lips. “I never get enough, querida”, Angel replied, and moved his hand to give her butt a little squeeze. “I’ll go cook up your next high”. “Thank you, papi”, Nina said, and slipped into the bathroom. “That’s not fair. You know what it does to me, when you call me that”, Angel called after her. “I’m locking this”, she replied, and closed the door behind her.

When she’d finished her shower, Nina got dressed, and did her makeup. Looking at herself in the mirror, she saw that she looked well and fucked. Not in the bad way, though; quite the opposite. She was practically glowing, and had a brand new hickey on her neck. She smiled as she ran her fingertips over it.

Angel had left a mug of coffee on the table for her, and after having put on her shoes – she was not going barefoot before she was sure she wasn’t going to step on a stray roach – she grabbed it; before going to stand in the doorway to the bedroom. She nipped at her hot drink, and leaned against the wall, while watching Angel tying his boots. He was wearing jeans and a short-sleeved t-shirt as usual, and she studied his tattoos, as his skin moved over his muscles. “See something you like?”, Angel asked, and stood up from where he’d been seated on the edge of the bed. “You know you look good. I don’t need to bolster your ego”, Nina grinned. He walked over to her, and nabbed her mug; taking a sip, before handing it back. His cut was hanging over a chair, and he put it on. “And now you look even better”. “You’re objectifying me”, Angel said in mock offence. “I’m just saying… That thing belongs on your back”, Nina chuckled. “I’m glad you still have it”.

Angel walked up to her, and placed a finger under her chin. “You just want me for my cut”. He leaned in to nibble at her neck, and Nina hummed in delight, when his hand travelled under her top, and began stroking her bare skin. “Do the patches turn you on, mami? I could kneecap Riz; get him off his bike for a while. They’d need a new secretario; and I’d get another one for the collection”. “That’s not funny!”, Nina chided. Angel chuckled. “I’m just kidding. Just thought you’d like to see me with a bit more flash”, he said. “I thought I proved to you that rank doesn’t matter”, Nina said, set down the mug, and tugged at his beard playfully. “If it did, it would have been Packer balls deep in me last night”. Angel looked seriously at her. “Now, that’s not funny”. “I could go call him right now… He could be here in about three hours”, Nina teased, and pulled out of Angel’s arms. “Two, if I offer him a blowjob for the extra effort”. Angel let out a sound between a growl and a hiss, and Nina ran to get away from him.

She managed to reach the kitchen before he was on her, attacking her body with tickles; and making her squeal from laughter. She was thrown over his shoulder, carried into the living room; and deposited on the couch. Angel stood over her with a hard look on his face. “Ain’t no one gonna be balls deep in you but me, mami”, he growled, and threw himself at her. Nina was almost crying from laughter, as he once again began tickling her. His hands moved between her thighs, and Nina tried clenching them together, but Angel was stronger, and forced them apart. “I’ll be good. I promise!”, Nina shrieked. “I know you will”, he smirked, and cupped her crotch; rubbing her through her shorts. “Only good girls get to…”.

His phone started buzzing on the coffee table. EZ lit up the screen, and Angel picked up the call with an annoyed grunt. “What? I was about to…”. His face dropped. “Yeah, man… of course… No, I’ll go do it myself. It was my fuck-up… Yeah… See you then”. He hung up, and sat back on the couch; sighing deeply. “What’s wrong?”, Nina asked, getting up to sit next to him. “Pap went by my mom’s grave. He saw what I did…”, Angel said gloomily. “I gotta go fix it”. Nina took his hand, and kissed it. “Do you want help?”, she asked. “Nah, you shouldn’t be out in the open… And I was the one who… I gotta do it alone”. He looked down at the floor. “I get it”, Nina said. Angel got up to stand, and pulled Nina with him. “I’ll take you to the yard, and then go take care of it”. “Ok. Then, maybe… drop by your pap’”, Nina said. “Just say you’re sorry”. Angel shrugged. “I’ve given up apologizing to the old man”, he said. “I’ve done too much shit. I’d be there for a year”.

Nina put her arms around him. “He loves you. And he’s proud of you”, she said. Angel let out a short scoffing laugh. “It’s true! I saw it, when he came by the clubhouse… And I know onething you did, that he’s happy about”. “What’s that?”, Angel asked. “Well, he likes me”, Nina shrugged. Angel’s frown turned into a bright smile. “And I did you…”, he said. “You make everything dirty”, Nina chuckled. “You know it”, Angel said, and patted her bottom. “Let’s go”.

Nina went to grab her helmet, when Angel frowned again. “What?”, she asked. “I know that thing has sentimental value to you; but I wasn’t kidding when I said it’s unsafe”, Angel replied. Nina chewed her lip. She knew Angel was right, but not using Jackson’s helmet felt like a weird betrayal. “I really don’t want to get another…”, she said. Angel sighed. “I’m gonna say something that you might piss you off”, he said. Nina looked at him warily. “If we get in a crash, you’ll end up just like him”. A jolt of pain went through Nina’s heart, and she blinked away a tear. “He wasn’t wearing it when… Maybe if he had…”. “He didn’t wear it, because he chose not to”, Angel said. “By wearing it, instead of one that fits you, your kinda choosing that outcome yourself”. Nina shot him a sad and slightly angry look. “Why are you so fucking smart?”, she asked. “Because my helmet fits, and my head is safe when I go down”, Angel said, and smiled softly at her.

Nina put down the helmet on the workbench, and picked up the one she’d borrowed from the club. “I’ll get you a new one like it”, Angel said. “Uh huh”, she muttered, and went towards the front door. Angel stopped her, and cupped her face in his hands. “Hey… Te amo, ok?”. “I love you too”, Nina whispered, and wiped her eyes.

She gave Jax’s helmet one last look, before they left the house.

---

Once at the yard, Angel kissed her goodbye; and went to take care of his mistake. Nina spent a little while keeping herself busy; both to get back in the groove of the clubhouse, and to keep her mind of Angel’s face as he’d driven away. He’d been glum, and she knew he’d need her once he returned.

Bishop waved her over to join him and Taza at their table. “What’s up?”, she asked, as she sat down. “I talked to Palo”, Taza said. “The handover is set for three days from now”. Nina swallowed thickly, and clenched her fists on the table. “Which means we’re in a rush to find the snitch”, Bishop said. He must have interpreted her expression as fear, because he reached over, and patted her arm. “We’re not going to let anything happen to you. I promise”. “I know. I’m still just feeling shitty about letting someone else take my place”, she said. “And what happens after that? Am I supposed to hide for the rest of my life, so Palo doesn’t discover that I’m still alive?”. She sighed, and shook her head. “We’ll keep working on finding something to use against Palo”, Taza said. Nina shot him a look of actual fear; though not for her own safety; but his. “Call around for your old acquaintances down south”, Bishop said. “Some of them have got to still be alive…”. “I’ll look in to it”, Taza said.

“Either way, we still have to plan the handover”, Bishop said. “Palo understands that we can’t do it publicly; because we’re breaking our rules of protecting family”. “So, what?”, Nina asked. “A dark van in an alley?” “Actually, we’re thinking another party”, Taza said. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”, Nina gasped. “Just once, I’d like to enjoy drinks and good times without having to fear for my life”. “You’ll be perfectly…”, Taza began. “Safe. Yeah; so you tell me”, Nina said. “We’ll have a full house of guests; meaning Palo won’t draw on you the minute he sees you”, Bishop said. “Then we do the deed somewhere on the yard, away from the clubhouse”. “Do the deed, as in let Palo kill some woman”, Nina said. “Basically”, Bishop said. “You don’t have to worry; you won’t be there for that part”.

Nina closed her eyes; as if doing so would make the two bikers disappear in front of her. It didn’t work. When she opened them again, Bishop and Taza were still there; looking at her intently. “Ok… In that case, I guess I have a party to plan”, she said, and got to her feet. “Any special requests?”. “No dried apricots this time”, Taza said. “I’ll buy an extra bag, just for you”, Nina smiled sarcastically. “Anything else?”. “Yeah”, Bishop said. “Lockdown is back on for you. Just in case VM tries anything before then”. “Great. I’m grounded again”, Nina said. “I’m not staying in that fucking trailer, though”. “Fine”, Bishop said. “But you don’t leave the clubhouse during the day, and it’s straight to Angel’s, and straight back, every day… And Angel keeps a loaded gun within arms-reach at all times, when you two are alone.”. “What else is new…”, Nina grumbled. Taza chuckled. “You’re lucky. We were considering having someone watching you when you sleep”, he said. “You wanna watch me and Angel in bed?”, Nina smirked. “Go ahead. We’ll give you a show”.

She got on her feet, and went back towards the bar. EZ walked into the clubhouse, lugging a case of beers. “Yo, prospect. Where’s your brother?”, Taza asked. “We got a load this afternoon with his name on it”. EZ put down the case, and shot Nina a short look. “He’s taking care of some family shit”, he said. Nina swallowed thickly. “Yeah, I heard about your mom’s grave. Someone seriously fucked it over”, Bishop said. “Do you need to go?”. The warmth in his voice was surprising. “No. Angel wanted to take care of himself”, EZ muttered. “Well, let me know if you need help finding who did it. Shit like that, we don’t let slide”, Bishop said. “Thanks… but we got it”, the prospect said.

Nina smiled thankfully at him. Angel didn’t need to add to his guilt, by being chastised by his president; EZ knew that as well as her.

---

Angel arrived at the clubhouse a little before noon, and gave EZ a short nod, before going over to put his arms around Nina. He stood upright, and tried to keep a cool demeanor; but Nina could feel the sadness and guilt stream through him. “Come on…”, she muttered, and pulled him by the hand, into the back room; where Angel instantly buried his face in the crook of her neck. Nina held him tight; stroking his back, and kissing his temple. “Do you wanna talk about it?”. Angel pulled back, and looked at her. “The place was trashed”, he said. “It wasn’t that bad. It was just a few bottles”, Nina said. “She would have whooped my ass, if she was there to see it”, Angel said. “No she wouldn’t. If she was anything like you, she’d understand that you were in pain”. She kissed his lips softly. “It’s like I let her down again". He was doing his best not to shed tears. “What do you mean?”.

Angel met her eyes for a second, before sighing. It was as if he had to force himself to tell the story, because it pained him so much. “The night my mam' died, I was supposed to help her lock up the shop". He paused for a second, as if gathering strength to continue. “I decided I wanted to go to a party instead, so EZ went there instead of me… He found her, shot". Nina let out a deep breath; her heart breaking slightly. “I was supposed to be there… I didn’t protect her, and I made my kid brother have to deal with what happened… He went to jail, ‘cuz he shot a cop; chasing after the killer… I did that". It was agony to hear Angel retell the tale, but Nina owed him to help carry the burden of his story; as he had helped her. “You couldn’t have known, Angel…”, she whispered in his ear, as he once again hid his face against her neck. “I was getting drunk and high, while some shithead killed my mam'; and EZ went to jail over it”.

Nina was beginning to understand the reason for Angel’s tendency to self-hatred; though she didn’t agree with it. He had an ego the size of a small country, sure; but when it came to how he thought of himself as a person, Angel had trouble finding any value there. This tragic event changed his life, and the life if his family, and Angel thought that he was the reason for all their woes.

She looked at the fragile man in her arms, and she wished she could make him love himself as much as she did. “Angel… listen", she said. “You didn’t kill your mother. You didn’t send EZ to jail. The fact that you weren’t there, doesn’t make you guilty of anything… Someone else decided to pull that trigger, and you could have just as easily been hurt, or even killed, if you’d been in the shop that night. Your father and brother would have lost both your mother and you”. Nina put her hands to the back of Angel’s head, and forced him to look down and meet her eyes. “You are not to blame for everything bad that happens around you". “I don’t know… It feels like it”, Angel sighed. “That shit with Dani… It put those kids in danger; made you leave… I’m a fuck-up”. Nina cut him off by pressing her lips against his. “Stop… Stop acting like you’re not worth anything. You mean the world to me, and talking like this about yourself… It’s insulting!”, she said. “What do you mean?”. He looked adorably confused. “Well… you’re talking shit about my man…”, Nina smirked. “Where I come from, you would get your ass kicked for that. And it’s such a cute ass; so, I reallydon’t wanna have to do that”. She slid down her hands, and pinched his butt.

Angel finally let a smile form on his face. “Te amo, cuervo”, he said, and kissed her deeply.

---

By lunchtime, Angel was in a much better mood. “I’m telling you, mano; she was sitting on the counter, like all crying and shit”. There was a roar of laughter from around the table at his story. “Over a fucking cockroach?”, Gilly grinned. Nina handed out a round of cokes, putting Angel’s bottle to her own mouth, before he could take it. “Get your own drink, hero…”, she sneered. “Where’s the beer?”, Gilly asked, staring at the bottle of soda in his hand. “You’re at work. Beer later”, Nina said; her voice reminding herself of a schoolmarm. Angel laughed, pressed a kiss to her temple, and went to grab a cold coke from the fridge himself.

Apparently, when he came back to the table, he wasn’t finished making fun of Nina’s encounter with the cockroach that morning. “You were hilarious, ma’. Angel, save me. Oh my god. Please, no. I’m so scared!”, he said, his voice high pitched and exaggerated. “I didn’t sound like that; and the thing was the size of a dog!”, Nina growled. She shuddered at the memory. “Haven’t you ever seen one before, up north?”, Ez asked. “Not this big. And not in people’s houses. They hang out in crack-dens", Nina said. “Then crack-heads keep cleaner houses than SAMCRO", Coco sniggered. “They like it…”. “Clean. Yeah, I got it", Nina grunted. “Which is bullshit, by the way. I googled it, and those little bastards leave shit all over the house; and they can cause asthma attacks…”. “I already called the exterminator; relax, ma'", Angel said. “I’ll relax when our house isn’t trying to kill me anymore!”, Nina snapped, and instantly felt her cheeks burning, at her use of the word our. She cleared her throat. “Don’t you have a load to get to?” Angel smiled brightly, and leaned in for a soft kiss. “Yeah”, he said, and looked at the others. “Let’s go”. The guys all got up, and left the clubhouse to get to work; and Nina got back to her own duties.

Camille came in a little while after. Since she had started helping out behind the bar, a lot more drinks were being spilled; and quite a few beers met their end on the floor, before she could serve them. The red-head was enthusiastic about her work; but she wasn’t truly cut out for it. Whenever she poured shots, she’d get more liquor on the counter, than she got in the glasses. In spite of this, Nina was thankful for the help, as well as the company. Nina hadn’t seen Letty or Gaby since she came back, and was seriously lacking some feminine conversation. Nina liked Camille. She’d been through hell and back, but was still standing, and not letting a bad experience get in her way of trying to be happy, and finding a place of her own to thrive in. Before long, they were laughing and sharing stories about club life; and though Nina could have done without the details about Camille’s sexual escapades with the Mayans she had come to see as brothers, she spent the next couple of hours in a good mood.

“They really like you around here, huh…?”, Camille said, after Riz and Hank had come in, and both of them came over to give Nina the welcome back hug she hadn’t gotten the night before. “I guess… I like them too”, Nina smiled. “It’s just crazy… You haven’t been around that long, but you’re like family to everyone”. Camille looked at her inquisitively. “I pretty much grew up in a club like this”, Nina said. “I guess being here just comes natural to me; and they sense it”. Camille chuckled, and nudged her with her shoulder. “Come on… You have to have a secret”. Nina thought about it for a moment. “I don’t treat them like gods, like some women around here do”, she said; and instantly felt her cheeks burn. “I mean… present company not included”, she lied. Camille shrugged. “I don’t know… They are pretty awesome. It’s like, when they put on their cuts, they become… They’re just so amazing”. Nina laughed at this. “Camille; they’re just men”, she said. “Give them their favorite beer and tell them their bikes are rad, and they’ll think you’re heaven-sent”. “Really?”, Camille said. She began wiping down the counter for the third time since she’d arrived, and Nina left her too it.

Coco peeked in through a half open door, and looked at Nina hesitantly. “Yo, niña? We finished work. Can we get some beers now?”, he asked. “Sure, Coco…”, Nina laughed. “I got it!”, Camille smiled brightly, and quickly grabbed a round of cold ones for the bikers returning from work. “Be my guest”, Nina shrugged, and went to check on the bathroom situation. Gilly had been in there, after gulping down a large serving of chimichangas – extra cheese. To her relief, the damage wasn’t that bad; but she still set up an extra air-freshener. Camille hadn’t returned by the time she came back to the bar, and Nina decided to go check she hadn’t dropped the beers all over the porch.

Once outside, she found no beer on the porch, only Coco and Gilly smirking, and shaking their heads. They were looking in the direction of the row of bikes, where Camille was leaning against Angel’s bike, talking with an enthused expression about something; and he was smiling and nodding casually, his beer in hand. Camille licked her lips, and pushed out her breasts. It was like a flashback to the day after the party, where Daniella had been trying get it on with Angel; and Nina had to stop herself from running over and hiss at the woman to back the fuck off. “He might need some help”, Coco muttered at Nina. “Yeah…”, Nina said.

She walked as calmly as she could towards Camille and Angel. Camille hadn’t noticed her coming, and kept up her flirting. “I noticed that’s your favorite, so I thought I’d bring it for you”, she said. “Thanks. That was nice of you”, Angel said, and locked eyes with Nina; looking relieved. “I’m just gonna…”. Camille walked towards him, and put her hand on his lower arm. “I really like your bike, Angel. Maybe we could go for a ride some time…”. “Camille, can I talk to you?”, Nina called out. Camille turned around, and looked at her with a confused expression. “Is something wrong?”, she asked. “I’m gonna go… over there”, Angel said, and edged away from Camille; moving towards the porch.

Nina walked all the way over to Camille, and blew out a deep breath; trying to remain calm. “I’d really appreciate it if you stop flirting with Angel”, she said. Camille frowned, and shook her head in puzzlement. “But… you said…”. “He’s off limits”, Nina declared. Camille laughed a little. “I know you guys were together, before you went away for a while...”. "You saw us together last night!", Nina exclaimed. "Yeah; but just last week, he was with Daniella...". “Angel is mine”, Nina said. “I’m not gonna repeat myself again. If you want to hang around here, you keep away from him”. “So, you’re like his old lady?”, Camille asked. “Yes… Now, go inside. Bish’ and Taza need refills”. Nina was surprised at her own ability to keep her voice as level as it was. Camille nodded. “Yeah, sure. I didn’t mean to…”, she said. “It’s fine. We’re good. Just don’t do it again”, Nina said. Camille walked back towards the clubhouse, avoiding eye contact with the three bikers who had watched the interaction. Once the door closed behind her, Coco and Gilly made a show of slow clapping at Nina. “Fuck off”, she sneered, and went back towards the porch herself.

Angel came down to meet her, and Coco and Gilly went inside the clubhouse. “You know I didn’t…”, he began. “No, I know”, Nina cut him off. “I was just… marking my claim”. She shot him a sly smirk, and Angel put his arms around her, pulling her close; so that her could whisper in her ear. “That was fucking hot, mami”, he said, and kissed her neck, before leaning back again. “And thanks. She was getting butt prints on my bike”. “Only my butt gets to leave prints there”, Nina grinned. Angel’s eyes lit up. “That gives me an idea…”. “We’re not having sex on your bike”, Nina said. “At least not on the yard. Too many eyes”. “Then let’s take a ride somewhere…”, Angel said with a smirk. “I can’t… I’m on lockdown again”, Nina groaned.

They walked back towards the clubhouse, Angel’s arm around Nina’s shoulders; when he spoke again. “Do you think my bike would fit through the front door of the house?”.

---

Tags: @cole-winchester @doloreschanal

#angel reyes #angel reyes fic #angel reyes x oc #mayans mc #mayans mc fic #ez reyes #coco cruz

[twilightofthe]

So...about that Obitine Anidala rant. Also, you said something about how Sidious and Obi-Wan are foils. I would love it if you elaborate. (Also, I love your blog.)

Awwwww thank you anon!  I just be yelling on here!

*wheezes* okie doke!  Tho I stress that this won’t exactly be a rant because I adore Obitine and Anidala and rant kinda implies aggression towards them, this is more of just a long-ass ramble because while I love them, I don’t always love the way canon portrays them in the narrative, particularly in relationship to each other, because I often do not feel that what the show is trying to push us to think about them is accurate to how they actually act and come across.  Notably, the show attempts to draw comparisons to the two relationships that really don’t exist below surface level similarities.  Again, these are my own personal opinions, and in fact, I welcome discussion!  I truly do!  Please politely debate me on this if you disagree!

(god dammit it got long again, so long I’ll actually put ur Sidious and Obi Wan as foils part in a separate post)

I’ll get to why exactly the show compares the relationships very strangely in a moment, but first we gotta explore the reason why it does this in the first place, which is that the Clone Wars show has decided to make Obi Wan and Anakin narrative foils to one another.  Narrative foils, by the literary definition, are two characters that contrast one another.  They don’t have to be the protagonist and the antagonist, these characters can be on the same side, basically the thing is that they have “opposite” personalities where if one character is hot, the other is cold, if one character chooses to go right, the other will go left.  It’s usually used to show one character’s qualities as more favorable for the situation as opposed to anyone else’s.

TCW does this whenever they possibly can with Anakin and Obi Wan.  I get its reasoning behind it.  I do.  The reasoning is that while Anakin is supposed to be a main character, he makes questionable decisions quite often and for the kiddies watching, those decisions must be seen as Bad even if the hero does it, so they have Obi Wan, the unquestionable good guy, encounter the exact same scenarios Anakin makes his questionable decisions in, and then has Obi Wan make the Right(TM) decision to teach the kids a valuable lesson.  They turn Obi Wan into the voice of reason for the entire show, which turns basically almost everything Obi Wan and Anakin do into a constant competition in the narrative in a way the movies do not do (and I’ll get to the movies later).  I’m not saying it’s necessarily a bad thing, making them foils, but it’s definitely more of a show-only thing and it does it quite, quite often.

So yeah, TCW likes to compare Obi Wan and Anakin to the point that sometimes they try and use Obi Wan to diminish Anakin’s genuine trauma and struggles by going “well why didn’t you do it like THIS?” and I think that writing parallel plotlines for the purpose of shaming/criticism is kinda ://////, but that’s another rant for another day that again, if y’all wanna hear about, lmk

Anyway, the need to compare them absolutely made its way into their romantic relationships as well, as they acknowledge the similarities in the show, and Filoni and the crew explicitly compare the two relationships in interviews.

Basically my problem with how they try and draw said parallels can be boiled down to one quote by Filoni that a cursory Google search could not find but I know exists so y’all can take my word or not, that went along the lines of “Obi Wan and Satine are like Anakin and Padmé but better because they know how to stay unattached and let each other go.  They’re a success story.”  I disagreed with this quote so much it inspired me to write a whole-ass fic about it (Mutuals update: yes, it is coming soon, Darth Maul is just himself and therefore an utter pain in the ass to do a POV on and is fighting me like the bitchass he is)

My thesis that I will be arguing today is that while TCW tried to create Obitine as an Anidala parallel, they’re really not similar in the way the writers think they are.  Obitine is not a success story to Anidala, they’re a goddamn tragedy too; the real parallel to Anidala is that Obitine also ended in death and tears despite making all the “right” decisions instead of all the “wrong” ones, and that is what is sad about them.

Like, on the surface level?  Yeah, the crew-intended parallels are there.  A fancy politician and a Jedi get together after the Jedi is assigned as the politician’s bodyguard.  The first time they see each other in over a decade the guy’s first words are basically “damn girl you’re still hot”, there is Conflict(TM) and the choice to try and be together or stay yearningly apart because they are Forbidden(TM) to be together, and ultimately a Sith Lord fucks them both over because he’s obsessed with the Jedi and uses Politician Lady to his advantage, finds and exploits a vulnerability of hers, destroys her life’s work, and then lets her die to make Jedi Man sad.  The difference is all that one pair said “yeah we aren’t gonna break the rules to be together” and the other said “fuck it yeah we are, let’s do this”

But beneath all of that, they real similarities are different and not at all focused on by the narrative.  Obi Wan and Anakin are extremely different people, as are Padmé and Satine, so their relationship dynamics together will not be the same.  You want to try and compare Obi Wan and Anakin and then compare Satine and Padmé like the crew attempts to, and you can’t, they have the same job but not nearly the same life.  Namely, the funny coincidence is that Obi Wan and Padmé are much more similar in personality, while Anakin and Satine are also much more similar in personality, so the first time they meet again, it’s both Anakin and Satine as the one who’s been pining for over a decade and the one more actively pursuing the relationship, while Obi Wan and Padmé who are more like “uh, hi, wow, you’re hot and this is a Problem because I have a job to do pls don’t look at me like that but also I will Cause Problems On Purpose and flirt with you anyway because I can’t help it”.  I get the Corruption TCW ep with Sati and Pads was mostly intended just to help Satine pass the Bechdel test and also show how similar the two leading lady love interests are, but it was a genuinely creative episode that actually ended up showing how much Satine and Padmé compliment each other instead of mirroring each other, much like Obi Wan and Anakin do.

And, onto my next point, despite the character parallels being wrong, the parallels in the relationship are different too.  Like I said, the parallel isn’t that Obi Wan and Satine aren’t attached like Anakin and Padmé are.  The parallel is that Obitine is actively running from what that attachment means instead of embracing it like Anidala is.  The show would argue that since they try to avoid it, that they are able to live without one another, means they aren’t attached like the Jedi define it, but I argue that they definitely still are attached to a degree because they cannot give each other up.  They held torches for each other from a timerange of 15 YEARS.  Yes I know they spent an entire year together at a young and emotionally volatile point in their lives, but I stand that NO ONE is that hung up on their ex for that long unless there is some serious emotions involved.  Anakin was hung up on Padmé for ten years, and that was because Palpatine was constantly bolstering those affections and reminding him of Padmé.  Obes and Sati both-- or at least Satine, the show always makes Obi Wan’s feelings for Satine in return much more vague --held on to their feelings for five years longer without the influence of a Sith Lord.

And the thing is, they know it.  Obi Wan and Satine are both fully aware that they haven’t been able to shake each other off like they should and that that is a Problem, that’s why they’re both a mite venomous with each other beneath the flirting at first, they’re both extremely frustrated with themselves for not being able to get over this thing they have, and frustrated with the other for being there as an active temptation.

And yet, they still are attached to each other.  They try to avoid it, they definitely try, and that’s what makes them different from Anidala, but they are definitely still attached.  You can see it in Obi Wan’s actions in Voyage of Temptation when Merrik is threatening to blow the ship, the way he hesitates in attacking him because that would be “striking an unarmed man”.  Obi Wan Kenobi does not prefer violence, no, but he has never hesitated to cut a bitch before if it’s for the good of the many.  This is the man who stabbed someone with a fork and threatened to eat him just to maintain his cover as a dangerous criminal.  This is the guy who had no problem killing Zam Wessel for information to protect Padmé.  This is a pragmatist who prefers peaceful solutions, but he does not hesitate if he feels it is a justified offense.  But this time, when an entire shipful of people is at risk, Obi Wan hesitates.  Because he doesn’t want to upset Satine.  Because he’s probably thinking on how she told him that if he had killed the last terrorist they encountered, she wouldn’t speak to him, how she had criticized every time he used violence to escape Death Watch before.  He hesitates because he’s putting her happiness, just for a second, over the sake of duty.  Do I think that if Anakin hadn’t shown up to save their moral compasses, Obi Wan would have eventually taken out Merrik?  Absolutely; hell, I honestly think Satine might have done it.

But the matter was, Merrik could have pressed the kill switch any second of Obi Wan’s hesitation, and Obi Wan knew that, and was hesitating anyway.

I am calling this attachment solely because if the situation was reversed, if this was Anakin and Padmé in this situation, with Anakin not taking out a dangerous criminal because he doesn’t want to upset Padmé (lol ignoring the fact that Pads 1000% would have shot that bitch, and even if she didn’t, Anakin would because he is perfectly fine with hurting his loved ones’ feelings if he feels it’ll keep them safe), god, the narrative would have eaten Anakin alive.  

No, I won’t take criticism.  I know how the show handles the Anidala dynamic.  It would have shown Obi Wan popping up to take out the baddie as him doing the right thing and saving the day, and then Anakin would have been shamed for letting his feelings for his wife get in the way of protecting a shipful of people.  THAT would be the Vader foreshadowing, none of this “only a cold-blooded killer” shit, no way would they ever stick that label on Obi Wan.

So yeah, I’m going off of the fact that if that would have been classified as attachment for Anidala-- which, it would, then. it counts for Obitine.

And then Obi Wan and Satine continue to be hung up on each other for the rest of the eps they’re in, Satine saying in words multiple times how much she loves and cares about him and wishes things could be different, and Obi Wan performing it in actions, risking his own neck and political standing to help her even when she’s a fugitive, probably personally putting in to send his own grandpadawan to help her later.  Right up to the time when Satine decides that she is going to call Obi Wan when she is deposed.  Not the Senate.  Not any powerful politician friends.  Not even the Jedi Order or the Council as a whole.  She calls and addresses her distress call to Obi Wan alone.  And Obi Wan, as now revealed to us by TCW S7, defies Council orders and breaks a century old neutrality treaty to try and bust her, a convicted murderer in the eyes of the Republic and Mandalore, out.  He didn’t even know Maul had her.  Just knew she was in danger and came running to her aid.  He risks starting a potential war to come save her.  They acted so in love that Vizsla was able to guess from being around them for like five seconds, and was able to tell Maul exactly who he would need to bait Obi Wan.

That is where the attachment comes from.  It’s the fact that Obi Wan and Satine tried so, so hard to give each other up and do the right thing, but when it came down to it, they couldn’t lose the other one so they put them first when logically they shouldn’t.  And thus, Satine ended up dead.

Now I know most people will argue with me that actually Filoni means that since they didn’t stay together after the year on the run, THAT is what makes them able to give each other up, and also the fact that Obi Wan didn’t go dark side and murder everyone when Satine died.

But I still think that at least the murder front is a fairly low bar to cross, and anyway, that just because they could live without each other didn’t mean they weren’t still attached.  Anakin and Padmé were apart for 10 years and then even after that, they were apart almost constantly during the war.  Just because they could live apart or even past the other’s death didn’t mean they weren’t attached, as they both still had not let the other go mentally and also broke rules to try and ensure the other would not die, even if the rules said they should let it happen.

So yeah, that’s my big theory.  We can’t compare Obitine with Anidala by saying Obitine was a success story, we compare them by acknowledging that both struggled with attachments and letting the other go, but Obitine at least tried to the bitter end to do the right thing while Anidala didn’t really bother, and both ended up with dead women and broken men regardless, and that is the true sad parallel to me.

#ohhhhh my god i really gotta learn how to shut up lol #thanks anon! told ya it was long! #ask #asks #when we were young #star-crossed lovers #our only ho #peace out #one (1) hot mess #queen of my heart #anon

[bbq-hawks-wings]

On Hawks' Injuries

Alright, let's get this out of the way.

"His back... It's... gone!"

I may like to act like an intellectual, but no amount of analysing the color of the curtains changes the fact that I'm a married, mother of two, in her mid-twenties fixated on a fictional character from a series aimed at teenagers about superhero high school. The innuendo from Dark Shadow, the implications of what this means for Hawks on a personal and professional level - that shit stings and I might actually cry when this dumpster fire ends up in the anime in a few years.

We won't know about the extent of his injuries until he's been examined by a doctor, but considering how quickly his wings went up (this all happens in seconds which means those flames are extremely hot)...

...We're looking easily at huge patches of third degree burns with first and second scattered across his body. The area most affected is in the center of his back which does not have a lot of soft tissue to insulate before you're getting to very important nerves and organs, and the scar tissue that will likely form in the muscles and skin after healing may leave his movement heavily restricted.

Depending on how gruesome Horikoshi wants to be, Hawks not only will never get his wings back, but he could be looking at significant permanent disability for the rest of his life. This isn't even taking into consideration the acute complications he may face on the road to recovery including fighting off bacterial infections, fluid loss, and his immediate increased risk of hypothermia. Left improperly treated, someone with this level of burn injury faces an agonizing death (though, a quick one after passing out without treatment), and proper treatment would likely require huge amounts of pain medication to make the long road to recovery even bearable. This doesn't even take into account any additional injury he may have sustained when he hit his head after Dark Shadow dropped them off the balcony.

Remembering for a minute that this is a battle Shonen we're talking about, this is an absolute worst case scenario, and this post goes over how it likely won't end up this bad in the narrative, but that doesn't minimize the sheer brutality of the beating he just took. The fact that he only passed out after hitting his head is pretty miraculous in and of itself, but I'll force myself to suspend my amazement a little bit given the nature of the source material.

Let's assume at the very least his wings aren't coming back, and he'll need at least a week with good medical attention and healing quirks to just be able to get out of bed again. What then?

It should always be obvious when I predict the future that it's all speculation because I'm not actually clairvoyant, but you know disclaimer or whatever.

We have some nasty red flags staring us down in regards to where this fight is going right now. Shigaraki is awake. Dabi's words after Tokoyami escapes with Hawks insinuates there's an alternate plan than the MLA had, Gigantomachia is moving, and the tides are quickly turning for the heroes without even all of that. This fight looks like it's about to go south real fast.

If the heroes lose with significant losses - with any amount of death or injury - and with the added knowledge they at least partially relied on young, inexperienced kids to help bolster their numbers in the hopes to end this quickly, by the time Hawks wakes up he'll not only be staring down his own personal loss in the wake but the weight of the guilt of what he'll perceive as his own failure will crush him. I also sincerely believe that worst detail at the end of it will be him knowing he personally killed a good man for nothing to even come of it in the end.

Remembering also that the Hero Public Safety Commission is the one who tasked him with this mission in secret and the fact, again, that they pulled children into this failed fight - I do not believe they will take responsibility. This doesn't even take into account the fact he'll be useless as a hero and that they don't even know the extent of his knowledge of their inner workings which makes him a dangerous potential leak.

What's more, news of Hawks' betrayal of the MLA will spread through the ranks and file into the public consciousness. On every single side Hawks will be the scapegoat while he is fighting for his life from a hospital bed. He'll be in more danger without the fierce protection of trusted friends than he was while deep in enemy territory. If he doesn't have a tribe he can trust to keep him safe, maybe even going as far as to clandestinely steal him away where he can't be found, attempts on his life are not out of the question.

Hawks will have a choice to make - rise up and make some real god-damned change while we're already up to our necks or roll over and let the world come crashing down around him as he sinks into despair. He can either settle for being a symbol of failure or he can take the chance to rebirth himself.

Could Hawks' wings ever come back?

This injury is insinuated to be permanently damaging. Whatever mechanism grafted Hawks' wings to his back and allowed him to control them is implied to be damaged beyond recovery, if not completely gone.

However, given Eri's mere existence it's absolutely possible to rewind that injury. Before the battle began it was insinuated Eri will end up using her power again, perhaps even out of necessity. It's an absolutely broken quirk, to be sure; but running with the idea that at some point her power will be offered to Hawks to let him have his wings back - perhaps it's even her idea - I posit two scenarios:

Hawks accepts and he's given a second chance to be whatever he wants to be. His freedom completely restored to him physically and figuratively, he begins life anew with a zeal and solemn appreciation for life and the people in it because the opportunity to make a full return like this is a one in a million chance he's lucky to have.

Hawks turns her down, at least uncomfortable with the idea of using a child's quirk for his own benefit given his own history, even if she offers it freely with no additional obligation to herself. He takes a moral stand in the moment to say, "It's not your job to fix my mistakes and shortcomings" and lives as an example of accountability and living with the hard choices you've made in life and learning how to be happy despite the loss.

I would personally be happy with either if Horikoshi intends to take either route. It's more than possible neither will happen, but with the Eri angle, I hope the possibility is at least touched upon. Maybe it's a one-shot thing and he chooses to let her restore someone like Mirio instead. Maybe it'll get completely broken and bring back every hero - Hawks, Mirio, Mirko, etc. - perhaps even triggered by her own determination to help in any way she can. We'll have to see. The story can take any number of directions after this, and it's not so much where we're going that has me antsy as much as the wait it'll take to get there.

#spoiler!hawks #bnha manga spoilers #mha manga spoilers

[maxparkhurst]

How did you create your characters? What was your process?

TMI Tuesday:  How did you create your characters? What was your process?

// <offers out a chair> You’re going to want to sit for this. It’s going to be a LONG story. For those who’re looking for a short answer: I’m actually in the middle of creating these two. Edits and tweaks are always being made to make them appear real and true. And it’s thanks to everyone on here and in-game that they’ve progressed so much. 

Now for the long version. 

<buckles seat belt> 

Evolving as an Author:

Maxinora and Augustine Parkhurst are a culmination of ideas inspired by a myriad of things. The process of creating them isn’t linear. It has a lot of pit falls, unexpected twists and turns, and a ton of hills. To understand how we got the current versions of these two, we need to go back a couple years ago. 

It’s the summer of 2012. In efforts to get me off of his account, my Dad gifted me my own. This was when I made my first ever serious roleplay character- a hunter named Evelon Holmwood. Well, at the time I spelled it like Evavllyn but...Yeah. We’re going to gloss over that fact. Now, Eve was my pride and joy for the last several years. I played this character nonstop, refusing to play or write about anyone else. In retrospect, I used this character more as therapy than anything of creative merit. 

Eve’s story was basic at best. But I got better with story-telling the older I got. Unfortunately, her story got so convoluted that I had hard time salvaging anything from it. Now, you’re probably asking: How does this relate to Max? Fear not. I’m getting there. It was around this existential crisis that a mutual friend of my boyfriend and I convinced us to leave WoW and hop on SWTOR. My boyfriend was more than eager to make the switch but I was skeptical. Leaving WoW meant leaving Eve. And was I ready for that? 

He assured me I was and helped me make a character on SWTOR. This was the first iteration of Max. A bounty hunter from Nar’Shadda named Maxinora Fenrik. My intentions was to make her a lowkey copy of Eve. At this time, I wasn’t very confident in my writing abilities and liked to stay in my lane. But, the more I roleplayed this character the more she took on a life of her own. She evolved past Eve and exceeded my expectations. Playing a new character bolstered my confidence and while I no longer play SWTOR -due to OOC reasons- I still have fond memories with this character. I enjoyed this character so much that I reused several components of her design when making Max. Some which include her name and being blind in one eye. 

I flipped between the MMOs when Legion dropped. Expenses started to pile up and between the two subscriptions I didn’t have the time to play both. In the end, WoW won my affection and I made a Blood Elf because I had friends on Horde Side. Rorien Hawkthorne was her name. A drunk artist and master assassin. She’d be the second iteration of Max. She had an older sister complex, an affinity for being melancholy, and it was my first experience with playing a character who could kept secrets- or tried to at least. Another new character under the belt and I was feeling a little more confident in my story telling abilities. I’d probably would’ve kept playing that character if not for OOC drama happening in a guild I was in. The fallout had me jump back to the Alliance where I indulged in creature comforts. It was back to Eve. 

Tumblr made an entrance in my life around then as I ventured forth with a refreshed look on my hunter. I salvaged what I could and made a half-decent story. A lot of her misadventures are still posted up on her blog @evelonholmwood​ On the side I made the third iteration of Max. A fire mage and blacksmith combo by the name of Rowan Celwick with her younger brother Thomas Celwick.  They were just two orphaned kids trying to make a life in Stormwind. Rowan was an arcane drop-out and blacksmith wannabe and Thomas...Was...Well? Thomas? A glorified side-piece? A way to garner pity for Rowan. I didn’t place a lot of emphasis on them or their characters. My main focus was Eve. But these two would be the underlying foundation of Max and Auggie’s characters. 

I eventually took a hiatus from WoW and focused on more personal writing. The details are boring so I’ll gloss over it by saying that creating a character completely from scratch was the final push in the right direction for me. Fast forward several months to a year aaaaaand BOOM! Pandemic. 

Writing is an escape for me. It’s one of my best coping mechanisms during trying times. And when nothing else works, I over indulge in some Warcraft. So, I resubbed. There was hesitance when re-entering the RP scene. I didn’t leave Eve’s story off on an convenient note. For lack of better phrasing, I wrote myself into a hole I couldn’t get out of. So, with the help of my boyfriend, I decided it was time to give Eve her happy ending and shelf her for good. 

Which put me in a dilemma! Who was I going to RP? Well, you remember the Celwicks? They became my newest project. 

The Creative Process: 

I knew the Celwick story was weak and read much like a middle-school fanfiction. Revising was a must. But there were integral pieces to their story which I enjoyed: 

Familial Sacrifice 

Juxtaposing concepts

Intertwined Fates

These were themes I could work with and evolve. Keeping these in mind, I started to deconstruct the Celwick story line. They were no longer Gilnean but Kul’tiran. This prompted a name change from Celwick to Parkhurst. And I won’t lie, I like the sound of Parkhurst better than Celwick. Thomas became Augustine and Rowan became Maxinora (Mainly because I actually HAD the name Maxinora and not Rowan). The little changes got me hyped for the characters. 

Next, I started to trim away the unnecessary details that bogged down the narrative. Things that either didn’t fit or made the timeline too convoluted were replaced. Pyromancy was a great example. The age I wanted Max to be wouldn’t yield to her understanding of Pyromancy. At least, not to the level I WANTED it to be. SO, I turned it into lament’s magic. Alchemy. (I also always wanted to play an alchemist since watching FMA) 

A girl with two professions seemed excessive as well. I had to look at why I wanted her to be both an Alchemist and a Blacksmith. The answer was simple. I just liked the juxtaposition of an intelligent woman being rough and tumble. Which made me ask: Was Blacksmithing necessary to achieve that imagine? The answer was no. To pay respect to her previous iteration, I made their parents blacksmiths. It also let me keep themes of fire in her concept. The change in profession brought on a change in her appearance. I made her a little more slender to fit with the alchemist appeal. 

Max’s aesthetic was brought on by my previous characters.  Rorien inspired more internal facets of Max while Fenrik inspired outward appearances. Max’s auburn was strictly a decision made on the fact that I had one too many character’s with black hair. There wasn’t any other reason for it. 

Designing Max was easy. The real challenge was with Augustine. Up until that point, all I had to go on for his character was Tommy Celwick and...Well. There wasn’t a lot there. He wasn’t much more than a poorly used trope and I considered doing away with him all together. But I realized that I REALLY liked the trope and I liked what he did for Max’s character.  So, I buckled down and made myself think through all the reasons why Thomas Celwick -AKA Augustine Parkhust- needed to exist. 

I decided that I needed him in order to present themes in Max’s story. He was the foil to her character. Cynic older sister? Meet optimistic brother. He also appealed to not only the three themes listed above, but also the newest one I wanted to explore: two sides of the same coin. Max and Augustine are simultaneously the same, having similar traumas, and yet different. If for nothing else, Augustine could help propel Max in the right direction. Be her moral compass, you know? With a bit of half-assing here and there, I managed to get a decent character out of Augustine. Took the cliche nerdy brother idea, physical design and all, and ran with it. Shortly after I  made their Tumblr account. In no way did I expect this BOY to take on a life of his own. Like, Auggie knocked on my brain’s door and was like, “Yeah. No. I’m not a side character. Give me my own story...” 

Which will bring me into my final point! 

The Characters Write Their Own Story: 

I’ve never been able to sit down and plan a story. My mind doesn’t work in such a structured fashion. It wanders and explores. When I’m creating, I’m watching. Watching the scenes play out before my eyes as these characters take what I’ve given them and grow into something almost independent of me. The basic pieces of Max and Auggie’s back story, along with character design, were purposeful. Yes. But everything that came after was THEM.

It’s cliche, I know, but I can’t describe this experience any other way. These two grew outside of my influence and now dominate a space in my brain. They talk, work, and interact without me. I mean...Not REALLY. But...It feels like that. It feels I’m watching through a keyhole and just recording what I see as their story plays out. 

I guess a better analogy is me being the director. I’m watching the movie in the stands as two actors improv. On good days, I’m in control and rework scenes until I’m satisfied with the results. Try this. Move here. Say this. On bad days, I don’t see anything. My actors went home. The lights are off. Show’s cancelled for the day. These days make me sad...But they’re worth it because on the BEST days...The best days Max and Auggie run the whole show, and I am watching through the keyhole as their story unfolds little by little. 

It’s truly magical. 

The last part of their creation was the voice. Character voice, for me, is like building muscle. You need to work out. Start small and work your way up in weight. Every little piece I wrote made their voices stronger; and that’s including asks and threads. Interacting with other characters helped to flesh them out as people. And while it was hard and intimidating at first, it’s started to become easier. 

Wrap-Up

My method is messy and untrained. I don’t claim to have any secrets. My knowledge of writing is mediocre at best. But I’m having fun. And that’s were the real magic of any character comes in. Fun. Because if you aren’t writing about something that sparks your soul- either with love, happiness, hatred, etc- then it’s nothing more than a forced, hollow husk. Writing is meant to evoke emotion. At least in mind. And want to express complex emotions and share them. In a perfect world? My characters -any of my characters- resonates with someone. They become the escape someone needed. That’s the ultimate goal. 

It’s thanks to all of you that Max and Auggie have come this far. It’s from their interactions with others that they’ve managed to evolve into something incredible- especially Augustine. He just kept shining brighter and brighter until I felt obligated to make him an in-game character. So, you all are just as much a part in the creative process as me. Thank you! 

And a special thanks to my boyfriend for always being a sound board for my rambling ass <3 

THANK YOU FOR THE ASK, ANON! Sorry I posted an essay...<3 

[a-l-ias]

Do You Even Know My Name?

(The Evolution of Peter Parker’s Names) Part I of IX

Alright, y’all, this has been a long time coming. This has been sitting in my drafts for about six months, and I’ve been too scared to post it, mostly because of who I wrote it for:

@yellowdistress, this is for you. All your stories and patience and headcanons and kindness touches everyone that has even just dipped their toes in the water of the Irondad fandom. You give us happiness and angst, comfort and hurt, fluff and love. Everything you do for us is unequaled, and nothing we can do will ever be able to repay you, but this is an attempt. I love you, Denni, and everything you do <3 <3 <3

Hopefully you enjoy it XD

(I am so rusty, I haven’t written to post in, like, two years)

I. Kid

It wasn’t anything personal, it was simply just how Tony operated. Perhaps it was a firm, remaining bulwark from his years as Howard’s verbal punching bag, or maybe a shield formed from an innate fear of emotion and an irrational aversion to intimacy -- whatever the reason, though, he flat-out refused to use people’s real names.

His best friend wasn’t James or Rhodes, he was Rhodey or Platypus or Honeybear.

His fiance wasn’t Virginia, she was Pepper or Honey or Babe.

Happy was Happy, not Harold. Cap was Capscicle, not Steve. Brucie, Point-Break, Legolas, Eye-Patch, Aunt-Hottie -- it was almost as if he never learned their real names in the first place. Tony himself wasn’t even quite sure why he did this, but it was an instinct. It made him feel safer, less vulnerable, with the threat of actually acknowledging his care for a person removed along with their name. Retrospectively, it was a rather ridiculous notion, because somewhere along the line, The Tony Stark giving you a nickname translated into “aww, he cares,” instead of “back off, bitch.” While Pepper certainly realized this, and Rhodey accepted it after Sourpatch had indelibly stuck, Tony himself seemed hopelessly oblivious to his underlying declarations of love.

Which is why, over the course of almost two years, he didn’t realise his utter and complete devotion to one excitable teenaged tornado.

According to Pepper, he’d held onto “kid” entirely too long. “Trust me, kid”... “I did listen, kid”... “where’d you come from, kid”...it all seemed -- to her, anyway -- like such a desperate attempt to distance himself. But, again, it was comforting: knowing that no matter what he did, this little, naive human being, who looked at him like he was the glowing savior of the Earth descending from the sky, would never be broken by the unavoidable Stark ability to ruin childhoods.

His physics Professor sophomore year at MIT called him kid. The butler Howard hired two weeks after Jarvis’ death called him kid. Neither of them particularly cared about him, but they hadn’t hurt him either.

He figured “kid” was a good compromise.

So he used it whenever he needed to remind himself that he didn’t give a shit about this kid, besides whether or not he ended up as spider-juice on the 5th avenue sidewalk. Lately, he’d had to pinch himself more and more.

God, this kid. This kid with his contagious grins and unflappable joy and persistent optimism. This kid with a heart as big as the moon and morals to rival those of Steve Rogers and brown eyes so wide, so wondrous. The more time Tony spent with him, the thinner he felt his emotional walls getting, and the thinner he felt his walls getting, the more stubbornly he pushed the kid away. It wasn’t fair to either of them, if he was being honest. Peter was simply looking for some sort of guidance. May was a wonderful, integral figure in Peter’s life, but even after all she’d been through, she still had her limits. What was she supposed to do when Peter woke up in the middle of the night with blood-curdling screams, convinced that the ceiling was falling down? What was she supposed to do when Peter came home crushed by the self-blame of only being two seconds from saving that jumper? Whereas May could offer the wisest, most sage advice about struggling through life, Tony was there as support when all the nightmares and guilt and trauma finally caught up. May couldn’t raise a superhero alone; it was part of The Deal. And it wasn’t fair to make Peter feel like he couldn’t go to Tony for his problems.

But Tony, as much as he hated to admit it, was scared of becoming attached. It had only been a few months since one of his best friends drove a shield through his chest and left him to freeze to death in Siberia, after all. Tony was a naturally guarded person. So he clung to “kid” like Cliffhanger to his branch and scoffed at Pepper’s insistence that he had a deeper connection to Parker than he let on.

But somewhere along the line, the meaning of the nickname shifted.

Sure, he never called the kid “Peter” or “Parker” or -- god forbid -- “Pete,” but just saying “kid” somehow made his voice soft and his tone affectionate and his eyes crinkle in the way he hated, because it showed all those stress-wrinkles.

Pepper pointed it out first after Karen had interrupted their date night with an extremely concerning vitals update. It had been a really nice night, too — candles and fresh bread and Prosciutto Carbonara that could give his mother’s a run for its money —before she’d flashed him that knowing smirk and rolled her eyes as he mouthed “what” over the receiver, listening to the call ring out.

“Shit-brained kid,” he muttered. He reopened the message from Karen and glanced at the steadily dropping blood-percentage.

Pepper raised her eyebrows over her wine. “Any reason why you aren’t running out of here?” she asked.

Tony heaved a heavy sigh, feeling the slowly-growing-familiar weight of crazed worry clunk on his shoulders.

He stuttered for words, for a second. Sorry, honey, I’ve been blowing you off for 5 years now and it doesn’t look like that’s going to change and you’re the flipping best person that’s ever lived, constantly putting up with my everlasting BS. She saved him with a nod towards the door, and soft smile, and a hand over his.

He loved this woman so freaking much.

With a quick peck on her cheek, he breezed out the door of the restaurant. His suit — compacted now in a wristwatch he was incredibly proud of, if he says so himself — folded around him, comforting, bolstering. FRIDAY blipped into his heads-up, shuffled over to make room for Karen.

Mr. Stark, I suggest calling emergency response, Peter is now at 26% blood-loss.

Before Tony had any time to react, FRIDAY interrupted, Calling Dr. Cho now, prepping medical equipment and OR. Cho would like you to know that her ER team is on its way to Spider-Man’s location. He’d never been more grateful for the utter and complete genius FRIDAY was.

He let himself relax slightly, because doctors meant survival for this idiotic teenager. Vaguely he remembered their argument as the Staten Island ferry sank into the harbour, thought of May’s angry face and demands for safety.

New determination sparked in his mind. His repulsors fired, and he was zipping into the night.

||

He found the Kid lying in a pile of fruit scraps behind the Broncs Women’s Shelter. He didn’t consider the implications, didn’t recognise the group of shy residents peeking at them through the darkened window. He just retracted the suit, stumbled forward desperately, because the rinds and peels were painted red, the sidewalk stained with a growing puddle of blood. It rippled outward from Spider-Man’s prone form. Supine, pallid, and skewered by a large, serrated hunting knife.

Tony blanched. Felt like he was going to hurl. “Oh...good...god…” he mumbled, horrified. He fell quickly to his knees, numb enough to everything but this dying kid that the hard smack of the sidewalk against his shins didn’t faze him.

He had no idea what he was supposed to do. Most of Iron Man’s injuries involved bruises: broken ribs, sprained joints, concussions, fractured bones. In all his years as a reckless “superhero,” he’d never gotten impaled.

Barton had, during the fight with Strucker. Nat had, by way of a particularly gruelling torture session. Steve, once, with fly-away detritus — but Tony had long since forced himself to forget those memories...all the worry he’d had for friends who’d betrayed him. So he floundered, hands hovering over the leather-wrapped hilt sticking straight up out of the Kid’s abdomen towards the sky like an arrow directing his impendingly separating soul to heaven.

The thought freaked Tony out even more. His breaths quickened, his vision blurred. Too late, he was recognising the tell-tale signs of a panic attack.

Now is not the time for this, Stark. Think, damnit!

Blood. There was blood seeping out from underneath him. That...couldn’t be good. If blood was pooling underneath the Kid, that meant there was a wound in his back. So the knife went the whole way through. There was no removing it — Tony remembered that much from whatever first aid course he’d been forced to take — one should never remove the object of impalement. That would let the blood flow more freely. Obviously, not too desired.

But blood was running anyway — in rivulets down the Kid’s suit, in waves over his hips. It occurred to Tony that this enhanced being probably had an enhanced metabolism, which meant blood rushing to the wound quicker.

Great. Kid probably couldn’t get drunk, but he sure-as-hell could bleed-out faster than a normal person.

He had to stem the flow. Shakily, his hands found his blazer and he yanked it off. Steeling himself, he wrapped the jacket around the hilt and pressed. Hard.

The Kid jerked back to consciousness with a strangled scream, and Tony was hurried to calm him down.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s alright, it’s alright,” he assured, desperately, because the Kid was beginning to thrash. One of his arms knocked weakly against Tony’s — deliberately, Tony’d later assume, to attempt to get the older man to stop pushing on the wound.

“Stop it, Kid, stop it.” There was no force to his words, no thought, either. It was as if Tony was watching, removed by a wall of panic and hysteria, and his instincts had taken over — decided that under no circumstances was the Kid gonna sense Tony’s helplessness, because his voice sounded firm, confident, if tinny and far-away, to his ears.

Tony’s fingers were cold and tingly, his head buzzed and filled with cotton. His eyes focused, unwittingly, on the spreading circle of blood beneath his knees.

Shit, someone inside him thought, the other side isn’t covered.

And so he grabbed one of the Kid’s flailing wrists, gently, between two fingers, and wrapped his palm around the soaked blazer.

“Alright, kid, here’s what’s gonna happen: I’m gonna turn you on your side — it’s gonna hurt, it really will — but we’re gonna check out the back, gonna plug that side, too.”

He wasn’t sure if the Kid registered what he’d said, but the responding moan, the slight jerk of limbs in resistance, was enough for Tony. Pressing once more against his frigid fingers, Tony wedged his  s under the Kid’s back and rolled him over.

He cried out — a horrifying, heartaching sob of pain — as Tony ripped off his button-down, leaving him in only the white undershirt. The previously pristine shirt had bright red staining up and down the sleeves. The collar had ripped in Tony’s hurry to get it off, and he tails were scuffed with New York alley dirt. None of it stopped him as he shoved the wadded fabric against the bright bloodstain (stubbornly ignoring the glint of metal torn through the suit). With a shallow breath out, he roughly gripped the Kid’s shoulders and turned him back over, hoping the sidewalk would put enough pressure against the cloth.

“F-F-FRI,” he exhaled stutteringly. “ETA on the emergency crew.”

He almost didn’t hear her response over the Kid’s huge sob when he swapped their hands on the front of the wound. He was pressing again, and the Kid’s hands found his biceps, gripped with surprising strength for someone with — he checked his watch — 37% bloodloss. The Kid’s hands were coated in his own blood. They left handprints, like a brand of failure, against Tony’s skin.

3 minutes. He could do this for 3 more minutes.

Off in the distance, he could hear the subtle roar of the Quinjet’s engines; although, perhaps he was imagining it in panic. Nevertheless, it gave him hope.

Unknowingly, he’d begun talking to the Kid. He tuned in to it like shuffling through radio stations.

“You’re gonna be okay, kid, just hang in there. Just keep breathing — I know! I know it hurts, but if you wanna see May again, or that little friend of yours...what’sit’s...Fred? Greg? Something like that. You just gotta hold on, please, God, hold on kid…”

It was crazy, how in that moment, his brain finally registered what Pepper had been saying. Kneeling over this kid, hearing the Quinjet land and doctors barking orders and feeling hands haul him to his feet by his armpits, he finally listened to the softness, the tenderness, the care and emotion and worry behind his chosen nomer for one Peter Parker.

He watched the tiny, whimpering form of the Kid wheeled into the jet on a gurney. He sat when one of the EMTs pushed him onto a crate. He nodded when the sterile-smelling man asked him if he was alright. He curled into the blanket when it was placed around his shoulders.

Shock, someone said, far off. Get him back home, someone else said.

Home sounded good. It sounded safe. But the Kid...his Kid...his responsibility since he walked into the Parkers’ apartment last spring and basically blackmailed Peter into coming to Berlin with him...his responsibility was on that jet, and he was dying.

In a burst of movement, Tony was up, dropping the blanket and dodging the nurse’s attempt to sit him back down. The gangway was retracting, but Tony jumped the rising gap, jogged into the hull. They’d hooked the Kid up with an IV drip and several monitors. An anesthesiologist was coaxing the Kid to let the sedative take hold. The Kid, bless him, was trying to fight back, eyes wide and watering.

Tony approached him and gripped the hand scrabbling at the mask over his nose and mouth. The Kid’s eyes landed on him, and a funny expression overtook his features. His face relaxed, he stopped fighting. His eyes softened, lids slipping closed. Tony watched as the Kid relented to the pull of sleep, neither of their eyes leaving the other’s.

Peter felt safe, he suddenly realised. The Kid saw him, and felt safe.

Tony’s heart ached for a second, beating rapidly and stutteringly. He allowed himself to breathe for the first time since landing in the alley. Peter was safe, because Tony was there, still gripping his hand, and the doctors were bustling, working on stopping the blood flow and removing the knife, and the Kid had enhanced healing that would take care of what the doctors couldn’t.

An inexplicable, wholly-encompassing feeling of relief washed over Tony. He squeezed Peter’s hand in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

“Sweet dreams, Kid,” he mumbled, letting every ounce of voice softness and tone affection and eye crinkles he had in him flood his being. “You’re gonna be okay.”

Hope you enjoy it Denni!

(tagging others in hopes that they’ll check out @yellowdistress, too, unless they already have, then amazing!: @fan-writer02, @aceofstars16, @mandaloriandragontrainer, @madasthesea, @hairasuntouchedaspartoftheamazon, @the-fanaddict, and @athingofvikings

#irondad #ironfam #peter parker #tony stark #peter and tony #mcu #do you even know my name? #mywriting #i love you denni!

[tigerlilynoh]

Some post-15x9 Sam x Eileen

Ship:  Sam x Eileen Words: 1,300 Spoilers for 15x6 through 15x9 Author’s note:  I sent a two-paragraph version of this to a friend, who suggested that I expand it a bit.  I know.  I know.  I’m a broken record, but the heart wants what the heart wants, and I apologize for nothing.

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

It took four weeks before Eileen returned to the bunker.  While she was away, Sam tried not to pressure her in their text conversations despite how much he missed her.  Without her there, the bunker felt lifeless and the bleakness of their circumstances had hit him even harder than before.  She’d made him genuinely happy in spite of daunting odds.  He’d laughed more in those few days than in the sum of many years.  So when he saw her descending the bunker stairs, it took all his willpower to not immediately pick her up in a hug and twirl her around in his excitement.

Things were complicated.  He’d been manipulated countless times in his life.  Each new instance had hurt, but he was in familiar territory.  And yet, he had a profound understanding that, even if she decided to reenter his life, even if she decided that she wanted to be with him the way that he hoped, there would always be a shadow following them.  Their relationship had grown from a violation of both of them, and while it may have taken on its own strength, it would never be entirely free from doubt.  He knew it.  He accepted that, because how else would anything this good come to him?  But he hoped that she wouldn’t let the tainted soil poison the fruit.

Sam stood awkwardly, waiting for some hint of what their relationship would entail going forward.  She’d brought her bags; that realization made his chest heave.  His face wavered subtly as he struggled not to smile too much, in case he was misreading things.

She put down her bags, then began signing as she said, “I want something that’s real.  And my whole life, I only ever found it with you.”

He couldn’t speak through the tightness in his throat, so he signed, “Me too,” as he stepped forward to embrace her.

Eileen only had her own bedroom in the bunker for three nights before moving into Sam’s room.  They slept, holding each other, providing stability and comfort throughout the night.  He hadn’t realized how much he needed the tenderness of her touch.  It was their profound and intimate communication when the lights were out.  That vulnerable piece of him had gone ignored for so long that he’d forgotten the pleasures of being a lover, of having someone in whose arms he could be at peace.

It took three months, but Sam even began to feel hope for the future again.  He and Eileen would talk through his fears, as part of coping with the shadow on their relationship.  It had been a long while without interference from Chuck.  They were researching new rituals to restrict his influence without bolstering the monsters of the world.  Things were starting to look up... then something changed.

One night, Sam could detect an odd tension in Eileen’s body.  When he caressed her shoulder and arm, she pressed her face into his chest.  He could feel her tears cooling on his skin.  Without letting go of her, he reached over and turned on the light beside the bed.  She didn’t look up to meet his eyes, so he gingerly wiped away her tears, then tipped her chin up so that she could see him.

“What’s wrong?” he signed.

“Chuck,” she replied, then hesitated a bit before explaining, “Sometimes I still don’t know what’s real.”

He placed her hand over his heart, then lightly cupped her face.  She leaned in and kissed him as a fresh tear rolled down her cheek.

Even after trying to comfort her, Eileen was more distant than before.  While researching, she seemed distracted.  He noticed that suddenly he was the only one reaching out to take the other’s hand.  She was oddly withdrawn and almost depressed at times.  When he’d ask her what was wrong, if he’d done something, she would assure him that she was trying to process everything.  The change worried him, but during the night, she still clung to him and let him run his fingers through her hair until she fell asleep.

For nearly two weeks, they shared that subtle distress that he didn’t fully understand, but she had supported him through his own crisis.  He’d do his best to be there for her in turn.  Then one day, they caught a lead on Chuck.  As Dean and Castiel loaded up the car, Sam had taken Eileen aside to see if she was truly in a state to go on the mission.  She’d been struggling and the thought of her confronting the person who had used her and made her torture Sam at their last meeting— it scared the hell out of him.  But she insisted that she needed to go, to face him.

For most of the drive, sitting in the back seat of the Impala together, Sam held her hand, gently dragging his thumb along the soft flesh of her wrist.  He only let go of her to translate his brother and Castiel for her.  Standing on the front steps of the ravaged museum of modern art, where Chuck was supposedly lurking, they shared a long kiss before he reminded her, “This is real.”

Walking through the silent halls of the museum, he was almost holding his breath.  He was watching for threats or anything out of the ordinary, though he kept finding himself checking on Eileen.  She was a vetern hunter and he had complete faith in her competence; he was just painfully familiar with the emotional blow that God himself was capable of landing and how trauma could be the greatest laid ambush.

When Chuck appeared ten feet in front of them, Sam spared a glance at her.  Eileen was trembling.  For a moment, he thought it was fear, but then she lunged a few feet forward.  

Her hands moved with a swift, frantic energy as she shouted, “Did you do this?!  Is this another one of your plot twists?!”

Sam didn’t know what she was talking about, but he was terrified that her anger would provoke Chuck.  He moved up beside her, so that she could see him in her periphery, then placed a hand on her shoulder.  Honestly, he wasn’t sure if he was trying to get her to back off or if he was letting her know he was there to join her in whatever reckless play she was making.

Chuck smiled with a chilling indifference to her rage.  “No, no.  That was all you two.”  He gave a little innocent shrug.  “But I couldn’t have written it better myself.”

Sam furrowed his brow in confusion as he turned from Chuck to look at Eileen’s face.  Tears of anguish trickled from her unfocused eyes as she stared through their tormentor in her shock.  She was still shaking and her skin turned a bit pale.  He quickly holstered his weapon and wrapped his arms around her, in case she collapsed.

“What did you do?!” Sam yelled at Chuck.

“Weren’t you listening—“ Chuck started, but then began laughing at some realization.  “Oh, this is perfect.”  His glee was sickening.  “She didn’t tell you she’s pregnant.”

Sam felt like his stomach had dropped about a foot, and he must have lost some color too based on the delighted expression on Chuck’s face.  His brain could hardly process the words; the future implications were well beyond him.  But that explained what had been upsetting Eileen: the fear that once again a most intimate aspect of their relationship had been made into a game for another’s amusement.  Well, Chuck may not have taken the initiative, but he certainly looked as though he was enjoying himself.  The thought made Sam feel sick.

Before anyone else could recover from their shock, Chuck clapped his hands together and said, “You know, I was planning on severing somebody’s spinal cord this go around, but now I want to see if this—“  He gestured at the couple.  “—little soap opera plot line has any potential.  Mazel tov.”  Then he was gone.

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

Author’s note:  That’s right.  I’m dad!Sam trash.  If you’re familiar with my work you probably already know this.  I just want Sam to have a nice (okay, maybe a little drama) domestic/family, optimistic story.

#Did I just write a fucking coda? #spn #supernatural #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #sam x eileen #spn 15x09 #spn season 15 #spn spoilers #Sam Winchester #eileen leahy #samleen #sam/eileen #dad!sam #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester fanfic #saileen

[seriouslyhooked]

Lost Souls and Reveries (Part 20)

22 part AU written for @cssns​. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6,Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13,Part 14, Part 15,Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19. Story available on AO3 Here and FF Here. Banner created by the amazingly talented @shipsxahoy​!!

Killian Jones is a wolf shifter without roots, without plans, and without a pack. He’s a rogue, someone humans should avoid and shifters should be wary of given his lineage. But one night years back set him on a path he didn’t realize he was taking, a path leading to a future he is destined for. That future is tied up in one woman – a human named Emma Nolan. Together Emma and Killian will find not only answers, but a love that’s truly fated. But will love be enough to set them free, or will past demons win out in the end? (Answer: love always wins – I am writing this so despite some tiny pockets of angst it’s basically a fluff-filled insta-love fest). Rated M.

A/N: Hey everyone! So sorry for the delay on this chapter. It’s been a crazy and hectic summer, and the muse has been chatting at her own strange pace, but I finally got the chance to write this installment. Just to warn you all, we’re in the middle of piecing together a lot of these remaining issues and this will be ending on a cliff hanger. I know, I know, but the gang is all trying to figure out what Elsa’s dreams mean and what the red eyed shifters want. We’ll get a bit more information in this installment, but all will be revealed and sorted next chapter (which should be posted within the next week). This chapter is also a little less CS focused, because they’re dealing with a big issue, but I promise we’ll be back to our normally scheduled fluff soon. Anyway, thanks so much for reading and I hope you all enjoy!

It was amazing to Emma how a day that started off on such a turbulent track could seemingly turn around on a dime.

This morning had been a huge headache for her and Killian, and though she’d now set boundaries with her parents (most specifically her mother), Emma couldn’t help the lingering fatigue that clung to her. It was exhausting trying to plan a satisfactorily ‘fairy tale wedding’ when all she really wanted was a day of love and light and her mate, but at the end of the day it was Killian who largely saved her sanity. Yes, her grandmother had graciously stepped in, and her friends had shown up just in the nick of time to cut any remaining tension, but it was Emma’s true love who really saved the day.

Having Killian’s calm to cling to when things got stormy was such a blessing, as far as Emma was concerned. It was amazing to have someone so securely in her corner, someone who thought and acted always in the best interest of her heart. His instincts were to care for her and protect her, but to do that in a way that still empowered her to be strong all on her own. Killian may try and shield her, but he also bolstered her too. He made her brave and hopeful, and on top of all of that, he also made her blood thrum with a never-ending sense of want, and her soul flood with a near constant state of rightness…

“Killian, please, you’re teasing me, and you know how much I hate that.”

The feel of his hands on her body, running along her skin as his mouth moved across to mark all of her most sensitive places was driving Emma crazy. It was so good – so mind shatteringly perfect – but it just wasn’t quite enough. He was drawing this out and taking his time, and yeah, maybe they had all night, and maybe he’d already taken her in the kitchen mere minutes ago, but she couldn’t wait. It was killing her to feel so close but not quite there. She was restless and needy and flooded with desperate desire. And her mate was eating it all up, loving how riled she got while tormenting her with that sinful grin of his.

“Hate is a strong word, love,” Killian rumbled against her skin, his teeth nipping at her in the most provocative way and sparking even more arousal and want. “And I happen to know for a fact that hate isn’t the winner in the sea of your emotions right now. I might be driving you mad, but not so secretly you love this. You love me in every way I give myself to you.”

“Yes, God yes, but – uh -,”

Words and all rational thinking flew out the window as he found the place she wanted him most, tracing her delicate flesh with a lightness that verged on feathery. Her eyes closed and she moaned aloud, forgetting her whole argument for a moment, but then, when he’d moved lower, teasing her with his hand only to move down her body and hover over her sex with his mouth he stopped, making her crazy all over again.

“Tell me what you want, Emma. You know I’ll give you anything you ask. Anything at all.”

“Oh!” Again she lost all ability to even think as his tongue worked against her, moving exactly how she liked it. He was an expert at her every last desire, and he knew it, numbing her mind with bliss and letting her think she could have it before she gave him what he’d asked for.

“Emma,” he said, his voice playful but somehow still growly, showing her that he was still in control but that it was slipping. Much as he might play in these moments, Killian was just as caught up as her, and he could only last so long before giving in. Lucky for him though, she always seemed to cave first.

“Love me, Killian. Taste me. Take me. Anything, please!”

She heard a mumbled ‘as you wish’ pass his lips before he continued devouring her, making her come apart with the mastery of his mouth. He then gave her just enough time to return to herself, and when she’d finally felt like the world stopped spinning, he came back above her and filled him with himself in such a deep and consuming way she almost couldn’t breathe. It was so good and so real, and when it was over it felt in some ways like it had only just begun. The love was strong between them, anchoring her to a happiness no money could ever bye, and Emma sighed into it, reveling in the sensation that everything was as it should be.  

Tucked into his chest and protected by his hold on her, Emma nuzzled into her fiancé, taking in the scent of the two of them together. It was intoxicating and comforting all at once, much like the familiar press of his hard body against hers. This was her most sacred space, the place her heart felt truly free, and she was so grateful to have found it that tears formed in her eyes.

“Was I too hard with you, my love?” Killian asked, though she knew he knew that wasn’t the answer.

“Never. You’re always just right.”

“Then what’s brought on those tears?”

“Can’t a girl just be so happy that she cries a little?” Emma asked, sniffling a bit before she broke into a smile. Killian chuckled at her joke and she responded in kind as her hand came to rest above his heart. “I know it sounds stupid -,”

“Not at all, Emma. It sounds like exactly what I’ll always want for us. This feeling – this love, this joy – it’s what we’ve been meant for. Before we were two lost souls, and now we’re one that’s found. That’s a beautiful thing.”

Emma nodded, humming out a contented noise almost like a purr at his words before watching Killian’s hand move over to where their baby was now growing. It was too soon for anything like a kick from their little one, but Emma swore she felt a little flutter, a reminder that their little boy or girl was with them always. “Well technically we’re one with one on the way.”

“As per usual you are right, love. And it’s only a matter of time before one becomes more…”

“So is this the kind of thing that’s going to fade after the wedding, or what?”

The question from Anna was teasing in nature, but it pulled Emma back so forcefully from her remembrance of last night with Killian that she actually jolted in place. God, she had totally left the building mentally. She was reliving a private moment with her man, but in actuality her friends were here, organizing the different dishes they’d made and snacks they brought to this impromptu cook out. Emma felt her cheeks warm, but though she might be flustered, she couldn’t say she was embarrassed. She loved Killian too much to have anything like shame as far as he was concerned, but in an ideal world she might not have let her mind wander quite so far when she was with friends who were needing her attention.

“No way. She’s going to look this smitten forever,” Ruby countered, her smirk signaling her amusement while also telling Emma she harbored no resentment to Emma’s blanking out. “But as bad as she is, my cousin’s even worse. Killian will be as old as the day is long and still staring at Emma like she hangs the moon.”

“Guys.” Emma wished she had a comeback or something, but there was none to be found. They weren’t wrong, after all. She was smitten, and though she might have been known for her poker face once upon a time, those days were largely gone. Anyone could read her feelings now, blush or not, and what they read was that she was in love.

“What? It’s not a bad thing, Emma,” Anna affirmed. “God knows you both deserve it. And it’s really… uh, sweet.”

“You don’t sound so convinced,” Emma replied and she was curious as to Anna’s new perspective on things. She thought her friend was happy for her, and she could tell she was, but there was something a little off with her today.

“Don’t mind, Anna, she’s just impatient,” Elsa said, trying to smooth everything over. “She wants her own shifter soul mate, and you know how she feels about waiting.”

“It’s not the waiting,” Anna said sternly before yielding the truth. “Okay, so it’s partially about the waiting. But really it’s just… I mean, I’m worried. What if he never comes? What if there’s only so much of this cute, cuddly, couply stuff to go around?”

“Not a chance,” Emma said, completely certain on this matter. “There’s no way your one isn’t out there Anna. Shifter or not, you’re going to find the man you belong with. He’s just a little delayed.”

“A little?” Anna asked, and the rest of them laughed. Anna made it seem like it had been an eternity, but Emma had only known Killian a few months and Elsa and Ruby had only known Liam and Graham a handful of weeks.

“Think of it this way,” Elsa offered. “It’s just one more thing you’ll have in common. I mean honestly, when was the last time you made it to anything on time?”

Anna grumbled that her sister made a good point and all of them laughed again at her feigned annoyance. It was so typically Anna, and now that she’d gotten what Emma knew to be very real worries out there, she would let it be for now. Anna was always good about that. She knew that giving oneself over to anxiety was a lost cause, and until there was really need to panic, it was best to look on the bright side, and right now, there were admittedly many pieces of all of their lives that were bright and beautiful.

That beauty was something that didn’t just belong to Emma. Ruby and Elsa had equally as much cause for joy and they both were eager to share their similar yet very different stories. At one end of the new-mates spectrum there were Elsa and Liam, who were bonded and blissful together, but still taking things step by step. They neither of them had any need to move quickly, instead getting to know each other better even though their hearts were already intertwined. On the other end of the mate measurement scale were Ruby and Graham, two shifters who had always known their animals and their destinies, and who, as a result, had no fear diving in.

“Graham told me this morning that he’s getting me pregnant next full moon.”

“He said what?!” Anna barked out, her hand flying over her heart in shock.

“How could he know?” Elsa asked, and though she was less visibly stunned at the words, Emma saw the trace of a blush on her cheeks. It made Emma smile, and she wondered how many times she and Liam might have spoken of something similar. Because no matter how slow they were taking things, Emma knew there was no way something like that had gone unsaid. Liam was all in, and he never made any attempt to hide that from her friend.

“He doesn’t,” Ruby said with a shrug. “But damn if it won’t be amazing letting him try.”

“As if you aren’t already trying,” Emma joked and Ruby chuckled.

“What can I say? When you’re right, you’re right. I love that man. He’s mine and I’m his and I’ll be damned if we don’t have our three babies that my visions and my dreams always promised.”

“I wish I had those kinds of dreams,” Anna said wistfully, and though Elsa nodded, Emma could see something in her best friend’s eyes that hinted at something larger.

“Me too.”

“You’ll get there, Elsa. These nightmares will pass.”

“You’re having nightmares again?” Emma asked, surprised since this was the first she’d heard of it. She assumed Elsa’s nightmares were a thing of the past. The reason for them had always presumably been Liam being out there searching for Killian, and when Liam found his way here, they had stopped.

“It’s probably nothing, just unsettled stress. A lot has happened, and my brain is just catching up.”

“And what exactly is your brain telling you while it catches up?” Emma pushed, waiting for Elsa to meet her eye and then confess to her.

“Well honestly it’s hard to explain. The dreams are choppy and kind of manic.”

“So kind of like the one’s about Liam?” Emma clarified.

“Sort of, but they’re worse. There’s more anger and there’s always this sense of hunting or being hunted. Sometimes I’m the prey and sometimes I’m the predator, but in the end it always ends the same, with my heart about to beat out of my chest, my body worked up in a cold sweat, and everything flashing to red.”

“That’s what I haven’t been able to make out,” Ruby said, and it was clear that she had previously interrogated Elsa thoroughly about these dreams. “I looked through my family’s spells and journals, and Elsa looked through hers, but red is actually a pretty rare color when it comes to magic, and the sentiments around it are varied. Red birds in the trees are a sign of good luck and red soil a sign of new harvest, but then there’s the obvious connotations too when it’s something bad like this.”

“Blood,” Emma whispered. Elsa nodded.

“But it’s brighter than blood. It’s bold but terrible, heightened and horrifying. It’s everywhere in the dreams. In the rivers, in the sunlight, in their eyes.”

“They have red eyes?” Emma responded, her stomach sinking to new lows as her sense of foreboding built astronomically.

“Yes. They’re like -,”

“Like Liam’s at his breaking point, but scarlet and full.”

“Yes,” Elsa hedged, though the raising of her brow told Emma that she was perplexed at how she could know that. “But I’ve looked through all I could find in my family’s archives and there’s no accounts of shifters with eyes like that. The closest is a copper color for lions, but that’ not what this is.”

“No they’re far less natural. Like you took red ink and exposed it to something chemical. I’ve never seen anything else like it.”

“But Emma how did you…?”

“When I was attacked in Boston by that shifter, it had red eyes just like that, remember? I told you about it.”

“You told me there were two wolves fighting over you,” Elsa clarified, her face betraying the current wracking of her memory for some sort of lost clue. “You said they were giant and that there was one that was good and one bad. You said it was terrifying, but I don’t remember anything about their eyes.”

Was it possible that Emma had never mentioned the color of their eyes to Elsa? Looking back, it would have felt like a small detail to her when compared to everything else. She’d almost been killed by one giant wolf and then promptly saved by another. At the time Emma also felt like she was going crazy. She’d literally written it off as a mental break for years, so it stood to reason that maybe she might have let this detail slip by. But this detail, however tiny it might have seemed back then, was too big a similarity to be purely coincidental.

“Wait,” Anna said, holding her hand up as she tried to catch up. “So what you’re saying is a wolf had red eyes like Elsa’s dream? But how could that be?”

“That’s an excellent question,” Emma admitted. “But I think the bigger question is how likely is it that these are only dreams and not actual visions?”

They all knew the answer to that, and with a quick agreement that this wasn’t something that could wait, they all headed outside. Emma was eager to get this out there and see if maybe they could all figure this out. She had spoken before with Killian about that night, but maybe he had more insight into what was wrong with that other shifter. Was there something more than the eyes and the aggression? They needed to know, and they needed to know now.

As soon as she was out of the house, Killian’s gaze found hers, and without a word she knew he was aware something was wrong. Her mind was open to his, and she read that he was concerned about Elsa’s dreams, so she pushed to him that they were more than just dreams, and that as such this was a way bigger issue than a little lack of sleep.

“They’re visions. Definitely visions,” she said as she took comfort in his arms. It helped a lot to be with him, but Emma would be lying if she said she wasn’t scared. Damn it! Were things always going to be like this? They get past one big battle just to trade it in for another?

“Aye, so it would seem,” Killian said and his affirmation made Emma close her eyes. She wished she could go back to a few hours ago. Okay maybe not the wedding planning part, but definitely last night or early this morning. Things were so good. Why, oh why, did they have to get so wonky?

“So much for normal, huh?”

This time Killian didn’t need to say any words aloud. He commiserated with her on a deeper level, keeping her wrapped up tight and pressing a kiss to her temple. It was soft and subtle, but it told Emma that he was here and here to stay, and whether life was normal or not, they would get through this just like they had everything before.

“Normal or not, what we need right now is the full story,” Liam said, taking charge in a way Emma recognized as being similar to his brother. “If there are red-eyed shifters in our path somehow, we need everyone on the same page.”

Emma agreed and the group of them all moved back to the patio where Emma’s parents, her grandmother and Granny had remained. For a moment Emma felt a bit of guilt. Right now her family was laughing and happy, all of them smiling and looking really relaxed. Maybe it was lingering planning for the wedding, or just a pure moment of contentment, but whatever the reason for their joy, Emma was about to change that. They were all going to take that from them, and Emma wished that didn’t have to be the case.

“They want to help, love, and I promise we’ll all be back to that state very soon. We’ve a wedding coming up after all, and nothing, not storm, nor man, nor beast is going to keep us from that, all right?”

Emma nodded before whispering that she loved him and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. She felt enough comfort from his promise to push forward, and though it broke her heart to see the moment when her parents and grandmother realized something was wrong, she persevered.

“Emma, honey, what’s wrong?” her mother asked.

“Are you hurt?” her father echoed, immediately standing up and coming towards her.

“No, Dad I’m fine. But Elsa’s been having some visions lately and we all need to be on our guard.”

From there the explanation rolled out as best it could. Emma and Killian spoke candidly about the original attacks, knowing that everyone had varying levels of information about what had happened. Even Emma learned more than she had about Killian’s perception on the other rogue and how the animal was possessed and totally transformed.

“There was no pushing through to his mind. No sense of self, no coherent thought,” Killian explained, his face stony though Emma could tell the memory still rattled him all these years later. “The wolf was manic and brutal and clearly unhinged. I thought of Brennan, because it was the only other time that everything felt wrong about a fellow shifter, but it was different enough that I let it slide. His smell was foul up close, his manners were jerky and heightened. I remember wondering if shifters could get rabies as well as ‘the bite’, because that’s the only think I could think to compare it to.”

“I can’t believe you both went through that,” Emma’s mother said, with tears in her eyes. She was no doubt still eaten up by the guilt of not being there for Emma all those years ago. They’d come to terms with this already, and spoken about it for the most part when Emma told them of Killian’s shifter status, but it probably never got easier as a parent to hear that your child had been in real danger.

“I’ve never heard of a shifter acting like that,” her father said, combing through his medical experience and the countless interactions he’s had with shifters over the years. “Shifters are immune to rabies; they regenerate and heal so quickly that an outside parasite or virus never survives long enough for it to get too bad. The only real sickness I’ve heard of is the one that you’ve both seen.”

Her father looked to Killian and Liam and it went without saying that the sickness in question was alpha sickness. For her part, Emma quietly considered the similarities. That rage and aggression, the want to attack when not actually provoked or threatened. It lined up in some ways, but she’d never seen someone with alpha sickness so out of control. Killian’s stories and memories of his father showed a twisted soul, but the man ultimately had control over himself when he wanted to display it. For Liam too he wasn’t so far gone as to have nothing left, but the wolf they had seen was anchorless, completely consumed with madness in a way that Emma had never experienced before.

“How similar was it to the bite, brother?” Liam asked, his voice clogged with his own twisting emotions.

“In your case? Not so similar. You always held onto who Liam was even with the beast inside. No, this wolf, was completely gone. Like the human and the shifter were erased. It was just animal – feral, primal, and unstoppable. The red of its eyes tells you that too – like the bloodlust of such a being physically cannot be concealed.”

“David, do any shifter species you know of have red eyes?”

“We’ve run through the lists, Mary Margaret,” Ruby said somberly. “Elsa and I each checked our family archives and there’s nothing like this mentioned.”

“Not to devalue the works of your family in any way, honey, but David has been doing this a long time and he has secrets and knowledge a coven of witches could go forever without ever amassing. Species of shifters long thought extinct, other paranormal who’ve kept their whole existence a secret, David has treated them and protected them all.”

“Is this true, Dad?” Emma asked and her father nodded.

“It’s true. I knew a lot as a hunter, but I know at least three times as much now. I probably have a grasp on any magic-adjacent species in the States. Now I’m sure you’ve ruled out mountain lions. You can rule out all the big cats, none of them are really all that red. Is there any chance they eyes are an auburn color? Dingo shifters have auburn eyes. It might explain why you thought it was a wolf.”

“Dingos, like Australia?” Anna asked, temporarily forgetting the crisis at hand and giving into the curiosity they were all sensing.

“Yes, Anna. Remember this is America. We’ve got people and shifters from all over the world. The melting pot exists for all species.”

Emma and Anna shared a look about how awesome that was, but unfortunately it wasn’t the time, and even worse her father’s insight hadn’t actually given them any answers.

“They weren’t auburn. They’re scarlet red, and this was definitely a wolf.”

“Well I’m sorry then, I don’t have any knowledge of a color like that,” David said sadly.

“But I might,” Emma’s grandmother replied, shocking everyone. “I’ve seen a shifter with eyes like that too.”

“Where?” they all asked at once.

“Gold’s compound.”

“I’m sorry… what?” Ruby’s shocked question pretty much summed up exactly how Emma felt at hearing this revelation.

“Gold had a shifter like that in his collection, with red eyes just like you’re describing. I’m sure of it.”

Ruth’s expression took on a pained quality as she recalled the animal in question, and Emma’s heart went out to her. It was hard to tell what exactly brought on the bad feelings. Was it related to this sickened shifter? Or was it all the unknown horror she’d experienced while in Gold’s clutches? Emma didn’t know for sure, but having had the pleasure of getting to know her grandmother recently, Emma knew of her profound empathy. While Ruth was likely suffering her own mental wounds at Gold’s hands, it wouldn’t be outlandish to think that she felt badly for not saving any other beings that might remain in the dark man’s clutches.

“Mom, you don’t have to talk about this,” Emma’s father said, knowing that it would be so difficult for his mother to go back to the headspace. She’d been trapped, and likely experimented on for years. It was invasive and wrong and terrible, but Ruth shook her head, looking determined to tell them all she knew.

“I appreciate you wanting to spare me, son, but if I can help protect this family, then that’s exactly what I aim to do. What do you all want to know?”

“Anything,” Killian said at the same time Elsa pleaded, “Everything.”

“Okay then. Well it was quick, so there isn’t too much to share, really. When I woke up, I struggled to put together what the hell was going on. I was in a room with a lot of trinkets and a lot of clutter, as I’ve told you all before, but amongst all the stuff, oh god, how do I put this delicately? There were, um… displays, I guess you could call them. Exhibits, maybe? All I know is Gold had taken the time to stage a lot of things, and it was clear I wasn’t the only living being that was being held against my will. I was the only human though, at least the only recognizable one, but I saw a lot of things I didn’t understand, and it scared me. I think it’s because as a descendent of hunters I thought I already knew everything the world had to offer. I was in on the big secret, you know? There shouldn’t have been more out there.”

Emma watched her Dad holding his Mom’s hand, offering her support. He swallowed harshly a number of times and it was clearly hard to hear this. It was hard for all of them, but as much as they never wanted to push before, her Grandmother’s memories could be critical for figuring out what the hell these red eyed beasts even were.

“Eventually though I realized that something had happened. I wasn’t supposed to be awake. I didn’t know how long I’d been there, and all I could think was I had to get out. I immediately tried to focus on finding a door or an exit, but I knew Gold must have some sort of mechanisms in place to keep track of his treasures. I kept an eye out for motion sensors or obvious magical fields that might give me away, but I didn’t see any. There were a couple of glowing items or ones that had strange energy if you got too close, so I just avoided them. I walked through this maze of stuff, and then when I got up and moved towards the door, I heard it. A low, menacing snarl that stopped me in my tracks.

“When I looked to the first real open space in the place I saw it – a huge bear, grizzly I think, but it could have just been brown. Either way, I panicked. I couldn’t see any sort of bars separating us and then it charged at me, and all I could see was its glowing red eyes. I’d never seen a bear shifter before, though, so I didn’t know if that was normal. I’d only seen wolves, coyotes, and the occasional mountain lion where I grew up. My brother, George, had mentioned bears before. He told me they were some of the strongest shifters in the world, and that a full-grown grizzly shifter could take down ten unsuspecting humans in under a minute.”

“So how did you get away?” Emma asked, thinking of how terrifying that must have been. The wolf she saw was huge, but bears would be even larger, and with red eyes like that? She honestly couldn’t understand how her grandmother could still be here.

“Right before it reached me, it hit a magical barrier, bouncing off of it hard. But what I noticed was the force field had the same red tint, but with almost a gold finish. It dissolved eventually, but I saw the depths of it and they were the same scarlet color as the eyes looking back at me.”

“Do you think that means something?” Emma asked Ruby and Ruby nodded.

“Magic manifests in different colors, but most witches have a certain signature finish. The gold probably means Gold himself cast the spell. It would better explain his name for sure.”

“But the magic itself was red. Is that common?” Emma asked and Ruby shook her head.

“No. I told you all before red is a rare color in the magical world. The only spells that are a deep and enduring red involve blood magic. Rituals, sacrifices, curses, that kind of thing. They manifest as a crimson color, but there are dark forces being used. The color comes from the blood needed for the magic itself, but from what I’ve read it’s exactly how you’ve all described the eyes so far. God, now it all makes sense! The shifters with the red eyes must be cursed with some sort of magic. I’ve just never heard of any magic used on shifters like that and lasting long term. Shifters tend to have a lot of immunity to spells. It’s like David talked about with illness. We don’t stay cursed for long because our bodies flush whatever is harmful from our systems. It would have to be an insanely strong charm. Gold alone couldn’t cast it.”

“So what are you saying?” Killian asked and Ruby shook her head, like she was trying to sift through her thoughts in a way that made sense even to her.

“I’m saying that this is way bigger than we thought. If it’s magic that’s causing this, it would have to involve the power of dozens of witches.”

“So there’s a whole fleet of bad guys to take down right now, at least if we want to stop these cursed shifters?” Emma clarified, her fear and dread amplifying to an even higher degree.

“Not necessarily. Technically Gold could have taken the magic from other witches in one of his transactions. If he made a deal with a witch, he could collect their powers to use at his own discretion.”

“Could he take magic from pixies or sprites, or is this just a witch to witch thing?” David asked and Ruby looked shocked before stuttering her reply.

“They still exist?” Emma watched her father nod. “Well then yes, technically any magic wielding being could be harvested. Dark magic like that is tricky though. It’s dangerous and untethering. If Gold has managed to do that, he’s so much more of a risk than any of us have ever known.”

“Is that what you see though, Ruby? Because hearing all of this hasn’t given me total clarity like it usually would,” Elsa confessed. “Certain parts make sense – there’s definitely magic tied into this somehow - but I feel like if Gold were so all-powerful I’d have sensed him. He’s never been in the dreams, it’s always just been the animals and me. I don’t know… it just doesn’t feel quite right.”

Everyone took Elsa’s words with all of the care and attention that they deserved. After all, Elsa was the vessel for any of their awareness of what might be coming their way. Her instincts were second to none, and Emma knew that even if it wasn’t all adding up, she would always side with Elsa’s gut over another theory. Still, it was best for all of them to be prepared for any scenario and to do everything they could to find out more.

The conversation continued with everyone trying to think of what they could do next. Who could they consult, and where could they look for answers? It was a tricky thing, but it seemed their only real lead for now was Gold. But before Emma could get pulled into the logistics of tracking him down, her phone rang, chiming out the sound of an incoming video call. Strange – nearly everyone she ever spoke with on the phone was here, but then Emma saw it was her little brother calling and she grew even more curious. He was coming home from camp in just a few more days and he didn’t usually call her, especially not when there were activities keeping him and the other campers busy all day. Immediately she could sense something was wrong.

“Hi Neal, you doing ok?” Emma asked as the call connected, but when her brother’s face appeared, she could tell he was troubled by something.

“I don’t know, Emma. Something really weird just happened. Some random guy came up to me just now outside.”

“Where are you, are you safe?” Emma asked before waving her parents over to her. When her Mother saw Emma’s little brother on the screen, she grew immediately more agitated.

“I’m back in the main building again, in a room next to our robotics lab. I told my counselor I had to talk to you and she said it was okay to come in here for a few minutes.”

“What happened?” Emma asked.

“Well, I was walking back from our room for our afternoon session with Jackson,” Emma looked to her father who mouthed ‘roommate’ to her. “But then Jackson forgot his ipad and had to run back for it. I kept walking so I wouldn’t be late, and a few moments later this older guy came up to me and just started talking. It was like he was waiting for me; he knew my name and everything.”

“What did he try to talk to you about?”

“About you and me.” She and Neal? What the hell?!

“What did he say exactly?” Her father asked and Neal recited the conversation back with authority.

“He said, ‘I’ve wondered a long while what you would be like.’ I told him I had to go because I got a bad feeling from him, but he stood in my path and wouldn’t move. I was going to call for help or something, but there was suddenly no one around, and then he just kept talking. He said I was meant to be ‘unyielding and unfailing,’ that I should have been a ‘true Nolan hunter if I wasn’t what I was’ whatever that means.”

“Did he say anything else?” Emma asked, not following what they’re being descended from hunters had to do with anything here. Gold knew of that obviously, because of the deal he made with her grandmother, but was that really relevant somehow?

“Yeah, he said that you and I were meant for so much more. Then he talked about my getting sick – I don’t know exactly what he was getting at, it didn’t all make sense. He was kind of talking in circles, and I didn’t follow him at all. But the last thing he said was that you, Emma, were the last hope but that you made the wrong choice.”

Emma was so frazzled as to all of this that she didn’t know how to process anything that was said. Who the heck was this person? And most importantly, was it safe for Neal to stay there anymore? She didn’t think so, and neither did her Dad who ducked into the house, coming out a moment later with his keys in hand after her Mom had taken over the call, trying to get details about what the man looked like.

“Neal, I want you to stay with your counselor no matter what. If that man comes back you call the police immediately. I’m coming to get you, I’ll be there soon.”

“Dad it’s okay, I’m fine,” her brother said, but Emma wasn’t so sure. He looked really relieved at the thought of their Dad coming to get him.

“No, Neal, we’re coming,” Emma’s mother confirmed. “I know it’s a few days early, but it’s for the best. Now please can you bring the phone to your counselor, I’d like to talk to her.”

While her mother continued to talk to whoever was in charge at Neal’s program, Emma and her father moved to the others. They were quickly filled in that there had been an incident, but Emma was surprised by her father’s response to it all. “Killian, Liam, and Graham, I’d feel better if you all came with us.”

“Are you sure, David? If it’s Gold one of the girls should go,” her grandmother offered. “Elsa or Ruby would be better able to track him.”

“No, Mom. This isn’t Gold. It’s George.”

“David, you can’t possibly know that-,”

“Why do you think it’s your Uncle?” Emma asked, ignoring her grandmother’s protest because she knew it stemmed more from fear than any actual proof. All it took was one look in grandma Ruth’s direction to know that the mention of her brother truly rattled her.

“It’s the way he talked about the hunters. He used a closely guarded family phrase, one even you don’t know, Mom. Gold wouldn’t ever have access to that because they weren’t even in your memories. It has to be George, and if he’s come for my son, I need the strongest people with us, just in case.”

“Okay, I told Neal’s counselor there’s been a family emergency and warned her that your Uncle might come back but that he’s not a stable man.”

“You knew it was him?” Emma asked and her mother nodded.

“He used the Nolan words.”

Emma should have known that her father would never have secrets from her mother. Of course she knew everything, and Mary Maragert’s memory was a great and powerful thing. But whatever her mother’s many strengths may be, she was ill fit for the quarrel and Emma’s father told her that, remaining adamant that she not come.  

“You need to stay here, Mary Margaret.”

“David, I am not staying here! We are going to get our son and that’s that.”

“No it isn’t. I will get Neal, I promise you I will protect him from this, but I need to know you and Emma are safe. The house is prepared for a situation like this. I didn’t know if he’d ever find us, but I planned it out just in case. We’ll be back in just a few hours, but I can’t -,” her father’s voice broke in anguish. “I can’t risk you or Emma coming along for this. It’s too dangerous.”

Emma fully expected her mother to rebuke this request from her Dad, but there was no denying that David was doing everything in his power to protect them. Ultimately Emma trusted her Dad. If he said that her Uncle was threatening, she believed him, and though she hated to stay behind and wait, she also knew that being there would make her a liability. She was still a new shifter and she was too close to this emotionally. And her mother, bright and capable as she may be, was human, with no training and no powers to fall back on.

“You bring our boy back to me, David. You bring him back, and you bring yourself back. There’s no other option. This family will stay together, do you hear me?”

“Loud and clear,” he replied, pulling Mary Margaret in for a quick kiss and sharing a silent moment with her. At the same time Killian took Emma’s hand in his, drawing her attention back to him. Her heart leapt into her throat. She was worried about how dangerous this might be, but the look in his eyes was completely assured and steadfast.

“I’ll be back before you even have chance to miss me,” Killian whispered and Emma shook her head, fending off tears caused by her lingering anxiety.

“Not possible,” she replied pulling him in by the cloth of his shirt. “Be safe, okay?”

“Always, love.”

With a last gentle kiss, Emma watched her mate, her father, and the others leave, knowing that she wouldn’t feel even a shred of peace until they were back again. Looking to Elsa and Ruby, she knew they felt similarly, but her mother was the one hurting the most. The tears Emma had tried to fight spilled over on her mother’s cheeks, but Mary Margaret wiped them away quickly, unwilling to give into the riotous emotions. Emma did the only thing she could think to make it better, she hugged her Mom and made a promise of her own.

“It’s going to be okay, Mom. I love you”

“I love you too, Emma. Always, always, always.”

With that, there was nothing left to do but wait and trust that everything would be okay in the end, and in the meantime they all had many questions still to answer. With three new threats on the horizon and no way of knowing who or what might strike first, they were all at a standstill. That was debilitating, but it also motivated all of them to stand together and try to fight the only way they could – through scouring their memories and resources for clues.

………………….

Standing in the clearing he’d scoped out on the edge of this all-too-quaint town of Storybrooke, he couldn’t help but feel like victory was already in his grasp. The plan was perfect and the stage was set. It was nearly time for resolution after so many years of waiting, and he grinned at the thought that the light and the hopeful magic surrounding this place would soon be extinguished. Gone were the days of peace and calm in this little town in Maine. A reckoning was here, and he would be the one to bring it.

The buzzing of his phone alerted him to the call he was awaiting. He hated these blasted things, but now and then they served their purpose. He answered without preface, only seeking one answer of any merit. “Is it done?”

“Yes. It went exactly as you said it would.”

“Good.”

Hanging up, he broke the phone into pieces and tossed it in the shallow waters of the river bed beside him. He had no use for it anymore. All he had to do was wait. A little more time and they’d be in the clear, a little more time and the moment he’d yearned for would truly arrive.

Waiting in the silence would phase many others, but he didn’t think of them as he stood there in the quiet. They were nothing to him, lacking in vision and smarts and everything that made him worthy. It was him and him alone with the power and the brains to complete this. He may have made some deals along the way, but the glory of this would belong to him. The pride he felt at that was all he clung to, and he disregarded any past missteps that led him here. This was a war and not a battle, and thanks to the element of surprise, he was certain that this war was about to end decidedly in his favor.

“It’s time,” he said aloud finally, knowing no one could here him, save the monster in his keep. With assured movements he walked to the cage where the beast resided, looking the bear in the eyes with another wicked grin. “Find the girl and her companions. Spare none of them, and when that’s over take the rest of the town as well.”

With one last burst of locks and mechanisms, the bear was freed and looked liable to let out a loud roar and charge its master, but the collar that it wore restricted that urge. It compelled this animal to do what it was meant for, and with a last menacing look, the bear charged in the direction of the Nolans and their extended brood, destined to cause a destruction the likes that none of them had ever seen before.  

Post- Note: I know that so many of you are going to be so mad at me for this cliff hanger and trust me, I am just as mad at myself! But there’s so much that has to happen it can’t all fit in one chapter. I PROMISE there will be resolution in the next installment, and I also promise that you’ll forgive me in the end for this. However, truthfully I’m not fully sure when the next chapter will be published. It’s so hectic right now with school and my traveling that I have still a little more writing and editing to do before I actually post. But please trust that I will do my best to get you the next chapter and put you all out of your misery ASAP. Thank you so much for reading and hope you’ll tune in next time!

Taglist: @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @winterbaby89 @teamhook @ultraluckycatnd @resident-of-storybrooke @artistic-writer @snowbellewells @allofdafandoms-blog

#captain swan #captain swan au #captain swan fic #cs fic #cs ff #cs au #cs fluff #cs smut #cs angst #emma swan #killian jones #the whole storybrooke gang #cssns #cssns 18 #captain swan supernatural summer #lost souls and reveries #lost souls #lost souls au #lost souls 20 #ouat au

[darkangeldesignstudio]

Dark Horse

Since I am depressed af right now and Hurricane Dorian is breathing down my neck....I am posting these next two chapters early. You know, just in case I die in the storm or from sadness over the next 24 hours. Love y'all and I hope you enjoy these.

Warnings: Angst, Violence, Death, Attempted Rape, Strong Language, Mentions of Animal Abuse, and Eventual Smut and Fluff

Setting: Post Civil War era USA. Marvel Cowboy AU.

Preface: Your home is attacked by the Hydra gang and you are rescued by Steve, Bucky, and their group. The government agency, known as Shield, wants them captured and Hydra wants them dead. With nowhere else to go, you join their ragtag group and set out on the adventure of a lifetime. Helping those less fortunate along the way, your small group grows and so does your affection for these two rough and tumble outlaws. When the chips are down, will you all be able to escape unscathed? Or will the boot drop and leave you heartbroken and alone again?

Song: Zombie (Acoustic) by Bad Wolves

Previous / Next

Chapter Six: Esa and Coyote

You motioned for Steve to take a seat as you began your story. This one would take a while and it would be best if he was comfortable for it.

“My ancestors, my people, walked with the animals and the spirits. They respected them greatly, but most of all they respected Esa, the Wolf God. He was hailed as one of the creator Gods and like many of the other animal he could walk and talk like man.”

Bucky and Steve sat quietly, listening intently with intrigue sparkling in their eyes as your story began to paint pictures of old. “Wolf’s brother Coyote could also walk and talk, but the people didn’t respect him. He was a Trickster, always up to no good and out to double-cross others, the people stayed far away from him.”

Bucky chuckled a bit. “Sounds like Tony.”

Steve shushed him, leaning forward in his chair, waiting eagerly for you to continue.

You giggled a bit before continuing with the story. “Time passed and Coyote began to resent the Wolf, jealous of how respected his brother was. Being the Trickster he was, Coyote wanted to teach Wolf a lesson. So, he devised a plan to make the people lose their respect for Wolf. A plan that would make them hate him, or so he thought. You see, Wolf was wise to his brother’s ways and so, when Coyote enacted his plan, Wolf created his own plan. A plan to finally teach his wily brother the lesson he deserved.”

Steve sat back in his chair as a bit of trepidation coursed his spine. “This sounds like it’s gonna get dark, doll.”

You smiled sadly, nodding a bit. Steve was right, the story wasn’t a happy one, but it was essential to the prophecy you would tell them later. Drawing a deep breath, you looked between the men in front of you as a shiver ran the length of your spine.

Bucky jumped from his chair. “One second, Y/N.”

He disappeared into your room, emerging a moment later with a blanket. You thanked him as he draped its warmth over your shoulders. When he took his seat again, a huge grin on his face, you continued the story.

“One day, Wolf and Coyote were out on a walk over the land, they talked about the people that lived there and when Wolf claimed that if someone were to die, he could bring them back by shooting an arrow under them. Now Coyote, having heard this boast before, told his brother that if he brought everyone back to life, there would be no room left on Earth for new life. ‘Once people die, they should remain dead.’ He believed that if Wolf took his advice, the people would hate him. Wolf, irritated by Coyote’s constant questioning of his wisdom, decided now was the time to enact his plan. He said nothing, just nodded wisely and went on about his day.”

Bucky and Steve looked at each other as the tension built. The tone of your voice didn’t bode well for Coyote.

“Days later, Coyote came running to his brother, his fur was ruffled and his eyes were filled with panic. Wolf already knew what had happened; Coyote’s son had been bitten by Rattlesnake, whose powerful venom was deadly to all. No-one could survive the bite. Coyote begged and pleaded for Wolf to bring his son back to life as he claimed he could do, but Wolf refused. He reminded Coyote of his own remark that people should remain dead, that he was no longer going to bring people back to life, just as Coyote had suggested.”

You propped your elbow on your knee, supporting your head in your palm as you told them the ending. This was always the hardest part to tell, but it was especially hard as the loss of your brother still lingered in your chest. The wound still fresh on your heart.

“They say that was the day Death came to the land. As punishment for his mischievous ways, Coyote’s son was the first to die and Wolf never raised anyone from the dead again. The people came to know the sadness that accompanies death and, despite Coyote’s efforts, the people did not hate Wolf. Instead, they admired him, his strength, wisdom and power, and we still do today.”

You all sat for a moment, in total silence. The firelight danced across your eyes as the two men pondered your story.

Steve wasn’t sure what to say. He had never heard such a story, as his family had raised him a Christian. But the look in your eyes spoke truth and he was unwilling to question you on it. Story or not, it had sent shivers through his body as you spoke. The embers of red that reflected in your eyes made you appear old beyond your years, as if another Spirit spoke from within you. When he looked at Bucky, he could see the same thoughts reflected there.

Bucky turned to you first, flames danced in his gaze as a sense of warmth traveled through your body. There was understanding in those blue depths and, when you turned to Steve, you saw the same thing. It brought tears to your own eyes as the feelings from the past few days came crashing down on you. It finally dawned on you that you were the last one left. The only person in your family still alive on this Earth.

Just as you began to break, each man took one of your hands in theirs, bolstering you with their strength, their friendship. It was comforting, helping you to smile through your tears.

“It’s okay, darlin’. We can wait for you to finish your story after you get some rest. There’s no rush.”

Steve’s voice was soothing as he brushed a strand of hair from your face. You smiled up at him. “That would probably be best. As long as you two don’t mind.”

Bucky shook his head as he stood from his chair, never releasing your hand. “We don’t mind, Y/N. You just take your time. We can revisit this after you sleep.”

Steve nodded, following Bucky’s lead and helping you slowly from your chair. Holding each arm, the men led you back to your bed, carrying your blanket with you. Soldat followed at their heels, skirting around them to jump onto the foot of the bed and wait for you to settle yourself in.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, they each said goodnight before exiting the room. Laying down, you pulled the blanket up your body, settling into the mattress as Soldat settled into place overtop of your feet, keeping them warm with his body heat. You were asleep before your head hit the pillow.

_______________________________________________________________________

You awoke the next morning as light streamed through your window curtains, lighting up the room. Soldat jumped from the bed with your stirring, trotting from the room. You could hear Bucky’s voice as he greeted the overgrown pup.

“How you doing there, boy? There’s fresh meat for you in the barn.” Soldat made a little grunting noise, soon followed by the sound of a door as Bucky let him outside.

The sound of heavy boots grew louder as they reached your door. Knocking, Bucky poked his head through the door with a smile. “How you doing this morning, Y/N? Feeling any better?”

You smiled back at him, tucking a bit of hair behind your ear in a bit of a nervous gesture. “I’m doing good? Right as rain.”

“That’s good,” he said as he sat on the foot of your bed. “Bruce said, as long as you were feeling up to it, you could get up and start moving around today.”

Glancing around the room, he cupped his hand around the side of his mouth and whispered conspiratorially to you. “Dont worry, Steve and I didn’t spill the beans about you being up last night.”

Your face grew hot, embarrassed about your little private midnight powwow, but you smiled nonetheless. It had been an experience you never wanted to forget. “Thanks for that.”

The beaming smile on your face made Bucky want to clutch his chest, it was so beautiful and pure. He hoped he would get to see you that way more often from now on.

Another knock came at the door as Natasha walked in with a set of clothes for you. “Knock, knock. A little birdie told me our girl was ready to go out. So, I brought you some clothes.”

“Thanks, Nat.” You smiled at her, it was the first time you had seen her since the night she helped you change into your night clothes. “I’m gonna need the help with my shoulder bandaged up.”

With a nod, Natasha walked over to you and began to help you up until she remembered Bucky was there. Shooting him a glare over her shoulder, she hissed something at him in Russian.

Bucky raised his hands in surrender and backed swiftly from the room. “Okay, okay. Jeez, Natasha, you are so scary sometimes.”

Hearing your giggle made him grin from ear to ear. Sending a sly wink your way, before turning to the door, Bucky chuckled. “Just meet me out here when you’re done, Y/N. Can’t keep Boda waiting too long, I made a promise.”

You had almost forgotten about Bucky’s promise to bring you to see Boda and thinking about keeping him waiting any longer in this strange new place made you anxious. How bad had he been while you were bedridden? You honestly hoped he hadn’t caused too much trouble.

“Don’t worry much about it, hun.” Nat’s voice made you jump a bit, you had almost forgotten she was there with all your internal stressing. “Boda’s been the sweetest gentleman since you were down. I think he has a bit of a crush on Star.”

You smiled at that. “It doesn’t surprise me that he’s falling for the feisty filly. There’s a fire in her soul that rivals even his own.”

“She definitely hasn’t made it easy for him.” Natasha giggled as she helped you don your coat. “That first night, I thought she would tear his ears off. He ended up rooming with Duke in his stall.”

“Smart girl.” The smirk on your face matched Nat’s as you walked outside together. “And it’s perfectly fine to house them together, they have been like brothers for as long as I can remember.”

“What stories are you telling her now Nat?”

The teasing note in Bucky’s voice made you smile, he was leaning against the wall across from your door. Decked out in his winter coat once again. The shirt underneath was the deepest of blues, making his eyes shine all the brighter, even in the shadow of his signature black cowboy hat. How was he so damned handsome?

“You ready to head out Y/N?”

His deep voice made you jump a bit. “Y-yeah, sure.”

Looking to Natasha, you could see the sly grin on her lips and it made you blush. There was no way she could know what you were thinking. But, when Bucky turned his back and she winked at you, you weren’t so sure about that.

Bucky opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch, holding his hand out to you. “It’s still pretty slick out here, so be careful.”

Natasha smiled before walking back towards the interior of the house, leaving you alone with the intimidatingly handsome man. You tried to control your blush as you placed your hand in his and stepped out onto the porch.

He smiled as he released your hand and walked towards the stairs, you followed close behind, trying your best to follow in his footsteps. You were managing the slick terrain of the deck pretty well, until your foot connected with a patch of black ice. The world pitched backward as gravity pulled you back-first towards the hardwood. Unable to catch yourself, you yelped with fright before you clenched your eyes shut. You sincerely hoped that the fall wouldn’t add to your injuries as your impact seemed inevitable at this point.

Luckily, your fall was interrupted as you felt warmth envelope your free hand and a hard jerk had you pitching forward again. A rush of cold wind was followed by warmth as your forehead connected with something hard. You dared not open your eyes for fear of what you would see, until Bucky’s muffled curse graced your ears and his strong arms wrapped around your waist, helping you keep your balance.

“Shit.”

When you opened your eyes, you were staring at his broad chest, covered in soft cotton and a midnight black winter jacket, your hand was unconsciously running over the soft material at his heart as you finally mustered up enough bravery to meet his steely gaze. A beautiful smile curled his lips as he gripped the hand you had placed on his chest. His thumb ran over your knuckles as he seemed to assess your wellbeing, you could feel your blush growing with every second that he looked into your eyes and tried to look anywhere but his beautiful blue eyes.

Being in this position made you feel small and vulnerable, similar to the way you had felt in Steve’s arms a few nights ago. It was a surprisingly pleasant feeling and that thought made your blush grow hotter. Peeking up through thick lashes, your eyes connected with his once again and heat travelled the length of your spine. He wrapped his arms tightly around you when you tried to pull away, unwilling to release you.

“If you step back, you might actually fall this time. Let me help, Y/N.” Tilting your head back to meet his gaze, you felt his  warm breath caress your face. Your noses were almost touching, the steam from his breath twining with your own, creating a whirlwind of fog comparable to the emotions swirling in your gut. Truly, his care for you made him all the more desirable and you would have been more than comfortable staying in his warm embrace for longer. It had been the same with Steve at your home.

After another moment, you nodded your agreement, not trusting your voice to speak allowed. The last thing you needed was to say something truly embarrassing.

Bucky reluctantly released you from his grip, immediately missing the warmth, but unwilling to make you uncomfortable by overstepping. Assured that you wouldn’t fall again, he gave you a bit more room, but not too much as catching you mid fall had been lucky. If he wouldn’t have turned towards you in the exact moment that your foot touched ice, you could have hurt yourself pretty badly in the fall. He gave you a moment to compose yourself before reaching for your free hand. Gripping it tightly, he placed it into the crook of his elbow. You smiled, amused as you were no high society lady, but he made you feel as important as one would.

He led you down the stairs and into the fluffy white wonderland of snow around you, but he never released you once as you walked the yard with him. In his mind he was acting the gentleman, the way his momma had taught him to be, but in his heart he only wished to prolong his contact with you and you seemed unwilling to stop him. You would never admit the fact out loud, but you enjoyed his touch, however minimum it may be. You only wished you didn’t feel like a burden for needing so much help. “Thanks, Bucky. You keep rescuing me, even though it seems I can only cause you trouble.”

Turning to look at you, a smile lit up his features as you walked together, but a hint of some other emotion swam in his blue eyes. “You aren’t any trouble, Y/N. It’s my pleasure to assist you in any way I can after everything that happened.” Turning your attention back to your surroundings, you tried to hide your blush. “If anything, I’m happy you wanted to stay with us after all that, not to mention falling for me so literally.”

Gasping, you felt your blush grow to a raging inferno on your face as you whipped your head around to look at him. “I didn’t fall on purpose! I-I-I…” His grin was a teasing one, but there was still something else there. Something that he wasn’t ready to share.

He chuckled at your flustered state, you truly were so cute this way. “I know, Y/N. I’m only teasing you a bit. The others say my teasing nature is a less than desirable trait, but I enjoy it. Makes life more interesting.”

You giggled along with him, calming slightly. “Be careful. You are starting to sound like Coyote.”

He laughed outright, causing his shoulders to shake and a beaming smile to erupt on your face. That laugh was surely something special and you assumed he didn’t make that sound often, especially after hearing the story about his past.

A few yards from the barn, Bucky came to a stop and faced you. A bit of worry coated his features. “I need you to know, we are planning to move pretty soon. We don’t really have a lot of time to waste, so we can’t wait for you to finish healing before we saddle up again.”

You nodded. “I will be fine, Bucky. I’ve ridden with worse injuries than this. Besides, that’s not what you are truly worried about is it?”

His body jerked a little, was he really that obvious? Or were you just that good at figuring him out? “Does this story of yours, the one your grandmother told you… I-I guess what I’m trying to say is, we’re not going to have to fight a dragon or throw a ring in a volcano or anything dangerous like that, right? I mean I can take gunfighting any day, but dragons and volcanoes are a hard limit.”

You tried, really truly tried not to laugh at his question. There was real worry in his tone, even if his analogy was meant to ease your own fears. He knew you were scared to share your story, just as scared as he and Steve were to know what it entailed, but even after all of that, he still wanted to keep a smile on your face.

“No, there are no dragons, rings, or volcanoes, Bucky. You don’t have to worry about anything as fantastic as that, where did you even get the idea?” His feigned sigh of relief almost broke your stoic composure. It was getting harder and harder to stay serious, how the hell did he do it?

Just as he was about to put the figurative nail in the coffin, the sound of Steve’s voice cut through your surroundings, followed by a bellowed challenge from Boda.

A bit of fear shot through you, what the fuck was that demon up to now? Nat said they were on good terms. You went to rush away, but Bucky stopped you. “Don’t, Y/N. Steve can handle it.”

You were a bit skeptical, but Bucky’s grip on your hand was inescapable. His gaze begged for your trust, even as a twinkle of amusement still lingered there. “What have you all been up to, Bucky?”

“Come with me and you will see. Just stay silent, wouldn’t want to interrupt them.”

Slowly, Bucky placed your hand back at his elbow and you walked together to the back of the barn where a large wooden round pen stood. What was happening inside the pen made you gasp as tears welled in your eyes. The scene before you was absolutely breathtaking and made you happy beyond belief. How did they both manage such a feat in so little time? Looking to Bucky, you realized he was watching you with a bit of concern.

“It seems you are both due more of my gratitude, Bucky. Thank you so much for this. It makes me so happy to see him like this.”

Your smile lit up the already bright morning, causing Bucky’s heart to stutter in his chest. “Just watch, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

Turning back to the round pen, you watched as Steve and Bodaway played around one another. Steve would jump towards the stallion before jumping away and Boda did the same. It was an elegant and powerful dance between friends. A give and take of pressure that built respect and camaraderie. It was absolutely beautiful. Bodaway’s raven black coat shone in the light of the sun, reflecting blue and purple as he trotted around the man in the ring. There was a spring in his step that you hadn’t seen in a long time and it made your heart soar.

Steve jumped around the ring with Boda, it was the most fun he had had in a long time. Not to mention a great bit of work that helped to warm the body on such a bitterly cold day. It was good for the both of them. “Come on big guy, let’s see what you got.” He put a bit more pressure on the stallion, pushing him into an elegant canter before Boda turned again to return the pressure. “I can do this all day.”

A laugh from the fence line caught his attention. Tony sat atop the railing, watching the goings on. “I thought that saying was reserved for battles you were losing.” Laughing a bit at his own joke, Tony didn’t notice when the stallion turned his attention to him. Nor did he notice when Boda pinned his ears.

“Just don’t hurt him, buddy.”

At that, Boda charged the fence. Tony caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, just in time to topple off the top rail and fall into a deep drift of snow. Boda snorted at the man on the ground before going back to join a laughing Steve in the middle of the ring. “Thank’s friend. You really are somethin’ special. Just like your momma.”

At the mention of you, the wind changed direction, carrying your scent and the sound of your laughter with it. Boda whickered a happy sound when your eyes connected. You watched him with a smile, he was waiting patiently, but you could see the strain it was taking on his body to stand still as he was. So, you gave him a reprieve and whispered the single word he was waiting to hear. “Come.”

Steve was on his way to open the gate when Boda took off at a gallop towards the fence. “Wait, Bodaway!” But, he didn’t stop, just took off from the ground and flew as if he had wings. It was an astonishing sight to behold as the fence was chest high on the stallion.

Bucky, Steve, and Tony gaped like fish as the beautiful black horse landed, continuing at a full gallop towards you. He slid to a stop only inches away from your body and gently pulled you into one of his signature hugs, careful of your injured shoulder. You immediately wrapped your free hand around his neck as tears began to flow freely down your face. His little sounds of comfort made you giggle through the tears. “I missed you too, Fire Starter.”

You stood like that for a few moments as the men gave you both space to reconnect. Steve exited the round pen, helping Bucky who was currently digging Tony’s frozen ass from the snow drift. “How the hell did he do that?”

Bucky pulled Tony to his feet, brushing the snow off of the man’s shoulder. “I don’t know, Stevie. But it’s pretty obvious that he was humoring us all this time. If he wanted to, he could have escaped from here whenever he wished. She really is special to tame a beast like that.”

They talked for a few more minutes, but you ignored them, more keen on loving the sweet boy in front of you. It seemed he was just as unwilling to release you. “Hey, Boda? Thank you for being so good while I was gone. You are the most perfect horse a girl could ask for. I love you.” You placed a kiss on his cheek and then on his nose as you backed away a bit. Turning back towards the men, you realized Tony had gone into the barn. Steve and Bucky stood against the wall, waiting and watching the two of you with fond smiles.

You approached the men with Boda at your side, constantly brushing up against your shoulder with his own. It reminded you of the days you spent together in the pastures, inseparable from the first moment you met. If only the world could always be that peaceful.

“You feel like stretching your legs a bit more? Well, stretching Boda’s legs would be more accurate, I guess.” Steve’s happiness was palpable at seeing you up and about again. Seeing you so broken in that bed had been slow torture for him.

“Sure, where are we riding to?”

The men looked between one another, Bucky reached out to stroke Boda’s neck. “I know just the place. I’ll saddle this big guy up for ya.” With a nod, you followed them into the barn and watched as they saddled up their mounts and yours. It took only a few moments before you were all on your way.

#Dark Horse #marvel #Marvel AU #Marvel MCU #reader fic #steve x reader x bucky #western au #cowboy AU

[oceans-of-stories]

"Three...two...one...!"

He lifted his palms from his eyes and gazed around the ocean that was the grassland of the Steppe, hardly seeing over the reeds and seeds.  Bright red eyes wouldn't find much evidence of his brother or the duo of friends that he had to hunt down, the young lad deciding to step forward into the depths, bare feet trying to dampen the noise of their movement by keeping to toes and the balls of his feet.  He stooped down so low that the tall grass blotted out the sun high in the sky, hands moving forward to parse thru the reeds and fold them to his side, much like a swimmer thru still water.  The tall grass had him shaking as he stooped - biting down on his bottom lip and tasting the earthy air as tongue poked out awkwardly.

"Found -you-!"  It didn't come from his lips, no, but someone behind him.  The small lad had hardly the time to respond before a set of wide, large arms surrounded him, tugging him up and out of the grass, out of what was a sort of scary sanctuary to a terrifying reality of thick, dark scaled arms the held his own down.  He kicked his feet, yelping in surprise, only to have a matching hand mute his voice by a slap over his mouth.  It tasted like sweat, smelled like blood, held him tight enough to make his head go light at the shock.

--

His body went tense as they had trekked closer to the colorful yurts in the distance.  It wasn't hard to find the Himaa, as with any large group of people - the small tribe following where their sheep were going after all.  They left a wide set of ripples that as soon as the duo of Xaela had figured the tribe color they knew who they were following.  Home.  Jebei's tongue wet dry lips as he gazed towards his much larger mate and settled a hand in the air that meant 'stay' in many a hunter's sign language.  He wasn't going to act a fool around the Kha about his own family, he didn't _want_ him to see that.  But given the fact Jeb wouldn't look back as he made his way towards the collection of yurts, it wouldn't be hard for the silver haired man to at least peek and follow given he gave the Buduga a wide birth.

Buduga weren't seen in a great light, though a single one that made himself obvious had many of the Himaa tribesmen relax - the man wasn't here to capture or to hunt.  The first to approach him was a trio of children running after eachother, using the much taller figure as a post to run around and between his legs.  The redhead followed them with his single eye, head cocked to the side by the childish behavior, only snapping up along with the children's attention at the visage of a taller, older man snapping at the three and yelling at them, "Leave the wolf alone, come."  A snap.  The three children rambled after him, one hiding behind his legs, grabbing at his robes protectively, not even realizing what Jebei's displayed colors meant.

His eyebrows knit in frustration, single eye kept on the older male.  They both stood their ground, letting several moments pass before the man seemed to have a semblance of recognition for Jebei.  It wouldn't be the bright red hair, no, it'd be the poncho he wore about himself, the long blanket made of fabric that had been woven within the very tribe.  "Tuya's boy.  The lost one."

Jebei drew his hands along the fringe that decorated his poncho, expression going rather tense as he followed the man's eyes down to the fabric.  "The one who took his brother."  His fingers curled into the fringe at those words the man spoke, cheeks rising red in anger.  "Is that what they got out of you, boy?  Where he was?  More men for your type?  Is this why you're here?"

The redhead shook his head again, not even bothering to answer the man with words.  Instead, he had his own question - "Where is she?  My mother?"

The man picked up one of the children, hugging the boy close rather possessively.  If the Buduga was here for his mother certainly he wasn't here to play boy thief like the rest of them, but he'd still be rather cautious.  The duo of children left on their feet - a duo of girls - giggled amongst themselves before the older man snapped again.  "The home to your right.  Her sight is going."  

That single red eye followed towards a yurt to his right - its flaps closed to keep the warmth in.  He gave a bow to the older man and mumbled a "Thank you" before stepping away and parting the flaps to enter the yurt, leaving the outside behind.  

Before him was a setup that he knew well - the fire in the center held at a low set of embers - one bedroll still left open so that a small woman could sit amongst the warm blankets, working at a small loom beside her.  The fabric she was slowly going about gathering - ilm by ilm, yarn by yarn - echoed the same design of the worn poncho that hung off Jebei's shoulders.  Even without the dulling red hair that clung to her face, the greying scales that haloed her face...the warm smile gave it away for the Buduga.  This was mother.

Nothing came from his lips that moved to mime the simple name 'Mama'.  The Buduga padded closer, holding back every urge to run into her arms like the little boy he used to be.  He instead sat down at her bedside, watching her work carefully, her green eyes set on the rather delicate work - passing the loom needle thru to craft that same design.  When done with that particular color, she'd let its needle fall, finding the next one she needed without even glancing down to the collection.  

She regarded him with a kind smile, her eyes seeming dull - looking anywhere but directly at him.  Jebei's mouth drew open and he finally murmured a, "Mama?", before the woman, causing her to drop what she was doing and shift in her bed.  One hand drew to Jebei's poncho, grasping at the fabric, running a finger along it carefully as her smile seemed to tighten into more of a frown.  Her fingers followed the design downward, down to the fringe and one of the hands that hid underneath.  Carefully, worn hand reached to take Jeb's, feeling pads of her fingers against his before she eased up.

"Jebei."  She murmured warmly.  "My little prince."

The rough man seemed to go wobbly at that - his lower lip pouting out ala his seven year old self, hands falling over his face, palms hiding it for a moment before he let himself simply collapse towards the bedroll, leaning on the small woman's legs with his own curled towards his chest.  The doting mother reached to comb her hand thru his hair, pulling some out of its braids, letting it run through her fingers as careful as she had drawn the fabric design on the loom before her.  

"I...never wanted to stop looking for you and Khaji, but I had to stop looking once my eyes went bad."  Her head tilted towards him, her own body beginning to wrap around him in an enclosing hug.  "You got so big!  I can hardly hold you in my arms now.  Tell me...my love.  Tell me where you went."

His eye had gone wet with tears, hair sticking to his cheeks.  He didn't look up, voice muffled by his mother's bedspread.  He wouldn't tell her - no, he _couldn't_ tell her what had happened when he was but a child.  Instead, he'd tell her the ending of the story.  "Mama...I went to the mainland.  I found another one like me, and then another, and then...I have a family, mother.  My own tribe."

The old woman gave a rather cheerful set of laughter, nodding her head, "Oh?  My little prince is now a Khan?"  Always expecting the best out of her sons - maybe a little hard of expectations for the lads, but it had his heart swelling.

"O-oh...no, no..."  Jebei tried to laugh off the embarassment of failing that.  "But...I am in love.  I found my Azim and my Nhaama.  There are people who...like me.  Who rely on me.  There are people who I rely on."

"Mama...there are people I want to be happy."

The small woman let her hand continue to sooth his scalp, other reaching to pet at his arm.  The same embrace he had longed for for so many years.  The absolute unconditional love of a mother.  "I'm so proud of you, my little prince."  Her voice was quiet, yet so bolsterous.  "And I want you to be happy, my sweet.  I want you and your tribe to be happy."

Jeb nodded amongst her blankets, taking in a deep breath - savoring the smell of his mother and home.  "But..."  He drew in another breath, "It means I can't stay with you, now that I've found you.  It means..."

He paused as her hand tugged at his arm, trying to lug the boy up.  There was not enough strength to hardly move that arm let alone get him up, but Jebei would comply, sitting up with that single red eye staring at his mother quizzically.  She continued his sentence, "It means you go on and you be happy, my darling prince.  It means you love as fierce as I know you will.  It means you do not let an old blind woman hold you back.  I am happy here, as much as I can be, with your brothers and sisters.  I am happier knowing _you_ are with your tribe, loving every moment, my prince."  Her hands reached to hold his cheeks, not caring about how wet they were with tears, making him look to her own, distant looking eyes.  She smiled warmly and then pulled him forward to kiss him on the forehead.

"I love you, my sweet prince."

[cactusheartd]

❝ I aim to be lionhearted; but my hands still shake and my voice isn’t quite loud enough ❞ ZENDAYA COLEMAN? No, that’s actually CASSANDRA BONES-JORDAN. A SEVENTH YEAR student, this HUFFLEPUFF student is sided with MCGONAGALL’S ARMY. SHE identifies as DEMI-GIRL and is a HALF BLOOD who is known to be SHORT TEMPERED, SELF-CRITICAL, and IMPULSIVE but also POETIC, RESILIENT, and LOYAL. { AUDREY, 20, JST, SHE/HER }

death tw !   disordered eating tw ! running away from ur bullshit tw !                 

Born a Lover and a fighter  /   dumb ass funfacts here while i get my shit organised !

Sword lesbian

vegan

Plant mother and art hoe, loves thrifting

Generally dumb as shit, only smart when it comes to talking in 7 levels of sarcasm and irony.

Says ‘do it for the vine’ and other completely outdated slang constantly.

If you remind her vine is dead she will - unstan.

Very tech savvy, extremely upset that tech devices have been banned in Hogwarts like ?

No fashion sense whatsoever like honestly -- get her some help, stop her wearing hawaiian shirts.

Asks people their fave cryptid on a first date / is really into conspiracy theories.

Excells at repressing emotions and bottling them up into her mediocre artwork and occasional poetry and also kickboxing - healthy coping mechanism? Who needs them.

Kind of a jock but an emo jock who’s also a hipster 

Tells all her secrets to her plants and exposes nothing to anybody else whatsoever

Constantly ?? day dreaming but will pretend they were doing something cool.

Kind of aloof and will not let you know anything concrete about them. ever

Deathly loyal and ridiculously strong moral compass, lawful good to a tee.

She is cactus . . . . prickly … hard 2 open up, but full of life saving liquid in an arid environment.  She’s made herself strong and protected 2 hide any emotion

Will do anything for those she considers her friends but only really considers like 4 people her friend and 1 of them is no longer with us

Used to only care for peaceful protests uwu but now she’s here ready 2 throw hands 24/7

Dog lesbian not a cat lesbian. 

Really into history and linguistics, loves philosophy,

Speaks a speckling of other languages but nowhere near fluent but can say i love girls in 12 languages.

Only can be called Cassie or Cassandra, the only person that called her Sandy was Gwen so now it’s a no-go. Easiest way to piss her off is call her sandy.

hufflepuff seeker ; very fast and good at flying, but known for drifting off and day dreaming instead of spotting the snitch. excels in chasing down the other seeker.

Actual bio!

Being the younger middle child always comes with it’s perks, namely, your parents already know what to expect when they’re expecting.

Brought into the world full of smiles, and she’s never stopped smiling since. 

A quiet, yet content child is how people would always place Cassandra Bones-Jordan. And for that reason, she was always somewhat in the shadow. That’s what everyone always says about middle children, they’re not the eldest, they’re not leading the pack. And they’re not the doted on baby.

They don’t have it harsh, they don’t really face the struggles and tribulations, they’re just part of the learning curve. 

The infamous middle children, the children that time forgot that always end up with some sort of emotional baggage to them.

And so, Cassandra had a happy, uneventful childhood. Her parents loved her, her siblings loved her, and she loved them back equally and wholly with all the love she had to give. Which was a lot. 

It was good for her, to be the quiet wallflower of a girl, she may not be a star actress but she shined in the role she was given to play. So introverted, she much preferred to sit in the back of the car with headphones in and a sketchbook in hand than ever join in the conversation, stand to the side of a photograph with a soft and pleasant smile on her face.

Such a lovely girl, everyone would comment, and leave it at that, sidelined for her extremely impressive bunch of siblings.

Cassandra fitted right into that role and so she never complained,    just kept her head down and nose in her sketchbook and she’d be content and happy as she could be. She didn’t like the attention, she would actively try and avoid family at any and all parties. 

Thus, it wasn’t a surprise that she was eventually sorted into hufflepuff, and she would always fondly remember that moment, writing back home to her mother. She was so proud to be a hufflepuff like her mother. 

Except her sorting wasn’t really all that simple. She had an extremely long hat stall, the kind of hat stall where everyone tries to take bets on where they’re going to end up kind of hat stall. 

Initially, the hat had thought gryffindor. For their was a bravery, a lion, hidden in the lanky but well built frame. Covered in marble that just needed to be sculpted, it was there, but it wouldn’t just bloom like a flower, it would need to be chipped at, destroyed, and the question for the hat was:      would cassandra have trial by fire? Would she be burnt at the stake?  Would Troy burn around her as she screamed into the night ? 

Lucky girls are hardly ever called brave girls. 

So the hat chose hufflepuff, perhaps a hope for the coming generations to be spared from war like its predecessor. 

The wise words she and the hat exchanged didn’t really do much to bolster cassandra’s confidence, and so, she remained as a wallflower for the first half of the first term, learning the ropes of Hogwarts. 

Luckily, she had her two elder siblings there to guide her a little bit, ruffle her hair as she walked past. But she still felt vehemently within their shadows, that her name Cassandra, meant little in comparison to the Bones-Jordan that felt like an anvill on her neck.

Being such a wallflower and a hufflepuff led her to being teased just a bit in her first year - a group of no good slytherins coming over and shoving her sketchbook into a puddle in the courtyard just because.  ( she would later found out ; it was because one of her siblings had annoyed them earlier. ) 

A muggleborn hufflepuff of the same year, gwen mcstevens - scottish, ginger and awfully freckled, came to her defense and told em to fuck off basically in the most explicit way they could manage.

A spitfire, the sun, apollo, all synonyms for gwen mcstevens.

They became close friends- like he kind of attached at the hips, never seen without each other best friends’, it seemed like y/n had finally grown out of her shell a bit. Gwen even encouraged Sandy to dye her hair ginger in their 4th year.

Cassandra was quiet (around people she didn’t like), and gwen was loud. 

They were each others balancing side, whilst gwen campaigned for everything and constantly had a bone to pick with someone, Cassandra would tag along. Because she felt the same way too , she just relied on the presence of Gwen to fully express those feelings.

An emotional crutch, they were completely co-dependant on each other, and at some point in their 6th year, it became like a thing between them. Unspoken, but there was a thing that she only ever told her parents about over christmas that same year in a flood of tears.

And much like her childhood, all they did was shower Cassandra in happiness, and told her to invite Gwen around next year for the holidays

Unfortunately - that christmas never came.

A few days after the news of Harry’s and MCgonnogal’s death came out, the first few muggleborns at Hogwarts began to go missing. Gwen amongst them. It was the 13th of November, a dreery November, when things were confirmed for the worst.

Dead. She could cope with the grief of Shacklebolt, Mcgonnogal, of Harry, but without Gwen -- there was an entire half of Cassandra now missing. 

It was the rug out from under cassandra’s feet, her one support mechanism, the one person who knew everything about her was gone. But not just gone, she’d been murdered. Well, she didn’t know murder, but she could feel the room,   could feel the machinations taking place.

cassandra was . . . .  crushed. Defeated. Numb. she couldn’t feel shit - she was catatonic for a day in her dorm room, everyone edging around her so as to not aggravate the situation. And then she was gone, just like that.

She couldn’t deal with Hogwarts, at looking at Gwen’s bed next to hers, all her stuff left untouched as it had been last week ; her pet tortoise the only movement in that corner of the dorm.

It’s not like hufflepuffs to be rash;  and here it was, the chipping of the marble. 

She shoved a few belongings into her satchel and made a break for it on the 15th in the night -- stowing into the darkness.

However, the destinies, the fates, claimed this story to not be a tragedy - but an epic. Her hairbrain scheme to break free failed pretty badly;   she’s found the next day by [w.c] in the early hours of the 15th on the border of the school grounds - just past the owlery a few hundred metres from the edge of the forbidden forest. 

Disordered eating tw start In reality, it wasn’t fate, it was just the fact that she hadn’t eaten anything in a few days

Disordered eating tw end. 

Cassandra begged for wc as they were fireman lifting them to the hospital wing to not say what actually happened, she didn’t want to deal with the drama without her crutch, nor did she want to worry her parents.

However, sitting in the hospital wing only lasted for a few hours, her desire to not worry her family trumped by the unending beating in her heart, the shaking of her limbs. this , although unknown to cassandra, was just grief. 

But she had never experienced it before, or knew how to deal with it in a proper manner, so she tried to run again.

However, not having fully rested herself, her brain was fogged and her mental map of the school forgotten, and the room of requirement living up to its name, had sense a requirement in the lost bones-jordan child.

Moving through what she thought was just a normal door, Cassandra came face to face with a mirror. What should have been a paled face with sunken eyes and chapped lips, was instead replaced with stout figure with darting green eyes and firey hair.

Surprise ! it’s the mirror of erised ! what a lovely deus ex machina for us all !

And of course, it’s a grieving heart who sees what they long for the most ; gwen. 

On the verge of tears, of running out the door and as far as she could -- ; perhaps it was too soon to see her again, her sun.

And maybe it was the lack of focus she had, or the iron deficiency, but she swears she heard the reflection talk to her. A manifesto to be brave ;      cassandra had always followed gwen rigorously, but she did everything that gwen did. Sure, she needed the encouragement but she could always do it. She just didn’t believe in herself.

It’s the darkest hours of the heroes story ; and it's divine intervention, apollo, or thetis, swooping down from olympia with the words on wings.

It was that inspiration, that internalisation of Gwen that managed to get the courage to use her legs. Put one leg in front of the other and walk back to the hospital room, and sit back down. With no one to notice her second attempt. 

The block of marble had been cut, the statue now revealed, the brave girl, the lioness, now in full force. People don’t call you brave if you’re lucky.

To keep part of Gwen with her  everywhere, she decided to keep herself in everything Gwen had encouraged her to do, rather than become a hermit and avoid everything they ever did.

On a spur of a whim, she had those now, she decided to try out in the snap quidditch tryouts to replace the seeker. She got her best friends former position by some act of god,     Cassandra says she plays with an angel looking over her. 

She also signs up for the M.A the second she has a chance, constantly cementing herself in any role or position they needed to be filled.

Through dealing with her strife, she flourished rather than suffered, desperately trying to fill her time with extracurriculars, helping out the m.a, practising for quidditch matches.

At the same time, whilst keeping her emotions very bottled up, she’s started to act up and act out, her inability to deal with people she doesn’t like reaching sky high peaks. People would perhaps call her somewhat intolerant to blood purity ideas; and suddenly, she’s started to speak up when she hears something she finds dumb, started getting into fights and coming back to her dorm with a black eye or a bruised wrist.

It’s a level of self-preservation that’s gone too, along with any other healthy coping mechanisms. She doesn’t know how to deal with the deep seated grief that’s rooted itself to her bone marrow; but whatever she’s doing right now certainly isn’t helping one bit.  

my wc page is still heavily under wip so i’ll post it in the gc when im done but the few basic ideas we got going on here are;

- the person who found her passed out in the forest ; sworn to absolute secrecy, peak drama and dramatic tension.

- other former friends of gwen who cassandra would have been friends with via proxy.

- people cassandra have absolutely gotten into a fist fight with as of late for whatever anti-muggleborn sentiment they’ve said in her presence

- love a group of people who are ... slowly going to adopt cassie into their friendship group bc she’s a loner and needs love.

- .. girlfriend (future)! crushes! you name it! she was kind of dating gwen so she ... soft angst hours ultimate edition !

- 1 ex / a guy, like the one person u date to try and convince urself your straight and it absolutely doesn’t work out and it’s kind of awkward we love heteronormativity in our kids. 

#iidyintro #death tw #disordered eating tw #the bio is kind of death heavy but the other tw is like 1 line and i've marked it out so !!! stan

[dailyaudiobible]

11/22/2019 DAB Transcript

Ezekiel 44:1-45:12, 1 Peter 1:1-12, Psalms 119:17-32, Proverbs 28:8-10

Today is the 22nd day of November. Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I am Brian. It's great to be here with you as we continue forward in our journey to the Scriptures this year and continue day by day through the weeks that we have remaining as we make this push into the final stretch of the year. So, today we’ll be going back into the book of Ezekiel in the Old Testament and then we get to the New Testament we will be beginning a new letter known as first Peter and we'll talk about that when we get there, but first we’re reading from the New Living Translation this week. Ezekiel chapter 44 verse 1 through 45 verse 12.

Introduction to the first letter of Peter:

Okay. So…so we concluded the letter from James yesterday, which brings us to the letter known as first Peter. And, so, this is kind of homecoming in a way because we’re being reunited with Peter whose kind of an old friend because we traveled through the Gospels in the book of Acts alongside of him. And, so, we've gotten a little bit of a glimpse into his personality and character and we’ve certainly seen that he’s a passionate person, but now we’ll hear that passion distilled down into written form as we go into first Peter. So, Simon or Simeon was actually Peter's given name, but by the time he had become a part of the inner circle of Jesus, Jesus had given him the name Cephas, which in Aramaic means rock. And, so, when we translate the Aramaic into Greek then that same word is Petros. And, so, Petros, Peter we can see of the origins of the English biblical name for Peter because Petros's in Greek is rock, which takes me back to my childhood because I used to love this band named Petra, right? And rock. They were a rock band singing songs about the rock of their salvation. So, this is how we get from Simon or Simeon to…to Peter. And Peter’s story obviously as we know it from the Gospels is one of redemption and complete transformation. I mean the Peter in the book of Acts is a very different Peter than the Peter in the Gospels after the coming of the Holy Spirit. So, we see this transformation and it's a pretty big one because we remember that when we remember Peter's lowest moment when he is standing outside the quarters of Caiaphas as Jesus is being insulted and ridiculed and he's denying that he even knows who Jesus is. So, we follow Peter from there all the way to the upper room where tongues of fire fell at the coming of the Holy Spirit. Peter was empowered after that with a boldness and an anointing that we still feel the reverberations of. So, in this letter that we’re about to read Peter writes that his location is Babylon. And, so, there’s plenty of scholarly conjecture about that but the general consensus here is that he's probably referring to Rome. And, so, with this in mind, then the letters been generally dated from the early to mid-60s A.D. And Peter says he's writing to God's chosen people who are living as foreigners in the provinces of Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia and Bithynia. And these were five different provinces in the Roman Empire that are all now located within modern-day Turkey. And, so, he addresses us to God's chosen people who are living as foreigners, because as this letters passed around to those people that would've been well understood in the Jewish culture, those living as foreigners or the Diaspora, those who had been scattered all over the world over long periods of time in different exiles and most recently those who were fleeing persecution because of…because of their faith in Jesus. Now James, the letter we finished yesterday, as I said from the outset is a bit of a butt kicker because it's very, very confrontational in a very kind and true way where the truth is being told and you know it's the truth. So, we can get out of Peter…or out of James ago…whew…that kicked my butt and now I need to catch my breath. But Peter, we got to know him a little bit and he packs a punch of his own. So…we’re…we’re sort of lining up for round two of the unfiltered truth being spoken into our lives in a way that is very practical. But again, just like James, Peter’s not trying to condemn anybody or make anybody feel bad. Like these people are already suffering, they’re already learning to endure. So, he’s not trying to shame them. He’s actually trying to encourage them, bolster them, lift them up because their faith in Jesus is actually causing suffering in their lives. And, so, Peter's reminding them that there is a hope, a glorious for those who endure. And, so, off we go. We’re at the straight talk portion of the New Testament as we move through…well…through James and Peter and John and Jude. So, let's continue our journey. First Peter chapter 1 verses 1 through 12.

Prayer:

Father, we thank You for Your word. We thank You for another step forward, another day in Your word. And as You bring us into the ending of another of our weeks together, we look forward to the fact that…well…in a couple days we’ll be entering the last week of this 11th month and then we’ll be entering into the 12th month of the year. So, You've certainly brought us far and yet there is still a distance to go. So, as we enter into these letters of Peter, we invite Your Holy Spirit to speak clear and true to us. Each of us has a story to tell and each of us is living inside that story. And, so, all the circumstances of our lives are varied and various and wrapped all over the world and within different cultural contexts. And yet Your word is true and when it speaks to us, it speaks to “us”. It speaks to “us” where we are. It confronts “us” where we are and we can just say, “yeah that's for somebody else” when You are…when You're pricking our heart. And, so, we open ourselves to You completely as we continue this journey forward. We invite You to come Holy Spirit. May we become more and more aware of Your eternal presence within us. We pray this in the name of Jesus. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is home base, it's the website, it’s…it’s where you find out what's going on around here. So, be sure to…to tune in and stay connected in any way that you can.

I have been mentioning the Prayer Wall this week because it’s just been heavy on my heart. We just have these resources available to us all the time where we can reach out. And this season that we’re moving into…I mean it brings us to the place where we need to reach…I mean we can be full of festive joy and also in the depths of despair at the same time or one minute later. Like, it’s just such an erratic time. And we just get sucked into it. And, so, the Prayer Wall is a resource that's just…no matter what's going on…it's there and you can access it through the app and you can access it through the website and it’s there and it's just a way to know you’re not alone as we continue to move through and navigate the rest of the year. So, check that out. It's in the Community section at dailyaudiobible.com or you can access it using the Daily Audio Bible app by pressing the Drawer icon in the upper left-hand corner.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, if this rhythm that we share each and every day, moving us and navigating us not only through the entire tire Bible but through an entire year together, if that does bring life and light and good news and hope and encouragement into your life then thank you for your partnership. We…we can’t do this if we don't do this together. That has always been the case and thank God we are…we are just brief weeks away from completing 14 years, seven days a week. So, thank you profoundly for your partnership as we continue day by day all of the steps forward. So, there's a link on the homepage at dailyaudiobible.com. If you’re using the Daily Audio Bible app you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner or, if you prefer, the mailing address is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or comment you can press the Hotline button in the app, the little red button up at the top and just start sharing or there are number of numbers that you can dial depending on where you are in the world. If you are in the Americas 877-942-4253 is the number to call. If you are in the UK or Europe 44-20-3608-8078 and if you are in Australia or that part of the world, 61-3-8820-5459.

And that is it for today. I am Brian I love you and I will be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

This prayer is for Biola. This is Victorious Vanessa from Maryland. Biola I heard your request and I stand in agreement with you for marriage. So, Father we know that as we delight ourselves in You, You give us the desires of our heart. We also have this confidence that anything that we ask You, according to Your word You hear us. And since we know that You hear us, You grant us Your petitions…our petitions. Your daughter Biola is ready for a covenant relationship in marriage and I ask You Father to present her Your best candidate, not just a man of God but an Ephesians 5 man that will love her like Christ loves the church, a man that would wash her in the word daily. Allow their hearts to be knitted together. Anyone that would cause her to fall Father, remove them. Anyone that she would cause to fall, remove them. May they meet each other’s needs 100% physically, emotionally, spiritually, financially. We thank You God in advance in Jesus’ name for Your best candidate for Your daughter Biola. In Jesus’ name I pray. Amen.

Hi this is Joanne from Happy Valley responding to running desperately to Jesus call which I just heard. __ I’m 78. In four months, I’ll be 79. I’ve been struggling with…like you have been in my life. I try to be nice but there’s a…like an old spark of anger that’ inside me all the time, maybe jealousy. Wvery time I try to be nice but sometimes I just can’t; however yesterday morning I had yet another epiphany from God about why I am the way I am, and He’s given me hope that we can work this out. He will never…He will give up on you. He will never leave your side no matter how old you are, no matter what you’ve said or done. He will not give up on you. He loves you like crazy and He will always. Just relax and ask Him. And thank goodness for this community because it is by hope He will guide you. Bless you dear. You are gonna be fine. I love you. Bye.

God bless you DABbers this is Norma from the Bronx I am just responding to Desperately Running to Jesus, my sister who was asking if…if it’s okay for her to feel having those feelings. And I just like I was relating to her. And I’m relating to her because first of all I’m 57 and I’m also going through similar situations as far as myself responding in a certain way like aggressive. And God has been showing me that, you know, at our age after so much giving and working hard and being mistreated and unappreciated, a lot of these…these feelings from frustration are…are kind of well up. And I hope that this helps. And what He’s showing me is, you know, to just keep releasing it to Him every time you feel frustrated, every time you feel disappointed, unappreciated. And I just keep asking Him to just fill me up with so much compassion and so much mercy and to help me to see things from the other person’s point of view, to understand them. And that helped me to speak with more grace and more mercy towards people. Remember, it’s never too late because Abraham, God dealt with him until he was way past 100 years old. So, it’s never too late…

Hi family this is Erin from Michigan let’s pray. Dear God, here I sit in my warm home with my happy life and my friends and my family around me and I just really couldn’t think of how things could get better. It’s not perfect by any means but Lord God I give you the praise God for my wonderful life. And then my dear sister Karla calls today. It’s Tuesday, November 19th and she said her heart is broken Lord God and I just…I pray for Karla. I ask You to lift her up, I ask You to show her today in a very real and positive way that someone is praying for her Lord God and that even in the midst of her heartbreak and her wanting to give up and her…her Hoping that she can trust You because she’s been let down so many times Lord God. I lift Karla up, I lift her up, I ask You to help her today in a very…very supernatural and special way so there can be no question that You are there with her today Lord God. I pray Your peace, Your perseverance, Your protection and Your prosperity over dear Karla Lord. Help her to know that we love her. Help her to not believe the words in her, You know, that are coming to her that…that says she can’t trust You and that she’ll never be free of the heartbreak she’s feeling right now. We pray all of these things in the powerful and precious name of Christ Jesus our Lord. Amen. Karla, I heard you today. I love you and I’m gonna keep praying. Thank you for calling in. Your heart will be healed. I’m speaking that truth over you. All right. Take care.

[singing begins] One step forward and two steps back, cross our fingers don’t step on a crack we may feel what’s coming or be under attack but we are in Christ so there is no lack. If God is for us no one can stand against. Don’t let the enemy keep you on the fence. Jesus’s His word the sword and defense so raise your mighty I am and rest. I will declare the Almighty has rescued me. In him I am righteous secure and free. My spirit will bow down to my God alone. I stand in faith in Jesus my cornerstone. I will stand in faith. This too shall pass. God’s word and the love they fail not. God’s word is what will last. I will not fear. I have strength in him. I am strong and courageous in Jesus my king. I will rejoice and sing. I will rejoice and sing. [singing ends]

Hey, DABbers this is Slave of Jesus in North Carolina. All right Holy Spirit let’s roll. __ from Florida, amen to all the prayers for healing dealing with cracked ribs and his heart problems. Amen to all the future homes we’re building and that we get the utilities we need. Amen to prayers for David Watkins cancer treatment. Blind Tony always love your poems. Amen to your prayers for Alfaio from Delaware. DABber Drew from California, amen to all your prayers about your worries and good luck on your job issues. Jason, we pray for Jason Lord. We pray for Jason knowing that God definitely gives an “S” about him and the enemy that’s coming against his brain will be destroyed in Jesus’ name Amen. I have been listening to the DAB for, I think it’s been eight years, and I’d never heard or understood, even though I’ve heard it every time with Brian, about James. This is so cool about this “without faith…works…without works faith is dead.” And I’ve never understood that because you can’t earn your way into heaven. It’s grace. But what a great explanation this year. I don’t know if I’d missed that or whatever. So, I wrote in my journal here about…”it shows…our actions shows what’s really in our hearts.” So, I’m in my DAB journal and I wrote this, I said, “James is all about faith without works is dead. It does not mean we can earn our way into heaven. It means that our actions shows what’s really, we in our heart. For example, if we have faith, true faith, that God is willing to provide for us, we’ll be willing to give away more of our resources to others that need more of it. And it could be said about fear. I’ve heard that faith means there’s an absence of fear. So, if you have anxiety, you know, you really gotta start to question your faith at how much faith you got.” And, so that’s a good indicator that you gotta get closer to God. But get back, read James and listen to Brian’s commentary on the 17th of November. It’s awesome. Love you all. Have a great day.

[lighteningdancer]

Ten lives.

Ten times to say hello and goodbye.

Ten times to get just close enough and then pass each other by.

Ten times until they get it right.

Ten times until she gets her well deserved happily ever after.

Full story below the cut!

In her first life she had tried, she really had. No one could ever say that she did not try to live well and live happily.

It all started, and ended, like this.

She fell to the ground the last bit of her strength abandoning her. She could feel her life slipping away but she felt numb to the pain, which was certainly a bad sign if she had ever seen one. The young woman knew that her abdomen must have been in tatters but she could not bear to glance down at it, so very afraid of what she may see. Instead, as she looked around her at the carnage littering the streets, she could not suppress the sob that reached her lips. She attempted to muffle it by covering her mouth with her hands but it was no use. She could not even find the strength to raise her arms any more.

It truly was the end.

Her cries broke through the now silent night as she mourned for all those who had fallen around her, as well as for herself.

Their faces invaded her mind and she could do nothing to stop them. It was only yesterday that they had all been at her house, smiling and laughing. Their voices had been loud and vivacious as always, but so had their laughter. Just another weekly gathering of all of the people that were so dear to her and her husband. Her best friend had even chosen that day to tell her and the others that she was expecting her first baby and they had all been so overjoyed. Everything had been going right.

It wasn't fair that all of that happiness had disappeared.

Just yesterday they had agreed to meet up in town to go to a restaurant and truly celebrate the good news with good food, and for those who could drink it, good wine. She can still see her beloved’s, her husband’s, eyes reflecting back at her in the mirror as he helped to clasp her necklace around her neck asthey were getting ready to leave. Such a simple action but it was one that he had performed many times before. An action that the naïve girl had taken for granted. What she wouldn't give to return to that moment at her vanity, with him smiling warmly back at her.

Lunch had gone well, all of them still riding off the high of yesterday's news. But then there had been a sound, louder than any she had ever heard before. She looked outside the small café window and the world was on fire. People were screaming, her among them, in terror and confusion. The group quickly scrambled out of their seats and turned to run, pushing past anyone in their way, working as a unit to the very best of their ability to make it to safety.She had managed to grab her husbands hand and held onto it for dear life, because nothing made sense anymore but he was still there and that was all that she needed to know she would make it out alright.

The group had managed to escape out through the kitchens back door, but all too soon they were separated in the chaos. All but her and the boy. They ran for what seemed like an eternity until they came across a dead end street. Desperate, they turned around, only to see the man's best friend standing where they had just come running from. Another man was there with him, and for a second the young woman thought that they were embracing as ridiculous as that seemed at the moment. But then she glimpsed the silver glint of steel sticking out of the man's back and watched as he slumped to the ground his eyes going hazy and then blank.

The man, the butcher, with the knife turned on them next and her husband, her lover, her beloved, her soul mate, tried so hard to protect her. But he fell, with one quick slash to the throat, his life leaving him as quickly as it took the man to slash at her several times. She tried to raise her arms to defend herself, but her small frame was nothing compared to his brute force. Then there was a loud shout and the man turned around and ran off in another direction, leaving the two to their fate.

As she lay there, her life force leaving her all she wished for was one more chance. One more opportunity to get it right and to not have to leave them. To not have to leave him. Those were her last thoughts as her weeping eyes went blank.

She was only 19 and her first life was over.

In her second life she was entirely too late.

She smiled at the boy sitting across the counter, and he looked exactly how she remembered him. She wondered at first how her own looks had magically transferred over from life to life but three years after regaining her memories she has learned not to question it all too much. At twenty-two she had finally come to grips with the memories she received on her nineteenth birthday, and had come to accept them as another facet of her life. She guessed some things just work in mysterious ways.

Ab\nd some people are just lucky enough to get second chances it seems.

She brought him his coffee, exactly the way he ordered it. It wasn't the way he liked it before, he had never enjoyed the taste of sugar in his coffee as he seemed to do in this lifetime. But that was okay, one or two slight changes do not change an entire person, she knew that for a fact. For example in her last life she had no artistic talent whatsoever, but at that moment she was an aspiring painter whom her friends insisted was going places. Yet she still had the same sense of humor, and she still loved to make clothes. She still loved him, it seemed not even death could stop that.

The young woman had not been the one to take his order, but when she had seen him she begged her co-worker to be the one to deliver it to him. Her co-worker looked so much like someone she knew only in passing in her last life; the younger sister of one of her husbands closest confidants. She did not appear to have her memories of her past life as she never talked to the brown haired girl about it, but she was not disappointed or sad. Which, honestly, lead the brown eyed girl to believe that maybe the similarities were all in her head and that she only LOOKED like her previous acquaintance.

The other girl, had looked confused, and then smiled knowingly. She had joked about love at first sight, but if she had known the truth she would have known that it wasn't that at all. It was love from another life, another existence. Love from so deep within her soul that she doesn't think she can ever shake it off. And she doesn't want to, not ever.

Giddily she almost danced over until she was standing in front of him, more than a bit nervous to finally be seeing him again after all these years. Nonetheless her huge grin never for a second left her face. When she placed the coffee down in front of him she made sure that the small dish it was placed on made noise as it hit the counter. Not enough to shock him, but enough to get his attention. Seemingly shaken out of some sort of reverie the man looked up from the paper he was reading and their eyes met.

Electricity coursed through her entire body as she stared into those eyes, eyes that were exactly the same as they were before. She could look into hundreds, thousands of pairs of eyes and none of them would have the effect of the ones she was staring into. Until this point in her life she had felt that she was somehow empty, that something was missing from her. When their eyes met some of that hole shriveled up and died. Not all of it, not all at once, but enough to set her heart racing and nerves jumping.

She had expected him to react to her presence, to smile as bright as the sun likes she knows he can. Maybe he could have even jumped up and reached out to grab her wrist, or to cup her face in his hands like he used to. He would call out her old name in exclamation, in joy of finding each other again after so long. The reunion she never imagined would ever happen, was never sure could ever happen, was in fact happening right here right now. All he had to do was say her name, her first name, her true name, and she could die happy. But he only smiled lightly at her and offers his thanks to her in one of his gentler of tones. When he picked up the cup before him and returned to his paper, not really giving her a second glance is when she realized it. He must not have remembered her, or else he surely would have said something.

The thought of him not remembering never even crossed her mind and for a moment she was shocked silent. In all of her fantasies she had imagined never, not once, did he not remember her. Never in all of her plans and hopes of the future did she imagine them meeting to part so quickly. She could not let this moment pass without trying harder. Not one to be deterred, she was about to be as bold as she could be and ask him for his name in hopes of getting another meeting out of the encounter. Anything to get them back to where they were before their lives were stolen from them in a cruel twist of fate. All she needed was just one date, one chance, and she knew that she could get him to fall in love with her again. If they had done it once they could do it again. Maybe not the same as last time, but it didn’t have to be as long as they were together.

But then she noticed it, the gold band on his ring finger, and her world shattered just as quickly as her hopes and dreams had been bolstered only minutes ago when she first saw him.

He was married. In their current life he would never be hers.

Trying not to cry she had smiled back at him, even though his attention was once again fixated on his paper, before turning and hurrying back into the break room. As the door shut behind her sobs wracked her body, and she gripped onto the door handle like it was a lifeline to keep from falling to the floor. All she could think of is how unfair the whole situation was, how once more she had lost the only person who has full control of her heart. But not to violence or to a trick of fate, but simply by luck and chance. She had been too late and now she would never be able to be with the only man she had ever really, truly, loved.

She was 22, talented, and beautiful, with her whole second life ahead of her. And she hated it, because she knew she would never have him. She would have preferred their first short life again to live a whole life without him. But she did live it. For the girl who never got a chance to live last time could not throw her life away, she knew how important it was. For the next forty years she pined for him, that boy she only saw that one time at a part-time job she only held for six months, as she quit the next day knowing she would never be able to handle seeing him again and again if he became a regular. She died surrounded by friends, but no spouse or children littered her bedside when the disease finally took her. She would have no one but him.

Once more she begged that if there was a next time, she could spend it with him. And if not she vowed to wait, as long as it took.

In her third life, she was so close, and yet so very, very, far.

When she had walked into his classroom for the first time she did not know who he was. Not really, not in the way that mattered, at least. He was just her older professor who had great insight into his field despite the fact that he sometimes became quickly flustered if a student asked an enthusiastic question, almost as if he was surprised anyone held the same interest of study as him. She grew to know him slowly over a semester as the man with graying hair, and the beginnings of crow marks on his face. The man who liked to crack jokes that only someone who took his class as a part of their major would understand and smiled sheepishly whenever any of his students praised him, a kind man who she was proud to learn from.

When she woke up on her birthday it was hard for her to get her head around anything. Specifically him, the man that her past two lives had been so obsessed with, who she thought she had yet to meet in this life. The idea that she had past lives was strange and foreign to her, as until that moment in her life she had never believed or put any stock into reincarnation. Hell she hadn’t even thought that there was a heaven or hell, but there she was. It was so startling that she skipped going to class for the next week, not caring what her professors would say. She was nineteen, and in college, and she was her own boss. She was also apparently a lot older than she thought.

Over that week her aged memories filtered into her consciousness somewhat. It was a weird experience, one that she remembered going through before. Logically she knew what was right and wrong, and her mind held a lot of useful knowledge. But her body almost rejected it, and she often found herself ignoring her own newly gained wisdom. For the most part her actions remained unchanged.

So when she had arrived back to classes and looked at her aged professor she had not expected what greeted her. His eyes were staring back at her from the front of the room, only glossing over her as he was taking roll. Her heart stopped beating and she could not breathe.

No. No, if there was a god please no. Not now and not like this. Please.

Quickly she grabbed all of her belongings and ran from the room. She ignored his calls asking her where she was going and brushed off the stares of all of her classmates. She had to get out of there now before they all saw the tears falling from her wide shocked eyes.

How? She wondered as she entered her dormitory. How was he so much older than she was? Was he born too early? Was she born too late? Was she too late again?! Would it just keep happening that she would barely miss him?! She didn't know she just knew that it wasn't fair. She hadn't even had the chance to hope, to dream, of their life together before that very opportunity was taken from her viciously.

She spent the whole night bundled up in a ball on her bed crying her heart out. Her roommate tried to comfort her, but there was nothing to be done. After all heartbreak is heartbreak, and at this point it was three lifetimes worth all at once.

She continued to attend his class, even after that horrific day. She tried to not think of him the way that she did. She tried not to love him. But it was no use as she simply could not help herself. Even at his advanced age he managed to catch her eye.When she saw him she could no longer see just another man getting on in his years, but what her first and only love would have looked like as he aged. The startings of crow marks were now laughter lines, and the gray hairs were proof that this time he was able to survive. Even his quirky mannerisms reminded her of her husband, of her beloved, and made her heart skip beats and her chest hurt from the wanting of him. Not even in the physical sense of him holding her close, but the emotional sense of being able to confide in him and talk with him through the night. She thought several times of confessing. Of just coming out and saying that she loved him and didn't care if her was older, or that he was her professor.

She just loved him.

She loved him.

She loved him.

Three lifetimes worth of love in her tiny frame.

She never told him in the end, unable to bring up the courage before the semester ended. She tried to fit another of his classes into her schedule but it was not to be, she had only taken his class for fun in the first place after all. What he taught had nothing to do with her major, he was an English Literature professor and she studied design. Still even after she graduated she visited the campus every so often to give lectures about her own field of study, always hoping to run into him again.

She learned when she was 45 that he had passed on, a heart attack, they said. To her it didn't really matter what it was, all that mattered was that he was gone once again and she was all alone. They ended up making a plaque for him and placed it outside of the building where he held most of his lectures. She would smile sadly whenever she passed it on her way to give her own talks.

When she died at 78 they made a plaque in her honor as well, much like his. Although where his managed to have sunlight shining on it almost the entire day hers was tucked gently in the shade. If she could have seen it should would have laughed and called it fitting.

In her fourth life she waited.

And waited.

And waited.

From the moment she turned nineteen there was only one thought that was on her mind, one person who took up every second of every minute of every day. No matter what she did she could not shake the thoughts of him that often spiraled through her mind. She thought of his brown eyes when she looked at the spines of old books like he studied in his last life. She heard him in the laughter of children who sounded vaguely like he did in their first life. Everytime she had coffee she tried to remember what exactly his order had been as he sat at her counter in that crummy little diner. It had to be this time, she was sure of it. It was after all her third time being reborn, and as they say the third time's the charm.

The first ten years after she got her memory back were hell, pure and simple. Everyone at every corner could be him. Every blind date could have him on the other side. Each time she got her hopes up, and each time they were dashed like plates on a marble floor. She looked, and looked, and looked, and he was nowhere to be found. On top of her inability to forget him, or find him, life threw all that it could at the poor girl. Once one problem was solved another quickly arose to take its place.

She slowly became almost jaded to the world, her sweet remarks more bitter than she would have otherwise liked. She was so angry, those years were supposed to be the time of her life, but she spent them pining for a boy who she had not even seen in her current lifetime. She felt like she was wasting her youth on him, on the idea of him. She didn't even know what his life was like. Was he already married again? Or was he so old he was in a retirement home at that point?

The next ten years she spent simply having fun, because she deserved to have fun and live her life without the ghost of him hanging over her shoulders. She lost all care for the boy, or at least she tried to. She told herself that if they were meant to find each other, and they were, then it would happen no matter what she did. So she went out to parties with her friends, and worked hard to get the raises and promotions that she wanted. She truly lived the life that she wanted, the one she imagined having before her memories had been restored to her. And for a while it was enough.

The next ten years things started to slow down a bit, and a great change occurred. She was getting older, entering and living through her forties, and people her age simply did not go out and drink every weekend. They were, for the most part, settled. People also started to just assume she was married, or had children, and it was always awkward when she had to tell them she had neither a husband nor children. It never bothered her, these questions in her past lives, but this time the more they asked the more she felt like something was missing from her life and after much consideration she decided to adopt. She knew this was a big decision, both for her and for her new child, so she took her time. She spent over a year looking for the perfect child before she found him.

He was five years old, and so sad and alone that it broke her heart. For a moment it was like looking into a mirror and seeing the eyes of one of her past lives after finding out their love could not be theirs. He was just as alone and confused as she was, and she loved him immediately.

The black hair and green eyes were a clear giveaway in her mind as to who he looked like from a past so far away she almost couldn’t consider it hers, and after some digging she found out he was a descendant of one of her friends cousins. Once she found out she did no more digging into why they looked so similar.

After she adopted the little boy he became her world and she had little to no time to think of the man she was supposed to be pining after. Being a mother was hard; the toughest of the jobs she had ever held in her several lifetimes, but it was also the most fulfilling. The boy lived with her for fifteen years until he found a steady job and a nice young lady to settle down with.

By this time she was old, and after three more years on the job she retired. She lived on her own for a while, with many visits from her son, his wife, and their two young children whose blonde-silver and orange hair triggered memories of friends long gone she left buried deep deep down. After all, after all this time, of course they were not the same people. These visits made her day, but the times in-between were filled with such a bitter loneliness. One day she finally decided that enough was enough, and checked herself into a retirement home. Her son protested saying that she could always live with them, but she did not want to be a burden and it would be nice to associate with people her own age. So she did what she always did, and followed her intuition ignoring her son's wishes.

It was there that she met him for the first time in that life, and she laughed so hard she cried because it would happen now, when they had so so little time left. He lived three doors down from her and was confined to a wheelchair. His hair was gray, and his voice was soft and raspy, but she loved him on first sight all over again anyway. The first time she talked to him was during a group get together of everyone watching a sporting event. She made sure to sit next to him and was shocked to see that they liked the same team. Knowing that fact the conversation flowed easily and they became fast friends.

It took the poor old man two years to ask her out on a proper date, to which of course she said yes to with no hesitation. The next three years were true bliss for the girl, now an old woman, who had been waiting so many years for these moments with him. But alas they were nearing the end of that life and so it did not last long. She was the one to leave first this time, on a warm spring day when the flowers were blooming. She died in her sleep, dreaming of what their life would have been like if they had only met a few decades before.

Once more she wished for just one full life with him.

In her fifth life she finds comfort in the unexpected.

She meets him for the first time in around two hundred years at a bus stop. It was raining, and the poor young girl was grateful for the little awning that would protect her from the storm. She folded up her umbrella and tried to shake what moisture she could out of it. Raising her head she only has to see his hair for a second before she recognizes him as the same as the boy who was killed before her eyes in her first life. The last time she had seen him he had a knife through his chest. Without contemplating anything for even a moment she acts. Reaching out she grabs the arm of his coat and blurts out the name she knew him by.

With the others she had suspected it had not hit her like this.

They had not looked exactly the same.

She had not seen them die.

She had not loved them like a brother and treasured them as a friend. This man was never as important to her as her husband, no one had been, but he and the girl with sunshine hair had been almost as close.

When he turns to look at her and asks who the hell she is talking about she should not be surprised, after all even the love of her life had not remembered her. But as always the girl has far too big a heart and hope practically runs in her veins. She would have kicked herself everyday for the rest of her life if she hadn’t reached out to him. Sighing she lets go of his shirt and apologizes, saying that she thought he was someone else. He gives her a weird look and calls her a stupid girl and turns away from her.

For a moment she becomes prettified. What if he leaves? She hasn't seen him since her first life and he may just walk out on her, never remembering her as anything more than that stranger he met at the bus stop one day. If he even remembers her at all. So she rises to the bait, saying that she isn't stupid but he is for assuming that she is not bright off of one interaction and mistake in identity.

She and the boy argue back and forth for several minutes, a verbal spar she had not taken place in for so long, yet it came so easily to her. The feeling was absolutely nostalgic. It was as easy as breathing. It was almost like coming home. By the time the bus arrived she knew that they were both attending the same university, he for the sciences and her for literature. They kept talking through the bus ride to the school and when they parted ways that afternoon she had his number.

They met up several times over the next couple of months, and soon enough word has spread through the small campus that they were dating. They were not and denied they were at any given chance, but the student population did not seem to care about their opinions on their own relationship. In place of romantic feelings a true friendship had blossomed, and for the first time in a long time the young girl thought that even if she spent her life without her love she could spend all of it in joy, knowing the feeling of having someone who knew all of her quirks and still cared about her by her side.

One day the boy finally invites her to come to his apartment so he can help her study for her astronomy class. Which she is NOT failing thank you very much, she just has been really overworked that semester making the costumes for one of the three plays, and working on her thesis. The young girl agrees and they set a date for the upcoming Wednesday.

When she first enters his apartment, his home, she sees nothing out of the ordinary, it was a bit cluttered but the mess was contained. Mostly it was just his books, pilled near ceiling high on top of the few bookcases he had scattered about. He asks if she wants anything to drink, and when she says she wouldn't mind some water he walks off into the kitchen, telling her to make herself comfortable.

She is about to sit down on the couch when she sees it right beside the television. The photo is a bit old but the people in it are so easy for her to distinguish it's not even funny. And right in the center it's him. She rushes over and picks it up, holding the frame gently in her hands. How long had it been since she had seen him with chub on his cheeks? Far, far, too long. He couldn't have been more than 13 years old, but his eyes were the same, the one thing about him that never seemed to change.

When the boy re-entered the room he asked what she was doing. She looked at him with such hope in her eyes, demanding if he knew where the boy in the center of the photo was. He lowered his head and didn't reply. Angry at his lack of response she asked again, and again, until she was almost screaming. She was so close, maybe the others were there as well! Why wouldn't he answer her!

And then the boy exploded saying the words she never wanted to hear. He's dead. She catches only some of the words as her mind is in shock; they were out late, just fifteen, walking home laughing about their teacher, a car, the guy behind the wheel was drunk. She didn't want to hear anymore. She broke down crying then and there and for the first time that she had cried about losing him, someone else was crying with her. She grasped onto the frame in her hands like she did to the only other person in the room, desperately and with so little hope. They didn't study that night.

He never asked how she knew him, and she never supplied the details. The first week after that horrible night was awkward, but their friendship was strong and it persevered. After college they kept in close contact and even ended up moving to the same city. Neither ever married and they ended up moving in together when they got old to look out for each other. He died at 89, a master in his field and she followed a good three years later.

That life proved much easier than the next, because she had found hope in her friend; hope that they were all out there somewhere. And one day she would be reunited with everyone she lost the first time around.

In her sixth life she could not stop looking.

Every single day she looked for them, in every face in every crowd. It became an obsession, she knew that they were out there now; she just had to find them. How many times had she missed them before that point? Had she walked by them all on the street and never noticed because she was so focused on finding the person she loved?

What if others from their group remembered like she did and they were just good at hiding it? What if they were out there searching for her and the others just like she was? How could she live with herself if she did not try and find those that were so important to her? The answer was that she couldn't, not for a minute. She could never give up on her friends.

She refused to lose them again like she had the first time.

This life was her shortest besides her first, she only reached the ripe young age of twenty one before she was killed. Yes, killed. A life, specifically this one, was cut far too short for the girls liking. She never even knew for certain if she had found what she had been praying for. What she had been wishing for. What she had been searching for. What her entire damn lives were for.

She had been walking down the street her eyes ever searching, ever looking, hoping beyond hope that one face in the crowd would stand out. She looked at their eyes, their hair, the shape of their lips and nose. No aspect of their faces was ever left out of the equation. But the people who passed her by all seemed to fade into the background, none possessing the features that the people she held dearest did.

Until that day when one did; one shock of dark hair and chocolate almost amber eyes and she knew. It was like being hit with a baseball bat upside the head, there was no mistaking him. He had been one of her husbands closest friends; they had always seemed to be together. He had acted like a glue for some of the groups more outlandish personalities, and when he wasn;t making the trouble himself he was helping to stop it. Maybe now that he was there they would be able to put the puzzle pieces of their old lives together. Maybe, oh just maybe they could all be like a family again.

After all this was the boy who had helped hold them all together whenever things had gotten rough. Whenever anyone in the group had been sad he had smiled and joked and laughed until they had joined in with him. Surely without him there was no family, no close true bond between them. So it would make sense then that if they were together, two essential pieces of the puzzle, the others would start to fall into place.

It was a desperate thought, one born of loneliness, but she couldn't shake it, not for the life of her. If he wasn’t the answer, if the other boy hadn’t been the answer, if she wasn’t the answer she didn’t think she would ever find it. She didn;t think she would ever have her beloved again. She had to see him. Not even caring for her own health for one second she ran towards him.

The light changed.

Tires squealed.

A pain like she had never felt before, different, oh so different from the last time she was killed explodes through her leaving no air left for her to even scream.

People were panicking all around her, telling others to call the ambulance but no one actually starting the call almost as if they knew it didn’t matter. Almost as if they already knew she would not survive this no matter how fast the EMT’s arrived. Someone called out asking if anyone knew first aid, but no one answered positively. Yet in the end, despite the fact that she was bleeding out, they all seemed afraid to get to close. They didn't run forth and try and stop the bleeding, instead they formed a sort of circle around her.

Would she die alone like this?

The thought haunted her; she had just started this life she didn't want to have to start over again.

Too soon.

It was too soon.

And then she heard his voice. After all that time it seemed like that hadn't changed either. Hers and the other boys hadn't, so why would his?

Wait? Was he calling her by her original name? A name she had not heard in so long that she had almost forgotten how it sounded from any of their lips?

Yes, yes he was.

She must have been going delusional.

She HAD to be delusional.

Was her subconscious trying to make her feel better? Letting her believe that he remembered too in these last moments before she slipped away?

Well it just made it worse. Because if her brain was lying then that meant that he never would have remembered her and she couldn't have a repeat of the last life she lived. It had been nice but she had been haunted by the ghosts that surrounded them both , ones that the boy had never known about. So how could she talk to him about them? Simple, she couldn't. She had spent her last life nearly as alone, more comfortable, but still alone. She would not do it again.

But if the boy calling out to her did remember? Then she had lost out on that. On being able to talk and laugh about the things she knew that no one else did. All of the inside jokes would once more come to life after over 200 years. The people they had met and the things they had done would have been confirmed in his existence. He would have proven that she wasn't crazy, that all of her memories were real.

And what was most important?

Why was it so essential that he remembered?

She would have truly had part of her family back. A part of herself she had lost centuries ago and been fighting just as long to find again.

And missing out on that?

Well that would have been just torturous.

His eyes filled her vision. Arms grasped at her, gently shaking her limp, bleeding, broken form trying to force her to stay awake. And she wanted to, if only to keep hearing her name.

No one had called her that for so long.

It was nice to hear it again.

The smile that crept onto her face was one she could not have stopped if she tried.

And there, in the arms of the one who remembered, she slipped once more from this world.

In her seventh life she believed Karma has come back to haunt her.

She had learned over her past lives that she is not always born in what would have been the future for her next life. For example in her last life she was born about 150 years before her third life. Her first life had been the earliest however and it seemed that she could not go back farther than that point. She got pretty close with this lifetime though.

When she regained her memory in her seventh life it was only fifty years and twenty nine days since she had originally passed on. A lot had changed in that time, but a lot was still the same. The biggest difference was the technology, but it always was. She couldn't help but to compare the two times, the two lives. In her first she had been happy, fun, go lucky. In this life she was much the same. Each life while adding to her history did not change her nature. It seemed that she was always destined to be the kind of girl who would do absolutely anything for those she loved.

In this particular life she had always held the dream of being a teacher, being the eldest of five would do that to you it seemed. The need to protect and educate seemed to be ingrained into her very bones. Not knowing, or wanting any better, she devoted herself to getting a degree in what she considered to be one of the most honorable fields in the world. When she regained the memories of the times she used to be a guest speaker her dream was only solidified more. She would be a teacher and no one could stop her.

And so for six years after graduating top of her class, she taught people, teenagers, who varied so much in every aspect of their lives. She taught bullies, and those they bullied. She educated those considered prodigies and kid's society had deemed stupid. To her none of that mattered, all that she cared about was making sure that everyone who walked through her door walked out a bit wiser than when they entered. That no one, once they were in her classroom, was any less than any other student there. That every student had a space where they could feel safe, and smart, and important.

So imagine her surprise when on the first day of her seventh year of teaching she looks up to see him in the second row of her classroom. Thankfully she had progressed some when it came to hiding her shock and was easily able to pass off the look on her face by saying that he looked like one of her siblings when they had been younger. No one questioned it, after all why would they.

She spent the next year trying to treat him exactly the same as every other student, and she liked to think that she succeeded for the most part. Any favoritism was easily passed off by the fact that he was in fact quite gifted in the subject. He passed her class with an A as he had definitely applied himself to trying to grasp her history course. She could not say she was not disappointed when the school year was over and she knew he would not be in her class again.

Now she knew she should feel wrong about the way she felt for him, but she could not bring herself to. She had not acted on her feelings and she had no intention to. He was a young innocent boy who had his whole life ahead of him and she had no right to act on her feelings for him. She was his teacher nothing more and she could hold in her impulses. More so than that she was an adult and he was a child. His needs and wants were so much different than hers, and any relationship with ill intentions or not, would warp and twist his young impressionable mind. She would never do that to him, to anyone.

Apparently he could not do the same.

On the last day of school, after grades had been submitted and all the students had left, he had entered her room. Surprised she asked why he was there, wondering if he had forgotten something in one of the desks. When he looked away from her and blushed her heart sped up in a way that she knew in the pit of her stomach that it shouldn't have. Dread, deep and consuming, filled her. And then he just started spouting out words that she had come to believe would never come from his mouth again.

He said he loved her. That she was beautiful, and nice, and overall the best person that he had ever met. That when he woke up he thought of her, and when he went to bed she was on his mind. Every line made her heart sore and her stomach go cold. And then he rushed forward and kissed her.

He was seventeen, she was twenty nine. It was wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. But oh so right. She didn't respond. She made sure to stay still as a statue despite the fact that all she wanted to do was lean in. In her first life the first time they had kissed they had been the age he was now. But in this life they were not so lucky.

When he finally pulled away, she let him down as gently as she could, pointing out all the reasons that they would never work out as a couple. He seemed as frozen as her heart did, and when she finished he just let her grab her bag and leave. He never tried to stop her, and she wasn't sure if she even wanted him to try.

She spent the rest of her life regretting that decision, that choice to just leave. She ended up resigning from that school right after and not returning for the next year. For the rest of her life she was a substitute teacher and never left herself get too close to any of the classes she taught. She thought once many years later she may have run into his son in the seventh grade class she had been assigned to for the day. She never looked into if the boy with his eyes was actually his son or not, her heart could not take it if he was.

But it didn't matter, she had royally fucked up, and she was paying for it. She died alone at seventy seven in her small apartment. She wished she could say that would be the lowest point of all of her lives, but she would be lying. The next life proved to be much worse.

In her Eighth life she lost herself to the dark side.

This time she had not been born to a loving and caring family as she had been in the lives she had before. She came into her eighth life kicking and screaming and for the first few years of her life those actions were all that she knew. Her father had been a kind man once, or so she had been told, but by the time she was born he was in debt deep. Her mother was obsessed with the finer things in life causing her husband to spend more on her. It was a vicious cycle of yelling about having no money and spending money they didn't have. A few times the fights got physical, though it was always her mother attacking her father.

By the time the girl was six they had gotten a divorce and her mother had gotten custody. Well at least she did for two years until she passed on in a bank robbery gone wrong. Once she realized how little the child support would be, and how she would never be satisfied, she had snorted and injected things into herself until the thought of robbing a bank sounded sane. The young girl was lucky this all happened while she was in school. She was then shipped off to her father and found out the dark truth about what he had become since her mother had left him.

He drank more than ever, rivaling her mother, and yelled at everyone and everything he saw. But the worst thing that he did was let the scum that he gambled with into his house. At the time when he started to let them in she honestly and truly enjoyed the men that came to visit and play cards, they were nice to her, unlike her father and would listen when she spoke. They though that she was smart, and sharp, and caught on to the tricks her father played and would tell them in a gleeful voice. After all her father wasn;t nice like they were. They may have dressed a little weird but they were all kind men so what they wore never bothered her.

What she didn't know was that they were, well to put it lightly, assassins. Guns and various weapons for hire really, but in the end the weapon doesn't actually make that much difference. And one night things got heated even more than usual because her father couldn't pay them what he owed. So they killed him and took her.

Despite how they appeared they were never cruel or malicious to her as she grew. She went to good schools and was allowed to become her own person. But the dark seed of the underworld will not let you go once it has sown its roots. They had fed her, and clothed her, and let her have fun, so she had to pay it back in blood not her own. By the time she remembered at nineteen she had become the fifth best assassin in the group. And possibly worst of all she had come to love doing her job, after all most of the people they were hired to kill were liars, and cheats, and overall horrible people.

Or so she told herself so she could go to bed at night.

As for the boy she loved with all of her heart, by the time she remembered him her hands had been stained with blood so many times that she couldn't bear to think of touching him with them. They were not fit to touch someone as precious and kind as he always had been. She thought of suicide once or twice after some particularly hard nights but she abstained as she had in all of her previous lives. She knew that killing supposedly corrupted the soul, but she was in too deep to not kill at that point. And if killing was bad suicide was said to turn ones soul black. So what if killing herself ended in no more extra lives to try and find him?

She couldn't take the risk, not even for her own gain. Not even to end the pain.

She sees him once in this life at a party that she was forced to attend on her boss's wishes. He was tall and handsome and appeared to be around her age. And he was alive oh so very much alive and right in front of her, and nothing would have prevented them being together in that life if things had only been simpler. If they had met on a night when she was not on a mission to kill a diplomat who put his hands on too many young girls. If, she saw what she thought she was seeing, he was not wearing a uniform of the upper military ranks. If the world did not seem gleeful at ripping them apart.

But it was not to be.

He had his arm draped around a red haired beauties shoulder and all she wanted to do is go over there and rip them apart. She wanted to throw his arm off of that harlots shoulder and grab the gun holstered to her thigh. What she wanted more than anything in the world in that moment was to put a bullet in-between that woman's eyes.

It takes a moment to realize what had crossed her mind. She had told herself over and over again that she would not look for him, not bring him into the lifestyle that she was living. She knew that his kind nature was not suited for the life she had chosen, hell she often wondered when she herself had become so jaded. But all it took was one glance at him and she was willing to kill for him. Kill an innocent woman for her own selfish needs. For a man who would never remember her.

She leaves the party early that night, the mission the last thing from her mind and she pays for it back at the Varia base. She steels herself up tighter than a ship. Gone is the optimism she had of their life together, this time she had burned that bridge with her own two hands.

She died at the age of forty-five while on a mission.

She never even heard the other man's bullet encased in sunlight leave the barrel.

In her ninth life she was everything to him, in a way that she never wanted to be.

The first time that they met they were six and in their first year of school. She saw him from across the room and never guessed for a moment who he was, and would not for another thirteen years. She only knew him as the boy who was actually a little shorter than her and liked to draw.

She can't remember how it started, when the thought of him getting a better grade then her started to tick her off to no end. All she knew was that by the end of that first year she had sworn that she would be better than him in everything. By the end of the next year she had managed to get him to feel the same way about her. It was the beginning of a war that would last their entire academic lifetime.

They attended the same middle and high schools and their need to one up the other only grew. If she joined a club he would do the same soon after and try and do better than her in it. If he was scheduled in a class that she was not in she transferred into it to try and beat out all of his test scores. Everyone around them said that it was the weirdest form of sexual tension that they had ever seen though the two in question always denied liking the other.

And the girl, in all honesty, did not like the other boy. For some reason all she felt towards was a deep rooted dislike, bordering on hatred. She despised him from the bottom of her heart. She could do without his fake smiles and pretend words of congratulations when she managed to best him. She would much rather see his face twisted in triumph, laughing at her rather than with her, any day. For some reason it broke her heart to see him happy, and so she did everything to make him miserable.

They were attending college when she remembered once more, and she finally knew why preferred to see him upset. She truly felt that she did not deserve to see him happy. After her last life a part of her had given up on ever being happy with him, so seeing him smile crushed her heart.

She no longer deserved to see him smile or to hear him laugh. She had ruined everything they could have ever had before she had even been born this time. And what little hope she could have had that she could have fixed her last lifes mistakes was shattered by the way she had treated him in this lifetime. She would never have any inside jokes with him born from staying up together at all hours of the night. She would never see him smile at her with love in his eyes and hope in his heart.

She thought that she would never again taste his lips on hers, and she in the worst way possible liked it. She loved the feeling of wallowing in her own pain because it meant that she was still alive, that some basic part of her had not be lost in all of her do-overs. That maybe after this life she would have one more chance to actually get it right.

So she pushed herself harder and harder, and if any part of her heart fluttered when she would hear him laugh from across the classroom, she did everything in her power to stop it. It seemed that in this life hate and love truly seemed to go hand and hand for her. The more she pushed him away the more the good memories of him surfaced, and if she thought about bringing him close she remembered the blood on her hands. She was plagued with many sleepless nights and far too many 'what if's?'.

They were about to graduate and go their separate ways when she lost it, finally she let go. All of the restrictions she had placed around herself crumbled. She texted him, his number in her phone just so they could brag about test scores and bring the other down a peg, and she told him to come over to her dorm room. When he understandably asked why she told him that she thought that one of the teachers might be changing test scores and she had proof. That fact wasn't true, but it got him over to her room fast enough considering it was a class that both of them needed to graduate.

As soon as he entered the room and shut the door securely behind him, no doubt so no one else could hear the evidence he thought she had, she pounced on him forcing him back against the wall. Her lips crashed into his with a force she didn't think that she possessed in that lifetime, sure that this strength had to be from a time where she trained everyday to stay alive. And for a moment, a heartbreaking moment, he was stone still. But then he wasn't and it was like someone had lit a fire between them and it couldn't be put out. Desire she was sure had shriveled up and died burst forth and turned her body into a living furnace.

For the first time since she had regained her memories she just was, no good side or bad side, just her. In his arms being held in a way that he hadn't held her in centuries. And it was good, oh so good. Better than good, it was heaven in his arms. She wanted time to freeze; for the earth to stop spinning, and the clocks to stop ticking, and for the rest of the world to just pause while she took him in.

All too soon they had to break apart for air. That is when their eyes met and it all fell apart. He started to stutter and then his back went ramrod straight and his voice became laced with something she couldn't name. Four words and he was out the door. We can't do this.

Her heart shatters a bit more but in the end she moves on as she always must. She comes to the conclusion that maybe she can make up for her last life is she does good deeds in her current one. Then maybe next time he will not push her away. She dedicates the rest of her life to work with charity organizations, giving back in any way that she can.

She dies at ninety-three, a pillar of her community. The wake was full of people, all who came to grieve the passing of someone they held in such high respect. They all appeared and left relatively quickly, except for one gray haired old man who stood by the collage of pictures all night. His eyes were forever focused on a picture of two brown haired school children making faces at each other and showing the camera each of their tests. Both were marked with 100%.

In her tenth life she finally gets him back and has her happy ending.

She wakes up in a cold sweat, her chest heaving and body heavy. Memories swirl behind her eyelids, and she cannot find the strength to open her eyes to stop the visions. She didn't think that she even wanted to stop what was happening.

The good and the bad came flowing in at even intervals, for every good memory a bad one is there right beside it. Her first kiss and her first kill. His smile and then her tears. Laughing with everyone and then having them all just out of her reach. She wanted to laugh and cry and scream and rage and weep and mourn all at the same time. The emotions were just too much, it was all just too much.

The bed shifted and suddenly arms were wrapped around her frame. She heard him, his voice muffled by her own panic, but she heard him. He was whispering sweet words that never truly reach her ears, but the tone reached her just fine. She latched onto him, basically clawing at him trying to lessen any distance between them. She buried her head in the crook of his neck and cried and cried until there were no more tears left only empty body wracking sobs.

She remembered the world going dark and his name, his first name leaving her lips as she falls into oblivion. She never managed to see his eyes go wide and glaze over for a moment before it being replaced with a smile.

When she woke up for the second time that day she was alone and quite honestly a bit scared. The previous night had thrown her off balance in a way that she had never expected, had never dreamed of. And with all of the new information in her head she was at a loss of what to do. The old memories were fighting the new and it was as if there was a war going on inside her head. It took a moment for her memories, past and present to sync, and when they did the fear melted away.

Old faces she had all but forgotten merged with ones she had seen the day before. Old voices that sounded faint at their best were now clear and practically ringing in her ears. Habits that they had held and she had forgotten, were now fresh as a spring rain. They were there, all of them were there.

The door opened and he entered, and oh how she wanted to just throw her arms around him. Wanted to have him hold her in his arms again, and look at her with love in his eyes.

And so she moved as quickly as she could and literally threw herself into his embrace.

Because in this life they were engaged and finally he was hers once more. Her grip was almost as firm as the one she held on him the night before until he utters one word, her name. Not her name there in that moment, not Haru, but the name he had called her when they lived in a big house many miles away and he would help her put on her necklaces every day.

His eyes caught hers when she looked up at his face in shock, and she unconsciously whispered his name, not Tsuna, but his old one. The one he had the first time she fell in love with him. He smiled and said her name again. And again. And again. And the sound of it was greater than if the angels of heaven above had been singing it to her. He grips her tighter and pulls her back in close to him and she only pulled him tighter to her. She muttered his name once into his shoulder, her voice obviously shaking, and he came undone.

Their lips met in an embrace that is not gentle, but it is not violent either. There was so much that each wanted to say in that kiss and they tried their damnedest to say it without words. It was a new start in a story that had been going on for centuries and only five years. And there in that embrace in their shared bedroom is also where they get their happy end.

The story could continue as they would break apart and he tells her the truth. That he had always remembered her in every life and he had never stopped wanting her. But that the first life she remembered being reincarnated into was not the first he remembers after the original, and that he was trying to let her go and give her distance. Which of course leads to her loud and very emotional disagreement. He would lead her downstairs once she was calmer where the rest were all waiting to see her, each and every one of them.

Gokudera, the boy who stayed with her for an entire lifetime, would be smoking by the bottom of the stairs anxious to see her. Yamamoto would be right there by his side, and she would recognize him as the boy who had held her as she had passed on when she was hit by that car. Then there would be Chrome and Mukuro, two people who were not twins though looked and acted the part. They would be on the couch, Chrome holding onto her male counterparts hand for comfort. The last time she had seen Chrome the girl had been in a diner and she was not even convinced it was her. Hibari would be standing off in a corner, not directly interacting with the others but his eyes searching the room for her as if she would just materialize. Ryohei and Lambo would both have been pacing the room, Lambo doing it more out of nerves than Rhyohei's need to just burn energy while he waited. Kyoko would be trying to calm the two down and failing due to her own nerves. The three of them were her family in one life, her son and grandchildren.

When she would have entered the room they would have called out the name she had in that life as if on instinct. Cries of Haru and Tsuna however would soon be overcome by shouts of their first names. So stunned she would have become, hearing them all call out to her that she'd start to cry again. As she was enveloped by their arms she finally felt at peace, after so many years of being half alone. She had returned home.

As they'd talked they would discover that they all remembered in every life when she turned nineteen. Never before had they understood the correlation of the dates for remembrance but it would all make sense. She was the one to wish for it after all, the center for the reincarnation, so her memories being restored triggered theirs as well.

As the day would turn to night they would stay there safe, and content, and finally happy. The small living space being made big by their love for one another, and their joy at being together again. Their self-made family may have been tinier than most but it was the only thing they really wanted or needed.

But that moment, that kiss back in the corner bedroom, is where the story really ends. Because after all that was the start of her real happily ever after.

#khr #katekyo hitman reborn #haru miura #fanfiction #i did it ya'll