#but ye gods I go begrudgingly and with great complaint
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So about that news, huh?
#I offloaded from m@rvel like a decade ago so this news is unfortunate 😅#like i'm not saying I won't watch it#because god knows I have weathered worse things for a pretty face#but ye gods I go begrudgingly and with great complaint#pedro pascal#pardon the terrible meme#I was gonna make a proper one but I couldn't be bothered with photoshop so this is what we got lol
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could i request bestfriends to lovers w mapi (possibly w smut)
Costumes
Mapi Leon x fem!reader
SMUT 18+
“-Ria please!”
“No! There is no way I’m dressing up, especially as a pirate.” Mapi exclaims, continuing to scroll through her phone. You turn around from the full-body mirror and slump on the bed next to the older girl.
“But it’s a costume party with the team. We can’t show up bare.” You protest while placing your chin on her chest, making her look down at you, seeing your pleading eyes stare back at her.
She turns off her phone and places it next to her before sighing, “Hermosa, I don’t want to dress up. Can’t we just stay in and watch movies together like tradition?”
Ever since you were little, one of you would go to the other’s house and watch a bunch of Halloween movies while stuffing your face with junk. The two of you have been best friends for years, and now you both play for Barcelona together. You’re both attached to the hip.
Without your knowledge, Mapi has been in love with you for some time now. If you weren’t painfully oblivious, you might have been able to figure it out a while ago.
So seeing you give her your best puppy eyes while pleading for her to do this with you, she has no other choice and mumbles, “Fine.”
“Seriously?” You jump up from your spot with a bright smile on your face, making the other girl melt.
“You better get the costumes before I change my mind.” She grumbles, going back to her phone but secretly smiling when you run out of the room to grab the costumes from your car.
—
“Ay dios mio, I look like an idiot!” Mapi exclaims as she tugs on the brown coat and white collar of the shirt.
She’s cut off when you open the bathroom door and walk out in a white shoulder-less shirt with a brown corset over it, matching the blonde’s coat, and a red long skirt with a matching bandana. The corset that tightens right below your chest allows your boobs to pop out more, distracting the older girl.
You notice her raking her eyes up and down your figure. “What? Does it look okay?”
Mapi snaps out of her thoughts and nods her head. “Y-yeah, you look…great.” She stops her complaints about her costume as she drools over how good she looks.
“Not too bad yourself sailor.” You giggle while adjusting her hat, making the other girl’s breath hitch. “Are we ready?”
The blonde sighs and begrudgingly nods her head. “You sure we have to go?”
“Yes, now come on Grump Sparrow, we’ve got treasure to find.” Mapi groans as you grab the side of her coat, dragging her with you to the awaiting car.
When you both arrive at the club, you see your Barca teammates all in a rounded booth with their designated costumes on. Multiple people are dancing on the floor dressed as devils, angels, cats, etc.
“Oh my god, I can’t believe my eyes. Mapi dressed as a pirate? Someone start taking photos!” Lucy yells while searching for her phone, making the rest of the team laugh while Mapi rolls her eyes as you pat her arm in fake sympathy, laughing with the rest of your friends.
“Okay, okay, get all your laughs out. I’m going to start drinking, do you want anything?” She asks you, in which you nod in return. “The usual?”
Once you nod again, Mapi heads over to the bar to get your drinks. You take a seat next to Alexia at the end of the booth and across from Ona.
“Hola, amiga.” Alexia greets you, wrapping her arm around your shoulders. You return her greeting and start a conversation with her while waiting for Mapi. “Y’know, Maria wouldn’t wear matching costumes for just anyone.”
Alexia is the only person who knows about your deep crush on the defender. Her being captain and also being very observant has its perks, so she easily picked up on your always flustered state around your childhood friend.
“Um, what do you mean?”
Alexia sighs at your obliviousness and says, “Oh I don’t know, maybe that she feels the same way!”
“No. There’s no way!” You both begin to whisper, bickering at each other until Mapi returns, sitting down right next to you.
“Here you go, hermosa.” Taking your drink, you smile at her but notice her focus on Alexia. Then you remember the weight on your shoulders, Alexia’s arm still wrapped around you, making the blonde next to you glare at the other woman. As the tension thickens, the arm around you removes itself from you, stopping the consistent looks.
You clear your throat and thank Mapi, soon sipping on your drink to get drunk faster. Alexia’s foot stomps on yours, telling you that the jealousy is clear.
Soon conversations start getting weird, drinks go down faster and faster, and everyone gets more tipsy as the night goes on. The whole team is on the dance floor besides you and Alexia who continue to sip on your drinks while watching everyone.
“So when are you going to tell her?”
“Ale, I don’t know if I can. I don’t want to ruin 23 years of friendship because of a stupid crush. I’ll get over it.” You shrug, causing the pink-haired girl next to you to frown.
“She feels the same. Trust me, you saw the way she reacted when she saw us.”
You just sigh in response and think about all the things that can happen. You can confess in hopes of her returning your feelings or you can get rejected and risk losing your number one person. Your thoughts are stopped by said person coming over to you, pulling your arm towards her.
“C’mon, hermosa! Time to dance!” Mapi shouts over the booming music as she pulls you onto the crowded dance floor. You down your drink in one gulp and begin to sway your hips and arms to the music with the older girl.
The alcohol floods through both of your veins as you start to grind on your best friend. Her hands grip on your hips, guiding you to keep going. Soon you turn back around and grab at her biceps.
“Maybe you should be called Jacked Sparrow.” You tease with a lopsided grin, making the other girl laugh.
“If you’re Swann, I want to be Turner.” Your breath hitches as her face gets closer to you; her eyes flickering down to your lips. “Let’s get out of here, yeah?”
In a trance, you nod your head and allow her to drag you through the crowd, stumbling occasionally from getting pushed. You take one glance over your shoulder and see Alexia with a smirk on her face, raising her glass in fake cheers.
—
You fiddle with your keys, trying to get your door open while Mapi hugs your waist from behind and breathes against your ear, making you shudder against her.
Finally, the click of the lock allows you both to push open the door and rush in. You giggle when Mapi’s hand wraps around your wrist and drags you to the couch. She sits down first and grabs the back of your thighs, trying to pull you into her lap which she succeeds in. Your skirt rides up to allow your legs to sit on each side of the girl's thighs. She leans up, stopping centimeters before your lips, her hat long gone so it doesn’t poke at you.
“Is this okay?”
“Yes, yes it’s okay, please just kiss me.”
She smiles before finally attaching her lips to yours in a soft kiss. You have imagined this more times than you’d like to admit, but it’s so much better than your imagination. The kiss starts sweet and innocent but soon turns more needy and sloppy. You pause and pull back, wincing which worries the blonde defender below you.
“What? What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” She quickly rambles but stops when you wave her off.
“No, no it’s just this corset. It’s poking at my boobs.”
You both begin to laugh together while she moves her hand to your back and unties it to loosen it. Once she is done pulling all the strings she unbuttons the front and takes it off before throwing it somewhere on the floor.
“So back to kissing?” She asks, puckering her lips and squeezing her eyes shut, making you giggle at her antics. She smiles at the sound before placing her hands on the back of your neck and pulling you down to reattach your lips.
Your fingertips brush along the tattoo on her neck as she slips her tongue into your mouth. You turn your head slightly, deepening the kiss while your other hand grips onto her bicep. Her head moves down to the underside of your jaw, peppering kisses down the column of your throat, making you dig your nails into her arm while your other wraps around the back of her neck. She hisses at the burning sensation of your fingers gripping her skin, but it turns her on even more.
“Bedroom?” You whisper, pecking her lips a few times. She nods and stands up, carrying you with her as you wrap your legs around her waist.
She gently sits you on the bed while she takes off her leather coat. The street light from outside gleams into the bedroom, allowing you to have just enough light without having to turn on any lamps. You start to unbutton her shirt under her gaze. She lets you tug off her clothes, enjoying the sight of it, but when you unbuckle her belt while staring up at her with puppy eyes, it makes her go feral. She pulls down her pants, leaving her in a bra and underwear, and then grabs your face, pulling you into a heated kiss.
“You are so beautiful.”
You blush at her comment and pull off your bandana as Mapi starts to pull at the hem of your shirt. Getting the message, you tug your arms out the sleeves of the shirt, helping out the desperate girl who quickly lifts it over your head as soon as she can. Shortly after, she yanks down your skirt, revealing your matching white set of simple lingerie which you put on before leaving, hoping that something like this would happen by the end of the night.
Mapi signals for you to move up the bed so she can fit on with you. She hovers over you and leans down for a breathtaking kiss, slotting your bottom lip in between yours before playfully tugging at it while pulling away. She places a simple kiss right below your ear before her hand gently grabs your jaw and turns your head all the way to the side, pressing your cheek against the silky sheets. You moan at the feeling of her tongue sliding from the base of your neck up to the bottom of your ear.
“Don’t worry, amor. I’m going to make you feel so good.” She whispers, her breath fanning over the side of your face, making butterflies flutter in your stomach, but also making the ache between your legs stronger.
Her hand trails under you and onto your back, grasping the clasp of your bra. She looks at you real quick, quietly asking for consent. “It’s okay, baby. I want this, I want this really bad.”
She unhooks your bra and slides it off of you, flinging it on the floor. She sits up slightly, admiring how good you are right now with your chest heaving and your hair spewed out across the bed.
“Gorgeous.” She says softly before moving her lips to your beck once again. Her teeth sink into your skin once in a while, definitely leaving marks littered along your neck. An occasional whine slips out from your lips at the slightest sensation of her mouth.
Soon she starts to trail her lips lower and onto your chest, wrapping her lips around your hardened nipple while her hand gropes the other one. She switches sides, giving the other the same attention as she gave the one before.
The noises from your mouth become more frequent the closer she gets down to your core. She’s now leaving kisses around your belly button and over the fabric of your white panties. You buck your hips up with a moan when she licks a stripe up your clothed slit as your hands grip harder into the sheets.
“Please, Ria.”
“Tell me what you want, amor, and I’ll make it worth your while.” She taunts sultrily, teasingly placing kisses on your underwear.
“Anything, your fingers, mouth, anything.” You plead, continuing to buck your hips closer to her face.
Her fingers curl at the waistband of the white fabric and slowly pulls it down while trailing kisses with it. You whine in anticipation but are cut off by a loud moan slipping past your lips when her mouth attaches to your clit. She licks down to your slit and gathers up your arousal before dipping her tongue into your dripping hole.
Your back arches slightly as moans spew out of your mouth consistently. Mapi flips from thrusting her tongue in and out of you to sucking and flicking your clit. She sits up for a second, causing you to whine at the absence of your pleasure, so when you look up you see her tying her blonde hair up into a ponytail so it doesn’t get in her way. Her arms wrap around your thighs, allowing her hands to press against the top of them while she shoves her face further into your pussy.
She continues on her previous assault, making your orgasm approach a lot faster than you thought. The girl in between your legs notices when your moans become louder and your back arches higher, causing her to press one of her hands on your stomach to shove you down. Your hand subconsciously scratches her arm in pleasure as she flicks her tongue faster over your clit.
With one final push, you’re moaning loudly and seeing stars while Mapi continues to gently lick until your high is over.
“T-that was amazing.” You pant after experiencing one of the best orgasms you have ever experienced.
“Oh, we’re not done yet, princesa.”
You’re about to question her when you’re interrupted by her fingers plunging into you. She’s now kneeling on her knees while her unoccupied hand holds your thigh open, giving her easier access. Your hips slightly shy away from her touch due to overstimulation, but that doesn’t stop you from the euphoric pleasure you’re receiving.
The sound of your wetness can be heard echoing in the room from the blonde’s fingers working at a fast pace in and out of you. You both know you’re not going to last long since you’re still recovering from the last orgasm she gave you.
“Oh god, I-I’m gonna cum. It feels different though.” Mapi senses the worry in your voice but knows exactly what’s happening.
“Just let go, amor. It’ll feel good, I promise.”
With a few more strokes of her fingers, your inner muscles tense as you cum. The sound of her digits slamming into you begins to sound different, wetter in your opinion. Your orgasm lasts longer than you expect as you moan extremely loudly, probably waking up the neighbors.
Once you’ve calmed down, Mapi removes her fingers and you look down between your legs to see a huge wet spot.
You cover your face with your hands and groan out, “This is so embarrassing! Did I just wet the bed during sex?”
The blonde chuckles before grabbing your hands to remove them from your face. “No you didn’t wet the bed, have you never done that before?”
You shake your head no in response and ask, “What happened?”
“You squirted is what they call it I guess. It’s basically when you experience a very intense orgasm.” She explains while you nod your head in understanding. “Felt good didn’t it?”
“Really good.” You giggle before nuzzling your face into the girl’s chest. She laughs lightly and kisses your forehead as she wraps her arms gently around your frame. You start to tiptoe your hand to the clasp of her bra before you are cut off by a stern look. “What? I want you to feel good too, baby.”
“I do feel good. Right now, with you in my arms.”
“But-“
“Hey, we got all the time in the world to go again, if you let me take you on a date?” Her usual silly and cocky behavior is shifted to a more nervous tone as she bites her lip, waiting for your answer.
“I think we’re past the first date phase, Ria. I have been in love with you for so long.”
“I’ve been in love with you for I don’t even know how long.” Mapi breathes in relief, making you smile widely and leaning up for a passionate kiss. You both soak in everything that just happened and pour all your emotions into this single kiss. “Will you be my girlfriend?”
You laugh at the vibration of her mumbling into your lips, but you all but nod in return, causing the both of you to smile into the kiss.
“Alexia is going to be so happy this finally happened.”
“Wait- she knew about your feelings for me?” You ask in disbelief.
“Well duh, I was pretty obvious and she sees all knows all. The whole team basically knows. You’re just oblivious.”
“Am not.” You pout which makes the blonde pull you back into her chest.
“Awe don’t pout, amor. You’re my oblivious girl.” Mapi tries to reason as you huff in response.
“Ale knew about my feelings too.”
“What?!”
#mapi leon x reader#mapi leon smut#mapi leon#alexia putellas#woso x reader#woso smut#woso imagine#woso fic#woso#lgbtq
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Childish - [Prince Paul x Reader] (1/?)
Word count: 2.4k
Pairing: (Catherine the Great) Prince Paul x Fem!Reader / Y/N
Genre(s): Slow burn, (Slight) angst, Mutual Pining
Warnings: Strong Language, Adult Situations, (Eventual) Smut || MINORS DNI || (More warnings will be added as chapters are updated).
Summary: You’ve known Paul your whole life - known that you were to belong to him one day. He’s always gotten what he wanted, so why make it easy for him?
A/N: I haven’t written anything in yeeearrsss so apologies for being rusty! I’m thinking of making this a mini series (maybe 3/ 4 chapters?) I love slow burns but not THAT slow, y’know?
Paul is rambling about something you don’t care for again.
“Do they not know the difference?” you mumbled with thinly veiled disinterest.
Something about the line of succession in Russia, you suppose. As always. If not this, then a myriad of complaints about his mother. You prayed he would find a hobby soon. Nevertheless, you played along.
“It appears that they do not.” he huffed.
“Then perhaps they are ignorant. I suppose they are yet to realise that you are ordained by god. Born to rule. The epitome of Russian male excellence and mediocre height-” you chirp as you slowly sway from side to side to mask your restlessness. You could play this game with him for hours.
“-Oh, you suppose, do you?” His face brightens incrementally for a moment. He hoped it wasn’t obvious how much he wanted to reach out and grab you each time you leaned in close to him, reaching out to delicately grasp a flower’s petals between the tips of your fingers.
“Yes, suppose I do.” As you look away back toward the palace and your watchful mother for a moment, he seizes the opportunity to glance down at your cleavage and let out a quiet, but deep sigh.
The childish back and forth had been going on for almost an hour now. Pettily poking and prodding at whatever words the other strung together in order to force a pleasant conversation. Neither of you knew any other way to be. This was supposed to be a ‘calming stroll’ through the gardens, yet you found yourself unable to breathe your frustration out - constricted by your corset and Paul’s face centimetres from your own, relentlessly taunting you gleefully. You both must have known what this farce really was - a chemistry read. Your mother, off to one side smiling behind her fan with one of the Empresses' ladies, eyeing you both like a hawk. You were having none of it.
“Well.” He continues. “There we have it. May I say no more, lest I waste my precious breath on you.”
You glower at his proud display of childish petulance. You shouldn’t be having fun with this - you’d been informed that it wasn’t lady-like, apparently.
“Why must you be this way? It is not the fault of your father, nor your mother - what accursed thing possessed you in your childhood to have you turn out so intolerable?”
He gawked in stunned silence for a moment, before his eyes brightened and a smile broke out across his boyish face. You hated when he did that. He looked almost pretty.
'Oh here we go' you thought, begrudgingly.
“And what mewling quim did you crawl out of to foster you into the vicious harpy that you are?” finishing off with a sly smile and a smug side-eye.
For a moment, you find him handsome.
Although you hated to admonish it, that was eloquently done. Quite a sophisticated level of snark from him. Touché.
You feign a gasp as your hand is dramatically flung to your forehead and you bend yourself back as far as your silk prison of a dress would allow you, falsifying weak knees.
“Paul! My mother speaks only highly of you, how unbecoming of a gentleman. However shall we join our two houses now? Bring harmony to our court?”
In all honesty, you couldn’t for the life of you remember what you were quarrelling about in the first place - It was irrelevant now. You were bored. Or perhaps it had slipped from your mind so easily because you had caught sight of how the Tsaverich had been eyeing your lips as you spat poison his way.
“On the subject of court and harmony..” You begin, coyly. Paul raises a well-groomed brow at you.
“Your mother- the Empress has expressed a growing interest in my future betrothal. Seems she wishes to see me making some other poor soul’s life a living hell”. You foolishly seemed to think that by jesting about the topic it would soothe the thunderstorm forming over his soft, but reddening face.
“Of course she has. Can’t have me keeping the company of any friends, can she? However would she keep her control over me then?” He attempts to steady his breathing before he stutters out an irritated laugh under his breath. “Besides…are we not already engaged? You are to be mine, she cannot take you then.” He chances a glance at you before he continues on with his train of thought.
You feel your neck flush a warm pink, slightly taken aback at the all too familiar subject being brought up again.
“It has always been a suggestion by our mothers, yes. But surely that is all it is, all it has ever been? We were children then! You; 8 and I only 6 and if I recall correctly, that was the first and last time that we got along” you reasoned, with a huff. “Surely neither of us are so desperate yet.”
Daggers. He’s glaring daggers now. Brilliant. As much as you generally enjoyed taking a hammer to the Prince’s peace, the sudden shift in topics had left you feeling queasy. It was now or never, if you didn’t royally piss him off now then he would be chasing you down the halls until he had you cornered both physically and metaphorically with a ring cutting off the circulation of your left hand. On the surface, you understood what your mothers had intended for the two of you and why - had Paul become any other man and you any other woman, you would have made a handsome pair. But as things were, you would never work. You could not. You drove each other wild and not in the exciting way and you didn’t feel like developing wrinkles by the age of 20 from the stress.
You hadn’t realised that you’d both stopped walking in favour of staring at each other in open-mouthed silence, and it was beginning to become uncomfortable.
‘Please don’t ask, please don’t ask me, please please’ maybe the mental chanting would work to cast a spell of protection to evade the elephant that’s been in the room since you were both barely out of your infancy.
“I will be seeing you at the ball then, I presume? Not one to pass up the chance to sink your claws into your next potential victim, little devil.”
You successfully mask your sigh of relief through a tight smile.
Oh, he seemed proud of that one. His lips were doing that sinister little side smirk you hated so much that you couldn’t look away. And he noticed. He absolutely noticed. So he held it there to tease you.
Little devil.
“Would you miss me too much if I decided not to? Could you bear the loneliness, my sweet Prince?” you purred as you took an unnecessarily deep and exaggerated curtsey, aware of the eye-full he was getting.
An equally exaggerated eye roll and he was back to his usual bratty self.
“Couldn’t stand to miss witnessing you hunting those poor men down for sport” he laughs softly, almost to himself. “Besides, it will be a welcome distraction, perhaps you’ll cause enough of a ruckus so that I may avoid my mother’s beady gaze for the evening and find some fun in a quiet corner for myself.”
He looks at you excitedly, almost as if he were a child who knew something you did not.
But a child you were not. Sex was hardly beyond your comprehension.
You’re not exactly sure what caused the sudden flush over your chest and the following hot anger, but before you could reason with yourself you found your own voice strained and spitting venom.
“Make your best effort to avoid the headache of bringing along some bastard for both our sakes while you’re off having this ‘fun’.” You scowl. “I would hate to give anyone any more reason to chain us together under the eyes of god. No getting out of that one I’m afraid, so do try to keep yourself out of the wrong maid”
Ah, that was a tad cruel.
“I wasn’t planning on- planning to-” Paul found himself floundering now, desperate for his eyes to not betray him and sink back down to watch your lips curve smoothly as you whispered your increasingly harsh ‘japes’.
You’re jealous.
He’s flustered, but not in the way you found yourself wanting him to be. Where that sudden thought came from, you would ruminate in the privacy of your chamber tonight.
‘Little devil’ you mused again. You liked that.
“No? Good. Now, I have other matters to attend to, I must be off.” You really didn’t want to leave him so soon, his reactions were starting to get interesting.
“Now just a moment-” Without thinking, he’s extending his arm to reach blindly for your hand, never once breaking eye contact. Are his eyes becoming glassy? He’s adorable, you want to see him like this more often, you think.
Now you’re feeling mean.
A chance to make him panic.
Maybe you can make him cry.
“Can’t keep your mother waiting, we have much to discuss. Good day, Tsarevich.”
“Tsarevna.” He mumbles softly, his cheeks dusting a soft pink as he looks down at his feet in a slight bow.
But you catch none of it - already marching back toward your grinning mother and her ever growing gaggle of gossipers. She looks proud, at least. Most likely mistaking the physical closeness of yourself and Paul to be playful attempts at stealing shy kisses, rather than hissing curses to each other through an awkward tension you’d never experienced before. Well, not with him of all people.
“My darling girl-” she sings softly into your ear as she embraces you just a tad too tightly to call it lovingly.
“Matushka” you attempt to bow your head slightly in gentle acknowledgement.
“I see your outing went well with your Prince, he couldn’t keep his gaze off of you - not even for a moment, we all found it so absolutely precious.” Her eyes flicker back down the gravel path and to Paul for the briefest moment before meeting your anxious but expectant gaze again. “Whatever spell you have cast over him, keep that up. We shall make a Princess of you yet, it was meant to be as our Patriarch told your father and I on the day we-”
“-On the first day you brought me to court - yes mother, god forbid I ever forget my true purpose here.”
“Good girl. Now, I’ve been informed that the Empress personally invited you to a joint dress fitting for the festivities. You shouldn’t keep her waiting and you can’t afford to miss this appointment, you must aim to be the most eye-catching cherub in the room - mustn't let another steal his affections.”
It hurt. You were hurt. As much as you willed it to be different, it would never be. You were not brought here to make friends, to find your place. You were here to be groomed into the position of Tsarevna - the future wife of Tsarevich Paul. As immature as you knew you had been, you knew deep down that this is why you had never allowed yourself to become close to him in the way you had wanted to - you wanted to be his friend so desperately, whilst growing up. You just could not allow yourself to blindly follow the path that had been designed for you by your puppet-master parents and their equally scheming Empress.
Perhaps you wouldn’t have much in the way of control over your life, but you’ll take the small victories by making the desires of your betters just that little bit more difficult to attain. They cannot force your happiness, therefore it had been decided by you that should you be forever chained to Paul - you would have him live to regret it.
Of course, that had been the plan. Throughout your childhood, you had always found Paul to be rather unpleasant to look at. The way his face would scrunch up in tandem with his fists whenever he had a temper-tantrum, his cheeks and neck turning an ugly shade of plum as his anger rose - which was constant. You had always towered over him - he was a shy little thing, shook like a leaf at the slightest confrontation from the other children. This led to you becoming his protector, naturally. He was never quite the Prince who was supposed to sweep you off of your feet one day.
Every summer, you would make the lengthy trip back to the palace and make good with the lords and ladies of court, be sweet to the royal family, unwittingly court their son and then be on your way back home with your parents and nanny. That is, until your father received an invitation for a permanent position at court and your mother - a long time friend to the Empress, to be welcomed into her tight-knit circle of vipers-in-waiting.
3 years had passed since you had last found yourself here, you had quite been enjoying your education in France and felt reluctant to return.
Yet, somehow. At some point, the rug had been swept from under your feet. That morning, as Catherine had come to greet you all for the final time at the main entryway to the palace, the eyes you had met 100 times over her shoulder were not the same angry little black dots that you had grown so familiar with. Instead, your breathing had stilled as you struggled to maintain a mask of polite indifference.
Were they always so big, like a baby deer’s? So vibrant. Did you spot flecks of gold now that he was out here standing in the sun? His jaw had sharpened too - and he was taller, taller than you. Much taller than you and broad. Now possessing a strange but alluring confidence - no, arrogance that really should not have had you standing there, openly staring with not a single word forming in your mouth or brain. Paul was handsome. 3 years and he was handsome.
Not one to usually be self-conscious, you suddenly find your eyes flitting over yourself. Did you fill out your dress nicely? Was the light shade of lilac adorning your tightly-fitted gown a fashionable choice? Was the wind carrying your perfume and was it to his liking or perhaps it was too overwhelming?
Unbeknownst to you, Paul was suffering through his own internal crisis. You had made it no secret to him in your adolescence just how unbecoming his face and attitude was, how your own face soured around him and how it was doing something similar in this moment. His mother was talking but all he could hear was white noise and his own stifled breathing as he rapidly and openly scanned over you. In some twist of fate, the two of you had shared a thought that morning as you stood together, bowing to each other in your matching shades of purple as if you were two flowers from the same meadow. A romantic thought had crossed his mind for a moment, but only for a moment - of this being fate. A romantic however, he was not as he’d let the notion slip away from his mind as easily as it had entered.
A/N ii: this one goes out to all of my argumentative girlies, fighting means flirting here & you’re in a safe space to be as mean as you want to your boy toys <3
#childish fanfic#you waaaaant eachother#reader hates Paul’s wig#she’s just waiting for the right moment to tell him#prince paul x reader#joseph quinn#x reader#catherine the great#mini series#joseph quinn characters#joseph quinn x reader#prince paul
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👑Hewwu Queen 👑 is it alright if I request DIO in part 3 meeting his descendant?. Like he basically had a kid accidentally in part 1 and now he’s meeting their great grandkid who looks allot like him and seems to not be fully human. Maybe he meets them at night since their family was traveling around the world and stopped off in Egypt where he found them maybe listening to music?
Since you write for DIO, is it alright if I request that he somehow meets one of his kid after they get into some time travel shenanigans. Maybe his kid has a stand that is kinda similar to his but they aren’t confident in using it
DIO aiding his helpless descendant
sfw / gn reader
notes/warnings: implied assault (on your great-great grandmother)
Another case of two anons thinking alike!! It was really fun to think about this and sorry for taking so much time to get to it :o I hope you’ll still enjoy 💖✨also the pacing is strange/fast (to me), but i felt it fit with how frantic i imagine meeting Dio is
Somewhere between irking Jonathan and wishing to destroy any respectful sliver of the Joestar bloodline, Dio had his own way of indulging and spending his time. Men, women; any creature he could manipulate to his will and suck the life out of to join his dark army was welcome in his dimly lit hideout to meet their fate. The self proclaimed god that had surmounted humanity took pleasure in playing with his food; leaving them in complete darkness, literally. He’d let them suffer in silence, hearing them whimper and regret their choice to ever step foot inside the wicked monster’s palace. But it was always too late.
Except for the very night Jonathan had decided to come spoil the fun and ruin Dio’s playtime. The woman hadn’t meant anything to him, just a toy to play with and to later discard on the pile of other bodies strewn about. Was she glad to have been saved by the burly Joestar? At first yes; brought back to her senses, out of that monster’s grasp but left terribly violated. Left to carry and care for the offspring Dio would never know or care about, too busy being left to slumber in the ocean and gaining a new form from his hated ‘brother’.
Dio rose again, skulking in the shadows of dimly lit cities, looking for any and all petty humans and stand users to claim for his side. It took time and patience he didn’t know he possessed to get fully comfortable in his new body. There was always this inkling, a nagging sonar that kept getting louder and louder, not much unlike his connection to the new generation of Joestars. It grasped at his thoughts, kept him from any semblance of peace of mind -as much as he could acquire it- and there seemed to be no way of silencing it. He couldn’t see a clear picture; it was just nothing but an annoying sense of something being near.
He had searched for weeks like a bloodhound hot on a trail, irritated that he of all people, nay creations, was being made to follow and be obedient to the terrible nagging. It angered him greatly and only when he found a mere youngster sitting on a bench, you, a simple looking human, did it boil over. Sat with your walkman resting next to you on the wooden seating, head bopping along to your newest cassette in the middle of the night. Completely lost in the song you’d been drumming along to with your fingers. Dio was furious but knew better than to strike before investigating, he needed answers and he needed them now.
As he got closer to you, sneaking from behind, he noticed an immediate shift. You were no longer alone. An image, a blur that became clearer and steadier and more live-like as each second passed; posing defensively, staring down Dio with a fire in your eyes not much unlike the tall blonde’s. Not for a moment does he fear for his safety. Even though The World is a newly acquired power it could easily wipe out a scrawny kid without even hitching a breath. He smirks, eyes cast over in shadow by the dim street light as he hears you pause your cassette player.
“Oh? Was I disturbing you?’ he mocks in a smirk, catching the way your eyes glint and the vaguely familiar image you awaken in him. Just like before he’s left to figure out who this annoying hazy memory is. His voice shivers down your very being, goosebumps taking over your skin; not sure if you had already missed your chance to run. It was like his glare fixated you in place, finger still resting on the pause button of your player while the other reached up to remove the flimsy headphones.
“You…” you barely get out the word. The accusatory tone you had tried to convey had watered down to a whimper. You had felt the connection too, something nagging at your soul and stringing you along until you’d finally found the source. “Me? Hah! No, you.” Dio slid closer, his steps so quiet and calculated that even though you couldn’t take your eyes off of him you swore it seemed like he floated. You swallowed thickly, the huge figure that excluded an aura so menacing only a meter away from you.
“So. Who are you and why was it so disgustingly annoying to find you?” he joked impertinently, amused by the way you clenched your jaw at his remark. “I could ask you the same.” a brave little spark still smouldering inside. “DIO. Now don’t make me ask again, you’re making me dreadfully inpatient.” He hadn’t felt the need to kill you, at least not yet. Dio was truly curious about your answer but by the looks of it you really didn’t seem to know all that much.
You begrudgingly gave him your name, in need of some answers yourself. The sound of your name didn’t ring a single bell, not a tick, not a clank. Nothing. Not a single step further to knowing anything. “Well it seems like you do have a stand. Maybe you possess a great power that might be useful to me.” that wicked grin on his face told you a little too much of his motivations. He reminded you of those Saturday morning cartoon villains. But still you felt compelled to listen, ignoring every single red flag.
Deciding to humour him you give out your stand’s name. “Trust me, we can’t really do much.” you huffed. You’ve only obtained your stand recently and honestly, it has been pretty shitty so far. You didn’t know exactly what it could do, it was just there. Any time you felt stressed or in danger it did come to your aid but it remained awfully docile. Their presence comforted you but you just knew it was capable of so much more.
“Are you a vampire?” The sudden question came out more surprised than Dio had hoped to let on. He regained his posture, opting to slide next to you on the bench with a swift move. There was something… off about the way you carried yourself that reminded him of himself and the other vampires he’d created. The question stunned you, your eyes that had already been widened in shock only growing more so. The way he had changed the entire conversation that had barely earned its start urged you to think quickly. “I don’t know.” you mumbled demurely. You really didn’t know. So many weird things had been happening to you lately that you being a vampire would explain a lot.
Your answer seemed to change the imposing man’s gaze and expression. It hardened a bit, his grin now slowly diminishing into a straighter line and his pointed brows resting down at a more natural angle. Even in this low light his image felt so familiar, like you were already supposed to know who he was but the memory remained hidden. Locked away for your safety. “You should feed. And don’t go out in daylight anymore.” Dio paused for a second. “Strange...” He pondered to himself out loud. He’s only seen a few cases like this, vampiric genes passed down through generations. For some reason he pitied you, as much as he could muster it. The unknown bond you shared felt too unusual to write off.
“What am I supposed to do?” you felt tears prick your eyes, trying your best to remain strong but you’ve been so tired. You couldn't confide in anyone, not about this. Tears started rolling, falling in thick streams down your cheeks and dropping onto your lap. Here you were, crying to a stranger named Dio about being a vampire and having weird powers. A bizarre twist of fate.
“First of all, stop crying. Then, widen your stance when you’re about to fight someone. I could have easily knocked you down with that flimsy imitation. Fix your posture while you’re at it. Call out your stand again.” He rattled off his demands quickly and flatly. Was he helping you? They were barbed complaints but it seemed like he actually wanted to aid you in whatever it was you were going through. You sniffled, wiping at your cheeks. You felt like a kid again; asking your parent for any reassurance when life knocked you down.
Dio actually offered a lot of viable advice, telling you about techniques to silence your steps, how to take someone down easily, to feed on humans within an inch of their life. You had asked him, just in case. You weren’t planning on killing anyone; a comment which made him scoff. That intimidating impression and overall feeling of having to bend to his will had lessened the more you talked to the blonde. He casually sat with you for what felt like hours. He hadn’t divulged into his own history, instead asking you about yours. He was still trying to figure out what this weird pull was.
“No one in your family has experienced anything like this before? Hmph. It seems to have skipped multiple generations then.” he was asking about your great grandmother and all the others that came before you. It could have occurred to them but you would have never known. “My family did come from England, though. My great-great grandmother fled in a hurry. We don’t really know why, Windknight’s Lot seems like an unusual place to frantically run from.” As soon as the small town’s name left your lips everything fell into place for Dio. His grin grew again, satisfied to finally know your connection to him.
Family.
One he made for himself, by accident, by a relation created on his own devious whim. Not that horrible Joestar bunch that kept ruining his fun or his horrible father that was but a faint minuscule memory. Something he did. It brought him even more satisfaction to know how perfectly in place it felt for you to be the one to develop these powers at the perfect time. His mind could have exploded with possibilities; a thousand ways to make you join his side. But it didn’t, he wasn’t sure that’s what he wanted yet. And he surely wasn’t going to tell you of your bond either, lest you get attached too quickly.
As you finished up and the early signs of a rising sun were starting to make itself known on the horizon, you were saying your goodbye’s. “Thank you for helping me. Truly, I- I don’t know how I-” you weren’t allowed to finish your earnest thanks. Dio knew you meant it, one of the only few truly grateful acknowledgements he’s ever received. “I’ll be taking over the world in a few months. If you feel so inclined to join, you know where to find me.” His lips curled into a smirk and he was making his move to leave you behind, alone on the bench again. Left to scramble for your stuff to try and stop him but he was already out of sight. “WAIT! I don’t know where to find you! You never told me!” you yelled into the empty streets, heart thumping out of your chest, hoping this wasn’t just a very elaborate dream you were caught in.
“Trust your instincts.” The voice felt incredibly close but so far away, like catching a falling snowflake; as soon as you grasped it, it just melted away.
#cozy request#dio x reader#jjba x reader#dio brando x reader#jojo x reader#jjba fic#jjba imagines#jojo's bizarre adventure#NOT INC*ST for the love of all that is good#DIO#sfw#gn reader
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episode 9 baby!!! dear lord that was a lot!!
frankly, i'm still in shock that i full on manifested an opera stage, AND it was a rock opera stage at that! plus i got a jazz stage AND a taemin stage??? if they’re pulling out all my favourites now then what on earth are they gonna do in the finale??? this was a very overwhelming crop of stages, i thought i was going to be prepared, but oh no i was not prepared. i'm just going to get right into it because this one is gonna be long and i have many words. i'll discuss in airing order first, and then put my personal rankings for this round at the end.
btob
costume
changsub, you absolute king. spectacular. stunning. incredible. zoot suit riot playing in my brain on repeat. will i finally get the zoot suit revival of my fucking dreams instead of this current drab ill-fitting suit trend? for those who are wondering why in the fuck changsub is dressed like that and what on earth i’m talking about, the specific cut of suit that he’s wearing is called a zoot suit, which were popular in mexican, black and italian american communities in the 30s and 40s, until they were outlawed by the united states war production board as a fabric rationing method as part of the war effort in 1942. there was a huge amount of mob violence surrrounding the wearing of them (there were actual zoot suit riots) as they were direct counter culture fashion to the predominant drab trends of white americans at the time. i'm actually very impressed they got a proper (modernized) cut of zoot suit instead of just putting him in an oversized one; there are actually specific structural differences. the pegged trouser legs, large should pads, and knee length single breasted jacket are key features, and they were often in much more flashy fabrics than a pinstripe, but they get points for effort. i wish they had put all of them in zoot suits but he’s playing the ‘lead’ actor so i will begrudgingly forgive them.
eunkwang those are the stupidest sleeve garters ive ever seen i love them never take them off. they’re like someone decided to repurpose a suspender in the worst way. excellent. i do love that they’ve got three of them in oxford saddle shoes, another great touch.
love the three piece and the fedora* on peniel. it's also in a relatively close period cut; waistcoasts (vests) were generally cut much higher in the neck pre-war, we only start seeing the neckline slide down in the 60s (i think? i don’t remember when exactly). also love to see a proper sleeve and jacket length, it's good practice to have at least a finger’s width of sleeve cuff visible ahead of the jacket sleeve when hanging at rest. also looks like there’s french cuffs on everyone, which is also great.
minhyuk in his slutty lowneck shirt....thank you. in addition to the zoot suit revival i would also like a revival of those ultra low necklines on mens’ shirts from like 2010-2011. i don’t think those are the same boots from the backdoor stage but those are some beautifully cut boots. i also loved the little details of his crewmember look, especially the chunky watch and the string bracelets; those are super realistic, i know so many crew with them and i had several for many years. and who doesn’t love a visible button fly?
none of any of the other costumes are period in any way shape or form but i’m forgiving it because there’s several layers of meta in this stage, and they explicitly based it on la la land, even though we don’t respect la la land in this house. do i wish they had gone more strictly period with at least the jazz club ‘actors’ a little more? absolutely, but i'm not mad about it.
set
again we’ve got a good delineation of the two different ‘stages,’ there’s the club itself in the smaller stage and the soundstage set in the larger space. you can pretty clearly see all the ‘pieces’ of the set on the soundstage, especially the obvious set painting techniques on false prosc frame and the window facade from that first little scene. also the you can see the castors (wheels) on all the setpieces too, which is another nice little versimilitudinous** (triple word score!) touch, as old hollywood movies were made still using theatre stagecraft techniques.
i love how the visual shorthand for ‘this is a set wink wonk’ is just...leaving a ladder on stage. i see it all the time and it's so funny. it doesn’t always make sense because as soon as there’s actors on set the ladders are the first thing cleared because actors cannot be trusted, but yes there are always ladders, so. also psa ladder safety is no joke, please be careful on ladders.
nice streamline of the mnet deco into the club. i’m consistently surprised at how well the designers have been able to mask it or use it to their advantage, because in the normal kingdom stage lighting it is SO obvious and stylistic that it always sticks out.
i'm going to ignore the fact that they implied changsub and miyeon were drinking wine out of martini glasses.
lighting
no complaints, it does its job. everything is visible and super clear. love that the ‘scene’ changes are made through the lighting, it's a really simple and effective device to change atmosphere. purple/blue/amber are the most flattering colours on human skin and that’s why you see it so commonly in stage lighting. also blue/lavendar is the best way to show nighttime/moonlight.
really nice and subtle projection work, especially with the billboard bit and the blue moon sign in the club. despite being obviously meta/’world breaking’ it’s actually very seamless and fits well into the flow of the stage.
sound
i love love love the big band feel in the intro, combined with the piano lead. very duke ellington, as all things should be.
no complaints. i love big band. i love eunkwang’s voice. i have nothing else to say.
staging
i LOVE this movie within a movie within a performance meta nonsense! it's such a fun concept and it is exactly what i wanted ikon’s first round stage to be! i also love to see btob consistently coming up with concepts that are inventive and fun and allow them to showcase their technical performance skills without the aerobics the younger groups are putting themselves through. it provides a really lovely variety and it just goes to show that you can make impressive, dramatic stages without having to be serious or ‘dark.’
i do wish they had leaned into the band director/lead singer with eunkwang a bit more; this could have been a really excellent place for a tap number a la the nicholas brothers or an homage to cab calloway. i know i know this was meant to be la la land themed but la la land is a cheap and whitewashed version of jazz and look me right in the eyes and tell me this isn’t the greatest tap routine of all time. i know i’ve typed this out somewhere before but la la land is just a conglomeration of old hollywood tropes and so stylistically cheap that this would have such a better visual core if they had actually looked back at the real old hollywood musicals like stormy weather. even singing in the rain and an american in paris have such phenomenal visuals and are really beautiful examples of the scope you can pull off with a limited technical capacity and sticking to these old techniques.
now that i'm thinking about it, oh my GOD i would DIE for a lindy hop routine in kpop PLEASE. i know it would never happen because kpop doesn’t like partner dancing and not a single kpop boy has the chops but oh you think fourth gen has too many acrobatics?
this got off track but i think you see my point.
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ateez
costume
these are really sharply cut suits. and the detail work on the beading??? so beautiful. i'm disappointed that they gave me a rock opera stage without the true ridiculousness of rock opera costuming, because they could have pushed this a lot farther if they really wanted. a tragic lack of gay little outfits, seonghwa’s lace choker is just not enough! two favourite suits: hongjoong’s and yunho’s.
that being said i do actually really like these. this stage is actually very modern opera with a kpop twist and i'm a little surprised by that? i continue to be impressed by the ateez team who are clearly doing their research.
i'm absolutely not going back through their stages to check all the choreography but i wonder if you can track all the ‘wound’ placements to places they’ve been ‘hit.’ i wouldn’t put it past them to have put that thought in but also i’m not expecting that much either.
who is this white grim reaper bdsm executioner chain arm man. where did he come from. i have no idea and i love it.
why is honjoong blindfolded. it was such a fast beat, if youre gonna blindfold someone give it a little longer and some more obvious narrative weight!
seonghwa does that quickchange, runs across that massive stage to the smaller set, and gets into places in like 45 seconds. it's not the hardest quickchange in the world but still, under a minute is fast for any quickchange, especially when there’s travel time involved. i think the fastest, most complex quickchange i ever did was in university which was a 50s cocktail dress into a flannel and culottes with a shoe, hair, and jewelry change in 35 seconds. and that took three dressers. quickchanges are always impressive. the added bonus of this review being later is that i can specifically reference that you can see him book it the fuck off stage in the full cam!
cute moment with the backup dancers dressed in costumes from the previous stages. i'm assuming this is a time travel reference? i'll get more into my thoughts on this in the staging section. regardless, love to see that iconic seonghwa moment again.
set
this is such a restricted space! they really pared down their dancing space with those staircases and ....arms? honestly i have NO clue what these are supposed to be. the only thing i can maybe think of is flying buttresses??? but why?? i mean, i'm 90% sure theyre just there for drama and i agree but i do still have questions.
there’s a lot of moving parts in this set? the buttresses, and the upstage centre staircase. i don’t think the staircase is totally automated because i spotted some dancers securing it in place, but it’s still a moving part. i do really like that we get that expanding upwards energy, because it's really tough to get functional level movement in this kind of a performance, mostly because of its length and because it moves so quickly. so seeing the downward vertical movement and then the upward movement was actually a really nice visual contrast that made use of how tall those fucking ceilings are, and the fact that they had less horizontal space. in sort of similar way to sf9’s jealousy stage, using long, narrow vertical lines really makes it feel like a castle space. the interiors of castles, especially the really old ones, are a lot smaller than you think they would be.
i’ve actually seen that type of small house/tent/thing several times in various types of performances before, but i think this is the first time i’ve seen it used as a time travel device (other than in the say my name mv). aesthetically it's a bit incongruent but i dont really mind because i'm used to watching rock operas that look a lot weirder than this.
lighting
there is so much happening. i have NO clue what the projections are doing. i dont hate it though, so that’s a plus? there’s a clear-ish colour arc even if it does get a bit funky in the middle, which is why the projections dont feel as insanely distracting as some of the other stages we’ve seen.
the climax is a perfect example of how to light a busy stage with primarily red but still maintain clarity on the performers. a little bit of red goes a long way; the spark stage from last week would have looked so much better if they had done what the ateez designers did here.
sound
i know it's only ode to joy, but answer already gets my motor running and then i get so gassed by the guitars and then by the time those vocals come in i'm inconsolable. i don’t know why i wasn’t expecting a rock opera stage but i'm so glad i got that surprise because i genuinely love rock operas so much. it's two of the most dramatic genres in music, what more could you possibly want?
staging
the choreo for answer is so goofy that I'm kinda glad this was mostly terrible mnet boom shots. i love it, but you can't deny that it's goofy. i spotted a couple of moves from their other choreos as well?
choreographing dance fights is just as difficult as choreographing real fights and i think they did a fairly good job here. i think it was a solid mix of dance and conflict that erred on the side of dramatic rather than accurate and i prefer that over trying to be ‘realistic.’ i’ve only ever seen one truly realistic fight scene on stage and that was for a deeply naturalist play (boring and a waste of the medium), but the best fight scene i’ve ever seen was in the prague national ballet’s adaptation of kafka’s the trial where three ballet dancers beat the absolute snot out of the main character with the most beautiful leg extensions. that whole show was probably one of the best pieces of dance i’ve ever seen, holy fuck it was so good.
despite how insane the music and the visuals were going, i actually really liked how sedate this was, on the part of ateez’s performance. there was a really sophisticated and resigned energy from them that is very different from what we’ve previously seen and i think that was a pretty admirable risk to take. reaching the top and then throwing away the crown? especially in a competition where every other stage has involved stealing crowns or royalty and there’s a group competing that got here through that very concept? that shows a real maturity, peace of mind, and foresight that i did not at all expect from a bunch of 22 year olds.
here we come to a very interesting comparison. both ateez and tbz are very heavily leaning on previously established group lore. we all know my thoughts on why it isn’t working for tbz, but here’s why i think it is working for ateez: it's because it doesn’t matter to the audience’s understanding of the stage. i had absolutely no fucking clue what was going on the first time i watched this, but that didn’t stop me from enjoying the music and all the weird shit they were doing. i totally believed that they understood what was going on. there’s a loose enough established conflict right at the beginning that draws us in, and really it doesn’t matter who they're fighting because they win in the end. the key here is that they’re so earnest. they believe 100% in every move they make on that stage. there’s no winks to camera, there’s not a drop of irony. they really deeply care about the ridiculousness of it all and that’s what makes it work. i sure as fuck dont know what’s going on, but i can see that they do, and i trust that. this is what i meant when i talked about convincing the audience you belong on stage in my stage presence post. i’ve never once believed that juyeon was anything other than an idol. he’s talented and very beautiful and he may occasionally stand on that stage like he owns it but it's always as juyeon. as an idol. but when hongjoong flaps around in that gigantic fur coat i 100% believe he’s a pirate captain. I believe he’s a punk rebel leader. i believe him a resigned king. there’s always a level of irony you have to fight as a performer because we all start from a place of disbelief. acting is not just lying to the audience, it's lying to yourself too. and if you succeed in convincing yourself? well, you’re already halfway to convincing us.
i checked it out because i wanted to see if they did the blindfold how i expected them to and was genuinely surprised by hongjoong’s fancam. the boy is EMOTING even when he knew the camera wasn’t on him; that’s a real dedication to craft.
ok i'm finished talking about this stage, this is over two pages in my document, there’s so many things i have not covered here but that’s fine, i'm quite sure any further thoughts will end up out there at some point.
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sf9
costume
let’s get it out of the way......crop top. crop top? crop top. crop top.
ok, besides the crop top, i think i might actually like the backup dancer outfits more...? i find mannequin adjacent looks really fascinating and i thought there was a lot more they could have done here in connecting the two thematically. i actually think a change of costume on the boys would have been very interesting, especially because there was a lot of inference and direct reference to changes of colour.
ALL the backup dancers are wearing the same wig and i LOVE that.
special mention zuho’s.....jacket? the right idea but it absolutely should have been one of those extreme french cut bodysuits, you COWARDS. don’t come at me with this ‘male version of venus’ if you don’t have your whole torso out! come on!
set
not sure if this is meant to be a department store, a factory, or a white cube gallery. honestly you could make the case that they’re all the same place anyways. more on this later.
i loved the movator and wish they had used it more! that sequence was so good and they could have done some more interesting repetition sequences to further highlight the ‘sameness’/the breaking of that sameness.
i feel like the set could have been used more as a whole? i would have loved to see some mannequin interactions with those boxes, because all they did was dump colour everywhere.
....why did they feel the need to include the rain bit? i know it's likely because it's in the mv and at the 2018 dream concert taemin does perform move in the rain, but with the standing still and the box walls with the words it just looks like a department store ad. which i...dont think is what they were intending?
lighting
nothing really to say here. it has a similar feel to the mayfly rap stage, which is fine because the lighting for that was good. i could tell what was going on all the time and that’s the most important part. notable standouts are the lips sequence, that's fun use of pop iconography and very effective, and the scanning lasers at the beginning.
the repeating sequence in the edm dance break is actually done pretty simply, it's just what happens when you point a camera that’s livestreaming to a monitor directly at that monitor. it's a very cool effect and it was neat to see it used intentionally, especially with the handheld leds.
actually i also really liked the lightbox tables, those were cool.
sound
the remix was fine for the most part, it was about what i expected it to sound like. i did however greatly dislike that unnecessary edm break in the middle. what was the point of that? it didn’t add anything to the overall sound or arc of the stage because it was SO out of place. there was no connective tissue around it.
oh i was also not a fan of the effect on zuho’s mic. no one else had a discernible vocal effect so it felt a little out of place. also for some reason his cadence and tone right at the end made me think of some of the voices that bo burnam uses for his vocal masque sketches/songs, especially repeat stuff, weirdly? took me right the fuck out of it. i listened to it again after i slept and i’m still getting it, so maybe i’m just going insane so best ignore this part.
staging
loved the mannequin tree, not a clue why it was there.
do actually think this is a successful cover because it does what i was hoping it would, which is take move completely out of the taemin context and put it into an entirely new one. however, i’m really struggling to figure out what exactly that new context is? and what theyre trying to say with it?
obviously they went for a ‘show your own colours/individuality’ vibe, like i said in the set section, where exactly is this supposed to be? from the start i get factory/mechanized environment, which is fine and grand because mannequins and making repetitive motions and products and all that, makes sense. but then there’s stacked shelving type units happening and curtains and that combined with the mannequins give me pretty big department store vibes, which is also fine, because that’s still a comment on commercialization and the mass production of product. but then we get to the movator and the repetitive movements of the dancers say pretty clearly factory, but the lighting and projections are very pop art referential, plus combining that with the white set, just makes me think of an art gallery. so now is this a comment on the commercialization and commidification of contemporary art? are they making a statement about being ‘real’ artists among the others who have lost the critical understanding of why pop art was even a thing in the first place? and then the rain bit at the end literally looks like a department store ad, so are they then making another statement that they still are that packaged product? maybe the episode has more clarity in it but i’m genuinely a bit baffled by what the underlying statement is here.
i suspect it is not as deep as i'm making it, but i did say that i was likely to be hyper critical of this stage AND i am a grad student, so here we are.
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tbz
costume
ok of all the ‘fourth gen’ style costumes we’ve seen, i actually like these ones more than most. i'm not entirely clear on the theme but i'm assuming it's meant to be post apocalyptic, and i'll take that.
backup dancers in black!!! we’re beyond this!!!
this will be a running theme with this stage, but i’m disappointed these don’t have more depth.
set
compared to every other stage, the set here seems especially plain. there’s so little set dec that it's disappointing. i do like the movement of the pieces themselves combined with the blocking; that first slide underneath the arches was slick and i would have liked to have seen more of that.
yea ok the big snake was cool and also a fairly complex build, but the transitions around it were a bit awkward for my tastes. especially the turn around, why did they even show that at all? you have control over what the audience sees, you can totally not show scenic transitions. skz were super smart about hiding theirs in last week’s episode.
also if you have a bigass puppet like that, i wanna see some more movement from it! it doesn’t have to be complex, we literally just saw a kraken balloon arm wave around aimlessly, but at least there was movement! that snake had a long ass body, why didn’t they at least take a pseudo dragon dance movement with it, that would have been such fun to watch with the iridescent scales. there was a lot of opportunity here!
lighting
i don’t hate it but also.... not a lot to say about it on the whole.
there were two really smart ideas here, the first being the front projection section, which i was SO glad to see! i explained in a previous review, but the projections in kingdom are not actually projections per se, because they’re actually massive led screens. there are two common types of projections in performance, rear projection and front projection. rear projection is when the projector is behind the screen, and front projection is ‘normal’ projection. rear projection can produce a crisper image because you have full control of the light values, because the projector is in a separate room from the performance space. but the downsides are that the projector has to be in a separate room from the performance space. so if you’re short on real estate, it's not ideal. front projection is much more common, because the tech is a lot cheaper and easier to access, especially now, and it requires less real estate because you can ceiling mount about the audience (you can move a projector wherever, this is just the most common spot in commercial theatres). but! in order to get an actually crisp image, you have to be really careful with your light bounce. it’s exactly the same principle as how you kinda can't see a projected screen when you have all the lights turned on, but when you turn them off it's a lot clearer. front projection works best in pitch dark, so when you use it in a theatre you gotta be smart about it. i use front projection a lot in my personal art practice as a singular light source, and that’s what tbz did here in that traveling/snake intro sequence. it’s a really fun technique that they used as a good gimmick because it’s not something we’ve seen before, and you get some great shadow effects because the projector is throwing light directionally at the performers (they have it set up close to the floor, it’s probably on a wheeled cart of some kind). however i did not like the snake intro. a bit too cheesy and out of place, especially because the asset quality didn’t match the rest of landscapes that we have been seeing.
the second smart idea, which is partially also a set and blocking thing but whatever, was that final image of the eclipse within the circle architecture with all the members standing in front of it. it was a great shot and a great ending pose, but it felt like a concept photo. like someone had that image as the idea that they then built the stage around, instead of a narrative first and then imagery after.
sound
this remix had SO much promise! those first two minutes were SO GOOD. i love that dirty discordant strings bit, it's gross and right up my alley. but it really fell off in the back half and i'm sad about that.
staging
i'm sorry tbz but.....what did you actually do differently than exo here? with the exception of the continual game of thrones references? nothing here felt transcendentally different from the original monster. and especially coming RIGHT after sf9’s move, which did go beyond its original context. this feels more like an awards show stage cover than a stage at the level of the others we’ve seen just this episode.
again like with the skz stage, there’s no conflict here. no tension. yes they do a great job covering the dance but it just isn’t enough! this is obviously personal preference and i'm sure lots of people liked the fact that it was uncomplicated, but even just a hint of narrative tension could have pushed this into more engaging territory. and if they didn’t want to do that, i would have loved to see them make up for that with extra visual spectacle. this is the no limits round! ikon is putting a full jungle on stage and these are grey cubes!
i think this is a perfect example of what i talked about at the end of my tbz section in my episode four review; this is a good performance, there are good elements at play and good ideas at their genesis, but the core of the issue is that nothing about this is transformative. all of the ideas here are just exaggerations of the original song. fuck, the snake was even IN the mv! and they didn’t even include the best part which is the lip chains! ive said before and i'll say it again; being a good artist has two steps, the first is understanding the material and its context, and the second is elevating the material from that context and synthesizing something new. tbz are really good at the first step, but terrible at the second.
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ranking
btob - the cleanest and the most fun of the round. everything i wanted.
sf9 - fun and a good cover, despite being conceptually baffling.
ateez - very extra dramatic nonsense with an unexpected dose of sincerity. and it’s rock opera, of course i love it.
skz - fun, with some good thematic devices but generally lacking in arc. also australian accents, that’s an automatic ding.
tbz - honestly the first two minutes of the remix and the costume are holding this above 6th. it just wasn’t fully formed.
ikon - aesthetically this is a great set design and although i do love the opening and closing moments, everything else scrapes me the wrong way. super personal preference here, i’m not expecting anyone else to agree with me.
i feel like my rankings were probably pretty easy to guess if you’ve been around reading the reviews for long enough. i do have very specific tastes after all. i know sf9 ranked first in the episode but i have no idea what the other slots are. i’ll find out when i watch the episode in a couple of days, but i think yea a first for sf9 is fair. i do think its mostly because it’s a taemin song and you have to do something horrendous in order to fuck up a taemin song, but there is a lot of thought and work that went into that stage.
ok i'm done now, sorry this was later than usual, but i was busier and there were four stages that i had to review. also technical difficulties because tumblr is a garbage platform and nothing works properly. comments/questions/opinions always welcome, i know i didn't expand on a couple of points that i could have so hopefully y'all have some thoughts too!
* the type of hat that ~society~ has told you is a fedora is actually a trilby. what peniel is wearing is a real fedora, i felt the need to correct this unjust hat malignment.
** meaning ‘the appearance of being true or real.’ you do sometimes hear it used by normal people, but it’s more commonly used as a descriptor in film and theatre. it’s also one of the five rules of neoclassical theatre, which are: versimilitude, purity of form, five act structure, decorum, and purpose. the most prominent playwrights from that era are moliere and racine if youre interested in what those look like in an actual text.
#kingdom#kingdom review#btob#ateez#stray kids#the boyz#sf9#tumblr is so broken it would NOT let me save this as a draft#does my constant hyperlinking make you angry tumblr? too bad im gonna keep doing it#i played in a jazz band in school for seven years#which is another indicator as to why i am like this#one of the first songs i remember learning was zoot suit riot#i have very strong memories of yelling RIOT during performances#i will however forever question the logic of our band teacher making us learn a song written by 'the cherry poppin daddies'#christ on a bicycle this is TEN pages#and it took a full eight hours last night and then i did like two hours of editing after i woke up#maybe i should go back to bed#ah i forgot to tag ikon again lmao#ikon#kpop analysis#text#if there are any spelling errrors do not tell me im tired of reading this#im pretty sure this is my longest review so far i decided to hate myself and did a wordcount#its 5.2K you're welcome you better get a snack for this one#i hope this is an interesting read for people ive lost all objectivity at this point#pls enjoy my semi-comprehensible word vomit!
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Steering Clear (Loki Oneshot)
Loki couldn’t understand why he was pressured into this trivial, useless and utter waste of time lesson. It was all beneath him, these midgardian contraptions, when he could just as easily get the same results his own magical, mischievous way without needing to lift a finger or get a license for it. Really the only reason why he eventually agreed to the very idea of it was because he wasn’t the only one that was reluctant to go along, the one giving the lesson definitely didn’t sign up for this either and was even less pleased by this whole situation than Loki was. Loki of course found that more than amusing and therefore worth the small amount of time he would actually waste doing this. There was an ongoing joke among his assigned teacher’s friends that said teacher already had a resting murder face but seeing that there was even a darker than murderous look on his face in agreeing to this lesson put a smile on Loki’s instantly.
“What’s got your feathers ruffled now, Barton?” Loki asked none too innocently.
Clint jerked his head sharply in Loki’s direction then with an expression that promised a lifetime of slow, painful deaths. “Shut up and get in the fucking car. You’re lucky we’re stationed in America or this would suck so much harder for both of us.”
Loki arched an eyebrow at the second part as he had come to understand America wasn’t as a great a country as it probably could be, it wasn’t even the second greatest country on this planet, probably not the third either. Nonetheless he graciously did as he was told and slid into the car smoothly, opposite side as Clint. “How do I adjust my seat exactly?” he begrudgingly asked.
“There should be a lever next to your seat to adjust the back, another one to move it forward or backward for leg room.”
Loki reached below his left side seeing as there was absolutely no way to reach down the right and found both levers, fixing his spot accordingly till he was completely comfortable. He glanced at all things needed to control the contraption, how much different could this be than the ships in Asgard? Besides the fact these ones weren’t made to be airborne, a shame that was as he actually enjoyed flying when it wasn’t by his oaf of a brother’s doing. He glanced over at Clint expectantly then and held out a hand. “I believe you have something I need.”
“What’s the magic word?” sneered Clint right back.
“You really don’t want me to say any magic words in your presence as a great many of them wouldn’t give you any peace of mind, something I’m sure you’ve already experienced,” growled Loki right back.
Clint considered chucking the keys he was harboring out the window but as this wasn’t even his car and he was the assigned supervisor for it, he would be the one in trouble for losing them in the end. He also considered a few scenarios where he would get out of the car right before a freak accident occurred with Loki still inside but he reminded himself as the car was still his responsibility in the end and Loki was after all superhuman, he would still be the only one hurting from it. Not worth the pain on his end. What would Natasha do? Probably blind him in one eye that would hinder his ability to drive without depth perception and make it look entirely like he did it on purpose.
“What exactly do you need from me? Ask me nicely,” Clint retorted before realizing how sexual that sounded and inwardly cringed, it sounded a lot better in his head.
“If you would give me the keys to this death trap, Barton, that would be ever so kind of you,” Loki in turn purred, not at all bothered.
Clint reluctantly handed it over, already done with the verbal sparring and just wanting this whole thing to be over already. He suddenly had a desperate need to take a long shower and scrub himself raw.
Loki took no time at all figuring out which key actually worked for the car and turned it till the engine came to life for him.
“Check your mirrors first,” grumbled Clint, earning him an eyeroll from his student driver. “How can someone so much older act so childish?”
“You’d be better asking that question to my older brother who has yet to reach maturity himself despite being the crown prince.”
“I would but I’m stuck here with you instead. Gently press your right foot on the brake pedal on the left then firmly pull the stick shift from P to D.” Clint decided to blame Tony for his mind instantly thinking that too sounded dirty, he couldn’t have been any more uncomfortable doing this if he was wearing a thong and Natasha’s super suit.
Loki did as he was told and was tempted to read Clint’s mind seeing how even giving the god instructions seemed to grind his gears the wrong way but decided against it as he too wanted this over with.
“Take your foot off the brake pedal and gently press it on the accelerator pedal on the right, slowly please. Keep both hands on the wheel as often as possible on either side of the top center or ten and two if this was a clock.”
Loki threw a glance around him before he got bored of simply following instructions to the T and pretended to slowly drive forward before applying more pressure on the pedal and bolting forward, peeling out into the driving course parking lot and weaving his way through the orange traffic cones, tires screeching the entire way with every sharp unorthodox turn. He stole a glance at Clint whilst driving like a Fire Giant out of Muspelheim who was sheet white and pressed back against the passenger seat, knuckles just as white while one hand gripped the seat and the other hand grasped the latch over the window. He then stopped short in front of a stop sign temporarily stationed ahead before lurching forward and quickly figuring out how much to turn the wheel and brake at just the right time and pressure to miraculously park between two other SUV’s to check off parallel parking on the list of driving achievements. He put the car back in park and turned off the car before turning to Clint fully for his reaction.
“How’d I do?” Loki asked once again not too innocently or as innocently as the god of mischief could sound.
“What the actual fuck was that? No, don’t answer that! I’m gonna need a moment to hold down my lunch and a clean pair of pants after that stunt.” He looked over the list he was given to decide if Loki passed the test or not and was dismayed to find there was no spot for comments or complaints. He was even more dismayed to find that Loki despite his antics and speeding had somehow managed to check everything off the list, well almost everything, he didn’t use his signal lights though to be fair, that seemed to be a dying art among drivers depending on where you were driving. “How the hell did you pass, this is some bullshit.”
“What is it you Midgardians would say? Ye of little faith?”
Clint snorted at Loki’s smug commentary. “This is why I’m atheist.” He snatched the keys from Loki once more and the two got out of the car, Clint glaring at Loki the entire time. “If there really were such things as gods then one of them would show some mercy and put me out of my misery by now.”
“Why Barton, all you had to do was ask and I’d be more than happy to oblige,” Loki cooed.
Before Clint could lunge at the cocky god like he so desperately wanted to do since shooting him wouldn’t do anything, Fury interrupted their verbal battle himself and directed his unforgiving gaze at Clint in warning. “How’d he do?”
“He fucking passed! I’m done with this fuckery! I’m going home and having a shower and a drink, maybe at the same time and I’m never doing any more favors for you ever! Peace!” He tossed the paper in the air dramatically and stormed off without another word or a glance back.
Fury caught the paper before Loki could and read down the list curiously before glancing up at Loki who was smirking proudly back at him. He then took out a cigarette and a lighter and promptly set the paper on fire. “You didn’t think I’d notice the format had been changed and the list shortened, did you?”
Loki scoffed. “Consider me surprised you notice anything with only one working eye.”
“Consider yourself a pedestrian until I decide otherwise and if there is an otherwise it will be either myself or Romanoff as your tester and you can bet we won’t take any of your bullshit tricks. Until then, you better start walking now if you want to get back to the compound by the evening.” Fury then unlocked the car behind the one Loki had parked and smoothly backed out and sped off.
Loki watched Fury drive off and rolled his eyes before disappearing in a flash of green then reappearing right where he last stood and looked around. He sighed, shook his head, and repeated disappearing and reappearing two more times. “What sorcery is this?”
“Mine actually,” another familiar voice spoke up before a sparkling gold ring appeared behind him and out stepped another sorcerer in a red cape and blue robes. “When you can drive, you can teleport again, no shortcuts or cheating.”
“I thought you didn’t want to deal with the Avengers.”
“Oh I don’t, but putting you in your place again made their lesser annoyance worth it. Start walking, no taxi, lyft or Uber will pick you up either, I made sure of it.” He stepped back through his gold ring before Loki hurled a dagger he had summoned at him and disappeared from the parking lot, leaving Loki alone and stranded.
Loki tried once more to teleport only to remain back where he stood before again and cursed in his native tongue before eying the remaining car left. He couldn’t teleport clearly but if he could summon daggers, his magic wasn’t completely cut off. He snapped his fingers and the car unlocked for him, the mortals were fools for teaching him how to drive. He slid into the car and started it up with magic, smirking in satisfaction as it came to life at his command. Rob Zombie’s Red, Red Kroovy came blasting on the stereo and his smirk widened. The sky might be Thor’s but the roads were now his. He glanced up at the rear view mirror before peeling out of the parking lot, the black SUV shimmering into a forest green sports car as it sped off into the city. As if he needed anything but himself to get what he wanted or where he wanted.
#Loki oneshot#loki driving lessons#avengers#clint barton#hawkeye#Fury#Dr Strange#Loki#for @kaogasm#challenge accepted
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flesh and blood || 2 (M)
You are living in a society that is just now picking up the scraps that the Great Outbreak left behind after the government killed off the majority of the zombies. Still, some remain, and fear still lies within society’s walls. So imagine your surprise when the very thing you’ve been taught to fear ends up saving your life, showing you that maybe two beating hearts aren't always required when it comes to love.
pairing: zombie!jungkook x reader
word count: 5.9k
genre: post-apocalyptic, sci-fi, smut
warnings: lots of TV watching, mentions of conspiracy, joon doing some illegal shit, mentions of murder, & smooching
A/N: inspired by warm bodies and the fact that I'm a legitimate crackhead.
01 | 02 | 03
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PART TWO
Zombies were nothing like hamsters, you had come to find out over the past few days.
It seemed like an odd comparison, but it was the only other pet experience you could call upon. Your hamster, affectionately named Anarchy, was an impulse decision on your part, a running theme in your life it would come to seem. Nevertheless, you and Joon took it upon yourself to ensure she lived up her whopping two years of life, setting her up the biggest tank you could find and spoiling her with chew toys and salt licks. Anarchy was the perfect pet; she didn’t whine or grunt, didn’t eat all the chocolate in your fridge and she certainly didn’t follow you into the bathroom every time you needed to pee.
Your zombie friend, however, could not have the same said about him.
Namjoon and you spent many a night perched on the couch discussing very important zombie matters – Are steak saturdays a bad idea with a zombie in the house? Does he have a name? Should we be charging him rent? – while the zombie in question sat directly in front of the TV, completely consumed by the black and white film Namjoon had put on for him.
“Why can’t I just put some of my foundation on him?” You tried to reason.
“They’ll know he’s wearing makeup. Your foundation is cakey as hell.”
“What about— wait, what?” You blinked, surprised.
Namjoon shifted uncomfortably, flashing you an apologetic look, “Oh, sorry. I thought you knew.”
You rolled your eyes, glancing over at your TV to find that the zombie boy had not moved an inch since the last time you looked.
“Hey, brains.” You called out, feeling playful. “How would you feel about getting a spray tan?”
“Y/N, this is serious. I really don’t think he should ever leave the house.” Namjoon sighed, pulling your attention back onto him.
“You want to imprison him? He’s a person! He has to leave the house or he’ll go stir crazy. I know I would…”
Your best friend shook his head, and although you still felt like you had a case to argue, you knew that the discussion was over.
“I know, but if we’re seen outside with a zombie… It’s just what’s best for everyone, Y/N. Better safe than sorry.” Namjoon shrugged.
Leaning back into the couch, you crossed your arms over your chest. Of course, he was right, but that didn't make it any less unfair. Even if the zombie man had yet to utter a complaint since arriving at your place, you couldn't help but feel responsible for his well being. He saved your life after all.
A noise coming from the sitting zombie caused you and Namjoon to jump; it was a sharp, high pitched sound, unlike you had ever heard come from him before.
Shockingly, you looked over at the zombie to find the corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly as the scene playing out on the television reflected in his dark eyes.
"Did he just..." Namjoon gaped.
"Laugh?" You finished the shared thought, a warm feeling falling over you. "Yeah. Sounds like he just did."
Namjoon hummed, tapping a finger against his thigh contemplatively. Suddenly, he stood up, heading out of the room. Your eyebrows furrowed, unsure of what he was doing.
"Where are you going?" You inquired.
"To start a Project Z chart. My groundbreaking research begins today!" His voice informed you from somewhere in the apartment.
You grinned, chuckling slightly. Bringing your knees into your chest, you wrapped your arms around them. Project Z, huh? Alright. Count you in.
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A thump against your foot pulled your eyes from your computer screen. You were sat in the living room, legs tucked under the coffee table as your ass took comfort on a pillow you placed on the floor.
"Hi, there!" You cooed, poking your head under the table as you greeted your hamster Anarchy. She had been roaming around the room in her giant clear hamster ball, one of her favorite ways to keep you company while you did your work.
The grey colored rodent continued forward, wheel rubbing against the length of your legs as she ran. Snatching the ball before she could get any further, you brought her up to eye level, her little nose sniffing at you.
"That's enough ball time for today, don't you think?" You asked her rhetorically.
Suddenly, your phone began to sound, the familiar tune of Monster by Lady Gaga ringing out for the kitchen.
"Brains!" You called out towards your zombie roommate, who was sat in his usual place in front of the TV. He wasn't actually responsive to your nickname for him, but thankfully, the volume of your tone caught his attention enough to turn and face you.
You placed Anarchy back onto the floor.
"Watch Anarchy." You pointed at your pet before pointing at him. "Don't let her roll out of the room."
The undead boy showed no sign of understanding, his eyes merely locking onto the contained mammal. He hadn't shown much interest in your hamster up until now, the TV taking up all his attention of course.
Thank god he was already a zombie because the amount of time he spent in front of that damn screen would have surely rotted his brain by now.
Assuming that his attention would not shift away from the rodent now that he was intrigued by it, you made your way out towards the kitchen, where you had left your phone to charge. You cursed as you watched the way the screen of your phone changed, the phone call ending before you could reach the device.
Grabbing your phone, you swiped it open, only to see that it had been Namjoon to call you.
Your eyes fixed on your phone, you sent him a message as you walked back into the living room.
[12:56 PM]
To: Joonie – sorry I missed ur call... did u need something?
You let out a small yelp as your toe hit itself on something– you knew exactly what it was as the sound of plastic rolling across the room rang out.
Your stomach sank heavily as you located the ball, not because you had just sent your hamster whirling across the room, but because the ball... was empty.
Your eyes widened as they found the ball's lid, lying ominously on the floor.
"Anarchy? How did–" You breathed before you realized you had left the zombie alone with your beloved pet.
A chill ran over you as you eyed him; he was once again watching the TV, cross-legged as if nothing was wrong.
"Oh my god..." You gaped. "Did– Did you eat Anarchy?!"
He didn't react to your voice and before you reason with yourself, you gripped his shoulder angrily, forcing him to look at you.
To your surprise, you were met with not just wide zombie eyes, but with the sight of Anarchy cupped carefully between his palms, very much alive. You let out a breath of relief, sinking down to sit beside him.
So your zombie friend didn't have a taste for rodents. Good to know.
"Sorry." You apologized reflexively before a chime, followed by another, called your attention.
The zombie watched carefully as you began to fiddle with that strange device he sometimes saw you occupied with.
You read the texts carefully.
[12:57 PM]
From: Joonie – just stopped by the market and picked up some human brains for dinner… JK lol
[12:57 PM]
From: Joonie – was gonna ask if you wanted something but im otw home. c u soon!
You were just about to put the phone away when something stopped you in your tracks.
Tap.
A finger poked at your screen, and your eyebrows raised to find the zombie leaning in close, attention fixed on the set of texts sent in by your best friend.
You gawked at him for a moment, unsure if he was capable of reading and understanding the words in front of him.
After a few silent moments passed by; you cleared your throat, deciding to read the texts to him.
“Just stopped by the market and picked up some human brains for dinner… JK haha.” You narrated.
To your surprise, the zombie boy let out a grunt, poking at your screen again. Confused, you followed his finger to see what exactly he was pointing at.
Tap.
His finger hovered over the acronym Namjoon had sent. Was he asking what it meant? You could imagine zombies weren't well versed in text slang.
“The letters J and K stand for just kidding.”
It felt silly talking to him like this. You had no clue if he even understood written language – or verbal for that matter.
If the boy understood what you said, though, he didn’t show any sign of it. Once again, he tapped his finger against the message, accidentally causing the word to become highlighted.
“Yes, yes, I see it.” You said, growing slightly frustrated at the clear lack of mutual understanding between you.
Tap.
“Okay, enough of that…” You sighed.
Ten minutes passed by uneventfully; Brains was watching his favorite show again, having had handed your hamster back so you could put her back and continue your work.
The sound of the front door opening caught your attention, accompanied by the rustling sounds of the grocery bags Namjoon was carrying.
"Welcome home!" You greeted, not peeling your eyes from your screen.
"Can I get some help, please?" Namjoon's disembodied voice called out, stealing a sigh from you.
Begrudgingly, you closed your laptop, trudging over to the kitchen to help the scientist.
Offering him a nod in greeting, you began sifting through the bags he had heaved over onto the kitchen counter, on a hunt for any frozen foods that needed to be stored immediately.
"Did you buy–"
"Chocolate?" Namjoon finished for you, tucking away a tub of ice cream into your freezer. "Yeah, duh. You only reminded me eight times before I left."
You flashed him a sheepish smile, pulling a plastic container of strawberries from a grocery bag.
"Did you get any work done?" Your roommate wondered conversationally. You shrugged.
"I guess. This article Seokjin has me working on for the paper is dull as hell."
"And how is our zombie friend? Did you guys bond with me gone?"
“Obviously. I mean, we're practically best friends now." You teased, rolling up a now empty bag. Namjoon gasped suddenly, a hand over his heart in pretend offense.
"You're not trying to replace me are you?" He sniffed fakely.
"Well, he does get along with Anarchy. He took her out of her ball and held her and everything." You shrugged, a small smirk pulling at your mouth.
The fridge door shut sharply, Namjoon's eyes narrowing in distaste, "You're telling me that little rat likes an undead stranger better than me? I can’t even put a hand in her enclosure without her trying to gnaw off a phalange!"
"Stop calling her a rat, she's a hamster!" A laugh escaped you, ever amused by the way your pet despised him.
"Interesting that he didn't eat her though." Namjoon continued, the two of you were nearly done putting the purchased food away. "I'll make sure to note that in his chart."
"I was surprised, too." You nodded.
"Learn anything else interesting that I should write down?"
"Not really. Just that he really likes the acronym JK. I read your text out to him and he wouldn’t stop tapping at my phone when I showed him it.” You explained, slipping a hand into the back pocket of your jeans casually.
The groceries were all stored meaning your moral duty as a roommate to help put them away was officially completed.
“Really? Interesting..." Namjoon hummed.
"Is it?" You mused.
"This could mean he understands transcribed text."
You thought back to the way the zombie had shown little to no reaction to Namjoon's words before shaking your head in disagreement.
"I doubt it."
"You said you read it out to him right? Maybe it’s zombie slang for something. Or at least sounds like it.” He pressed.
You pondered that idea for a moment before responding, “You think zombies have their own language? I haven’t heard a sound out of him other than the occasional grunt or groan.”
“Why not? If animals are able to communicate within their own species, why not zombies? Nonverbal communication occurs in the animal kingdom all the time.” Namjoon explained, once again proving himself to be the smarter of you two.
Suddenly, without warning, he began to make his way over to the living room; you cocked your head in confusion before following him.
“What are you doing?” You questioned, worried he was going to harass the unsuspecting zombie again. Often you'd have to step in and remind Namjoon that the zombie wasn't a test rat that he could just poke and prod at whenever he wanted.
Said zombie was, of course, exactly where you had left him, sat upright on the couch looking stiff and unnatural as ever as he watched his TV with a blank expression.
“I’m gonna test out a theory.” Namjoon declared without warning, and to your disbelief, he let out a loud grumble.
“J...K…” He groaned out, voice clearly trying to imitate that of a zombie’s. Oh, god. Your best friend was an idiot. He really was.
Just as you were about to hit Namjoon on the shoulder for being such a dumbass, the seated zombie unexpectedly turned towards the two of you, clearly responding to the word.
He stared at you both with wide, unblinking eyes before letting out a huff of his own.
“Holy shit.” You breathed silently.
“Well. I think I just spoke zombie." Namjoon whispered. Neither of you dared to take your eyes off the walker as a small ounce of fear began to set in.
What exactly had Namjoon said to him? Was it possible to offend a zombie? Should you both start running now?
And as if you weren't taken back enough, you completely lost the ability to breathe altogether when a corner of the zombie boy’s mouth twitched upward, flashing you both a crooked, yet unmistakable smile.
“Is he... smiling?” You turned to face your best friend only to see that he was smiling back at the zombie.
“Remind me to put zombie whisperer on my résumé.” Namjoon grinned smugly.
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"No, this is mine. That one is yours." You huffed, grabbing back the stolen candy bar.
"Mine." JK repeated, reaching over for the very item you had just taken back from him. You let out a groan, throwing your hands up in defeat.
"I take it he's not grasping the concept of ownership?" Namjoon glanced up from whatever hospital file he was looking over.
"That little brat knows what I mean, he's just greedy and stubborn." You accused, glaring at the zombie who had already peeled open the wrapper of your chocolate.
In the past two weeks since you first brought home the stubborn zombie, there had been much development on his part. For starters, Namjoon and you had deducted that his name must be JK as it was the only word he responded to every time without fail.
Along with that discovery came the shocking utterance of words on his part.
Y/N. Joon. No. Mine. Sorry. Candy.
Each one was just as jarring as the one before, even if simple. Namjoon, although disappointed your name was JK's first words and not his, was thrilled. Language reacquisition was certainly something reports on zombies failed to notice.
"Hmm... wonder where he picked that up from..." Namjoon muttered sourly. At his words, you frowned.
"Excuse me, are you suggesting something mister?" You raised an eyebrow at him challenging.
Your best friend let out a laugh, "You say that as if you aren't the most hard-headed, unyielding human being to ever walk this earth."
"Bold words for someone who can't even go to sleep unless a nightlight is present." You scoffed.
"Hey!" Namjoon slammed the paperwork down onto the coffee table, causing you to roll your eyes. The zombie frowned, eyes flickering between the two humans. "That was a low blow! I could have brought up the fact that you're in your twenties and still can't drive but some of us have class, you know."
"Driving is scary!" You defended, turning your nose up at him. "Besides, why do I need to drive when I have a chauffeur?"
"You ass, I am not your chauffeur–"
"Joon." JK's gruff voice rang out suddenly, silencing the room. His eyes glared at the tall human openly.
Namjoon looked taken aback at the zombie's sudden call, his eyes flickering to you for reassurance, but you hadn't a clue what was happening either.
"...Yes?" He finally replied, voice hesitant.
The zombie immediately dropped the chocolate, hand coming up to point at you instead. You quirked a brow, noting the way he had yet to take his cold eyes off Namjoon.
"Sorry." JK demanded.
You let out a laugh.
"Wha– Are you kidding?" The scientist marveled. "Hell no, I'm not apologizing to her."
"Joon. Sorry." The zombie said once more, a clipped tone behind the word.
You were a giggling mess, hand coming up to cover your mouth as you watched your roommates interact with amusement.
"Why just me? Y/N should apologize too!" Namjoon whined.
JK held the man's stare for just a beat when swiftly, he grabbed the file that he had placed down onto the table.
"Woah– Hey, naughty zombie! Give that back."
"No." The zombified man responded dryly, only causing you to laugh harder.
JK glanced your way for a moment, taking note of how pleasant the sound before once again turning to Namjoon.
"Yeah, Joon! Say sorry." He could hear you tease beside him.
"Yeah." JK repeated after you, his head nodding in a way that was convincingly human-like.
"Son of a bitch. He's like the undead male version of you." Namjoon griped, crossing his arms over his chest.
Ultimately, he cried uncle.
"Fine. Y/N, I am so sorry, please forgive me." His eyes flew back to JK, extending his hand out pleadingly. "Now can I please have that file back?"
JK frowned, wanting to say something but lacking the necessary words to express himself, so instead, he turned towards Y/N.
You were already looking at him, elbow perched on the table as you rested your chin on your open palm. You were smiling in the way that always made him feel funny; your eyes shiny and amiable.
You gave him a nod, which was all the reassurance he needed before he finally handed the file back over to the man he had stolen it from. Namjoon snatched it back eagerly, pulling it into his chest in case either of his roommates tried to pull that same stunt again.
"Monsters. Both of you." He said in a flat tone. You chuckled, heeding his words no mind as you spotted the abandoned chocolate lying on the table that the zombie had set down.
JK watched with a frown as you took the candy bar from him, his noise of protest dying in his throat the moment he saw the way your lips wrapped around the sweet treat.
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“Y/N.”
“Hm?” You replied, still concentrating on the apple you were slicing up for the zombie. As willing as he was to keep eating candy all day, you didn't want Jungkook's insides to decay any more than they already had.
Jungkook.
The sudden discovery of the zombie's full name was an unexpected one. It happened last week on a night much like others. You had just finished drying up his sheets and pillow cover, the fabrics warm and heavy in your arms. You had noticed your zombie friend had been particularly pensive that day, not chatting much which certainly was unusual for him nowadays. So as you walked into the living room, you weren't surprised to find him sitting at the couch staring out at the metal bars that ran along the length of the window as he appeared lost in his thoughts.
"Here you go. Nice and warm." You had announced, dropping the sheets onto the zombie's lap. He was yanked from his thoughts by the sudden weight.
"Nighty-night, sleep tight, don't let the zombies bite." You chimed breezily. The childhood rhyme might not apply in this particular case but you found the humor in it enough to say it to him every night.
The zombie gave you a slow nod, causing your brows to furrow slightly. It really wasn't like him to be this quiet. Lately, it had almost seemed as if he couldn't shut up; he was a human parrot, regurgitating and repeating every word that caught his interest, even occasionally forming sentences.
Namjoon deduced that this must be something of a second term speech emergence– or as you understood it, just a fancy science term meaning JK was rapidly learning how to speak.
A soft click rang out as you flicked the light switch on the wall off. The moon was bright and full tonight, it's light seeping through the window as it painted a wash of blue on the zombie and the couch.
"Y/N."
His voice was small; if it weren't for the quiet of the night you doubt you would've caught the call at all.
"Yes? Is everything okay?"
There was an undeniable melancholy in the air. It seeped through his tone and engulfed the room.
"I remember."
The words stunned you and after a silent beat, you were walking over to him, sitting down on the coffee table across from him.
"What? What do you remember? Tell me." You urged softly.
You watched as he swallowed shakily, eyebrows furrowing as his jaw opened and closed, fighting for a response. He could see it all, flashing from one scene to another in the back of his mind. There was a family that loved him. A pretty girl that made his chest tighten like it did when he was near you. A car accident. A morgue. Screaming. A group of six boys taking him in. Men in black uniforms pinning them to the ground as he hid and watched.
It was suffocating.
"JK?" You called out worriedly, noticing the way emotion clouded his eyes and how his breathing was becoming ragged.
"Jungkook." A name came out raspily as if saying it out loud was painful.
"What?" You blinked.
"Jungkook." He mourned, tears falling from his eyes. "I remember."
Your heart sank as his face twisted up, and before you could stop yourself, you stood and pulled him into you, his face finding the crook of your neck as he began to weep. You let out a breath, your hand petting the back of his head in hopes to comfort him, his hair still damp from his shower earlier.
Needless to say, when Namjoon came back from his night shift to see the two of you curled up asleep on the couch together, he had many questions.
“Y/N, come here.” Jungkook's voice insisted, causing you to huff.
'No please, huh? Typical man.' You thought to yourself bitterly as you placed the knife in the sink, scooping up the plate of freshly cut apples as you made your way over to him.
"Here. Apples. Eat." You ordered, placing the plate down in front of him. Jungkook had graduated from sitting on the floor to the couch while watching TV, truly an astonishing character development on his part.
"What are they doing?" Jungkook ignored you, completely captivated by whatever he was watching.
Pressing your lips together, you watched the scene unfold on the screened box.
“They’re kissing.” You said, glancing back at the fascinated man that sat beside you, unsure of how to approach this subject.
"What?" Jungkook cocked his head, clearly not familiar with the term.
“What they’re doing? Yeah, it’s called a kiss.”
The romantic lead and his female counterpart were locking lips under an umbrella as rain poured around them, uplifting music humming in the background. Just the kind of grand romantic movie ending all pre-apocalypse movies seemed to have.
“Kiss.” Jungkook repeated, testing out the word.
“Yeah, you do it with someone you care about. Someone you’re close with.”
“Do Y/N and Namjoon... kiss?” He muttered.
Your eyes grew, quick to shake your head vehemently, “Huh? Oh no! God no. We’re just friends.”
“Friends?” The zombie pressed.
“Yeah. We’re close and care about each other but… definitely no kissing.” You shuttered. You had known Namjoon for too damn long to even entertain that idea.
“No kissing. Just friends.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.” Jungkook nodded, seemingly content with the information he was just given. "But why do they kiss?"
You shifted in your seat. Was this what parents felt like when it was time to give their kids 'the talk?'
“Well… It feels nice. And I guess it's a way of showing someone you love them.” You shrugged shyly.
“Love."
Jungkook seemed to be merely repeating you rather than pressing for an explanation as he turned his attention back to the movie.
“Confusing.” Jungkook concluded.
“Yeah, well, you’re not wrong.” You mused through a laugh, bringing his attention back on to you and the way he couldn't help but smile every time you heard you do so.
And there it was again. That strange, tight feeling in his chest that he had yet to find a word for... up until now.
"Y/N."
Turning towards him, your world froze the second his lips found yours. They were soft and warm much like the hands that cupped either side of your face.
Pulling away from the kiss, Jungkook opened his eyes, heat finding both your faces as you gawked at him with wide eyes.
"Sorry." He apologized suddenly.
"Y-You just..." Your words failed you, there was no possible way to wrap your head around what just happened.
You brought a hand to your lips, fingers running along your bottom one before covering your mouth altogether.
"Gosh. You have to ask before you kiss someone, brains." You turned away from him, tone of voice serious as if to scold him.
Jungkook nodded quietly, unsure of how to reply, especially when he could see the way you smiled behind your hand.
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You were trying to sleep, you really were. But unfortunately for you, when your, admittedly good looking, zombie roommate kisses you, it tends to consume your thoughts. You felt like you were overthinking everything despite the fact that you knew nothing.
Was it a misunderstanding on your part? Did you explain kissing in a way that confused him and he was just trying to express his gratitude towards you for taking care of him for all this time?
Or did he... love you?
God, you sounded ridiculous, you know you did. How could a zombie even understand an idea as complex as love? Why was this even affecting you so much? Why did it matter?
Your thoughts were bordering on dangerous territory right now, and in desperate need of a distraction, you rang up Namjoon.
"Joon!" You greeted the second he picked up.
"Uh, hey?" Your best friend replied warily. “Is everything okay?"
"What? Yeah! Of course, I mean, why wouldn't everything be okay?" You replied, heart racing as you swung your legs against the side of your bed.
"Well, for starters, you're calling me at three in the morning? Why aren't you sleeping?"
Namjoon often went to do work late at night at the hospital for his internship; usually, it meant you got to see little of him in the mornings as he was passed out cold but this time it actually worked to your advantage.
"Oh, I'm just... thinking, I guess. How are things at the hospital?" You diverted quickly.
"It's kind of a slow night," Namjoon revealed and you could almost picture the way he'd shrug, "but I'm guessing you didn't call me to ask me that. What's going on, weirdo?"
You let out a sigh. He was your best friend, after all. Of course, he'd see right through you.
"It's just... Jungkook. He's just so different from everything we thought we knew about zombies."
"I know, right? He's nearly completely fluent now, don't you think?"
"No, it's more than that." You furrowed your brows, laying back on your bed. "He's just– I mean he's got... emotions and preferences and memories. I think he might even... Ugh, nevermind I’m just overthinking.”
"Did... something happen that I should know about?" Namjoon mused. You bit down on your lip, unsure of how to answer.
"We know he's different from the others but–" You chose to ignore before he cut you off.
"But what?"
Staring at your ceiling, you sorted through your thoughts– thoughts that you had been toying with for a while now.
"What if there are more like him? And if so, where are they? Have they been killed? What role does the DEAD Team play in this?"
"Hm. I don't know... but let me see if I can find out." Namjoon said, causing you to sit up in surprise.
Of course! Research was Namjoon's whole thing. If anyone could find out more about this, it was him.
"Okay, yeah! Let me know if you find anything." You replied.
"And Y/N," Namjoon began suddenly, his tone shift slightly. "If you’re right... Wait. Nevermind, let's, uh, just not talk about this over the phone anymore, okay?"
"Oh... okay." You blinked in confusion at your best friend's nebulous words.
"Good night, weirdo."
"Night." You muttered back, hitting the end call button as you tried to suppress the uneasy feeling in your gut.
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The feeling of someone yanking the covers off your body jolted you awake. Squinting, you tried to orient yourself, the lights in your room blinding your tired eyes.
"What the fuck?" You grumbled, eyes focusing on the hovering body that soon revealed itself to be your boisterous best friend.
"Morning, sunshine!" Namjoon chimed.
"Ugh, what time is it?"
"Around six in the morning!" He answered before taking a seat on your bed, dropping a pile of what looked to be meaningless junk next to your body.
“Can I just say, finding anything outbreak-related that isn’t Anti-Zombie propaganda is fucking difficult… Luckily for you, I happen to be a genius with a lot of friends in the computer programming field.” Your best friend explained cockily.
“Oh shit." You rubbed at your eyes before taking in the pile. "Find anything good?”
“Oh, yeah. Turns out you’re not the only one who thinks there is more to the zombie story. I found an archive of a forum of people like us sharing stories and conspiracies about the Great Outbreak and the government’s involvement in it.”
“Really? How have I never stumbled upon that before?” You pondered.
“That’s just it. It was an archive, meaning the forum doesn’t exist anymore, it was shut down. The whole site was shut down actually, seemingly out of nowhere. Unfortunately for whoever took it down, once someone takes a step onto the internet, there are always footprints left behind. Nothing is ever really gone forever.”
You let his words sink in, still on sleepy brain mode.
“So... do you think the government took the site down?”
Namjoon flashed you a look as if to say well, obviously.
“A lot of the thread was purely he said she said stuff, but I did find some compelling pieces of evidence. Most notably… this.”
Namjoon reached into the pile and pulled out an old copy of a newspaper, placing it on top for you to read. Printed on the first page was a picture of a family you didn’t know, consisting of a mother, a father, and two daughters. On top of the picture in all bold was the title, “FAMILY KILLED BY ZOMBIE DAUGHTER.”
You vaguely remembered hearing about this story on the news when you were younger. But even then, you hardly gave sensationalized news much thought.
“Anyway, the youngest daughter, Shelby, died some time ago from some form of cancer. There are records of her parents taking her in to get that sketchy ass drug if you remember–”
“Immortuos, of course.” You nodded.
“Yeah. Obviously, she ended up dying and coming back to life. However, instead of letting the DEAD Team take her into custody, her family somehow managed to sneak her out of the mortuary her body was being stored in.”
Your eyes grew in size, “Are you serious? Wait, how do you know this?”
Namjoon rummaged through the pile, pulling out a piece of paper before holding it out to you. You stared down at it.
“Is this… a credit card statement?”
“Shelby’s father’s credit card statement.”
You shifted back away from the paper, sitting up in your bed. You were looking at a dead man’s credit card history. Weird.
“How the literal hell did you even get your hands on this?”
“I have my ways.” Namjoon smirked. You nodded, impressed at just how much your best friend had gotten away with.
“Anyway, look at this. Five days before the entire family’s reported death, the father bought four plane tickets.”
Four plane tickets?
“Well, that doesn't make sense. If it was just the oldest sister and her parents, they would only need three.” Your brows furrowed.
“Right. But with Shelby alive again…” Namjoon hinted.
“Four tickets.” You marveled, finally understanding. “They were trying to run away.”
You shook your head, “But wait this newspaper says Shelby killed her family, right? So what really happened? Why didn’t the family make their flight?”
“So there’s speculation that the government heavily monitored the immediate family of the recently undead after their resurrection. People on the forum theorized that the government caught wind of the family’s plan and killed them off before they got the chance to flee. Clearly, they thought the family knew something they shouldn’t have otherwise they would have just taken the girl. I mean think about it, do you really think a six-year-old could overpower her sister and two adult parents? ‘Cause I don’t.”
You sat in silence for a second. It made sense. The zombie girl was already back with the family so it would be the perfect guise to fall back on: ‘Naive family takes back zombie child only to be eaten alive!’ That would certainly deter other families from trying to do the same.
A thought crossed you suddenly.
“Hey, this happened in our town. You have access to the hospital's morgue records… do you think there is any way–”
“One step ahead of you.” Namjoon interrupted, pulling out an aged manila envelope from the pile, the word confidential clearly stamped onto it.
You held Namjoon’s eyes in disbelief, wondering how the fuck you had befriended a master level criminal, before taking the envelope into your hands and prying it open. Inside were four sheets of paper. Copies of autopsy reports, with each respective family member’s name on it. Your stomach dropped as you let your eyes roll over them, realizing each sheet of paper had been signed off the same way:
Cause of Death: GUNSHOT TO HEAD
Manner of Death: MANDATED HOMICIDE
Police Notified: NO
"Mandated homicide– whoever executed their deaths was ordered to do so. And if the police weren't notified then..."
"Yeah." Namjoon confirmed grimly. A wave of nausea rolled over you suddenly.
“The family knew what we know. That not all zombies are dangerous.” You breathed, swallowing dryly. “And now... they're dead.”
Your apprehensive eyes met Namjoon's, the air thick with the feeling that you two had just stumbled upon something much bigger than yourselves– something you would not come out of unscathed.
#jungkook smut#bts smut#jungkook x reader#bts#bts jungkook#jeon jungkook#namjoon smut#seokjin smut#yoongi smut#jimin smut#hoseok smut#taehyung smut#bts preferences#bts scenarios#bts fanfics#jeongguk x reader#jeongguk smut#kim taehyung#kim namjoon#kim seokjin#min yoongi#park jimin#jung hoseok#bts taehyung#bts reactions
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Thomas and you or Lafayette and you dancing in the snow?
this is just so pure. looks like im in the mood to write Christmas drabbles...
“Some people are rich, but you’re rich.”
Lafayette raised an eyebrow. “Maybe my English is not so good, but those sound like the same word to me.”
“Sorry, what I meant was, some people have money, but you have a private ski château,” you pointed out, staring up in awe at the large snow covered manor.
Lafayette had taken you up to his family’s château in the mountains for the weekend, and you knew he his family had money, but you hadn’t realized the full extent of it. It looked like some kind of medieval castle glowing in the pristine coat of white and you couldn’t help but gape at it.
You were in over your head. A week ago you had mentioned to Lafayette that you had wanted a getaway from your work and your three roommates, but you hadn’t expected him to take you seriously.
Being the good friend he was (God, why was he just a friend? Couldn’t he tell you were in love with him?), Lafayette suggested the two of you spend the weekend at his family’s place. And because you were in desperate need of a vacation in the midst of COVID-19, and not at all because you wanted to spend time with your crush, you had willing agreed to come.
“Where even are we?” You asked, finally closing your mouth. You turned to get your luggage out of the car, but saw that Lafayette had already unloaded everything while you were gaping.
“The mountains,” he said simply.
“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” you said as he carried the last bag inside. “You could kill me out here and no one would ever find me.”
He glanced back at you with an amused smile. “Yes, I could. You’d better stay on my good side then, yes?”
It seemed like a threat, but you decided it was an empty threat. That is, unless, he poisoned the hot chocolate he made for the two of you once you had settled in. And honestly, death by hot chocolate wouldn’t be so bad. Especially if it was Lafayette’s grandma’s recipe.
“I didn’t know you could cook,” you said, taking a long sip of the warm drink.
He laughed. “Cooking and making hot chocolate are two different things, ma chèrie.”
“Well if your cooking is even half as good as your hot chocolate, you must be a great cook. This has got to be the best hot chocolate I’ve ever had. What’s in it?” You asked.
He clucked his tongue and shook his head. “No, no. That’s classified. I can’t have you stealing my family’s secrets.”
You brought your knees to your chest, relaxing further into the plush sofa. “I suppose that’s alright. But if you’re not going to tell me how to make it myself, then I reserve the right to call you over whenever I’m craving hot chocolate.”
“You’ll hear no complaints from me. I’ll be around whenever you need m-- I mean, hot chocolate,” he corrected himself.
You were content with his answer. And with the hot chocolate. And with the fire flickering in the fireplace beside you. And with the fuzzy socks you had put on. You were content with the warmth that was surrounding you, and nothing could--
“It’s snowing.”
You cracked one eye open slowly to see that Lafayette was right, it was snowing. Outside the window, thousands of little snowflakes were cascading down from the sky in flurries. You opened both eyes now, blinking a few times. The snow was beautiful, and the sight was a nice addition to your warm atmosphere. It was peaceful.
“We should go outside,” Lafayette said, his eyes fixed on the snow.
“What?” You turned to stare at him like he was crazy.
Yes, it was beautiful, but you found the logs burning in the fireplace and the knitted blanket strewn across an armrest beautiful. Not to mention the fire and the blanket were warm. Snow meant it was freezing outside, and you had no interest in being cold now that you had settled in.
“Yeah,” Lafayette insisted. “Let’s go outside. It will be fun.”
“It will be cold! You want me to go out in the snow at...” your eyes travelled over to the clock above the stove, “...at one in the morning?”
“It’s not like you have anywhere to be in the morning. You can sleep in. Put on a coat. There, all your problems are solved,” he gave you an easy grin and that nearly convinced you in itself.
“My coat is in my suitcase all the way upstairs,” you groaned.
Lafayette went into a closet and pulled out a blue ski jacket. “Just borrow one of mine.”
He really had a solution for everything. You wanted to come up with another excuse, but since he had so generously offered for you to join him at his Château, you could indulge him just this once. In the back of your mind, you could hear your friend saying that “you never owed a man anything, no matter if he opened the door for you or paid for dinner.” In this case it was a mountain Château and the best hot chocolate you had ever had, but you knew he would drop it if you said no.
But there was a part of you that wanted to go out into the snow with him, even if it was just to see him smile. Even if you had wanted to turn down his suggestion a minute ago, the look he was wearing on his face now convinced you that you couldn’t say no.
“Fine,” you said begrudgingly, trying to hide your smile when he cheered happily.
Lafayette put on his own jacket before holding open an extra one for you to slide your arms into. It was a few sizes too large, but you didn’t mind as long as it was warm. Lafayette gave you a pair of boots (also a few sizes too large) and you lazily put them on over your fuzzy socks.
Lafayette didn’t waste anytime, pulling you out the front door and onto the lawn that was already covered in a blanket of snow. You couldn’t help but smile at the child-like expression he wore while he stared up at the sky in complete joy. Lafayette hadn’t let go of your hands, but you didn’t feel the need to point it out to him.
“You act like you’ve never seen snow before.” You whispered even though there wasn’t another house around for miles. The snow created a quiet, peaceful atmosphere where it felt like you and Lafayette were the only people in the world. Talk about alone together.
“I’m just happy,” Lafayette said softly.
“Because it’s snowing?”
He nodded and lowered his eyes to meet yours. “Because it’s snowing, yes. Also because I’m here. With you.”
You sucked in a breath of cold air. Was he flirting with you? That had to be flirting, right? Or maybe he just meant it in a platonic way?
Lafayette didn’t give you a chance to think about the topic in any more depth, because he pulled you closer to him, one hand still gripping your’s, and the other hand moving to rest on your waist. He moved his feet back and forth in a quasi-swaying, quasi-shuffling movement.
“What are you doing?” You asked him with a laugh.
“We are dancing,” he informed you.
You cocked your head to the side and raised an eyebrow. “I thought you told me you didn’t dance.”
You had specifically remembered him telling you a traumatic story from his childhood that was centered around dancing months ago. You remembered a lot of the little details he had told you over the course of the time the two of you had known each other.
“Ah, I told you I didn’t dance, not that I couldn’t. I like dancing,” he replied, then he added, “with the right people.”
He must be flirting with you know, right? He had to be. There was no way you were imagining this, but knowing your track record, this is exactly the kind of scenario you would make up in your head to put your heart at ease.
“There’s no music,” you mumbled softly.
“I could sing something,” he suggested.
“You make hot chocolate, dance, and sing? What can’t you do?”
Lafayette grinned mischievously, then launched into a very patriotic, very loud French anthem. He hadn’t even made it to the chorus when you were slapping his shoulder, laughing loudly, and begging him to stop.
“Never mind, never mind. We don’t music. I take it back,” you managed to say through your laughter.
“You don’t want me to sing?” He pouted in mock offense.
You rapidly shook your head. “No!”
“Then what would you have me do?” Lafayette asked gently, his brown eyes glowing warm like the fire that had been abandoned inside.
You considered him for a moment. You had your answer. “Just hold me.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. Lafayette pulled you closer into his embrace, and you could feel his warmth through the layers of ski jackets and cable knit sweaters.
#Kitty's drabbles#this is so soft#christmas time is here#lafayette#lafayette imagine#lafayette x reader#requests are open !!
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hellooo, you like to ramble (okay deku) and I like to read what you ramble about soo, any chance for you to ramble to me about how you headcanon bakugo and kirishima?? You talk a lot about characterization on your blog cause it helps to write them (I assume I'm not a writer but you know) so I thought you'd probably have lengthy descriptions for them haha! :)
The ‘okay deku’ fucking decked me in the throat.
Oh anon... oh dear, precious anon. What have you done. What have you started. What have you awoken.
I’ll go through different ‘sections’ of how I characterize the boys, I guess, cause if I just free ramble this it’s gonna get way more out of hand than it already is about to be. So...
Bakugou Katsuki
- A prickly, feral fellow who would annihilate anyone who tried to call him ‘fellow’ to his face.
- Who is obsessed with being number one in more than just hero-related activities.
- Whose room is neat and tidy like 98% of the time, with hiking gear in the corner and a toolbox shoved into his closet (Bakugou is a handyman and no, I will not take criticism on that. He probably knows how to do basic level house maintenance and could probably construct a whole ass bomb, if he ever needed to - in the bnha ova he knew about short circuiting wires and shit so I just feel like he probably knows a lot about useful stuff like that).
- Who wears alternative clothing and listens to alt rock or rap or anything about being the best and working their ass off and shit that gets him super motivated and pumped (cause idk the dude runs around like he’s got a fuse lit up in his ass and he’s shown a few times with his earphones in so I just think he has to have a dope playlist otherwise where does he possibly get all that chaotic energy from, I just???)
- Who, at first, would not appreciate cats or dogs in any way until he’s forced to spend some time with one and then (just like with people) he’ll bitch and moan about how he hates them but then when he thinks no one is around he’ll squat down by the couch and pet the cat or carelessly ruffle a dog’s fur and give them aggressively-affectionate nicknames like “Little Asshole” or “Shit Stain” or something like that.
- Who doesn’t really use his phone (unless it’s to play music) so his knowledge of meme culture is laughable and he hates texting (cause wtf? Just call him, like, he doesn’t have the time???) and whenever someone forces him to make a social media account he doesn’t follow more than 15 people and he never posts anything unless it’s something he thinks is super fucking cool (like new grenade bracers or whatever) and he takes like a million years to answer text messages and he has never once used an emoji that wasn’t the middle finger (Kaminari showed him that and now it’s the only one he uses)
- Sharp. Collarbones.
- That’s it for that one. Just...
- Strong jaw... but then soft, chubby cheeks?
- !!!!!
- Friends: I headcanon that Bakugou and Todoroki are the best of friends (even though Bakugou would never admit it) cause like... I don’t know, Bakugou is brash and loud, and while Todoroki is generally quiet, he’s also kinda snarky and sarcastic - you can’t tell me those two don’t have the same sense of humor.
- Friends: I like to imagine that Bakugou just - slams Todoroki’s door open and stalks inside like he owns the place whenever he wants to, and Todoroki is always just like, this fucking guy, but he doesn’t even look up from what he’s doing because he knows Bakugou cares too much about getting reactions out of people. Meanwhile Bakugou collapses onto his bed and starts scrolling through his phone like he hasn’t just invaded someone’s privacy cause it’s just IcyHot and he can get the fuck over it.
- Friends: And honestly, they probably gossip a lot. Not in the same way that Mina tries to gossip with others (about relationships and stuff) but real life shit; shit that other people probably think is too personal or whatever to openly discuss (about themselves or about others) but Bakugou has never given a fuck and Todoroki doesn’t really see what the big deal is, so they probably talk a lot about other people (Bakugou mostly talking shit, Todoroki silently agreeing most of the time but at least polite enough not to add onto it - but also not really telling Bakugou that he shouldn’t be talking shit because... well... sometimes he just spits straight facts, ya feel?)
- Friends: I just think Bakugou’s and Todoroki’s personalities, despite having a lot of general issues with each other in the beginning, clash really well in a lot of ways, once they’ve gotten past all that other surface level shit.
- Friends: Plus, they’re both socially inept, and you can’t tell me otherwise.
- Friends: So yeah... brotp for fucking life.
- Friends: I also like the idea of the 1-A band hanging out together, even after the school festival.
- Friends: Jirou sometimes tracks Bakugou down to ask him to play the drums for this song she’s working on (kinda stammering and not really making eye-contact) and Bakugou (after some obligatory grumbling and complaints) always relents, cause damn... playing the drums again is actually kind of fun and Bakugou (so caught up in hero shit all the time) kinda forgot what it was like to do stuff just for the fun of doing it.
- Friends: Kaminari + Bakugou brotp as well, we cannot forget; the one energetic friend who is always annoying the angry one, love/hate relationship, I dig it.
- Friends: I also really like Bakugou getting along with Tokoyami. Like, maybe they’re not great friends or anything, they don’t really hang out or whatever, but Tokoyami is a spooky dude and sometimes he says or does weird/crazy/spooky shit and Bakugou is all for that (especially when he can go to Todoroki’s room later and talk about all the crazy weird shit Tokoyami is into it, and Todoroki will nod along and try not to smile or make a sarcastic remark when he realizes that Bakugou genuinely likes all that crazy weird shit too, even if he pretends that he doesn’t).
- Pining: I headcanon Bakugou as a 100% tsundere (furious stammering whenever he feels overwhelmed by ~the feelings~ and/or blushes, taking extra time out of his day to prepare meals for those he cares about, aggressively shoving jackets or hoodies at people when they’re cold and just not acknowledging their insistence that they don’t need it, etc.)
- Pining: And while that’s all fun and well, I also headcanon that he’s Bakugou - the waste-no-time-take-no-shit kinda guy that he is - he would not be one to pine for very long. He’d have to say something, eventually, because fuck, he’s impatient as fuck, yaknow?
- Pining: But alas, he’s also a dumbass who doesn’t have a filter and is emotionally stunted and can’t for the life of him figure out why he has these stupid feelings, he’s just begrudgingly come to terms with the fact that he does. So, in my headcanons, Bakugou pines for a bit, then grows frustrated with himself (and the other person, cause he’s dumb and feral), so it’d probably only be a few weeks of him being like “What the fuck, I treated this person like a decent human being, why haven’t they figured out that I’m horribly, grossly in love with them yet??” and then he’d say something.
- Pining: But Bakugou... I mean, Bakugou likes attention, yaknow? Or maybe he doesn’t like it, but he definitely has never done anything quietly before. Like... ever. Sooo I always picture him confessing to be some kind of spectacle done at a horrible time in a horrible place that is not at all private.
- Confessions: I feel like he’d go about it in multiple different kinds of ways, depending on the situation. But the straight-forward is always my go-to. Like, super blunt, super to-the-point, no bullshitting or beating around the bush. He’s made a decision, dammit, and he’s no goddamn coward!
- Confessions: But again, he is a dumbass.
- Confessions: So I headcanon that maybe he stomps up to the person, scowl and all, and just kinda glares at them for a minute (he’s Bakugou, he didn’t like... prepare what he was gonna say) and then he just: “I fucking like you, so what the fuck are we gonna do about this shit cause it’s distracting as fuck.”
- And by some miracle of God, probably, the person (yes, I’m imagining Kirishima but really probably any ship works?) is used to him by now, so that horrible confession is somehow endearing and now Bakugou Katsuki is in a relationship
- In a Relationship: Now, Bakugou (in my headcanons) has never been a boyfriend before. Sure, he’s like, kissed before and shit, a few times maybe, but that really doesn’t even count cause that’s different from being someone’s boyfriend.
- In a Relationship: But Bakugou is the best, goddamn it!, and that includes being the best at relationships!
- In a Relationship: So I like to imagine Bakugou in his dorm room, hunched over his open textbooks at his desk, scowling in concentration down at his phone while he googles shit like “how to be the best boyfriend” and “shit awesome boyfriends do” and after trudging through all the really repulsive, gross romantic shit that he won’t even touch cause there’s no way anyone really wants that stuff, he makes it into a sort of challenge for himself
- In a Relationship: And then once he starts doing some of the stuff suggested (dates are a plus - the more fun the better!, hand-holding, movie nights, making food), he realizes that yeah, being the best is great and all, but seeing the person get all giddy and smiley because of something he’s done might be even better.
Kirishima Eijirou
- Kirishima is best boy, we can all agree on this, yes?
- The kind of guy who would offer to carry someone’s bag or hold their umbrella for them while they walked somewhere, who holds doors open for people and waves at little babies in the aisle of supermarkets when their parents aren’t looking. The kind of guy whose eyes get all sparkly when he sees a dog in public, who would race across the street to ask if he can pet it. The kind of guy that old ladies flirt and laugh with cause he’s just so sweet and handsome and charming.
- Hella dorky, dude-bro, boy-next-door vibes, you know what I mean?
- Like, your best friend’s older brother who plays basketball a lot in the driveway without his shirt on, who always offers to drive people around in his kinda beat-up car but it always smells nice even if the leather seats are a little torn and uncomfortable, who hugs a lot without realizing how flustered he makes people when he does that cause he just likes hugs!
- High-grade empathy. If someone else is crying, he’s probably gonna start crying too. If someone else gets pissed, he’s probably gonna get pissed off with them. If someone else is happy, it probably makes him happy. Unfortunately, if someone pukes near him... well...
- The guy who you go to when someone is harassing you or making you uncomfortable and he’ll totally say something to them and maybe even get in a fight just so they get the message to leave you the hell alone, cause harassment isn’t fucking manly! No means no!
- He drinks his respect women juice every single day.
- His. Forearms. Are. Immaculate.
- Like... always rolling his sleeves up to his elbows??? Yes yes.
- !!!! AND !!!!
- Vein-y, strong hands.
- I also really really like Kirishima’s scars (his eye scar and then also I like headcanoning scars from his fight during Eri’s mission).
- BANDANA KIRI IS BEST KIRI AND NO I WILL NOT ELABORATE!
- Friends: Kirishima and Kaminari are brotp, for fucking sure. They’re both kind of chaotically dumb, yaknow, and they both have to put up with Bakugou a lot, so they’re on the same wavelength. Plus, Kirishima helps to corral Kaminari about the creepy girl stuff he picks up from Mineta. They’re the best wingmen to have ever wingedmened (if you ask them).
- Friends: I also really like Kirishima and Midoriya being friends (maybe a little secretly, cause no one is trying to make Bakugou jealous and/or blow his lid) but they’re both so sweet?? And encouraging?? And kind?? Like bruh, they definitely cross-paths in the kitchen and end up talking for an hour or so while sharing a meal; two fanboys getting all starry-eyed about their favorite heroes and Kirishima definitely texts Midoriya all the time as like a sort of Bakugou-Guide.
- Friends: I like the idea of Kirishima being friendly and kind to just about everybody, but I don’t know, I feel like he doesn’t have a ton of close friends. I think he picks them very carefully - who he chooses to be extra close with and tell everything to - cause friendship is important to him, the bro-code matters, and he’s got strong morals that not everybody thinks is always necessary or important.
- Friends: Kaminari is his best bro, and he likes being around Bakugou because Bakugou motivates him and he thinks Bakugou’s behavior is funny (cough-cough and he loves him cough-cough), and he enjoys talking to Sero, and Mina has known him for forever so obviously, and we can’t forget his dude-man-bro bestie Tetsutetsu! But everyone else? He likes them, and they’re all friends to some extent, and he’s kind to everyone because everyone deserves kindness!
- Friends: But I don’t know, I always headcanon that Kirishima is a little picky when it comes to ‘best bros’ because that’s an important title that comes with a lot of responsibilities and commitment, and he cares very deeply about those things, so his friends have to as well.
- Kaminari believes in the bro-code just as much as Kiri
- Bakugou’s moral code is like, engraved into his very being
- Sero respects women just as much as Kirishima does (he’s always telling Mineta that he needs to chill the fuck out and get it together)
- Mina has always rushed out to help others; something Kirishima admires and tries to replicate himself
- Tetsutetsu is just as chivalrous as Kirishima is (he proved that at the sports festival)
- So yeah, being kind to everyone doesn’t automatically mean being friends with everyone, cause friendship is treasured and sacred and Kirishima wholeheartedly believes that friendship is something that best when it’s earned!
- Pining: I love blushy, awkward, fumbling Kirishima when he’s pining. Just... yessss, precious baby is easily flustered, love love love that
- Pining: But also
- Pining: Kirishima likes to live a life without regrets! And what’s manlier and braver than outwardly showing your emotions!
- Pining: So I always headcanon that Kirishima is a big ole flirt when he’s pining. He pulls out the big guns, yaknow? Cheesy pick up lines, lots of accidental (totally planned and on purpose) touching, giving people hoodies, buying them little gifts, the whole nine-yards.
- Pining: I almost feel like Kirishima’s pining overlaps a little bit with confessing, because really, if you just take the time to notice it, he’s very obvious about it - there’s no reason to hide it! It’s manly to be straight forward and up front with people!
- Confessions: However, if it’s someone who either didn’t take the hint or didn’t say anything about all of Kirishima’s advances, he’d have to say something eventually, if he wants to take it to the next level.
- Confessions: Cue blushy, fumbling Kirishima. Who would probably try to pull them aside before class or - the lovable idiot - would try and have a serious talk in the middle of a sparring session where it’s just too damn loud and half the conversation is just: “WHAT?!”
- In a Relationship: Kirishima would be, like, the best fucking boyfriend to have ever walked this Earth. He probably would go a little too hard (at least for me lmao, I’m not a big romantic or anything) but I could picture him hitting all the marks, you know.
- In a Relationship: On his way to class, he’d probably stop and pick cute little flowers he saw on the side of the road. If he stops at the store, he’d probably pick up his partner’s favorite drink or snack, just as a little surprise for them. He’d probably love going on movie dates and out to eat, and oh lord is he a cuddly little shit.
- In a Relationship: On the bus, in class, in the common room, it doesn’t matter where he is; constant hand-holding and hugs from behind and leaning his head on his partner’s shoulder is a must. He’d do everything in his power to make sure that his partner knew how much he loved and appreciated them - even if he does like to annoy them with harmless teasing and little pranks every now and again, just to keep them on their toes!
#is this enough for you anon#have I sufficiently rambled enough for you?#fucking deku my ass again#go on#try me#bakugou katsuki#kirishima eijirou#bakugou headcanons#kirishima headcanon#bnha#my hero academia#kiribaku#todobaku brotp#kamishima brotp#asks
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AMBITION Season 3 ♫ “Can You Dig It?” [ 3.07 ]
CREATED BY Esther (waterstribe) & Maggie (quincywillows) || Official Page || AO3
STAYIN’ ALIVE – After an unfortunate accident, the A class finds themselves working double time to fund their showdown performance. Charlie struggles to balance the past and the present, and Maya makes a desperate move. Farkle receives news that changes his life forever.
70 Minutes (33K words) || No content warnings apply.
[ ← The Comfort Zone ] [ S3 Synopsis ] [ Moment of Truth → ]
( Follow along with the music on Spotify here! )
EXT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY
Music plays over the sound system, setting a comfortable and fun scene while most of the A class works together on the auditorium stage. The performers are working through showdown choreography or helping put the finishing touches on set pieces for the production, while the techies are split between those set pieces, the beginning of structures for their upcoming winter musical, and tweaking the lights. JEFF MONROE is up on the catwalk out of sight, NATE MARTINEZ perched on top of a scaffolding and passing him requested tools. DAVE WILLIAMS is balancing on a ladder against the scaffolding, helping hand things to Nate from below.
MAYA HART has taken over as dance captain, shouting commands at her classmates still running through steps. ZAY BABINEAUX watches from on top of the major set piece they’re building at center stage for the musical, unimpressed and maybe a bit envious. His injured left leg is now in a boot, wheelchair gone.
The conversation varies, from the impending showdown finals to college application deadlines. Everything is coming down the pipeline at record speed, right towards them, and they have to juggle it all at once. RILEY MATTHEWS glances around and asks where Jade is, which ISADORA DE LA CRUZ answers.
Isadora: She’s been locked up in the costume loft basically since last week. The deadline for her conservatory and apprenticeship programs is closing in, so she’s been working basically non-stop.
Maya: How does she not have enough samples already? Hasn’t she made everything we’ve ever worn in this school for the last three years?
A fair question, but it doesn’t get addressed. They’re all distracted by a new song coming on shuffle, playing loudly over the speakers.
Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Boogie Wonderland” as performed by Earth, Wind & Fire || Instrumental
Although the track is an undeniable bop, the assembled A class seniors don’t seem impressed. They all quickly pipe up to complain, calling for someone to skip it.
Darby: Where’s Jeff? Jeff! Hit skip!
Jeff, from above: A little busy right now!
Maya: Well someone better go change it!
Haley: And risk getting killed by Lucas because we dared enter the booth? No thanks.
Maya: Fair point. Riley, go change it.
Riley, in the midst of rolling paint on a set piece, raises her free arm in a shrug. Also a little busy. Zay shakes his head.
Zay: What is wrong with all of you? None of you have taste. Disco is classic. You should respect the excellence that came before you.
Maya: Sorry I’m not still living in the 20th century. It’s 2020, Zayby. Disco is dead.
Zay: You absolutely disgust me. If my foot wasn’t booted --
NIGEL CHEY finally relents amidst all their complaints, claiming he’ll risk his life to go change it if it will get them all to shut up.
For now, though, the boogie wonderland is ongoing. FARKLE MINKUS uses the opportunity to pick on Isadora, loosely disco grooving around her and trying to poke her into joining him. She laughs but tells him to cut it out, and when he gets too close, she playfully shoves him away.
Only she’s stronger than she looks, and he’s a beanpole, so she overshoots and pushes him a bit too hard. Farkle goes stumbling backwards -- right into the ladder that’s holding up Dave. Isadora yanks Farkle back just as the ladder falls out from under Dave, just missing Nigel, clattering to the stage next to them and creating a dent.
Dance! Boogie wonderland!
A bunch of the seniors cry out, scrambling away, now watching in horror as Dave dangles from the side of the scaffolding a dozen or so feet above the ground. He almost loses his grip, seconds from falling, and Maya screams. She backs away frantically and knocks into a paint can, spilling metallic silver paint all over their perfectly crisp black stage and splattering CLARISSA CRUZ, DARBY WINTERS, and SARAH CARLSON.
Ah! Ah! Dance!
Jeff and a couple of performers start shouting directives at Dave, trying to save him from a nasty fall off the scaffolding. Nate tries to pull him up, but it’s no use -- Dave is the giant after all, and Nate’s guns aren’t that swoll. Riley hides behind her hands, peeking through her fingers and unable to look away.
Riley: Oh my God, he’s gonna die.
Isadora takes over directing from below, instructing Dave to change trajectory and aim for the curtains to orient himself. Jeff objects to that, citing the integrity of the curtain pulley system, but he’s shouted down by the performers jumping on Isadora’s suggestion. Suddenly, everyone is yelling at Dave to go for the curtains, so that’s what he does.
Jeff: No, don’t -- !
All… the… love in the world can’t be gone!
Dave manages to latch onto the main curtain -- but it’s all downhill from there. That curtain is about as useless as Nate, and the pulley system holding it upright can only sustain so much weight (curtains are a lot heavier than they look). So the moment Dave latches on, it buckles underneath him, and seconds later the whole thing comes down in a spectacular show of destruction.
The A class scatters to avoid it, ducking down and covering their heads. Clarissa pulls HALEY FISHER down behind a set piece with her for cover; Farkle yanks Isadora out of the way and shields her behind him. Zay screws his eyes shut and hides behind his knee, thankfully a safe distance away. Then the dust settles, stunned silence giving way to the continuing groovy sounds of Earth, Wind, & Fire.
Riley pokes her head out from behind the set piece she was painting first, eyeing the heap of curtains and rods on the dented stage floor. She swallows.
Riley: … Dave?
For a moment, nothing but tense silence… from above, Nate releases a gasp.
Nate: Holy shit, we’ve killed him.
Then Dave emerges, pushing some dense drapery off of him and pushing himself into a sitting position. He seems dazed, but otherwise uninjured.
Jeff: Oh, thank God.
Isadora: Dave… you good buddy?
Dave blinks, then offers a thumbs up. Everyone releases a sigh of relief… just as SHAWN HUNTER and HARPER BURGESS enter into the scene of chaos, having rushed in after hearing the commotion from down the hall. In the opposite wings, LUCAS JAMES FRIAR returns with DYLAN ORLANDO and ASHER GARCIA, all of whom stop dead in their tracks when they set their eyes on the disaster they’ve stumbled into. Asher’s jaw drops open; Dylan drops the toolbox he was carrying.
Whoopsie. Boogie wonderland…
From his perch atop the set piece, Zay breaks the silence, shaking his head.
Zay: Shoulda never dissed disco.
Cue title sequence.
INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY
JACK HUNTER is seated at his desk, working to maintain a neutral composure as HARRISON YANCY paces his office. He’s haughty and on offense, demanding to know what happened with the auditorium and grilling Jack for details. Of all the things he planned to tangle with at Adams, vandalism and destruction of school property was not at the top of the list.
Yancy: But, then, I suppose I should’ve anticipated such a turn of events. Considering you’ve struggled with reining in destruction before, and insisted so vehemently on keeping problematic entities in your student roll -- and now they’re student leadership, in fact!
Jack: He had nothing to do with this. Lucas wasn’t even in the auditorium when it happened --
Yancy: How convenient for him.
Jack: And it was an accident. No ill intent involved. It was an accident, and all of the damage is repairable. The curtains can be fixed and replaced, the dents in the stage can be filled, and the spilled paint can be removed or painted over in turn. I think we should be more concerned with the lucky reality that no one was hurt.
Yancy: [ ignoring that point ] The damage is repairable, yes, but it won’t be free. And I certainly won’t approve its reparation on the school’s dime.
Jack points out that such a decision isn’t his to make -- he’s still the principal of Adams. And that’s true enough, but as Yancy effortlessly counters, he remains under close watch. That’s the reason Yancy is present in the first place. Every decision Jack makes is under scrutiny, and a figurative nod of approval from him matters. Jack must be wise enough to realize that.
Jack, begrudgingly: So what, then?
Yancy: So, it seems to me that the A class will have to proffer the money to pay for the damages on their own.
Jack: That’s ridiculous. They’re students, not entrepreneurs. And they’re already scrambling to raise money for their showdown performance, not to mention ways to bolster their scholarship initiative since you voted to deny them funding at the board level.
Yancy: Then they must be experts at it. What’s one more money-making effort? At least it’s teaching them meaningful life skills -- budgeting, consequences, the value of a dollar. All very sensible lessons to learn… something you used to complain this institution lacked at the same time you were decrying the actions of students you now fruitlessly defend, if I recall correctly.
Well, you got him there, Yancy. Jack deflates, knowing there’s no logical path out of this. Yancy has him cornered, and the more he invites reminders about how he used to be or the ways he’s already fumbled, the graver his prospects grow. Yancy emphasizes this as he makes his exit.
Yancy: We at the board used to hold you in high esteem, Jackson. We saw great things in your future. Now, with all these foolish mistakes... let’s hope that all your promise hasn’t dissolved with the Hunter I used to know.
The threat is buried deep beneath the thinly-veiled condescension, hidden in a simple choice of plural. Mistakes. This battle is just one in a long, growing list Yancy is keeping against him.
Like he could ever forget it. Jack releases a heavy sigh after Yancy leaves his office, slouching in his chair.
Lucas, pre-lap: I shouldn’t be surprised. This might as well happen.
INT. AAA - TECHNICIAN’S BOOTH - DAY
Riley listens attentively as Lucas paces the booth, busying himself with gathering stuff for class for the sake of moving. Although his tone is sarcastic and indifferent, the weight of his words indicates he’s far from it.
Lucas: It’s not like I don’t already have enough to focus on, between the usual bullshit and the fundraising for showdown -- a showdown that we have to win if we want any chance of the scholarship thing actually taking off. That on top of the college applications I wasn’t planning on doing three months ago but now have to make really good, because suddenly I have dreams or whatever, even though I’m basically the most rejectable candidate on the east coast.
Riley: Okay, you know that’s not true.
Lucas: Fine. Most rejectable candidate in the greater Manhattan area.
Riley: You literally won an election.
Lucas: And the world is still wondering how and why.
Riley rolls her eyes, but she is sympathetic. She agrees that the stage accident was definitely an unexpected speed bump on everything they’ve got going on, but they’ll figure out how to handle it. There’s no way it’s going to be entirely on them, anyway, and they don’t even know how much damage was actually done yet.
She takes the opportunity to broach another topic, though, easing into a deeper conversation about college. She asks how his applications are going, which he claims are fine, in spite of the stress surrounding it.
Lucas: The only stuff I’ve got left are recommendations and personal essays. And I know I’m fucked on the recs considering you’re supposed to ask for those months in advance, and I know no one impressive, least of all who would sing my praises.
Riley: You could always ask my dad for a recommendation. I’m sure he’d have glowing things to say. Instant acceptance, I bet.
Lucas, flatly: You are hilarious. It’s no mystery how you managed to reel me in.
Riley: Well, that and my effortless charm and insanely dazzling visage.
Lucas gives her a look, but to be fair, he doesn’t argue her on it. She simply beams in response, sliding closer to him and halting his pacing by taking his hands.
Lucas: Honestly, I’m not really stuck on the recommendations. I think I’m going to ask Joe for one, because he can at least speak to my work ethic or whatever, and the other… I mean, it’s whatever. I’ll figure it out.
Riley: But…?
Lucas: But… I don’t know. With the rest of the app…
It’s clear there’s something else he’s really stuck on. Riley starts to offer him advice, or maybe just encouragement, but they’re interrupted by a knock on the booth door. Jeff appears moments later at the stairs.
Jeff: Class is starting. Judgment day is upon us.
Lucas and Riley share an apprehensive look, then follow the lighting technician out of the booth.
INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY
Harper, Shawn, and ERIC MATTHEWS are on the stage, assessing the damage while the A class gathers in the front and center section. The destroyed curtain has been removed, the pock marks in the stage even more visible in its absence.
ANGELA MOORE emerges from the wings, Janitor HARLEY KEINER in tow. She’s just barely starting to show her pregnancy, but the flowy tops she’s wearing now conceal it fairly well.
Harley: Old curtain’s out back. Trash company will be by this afternoon to take it away.
Angela: I have to say, I picked a great day to stop by and visit. Never a dull moment.
Harper: Girl, tell me about it.
Angela laughs knowingly. Been there, queen. Eric and Shawn turn their attention to the seniors, coming towards the front of the stage.
Eric: Who wants to explain what exactly happened?
A whole bunch of them immediately launch into retellings, talking over each other and definitely exaggerating elements of the story. The camera jumps around to each of them, catching snippets of their perspective.
Sarah: If Jeff had just changed the song --
Jeff: I was in the catwalk!
Nate: So Jeff’s up in the catwalk, and Dave is handing me shit -- I mean, uh, stuff -- on the scaffolding --
Darby: Isadora pushed Farkle --
Isadora: I lightly nudged Farkle --
Maya: Farkle is like a house of cards and all it takes is a little wind to knock him over, so he goes flying into the ladder --
Clarissa: Paint splatters --
Yindra: The ladder goes crashing down and nearly takes off Nigel’s head --
Jade: Oh my God, what?
Nigel, pointedly: No, it did not. [ softer, to Jade ] No, it didn’t.
Yindra: It did.
Haley: Not like the curtains almost took out Dave!
Yogi: This class is a circus act.
Eric holds up a hand to halt them all, waving them down. He can’t figure out what any of them are saying when they all talk at once, so he asks for a volunteer to give the rundown. A few hands up go up, but Eric wisely selects Zay.
He pulls himself to his feet, gingerly, for the effect. Then he clears his throat, speaking plainly and matter-of-fact.
Zay: Farkle got knocked into the ladder. Ladder falls, dents stage. Dave almost falls, Nate is no help --
Nate: Whoa, okay then. Hater.
Zay: Maya stumbles back and knocks silver paint can over. Performers tell Dave to grab curtain, Jeff objects --
Jeff: Justice. Thank you.
Zay: Dave does anyway, whole thing comes down. Also, no one in this class has taste and for that they evoked the wrath of God. But apparently God can’t kill Dave Williams.
Dylan: So metal.
Eric: Thank you, Zay.
Zay does a pithy salute, lowering back into his seat. Harper goes on to explain the total damages done by the incident as well as relay the total cost of the repairs -- without saying a definitive sum, suffice to say it’s not cheap.
The A class immediately breaks into chatter again, trying to divert blame off themselves. Shawn notices one student doesn’t seem particularly vexed -- in fact, he appears to be laughing to himself behind his hand.
Shawn: I’m sorry, Friar, do you find this funny?
Lucas: What? Oh, no, no. Very serious business. [ clearing his throat ] It’s just… it’s so nice to not be the one responsible for once.
The performers immediately boo him. He simply smiles. CHAI FRESCO is the one who manages to redirect the conversation.
Chai: What exactly is he doing here?
All eyes turn to Janitor Harley, who stands sheepishly next to the faculty. Harper says she’s glad Chai asked, claiming that if anyone deserves an apology for what they did today, it would be him. He puts a lot of effort and care into maintaining their sacred space, this auditorium, and the damage done today walks all over that.
Darby: It really was an accident.
Harley: No hard feelings, Miss Winters. Mighty nice as it was for Harper and Shawn to invite me here, rest assured I know there was no ill intent or disrespect. And I can assure you that with the time and proper resources, we will return this stage to tip-top shape in no time.
Maya: Lovely. Problem solved then, no?
Eric: Not quite. You do still have an assignment to attend to, especially as it’s your last major one before finals.
Harper: Since it is a weird time in the calendar and we don’t want to barrel another assignment next week right before showdown, Shawn and I agreed that this assignment would be a two-week stretch, and ideally lower stakes.
Shawn: Even better now, considering how you all just doubled pressure on your own.
Harper: And since you’ve also in turn given Harley more pressure and work to attend to in this time, we thought it only fair that he decide your focus for the project.
With that, they pass the floor over to Harley again to make his declaration. The performers don’t seem all that unnerved -- it’s Harley Keiner. What’s the worst he could do? Clean-up anthems? He clears his throat, clasping his biker-gloved hands together.
Harley: When I’m in a particularly rough spot, or working through a grueling task, I have always found that a little music can really liven the task.
Yogi: [ under his breath ] Clean up, clean up, everybody everywhere…
Harley: But nothing gets me more fired up, ready to take on a challenge or dance to the beat, than some classic tunes from my early youth. And I’ll tell you kids, no one knew music better than the radio hits of my day.
Slowly, the possibility begins to dawn on the A class what decree awaits them. Dylan is counting backwards on his fingers, trying to calculate just how old Harley actually is, but Asher next to him has beaten him to it.
Asher: Oh no.
Harley: Ladies and gentleboys, we’ll be taking it back to the ‘70s this week for your musical assignments.
Dun dun dun. The A class expresses their obvious disdain. Well, all except Zay, who cracks a smug grin.
Zay: Heh heh… karma.
There’s only more grim news. Considering the stage is going to be undergoing repairs thanks to all this, they’re all essentially ousted from the auditorium for the time being. No sense practicing or rehearsing in a space that’s going to be under construction. JADE BEAMON sits up straighter, shooting her hand in the air.
Jade: We can still access the lofts, right? Like, I can get in the costume loft --
Eric: Yes, all the technical spaces, as well as the dressing rooms, are still fair game. But stay away from the stage.
Harper: And you might not get much work done when they’re doing things like drilling and hammering, so be forewarned.
Haunting… Jade hides in her hands, already stressed. Nigel tentatively pats her on the shoulder.
So yeah, all in all, some unideal circumstances right before some of the most important events of their high school career.
INT. AAA - CAFETERIA - DAY
Maya is in surprisingly good spirits in spite of the financial issues confronting the class, preening and showing off Valerie’s faux fur coat. She wears it effortlessly, entertaining Darby, Sarah, and a crop of underclassmen at a table as she shares the tale of her and Valerie’s instant starlit bond. When Darby reaches out to feel the coat, Maya quickly smacks her hand away.
Maya: You’re welcome and encouraged to look, but no touchie. Golden diva rule.
A couple of tables over, Riley and Isadora watch her showboating with amusement. Riley claims it was really generous of Isadora to give her the coat, but she shrugs it off.
Isadora: Seriously, she’s way more at home in it than I would ever be. Can you ever see me pulling that off?
Riley: I think you can deliver any design you endeavor, you know that. [ off her raised eyebrow ] But yeah, a bit out of your element. Ironically, maybe.
Isadora: Even that’s a stretch. But it really wasn’t a hard decision. As much as it inflates her ego, my mom did see something in her. Maya can use it as a bragging tool all she wants, and people probably won’t believe her because of it, but they probably would be in cahoots if Val were still here. [ a beat ] A lot of things were going to happen if she were here.
Oof. Riley senses the gloom impending, searching for a quick change of subject. She asks if Isadora found anything else cool in the boxes from the estate.
Isadora pauses, mouth parted open. The answer is plenty -- including the mystery hidden way deep down underneath everything else. But for whatever reason, she hesitates explaining what she found.
Thankfully, she doesn’t have to respond anyway. Dylan swoops into their conversation, dropping down into the seat next to Riley and smacking a piece of paper onto the table. It’s a flyer for scheme one of their fundraising efforts: a community dance, now officially ‘70s themed. Isadora turns it around to get a better look at the very bright poster.
Dylan: Hot off the presses, ladies. Another instant classic from the one and only ambassador of public relational fun and enthusiasm, comma right hand advisor, comma prime minister of the techies and secretary of kissing, mainly to the secretary and official marketing and communications director for the Friar administration.
Isadora: Colorful…
Dylan: Shout-out to Harley for basically choosing our theme for us. We’d been sitting on it for ages because Asher and Maya kept fighting over it.
Isadora: Really? What theme ideas could possibly be worth scrapping over?
Dylan: Nothing. Neither of them actually had an idea. I think they just automatically hate anything that comes out of the others’ mouth.
Isadora: Wow, just like a real body politic.
Riley excitedly swipes the flyer, praising Dylan for his enthusiastic design. She snaps a picture of it on her phone and explains she’s texting it to Charlie.
Riley: I’m so pumped for this. Disco isn’t my favorite thing, but it is fun.
Dylan: Bouncy.
Isadora: Jaunty.
Dylan: Ooh, thesaurus bonus.
Dylan and Isadora exchange a quick high five. Riley beams at them, then continues.
Riley: Besides, with how extremely crazy everything is right now between college apps and showdown and now this fundraising debacle, I think it’ll give all of us some much-needed serotonin. A nice evening of… disco dopamine.
Dylan: Oh, you know you just wanna see Lucas in some sick bellbottoms.
Isadora: [ with a gag ] God… please, I’m sitting right here...
Riley shoves Dylan playfully, then reiterates the point. It will be fun. A nice, well-deserved stress reliever after working their asses off these next couple weeks.
INT. AAA - COSTUME LOFT - DAY
And boy howdy, that could not be truer for Jade. She is in full frenzy mode, skipping lunch and hunkered down in the costume loft to work. It seems like she’s been there for days, her space under the loft essentially a nest of costuming supplies, her belongings, and discarded snack containers. Her hair is a mess of tangles falling half out of a ponytail, three different tape measures are draped around her neck like graduation cords, and she’s wearing an old button up paint smock about 3 sizes too large that only exacerbates the crazed hermit energy.
Asher and Jeff listen as she multitasks on cataloguing some of her projects and marks another in progress on the table in front of her, the former visibly disconcerted by Jade’s general state of being while the latter seems mainly tickled. She speaks around a pin caught between her lips as she explains the reason for the chaos -- college applications are due right around the corner, as are apprenticeship applications, and she needs to have all her portfolio pieces in perfect condition before she hits that submit button.
Asher: Again, I know this is hypocritical coming from me, but girl you need to relax.
Jade snaps her head up to glare at him, even scarier with that pin in her mouth. She removes it to stick something down while Jeff asks her what she has left to do. Apparently, she’s just about done after days of relentless work, so she’s on her last application assignment now: pick a decade and create a sampling of as many unique -- but historically accurate -- costumes as possible in her designer’s mind.
Jade: Luckily, Janitor Harley did me the favor of having to pick a decade. If we’re doing ‘70s stuff this week anyway, then we’ll probably need costumes, so I can knock out two birds with one stone.
Jeff: I don’t know if I’d say need…
Asher: Yeah, with the auditorium boarded up for the time being I doubt we’ll be doing any major productions.
Jade: With Maya and Farkle, you can never be too careful.
Case in point, she is way too swamped to even think about the fundraising bullshit. She feels bad, but there’s no way she can split her time. Jeff and Asher assure her it’s no big deal.
Jeff: I think the performers will let you off the hook considering you’ve made… every single costume they’ve ever worn since freshman year.
Asher: Least they could do.
Jeff: Yeah. You deserve a week off!
Jeff’s turn to receive the Jade Beamon death glare. He clears his throat, scratching his ear.
Jeff: Well, you know… not for you, but...
Jade stabs the pin cushion pointedly.
Zay, pre-lap: I guess if my clear eternal damnation is good for anything, it gets me out of fundraising to fix another problem caused by Farkle and the Pips.
INT. AAA - BOYS DRESSING ROOM - DAY
Zay and Nigel are taking their lunch in the boys dressing room, both on their laptops while they eat. They’re working on finalizing college application stuff, Zay sitting on the counter with his injured foot propped up while Nigel is leaning against the mirrors on the floor.
Nigel: Guess it’s worth it then.
Zay: Ha ha, so funny. If I could afford to move, I would kill you for being such a damn comedian.
Nigel: I’m more of a tragedies man myself. [ a beat ] What are you planning to do, exactly? For the applications.
Zay: [ with a sigh ] Just putting the pieces together and hoping for the best. Thank fuck I recorded a couple runs of my routine when I was going through my obsessive drills at the start of the year.
Nigel: Glad Diva Zay was good for something.
Zay: They’re not as polished as I want, but they’ll do. Not like I have any other options. I’m just going to convince myself via self-hypnosis that they’ll see the rough edges as loose, natural charm. Between that and other samples I have from shows and recitals and West Side Story, all I can do is hope that’s enough. And if I get far enough to book an audition… I’ll be better by then.
He says it like a guarantee -- he can’t consider the alternative. Nigel isn’t sure how to respond, but he’s spared from figuring it out as they’re interrupted by YINDRA AMINO entering with a few showdown costumes to replace on the rack. All of them freeze as they glance at one another, Yindra and Zay holding one another’s gaze for a few moments longer. Then Yindra brushes past the awkwardness, shrugging and focusing on the costume rack.
Yindra: No need to go on defense, boys. I’m only here on business.
She keeps her eyes on her task. Nigel picks up the conversational slack, explaining that they were discussing their college applications. He asks how Yindra is doing in plotting her college plans, as last they talked she didn’t have much set in stone.
Yindra, matter-of-fact: I’ll be applying to a couple of schools as a safety net, but my main trajectory remains Los Angeles. The current plan right now is to skip over the bureaucracy of academics I don’t care about and go out there to start striking while the iron is hot. Talent speaks for itself.
Nigel, ever the pragmatist, still seems uneasy about such a plan, but it’s Zay who beats him to the punch. He breaks the silence between him and Yindra with a snort, tone teasing but friendly.
Zay: Straight to Los Angeles with no foundation? Now that’s just asking for trouble, and that’s coming from a diva like me. Haven’t you seen Fame?
Maybe that kind of friendly fire passes when they’re on good terms, but it falls flat now. Yindra stiffens her shoulders, giving Zay a diva glare of her own.
Yindra: [ without looking at him ] Nigel, will you please inform Zay that despite what his superiority complex might think, I’m not an idiot?
Nigel: Oh, um --
Zay: Come on, Yindra. I didn’t mean it like that.
Yindra: And Zay might find it interesting to know that my dad is considering moving to Los Angeles as well, if I plan to be out there, so I don’t see how I’m swinging with no foundation. And I’ll be using the money that we would’ve wasted on tuition for studio time to record a demo, so there is in fact a method behind the madness. Just because I’m not following the same musty, beaten path as everyone else doesn’t mean I’m not on any path at all. [ haughtily ] And even in spite of his broke attitude, I wish him all the best with his less-than-ideal circumstances. Least of all this week -- I’m sure not being able to show off while he discos is simply killing him. Thanks for letting him know, Nigel.
Nigel: … you’re welcome...
With that, Yindra spins on her heel and exits. Zay rolls his eyes, but it’s clear that the state of their friendship is really bothering him. Nigel awkwardly attempts to move past it, commenting that the two of them are about as dramatic as a Shakespearean comedy of errors before coming back to Yindra’s closing point.
Nigel: It’s a shame about this assignment though. You’re probably the only one in our class who could truly thrive this week.
Zay smiles half-heartedly, both of them focusing back on their computers. After a moment, his smile dims.
Zay: Didn’t use to be…
INT. HAVERFORD PREP - HALLWAY - DAY
CHARLIE GARDNER is at his locker, reading the texts from Riley. He pulls up the photo of the flyer for the dance fundraiser, boasting the disco theme for the end of the semester in all its groovy glory.
Yes, it is a tragedy that Charlie isn’t there to participate. Another disco gay, barred from the dance floor. It’s clear from his expression that he’s bummed about it.
He’s only pulled out of his fugue when EVAN SCOTT approaches. He pats him on the shoulder as he passes and asks if he’s ready for rehearsal. With senior showdown finals so close around the corner, Brandon is going to be drilling them more than ever. Now it’s game time for real.
Charlie nods, putting his phone away and shutting his locker to follow him. But that melancholy still lingers in his features.
INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY
But he’s not the only one grappling with an unideal situation. Lucas is the king of that, settled in his usual chair across from Jack, only this time he’s not alone. Maya has been called in with him, the two of them waiting uncertainly as Jack prepares to share why he brought them in.
And the reason for his apprehension is obvious once he says it. He finally breaks the news to them that the school board declined to fund their scholarship initiative -- and that’s not even the worst part.
Maya: Nothing?
Lucas: They’re not going to contribute anything?
Jack: I know, it’s disappointing. To be honest, I was anticipating at least a partial donation, but for whatever reason it was shot down wholesale. It was close, though.
Maya: Well. That’s just lovely. Could the state of the AAA union get any more despicable?
Jack: To put it simply? Yes.
Uh oh. Jack reluctantly informs them of the other bomb blowing up their administration -- that Yancy has insisted they pay for the damages to the auditorium since their class caused it. Both Lucas and Maya erupt in complaints, the latter literally leaping out of her chair and launching into a frantic pace behind it. She fans herself, taking deep breaths.
Maya: Okay. This is fine. No money, no problems. It’s fine. It’s fine!
Jack: … Miss Hart?
Maya stops behind her vacated seat, gripping the back of it. She takes in a deep breath, holds it, and releases it theatrically. Then she opens her eyes, plastering on her winning star smile.
Maya: It’s okay. Yes, everything is fine. The situation is unideal, in a word --
Lucas: More like bullshit.
Maya: Also a word. But money and I have been tussling my whole career. It won’t be getting the best of me now. We’ll come up with another way to fundraise alongside the dance social and then we will win showdown and absolutely everything will work out exactly how I want it to. It always does.
Jack: That so?
Maya: Thanks to the two powers that be, Principal Hunter -- star and will. And I’ve got both in spades. [ another breath ] Okay, damage control. Need new ideas. Gotta pool resources… brainstorm. I need to brainstorm. I’m thinking… I’m scheming...
Maya hums, entering zen diva mode as she gathers her things. She backs out of the office and assures Lucas she’ll update him as soon as she’s figured out their second moneymaker. Once she’s gone, Lucas and Jack wait a moment to let the Maya pheromones dissipate before continuing the conversation.
Jack: Say what you will about her, can’t pretend she doesn’t have moxie. An interesting choice to partner with you.
Lucas: Believe it or not -- and I’ll deny it if you tell anyone -- I think she’s the best second-in-command I could’ve picked. Somehow her brand of insanity is just right for the Minesweeper that is Triple A student government.
Hard to argue with that. Jack apologizes again for the fact that so much seems to be piling on him at once. He really did think they would get more help from the board… but they’ll keep marching on regardless. The initiative is worth fighting for, and besides, their fundraisers could really outsell their expectations. Especially with a theme like disco, their dance will probably be a smashing success. Lucas can’t help but smirk.
Lucas: Yeah, you’d know all about that, huh? Bet you were just a disco king back in your day.
Jack, flatly: How old do you think I am to have been discoing in the ‘70s?
Cheekiness notwithstanding, the prospects seem good. Not all hope is lost. Jack switches gears, checking in with how Lucas is doing on his applications with deadlines fast approaching. Lucas gives the same general response he gave Riley, tiptoeing around the challenge of the essay component and focusing on the fact that he might get it done at all. Now that it’s so close, it feels more and more daunting… not to mention all the other pressure that seems to be landing on top of him right at the same time.
Jack hears that, and dismisses Lucas so he has time to go deal with all those pressures. Before he walks out, Lucas pauses and turns back for one more thing. He struggles to articulate it since asking for any sort of help feels like specialized torture, but he manages to ask if Jack would be willing to write him a letter of recommendation for the applications. The request surprises Jack, which Lucas reads as discomfort.
Lucas: I know it’s like, pretty last minute and stuff. And there probably isn’t a lot to say about me, so it’ll take some work to throw something compelling together. I should’ve asked sooner, or like, bothered someone else. So I totally get it if you don’t have time or have too much to do or just, you know, don’t want to --
Jack is far from opposed, though. In fact, he’s touched by the request, expression softening to a smile.
Jack: Lucas. [ waiting for him to quiet ] I’d be happy to write one for you. It’s no problem at all.
Lucas: … okay. Cool. Um, thanks.
Jack: You’re quite welcome.
Lucas: I’ll send over the links and stuff later. Today. Later today. So it’s not any later.
Jack: Whatever works for you.
Lucas: Okay… okay. Cool.
Any more bashful vulnerability and Lucas just might implode. He mutters one more quick thanks and scampers away, Jack holding back his amusement long enough to spare Lucas further embarrassment. He chuckles to himself as he shifts back to his work, shaking his head.
INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT - ISADORA’S BEDROOM - DAY
Surrounded by various textbooks and scripts and with her laptop propped in front of her, Isadora sits on her bed. A half-finished essay about how the horror genre has developed over the years is open on her screen, but has been entirely abandoned in favor of the mysterious letter Valerie had in her belongings. Isadora holds several handwritten pages, eyebrows furrowed as she reads her mother’s words. She moves the first page to the side, and we catch a glimpse of Val’s loopy handwriting:
Dearest Zachary,
How lovely it is to hear from an old friend! I’m so glad that you’re doing well. Send my well wishes to that darling wife of yours.
To answer your question, I wasn’t entirely sure of who Isadora’s father was when I discovered I was pregnant -- as you well know, I often got rather drunk back then, so couldn’t be entirely sure of all my actions. However, upon reflection, I have come to the same conclusion as you.
Well, damn. Heavy stuff, even if somewhat rose-tinted through Valerie’s flowery language. Isadora bites her lip as she continues reading, clearly conflicted about this sudden revelation.
Eric, off-screen: Dinner’s ready!
Isadora doesn’t seem to hear Eric’s yell, so after a moment, Eric comes to her room to tell her directly. She still doesn’t look up from the letter, peaking Eric’s interest.
Eric: What are you reading?
Isadora: Hm? Oh, nothing.
She folds up the papers and shoves them under one of her notebooks nearby, giving Eric a small forced smile. He narrows his eyes at her, jokingly suspicious, which Isadora laughs off. She hops off her bed and asks what’s for dinner, successfully distracting him.
INT. THERAPIST’S OFFICE - DAY
Farkle is meeting with DR. MICHELLE HAN, assembled in their usual positions with her in her arm chair and him sprawled across the couch. He’s relaying the drama of the week and his unfortunate instrumental role in all the destruction, though at least this time it was far from intentional. But it’s clear he feels guilty about it, and he admits that his uncanny knack for making things worse is definitely not helping him combat those low moods that seem to creep up on him out of nowhere.
Dr. Han perks up at this, taking the opportunity to gear the conversation. She gently asks if they could discuss that further for a bit, his experience with the high and low moods. Everybody has off days, of course, but based on their previous discussions, she’s interested to hear more about how Farkle describes these different emotional states and the other factors that come with it.
It’s not hard to get Farkle to talk. He obliges without hesitation, launching into details about how it feels when he’s feeling especially frenzied -- sort of the opposite of what he’s dancing around now, but such a vivid experience when he’s in it that he remembers the sensation and always can vibe when it’s coming on. Dr. Han listens carefully, flipping to a clean page in her notepad to jot down his thoughts.
Farkle doesn’t think anything of it, but it seems like Dr. Han might be onto something more than just the typical one-on-one chat. A pronounced clapping counts us in...
INT. HAVERFORD PREP - AUDITORIUM - DAY
BRANDON RIVAS is clapping along to the downbeat while the Havies run through their showdown routine, the instrumental from How to Succeed playing on the speakers. He’s keeping a watchful eye on his classmates while they run through the choreography, shouting out when someone is off a beat or not sharp enough on the steps.
Charlie is definitely one of those people. He’s a couple of steps behind today, mind elsewhere, and when he accidentally bumps into BILLY ROSS he receives a glare in response. What’s the matter with you, man?
Brandon: Come on, Gardner! This is your choreography!
Fair point, Brandon. Charlie tries to get back on track, but lucky for him he’s far from the only one struggling this week. DWEEZIL HOWARD is out of step too, and his mistakes reverberate way more as he accidentally sends half the boys into a wave of near stumbles. Brandon yells for everyone to stop, shaking his head as Evan jogs to pause the music.
Brandon: This is not the time to get soft, guys. Showdown is right around the corner.
Havie: So what? It’s not like Adams is any competition. Six years of success speak for themselves.
Brandon: And complacency is the first step in breaking that streak. You want to be credited when that takes us down? [ off his head shake ] So, what’s going on? Is there some contagious case of vertigo going around that makes you all unable to balance on your own two feet?
Charlie chews his lip, shying away from the disappointment. He’s not the only recipient, but he knows he doesn’t have a good excuse -- and certainly not one Brandon would want to hear. But Dweezil answers first anyway, much more visibly frazzled than him.
Dweezil: I’m sorry, Brandon. I’m just really stressing about the MIT app.
Others murmur agreement, mentioning their own upcoming dream school deadlines and the pressure of finishing their applications. Charlie nods along as if that’s his problem too.
Brandon considers this for a long moment, scanning over his peers. He may have high expectations, but he’s not without compassion for his boys. He relents and expresses sympathy for everybody’s stress, claiming they can call it quits early today and cut down on afternoon rehearsals for the next few days while everyone is wrapping up applications.
The boys breathe a collective sigh of relief, thanking Brandon and starting to disperse. Brandon shouts after them to send those apps in fast and get ready to come back to work harder than ever -- they’re not going to slip and fall to AAA on his watch. Billy exchanges a handshake with him and suggests he take some time off to focus on himself, too, but Brandon shrugs this off.
Brandon: No, it’s fine. Think I’ll be able to make use of the time… might have to make some adjustments to the numbers anyway. [ quirking an eyebrow ] Make sure we’re the best we can possibly be.
For what it’s worth, the statement seems less than innocuous. It kind of feels like Brandon knows something we don’t, and based on Billy’s smug reaction, he’s in on it too. They exchange another fist bump before Billy heads out.
Charlie is one of the last to leave, pausing in packing up to check his phone. He’s got a surprising amount of texts on his lock screen, all from Daisy. He opens the thread, finding just under a dozen texts of her sharing live updates with him of an argument that apparently broke out between Rosie and Eleanor. Although her observations are characteristically dry and analytical -- a technical play-by-play rather than biased record -- the fact that she’s telling Charlie about it at all is a sign that she’s concerned about it. The final message she sent kind of sums up the looming stakes without saying so:
“Didn’t this happen with Bridgette?”
Either way, not good news. Charlie frowns. Before he figures out how to respond, Brandon startles him.
Brandon: All good, Charles?
Charlie: Uh, yeah. Yeah, just, you know. Lots on my mind. It was cool of you to give everyone a break right now.
Brandon: Well. [ with a shrug ] Nothing too serious going on with you, I hope. We need your talent to up our dance credentials -- I assume you realize by now how valuable you are to the team.
Charlie: Oh, well…
Brandon: Can’t afford to let anything distract us right now if we’re to come out victorious against Adams. [ a beat ] Least of all Adams itself… you know, it’s okay if you’re feeling conflicted…
Conflicted might be a bit strong -- although Charlie lives basically every day of his life conflicted -- but the notion that Brandon is even close to sensing what’s actually going on in his head sets him on edge. He clears his throat, frantically attempting to throw him off the trail.
Charlie: Oh, no. No. It’s um -- just family stuff. Stuff with my sisters.
Brandon: Ah… sibling nonsense. I get that. I’ve got two older brothers, and even though they’re not at home anymore it’s like I’m still carrying their baggage around.
Charlie: Big shoes to fill?
Brandon: Well, one was valedictorian and is starting his first year at Harvard Law, and the other is starting his third year in prison. So kind of high bars in either direction.
Well. No idea how to respond to that little fun fact. Brandon spares Charlie the awkwardness and lets him go, wishing him a good afternoon.
But pleasant as he is, it’s evident he doesn’t fully buy Charlie’s excuse.
INT. CHUBBIES - DAY
Isadora is at the counter at Chubbies, discussing all of the impending stressors with Lucas during his shift. They’re especially mindful of how Lucas’s scholarship plan is now basically hinging solely on a victory at showdown, which is feeling more and more like a long shot. With Zay no longer able to bolster their performance, they’re short star power.
Isadora: And since Haverford has Charlie, who is basically his counterweight, suddenly the scales are tipped heavily in their favor. We’ll be lucky if we can create some Frankenstein performance around the gaping hole Zay leaves behind.
Lucas: Have you thought about stepping up in his place? Not that you’re anywhere near the level of dancer that he is, but you do purportedly have star power.
Isadora: Gee, thanks. I’m honestly shocked you’re suggesting this.
Lucas: Believe me, it hurts. But I’ve got stakes riding on this too, and I know you’re talented. Maybe you could help prop things back up so we’ve got at least a shot of winning.
Isadora: I don’t know… I mean, I know I performed the other week, but it was all about that assignment, you know? It was specifically because it was out of my comfort zone. [ a beat ] Though, why, I don’t even really know anymore…
She feels more confused about performing these days than averse, with all the grieving she’s done over Valerie, but confusion still feels dangerous. Probably safer to just stay on the sidelines… probably...
Speaking of dangerous tasks, Isadora shifts to college applications. She submitted her NYU film school application ages ago, and she’s got a couple of other things in the pipeline, but she’s much more interested in how Lucas is dealing with his. When he feeds her the same lines he’s been telling everyone else, she raises her eyebrows. Not buying it.
Leave it to Isadora to see right through him. Lucas sighs, relenting and explaining that the essays are killing him. It’s like, everything else he can scrape together, fake, pull off like he’s scraped through everything else in his life. But the personal statements…
Lucas: I hate writing about myself. Why should all of my potential rest on how well I can sell myself in some 500-word anecdote? As if that paints the complete picture. Not that I want that either -- the full picture isn’t pretty. How am I supposed to convince some strangers to take a chance on me when I don’t even believe it? If I had the choice whether or not to know myself, I wouldn’t.
Isadora: Wonder what that says about those of us who do choose to know you.
Lucas: And what am I going to say? Howdy, I’m a son of a bitch, please let me into your school and give me your money to do so? Great fucking deal.
Isadora rolls her eyes. She points out that although he doesn’t want to hear it, when it comes to finances he knows she can help. Once the money from her inheritance fully comes through, she’ll have plenty that she doesn’t know what to do with. If she’s going to use it to help others -- especially those she cares about -- then helping him pursue his dreams is a non-issue. But, predictably, Lucas recoils at the suggestion.
Isadora: I swear, you are impossible. And you have such a weird hang-up about money.
Lucas: Yeah, views that you shared until about a month ago.
Isadora: Well, I’ve grown. I can see the nuances in money now and how it goes around. And I’m just saying that if you’ve got all these complexes around who has it and who can give it to you when you’re stuck on the bottom rung, then --
No doubt it’s a complicated series of complexes. As Isadora is settling into her rant, MISSY BRADFORD enters the diner. Lucas glances over Isadora’s shoulder and spots her, immediately clamming up.
Isadora: ...it’s what Reagan sold as trickle-down economics, but the thing is if you don’t give any money to the lowest income households from the get-go, then they never --
Lucas: Yeah, yeah, okay. I’ve got to go to the back.
Lucas retreats from the counter without waiting for permission, causing Isadora to scoff. She wasn’t finished! But he’s already gone, leaving her high and dry. But he also successfully avoided Missy, who steps up the counter for a pick-up order and is helped by another employee instead. She doesn’t acknowledge Isadora, who eyes her judgmentally from her stool.
As Missy collects her order and leaves -- glancing over her shoulder one last time for her usual Chubbies worker -- Dylan and Asher enter with Farkle. They join Isadora at the counter, asking where Lucas is. She shrugs, claiming he disappeared to deal with something.
Farkle: You ready to go? Is Maya here yet?
Isadora: Not yet. Figure she’ll be a bit late after the “atomic bomb” Jack dropped on her and Lucas -- her words, not mine.
Asher: What are you all up to?
Isadora: Since Farkle and I were technically responsible for the destruction in the auditorium --
Farkle: One could make the argument that I should have died last year.
Dylan: That would be a sick personal essay.
Isadora: We thought it was only fair that we put in the time to help Maya craft whatever last-minute fundraising effort we’re going to pull together to cover it.
As for Dylan and Asher, they were just stopping by to catch up with Lucas before going to practice their assignment for the week. Isadora commends Asher for performing again, considering it was so out of his comfort zone.
Farkle: Yeah, that’s not -- you’re not thinking of making that a habit, are you? Not asking for any reason, just curious. Not because you’re also a tenor. I’m just wondering.
Isadora: Smooth.
Asher: No, not planning to change career paths. Rest easy, Farkle. Just getting this out of the way sooner rather than later. [ nodding to Dylan ] It’s not as bad since we’re doing it together. And besides, can’t ignore the pull of the funk.
Dylan, wisely: Disco is for the gays.
Asher: Gotta pay our dues and get down with the boogie.
Far out, fellas! Isadora and Farkle wish them luck and head out together. Isadora asks Farkle how his therapy appointment went, and while his answer is unbothered, he definitely seems to be a little spacy this week. Isadora notices and considers asking him about it, but opts not to press further. They’ve got enough going on right now.
INT. GARDNER HOME - ROSIE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT
ROSIE GARDNER is huddled up in her bedroom, begrudgingly working on homework. She’s got Niall Horan playing, and the volume is turned up loud. It takes multiple knocks on her door before Rosie hears, shouting over the noise.
Rosie: Go away! I’m busy.
Charlie, from the hall: It’s me. Can we talk for a minute?
Rosie sighs, but gets up. She opens the door and spins back around to drop back into her seat at her desk, not bothering to greet him. But she let him in, which is more than anyone else has managed this evening.
Charlie blinks as the pop music assaults his ears. He gently closes the door behind him, raising his voice over Niall.
Charlie: Think you could turn Niall down for a second?
Rosie: Huh?
Charlie: Turn your boyfriend down so we can actually hear each other!
Rosie: Ugh. You’re so not funny.
And yet, she relents and lowers the volume. Charlie makes a show of shaking off the ringing in his ears, knocking his ear slightly.
Charlie: Just checking for significant damage. Need industrial strength noise-cancelling headphones to come in here. Like they wear when they guide airplanes onto the runway.
Rosie: You are so annoying. Did you want something, or?
Charlie explains that Daisy texted him that afternoon about a fight she apparently had with mom. She seemed pretty concerned, so he just wanted to check in. Is everything okay? Rosie rolls her eyes.
Rosie: It’s so whatever. Daisy is exaggerating.
Charlie: I don’t think Daisy is capable of exaggeration. We took all the drama genes, there wasn’t any left for her.
Rosie: Well, she is. Yeah, mom and I argued, but it’s like… it’s dumb, whatever. I don’t even care.
Charlie: You’re listening to your sad 1D playlist.
Rosie: I said I don’t care, Charlie. And I can listen to whatever I want whenever I want.
Charlie: Okay, well, can you at least tell me what it was about? Or what’s --
Rosie: Ugh. It was nothing! Can you mind your own business and leave me alone? I’m trying to work.
Yikes. Rosie has always had a little bit of early teen venom in her, but this feels like more than that. Charlie doesn’t want to just let it drop, but it’s more than obvious she will not be having any productive conversations right now.
Charlie: Okay. I’m only -- if you want to talk about anything, you know you can tell me. I’m here to listen. [ a beat ] Okay?
Rosie: [ not bothering to look at him ] Okay. Whatever. Thanks.
She turns Niall back up, effectively ending the talk. Charlie hangs around for a moment longer, words he wants to say on the tip of his tongue, but for now there’s nothing to be done. He reluctantly retreats, the ghost of the past looming over him.
INT. MINKUS HOME - FARKLE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT
Farkle, Maya and Isadora are spread out around Farkle’s bedroom as they brainstorm ideas for fundraising. Maya paces around, occasionally picking up little trinkets and inspecting them before putting them back down in the wrong place. Isadora, meanwhile, is laying down on Farkle’s bed on her back, her head hanging upside down off the side. Farkle has gathered a blanket around him as he sits at the other end of the bed.
Maya: You need to add some meat to that stick of a body, Farkle. You can’t keep living like an orphan who’s freezing to death on the streets of Victorian London.
Farkle: It’s not my fault I have a fast metabolism. You’re just jealous.
Maya: Yes, I’m very jealous of the boy who looks like he’s dying of scurvy.
Isadora snorts in amusement, for which Farkle shoots a glare at her.
Maya: Go get us some snacks, orphan boy. We’ll fatten you up Hansel and Gretel style.
Farkle: This is offensive to orphans everywhere, I hope you know.
Isadora: As the only orphan here, I’m not offended. Maya, you may continue your bullying.
Maya grins, but Isadora frowns as she realizes what she said. Technically, she isn’t an orphan, if her father is out there alive... despite rolling his eyes, Farkle does get up to get snacks, blanket still tightly wrapped around him.
Once she and Maya are alone, Isadora sits up straight and turns towards her, lips pursed in thought as she considers what she wants to say.
Isadora: Do you know who your dad is?
Maya stops wandering around and looks at Isadora in surprise.
Maya: Where’d that come from?
Isadora: I don’t know. Just wondering about the orphan thing, I guess.
Maya: Izzy, that was just a joke. And directed towards Farkle. All jeers are reserved for our darling beanpole -- I’m not stupid enough to drag you.
Isadora: Appreciated. [ a beat ] I know nothing about my dad.
Maya: [ with a shrug ] I know my dad’s name and some basic facts about him, like his job, but nothing else.
Isadora: Have you ever considered getting in touch with him? What if he’s out there somewhere? Mine or yours.
Maya: When I was younger I thought about it… but he abandoned me, so what’s the point? If he wanted me in his life, I would be. He knows who I am and how to contact me, but he hasn’t. Why waste my precious time and energy dealing with him when I already have my mom? She’s all I need.
Isadora nods, considering this. Her father situation is quite different to Maya’s, so not all that helpful. Regardless, it’s something to think about. Maya is pensive, too, mind now occupied by thoughts of Katy. Isadora notices her shift in mood.
Isadora: You miss her?
Maya: [ with a theatrical sigh ] Always. [ then, a bittersweet smile ] It’s okay, every artist has to have their tragic backstory. It’s good. Gives me personal agony to work through.
Isadora: … well, actually --
Before she can say anything further, Farkle returns with an armful of snacks. He tosses them at Maya and Isadora.
Farkle: Here you go, little piggies. Oink oink.
Maya: You can’t say that to us, we’re women.
Isadora: We could have you cancelled for that.
Maya: Besides, as the only poor one present, I reserve all rights to the word pig. [ eyeing them ] Capitalist swine…
Farkle: Yeah, speaking of lack of funding...
The conversation moves on, back to fundraising, but Maya gets out her phone to send Katy a quick message letting her know that she misses her.
INT. AAA - ATRIUM - DAY
Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Boogie Shoes” as performed by Glee Cast || Performed by Asher Garcia & Dylan Orlando
Kicking off the first official performance for the ‘70s theme, Asher launches us into number with an impressive opening note. He starts at the top of the stairs in the atrium, starting down the steps while singing towards Dylan, who’s waiting down below. When he sings “boy, to be with you is my favorite thing,” Dylan playfully points to himself and beams. They’re both dressed in modern-day approximations of disco garb -- colorful dress shirts, glossy vests with matching flare pants, funky patterned ascots.
And they’re setting the standard for what performances will be like without the usual stage of the auditorium. Their chosen location is the atrium, mostly empty as it’s during class hours, the rest of the A class scattered around the space to watch and provide back-up vocals (as well as their usual reactions and applause). Zay is particularly torn, clearly flipping between jealousy that he can’t be dancing and basically vibrating with the infectious groove.
In the case of Dylan and Asher, there is plenty to cheer for. They’re simply undeniably a joy to watch, especially with each other, and Dylan was right when he said disco is for the gays. They’ve got the night fever, full of energy and charm as they dance together. On the “woo!” during the bridge, Dylan lifts Asher in a funky little hop moment. And Asher’s vocal runs throughout are nothing to scoff at either.
It’s a smashing way to start the assignments off right!
INT. AAA - PRACTICE ROOM - DAY
As strong a showing as that little number was, the upbeat mood doesn’t last long. Stress dominates in the meeting between Maya, Yindra, Farkle, Jeff, and Isadora, who are deliberating on the current status of their showdown setlist. They’re attempting to analyze it and rework with the knowledge that Zay will not be able to participate, but it’s easier said than done.
Lack of focus doesn’t help matters. Farkle is noticeably zoned out, lost in his own head, and Maya has to snap at him to get him back at attention. This is not amateur hour! No time for spacing out, Farkle! He apologizes, but Isadora notices he still seems far away somehow.
The fervent discussion is immediately halted when Zay enters the studio, realizing they’ve all convened to work without him. He asks what gives.
Maya: It’s not personal, Zayby. But considering your current situation...
Zay: I’m still choreographer. Even if I’m not performing, I should be included in meetings. Especially if you’re talking about altering the routine.
Jeff: We’re not.
Farkle: At least, not right now.
Isadora, diplomatically: We just know that not being able to participate is difficult for you, so Riley suggested… we figured it would be better not to like… force you to deal with it. Or rub it in your face.
Maya: Exactly. See? We’re doing this for you.
How sweet. But Zay isn’t moved. He grows defensive, nodding along but dripping with sarcasm.
Zay: Great. Thanks. Well I guess if you need to drag me out of the recycling bin to comment on choreography, you all know how to reach me.
He storms out -- a bit unevenly on his boot -- leaving them awkwardly in his absence. Farkle clears his throat. The only who doesn’t seem uncomfortable is Maya, who shifts gears back to the matter at hand effortlessly. It’s just business, after all.
Maya: So star power --
INT. THRIFT SHOP - DAY
Riley is searching the racks for an outfit for the ‘70s dance, Charlie in tow. Every now and then, she’ll find a vintage shirt that’s his size and hold it up against his chest just on instinct, always on the lookout for her friends even if they’re not looking themselves.
Riley: It’s amazing how every color looks good on you. You should really consider branching out beyond neutrals and inoffensive shades of blue.
Tell us something we don’t know, Riles. Charlie brushes off her compliments, keeping his focus on the topic at hand while they shop. He’s seeking advice on how to handle arguing family members, since unfortunately, Riley has plenty of relevant experience with that. He’s had it in his family before with Bridgette, but he can’t remember much of it and honestly, one of the keys to their family dynamic is how most unpleasant things occur behind closed doors. Most of the time, they don’t even know when something is wrong with each other.
Riley: Do you have any more details? I feel like context would help.
Charlie: Nope. I only heard about it through Daisy, and when I tried to talk to Rosie, she wouldn’t budge.
Riley contemplates and admits she’s hesitant to try and give advice when the context is so vague and wide open, but ultimately the most important thing she thinks he could do is to continue being there for Rosie. He told her he was, and that’s the best he can do under the circumstances. If he actually witnesses another argument for himself, then that’s a different story.
Riley: But no matter what happens, try not to let yourself get caught in the middle of it. I mean, you should help where you can, but there’s nothing worse than trying to fix problems that aren’t yours and you can’t control. It’s between them, not you, and trying to mend it from the outside is only going to result in failure and frustration. You have to look out for your own well-being first. I wish someone had told me that before my parents fell apart.
Very important advice. Charlie thanks her and expresses sympathy for her messy parental situation again, but she shrugs it off and moves past it. Instead she finds another cute ‘70s material button down in classic sky blue, enthusiastically lifting it up to measure against Charlie.
Riley: Pair a blazer with this, and you’d be all set to boogie. Makes your eyes pop too… ugh, you’re so pretty it’s disgusting.
Charlie: I thought we were shopping for you, not me. I’m not the one who gets to disco.
Riley: Well, that’s not necessarily true. The fundraiser is open to everyone -- that’s the only way we’re going to make any profit, after all. And you know you’d be more than welcome.
Charlie: Yeah, maybe… with showdown so close and everything…
Riley: Charlie. [ holding his gaze ] You’re family. Forget showdown, forget east and west side. As long as I’m around, you fit. And I know for sure I’m not the only one who feels that way. Got it? Can you dig it?
Charlie, grateful: I can dig it.
Riley: Righteous. I’m serious though, what you should dig is this shirt.
As Riley shifts back to searching for her own look, they jump to chatting about college applications. Charlie asks how hers are going after she explains Lucas’s poorly concealed stress about them, and she claims they’re going fine.
Riley: I’m a pretty textbook candidate, all things considered, and my poor tragic backstory of being bullied out of school and divorced parents sure makes for great personal essay fodder.
Charlie: Kind of weird how they teach us to exploit our own trauma…
Riley: I’m definitely applying to Barnard, and I’ve decided I’m going to throw my hat in the ring for Tisch even though it’s basically the longest shot there is. Add in a handful of second choice picks and you get the idea. But honestly, I’m not all that pressed about it right now. I feel like it’s going to be way harder when acceptances and rejections come through and it’s all… real. I can throw any application out there I want and I don’t have to do anything about it. When I actually know what my options are… then it’ll be real. You know? When I actually have to decide what path I want to take. Because right now, I feel like I have no idea what I want that to be.
Charlie nods, agreeing wholeheartedly. He definitely knows the feeling of not having any idea what he wants the future to be… as the low hum of an unfamiliar instrument floats in…
INT. AAA - BLACK BOX THEATER - DAY
Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Amazing Grace” as performed by The Military Band of the Royal Scots Dragoon Guards || Performed by Dave Williams
In what is probably the weirdest performance AMBITION has seen to date, Dave stands alone in front of the classroom and goes to town on the bagpipes. Yes, apparently, Dave Williams can play the bagpipes (though whether he plays them well is a whole other story). And he gives it his all on this immensely famous tune, bewildering his peers and rendering them speechless.
That being said, while they can’t find any words, that doesn’t stop the A class from reacting. The expressions range from confused to stunned to struggling to keep it together. Maya stares in disbelief and then scrunches her face, looking around to see if anyone else is seeing this. Zay and Nigel are on the verge of tears from stifling their laughter; Yogi is misty-eyed from sheer emotion at his best friend’s… powerful performance. Nate mouths trying to sing along to the screechy tones with an absolutely delighted grin, while Dylan emulates the patriotic vibe by standing and giving a salute. Asher shakes his head from next to him, also hiding laughter behind his hand.
When Dave finally concludes, releasing a big exhale, the room is filled with silence for a long moment. Yogi starts the applause that the others uncertainly mimic, until Isadora finally, bluntly breaks the silence.
Isadora: Okay, I’m just going to say it -- what the hell, Dave?
Dave: What? Is something wrong?
Sarah: Where the hell did this come from? Are you seriously damaged?
Yindra: Forget that. I’m dying to know when you learned to play the bagpipes. And why have you deprived us of it for so long?
Farkle: The assignment is ‘70s music. How did you end up on “Amazing Grace?”
Dave, baffled: I don’t get what the big deal is. I found the song on a ‘70s playlist on Spotify, I can show you. And I looked it up -- the fig Newton dude wrote the song in 1779.
Clarissa: Fig newton --
Zay: [ at his wits end trying not to laugh ] I can’t. I can’t --
Dave: 1779! So it’s from the ‘70s.
All, in unison: 1970s, Dave!
Dave: … WHAT?!
The class descends into hysterics. Harper attempts to thank Dave for an… interesting performance, if nothing else.
Harley: I found it quite spirited. Very much enjoyed.
Dave huffs, marching back to his desk. He drops his bagpipes on the desktop --
EXT. AAA - REAR PARKING LOT - DAY
Which becomes a soapy sponge landing with a splat on the hood of a car, Haley working to scrub it clean. A few more quick shots help establish the setting -- Jeff and Darby untangling hoses; Riley and Chai filling up buckets of water; Asher ringing out a washcloth as far away from his body as he can stretch it, mildly disgusted.
Yes, Maya’s new fundraising scheme is in full swing -- a car wash! Cars are lining up for the A class to give a shining clean-up. Considering they threw the concept together in just a couple of days, it’s really not a shabby showing. Maya is praising her own quick thinking by the pay table, where they’re also selling baked goods. Zay is manning the cash box, since he can’t do much else.
Maya: I swear, sometimes my own mind amazes me. Never lets me down. And you can’t go wrong with a good old-fashioned classic.
Zay: Yeah, except car washes are usually in the summer. Not the dregs of autumn when we’re all going to get hypothermia.
Maya: It’s actually unseasonably warm today. And that’s the brilliance of it. Who else is doing a car wash in this weather economy? No competition, big bucks.
At least the weather is nice. With them out in their cotton shorts and tees to do all this work, Zay’s right to have reservations. But the sun is out, and the income has been steady thus far. Nate finishes off drying a car with Dylan, who has his hair pushed back with a tie-dye bandana.
Nate: You know, we should all just wet our shirts. That will get the girls and gays to come running.
Maya: [ into her bullhorn ] Don’t accelerate the hypothermia, Martinez. Keep it classy.
Nate: You’re turning down a million-dollar idea!
Maya waves him off, gesturing that he get back to work. And they all put it together real fast when another customer pulls up at the end of the line, EVELYN RAND emerging from her nice SUV and coming over to greet them. She commends them for their efficient set up.
Maya: That’s all thanks to me, Maya Penelope Hart. Vice President and overall go-getter. I’m the one that makes things happen.
Evelyn: And modest as they come, too.
Evelyn happily accepts Maya’s handshake, but she tosses a wink to Zay and Clarissa working the bake sale table. She claims she’s eager to help the cause, and she’s sure they’ll do an excellent job with her car. While she waits, she’s hoping to have a brief chat with Jack, so can she just leave her keys with them? She trusts them to move her vehicle twenty feet when it’s her turn.
Maya: Of course. We here in the A class pride ourselves on our care and attention. Your vehicle is safe with us.
Zay snorts, turning it into a cough. Evelyn hands over her keys pleasantly, waving to the rest of the kids working as she heads into the building. Maya spins the key ring on her finger for a moment, contemplating.
Maya: Can’t afford to screw this up. Gonna need someone extremely anal and annoyingly cautious to handle this one. [ into the bullhorn ] Garcia! Get your persnickety nonexistent ass over here!
Nigel arrives at that moment with a takeout bag in his hands. He tries to weave through the cars and avoid drill sergeant Maya as he heads towards the back entrance to the school, but unfortunately he’s not slick enough.
Maya: Chey! What do you think you’re doing? Cars are over here.
Nigel: Oh. Yes. Well, Jade’s holed up in the costume loft with all the projects she’s finishing…
Maya, unmoved: Uh huh.
Nigel: And I know she isn’t great about eating when she’s under this much stress, so I brought her some food to eat while she works. And I thought I’d go… give it to her… [ quickly ] okay, check you later.
He turns and speeds towards the entrance, making his swift escape. Riley saunters over to join them at the cash table, tilting her head fondly.
Riley: That’s so sweet.
Maya: Meh. A convenient excuse.
Zay: And how are you one to talk, Maya? You realize standing around shouting orders at everyone isn’t work.
Riley: Come on, Madam Vice President. Time to put in a little elbow grease.
Zay raises his eyebrows, accenting Riley’s challenge. Pride in jeopardy, Maya sniffs and relinquishes her bullhorn, placing it on the table. She spins and flips her ponytail over her shoulder, marching over to contribute to the cause. Riley and Zay exchange amused looks, while the boombox blasting the iconic opening hand claps takes over the soundscape...
Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Car Wash” as performed by Rose Royce || Performed by Maya Hart (feat. AAA Seniors)
You all knew it was coming. The moment we started scrubbing those fenders, you should’ve seen it coming. Maya leads the A class in a funky rendition of the disco classic, swaying her hips and swinging her ponytail as they put in the hard work (though, somehow, Maya still manages to avoid most of the heavy lifting). She handles most of the verses, though Yindra also takes some of the spotlight with vocal runs. Nate perfects his slutdrop as he cleans tires.
In the midst of the grooving, the business is bumping. Interspersed amongst the performing we see Clarissa and Dylan charming patrons at the bake sale table, money changing hands, and Zay dutifully keeping track of everything as he mans the pay station.
On the last chorus, Maya has made her way onto a roof of one of the cars, Yindra, Haley, and Darby emulating her on the other cars they’re working on. The A class does some rad synced choreography to take the number home, Maya sliding down the front windshield and kicking up her leg before Farkle makes the finishing swipe of a washcloth across the hood.
Car wash! Zay deposits another payment into the cashbox, snapping it closed with a flourish.
Evelyn’s car is now closer to the front of the pack, and more business is still coming. Charlie makes his way over from the parking lot, waving to Riley as he makes his way over to the tables. Clarissa and Dylan greet him cheerfully, Riley and Maya jogging over from the line of cars. Zay doesn’t say anything, but offers a hesitant smile, which is better than nothing. Charlie mirrors it.
Clarissa comes out from behind the table to give him a hug, but warns him not to let Haley see him -- she’s soaked and will probably get him all damp. Charlie claims he didn’t plan to stay long, he just wanted to come by and see how things were going, as well drop off some baked goods they could sell that he and his sisters made. Dylan takes them happily. Maya asks where his car is and what kind of wash he wants, which Charlie awkwardly laughs off.
Charlie: I wouldn’t make you guys do that. But I can make a contribution --
Maya: Please, what do you think this is, a pity party? We don’t accept charity.
Zay: Yes we do.
Clarissa: We’ll take all the charity you’ve got.
Maya: This is a business, and we provide a service. So put your boring little sedan in line and turn your patronization into profit.
Riley: Maya, if he doesn’t want --
Charlie: You know what? Okay. [ raising his hands in surrender ] I’ll take whatever the easiest job is. Meet in the middle.
Fair enough. Maya relents, going back to shouting orders at others. Zay shows Charlie what their pricing options are, and though Charlie is going for the cheapest one, he overpays anyway.
Charlie: What Maya doesn’t know won’t hurt her.
Zay: Yeah, and it’ll probably save us.
They exchange something close to a conspiratorial wink. Riley senses that they’re actually communicating without imminent disaster, so she comes over to join them. Charlie asks how business is going -- it seems to be moving pretty swiftly. Riley is optimistic, claiming that between this and the dance -- which is garnering a lot of buzz on social media -- they may just cover their expenses yet. At mention of the dance, Riley makes a quip about how Charlie should’ve bought that shirt at the thrift shop to wear, which catches Zay’s attention.
Zay: You’re coming?
Charlie: Oh, no. No, I wasn’t, um… I hadn’t really thought about it.
Zay: Oh.
Charlie, shyly: … would it be okay if I did?
Zay meets his eyes, uncharacteristically timid. He doesn’t know what to say, because he honestly doesn’t know how he feels about the possibility. Things aren’t as tense as they were before, and they’ve managed to break some of the ice that’s frozen them in place, but it’s far from thawed. He doesn’t know if he wants it to be or not. It’s all confusing, and being put on the spot proves just how much.
He’s spared from answering when Isadora pipes up from the curb.
Isadora: Oh, fuck no.
Charlie jumps, turning to search for the problem. Zay leans around him to look too. The issue is not hard to identify.
The Haverford boys. A whole bunch of them, rolling up in their classy cars, totally filling up the back end of the car wash line. Billy honks obnoxiously in his, waving to the washers working further down the row.
Brandon hops out of his car, the rest of the boys following suit. He leads the saunter over to the tables, where Maya, Farkle, and Isadora rush to head them off. Charlie stares as they approach, obviously mortified that they’re here; Zay frowns, glancing at him suspiciously.
Maya: What the hell do you think you’re doing? You’re blocking the line.
Dweezil: Blocking? Is that any way to speak to a customer?
Isadora: One we’re about to kick the hell out, yeah.
The congregation bristles, but Brandon holds up his hands -- both out of innocence and to signal his crew to halt. He remains smooth and unbothered as ever, calmly stating that they’re simply here to support the cause.
Brandon: It’s the least we could do, showing up for the less fortunate. We want showdown to be a fair fight, don’t we?
Maya: Oh, if that’s what you’re looking for, we can give you a fight.
[ Brandon raises his eyebrows, clearly amused by Maya’s sharp spunk. ]
Farkle: How did you all even hear about this?
Brandon: Why, I would think that’s obvious. Charles told us.
[ Many eyes throw to Charlie at once. He swallows, dipping his head. ]
Brandon: Well, technically, he told Evan, but I don’t see why he didn’t just share it with the boys. Evan was more than happy to pass the message along, though, and we all thought it was just a swell idea. Quaint, really.
Billy: Yeah, where’s the lemonade stand? You should jump on that hot market next.
But belittlement aside, they really are here to get their cars washed. That’s all. The A class can take it or leave it, but if they choose to turn away willing customers then that’s their prerogative.
Well… business is business. Maya forces a smile, keeping her diva daggers locked on Brandon as she instructs Isadora and Farkle to go start filling the buckets. Brandon holds her glare, evenly matched with his cool, subtle smirk.
INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY
Jack is enjoying a catch-up with Angela over coffee, in generally good spirits all things considered. As he says, it’s nice to take a moment to forget all of the stress and just chat with a good friend. Angela is touched, placing her hand on her chest. She claims if her visit will be good for anything then, that’s a great reason.
The two of them get on the topic of her pregnancy, and how she’s feeling about impending motherhood. She confides that Shawn is way more nervous about it than she is, but ultimately she feels okay about it. Pregnancy isn’t the most fun experience in the world, but she has always thought that a family would be part of her future. Considering she’s not getting any younger, it feels like the right time.
She asks if Jack ever thought about having kids, and he grows a bit more somber. It’s not that he hasn’t thought about it… and to be honest, he figured if he did he’d beat Shawn to it, but clearly that wasn’t in his cards. And now here he is, coming off a failed serious relationship, already in his 40s…
Angela: It’s never too late, Jack. If it’s something you really want. I mean, hell, look at Eric! He skipped all the hard stuff, too.
Jack: I guess that is one way to look at Isadora’s tragic loss…
Angela: I’m just saying, never say never. You’re a great mentor, responsible and fair, and you care. You care a lot. If you chose to try, whether by yourself or with a partner, I think you’d be a great dad.
Maybe… it all just feels so out of the realm of possibility. Besides, he argues, he basically has 200 kids at any given time to take care of. It’s not the same, no, but he watches out for the Adams students as seriously as he would his own. And you know, sometimes…
Jack: Every once in a while, it kind of feels like they are.
It’s not hard to guess who he’s thinking about. Angela starts to question him further, thinking this is probably a meaningful discussion to have, but they’re interrupted by Evelyn knocking briskly on the door. She greets both of them cheerfully.
Evelyn: So nice to see you again, Angela! I do hope I’m not intruding on anything important -- I meant to come sooner, but I got caught up in a riveting chat with Mister Keiner.
Jack: No, of course not.
Angela: In fact, I was just getting ready to head out, so I will get out of your hair.
Jack: I just wasn’t expecting you.
Evelyn: No need to rush, Angela. [ to Jack ] I’m just here to participate in that splendid car wash you’ve got out back. They’ve got a great little operation going, I have to say. And that Maya Hart -- talk about a firecracker.
Jack: Trust us, we’re quite familiar with her spark.
Angela bids both of them goodbye, promising Jack she’ll see him later. Once they’re alone, Evelyn commends Jack on inspiring his students to find creative ways to fund their financial endeavors. Especially given how their original proposal for the scholarships was voted down at the school board. In her opinion, she was hoping they’d at least contribute a portion -- she thought it was a nifty idea.
Jack: Yes, they weren’t thrilled to hear the decision either.
Evelyn: It’s disappointing, although hardly surprising considering the way Jefferson campaigned behind closed doors. He’s got a fairly influential stake in the voting bloc, unfortunately.
Jack: What? What do you mean?
Evelyn: Oh, Jack, I thought you already knew. It was an extremely close vote on the board to provide funding, but Jefferson tipped the scales against it. He and Yancy basically talked it down for days with colleagues before the actual tally.
Um, no, Jack did not know about that, and it obviously pisses him off. He’s speechless, trying to process the blatant partisan maneuvers being played against them within the inner workings of the board. Especially from someone who is now working within the walls of AAA. He knew Yancy didn’t like him, but this…
EXT. AAA - REAR PARKING LOT - DAY
The Haverford boys are loitering while they wait for the A class to finish cleaning their cars, showing how completely unbothered they are to hang around and watch their competitors sweat. Charlie is also hovering to nervously keep an eye on things, staying with Clarissa at the baked goods table and nibbling on a sugar cookie.
From where he’s scrubbing Dweezil’s windshield dry, Nate glares at them derisively.
Nate: Rich pricks. I should smash this damn window…
Yogi: Easy, bulldog.
Dave: Just smile and wash, boys. Smile and wash.
Thankfully, they’re efficient, and it doesn’t take them long to grit their teeth through the work. Maya slaps her washcloth against Brandon’s hood, declaring it finished, then marches her way back over to where he’s slouched against a lamp pole near the pay table.
Maya: Alright, knock-off Warblers, your cars are done.
Evan: Warblers?
Dweezil: From Glee.
Billy: Ha! She thinks we watched Glee.
Bottom line is, their business here is done, so they can roll their asses out. Maya essentially shoos them, but Zay pipes up from the pay table.
Zay: Um, they can’t go yet. They’ve still got a tab to settle.
Maya: They didn’t pay upfront?
Billy: Well, couldn’t very well do that. Why would we pay you before we get any proof that you’re going to do a good job? It’s simply smart shopping.
Clarissa: Well, the job is done now. So you can pay up.
Brandon: Ooh… see, I think there might’ve been a misunderstanding here.
Charlie tenses, sensing impending doom. He steps out from behind the table in case he needs to mediate, just as Isadora and Farkle march back over with their buckets and rags to see what the hold up is. They’ve got other potential customers waiting.
Brandon: Another smart business practice is to agree on the terms and conditions before you make a deal. Now, we always knew our payment was going to be contingent on the quality of the work. Sure, Babineaux here laid out the pricing for us, but we didn’t get anything in writing. You didn’t get our John Hancocks signing off on it.
Zay: You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
Charlie, nervously: Come on, guys --
Maya: So you mean to tell me that we just spent the better part of an hour scrubbing your ungrateful little shits until they shined, and blocking other well-intentioned customers from coming in the meantime, only for you to stiff us at checkout?
Dweezil: At least we made you look busy.
Billy: Yeah, consider it practice. We know you could use all of that you can get.
Brandon: [ with a shrug ] Should’ve gotten it in writing.
Isadora: Yeah? Well how about you fucking get this --
She and Farkle snap first, lifting their buckets and sloshing them directly at Brandon. It catches him off-guard, totally dousing him in sudsy water.
Charlie: Oh no.
Riley, from the curb: Oh no.
Billy: Oh, hell no!
Hit the queen bee, feel the sting of the workers! The Havies immediately fire back, grabbing whatever they can get their hands on -- hoses, abandoned buckets -- and lobbing it back at Isadora and Farkle.
And with that, it’s a full-on brawl. Water and soap flying in every direction, the other Havies and Adams seniors launching into the battle without hesitation. Maya shrieks as she’s soaked, shouting for her classmates to take the Havies out. Zay salvages the cash box and dives under the table, taking cover.
INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY
Jack is still searching for what to say in response to the bombshell information Evelyn dropped, but Harley leaps in the doorway and gets both their attention.
Harley: Major problem at the car wash. It’s completely devolved.
Jack exchanges a quick look with Evelyn, then jumps up from his chair.
EXT. AAA - REAR PARKING LOT - DAY
Jack and Harley emerge as the water fight is in full swing, and basically everyone is dripping in soap water. Jack takes control and marches into the fray, stepping into authoritarian mode and demanding that all of the nonsense cease. The Adams students drop their weapons immediately, not daring to get even a drop on their principal.
Though he doesn’t command the same respect with the Haverford boys, they don’t push it any further. They got what they came for, managing to derail the car wash and pull a fast one on the A class. They cackle with laughter as they sprint back to their cars, piling inside in record time and peeling out of the parking lot.
Brandon’s car is one of the last to leave, catching the eye of Maya, Zay, and Charlie through the passenger window. He smirks and tosses a wink in their direction, but it’s impossible to say who it was meant for. Maybe all of them.
None of them look especially pleased either way. Maya shoots a death glare at Charlie, even though he arguably got the worst of it, completely drenched from head to toe. If he was in on the whole thing, he looks pretty miserable about it.
Break 1.
INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT - ISADORA’S BEDROOM - DAY
Now in fresh, comfy clothes and bare faces, Riley, Isadora and Maya lounge around in Isa’s bedroom. Maya’s hair is up in a towel wrap, while Riley’s is down and in the process of drying, and Isadora’s is pulled back into a messy bun. Isadora is also wearing her glasses rather than usual contacts. With a stretch, Maya hops from the bed.
Maya: I never want to work like that ever again. I’m exhausted, in pain, and starving. Is this Hell?
Riley: You truly weren’t built for working class, were you?
Tell her about it! Maya disappears to raid Eric’s fridge, leaving Riley and Isadora free from her complaints. Isadora uses the opportunity to pick Riley’s brain.
Isadora: What do you think our chances are in the showdown? Full disclosure.
Riley: Full disclosure? Not great. [ with a sigh ] But we could still pull through. If we work hard enough, and come together to --
Isadora: I don’t need the full spiel, but thanks. I know how stressed Lucas and Maya are about it, and I’m considering -- considering is the key word here -- offering to perform. You know, if it would help.
Riley’s face lights up, but upon seeing Isadora’s level glare, tries to suppress her smile. She fails.
Isadora: Don’t look at me. Forget I said anything.
Riley: Aw, come on. I’m happy you’re thinking about it yourself instead of, like, being peer pressured by Maya or something.
Isadora: She’s very nearly at her breaking point, I can tell. Every day her will to just let me be is deteriorating bit by bit.
Riley: I think… not to get too Uncle Eric here, but I feel like because you keep thinking of performing as doing it in front of an audience, like being judged, it’s holding you back. You should just do it for the joy of it. Why were you drawn to performing in the first place?
Isadora, reluctantly: … because it was fun...
Riley: Exactly! Because it’s fun. You have to have fun with it.
In fact… Riley brightens with an idea, reaching for her phone and searching for a song.
Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Lady Marmalade” as performed by LaBelle || Performed by Riley Matthews, Maya Hart & Isadora De La Cruz
[ Lyrics specific to characters -- follow along here! ]
As the bass and keys begin, Riley stands up on Isadora’s bed, pulling her up with her. Riley sings the initial “hey sister, go sister” to Isadora, who stands awkwardly in the middle of the bed, not looking all that impressed.
In the first verse, Maya walks into the room with her haul from the kitchen. Her mouth opens when she sees Riley singing.
Maya: Are we doing this? Okay, we’re doing this.
She drops the snacks without a care, jumping onto the bed to join Riley -- just in time for the chorus. They move around Isadora as they belt out iconic vocals, trying to get her in the groove.
Maya takes on the second verse with Riley on the backing vocals. Although Isadora tries to remain stoic, she can’t help but begin to vibe with them. By the end of the next chorus, she’s singing along, too. In French, no less! But maybe let’s not look up the lyric translation…
In the instrumental break, the three girls get down from the bed and strut forwards towards the door. They pass through it one at a time, puffs of makeup and glitter blowing around them in slow-mo as they do.
INT. AAA - LECTURE HALL - DAY
This time, the temporary performance space is the lecture hall, which is an inspired choice since it actually has a pseudo-stage and lighting capabilities.
When they emerge onto the small stage, they’re in full glam. Hair glossy, makeup glowing, and outfits iconique. They each wear a skintight jumpsuit along with oversized faux fur coats. Riley’s getup is a white jumpsuit and yellow coat, Isadora’s is a blue jumpsuit and pink coat, and Maya’s is a pink jumpsuit and white coat. They strut to the front of the stage, spotlights on them.
Isadora takes charge of the next verse, confidently singing and dancing with her friends by her side. Riley and Maya come in towards the end, before all three complete the rest of the song together. It’s glamorous, it’s sultry, it’s powerful. Foxy, ladies!
We fade out of the performance to see the rest of the class and Harper as they applaud. Although the girls don’t look quite as glam out of the performance-dreamscape, they look just as badass. Lucas and Farkle in particular seem stunned by the performance.
INT. AAA - TECHNICIAN’S BOOTH - DAY
Zay hands over the cash box from the car wash to Lucas.
Zay: Despite the carnage, the most important thing survived.
And, in spite of the disastrous end, it seems like they made good for their work. They raked in a pretty penny for all the scrubbing and washing -- it’s far from all that they need, but it should make a sizable dent in the auditorium accident debt. And that’s not nothing.
Lucas thanks Zay for his help and for watching the money, getting up to put it in a safe place in the booth. He claims he can’t do it until Zay leaves, though, since there are certain things only he should know about the booth. Zay rolls his eyes but obliges, throwing in an offhand comment about how weird he is before slowly making his way out.
As he’s heading down the steps, he passes by Missy, who is casually making her way up into the booth. Like she goes up there all the time, like it’s no big deal. She even greets Zay as they pass, which he uncertainly returns. He frowns at her over his shoulder as she heads on up, obviously confused by her presence.
As confidently as she enters, Lucas evidently wasn’t expecting her either. He jumps when she addresses him, moving away from wherever he stashed the car wash cash. When he realizes it’s her, his posture grows even more defensive.
Lucas: What are you doing in here?
Missy: Only what anyone would deem visiting this musty space worthy for. I’m looking for you.
Lucas: I don’t know if you missed the memo, but people don’t waltz in here whenever they want. No matter how privileged they are.
Missy laughs, allowing him the dig. Following their increasingly common rapport, back-and-forth that straddles the line between friendly fire and hostility depending on your lens. She maintains innocence as she waits for him to settle back in his usual chair, claiming she only wanted to discuss the current A class financial crisis.
Missy: I heard your little car wash wasn’t half-bad. Congratulations are in order. Though I don’t believe I heard much about you out there breaking a sweat to wash those vehicles...
Lucas: You can congratulate the rest of the class when you see them.
Missy: Shame. I’d think if we put you out there front and center, you might’ve garnered a greater profit.
Lucas: Please.
Missy: You shouldn’t undersell yourself, Lucas. It worked for Chubbies, did it not?
If her increased patronage is any indication, then technically, yes. But Lucas doesn’t seem keen to acknowledge that. She moves closer and hops onto the lighting booth table, crossing her glossy legs where they are in perfectly accessible view. In a place where Riley often sits. It just feels wrong. Lucas averts his gaze, looking down at the soundboard instead.
Missy: Anyway, as cute as the fundraising effort is, I don’t exactly see the point.
Lucas: Well, for those of us not in the 1%, there’s this annoying everyday thing we have to do called “acquiring money.” I’m sure that’s probably confusing for you --
Missy: I meant for Adams. Or for the A class, more specifically. I don’t see why you all should be out there sweating through manual labor… when you could just ask me for the money.
Oh. Well that’s… an interesting proposition. Lucas is surprised she’s even offering it, enough to lift his head again to meet her eyes.
Lucas: … it’s hundreds of dollars…
Missy, coolly: Drop in the bucket. [ looking him over ] Surely you would know that by now.
Lucas hesitates, contemplating. Missy observes him, watching for the chinks in his armor. Those rare moments when he’s not as aloof and disdainful as their banter leads her to believe.
Lucas: I don’t see why you would help when it does nothing to benefit you.
Missy: Isn’t helping the class helping me in the end? [ off his skeptical eyebrow raise ] And oh, they’ll find a way to pay us back somehow. Every debt gets paid eventually. Name on an auditorium seat, plaque outside the lecture hall. That’s the charity solution to everything, slapping your name on something. I’m sure daddy would love to have the Bradford name in gold somewhere in this heap considering the chilly reception Hunter gave us when all this started.
Missy found about a dozen unintentional trigger words to throw in that sentence to change Lucas’s tune. Whether the most credit can be given to the word “charity,” or invoking Jack in a negative light is debatable, but Lucas is suddenly even stonier than before. He clenches his jaw.
Missy, softer: It’s not like you haven’t already accepted donations from the Bradford fortune… and that’s lightened the load, hasn’t it? Nothing wrong with that. [ a beat ] And you and me… I wouldn’t call us friends, but we certainly have… our own thing here. Don’t we? We… mean something. To one another.
Lucas drops his gaze again, cornered. The very insinuation that they have a relationship in any capacity makes him uncomfortable… but then, it’s not wrong, is it? If he’s willingly taking her money, knowingly, then that does symbolize some sort of association. He can’t in good conscience deny it, not when her money is a big chunk of the reason his future is even possible. And she could take all the pressure off them, off him, in an instant… no more fundraising… no more sweating over showdown… scholarships guaranteed…
But his instincts are stronger than that. It’s too good to be true. Everything comes with a cost, and while he might be willing to risk that here and there for his own feeble endeavors, he’s not going to tie his legacy and the rest of the class to it. He returns her eye contact, resolute.
Lucas: If your family wants to donate to the cause, then by all means do. But I’m not asking you for anything. I don’t beg.
Well said and well meant! For what it’s worth, Missy doesn’t seem put off by the rejection. If anything, she seems impressed by his stubborn resistance, even if she knows damn well it’s full of contradictions. Impressed, and definitely stirred by that same fire that captivated her the first time they met during the school board trial. The tension in the air makes that loud and clear.
Missy: No, no you don’t, do you. All part of your… provocative charm.
Message received, it appears… some message, at least… Missy slips off the table and begins to make her exit, assuring Lucas that she understands his perspective. Some things are better kept quiet, and she gets his need to maintain appearances -- and his pride.
Missy: It’s our little secret. And I get where we stand. [ with a smirk ] I think we understand each other better than one might assume.
The mere notion makes Lucas a bit queasy, but he keeps his mouth shut. Missy bids him adieu and disappears down the steps, wishing the Slumdog President the best of luck with his continuing financial campaigning.
Even once she’s gone, Lucas can’t shake off the discomfort of her presence. He has to get up, walk it off, gathering his things and fleeing from the space -- one of the few he’s never felt the need to escape from before.
EXT. HAVERFORD PREP - COURTYARD - DAY
Charlie is having lunch with BRIDGETTE GARDNER, occupying their typical table in the grassy outdoor space. She listens attentively as he catches her up on all of the stuff with their sisters, Charlie clearly seeking counsel from the one person who has been on the other side of this potential falling out. Does she think he should be worried, based on her own experience?
Bridgette: And you haven’t seen any of this for yourself?
Charlie: No, at least not yet. But I don’t think that means much -- I had no idea most of this stuff was going on with you until it was already way too late. When I first saw you having arguments with mom, it was volcano level.
Bridgette: To be fair, you were what, 14? Even younger than that when it all started. But true. Our family is really good at concealing the ugly, and then pretending it doesn’t exist when the moment has passed.
Charlie: And this is coming from Daisy. You know she wouldn’t make things up just for the hell of it.
Bridgette: Also true. She sure is an unaffected little freak. [ a beat ] I say that with love. Every Gardner has to be fucked up one way or another.
Still, with so little firsthand information, it’s hard to say. She doesn’t think Charlie should tie himself in knots trying to problem-solve something he can’t see, but…
Bridgette: Look out for Rosie if you can. You know, keep an eye out. If history is going to repeat itself, and she’s following in my forsaken footsteps… I don’t want her to go through that. She shouldn’t have to go through what I went through. Not that I’m not fine now --
Charlie: Right.
Bridgette: But she’s not tough like I am. And I mean that in the best way possible. Rosie… she’s sensitive. Sweet. Her heart is right there on her sleeve, even if she tries to act like she’s all grit. [ softly ] Reminds me of another sibling I’ve got.
Charlie smiles, but underneath the kind words she’s confirming his concerns. If the stormy energy around Rosie does whip up into a hurricane, then it’s looking more and more likely to be an unavoidable disaster. History may just repeat itself -- and more brutally than before.
INT. AAA - COSTUME LOFT - DAY
Rosie isn’t the only one in a tempestuous mood. Jade is in full-on crunch mode as her deadlines loom ever closer, and even though she’s been basically holed up in the costume loft at all hours she still feels miles from the finish line. She’s skipping lunch to wrap up a couple of last-minute additions to another piece of her portfolio, using Asher as her mannequin. Currently, he’s sporting a rather fancy, outlandishly patterned and bold blouse over his maroon polo. It looks like it could be a ‘70s dance shirt, or the wardrobe of a funky, flamboyant villain, or perhaps an especially stylish swashbuckling pirate… but it’s a Jade Beamon original, so it looks fantastic.
If only the job of mannequin was as fun as the clothes he’s modeling. Asher is gritting his teeth so hard they might crack, cringing every time Jade threads her needle through a piece of it or sticks a pin somewhere. She’s an expert, a professional, but given her stress level she’s missed the mark more than once the last couple of days.
Jade, snapping: If you didn’t wince every two seconds like a little baby, then maybe I would stick you less.
Asher: [ through his teeth ] The two dozen pin prick battle scars I have beg to differ!
Nigel picks that moment to enter, catching the tail-end of their sharp exchange and clocking the vibes immediately. He hesitates by the door, not sure whether he should come in and interrupt anymore or not, but Jade spots him before he can duck out. She immediately loses some of her unpleasantness, straightening up and clearing her throat.
Jade: Nigel.
Nigel: Um… hello. [ holding up lunch ] I know you’re working through lunch again, so I just thought I’d bring something by.
Jade: Oh, that’s… that’s nice. You don’t have to keep doing that.
Nigel: It’s all good. I like being able to help. It’s the least I could do, make sure you eat.
Asher: Someone should.
Jade: I’m still holding pins, Asher…
As if that wasn’t signal enough, Nigel bravely ventures the question of how costuming is going this afternoon. Jade claims it’s all fine, and Asher repeats her comment in a tone that makes it very clear he doesn’t agree. Sensing that the best friends might benefit from a break from one another, Nigel offers to hang around and be her stand-in for a while.
Jade: Really?
Asher, hopeful: Really?
Nigel: Sure. All I have to do is stand there and look pretty, right? Think I can manage that. You know, if I clear the costumer’s standards, of course.
Jade: No, no you -- of course. Of course you do. You’re more than -- obviously, you’re up to standard. I mean, above. I, um…
Asher can’t help but laugh, but he hides it behind a fake sneeze. Jade shoots him a glare, then states it would be preferable actually for him to take Asher’s place for now. It seems like Bird Bones agrees, hopping down from the step stool and carefully removing the fanciful top.
Asher: It’s for the best anyway. I’m supposed to be helping Dylan proofread his college essays. I want to check mine one more time too -- Jade says reading them over seven times is more than enough, but pot meet kettle.
Nigel: A Dylan Orlando personal essay, huh? I’d pay to see that.
Asher: I’m sure he’d let you read it for no charge. One of the applications he’s filling out had the prompt to “describe a work of art from the last century that surprised, inspired, or challenged you and in what way,” so he wrote a whole thesis statement on why Taylor Swift’s album Lover is the most important contribution to art, culture, and society since the invention of music.
Nigel: Wow.
Jade: Of course he did.
Asher: I’ll be genuinely surprised if it’s not a video essay on his vlog in like four months. But you know what, no admissions officer can say he doesn’t have enthusiasm.
True that! Asher makes his grateful exit, handing the piece over to Nigel and wishing him luck. Jade giggles nervously once they’re alone, Nigel smiling and asking if he should just put the shirt on and stand where Asher was. She confirms, avoiding her gaze by digging through her sewing kit until he’s all set and ready to be pinned and needled.
Nigel: I hope I’m doing your work justice.
Jade: You, um… it’s good. You’re good. Ha ha.
She nervously pushes some hair behind her ear, then steps closer to get back to work. If anything can overpower shyness, it’s the stress of an impending deadline upon which your entire future rests. Jade softly explains to Nigel what she’s doing as she does it, since he’s never been her model before, and reassures her that he’s not worried and she can do whatever.
Nigel: I trust you, Jade. You are the expert, after all.
Jade glances up at him, processing the compliment. The declaration of trust. The fact that they’re standing so close, that if he just stepped down off the stool they’d be close enough to… it’s a lot. Sophomore year Jade would probably have ran and hid by now, if not passed out.
But this is the present, and Jade has work to do. So she swallows her butterflies and focuses on her needlework.
Quiet settles over them for a minute, then Nigel speaks again, barely above a whisper.
Nigel: You’re incredible, you know that?
Jade: Huh?
Caught by surprise, Jade’s hand slips… and accidentally sticks Nigel with the needle. He winces and she immediately launches into apologies, retracting her hands to drop the needle and asking if he’s okay. He promises he’s fine, keeping her from spiraling over it by taking her hand so she can’t drift any further away in retreat.
Nigel: Really, I’m good.
Jade: … so you were saying?
Nigel: Yeah. I just wanted you to know… I hope you know how amazing you are. I know you’re super stressed about all this and what these schools and programs are going to think of you, but they’d be insane to reject you.
Jade: I don’t know if I’d go that far.
Nigel: I would. I mean, you’ve made basically every costume we’ve worn for the last three years -- which I know everyone keeps throwing back at you -- and they’re fantastic. Not just because they look good, which they always do, but they’re durable. No matter how gorgeous they look, they can withstand a lot. When we finish a production, they’re worn in, but it’s still as if they’re freshly stitched. That’s impressive. Trust me, I’ve been in enough local Shakespeare productions to say so. One time a piece of my tunic fell off in the middle of the first act.
Jade laughs, charmed by the story and calmed enough by his gentle tone to actually breathe. Nigel smiles at her, fond.
Nigel: You’re reliable. That’s the best thing a person can be, in my opinion. And you’re talented to the extreme, hard-working, humble… I mean, is there anything you can’t do?
Jade: [ with a snort ] Socialize.
The word slips out, and Jade is instantly embarrassed by it. She hides her blush in digging to grab her needles again, going back to work as an excuse not to elaborate.
Nigel: Seriously? You’ve never struck me as without company. With the techies --
Jade: Oh, yeah, that’s the height of engagement. Just me and a bunch of emotionally inept teenage boys plus Dora, getting up to the same old shenanigans. Every girl’s dream. [ with a sigh ] Don’t get me wrong, I love them. Especially Asher, he’s my best friend. And I’m not saying I’m like, a recluse or anything, I have friends, I just… I don’t know. I don’t even know why I’m talking about this. Sorry.
Nigel: No worries. I don’t mind. But for what it’s worth, I don’t see you that way. Anyone would be lucky to have you as a friend. I know I am. [ a beat ] Or like, any kind of relationship…
Jade coughs, not prepared for that. She giggles compulsively again, frantically brushing off the thought as she focuses intently on pinning a piece of the fabric into place.
Jade: I haven’t… ha, I’m so busy, I… a relationship… I don’t have the time to even…
Though she can’t form a coherent sentence, Nigel gets the message. Not available right now. And he admittedly looks a bit disappointed, but he puts his acting credit to use and swiftly covers with another smile.
Nigel: Well, again. Anyone would be lucky. And in the meantime, I’m just happy to support you however I can. Even at risk of puncture wound.
Jade absorbs this, unable to hold back her shy smile. She murmurs a thank you, then hides by throwing all her attention to the task at hand.
But for Nigel, the only thing he can focus on is her. So incredible… and so close… as the easy bass line floats in…
INT. AAA - LECTURE HALL - DAY
Song Cue ♫ ♪ “How Deep Is Your Love” as performed by Bee Gees || Performed by Nigel Chey (feat. Dylan Orlando)
The lights are low and the set-up is simple, just Nigel on the stage with a microphone stand and sporting the finished product of one of Jade’s ‘70s costumes -- a glossy gold suit, styled like Saturday Night Fever, over a black silk shirt. He’s shimmering like a disco ball under the stage lights, reflecting the whimsical, dreamy quality of the number.
The only other person on the stage with him is Dylan, accompanying him on bass and providing back-up vocals. He’s dressed much simpler, dressed in black and wearing his custom-made Jade Beamon original suit jacket from junior prom. His hair is the ‘70s-ified element, swept up and combed back like John Travolta. While he happily lets Nigel hog the spotlight, he does take a moment in the performance to wink to Asher in the audience.
INT. AAA - COSTUME LOFT - DAY
Intercut with the performance, we check back in with Nigel and Jade in the loft, doing a metaphorical dance of their own around each other as Jade costumes. There’s something surprisingly amorous about the set-up when it’s paired with the ballad. Jade remains oblivious, studiously sewing away, but the romantic tension is more than apparent, in Nigel’s expression and the smooth delivery of his vocals as he looks at her.
And you may not think I care for you
When you know down inside that I really do…
INT. AAA - LECTURE HALL - DAY
While she’s good at avoiding him while at work, Jade can’t keep her eyes off Nigel during the performance. Clarissa, Haley, and Asher cast knowing glances at her, but she doesn’t pay them any attention. In the back seats, Nate, Dave, and Jeff sway along to the beat playfully.
Cause we're living in a world of fools
Breaking us down when they all should let us be
Ultimately, though, even if certain truths remain unsaid, what can’t be denied is an excellent performance. Nigel brings it home with grace, understated as always but, in this case, pretty swoonworthy.
We belong to you and me…
INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT
Zay is on the phone with Riley, the latter walking him through all of the bulletins from that day’s showdown discussion. He listens eagerly, living vicariously, but it’s obvious he’s also frustrated that he’s being excluded. He reminds Riley that they can call on him at any time to brainstorm on choreography or reevaluate concepts, but she gently waves him off by insisting she doesn’t want to put any additional pressure on him.
Zay: Well, to be honest, not being consulted kind of makes me feel more --
Riley: Oh, shoot, Maya’s here. She’s supposed to be meeting with Farkle after his therapist appointment this evening, so I’m sure she just has a bunch of notes she wants to Maya-splain to me first.
Zay: If she wants to get on speaker, then she could --
Riley: I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? And I’ll let you know if anything major happens. Love you!
Zay: But Riley --
She hangs up before he can get a word in, even a goodbye. He sighs and drops his phone on his bed, pulling his laptop back towards him. He has his applications webpage open, where he’s painstakingly attempting to piece together the final elements of his portfolio. It’s not in bad shape, but with the glooming reality of his booted foot and inability to make anything more, it doesn’t feel like enough. It feels like being trapped.
He grabs his phone again, obviously wanting to talk to someone about it. But he can’t talk to Riley -- he knows she’s busy. He can’t talk to Yindra. He can’t talk to Maya -- and nor would he want to, thank you very much.
Charlie…
He could talk to Charlie. God, he wants to talk to Charlie. And they’ve opened up the lines of communication again, haven’t they? Couldn’t it be easy, like it was before? All he has to do is say something… but he doesn’t know what that would be. It’s still confusing and twisted up inside him. And whatever happened with Haverford at the car wash is admittedly suspicious, though it just doesn’t feel right to think Charlie would do something like that.
Confusing. Complicated. Stuck. He’s stuck, stuck, stuck.
INT. THERAPIST’S OFFICE - NIGHT
Farkle plops down onto Dr. Han’s couch, releasing a dramatic sigh and telling her there’s much to discuss (as there usually is). He starts to rattle off about the showdown drama because of Zay’s injury and how he and Isadora dumped water on their greatest rival at the moment, but Dr. Han carefully interrupts. She explains that there’s actually something she wants to open this appointment with, something that she thinks it’s important to start exploring as soon as possible. Farkle is confused but intrigued, sitting upright and gesturing for her to go on.
She turns to her notes, pulling out a couple of prepared informational sheets and taking on a gentler, more professional tone. She explains that after their last few meetings, she thought a lot about some of the patterns Farkle had been mentioning in his recovery. She decided to follow her hunch and do a little more research, and she thinks she’s landed on what might be the root after conferring with his primary care physician.
Dr. Han: It’s my belief that you show all the clear symptoms of bipolar disorder.
It’s like all the air gets sucked out of the room. Farkle freezes, staring at her, but words stop making sense. She continues to explain how common it is for it to be misdiagnosed as depression, how now they can focus on proper treatment for his actual affliction, how it’s just as manageable with the right approach, but it’s like she’s talking underwater. Everything feels hazy, static, like Farkle is suddenly a thousand miles away.
Farkle: No. No, I -- I can’t be.
Dr. Han: I understand that an unexpected diagnosis can be intimidating. And bipolar disorder, like most mental conditions, is shrouded in a lot of misrepresentation and stigma. But with the right perspective --
Farkle: I’m not. I can’t… I have to go.
Farkle blankly gets to his feet, suddenly certain he has to get out of there. It’s like he’s underwater now too, like he can’t breathe. Dr. Han warns that he’s likely just having a strong reaction to the news, anxiety, but she assures him that the diagnosis does not change anything about him or his prospects. If anything, it will improve things, because now they can confront his reality with the right tools. And it will be safest for him to just relax here and process it during their session.
But no, Farkle can’t stay. He numbly repeats that he has to go, ignoring Dr. Han’s disagreement and stepping out of the office.
INT. THERAPIST’S BUILDING - HALLWAY - NIGHT
Farkle doesn’t stop until he’s fully out of her space, back in the endless office sprawl of a building like this. He waits a moment, dreading Dr. Han chasing after him and dragging him back in there, but she doesn’t come. He collapses back against the door, releasing a shaky exhale and screwing his eyes shut.
Bipolar. He’s bipolar.
A gentle piano begins to play, an iconic familiar riff while we stay close on Farkle’s face.
Song Cue ♫ ♪ “All By Myself” as performed by Eric Carmen || Performed by Farkle Minkus & Zay Babineaux
Farkle takes the first lines of this legendary ode to isolation, singing them softly as the camera slowly eases away from him. The further away we pull, the more his sense of smallness grows, dwarfed by the hallway that seems to stretch on forever.
When I was young, I never needed anyone… those days are gone…
INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT
Zay pushes off his mattress and rises to his feet, going a bit too fast at first out of habit and nearly stumbling on his bad ankle. He cringes, falling back on the edge of the bed to right himself. He huffs and hides his head in his hands, easing into the next lines.
Living alone, I think of all the friends I’ve known
But when I dial the telephone, nobody’s home…
EXT. THERAPIST’S BUILDING - NIGHT
Farkle emerges onto the steps of the building in the financial district just in time to launch into the chorus. He carries on singing as he begins to make his way home, weaving through the streets and other passersby as if he’s invisible. Although he’s clearly emotional, it’s evident the information hit him hard, because he’s not at all at his usual level of verve.
INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT
Zay keeps it tamped down whenever it passes back to him as well, though his limitations are outside of his control. He spends his portion of the vocals at his window, leaning out to breath in the life and excitement of the city he loves that he feels so locked out of.
Whether within or without the city, for vastly different reasons, both Zay and Farkle are feeling the same ache.
INT. MINKUS HOME - NIGHT
Farkle makes it home in time for the piano solo, showing off his proficiency on the instrument lest we dared to forget. Then he and Zay harmonize on the final, showstopping chorus, delivering a whammy even when they’re not quite in top form.
INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT
Zay rounds out the number, stepping away from his window and shutting it forlornly.
INT. MINKUS HOME - FARKLE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT
Maya is back to brainstorming in the Minkus home as promised, pacing in front of the moodboard they’ve been working off of for weeks. She’s avidly running through potential pitfalls to their showdown prospects, which seem to be piling up by the minute, while Farkle is seated on the edge of his bed. He’s stone-faced, truly lost in his own head now, and Maya doesn’t fail to notice. As she’s ticking off more items on their doomsday list, she halts and gives him an unimpressed glare.
Maya: … and an inattentive diva. [ snapping in his face ] Farkle! Earth to Farkle!
Farkle: What? Oh, sorry.
Maya: I swear, you have been exceptionally offbeat this week. Of all the times, too, naturally it would be our greatest time of crisis that your zany passion eludes us. Honestly, Farkle, where for art thou? Why have you abandoned me in our time of need?
Farkle: I’m bipolar.
Maya: Okay? And I’m a narcissist. Just because we use pretty words doesn’t change the state of the union, darling.
Farkle, shaky: No, like, I’m literally bipolar.
Maya pauses, actually looking at him. His tone convinces her that he’s not being cheeky, and his sallow expression drives it home. Her demeanor shifts instantly, dropping much of her diva arrogance.
Maya: What?
Farkle: I’m bipolar. I don’t know how many more times I can say it.
Maya: I heard you, I just -- when? How?
Farkle: My whole life, presumably. How, ask God for me.
Maya: Well… well, like, what does that mean? Like, so you’re bipolar, well, what does that mean for --
Farkle: I don’t know. I don’t know, my psychiatrist just told me. I didn’t… I didn’t do a great job of listening to what came after that.
Wow. Silence reigns as Maya attempts to process this new information. Farkle speaks again, even more uncharacteristically timid than before.
Farkle: I know this is bad timing. Just… with this, and everything at school, I don’t know how on top of it I can --
Maya: No, no, of course not. Shh. It’s fine. You don’t have to worry about all that. You need to focus on yourself. On this. Don’t worry about Triple A. I’ll handle it.
Farkle: But Maya --
Maya: I’ve got it. It’s okay.
She pats his shoulders reassuringly, then turns it into a hug. Farkle hesitates for a moment before returning the embrace, desperately leaning into the comfort. Maya remains stalwart for the both of them, features intense as her mind runs to problem-solve a million miles an hour. Based on the furrow of her brow, it seems she might already be onto something.
Maya: I’m going to handle it.
INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT - NIGHT
Riley, Isadora and Eric sit around the dining table, chatting casually after finishing their meals. Eric looks between the two girls with a warm smile before offering to clear up.
Riley: I’ll help.
Riley gets up to help Eric clean away the plates, but Isadora places a hand on Riley’s arm to stop her. Riley gives her a questioning look.
Isadora: I actually… I have something I want to show you. In my room. [ to Eric ] If that’s okay?
Eric: Of course, go ahead. I’m perfectly capable of filling up the dishwasher on my own.
Intrigued, Riley follows Isadora into her bedroom.
INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT - ISADORA’S BEDROOM - NIGHT
Isadora goes straight to her desk and opens up a notebook to reveal Valerie’s letter. She passes it to a confused Riley, who takes a moment to look over it. When she realizes what it is, she looks up at Isadora with wide eyes.
Riley: Is this…?
Isadora: [ with a nod ] A letter to my father. I found it in one of Val’s boxes. You’re the first person I’m telling so don’t… don’t tell Eric or anything.
Riley: Oh, totally. Sure. [ a beat as she scans through the pages ] Why aren’t you telling him, though?
Isadora: I don’t really know how I feel about it yet.
Riley guides Isadora to her bed, where they both sit. She collects her thoughts.
Riley: Did you know anything about your dad before now?
Isadora: No. I asked about him a few times, like ages ago, but Valerie always claimed she didn’t know who he was. I can’t tell if she was lying or not; I don’t even know when she wrote this.
Riley: It seems like she didn’t really think about it until he wrote to her. And it definitely seems like he wants to be part of your life. [ a beat ] Do you want him in your life?
Isadora: I don’t know. I don’t even know what that would look like. My gut is screaming at me that it’ll end in disaster, like it always did with my mom, but at the same time… like, I’ve gotten by fine without a dad until now, but it does feel there’s a part of me missing. What if it’s him?
It’s clear that she’s been thinking it over a lot. Riley admits that she isn’t sure what she could say to help considering her complete lack of experience in this department, but suggests again that she should talk to Eric.
Isadora: I’m scared to.
Riley: What? Why?
Isadora: I don’t want him to think that he’s not enough for me. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I don’t want to ruin it.
Riley places a hand on Isadora’s shoulder and offers a sympathetic smile. Isadora responds by resting her head on Riley’s shoulder, so Riley moves her arm to wrap around her.
Riley: You know how much Eric cares for you. There’s nothing you could do to ruin it. You’re part of the Matthews family forever now, no matter who your father is and whether you meet him or not.
Isadora: You’re my favorite cousin.
Riley: I won’t tell Auggie you said that. And you’re my favorite cousin, too.
Riley plants a kiss on Isadora’s cheek with a ‘muah.’ Isadora pulls a face of disgust and escapes from her grasp as Riley giggles.
Isadora: Minus five cousin points. Auggie’s in the lead now.
Riley: Nooo!
She chases after Isadora, trying to engulf her in a hug as both girls laugh.
INT. GARDNER HOME - CHARLIE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT
Charlie is back from a late rehearsal for showdown, changing out of his Haverford uniform. He strips off his shirt and places it in the laundry hamper, checking how his clothes from the car wash are faring.
Still damp. At this rate, it feels like they’re never going to go back to normal.
Suddenly, the house below him erupts with sound, voices being raised in the kitchen downstairs. It goes without saying, but raised voices are almost non-existent in the Gardner household. Charlie freezes, listening intently until he recognizes exactly what he’s dreading -- a higher-pitched, defensive voice. Rosie’s voice.
He drops the wet clothes and reaches for the first top he can find -- which just happens to be an AAA sweatshirt -- and yanks it on as he rushes into the hall.
INT. GARDNER HOME - KITCHEN - NIGHT
This time, there’s no question as to whether there is a fight. Rosie and ELEANOR GARDNER are more heated than we’ve ever seen either of them onscreen, yelling at one another and cheeks flushed. Rosie is particularly loud, in near hysterics since she’s young, emotional, and also on defense; Eleanor maintains a cool, superior tone even as she raises her volume.
Charlie slides into the room right in the thick of it, jumping in the middle without hesitation and questioning what the heck is going on. When he can get them to acknowledge him, Eleanor actually seems pleased by his presence, openly welcoming him into the argument.
Eleanor: Oh, perfect, just what we needed. A second opinion. Rosamund, why don’t you tell your brother why you’re in trouble? Go on.
Rosie, on the other hand, is not receptive to Charlie joining the conversation. She loses a lot of her fire, shrinking back and face flushing in embarrassment. Eleanor scoffs, though it seems like this is exactly how she expected her to react.
Eleanor: What’s the matter? Are you suddenly shy? You sure were loud enough arguing back to me about it, and now you won’t tell Charlie?
Charlie: Can someone just tell me what’s going on?!
Eleanor: Gladly!
Eleanor pointedly places Rosie’s phone on the countertop, which she’s been holding the whole time. It’s open to an Instagram photo on an unfamiliar page, one of Rosie’s new friends at her gifted high school. It’s a series of photos from some hangout the freshmen were having, but the photo in question surprisingly features another familiar player -- a bunch of the freshmen are sitting around and laughing, and Rosie is grinning while sitting on the lap of URI MINKUS.
It’s pretty innocent, but the implications are enough. Eleanor relays the whole tale, how one of Rosie’s friends from Catholic school told their mom about the photo in her tagged images and the mother was kind enough to inform Eleanor about it. This is already after a discussion she had with Rosie over this boy when she saw them interacting in a less-than-acceptable manner after school when she picked her up. She thought they had cleared it all up, but apparently not, between this photo and the fact that the text messages between her and this Jewish boy are nothing if not flirtatious.
Rosie: You shouldn’t have even been going through my texts anyway!
Eleanor: Oh, shouldn’t I? I didn’t realize you were the authority now! Privacy is a privilege, Rosamund, and you’re continuing to prove that you haven’t earned it!
They continue to escalate again, Charlie bewildered as he slides the phone towards him to get a better look. The photo really is so… nothing, and the whole argument feels so blown out of proportion. But Charlie knows the patterns, he knows what Bridgette warned him about, and all of the shouting and conflict is making him lightheaded.
Charlie, weary: Stop arguing.
Eleanor: I knew we shouldn’t have let you go to the gifted school. I knew you’d be better off staying in the Catholic system.
Rosie: Then why did you let me go?!
Eleanor: Maybe I shouldn’t have! Maybe that’s the thing I shouldn’t have done! In fact, maybe I’ll have to put a call into the deans and see if they can’t transfer you back --
Rosie, mortified: Mom, no!
Charlie: Stop…
The room is starting to spin a little bit. Charlie braces himself against the countertop, screwing his eyes shut and trying to block out the yelling. But he can’t run from it. He can’t hide.
Rosie: Charlie got to go to a different school! He got to go somewhere new without you breathing down his neck!
Eleanor: Because Charlie is responsible enough to handle it! You don’t see him posting suggestive content, flirting shamelessly, making questionable decisions. I don’t need to monitor your brother because he doesn’t give me any reason to be concerned!
Oh, Eleanor, if only you knew… it’s being invoked and talked about in such a discordant way that acts as the final straw. Charlie tries to catch his breath, but it’s not coming back, and it’s like the whole world is slipping away from him…
If anything will stop an argument, passing out probably does the trick. Charlie stumbles and then collapses onto the tile floor, shocking both Eleanor and Rosie out of their anger. Rosie shrieks and rushes to his side.
Eleanor: Charlie?! Ambrose! [ rushing to the entryway ] Ambrose, Charlie’s -- come quickly! Hurry!
Charlie’s down, all right. Rosie rolls him onto his back, checking for obvious injury -- lucky he didn’t crack his head open or something -- and trying to rouse him. But he’s out like a light… all of the tension slowly fading away…
INT. HAVERFORD PREP - AUDITORIUM - NIGHT
Meanwhile, Brandon is staying late at Haverford once again, only this time he’s not alone. He’s meeting with a mysterious figure, a HIPSTER 20-something man who is probably into photography or a wannabe filmmaker. But he’s clearly there on business, Brandon and the man speaking in hushed tones as they converse even though they’re the only ones around.
Brandon: And you’re sure you’ve got the whole thing? I’m not paying for poor quality or fractions.
Hipster: I’ve been doing this for six years. Think I know what I’m doing at this point. But yes, it’s all there. Professional quality. You’ll be able to see whatever you need to see.
Brandon deems this response satisfactory enough, nodding. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small wad of cash, trading it off with whatever object the hipster is offering. When they retract their hands, Brandon comes away with the secret item -- a flash drive.
He scrutinizes it idly while the hipster quickly counts the bills, then they exchange a nod, Brandon thanking him for his service. The hipster makes his exit, Brandon pacing for a bit on the stage and turning over the flash drive in his fingers. Whatever it is, he seems pretty satisfied to have it in his grasp.
He loses some of his easygoing confidence when he hears the auditorium doors open. He slips the flash drive into his blazer pocket and straightens up, narrowing his eyes to assess his new company. When he recognizes who it is, though, an intrigued smirk blooms across his face.
Brandon: Well, well, well. I have to say, this is an unexpected surprise.
Maya Hart. Dressed in one of her sharpest ensembles, Valerie’s fur coat giving her that extra oomph, matching Brandon’s cool sophistication effortlessly. She leisurely saunters her way down the aisle towards the stage, taking her sweet time.
Maya: So this is the fabled Haverford Prep. [ pursing her lips ] I have to say, I was anticipating greater grandeur.
Brandon: It’s hard when the indigent experience excellence for the first time. Never quite meets the expectations of their hapless daydreams… [ off her sneer ] Is there something I can do for you, Hart? Let alone at this late hour?
Maya: Don’t flatter yourself. It’s 8PM.
She’s made her way to the stage now, coming to stand opposite Brandon front and center. There’s a healthy distance between them, keeping them staunchly on opposing sides, but they regard each other with respect. Maya claims she just wanted to come have a little chat, clan leader to clan leader.
Brandon: That so? I thought Friar was your figurehead.
Maya: We both have our respective areas of expertise. I like to think of myself as the Cheney to his Bush. Conservative politics notwithstanding.
Brandon: Was going to say. I don’t see Cheney being much of a swinger for socialist handouts like you all are gunning for. [ sizing her up ] But I’ll admit, I pegged you for a captain rather than a lackey. You sure took front and center at the car wash.
Maya: Ah, yes… the function you so ceremoniously soiled.
Brandon: Hope you’ll forgive the incursion. It’s only business. A little competitive spirit is all.
Maya: Oh, no arguments from me. I’m more incensed I didn’t see it coming. Wish I had thought of it myself.
Brandon chuckles, perhaps a bit won over by her… unique Maya charms. He claims he got the sense they were more alike than different… in fact, if circumstances were different, and they weren’t sworn rivals… Maya catches onto his drift right quick, mirroring his smug charisma as she feigns sympathy.
Maya: So you like what you see. Don’t despair, you’re far from the only one. But I’m afraid that’s a forgone impossibility.
Brandon: [ processing what might be a rejection ] Ah. I see. [ like they’re confidants ] You play for the other team?
Well. That’s a pretty bold assumption to jump to just because she doesn’t want to get with you, Brandon. But Maya maintains her coolness, unperturbed by such arrogant conclusions. She makes a face, as if she’s contemplating.
Maya: … no team. Let’s put it that way.
Brandon: And what’s that supposed to mean exactly?
Maya: The only team I play for is Triple A. And that’s what I’m here for.
Brandon backs off his advances and allows her the floor, back to all business. She tactfully begins to discuss negotiations around senior showdown, dancing around the details of everything going wrong inside the ranks of the A class but letting just enough of her cards show to indicate that she’s only here due to dire circumstances. Then she subtly tries to charm her way to an ideal outcome, brokering a deal where maybe, just perhaps, Haverford might find themselves on the losing side of the showdown confrontation.
You know she’s desperate if Maya is trying to arrange a thrown victory. And Brandon can sense that too, even as aloof as she’s acting, which just makes the whole situation more amusing to him. Though he feigned listening to her pitch, he is all too eager to shoot it down. Why would Haverford want to throw the competition, he muses, when their winning streak is so hot and their competition is apparently so weak?
Brandon: I knew you all were hardly a threat, but this is even more pathetic than I thought. I mean, you and Friar coming to me trying to cut a deal for an easy victory -- what a leadership duo. You all must be in harsher condition than I imagined.
Maya: Wait, what?
Brandon: … you didn’t know? That your president already paid me a little visit earlier in the semester?
Maya doesn’t respond, but the way she’s lost her easy confidence as she stares at him answers for her. Brandon laughs, shaking his head.
Brandon: What presidential teamwork. Clearly, the future of Adams is in outstanding hands. But with such low confidence, and even lower moves you’ll stoop to… no, I believe Haverford is just fine where we are now. We’ll beat you handily, as we have for the last six years, and rest assured Hart, it’ll be with immense pleasure. [ a beat ] You should probably be going, then. The security doesn’t take kindly to riff-raff hanging around our hallowed halls.
He swivels and swaggers offstage, leaving Maya alone and humiliated in enemy territory. She’s fuming, gritting her teeth and fists clenched at her sides.
INT. CHUBBIES - NIGHT
Riley is seated at the counter with her laptop, keeping Lucas company while he works the late shift. She’s running through analytics of the RSVPs they’ve already gotten for the dance fundraiser, which she claims is looking pretty good.
Lucas isn’t in a very optimistic mood, commenting that even if they get half of Manhattan to show up, it probably won’t be enough to cover all their expenses including the scholarships. With their chances at showdown dwindling by the minute… who knows. Maybe he’s not doing absolutely everything he can to make it happen…
Riley closes her laptop, giving him her undivided attention.
Riley: Don’t count Triple A out of showdown just yet, please and thank you. But I think I know what this is really about.
Lucas hesitates, freezing up.
Lucas: You do?
Riley: Yeah. You act like you’re so hard to read, like I don’t know you well enough to figure out when you’re not telling me something.
How could she know… did Zay tell her about seeing Missy in the booth? He swallows. She reaches across the counter and takes his hands, giving him a sympathetic look.
Riley: You’re freaking out over the college essays.
Lucas: Oh. [ a beat ] Yeah, well, I guess I am.
Riley reminds him that he doesn’t have to keep that kind of stuff from her and act like he’s unshakeable all the time. And honestly, she gets why he’s nervous about them. It sucks writing about yourself no matter what -- unless you’re Maya -- but it’ll be even harder for him given the things he’s been through. He hasn’t exactly been encouraged to view himself favorably, at least not until recently. Old habits are hard to break.
Riley: But that’s not necessarily what they’re looking for anyway. You don’t need to prove to them that you’re the most perfect shining candidate to ever apply, you just need to give them a really good story. Make them invested, get them to care about you. Show them a bit of your individuality, your personality -- which you are not short of in either department. And I know for a fact you can draw people in…
She is, after all, a prime example. Lucas still seems doubtful, but her perspective does help. And her belief in him continues to astound him, forged in steel even when everything else feels so unpredictable. Riley leans forward to give him a soft kiss, which lingers between them.
It’s impressive, too, how being with her grounds him. How their closeness doesn’t feel like an intrusion… and somehow, feeling cornered by other forces or put on edge just makes him want to be with her more. Lucas initiates another kiss, forgetting everything else for a moment, taking shelter in that inexplicable safety with her. Riley has no complaints, leaning deeper into it and tightening her touch on his hand.
Then the front door bangs open, the bell jangling ominously. Both of them jump and pull apart. Maya marches into the diner, indignant and blue eyes burning.
Maya: What the hell, Friar?
Lucas: What’s the matter with you now?
Riley: Is everything okay?
Maya: When were you going to tell me you shook down Brandon?
Riley: [ whipping to look at him ] What?
Lucas clams up, straightening upright and taking on a defensive stance. But the sheepish expression on his face gives him away. Busted.
Maya: You know, I think that kind of mercenary maneuver is exactly the sort of decision your VP should know about. Were you just never going to let me in on it?
Riley: Why the hell did you do that?
Maya: I don’t care about that. Friar’s a shady bastard, we all knew his methods were going to be far from clean. Who gives a shit. I’m pissed he decided not to keep me in the loop! Do you have any idea how humiliating it was for me to roll up there only for Brandon Rivas to hand my ass to me on a silver platter? Cocky prick, like he knows absolutely everything --
Riley: Wait, wait. [ eyeing her ] Why were you confronting Brandon?
Oh. Well. Cough. Maya flips her hair off her shoulder, but she can’t give a good excuse that doesn’t make her just as culpable as Lucas. He raises his eyebrows at her, emphasizing that if he’s going down she’s going with him. Riley closes her eyes, trying to catch up to this turn of events.
Riley: Let me get this straight. Both of you went to our competition, at separate times, to try and threaten them into… what? Giving up? Throwing the showdown?
Lucas: I just thought that --
Maya: Our prospects are in shambles even without the money. I was just --
Lucas: And I didn’t want you to be disappointed --
Maya: Everyone is counting on me, we’ve all got a lot riding on --
Riley: Okay, okay, stop. Enough!
Riley holds her hands up, getting them both to shut up. She takes a moment to compose herself, taking a deep breath, then she jumps into fixer mode.
Riley: This must be the week for damage control, because now you’ve really done it. You realize now we’re going to have to bring it even harder, since you’ve made it perfectly clear to Brandon and the Havies that we’re spooked. You wouldn’t go and grovel for mercy if we weren’t.
Lucas: That wasn’t --
Maya, scoffing: I do not grovel --
Riley: I cannot believe you would do something so stupid. [ to Lucas ] And that you would do something like this and not tell me…
Oof… hit him where it hurts, Riles. Lucas lowers his head, avoiding her eyes. Case in point, it doesn’t make anybody look very good. And now, Riley proclaims, she has to fix it once again.
Riley: We’re going to have to brainstorm fast for showdown and make sure everything is in pristine shape, which we already know is a shot in the dark. Call Yindra, tell her to come by our place in twenty. I’ll see if we can get Jeff and Isadora too.
Riley puts her belongings back in her bag and hops off the stool, Maya already heading out. Riley goes to follow her, but she pauses in the doorway and glances back over her shoulder at Lucas. She shakes her head, obviously disappointed.
Riley: I can’t believe you.
She leaves it there, pushing through the doors without another word. Lucas looks after her, ashamed, then curses to himself and lightly hits the counter with his palm.
Break 2.
EXT. DANCE LOT - DREAM SEQUENCE - NIGHT
Charlie is sprawled on the asphalt, just like when he collapsed, the city uncharacteristically quiet around him. When he comes around he jolts upright, spooked at being outside and on his own. He looks around in confusion, no clue where he is or how he got there. He slowly gets to his feet, recognizing the dance lot as a place he’s been before, but unsure where exactly it is or where to go next.
Only one clue exists to help guide him. Music.
It’s quiet, muffled, but he can hear it. A thumping bass, hypnotic beat… he spins until he zeroes in on the source. A heavy metal door installed into the wall opposite him, propped open just slightly, with a neon sign above indicating it’s likely some kind of club. Colorful light leaks out from the crack, mesmerizing and more than intriguing.
But it’s really the music that wins him over. He’s a dancer, and he cannot resist a compelling groove. He cautiously approaches the door, pulling it open and then stepping inside… as the faraway rhythms slowly become a familiar tune...
INT. DANCE CLUB - DREAM SEQUENCE - NIGHT
Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Voulez-Vous” as performed by Mamma Mia! Original Movie Cast || Performed by AAA Seniors & Haverford Seniors
The rambunctious ABBA classic kicks off with a bang, music loud and boldly setting the scene. The lighting is mysterious, electric, the fully romanticized version of what a sultry, exciting disco scene might be like. Charlie is no longer dressed in his everyday clothes but is suddenly styled to match the vibes, sporting a sleek disco suit with Riley’s aforementioned blue dress shirt completing the look.
And as he ventures deeper into the club, he discovers he’s not alone. The place is packed with his classmates both current and former, Haverford populating one side and Adams the other, but all dressed in similar, near identical, disco suits. All eyes lock on him the moment he’s within view, judging him, waiting for him to make a move -- or pick a side.
The vocals start, and Charlie does neither, jumping down from the steps and sliding into the center of the glowing dance floor -- right down the middle of party lines. He starts the number dancing alone, challenging the established status quo in the club, tension mounting around his transgression of crossing lines…
Until Zay pushes through the crowd on the A class side. On both feet, looking fly as ever, no injury in sight and nothing holding him back from showing his stuff.
And here we go again, we know the start, we know the end
Masters of the scene
Charlie pauses, locking eyes with Zay. For a moment, finishing up the pre-chorus, they just hold eye contact… letting that tension bubble over…
Then Zay jumps into the center of the floor with him, joining in the dance.
Voulez-vous!
For the first chorus it’s just Zay and Charlie, dancing sometimes together and sometimes in contrast, epitomizing the back-and-forth pull between them. But it’s them, so the dancing is remarkably good, and especially satisfying considering how long it’s been since we saw them share a routine. Their timing and chemistry is just as sharp as ever, and it’s also a relief just to see Zay be able to move again.
Throughout the second verse, they weave back into their respective schools, Charlie’s peers still eyeing each other suspiciously and reluctant to break rank. But Zay manages to get Riley out on the dance floor (with Lucas in tow), and then Charlie nudges Evan. Bit by bit the classes mix and mingle, caught somewhere between dancing in tandem and facing off like foes. This becomes especially pronounced during the bridge about 3 and half minutes in, when the chorus becomes stripped and just relies on “ahas,” Charlie leading the Haverford delegation and Zay fronting the A class as they mirror movements and poses.
Then they officially bleed together, classmates crossing into opposite territory for the final chorus. For those who don’t already have a pair in their respective class (unlike say, Dylan and Asher), they pair with someone from the opposite school, like Brandon and Maya.
And, naturally, Zay and Charlie. They’re back together at the center of it all, intensity rising with the music, choreography much more intertwined this time and very close together. If not breaking charged eye contact were an Olympic sport, they would win gold easily.
The flash. The glamor. The drama. ABBA would be proud! When they round out the final seconds and strike their final pose, Zay and Charlie’s faces are so close, all it would take is a centimeter in either direction…
Zay: Charlie...
Charlie’s eyes flit down to his lips, as if he’s contemplating that very thing…
Rosie, faraway: Charlie!
INT. GARDNER HOME - CHARLIE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT
Alas, not meant to be -- even in dream sequence. Charlie rouses awake when he’s shaken by Rosie, sitting on the bed next to him.
Oh, well. Wouldn’t be the same as doing it for real anyway.
Charlie blinks to adjust back to reality, Rosie releasing a momentous sigh when she sees he’s conscious again. She snaps at him for scaring her, informing him that his fainting spell totally freaked her and Eleanor out. Ambrose is on the phone with their doctor friend right now. He manages to sit up and apologizes for worrying them. It’s probably just… stress.
Rosie: Either way, bad party trick. Mom was so bugged out. You shouldn’t tell her you think it’s stress, or else she’ll probably yank you out of school too and back into Catholic prep.
Charlie: Yeah, speaking of… you really think she’s going to do that to you?
Rosie: … after you passed out, the conversation was basically dropped. If I keep quiet and don’t do anything else to incriminate myself, I think she’ll let it go. [ embittered ] Though sucks that I can’t even text who I want without her knowing every message I send. I doubt she’ll even let me speak to Uri now.
Charlie: Pro-tip? Change his contact name. Mom only goes looking for what she thinks is a problem. If you give him something inconspicuous, she’s never going to know otherwise.
Rosie stares at him, shocked her saltine brother would even think of something like that. I mean, he might be an alcoholic, but still… but it’s good advice all the same. Charlie goes on to explain that he was worried about her, too, and he doesn’t want her to feel like she’s trapped or she has to lash out. You can negotiate with Eleanor, you just have to be clever about it. He doesn’t want her to make the same mistakes that Bridgette did.
Rosie: Yeah, I know… thanks for looking out for me.
Charlie: So… Uri Minkus, huh?
Rosie: Ugh.
Charlie: He’s really that worth sneaking around to text?
Rosie: … I guess you could say… perhaps… maybe… that I have like, the tiniest crush on him. Just a little bit.
Charlie can’t help his smile. He jokes that she should be careful, not because of Eleanor’s concerns, but because if they get married then Farkle is going to become their in-law, and she has no idea what she’s in for if that happens. She groans and nudges Charlie, telling him to shut up, but it’s clear she’s already in better spirits than most of this week. She asks if he’s okay given that all his “stress” is literally making him pass out. Is everything okay with Adams? Charlie admits that he wishes things were easier to navigate than they are.
Charlie: Honestly, I think I’m just naturally gifted at making everything worse. [ with a weak laugh ] Probably should’ve listened to dad when he asked if transferring during senior year was a good idea.
Rosie points out that maybe some of that stress weighing on him is just stuff he creates in his own head. Not to demean it or anything, but like… does everything have to be an anxiety-inducing dilemma? If he wants to go hang out with his friends, from either school, then he should just go do that. He’s allowed to enjoy himself every once and a while and take a break from being the perfect saltine protective older brother. You know, have fun.
Rosie: [ holding up a finger ] Sober fun.
Charlie’s turn to laugh and nudge her. But maybe she has a point. And there might be just the perfect upcoming event where he can relax and have some fun…
INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT - NIGHT
We join Eric and Isadora in the midst of their conversation. Eric reads Valerie’s letter while Isadora watches with her lips pressed together. Once he finishes the letter, he takes a moment to process it.
Eric: Wow. That’s… a lot.
Isadora: What do you think?
Eric: I think that what I think isn’t important at all right now. What do you think? Do you want to get in contact with him?
Isadora thinks about it as she wrings her hands.
Isadora: I’m not sure. But… you aren’t upset?
Eric: Why would I be upset?
Isadora: If I do want to meet him, I’m worried you’ll think that you’re not enough for me or something. I don’t want to hurt you.
Eric: Isadora, that could never happen. I’m not hurt at all, I just want what’s best for you, and a relationship with your father could be something really good.
Isadora: What if it isn’t, though? I don’t want to set myself up for disappointment. Again.
Eric: That’s understandable. You don’t have to make a decision now, though. You have all the time you want to think it over. [ a beat ] If you want, you could write a letter to him yourself. You don’t have to send it, but it can be cathartic to write out everything you’re thinking and feeling about the situation.
Unsure, Isadora pulls a face. Eric reminds her again to just think about it -- no major decisions necessary right now.
INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY
Lucas is meeting with Jack one last time before the dance fundraiser to grab another cash box and go over any last minute details. Jack questions if he’s going to be dressing for the occasion, to which Lucas rolls his eyes but begrudgingly admits that he thinks Riley would be even more upset with him if he didn’t. Though he doesn’t have all the details, Jack assures Lucas that he’s sure Riley isn’t going to be angry for long.
One can only hope. Jack wishes Lucas luck and then he heads out, leaving him to his work. He settles back into it until he lifts his gaze and catches Yancy heading out of the building, checking out for the weekend.
All of Jack’s frustration from his conversation with Evelyn bubbles back up again. He pushes out of his chair, jogging out of his office.
EXT. AAA - DAY
Jack catches Yancy on his way down the steps, telling him that they need to talk. Yancy claims whatever it is can surely wait until Monday, but Jack isn’t having it.
Jack: No, I don’t think your active sabotage of my school can wait another damn second.
Yancy is stunned by his coarse language, effectively halting him long enough to have the confrontation. Well, what then? Jack questions when exactly he planned to let him know about his ongoing anti-campaign against the student government’s scholarship endeavors, or what would drive him and Graham to work to pit the board against them. He knows that they aren’t fond of him, especially after his stunt at the trial, but taking it out on the students? Who does that benefit? What do they gain from that?
Yancy, sharply: Actually, Jackson, you’ve hit the nail on the head. After your little unprofessional display, why wouldn’t we be invested in halting any other schemes you deem a good idea? Particularly when your chosen favorite himself just miraculously managed to become student body president in a school that hates his very existence?
Jack: You have no idea what you’re talking about, and Lucas won that election on his own merit. It had nothing to do with me.
Yancy: It has everything to do with you! Everything does! So long as you are at the helm of this ship, making all the calls, everything ties back to you. And we used to trust you with that power. But all this behavior as of late -- declining lucrative offers, favoring delinquents --
Jack: He is not a delinquent!
Yancy: Or how about cavorting with a fellow employee? [ off his shocked expression ] Oh, come on, Jackson, I’m not naive. Did you and Eric really believe you could flaunt your little flirtation right in front my face and I wouldn’t notice a thing? As if my whole purpose at that school isn’t to keep it from collapsing under your unprofessional whimsy and desires!
This whole time, he’s been observing, watching the operation of AAA from the inside out, trying to determine if Jack remains fit to head the institution. Yancy admits, when Graham first put him up for the job, he was skeptical -- he’d always had great belief in Jack as an educator. He was doubtful that he had really slipped so far… but now he’s seen for himself. There is a certain way things are done, and it seems Jack has forgotten all of his proper perspective in service to that law and order.
Yancy: When I finish my report to the board at the end of the semester, they’ll be the judge of whether or not you deserve to stay where you are. But believe me, if I had it my way, you’d be out of that position and filing for unemployment faster than lightning.
Jack: You can’t do this. You can’t eject me from the role simply because your perspective is too old-fashioned to be flexible. Or empathetic. And unwilling to examine context --
Yancy: Well, we’ll just let the board decide that, won’t we.
Guess we will. Yancy fussily buttons his coat.
Yancy: I would watch yourself if I were you, Jackson. In my opinion, it’s far too late, but we both know how easy it is to tip the scales slightly in your favor. Maybe you’ll salvage this yet. Otherwise, I’d start contemplating alternative paths. Have a good evening.
Yancy stomps down the steps, not waiting for a goodbye. Jack swallows his panic, trying to remain resolute in the face of so much pressure. Scrambling to figure out what to do next...
A groovy disco track bleeds into the soundscape, totally dissonant to Jack’s dread --
INT. DANCE VENUE - NIGHT
Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Streetdance” as performed by Disco Street Machine || Instrumental
The ‘70s dance fundraiser is in full swing, and it seems to be doing well! The venue is packed not just with Adams students but other community members, promising at least some greater revenue from the whole ordeal. The scene is set with funky lighting and a dance floor, along with some flower-power type decorations and a fun mirrorball hanging above it all.
It’s mainly cool to see everyone leaning into the theme and dressed in their best approximations of ‘70s garb. We’ve got funky vests, blazers for days, chunky platform boots, a few bohemian chic vibes, you name it. A few establishing shots show us all these looks and more while the assembled crowd grooves to the disco track. Yogi is wandering with his camera, capturing footage for posterity and social media.
Lucas is manning the check-in table, this time keeping control over the money in his own hands. He maintains a cordial enough demeanor as he interacts with potential patrons, and he is giving some semblance of ‘70s as promised in his collared-shirt-under-sweater look. He’s serving like… gothic Fred Jones, which is about as much as you’re gonna get from him.
Asher and Dylan, on the other hand, are representing much better. Asher is repping the funky vest and puffy sleeve shirt vibe, matched well with some maroon bell-bottoms and swooped back hair, while Dylan is truly going disco with a silky vibrant shirt tucked into silver pants, a huge, chunky pair of Elton John tinted glasses the cherry on top of the ensemble. They ask how cash flow is going, and Lucas claims fine, but they’re not out of the woods by a long shot.
Lucas: If things don’t pick up, I’m going to start pickpocketing.
Asher: Yes, that’s exactly what we need. A literal crook for president.
Dylan: Isn’t that like every president?
Anyway, Lucas needs to chill. Or as Dylan puts it, surrender to the boogie. Which is what he and Asher are going to go do right now -- the dance floor beckons them. Asher leads the way, Dylan walking backwards so he can maintain eye contact with Lucas and literally disco groove away from him as encouragement to give in to the funk. Lucas just shakes his head, unimpressed.
When Lucas gets back to work, who should be waiting to purchase a ticket in but Charlie Gardner. He’s dressed for the occasion too, dressed in dark pants and a white blazer… with Riley’s chosen blue shirt underneath. It seems he followed her guidance and went for it after all. Lucas greets him and commends him for turning out, considering all the bad blood between Haverford and AAA right now. Brave of him to show up.
Doesn’t he know it… but he wants to be here. Lucas takes his money and nods for him to go on in, sending him into the fray.
Meanwhile, Zay is parked at one of the tables, not in the best mood considering he’s surrounded by the boogie and can’t participate. Nigel is doing his best to cheer him up, but it’s sort of a fruitless effort. When Zay catches him eyeing Jade, who the techies managed to extract from the loft to at least enjoy the dance, he sighs and tells him to go have fun. He doesn’t have to waste away with him. Nigel argues against that take, but Zay nods him onward, insisting.
So Nigel bounces to his feet, thanking Zay before cutting through the crowd in the direction of Jade. Zay watches him go, bittersweet at being left alone again.
Charlie skirts the edges for a bit before finding companionship in Farkle, who greets him plainly. He’s dressed like Eric Forman, wearing a simple button down and bellbottoms combo with a loose brown corduroy jacket. He and Charlie briefly catch up, commenting on how the turn out is and how great the aesthetic is. But Farkle is still a bit lost in his own head, and Charlie notices. He elbows him lightly.
Charlie: You okay?
Farkle: [ with some of his usual humor ] Chuck, that’s like asking the sky if it’s red. I think you already know the answer.
But he’ll live. Once he figures some things out… it’ll be fine. It has to be. Vagueness aside, Charlie can tell there’s more to it, but he opts to focus on distraction rather than problem-solving. He’s had enough problem-solving for a lifetime this week. He invites Farkle to go dance instead, playfully challenging him to show what disco moves he’s got up his sleeve.
Farkle: Oh, you’re going to regret this -- and not because I’m good.
Charlie laughs, gesturing for him to lead the way onto the dance floor.
Maya jumps up onto the small stage set up with the DJ booth, taking the microphone and briefly thanking everyone for coming out. No applause necessary for putting it together, really… and she waits until the audience feels compelled to applaud. Then she waves them off “humbly” before reminding them of all the ways they can support the Adams senior class while at this benefit -- mainly financially! And by getting down and boogie-oogie-oogying. Peace!
Lucas shakes his head at Maya’s speech, lightly amused, but all of his calm is wiped away when Missy walks through the door. She’s dressed in simple ‘70s, a gorgeous and slightly revealing silk disco mini dress and with her hair blown out like Farah Fawcett. She cheekily compliments him on his get up.
Missy, sarcastic: An ensemble that elaborate must’ve taken ages to throw together. I see you really put an effort in.
Lucas: Maybe. And what’s your excuse?
Missy: Not everything needs to be silly and over the top. In fact, I think the richest things in life are those that go understated. Left unsaid… makes everything a bit more exciting, anticipating whatever more there might be to explore. [ a beat ] Same goes for fashion.
Lucas: … so are you paying, or what?
Missy: As I understand it, Adams seniors get in free. But since I can afford it…
She reaches into her small satin purse, pulling out a wad of cash. She siphons off about half of it -- way more than a ticket would cost -- and drops it into the cash box for him. He eyes it suspiciously, then flits his glare towards her.
Missy: I thought about our little chat. And you’re right, maybe there needs to be something in it for me -- which in this case is a victory at showdown. We’re embarrassing enough right now as it is. At least with the funding, we’ll look good when we crash and burn. And as for the rest…
She folds up the remaining bills in her hand and holds them out for him, gesture subtle but unmistakable. Lucas stares at the money, then glances around them nervously to make sure no one else is looking.
Lucas: What the hell are you doing?
Missy: Come on, Lucas. Don’t be noble. We know how things are between us. I’m just trying to help. And it stays discreet. Think of it as… a bonus, for all the hard work you’re doing for the A class. [ quieter ] I heard you in the booth. You don’t ask for help. Well, sometimes, you don’t have to beg. You can just take… whatever you want.
She raises her eyebrows, subtly challenging him to take it. Lucas hesitates, holding his breath… it feels like a test, he knows it is… but he’s already taken plenty from her without asking. What’s a little more…
Missy: Davis isn’t going to pay for itself, is it?
No. No it isn’t. She’s right, and he knows his chances of reeling a scholarship are slim to none. Does he really want all of this stress for applications to be for nothing?
Reluctantly, Lucas takes the money from her and slips it into his back pocket. Missy smiles, genuinely pleased, though why it’s hard to say. But it’s clear, now more than ever, that whatever little arrangement they’ve got going on here is a pattern now. It’s not just going to flutter away on its own, and the consequences that might come of it remain a mystery.
Missy: Groovy. Enjoy the dance, Lucas.
Lucas doesn’t respond, using the cash box as an excuse not to look at her. But based on flipping through the amount of money she handed over for the fundraiser, they’re way closer to their goal than before. And that has to make it all worth it, right?
Song Cue ♫ ♪ “September” as performed by Earth, Wind, & Fire || Instrumental
One of the best songs of the decade comes on next, earning an enthusiastic cheer from the crowd. Riley weaves her way through the throng and rushes up to the entrance to find Lucas, Nate in tow. She’s dressed in a shimmery lavender-mauve jumpsuit, a complimentary hair scarf tying together the groovy look. She pushes Nate in front of her.
Riley: Nate here is taking over table duty.
Nate: You know how I love dem bills, my brother.
Riley: So that you can come dance with me.
Lucas cringes, weakly putting up a fight. Oh, no, no, no… but Riley’s already got her hands on him, and her smile is so damn cute, it would be impossible to refuse her. So he lets her drag him out into the crowd.
Once they’re actually on the dance floor, Riley beams at him and pulls him closer, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Lucas does his best to be a good sport and play along, especially since he’s already in trouble, placing his hands on her hips and casually swaying to the beat.
Lucas: So… does this mean I’m off the hook for the Brandon thing, or…
Riley: Hm… so as long you’re dancing with me and you look so cute in that sweater, I suppose you can be forgiven.
Better than nothing, though Lucas still clearly feels guilty about disappointing her. Just one of many ways he feels like he’s letting her down… but for now she’s happy, so he’ll just focus on touching her waist and how hot she looks in her jumpsuit.
Across the dance floor, Dylan and Asher are in conversation with Jeff and Yindra, Dylan with his arm draped casually around Asher’s shoulders and bouncing to the beat. They’re discussing the everchanging stakes of their showdown routine -- at this point Yindra claims they should just scrap it all and start over, they’ve got equally as bad a shot with the shoddy routine they have now. But Asher claims that would be a disaster, and they should only cross that bridge if they absolutely must.
Dylan spots something that seems to capture his attention, his eyes widening in excitement. He pinches Asher’s ribs and leans closer, Asher tilting his head to listen to his murmur.
Dylan: Shakespeare in Love, straight ahead.
Asher squints through the dancing crowd and finds what he’s talking about -- Nigel and Jade. He’s actually managed to pull her onto the dance floor, engaging in loose and easy grooving together. She’s laughing, waving off how bad a dancer she is, but he holds one of her hands and assures her she’s good.
Totally radical. Asher and Dylan exchange knowing looks, unable to hold back a grin.
Zay is less enthused, mainly because of his current view -- Charlie, dancing with Farkle of all people to one of the greatest songs there is. Not that there’s anything to be concerned about, really, since they’re clearly just goofing around with each other and Farkle is as promised quite an embarrassing disco dancer. But he’s up and moving, free, having fun, making Charlie laugh -- with Charlie looking disgustingly attractive in his expertly chosen shirt -- and it kind of feels like a perfect vignette of what’s locked away from him.
Everything Zay wants, desperately misses, but can’t have.
His brooding is interrupted when Isadora plops down into the chair across from him, giving him a nod in greeting. He asks why she’s not out there grooving on the dance floor, and she sagely says she’s not interested in getting up to boogie so… publicly. She’s amazed Riley got Lucas out there, but that’s only because of her unique Riley charms. It’s torture in her eyes.
Zay: Speak for yourself, but you’re entitled to your whack opinion.
Isadora: I know, I know. This is killing you. And I respect that. Just not for me. [ a beat ] Maybe it’ll give you some peace to know that you being benched is an undeniable tragedy for all of us.
Zay: The considerate part of me says no, but the egotistical side does love it, thank you.
Isadora: You’re welcome. [ with a sigh ] Now there’s talk of changing the routine if we can’t figure out how to fill your vacancy. Not that I don’t think we could pull it off, but it would take all hands on deck and everyone on board, and I don’t see that happening unless there’s no other alternative. Right now, if we could just find someone to fill your spot -- never as strongly, of course --
Zay: Again, my ego thanks you. You’re not going to take the spot?
Isadora: Uh… I mean, I don’t know. A couple of people suggested it, but look, we know I’m no you. I don’t learn as quickly, and I’ve got enough of a track record with performance mishaps on my own. I mean, what if I do it but I completely freeze the moment we have to go out there? My mom’s parting gift to me was giving me the one thing she never had -- stage fright. Doesn’t that seem too risky to throw in there when the stakes are higher than ever?
Zay: Man, I don’t know. I get what you’re saying, but all I know is that I would kill to be able to perform right now. And if you’re debating it at all, then to me, that means you want to -- and if I had the ability to do it, I wouldn’t waste it for a second on what ifs.
Very insightful, Zay. Isadora contemplates this… then she points out to Zay that just because he’s off his feet doesn’t mean he has to fade into oblivion. He’s got to take the time to heal, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be involved in the class or productions. He just has to find new ways to involve himself rather than what he’s used to.
Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Y.M.C.A.” as performed by Village People || Instrumental
Another classic! In an instant, Riley appears at their table, teeming with enthusiasm and reaching for Zay’s hands. She insists that he get up dance with her -- to which he reminds her that he’s booted -- but she points out that anyone can do the Y.M.C.A. It’s just shouting and arms! So he relents, allowing her to help him to his feet, but his grin betrays his aloof demeanor.
Farkle slides over moments later, telling Isadora that she better get up and join them too. If Zay can do it, she has no excuse. She rolls her eyes, but she really can’t argue with him on that.
So the dance wraps up with a flourish, the full class laughing, sing-shouting and goofing off together to the party favorite that literally anyone can do. Nigel and Riley each support Zay on either side, and he looks about as joyful as he has in weeks. Asher and Dylan prevent Lucas from escaping, keeping him on the dance floor and trapping him in the Y.M.C.A groove too. Charlie dances with Haley and Clarissa, who take turns twirling under his arms.
Yogi and Dave make their way through it all, capturing all the joy of a successful fundraiser on camera so they’ll never forget it.
INT. DANCE VENUE - LATER - NIGHT
The party has wrapped up, only the A class hanging around to clean up. Well, the A class and Charlie, who insisted it was no problem to stay back and assist in tidying. He’s working with Nigel and Yindra at stacking chairs, the latter of which comments playfully that he really is too helpful for his own good.
Yindra: Such a good little Christian, truly. It’s like God injected his compassion mission into your cute white boy veins.
Charlie: Well… not that good, admittedly. [ a beat ] I think if he was going to make his prototype golden child, he would’ve skipped the part where he made me gay.
Oop. Wow, a casual coming out -- and with a little humor, too! Charlie is getting better at this. Yindra raises her eyebrows at him, assessing for a moment whether or not he might be joking… and then she breaks into a wide grin, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.
Yindra: Oh, Charlie, Charlie, Charlie… I always knew I liked you. And I should’ve known, considering that awful Les Mis kiss still haunts my nightmares.
She asks how long he’s been out, or at least telling people, and Nigel slides in to proudly note that he told him before Yindra. She rolls her eyes. Charlie admits it’s slow-going and hasn’t been easy, especially with the community outside of AAA, but it feels good every time he does it. Hopefully the rest of his world will turn out tolerant too.
Yindra invites him to her church that Sunday for a change of pace. She’s performing a solo in the choir, so it’ll be guaranteed entertaining, and it might be good for him to see an actually accepting church environment for a change.
Nigel: She just wants to force you to see her ‘70s performance before she shares it with the class on Monday. The more people she can force to be her audience, the better.
Yindra: Hey, now, I don’t care for your sass, Chey Chey.
Either way, her church runs later than his, so it shouldn’t conflict. And Nigel will be there too -- she’s bribing him with brunch -- so it’ll be like a fun little outing. Charlie just seems happy to be connecting with his peers again, so he happily agrees.
Nate, pre-lap: 70… 80… 90…
INT. CHUBBIES - NIGHT
Lucas, Maya, Riley, Dylan, Asher, Isadora, and Farkle are convened in and around the back corner booth, watching nervously as Nate counts the final income from the dance fundraiser. All of them are holding their breath… Maya is pacing like a wildcat, ready to pounce and tear him to shreds if the number is too low.
Isadora: Jesus, Nate, can’t you count any faster?
Nate: No, I don’t cut corners when it comes to money. Now shut up, or I’ll have to start over.
Farkle, exhausted: Hush, Isa. Don’t make him start over.
Silence settles over them again… and Nate finishes counting the bills from the cashbox. He lifts up a finger to halt them from asking, writing the number down and then pulling up the calculator app on his phone. After combining the total from this with the car wash haul…
Nate: We did it. Crazy sons of bitches, we did it!
They officially made the money to pay for the damages and fund their showdown needs. Victory! All of them cheer, hugging each other and clapping enthusiastically. Riley wraps her arms around Lucas and kisses his cheek, while he’s looking pretty relieved.
Nate: I gotta say though, the numbers seem kind of skewed based on the actual attendance we had. Someone must’ve made a huge donation. [ to Lucas ] Did you notice anyone drop some major cash?
Oh, interesting… Lucas pauses, then breezes past the question. He claims it doesn’t matter who donated what -- they’re in the clear, and now they can focus on what matters. It’s time to kick Haverford’s pretentious privileged ass at showdown.
Hear, hear! The group cheers again, exchanging high-fives and reveling in their hard-earned success.
INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT - NIGHT
Isadora arrives home, shedding her jacket and shoes at the door. She’s relaxed, and has a relieved smile on her face. From where he sits on the sofa, Eric looks over to her.
Isadora: We did it! We raised all the money we need.
Eric: Oh, amazing! Well done, I’m so proud of you all.
Isadora sits down next to him and exhales. It’s been a long day.
Isadora: I’ve been thinking about it a lot and I’ve decided to write a letter to Zachary.
Eric: Tha --
Isadora, interrupting: I don’t know whether I’ll send it or not, but I do think it’ll help just to get my thoughts out there.
Eric nods his agreement, and reminds her that he’ll always be there for her. Just as she starts to ask for help on what to include in the correspondence, there’s a knock at the door. Eric goes to answer it, pleasantly surprised to find Jack waiting on the other side. Although he’s happy to see him, Jack seems stressed, so Isadora gets the hint that she should probably give them some space. She wishes Jack a good night and retreats to her room, leaving them alone.
Eric: Did you hear that they made the money to cover the auditorium damages? I’m honestly impressed, but I guess we should never doubt the A class.
Jack: Yeah… yeah, I did. From Lucas. It’s great.
Eric: … okay, what’s going on. You’ve got your thin voice going, how you get when something is wrong.
Jack doesn’t even bother to ask what that means -- Eric knows him well, it’s hardly a surprise at this point. He releases a strained sigh and explains what happened with Yancy, both about him sabotaging the scholarship fund from within the board and then the confrontation they had on the steps. Eric listens raptly, absorbing some of his dread with every word.
Eric: That sick… I always knew there was something off about him. He’s a corporate sellout through and through -- has been since he joined the board. And he has the gall to lecture you… we’ll get him for this, Jack. We just have to strategize --
Jack: No. No, we can’t do anything. Not right now. Not with so many things on the line.
Jack mentions the other piece of Yancy’s threat -- that he might be put on probation for real and potentially let go. Eric scoffs at this, disbelieving. Jack is well-known in the community… no way he’d get ousted. It’s an empty threat.
Eric: What’ll probably happen is that if anything, they put you off contract, and the position would reopen for applicants. So all you’d have to do is apply again, and Evelyn would hand it back to you without question. Yancy is just reaching, he can’t --
Jack: But Evelyn isn’t the only vote that matters, Eric. If they can flip a decision on something like the scholarships… that affects the students… and I don’t think he’s bluffing. I mean, he brought up Lucas, he mentioned… he mentioned you and me…
Eric shrinks a bit at this. It’s uncomfortable that someone is using their relationship as leverage, implying it’s a bad thing, but he’s also nervous about the way Jack is taking it. He knows how much he cares about AAA. He’d do anything to keep it afloat, to do what’s right for the school.
Eric: So… [ with a deep breath ] What do you want to do?
Jack, softly: Right now… I just think we need to… we need to step back. Put things on hold until the dust settles. My examination period should be over soon, and when this is all sorted, then… then maybe we can…
But for now, they can’t. There’s too much at stake… things both of them care about more than themselves. Although Eric is reluctant, he does his best to keep his emotions in check and nods along. He places a hand on Jack’s shoulder, letting it rest there for a moment. Stroking with his thumb, soaking in the touch for all it’s worth. Who knows when he’ll comfortably get to do it again.
Eric: Whatever you need, Jack. I understand. [ with difficulty ] I’m with you.
Jack nods, grateful. More grateful than he’ll ever know. He holds his gaze for a long moment, then leans forward and presses his lips softly to the corner of his mouth. So close, yet so far… Eric closes his eyes, trying his best not to crack.
Jack pulls back, swallowing hard. He clears his throat and nods, back to a fragile shell of professionalism.
Jack: I’ll see you at school.
Eric returns the nod, but he can’t meet his eyes. Jack hesitates for a moment longer, wishing it wasn’t this way, wishing he could stay… then steps back into the hall, shutting the door behind him.
Like he was never there.
INT. YINDRA’S CHURCH - DAY
Charlie and Nigel are in one of the pews amidst the usual congregation of Yindra’s church, waiting for the choir following the service to begin. Charlie seems excited but nervous, liking the high spirits and jovial energy but worried he’s an imposter just like he is everywhere else. He leans over to Nigel.
Charlie: I stick out like a sore thumb, don’t I?
Nigel: Mm, yeah. But it’s okay, [ patting his arm ] you can’t help that you’re skim milk.
Thank you for that, Nigel. Charlie opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out, so it’s a relief when Yindra steps down front and center in her church choir robes to address the congregation. She cheerfully greets them and explains that she got to choose the song for this week, which she used to also fulfill the requirement for her art school lesson. Two birds, one stone, am I right?
Either way, she wants to dedicate the heart of this performance to her peers at school and in attendance this afternoon. She knows they’re all going through stuff, and even though it feels like the end of the world right now, it’ll all be water under the bridge one day. All they can do is take it day by day, and by the grace of God, everything will end up the way it’s meant to be.
Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Bridge Over Troubled Water” as performed by Glee Cast || Performed by Yindra Amino
If anyone could deliver soulful, impressive vocals to rival and honor Mercedes Jones (for those of us who did watch Glee, unlike the Havies), it would be Yindra Amino. And deliver she does, both in the church and on the atrium steps at AAA where she splits this performance. The rest of her choir backing her up gospel style really does add a certain something something, but the true emphasis of the number is the meaning.
Your time has come to shine
All your dreams are on their way
See how they shine, oh, if you need a friend
I'm sailing right behind
When she makes it to the latter half and the gospel kicks off clapping to the beat, the entire congregation leaps to their feet and eagerly joins in. Charlie and Nigel are right there with them -- as is the A class in the atrium intercut of the performance.
Yindra brings it home with a spectacular vocal run, and you have to wonder if she really could make it out there in L.A. on her vocal chops alone. The church erupts into gleeful applause as she wraps up and takes a bow with the choir, beaming bright.
Charlie mirrors her smile, enthusiastically clapping along. Experiencing for an instant what it’s like to feel comfortable in church -- allowed to just be himself.
INT. CHUBBIES - DAY
Lucas is anxiously sitting opposite Riley in the usual booth, watching as she carefully reads over his personal essays. She’s doing her best to maintain a professional and neutral expression while she goes, but it’s impossible to hold back the slightest smile on her lips as she reaches the conclusion. When she lifts her gaze to meet his, but purposefully builds suspense by not saying anything, he cracks.
Lucas: Well? They’re terrible, aren’t they? You can just say it if they are.
Riley: … [ breaking into a grin ] They’re great, Lucas. Brilliant, honestly. Not that I ever had any doubt you could pull it off.
What a relief. Lucas exhales a sigh, thanking her for taking the time to read them. Then he continues, softly apologizing for not telling her about what happened with Brandon. Even though he had good intentions, he knows it doesn’t matter. And if he wanted so much not for her to know, then obviously it was never a good idea to begin with.
Riley: You know it’s fine for you to mess up. I just don’t get why you didn’t tell me.
Lucas: [ after a beat ] I guess I didn’t… it’s like the stupid personal essays. I know that… I’m not a shining example of a good person. I don’t think that’s exactly a secret.
Riley: I don’t think that.
Lucas: I know. I know you don’t, and I think that’s why I didn’t want you to know. Because it’s like every thing I do that shows you that, the more you realize that I’m… less than ideal, then…
Riley tilts her head, giving him a sympathetic look. Then she gets up and comes to join him on his side of the booth, sliding in next to him and leaning forward a bit so he’ll meet her gaze.
Riley: I told you that I wanted a relationship with you, and I meant it. And that’s all of you -- everything, the good and the bad. Even if you make a mistake, or I get disappointed, it doesn’t change that. We’ll find a way to work it out. I want you.
Her way with words makes everything sound so easy, so simple… and maybe it is. Maybe it can be just as simple as wanting each other, loving each other, and making it work. Lucas absorbs the sentiment, smiling shyly and thanking her again.
Hard part out of the way, Riley asks him how he managed to break his writer’s block and write those killer essays. What was his secret? Lucas hums, thinking about it.
Lucas: It was kind of what you said. You know, changing my perspective. When I was trying to write it from my lens, it was… well, you know. But then I just tried to think… what would Riley say? If someone asked you about me. And when I thought about it like that, I don’t know… suddenly, it was easy.
Riley chews her lip, smile blossoming on her face. She pulls him into a gentle kiss, one that he returns before swiftly stealing another one. She nudges her forehead against his, fondness shining in her eyes as she looks at him.
It’s no mystery how thinking like her made for some unbeatable work.
Billy, pre-lap: I knew it. I knew he wasn’t loyal.
INT. HAVERFORD PREP - SENIOR LOUNGE - DAY
Dweezil’s phone is sitting on the tabletop, open to the Adams social media page. Displayed are a handful of photos Yogi took during the ‘70s dance… including one clearly featuring Charlie, dancing with Haley and Clarissa. Although it looks like he’s having a swell time, Billy and Dweezil don’t seem happy for their classmate at all.
Dweezil: He’s never really jumped ship. We know he’s always hanging out with Riley anyway. This is just definitive proof.
Billy: Showdown is in a week. If he’s still this comfortable with his old chums, who knows how much shit he’s telling them.
Dweezil: And what if he finds out about the plan? No way he’s going to let us do it.
Billy: I say we take care of this now. Before it interferes with our performance.
Dweezil: He might blow everything.
Billy: Brandon. You have to have an opinion on this shit.
Opposite them and seated at the table, Brandon is examining the photograph for himself. He’s unperturbed as usual, thoughtful and contemplative. He doesn’t comment until Billy and Dweezil basically demand input from him, at which point he offers a calm smile.
Brandon: It’s nice to see him enjoying himself, isn’t it? I like Charles. He’s a nice kid. [ a beat, then suavely ] And a coward.
Brandon gingerly places Dweezil’s phone back on the desk, reclining back in his chair.
Brandon: I’m not worried about him.
Billy: Man, you’re kidding --
Dweezil: And what if he decides to --
Brandon: Don’t you get it? He’s not going to do anything. If there’s one thing you can count on with Charles, it’s that he’s spineless. He’s not feeding them information, and even if he does take offense to something we do, he isn’t going to do shit. Gardner is soft, and he’s the least of our worries. But in a week it’s not even going to matter. Especially not when we’ve got this.
Brandon retrieves the flash drive from his blazer pocket, placing it on the table between them. Billy and Dweezil eye it with interest -- they all clearly know what it contains.
Brandon: Once we crack into this, it’s over. We’re going to crush Adams like we do every year -- whether Charles helps or not.
INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY
Ah, to be back in the warm embrace of the auditorium -- even if it’s still a bit banged up. It’ll take a little while longer to get the auditorium back in tip-top shape, but the A class can at least come home to roost in it again, which is where they gather for the kick off the next week.
All of them give a round of applause to Harley for his assistance in repairing their mistakes, and hope that he enjoyed the performances of the last few days. He assures them he did, though as he understands it, the week isn’t quite over yet. He steps back and allows Jade to take front and center.
She thanks all of them for being patient with her while she finished up her portfolio materials, and at this point she only has one more request. Behind her, Dave and Dylan roll out the racks with her ‘70s portfolio costumes, and she explains that she needs models to pose for the photographs she’s going to include in her application of all her hard work. Now hm… where on Earth is she going to find suitable, available models for free who she just happened to know all the measurements of and would fit perfectly into these custom costumes…
Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Shake Your Booty” as performed by Forever In Your Mind || Performed by AAA Seniors
Riley beams, claiming she thinks she knows where they could find a few volunteers. The A class launches to their feet, rushing the stage to see what Jade has in store.
INT. AAA - BOYS DRESSING ROOM - DAY
The boys kick off this energetic, bopping closing number, changing into their Jade ‘70s ensembles and grooving in the dressing room. Sliding through the wall --
INT. AAA - GIRLS DRESSING ROOM - DAY
The girls are doing the same, fluffing their hair and doing each other’s make up as they sing into the mirrors. Once they’re all set, Yindra leads the way out into the dressing room hall…
INT. AAA - DRESSING ROOM HALL - DAY
Where they meet up with the boys, strutting in their fierce, authentically ‘70s looks. They make a mad dash for the auditorium --
INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY
And reclaim their stage, breaking into disco grooves as they toss around solo lines and show off their outfits. Jade stands with Yogi and helps him direct the costume shoot, both of them dressed up as well with Jade sporting the stereotypical but Jade-infused bohemian flower power girl look with a flowy white dress with puffy sleeves and a leather headband laced with wildflowers.
On the bridge, we get a montage of all of the A class posing in their outfits as they dance to get their pictures taken. This highlights not only how much we love this silly crop of seniors, but also how fantastic and individualized Jade’s costumes truly are. Paired with the earnest and jubilant performance, it’s a truly lovable showing.
Then they bring it on home with a disco line dance, all breaking into the same groovy choreography and all in their ‘70s garb. Zay watches from the audience with Lucas and the faculty, for once seemingly not in despair over being benched and still getting a custom outfit of his own. Dylan and Asher are front and center, and they pull Jade into it on the last few lines, so she also gets her boogie in before the day is done.
If one thing is clear, it’s that disco is far from dead, thank you very much! And while the A class has a lot on their plates -- and insurmountable stakes ahead -- it’s hard not to feel hopeful when they’ve got each other.
Whether that’s enough, well, soon we’ll find out.
END OF EPISODE.
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Hii, long time no see! I hope everything's well!I was wondering do you have any tua s3 predictions/things you would like to see?
Oh hi! Everything is well considering the mess that this year has been, i have no reason for complaints :)
Tua s3 predictions you ask hmmm
One of the things im 99% sure about is that Five will change from the Umbrella academy uniform only to wear a slightly different Sparrow academy uniform which ouch. Also Reggie will play him like a fiddle its going to be horrible (at least i hope so).
I really really want to see more Allison and especially more Allison and Five interactions because they are my two favourite characters and they have barely ever interacted ( yes im very salty about this).
I want 👏 Five 👏 to have 👏 the cathartic 👏 mental breakdown he 👏 deserves 👏. And a hug preferably. God knows he needs it.
Please tua writers have the siblings apologise to five i know that im biased because he is my favourite character but he is trying so hard and they constantly blame him for everything (with the exception of Klaus and Allison but they didnt interact at all in s2 which like i said before im kinda saltyabout).
More Diego and Vanya!!! They were adorable in s2. Vanya apologising and Diego begrudgingly telling that yes her apology does mean something to him? 10/10 im a sucker for characters apologising for their past mistakes we need more of this.
The Sparrow Academy! These guys fascinate me and scare me both at thesame time. i really hope the writers wont portait them as “evil” but rather as the emotionally manipulated and traumatised adults they are. Really, imagine living for thirty years under Reginalds care. Yikes.
Can we get more Umbrella childhood flashbacks? Please? Can we get more information on Bens death? Is me wishing that we could finally meet Claire just wishfull thinking considering the fact that she probably doesntt exist in this 2019? Yes, yes it is. Can we at least have some Claire and Allison flashbacks?
I dont know if there is any chance of Eudora returning because i loved her and i kind of wish she would? But idk if theres any chance of her coming back.
Luther being confronted with his fathers special brand of cruelty and fully realizing (and preferably saying it out loud it would be great) that Reggie is an asshole? Yes i love me some good character development 👌
And last but not least, more info about Reggie? Honestly what tf is going on with this guy. Also can he die again? Preferably by the hand of one of his children? He has a lot of them, im not picky.
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Chapter 3–The Princess Sets Out; Scene 4
master of the heavenly yard pages 58-70
“—Looks like we managed to give them the slip,” Riliane sighed in relief, clinging to the nun’s back.
Then she gently patted the white horse’s back.
“You did a great job, Josephine. And—” She tightened her grip with the arm she was using to hold onto the nun. “—Thank you for coming to save me, Clarith.”
“Oh no, it’s no big deal, Rin.”
Sister Clarith.
She was the one who had once saved a wandering Riliane after she’d lost her seat on the throne.
Josephine kept running even after they’d left the palace.
“Where are we going?” Riliane asked Clarith.
“…To the great land god, Michaela.”
“Huh!? –But the Millennium Tree Forest is in the opposite direction.”
“Michaela’s not there right now. It’s become too dangerous.”
“Dangerous?”
“The soldiers who attacked you—the theater that serves as their base of operations is in the forest.”
“…’Evils Theater’, huh?”
“--!? You know of it?”
“I’ve—lived there once before.”
Clarith pulled on the reins, and Josephine started to drop her speed—Eventually, she came to a stop. “…How about we rest here for a minute? It doesn’t seem like anyone’s chasing us.”
The two of them got down from the horse together.
Clarith joined her hands together and seemed to think on something. When she did, two lovely, pure white chairs and a table appeared there.
They sat in the chairs and faced each other.
“Seems like a lot’s happened for you…Rin.”
“I think close to five hundred years have passed since back then. How much do you know, Clarith?”
“Frankly, not much. I just came to get you under Michaela’s orders.”
“I got worried when you didn’t show up at my banquet.”
“Ah, well…I’m not so great at being around lots of people.”
It was a trifling conversation.
The kind they’d had many times, once.
The only difference between then and now—was that instead of inside a monastery, they were in the middle of a barren field.
“Do you think everyone’s…alright?”
Riliane thought back to the people she had left behind still sleeping in the palace.
If what Tony said was true, then his soldiers had been after Riliane. But that didn’t guarantee that they wouldn’t cause harm to the sleeping guests.
“Clarith—you said that we were going to Michaela, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“…Let me explain from the beginning. Right now, military units of Tasan Elphegort much like we just saw are heading to every land from the theater.”
“But I thought the theater was blown to smithereens by that explosion.”
“—The explosion caused by the weapon of mass destruction ‘Punishment’, yes. That is what happened, but after the world’s destruction it was restored. Though I don’t know why—”
“…I think I have an idea.” After a few seconds, Riliane then uttered a certain name. “—‘Ma’. The woman who was a screenwriter, sorceress, and Gallerian’s lover. Gallerian was the one who supplied the funds when the theater was built…but Ma was the one who saw to the actual construction. She must have had some scheme in mind.”
“…There are other items that were restored after ‘Punishment’’s devastation.”
Clarith took out a hand mirror from her pocket.
That was—a very familiar item to Riliane.
“The ‘Vessels of Deadly Sin’. I borrowed this from Michaela. She was able to seize an opportunity to recover them while the theater was temporarily destroyed.
“And the other vessels?”
“They’re all with Michaela. That was one of the reasons why she left the forest. There was a chance that the troops from the theater would come to reclaim them.”
“But it was Gallerian and Ma, who was using him, who were collecting the vessels. They were both dead already before the world ended—You can’t mean that one of them is the mastermind ordering around these Tasan soldiers!?”
“Not even Michaela can see what’s going on inside the theater. So I still don’t know the truth yet.”
“…Ma tried to collect those vessels for a very long time. I’m sure she must have had a fair amount of info on them. It wouldn’t be out of the question for her to have known that the ‘Vessels of Deadly Sin’ had some restoration ability and to have used it on the theater.”
Clarith’s eyes widened in admiration. “Rin…You seem to have grown so much smarter than you were before.”
“Don’t talk like I used to be an idiot.”
“Haha—How about we get back on topic. At first we didn’t know where the Tasan army was headed specifically, or what their goal was. But one of the demons dwelling in the ‘Vessels of Deadly Sin’—the demon that took the form of a fish—told Michaela that they were probably going after those who had contracted with demons.”
“Can you trust what a demon tells you?”
“Well…I’m not really sure on that myself. But Michaela and the demon…apparently they’re old acquaintances from long ago.”
“…An acquaintanceship between someone who was a spirit, and a demon, huh.”
Riliane didn’t seem fully satisfied with that answer.
Still, Clarith continued talking. “Regardless of whether or not we believe it, the fact is that you, a contractor yourself, were attacked. It’s unclear what exactly the Tasan army is ultimately trying to do, but at the very least I don’t think Michaela looks kindly on that action. She—”
“Augh, enough! Michaela this, Michaela that! You just love this girl, don’t you Clarith!?”
Riliane stood and fiercely hit the table in front of her.
“Rin—are you jealous?”
“Hmph…I’ve had enough. I’m going back to the palace.”
“--!? You can’t do that! The ‘Sleep Princess’—the one who can control the sleep drug ‘gift’--is among your enemies. It’s too dangerous.”
“But that drug didn’t have any effect on me.”
“Yes…I wonder why that is?”
If Riliane truly was their target, then one would think it would be fastest to put her to sleep.
Tony and the others had been fine as well, so perhaps this ‘gift’ was something that could differentiate between targets. Though even if that were true, she still didn’t know why they would exclude Riliane in that regard.
“Whatever’s the case.” Riliane put her hand on the table and continued, “Now that I know those soldiers are after ‘Deadly Sin contractors’, I can’t sit idly by. My dear Kyle—is inside that palace. I have to go help him!”
“You…know? That he’s also a contractor—”
“He told me himself during the banquet.”
“—I see. But even so, I can’t let you leave.” Clarith also stood, and moved to throw her arms tightly around Riliane. “…I don’t want to lose anyone precious to me again…”
“Clarith…”
The two of them were silent for a moment, not moving from the spot.
--A rat broke the silence.
“Gag! You two are so mushy.”
Riliane and Clarith both turned to the source of the voice in bewilderment.
“A—a winged rat!?”
“Long time no see, Riliane.”
“I don’t have any acquaintances that are rats.”
“Aw…how sad. You and I were once one being, you know.”
“Don’t say something that creepy.” As she spoke, Riliane seemed to finally realize the rat’s identity. “You’re—the ‘Demon of Pride’.”
“Exactly. I was riding along inside the hand mirror that woman was carrying.”
“For what purpose?”
“What a crass remark. You’d think you’d want my assistance, if you intend to battle your enemies. Come! Give over to me! Be grateful! Honor me! Prostrate yourself on the ground!”
“…No need,” Riliane coldly shot back.
“What is this, Riliane!? Don’t you want my enormous power!?”
“…I haven’t forgotten what happened back then!”
“’Back then’? When do you mean?”
“Back in Enbizaka! When I was Miroku Rin—You were of no help to me at all!”
“Oh…Yeah, there was that.” The rat’s face at once changed to an expression of embarrassment.
“I had a horrible time of it!”
“You’re referring to having died.”
“Yes! It was extremely painful!”
“Come on, let’s let the past be water under the bridge—and change the topic. Regarding Kyle Marlon…You don’t need to worry yourself over him.”
“…? Why?”
Riliane regained her composure upon hearing Kyle’s name.
“He and I didn’t have very good ‘compatibility’.”
“…I’d appreciate it if you could explain that in some easier to understand terms.”
“Between demons and their contractors there is a concept called ‘compatibility’. If it’s favorable, then they can utilize our abilities more powerfully—If >auntie Rahab’s theory is correct, then your enemies are most likely targeting the contractors who had the best compatibility with their respective demon.”
“Who is ‘auntie Rahab’?”
“The ‘Demon of Envy’ that that woman over there called a fish.”
“…Demons have proper names too?”
“Yeah.”
“So then, what’s your name?”
“Hm? You curious?”
“Not really.”
“Well, if you’re that obsessed with it then I’ll tell you. My name is—” The rat paused as though to put in a sense of grandeur, and then shouted loudly, “—MARIE!”
“Wow…That’s a girly sounding name.”
“Obviously. I’m a girl.”
“--!?”
Upon seeing the surprised expressions on Riliane and Clarith behind her, Marie fluttered her wings in satisfaction.
“W-well, whatever…Anyway, you think that Kyle is going to be alright, Marie?”
“Probably. Whatever you do, going to Michaela first is best. If you have any plans to beat the ‘Sleep Princess’ then you’ll need the help of the other demons.”
Riliane turned to look at Clarith.
“And where is Michaela now?”
“She’s where the country of Marlon used to be.”
“That’s across the ocean! How are we going to get there?”
“Thanks to the tidal wave that occurred when the world was destroyed, part of the bottom of the Hark Sea has surfaced. Right now the island of Marlon is connected to the mainland, so we can get there on Josephine without trouble.”
“Got it. Well then—Let’s get going.”
Clarith nodded, and climbed up on Josephine’s back.
Riliane got on after her, and Marie settled herself on Clarith’s cleavage.
“…Hey, why there!? You dirty rat!” Riliane shouted at Marie angrily.
“Come on. We’re all girls here, aren’t we? This is the most comfy spot.”
“I don’t really mind,” Clarith said calmly.
Riliane begrudgingly gave up on any further complaints.
With all three of them along, the white horse started to run to the west.
“Hey, Rin. What…do you plan to do? Myself I think you ought to bide your time by Michaela’s side,” Clarith said to Riliane.
“Bide my time?”
“Yeah. You do have people after you; it would be reckless to go to them.”
“And will anything get resolved by just waiting around?”
“…The truth is, there’s something I’ve avoided telling you.”
“…?”
“Allen. Your brother is currently on the ground world.”
“—Yeah, he is. All of the souls are here, so Allen wouldn’t be an exception to that.”
Contrary to Clarith’s expectation, Riliane didn’t seem to be all that surprised at that fact.
“But it seems he’s a little different from the other souls. He was sent to the ground world by the sun god, and he’s trying to accomplish something.”
“…Hmm.”
“Michaela tells me he’s become very dependable. I’m sure that Allen can do something about that theater and the Tasan army units. So—"
“—No,” Riliane muttered in a low voice.
“Huh?”
“I’ve always been waiting. For the last five hundred years, as I’ve been reincarnated down here over and over again. Even now—But I’m fed up with just waiting!”
“Rin…”
“Allen helped me. But even so…No, that’s why I hate always being protected. This time, it’s my turn to help him.”
“He probably wouldn’t want you to do that.”
“I don’t care. I—have to become stronger. The old me was mistaken on how to do that. But now…I will prove by myself that I can do this on my own. And when I do—”
--She would puff up her chest with pride, and go to see Allen.
Clarith could not see how Riliane’s eyes were filled with determination from in front of her.
But she could feel it through her back.
“Alright, Rin. I won’t try to stop you…Come on, let’s hurry!”
As though spurred on by Clarith’s voice, the white horse picked up speed.
<<prev------directory-------next>>
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Fasten Your Seat-belts. We’re in for a Bumpy Ride:
@avictimofthejazz continued from X
The plane banks to the left with extreme prejudice, giving off a chortle and sputtering series of chokes. His gauge reads nearly sixty degrees, forty too extreme. It is a cry for mercy that Murdock instantaneously recognizes and attempts to fix. If he is unsuccessful in his attempts, the plane could start to roll or worse- plummet downwards till it crashed. “Come on, baby.” He internally pleads with the same devout desperation as he uttered his daily prayers.
With a delicate and patient adjustment of hands, the Captain attempts to regain some modem of control which, isn’t easy given the aircraft was showing off a spunky stubborn streak. One that caused even the experienced Captain Murdock to suck in his breath and hold it till his lungs seemed to scorch around the edges.
Another swat of the dials brings the weakened thrum of the engine to begrudgingly resume its more natural hum. Thank God above for still having some upward thrust left as the rigid outlines of the mountain tops slowly emerge from the plush pillows of the clouds and reveal themselves with astonishing clarity in the front windshield. Otherwise, the plane would have done a perfect Olympic-style swan dive right into the large rocks. Especially, with some of the harsh dips, they were taking.
That breath he was holding is slowly relinquished through the partition of his cracked lips. A visible but brief wave of relief bleeds over the pilot’s features as he is joined by his brother in the cockpit. Mahogany orbs drift over just to acknowledge Face’s presence before returning to his tasks of keeping the craft airborne and all of the passengers alive.
The corners of Murdock’s lips curl upwards into a hesitant smile, at the inquiry. It was really a humorous dribble of a story. One he’d normally relish telling, hell, he’d even heavily embellish the comedic parts if he thought it would entertain Face. But he doesn’t. He can’t devote his fullest attention to that right now. This is far too precarious a position and time to fall full force into an anxiety inspired split of personalities.
Furthermore, there is no use in terrifying the already white-knuckling lieutenant more than he has already. So he would allow a casual joke or two to snake through his tightly clamped teeth. “You know, it was slim pickin’s on the repair line so, I headed for the garbage heap this time. They don’t miss planes just before they’re about to be terminated.” No one ever did. While he spoke in jest, there is a gravity to what he is saying, not because it’s the truth about where he got the plane but rather, because lots of useful crafts met ugly ends. Exoskeletons of the once-proud crafts are left exposed to the elements, twisted, naked, and crumbling in graveyards until they no longer resembled anything of use. The same way that some people ‘considered less than normal’ are discarded at VA hospitals and then left to rot until the good Lord’s return. Murdock shivers at the unintentionally dark internalized comparison. He’s always felt for inanimate objects. He respected them and sometimes even related to them. In the case of planes and choppers, he oft felt a holy mix of both at the same time. He snaps back into the jest after zoning down the dismal path for a few minutes too many.
A twinkle of mirth shines in the shallows of Murdock’s mahogany eyes at the recollection of the scam where he heisted, okay borrowed, a plane right off the repair line before the repairs were even started. Everything had turned out alright in the end, hadn’t it? They had managed to land. Sure, it was a crash landing but there hadn’t been any casualties except for the plane.
Like a Kaleidoscope turned on end, the colored pieces of sanity gradually being to pixilate again, threatening to morph him into yet another one of his hidden personas. He grapples, wrestling mentally, with the violently tattered threads of Pasadena Murdock, Crazy Willie, and Captain Cab that were weaving together, evolving into something strangely unfamiliar but not unwelcoming. It beckons from deep in the tangled webs of his mind. He must resist!!!!! But how? Distraction was the best choice.
This distraction comes with Face’s prompt and the opportunity to convey the story behind the plane’s acquisition. Yes. He was well aware that Face had set something up with a rental agency. “Well, sure, we went to the rental agency.” Murdock’s words escape edged with pride. He might be insane but he wasn’t a complete dunce! “We started too anyways...” he confides between tightly gritted teeth. Murdock can feel the inch of sweat bubbling up under the rim of his brim of his ball-cap as the plane began to gurgle out disgruntled complaints and it’s heavy weight sagged deeper in the sky. “But,” his eyes shift around the cockpit, “your reservations fell through, muchacho. And I mean, flatter than a door panel. So when I was talking to...” He pauses, his eyes squinting for the recollection of the name. He’d read it with his own two eyes but now failed in the information's retrieval. So he makes up a name and hopes that Face won’t call him out on it. “I spoke to May and she said there was only one plane left on the tarmac. One for a man named ‘Fat Tony’ Carismo and his wife. The names seemed innocent and harmless enough. Right?
“Sooooooo...” the word is long in its departing of his tongue. Murdock’s voice warps till it resembles something gravely with the faintest touch of a Chicagoan accent, “I had Amy put on that pretty little red number of her’s. The one you can’t keep your eyes off of... and I borrowed one of your suits. Next thing I know, Crazy Willie and his friends are taking off in Fat Tony’s plane.” By Crazy Willie and his friends, Murdock most definitely meant his unit, the A-team. Provoking another wayward dial into order with his hand, Murdock continued, “Amy was spectacular. It was beautiful!!!!! She weaved a web that Fat Tony’s wife entrusted us, his dearest of friends, with refurbishing his plane for his birthday. He wants solid gold inlays and everything.” Shifting in his seat, he resumes his normal accent. Murdock knows where Amy learned that little interior design con and the source is seated right next to him. “Well, we promised that we’d return it some time next week.” But with that remark, the Captain goes awfully quiet. He considers that Fat Tony wasn’t going to like it but there probably wasn’t going to be a return flight for this baby. At least, not the way it was behaving now.
The entire frame of the plane shudders, riveting to life with a force far greater than your typical turbulence.
Amy appears over their shoulders, “guys?” A thread of fear trails in the undercurrent of her tone. She’d noticed the all too rapid and uneven descent. “I know this isn’t the best time to ask this, but are we in trouble?” She’d seen the far off look in Hannibal’s eyes. It appeared only in the form of the faintest of lightning-quick flashes before vanishing again. Of course, from a journalistic view, this was going to make a great story but that was hinging on the ability to survive, should the plane continue with its present trajectory towards the earth.
#avictimofthejazz#Face and Murdock: Brother let me be your shelter - never leave you all alone- I can be the one you call- when you're low#fasten your seat-belts we're in for a bumpy ride#a thread in which the A-team absconds with a mob boss's plane
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for the autumn fic meme... 11, 24 and 28 if you please but honestly all of them are great and I can't really choose, those prompts yeeted me into fall mode and I love everything you write; go wild mrs. Maria, we love you
from autumn fic meme here: 11. Pumpkin Patch + 24. Warm Sweaters + 28. Flannel Shirt
I WILL GO WILD!! thank u for permission i love you too. (sidenote about 4 of you asked for flannel shirt lmaoooo)
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“This one?” Hermann says. “It seems sturdy.”
“Nah,” Newt says. “Not round enough.”
Hermann frowns. He taps his pumpkin of choice with the end of his cane. “It’s a pumpkin,” he says. “It’s inherently round.”
“Not that one,” Newt says. He squats down in the dirt next to it and turns it so Hermann can see the opposite side: while it was round from Hermann’s perspective, from Newt’s, it’s tragically malformed (probably grew from the vine at a weird angle) and nowhere near worthy of sitting on their front porch. Why, perish the very thought. “It’s a little flat here, see. We’ll be the laughing stock of the entire neighborhood.” He gets to his feet with a grunt and dusts off his jeans. “Let’s keep looking.”
“Laughing stock,” Hermann repeats under his breath in a mutter, then louder, “It’s a bloody pumpkin, Newton. We’ll just carve the other side. No one will even care. Or know.”
“I’ll care and know. I want our pumpkin to be perfect,” Newt declares. He twines his fingers with Hermann’s, cuff of his flannel shirt brushing Hermann’s skin, and tugs him forward. “Hurry up, the farm’s closing soon, and I still wanna buy squash from the market.” He’s planning on making something fun for dinner tomorrow night with it.
Hermann stumbles after him with an even deeper frown than before, clinging to Newt’s wrist. Of all people, Newt thought Hermann—king of perfection himself, the fussiest, most particular person Newt knows—would get it. An imperfect pumpkin means an imperfect carving, and Newt doesn’t want an imperfect carving, because that means an imperfect Halloween. Which won’t do. It’s their first Halloween together together, after all. “How about that one?” Hermann says, pointing at another—slightly rounder, now they’re talking—pumpkin resting a few feet away.
Unfortunately— “Too green,” Newt says.
Another one is too yellow. The one after that, too dirty. (“We can rinse it off,” Hermann says, but Newt’s already moved on.) Too small. Too big. “I’m beginning to think you don’t actually want a pumpkin,” Hermann finally says, after the fifth one Newt vetoes (on the grounds of it being, uh, too pumpkin-y), “and that you’ve dragged me here under false pretenses.”
“False pretenses?” Newt says innocently, and then holds up his phone. “Before you answer—gimme a big smile. I need a new wallpaper.” His current one is Hermann on their July beach vacation, and though he loves the sight of Hermann’s stupid tunic and comically floppy sunhat, he needs something a little more seasonal. The lighting right now is perfect, too. “Come on, before the sun sets for real.”
“False pretenses,” Hermann echoes with a huff, and—begrudgingly—dusts some dirt off his knit sweater, readjusts his scarf, and gives Newt one of his stiffest smiles yet.
For Hermann, any smile is a fucking rarity, so Newt takes it, and the picture, without complaint. He takes a lot of pictures, actually: Hermann standing and smiling stiffly, Hermann holding up a small pumpkin (at Newt’s request), Hermann mid-shout (are you finished yet?, to which Newt replied with a few wolf-whistles and a yeah, work it, grandpa, flash me some sock garters, you sexy thing, scandalous!), Hermann pointing at another pumpkin and rolling his eyes, Hermann shouting for real this time, and then, finally, Newt hops in for few selfies.
“I definitely didn’t just drag you here to take cute pics of you on a farm,” Newt says, scrolling through them with his screen angled towards Hermann. And he didn’t, really, he wants that perfect pumpkin, and he wants to carve a big dinosaur into it, these are big priorities, but no harm in a slight detour. “If I did, though, can you blame me?”
“Yes,” Hermann says. “Delete this one.”
It’s the one of him holding up the pumpkin. (Newt was right—the lighting had been perfect. Pretty and orange-gold.) With Hermann’s oversized grey sweater tucked into his too-long corduroys, the sleeves that extend beyond his knuckles, and his saddle shoes, he looks like a frumpy little kid on a class field trip. It’s adorable. “Not a chance,” Newt says, tucking the phone against his chest before Hermann can snatch it away. “I’m framing it. That’s going on our mantle.”
“We don’t have a mantle,” Hermann says, “and if we did, there is not a chance I would allow that.” He swipes for the phone anyway. “Delete it, Newton.”
“I want you to sit on the old tractor they have at the front before we leave, too,” Newt says. “Oh my God, that’s gonna look so cute.” He can picture it now: Hermann, sitting on one side of the seat, scowling and crossing his arms and three seconds from beating Newt over the head with his cane. Adorable. Hermann is even less impressed with that idea. “Aw, come on—look, this one’s cute!”
He shows him the first of the selfies he took. Newt, his arm around Hermann’s shoulder, collar of his flannel popped and lopsided, his lips (curled into a big smile) pressed to Hermann’s cheek; Hermann, half-frowning, half-blushing. He’s stealing an actual kiss from Hermann in the next. He quickly posts that one to Instagram with a few choice emojis (jack-o-lantern, ghost, some kiss marks) and pockets his phone before Hermann can stop him.
“You’re intent on embarrassing me tonight,” Hermann says.
“Of course not, honey,” Newt says. “Now please stop wasting time and help me find a pumpkin already, jeez.”
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Golden Parachute
Some good omega!jack up in this bitch :D Ya’ll know what I’m about haha Check for more inclusive tags on the ao3 post itself :D
Also on my ao3 here :) My masterlist archive of bullshit i write can be found linked at the top of the blog or here.
--
Rhys had had it up to here with Jack’s brush-offs.
Yes, they were both busy men, each busy CEOs with a full schedule and meetings to keep.
But the Hyperion omega hadn’t agreed to any of the invitations Rhys had made over the past several months, begrudgingly admitting that, yes, fucking Jack was just that enjoyable, and no, the Atlas alpha was not immune to his charms, and would he prefer a rendezvous in Rhys’ own penthouse suite in the Atlas tower, or one of the nicer hotels in Opportunity?
Jack simply brushed him off with unconvincing plans to reschedule, or that the month was too busy or workload too great just to let the stringbean alpha rail him, and wasn’t Rhys pathetic for needing Jack to get off, though at least he had good taste, etc. etc.?
Rhys had let his pride ignore the last time Jack had actually snidely suggested he come over wearing something with lace. Rhys had responded by making some joke back at Jack-- one of the older man’s usual lines about Rhys never getting enough of how awesome he was- and Jack had petulantly told him he wished, and that had been that.
Jack hadn’t initiated another meeting for sex since.
And while Rhys had assumed it was some new tactic, or even the impossible-- that Jack had actually turned into a decent human being with normal flirting techniques- the come-ons and dirty innuendo from the older man stayed relatively tame. It had taken Rhys awhile to realize the older man had gotten less handsy with him, and by then Jack was only answering echoCalls with lazy infrequency at best.
Rhys refused to be ignored any longer. Jack was stringing him along with just-barely responses to messages, refused every single invitation out, but made delicious little statements about what a good fuck Rhys was amid broken promises to reschedule yet again. If the omega CEO was trying to drive Rhys crazy, then he had just about succeeded.
Getting answers only as Jack saw fit, ignoring questions or messages he felt weren’t worth his time, Rhys had made his way to Jack’s glittering office in the center of Opportunity’s clean gleam with plans to tell the Hyperion omega off and get some answers... and maybe even fight if Jack was his usual charming self.
The security panel at the door scanned Rhys’ biological eye, and the locks undid, admitting the Atlas alpha into Jack’s office where the omega CEO sat at his desk gaping in clear shock.
“How the hell did you get in?” Jack asked as Rhys was marching angrily towards him, heels clacking on the polished marble floors. The indignation on Jack’s own face didn’t nearly match Rhys’ own. “You hack my doors, Atlas?”
“As if there’s anything Hyperion I can’t hack,” Rhys claimed spitefully, though he wasn’t going to admit that Jack had probably just forgotten to revoke his security-status since last time. God that seemed like forever ago. Months, he reminded himself. Jack had been brushing him off for months. “And this is the investor’s meeting that couldn’t wait, huh?” Rhys asked of the empty space where his footsteps echoed, slowing his pace to something more controlled and earnest as Jack was caught in the lie. “This is lame, even for you, Jack. The hell is your problem?”
“My problem?” Jack asked as if Rhys were crazy, sitting up a bit straighter in his chair in hopes the posturing would slow Rhys’ angry stride down at the clear threat. “I am a very busy man, princess. If you think the CEO of Hyperion is gonna bend over for you whenever you want, think again.”
Rhys didn’t bother pointing out that Jack had begun this whole affair in the first place, nor how many times they’d fucked at Jack’s own whims, when they were supposed to be collaborating on a project or licensing things to one another’s respective companies. Rhys suspected that most of the things Jack called him up wanting to discuss a license for from Atlas was all just a ruse to get Rhys in the same room with him.
Jack was an unbelievably good fuck once he finally submitted. The omega CEO definitely made Rhys work for it, but the way Jack moaned around a fat knot and sucked hard kisses into Rhys’ skin made it entirely worth it for the Atlas alpha.
After so many months of fun and-- oddly- a real sense of partnership between their companies in the name of science- Rhys felt he deserved an explanation to the sudden cold shoulder.
“I asked you to dinner for dinner the other night, Jack. Not anything else, I swear. I know you’ve been getting my other messages, even if you don’t answer them,” he informed with a look. Jack didn’t seem too concerned about the accusation, but he wasn’t exactly relaxed in his chair while Rhys stood there with his hands angrily on his hips. “Why are you still sitting down?”
“What, I have to stand for his majesty’s presence?” Jack said quickly, glaring at the younger man. “Hey, stand a little to the left, pumpkin, huh?”
“I’m not standing on your corpse-hatch, Jack,” Rhys said plainly, snorting indignantly. Jack was watching him keenly, as if trying to make some kind of decision to shoot his problems away or not. Rhys sniffed the air disdainfully, catching Jack’s own achingly familiar scent, and something else.
He looked at the Hyperion CEO with uncertain question, watching with disbelief as he watched Jack actually hunker down into his seat just a smidgeon as it was clear Rhys was scenting the air. That right there should have confirmed every suspicion suddenly popping into Rhys’ head.
“Are--” Rhys stopped, not sure what it was he intended to ask. They were watching one another silently, Jack’s expression wary, Rhys’ curious and coming to conclusions that didn’t make sense. He turned towards the older man, taking a step. “Do you--”
“Stay there!” Jack snapped as Rhys took no further steps. The Atlas alpha’s eyes widened just a bit in some realization that Jack didn’t want him knowing about. The older man considered his options; shoot Rhys where he stood, vent him, or worst of all, tell him.
Rhys was approaching the situation as calmly as possible, trying to keep his voice low, level, and easy. He’d seen people spooked plenty of times before, but he’d never seen such a look on Jack’s own face. He took very slow, small, fluid-steps towards the older man’s desk on the raised dais. “Jack… Are… I can… I can smell…”
Jack only watched with widening eyes as Rhys slowly broached the single step that would reveal the Hyperion omega’s condition, but he didn’t yell at him to stop again. Rhys’ expression was taken aback with surprise as his eyes fell to Jack’s belly below the desk. That wasn’t beer weight, and furthermore, something in the older man’s scent clicked inside him. His eyes met Jack’s own with curious want. “Are you pregnant?”
“None of your business.”
Rhys had a sneaking suspicion that it was his business. He could smell Jack, but something more appealing. Something himself but not on the omega CEO. He had to be careful here; Jack’s responses so far hadn’t been encouraging, and he was still clearly spooked.
“...Is this why you wouldn’t see me?” Jack only watched him, and Rhys risked another step closer. He could see the bump protruding from the yellow sweater the CEO wore. He could smell the older man better from here, too. He didn’t need to ask, not really, but then, Jack always required a little extra something when treading lightly. “...is it… mine?”
“They’re mine,” Jack growled out, an arm going protectively across his belly, body language stopping any further progress Rhys had in mind.
Rhys held up flesh and cybernetic hands automatically, the previously-angry thing inside him morphing into something that desired to touch/smell/taste the omega that was definitely carrying his pup. Pups? Was there only one or more? “...did I, uh, do that to you, though?” he asked stupidly, heart beating in some sort of enthusiasm as Jack’s actions the past few months started to make a whole lot more sense.
Jack snorted, rolling his head along with his eyes and leaning back in his chair melodramatically. It showed off the swell and the stretch of that yellow sweater much better. Rhys couldn’t help but stare with a sudden sense of longing, even as Jack’s voice was the epitome of sarcastic. “Who the hell do you think did this to me, genius? You think I bend over for just any alpha?” Of course they’re yours, the look on Jack’s face seemed to say even as it dripped sarcasm, and Rhys’ scent invading Jack’s nostrils after so long was something like a balm to an old wound for the older man. He wanted the skinny dumb-ass who’d marched in here despite knowing about the auto-turrets; that Rhys found the danger to get to Jack an acceptable risk only made the omega CEO miss him more, standing only feet from him.
“Are… How far along are you, Jack?”
“Four months about,” he stated uncharacteristically-plainly, eyes sharply watching for Rhys’ every reaction. “And I’m already enormous,” he added in complaint.
“No you’re not,” Rhys said with a plaintive gaze, his focus on Jack’s belly swelling out his yellow sweater. He wanted to touch it. To caress taut skin that held their pups in there. To touch the stretch of the omega CEO’s body as it was changed from how he last remembered it, with something more than the pair of them. “You’re going to get bigger,” Rhys reported, his nostrils flaring as it pulled in Jack’s anxious scent and desperately wanted to touch him; soothe him; soothe the one carrying his pups. “...why didn’t you tell me?”
Jack only snorted in response and removed his focus from the lithe Atlas alpha. There were a million reasons why; hard to settle on just one.
Rhys was hardly deterred by Jack’s brush-off. “Let me be there for it, Jack,” Rhys asked as he got few inches closer, voice taking a definite tone of pleading, but he didn’t care. “For you. For them.”
It was too sweet, and more dedicated than Jack expected from the stringbean alpha. Rhys was young and pretty, and Jack was fairly certain all their fucking had been working out corporate tensions between them more than anything. He’d planned to keep the pups a secret until they were born, his babies, and continue on with the sort of weirdly-cooperative adversarial relationship they had going until Rhys got sick of the novelty of fucking the older omega and moved on to something more his speed.
Jack wasn’t stupid, even with his legendary-ego and inflated sense of self-worth; he had more than just a couple of years on Rhys; the young alpha would surely eventually tire of him, especially as the omega grew older. It was a reality he couldn’t bear the more he thought of it; that Rhys might stay out of a duty to offspring, and not necessarily an attraction to Jack.
The way Rhys defiantly met his eyes and plead to be allowed in for the long-haul was more than a shock. It rendered the older man momentarily speechless, and Rhys ventured another few inches closer in his want to be with the older man; scent him up close and verify what he already knew to be true.
“...Why the crap would you want that?” Jack asked a bit softly, but with more earnest question than anything else in his voice. Rhys gave him a frown, and Jack didn’t begrudge him the several more inches of space he approached. “You’re still young for an alpha, Rhysie, and pretty as hell,” Jack reported, needing to understand exactly what Rhys was intending before accepting the excitement speeding his pulse. “You could make lots of pretty babies with lots of people, buttercup, but these two? They’re mine, understand? You can’t take them. No matter what happens.”
“I don’t want to take them, Jack,” Rhys spoke the word with minor disgust at the idea of separating any omega from their pups, let alone Jack, who he’d missed more than he realized. “Not from you, or away anywhere, I just want to be there. They’re half me and half you. Please let me be a part of this, Jack.”
“I don’t know how you think this is going down, Atlas,” Jack started self-protectively, his hand still on his belly but a hopeful lurch in his stomach he desperately wanted to allow to break free. “You can be a part of their life, but they’re my daughters, do you hear me?”
“So there’s… There are two?” Rhys asked, unable to keep all the excitement from his voice. “...both girls?”
“Yeah,” Jack muttered protectively, a hand over his belly. He already loved them both, and it would be months until he could meet them. The idea of Rhys or anyone trying to take them from him would be met with the full power of Hyperion at Jack’s fingertips. “They’re gonna be daughters of Hyperion, Rhys.”
“They’ll be daughters of Atlas, too,” Rhys offered gently, the statement not nearly sounding as threatening as Jack might’ve found it in the past; more like an offering. That the pups would be very well provided for between the two of them indeed; it was all about the pups, not any kind of leverage. Frankly, that kind of thing wasn’t Rhys’ style.
It was, however, more in line with Jack’s own mode of operation, and he just couldn’t believe things could be so simple.
Jack scoffed, deciding to be purposely obtuse. “What, you suggesting we merge the companies, princess?”
Rhys gave him a plaintive look, dissecting that question. “Do you wanna marry me, or are you only being literal?”
They looked at one another for a long moment, much passing between them in the gazes they gave each other. Risk of being made fun of, considering the circumstances, didn’t outweigh the reward if they were being real with one another for once in their lives, and Jack wanted to believe Rhys was being serious, not just anecdotal. Merging the two companies was something Jack had long joked about in all seriousness, but doing it properly, marrying, wasn’t something he’d ever proposed himself.
It wasn’t Rhys’ style to be needlessly cruel when they teased one another, let alone fought-- as lovers, rivals, whatever- but Jack chose to still play it safe should Rhys roll his eyes and make fun.
“...was that seriously your proposal? God that sucked,” Jack whined to himself as Rhys’ cheeks went pink, but he didn’t deny it. Rather, he nodded blankly.
Yes that’s what he meant- or what he wanted, anyways, when he thought to where he expected this idea to lead. He loved Jack on a few different levels. And maybe that wasn’t the way he would’ve wanted such a thing to come out of his mouth, but if it resulted in Jack finally accepting him? Then yeah, that was Rhys’ proposal. Merge it all, every last bit if it meant Jack would have him.
The older man rolled his eyes dramatically, and Rhys’ heart could be felt in his throat. After any and all attempts to see him, and suddenly being allowed into this life of Jack’s he’d irrevocably changed, the Hyperion omega would have him? Jack didn’t do anything he didn’t want to, not for anything. Keeping himself from Rhys for so long? Definitely something Jack didn’t like doing, if how well this re-acquaintance was going was any indication.
“...Guess I could marry you, merge your company with mine. Heh, get it?”
“You’ll… You’ll really marry me? For real, Jack?” Whether the older man was just doing it for their pups, or because he actually wanted Rhys actually mattered little to the Atlas alpha. He didn’t care if Jack thought he was getting away with using him; those pups were definitely the product of Rhys’ own loins, that was for damn sure. He wanted to be there. However Jack would accept him, he wanted it.
“Oh my god, is your ego as big as your knot, Atlas? You need me to say it twice?” Jack complained melodramatically, though the smirk that grew on his face as a pleased flush took Rhys’ own was answer enough right there for the both of them.
The Atlas alpha quickly scrambled the last few feet separating them and crowded Jack’s space immediately, scenting the Hyperion omega and tentatively touching him all over, including his belly while Jack merely chuckled and allowed it. Jack leaned into Rhys’ touch, smirking at the soft caresses to his belly and the way the younger man rubbed his cheek against Jack’s own. The Hyperion omega chuckled at Rhys’ handsiness, but he luxuriated in it, having missed it for so long and denied himself so much. It was the first time he’d been touched this way in ages.
Jack chuckled, angling his neck better for where Rhys was nipping kisses up the side of his throat.
“Jack… Jack, I want you. I want you. Please?”
“Heh, wanna bend me over that bad, huh?”
“I meant uh-- well god yes-” Rhys sighed out, kissing Jack’s neck and inhaling a scent that filled him with so much want and desire and possessiveness and protectiveness, “but Jack, be mine? Only mine, please? Bond with me, please Jack.”
The request wickedly thrilled something inside the older man, finally accepting Rhys’ sentiments as true, and thrilled to be so wanted. “You are so freakin’ needy,” Jack said through a barely-concealed grin, laughing softly as Rhys was practically purring in his throat with desperation. The younger man’s scent was calming and settled some long-anxious thing inside the older man that finally dissipated with him near. “Don’t think you can just turn me into some submissive thing for you to knot.” Jack’s voice was a purr quite to the contrary, but it was a warning and a threat just the same. “You have to merge companies with me, babe. Officially. On paper. Big public announcement. Those are my terms.”
“Fine,” Rhys muttered, pressing his lips against Jack’s adam’s apple as the older man gave a bark of surprise.
“...You are freakin’ kidding me… Just like that?”
“Just like that,” Rhys stated easily, unapologetic as his hand caressed Jack’s belly filled with their pups. He could smell a sense of ‘his’ on the other man… Something his. Him. Hard to describe but something he understood right to his bones on an extremely primal level that Jack belonged to him. Whatever it took for these pups to be part of his life, to wrap himself protectively around Jack even if the older man was a better fighter than he, Rhys would agree to anything. He loved them already, loved Jack, instinct driving him to prioritize family over everything else. He dove headlong into the feeling. “I want you.”
“That bad huh?” Jack teased, though there was nothing but pleasure radiating off him at Rhys’ request to bond him if the younger man’s easy surrender meant having Jack as his mate. After so many months without smelling him, and now knowing he was carrying their offspring, Rhys wanted more than anything to put his mark on the older man; to be a devoted dad to his and Jack’s babies. It was as sweet as it was intoxicating; to know he had so much power over one he didn’t necessarily want to use it on. Rhys wanted him. Wanted this. It threw the older man through a loop. “After all the times I’ve been trying to get you to merge Atlas with me--”
“Atlas was my project, Jack. I wanted to run it my way with my ideas, not yours,” Rhys stated honestly, his hand slightly cupping the swell of Jack’s belly. “But there’s only one thing I ever wanted more than Atlas, and you’re carrying double that. I’d do anything to have you,” he growled out.
“You are hands down the creepiest goddamn fanboy I’ve ever had, like holy crap!” Jack laughed as Rhys frowned and chose to press kisses to Jack’s jaw before moving to his lips to shut him up.
Rhys would get to bond with the man he looked up to and wanted to fuck for the rest of his life. He’d raise babies they’d dote over with the older man, and watch them inherit the joint forces of Hyperion-Atlas when the time was right. It was entirely worth Jack’s teasing, merging the companies, everything.
And as Rhys chuffed about Jack’s skin which the older man indulgently allowed, pressing words of devotion into his flesh while Jack called him a creep but stroked his hands through the younger man’s hair, they felt at peace. Together. After all these worrying months of avoidance and secrecy.
The peace wouldn’t last long, of course, once the twins got there, but for now, Jack allowed Rhys to rest his head on his protruding belly, snide comments forgotten as the stringbean alpha stroked at taut skin, and fondly asked if Jack had any names picked out yet.
--
kofi | ao3
#rhack#rhys the company man#handsome jack#borderlands fanfic#rhack fanfic#omegaverse#rhys#alpha!rhys#omega!jack#mpreg#atlas!rhys#aaaagh i NEVER write rival CEOs this is so hard to tag aaaagh just read the full tags on ao3 plz ahahhaa#im productive af right now jfc im on a roll. Gotta do something with all those cut hours at work D:< bastards. haha#leave me a comment if you enjoy! ^___^ it thrills the shit out of me to get them even if im slow or cant respond to comments all the time#<3 <3 <3#its like i KNOW i just recently hit 1 million words on ao3 but fuck we're already over a million 11thousand AHAHAH WOO!#ill be uploading some Fallout work later this week too :)
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Prompt: Bram giving Simon his soccer hoodie to wear to one of his games + soft supportive boyfriends
Hey, sorry this took, like, three days. I ended up writing 2.5k words, so I hope it’s worth it.
“Hey. You coming to the game with me?” Abby appeared out of nowhere, breaking Simon out of his daze. He blinked a few times, trying to clear his head and figure out what she had just asked him.
“Huh?”
“You’re sitting with me at the game, aren’t you?”
“Aren’t you just gonna sit up at the front like you usually do? With all of those girls who look like they don’t want to be there?”
“Yes, and you’re coming with me.”
“Why in the world would I do that? I like sitting in the back. I don’t feel pressured into looking like I care about what’s going on in the game.”
“Simon Spier.” She threw her arm around his shoulder, rising onto her toes to reach. He slowed his pace to help her keep up while balancing. “Don’t tell me Bram hasn’t asked you to the game.”
“Uh, no. Was he supposed to? He knows I’ve gone to all of them in the past for Nick. I’m sure he just assumes-”
“Simon. This is the first game of the season, but more importantly, it’s the first soccer game since you two started dating. There are customs for this. Specific ways that things always happen.”
“There are?”
“Jesus Christ. You don’t notice anything, do you?” She looked expantly at him, but he just shrugged and shook his head. She sighed. “I only sat in the front after I went out with Nick. That’s where you sit if you’re dating one of the players.”
“Oh. Oh.”
“And Bram really hasn’t asked you to go?”
“No… I mean I don’t think he’s mentioned it at all. I mean he’s talked about the game, but never anything that had to do with me being there. Maybe he just figures I’ll be there.”
“That’s not how this works. He has to know about it. It’s been a school tradition since the eighties. He’s been on Varsity since freshman year, since those seniors got kicked out for smoking weed. I wouldn’t think he’d push it this far.”
“Oh.”
Abby opened her mouth to say more, but she noticed Simon’s rapidly deflating responses and stopped herself. “I’m sure he will. And you still can sit down there with me. You’d totally be allowed to.”
He nodded.
“Hey, don’t worry about it, Si.”
He crossed in front of her to enter his classroom, and she continued on, a concerned expression taking over her face.
By the time lunch rolled around, his sights hadn’t been raised. He ran into Bram multiple times in the hallway, but they only exchanged a few sentences in passing. He met up with Nick as he usually did, and they made their way through the lunch lines. When they returned to the table, Abby, Garrett, and Bram were all already waiting for them. Leah was still nowhere to be seen.
“Oh god,” Garrett groaned. “I have to fifth wheel the two worst couples to fifth wheel in the universe. Where’s Leah? I need someone to gag with.” All four of them simultaneously rolled their eyes and greeted their significant other. Bram reached for Simon’s hand under the table, and Simon held tight.
The conversation turned immediately to soccer, and as usual when this was the topic of discussion, it was used to try to explain the game to Simon and Leah. Today, the efforts were all pointed to Simon, since Leah was still yet to arrive. Everyone talking about soccer and the upcoming game stressed him out. He noticed Bram didn’t seem as nervous as he usually did when he was about to propose a date. In fact, he seemed more relaxed than usual. Definitely much more relaxed than Simon would be on his equivalent of the first game of a season: opening night. Shortly after Leah made her appearance, Simon rested his cheek on Bram’s shoulder, relieved the spotlight would be off of him for a few minutes.
“You’re going to the game, aren’t you Leah?” Nick asked.
“As much as I’d love to watch all of your asses get pounded into the ground by a team that doesn’t spend half of their practice time making out with someone, I can’t. English is pounding my ass into the ground.” She slammed a giant copy of Hamlet on the table. “I can’t understand a word of what they’re saying in this thing.”
Bram grabbed it and flipped through a few pages. “Most of it is just inverted sentences.”
“What are those?”
“It’s where the verb comes before the noun. There’s a lot of random pronouns, so if you can figure out who they’re referring to, it makes a lot more sense.”
Simon sighed. “Or, you could just do what I do. Look up a Shakespearean translator.”
Leah raised her eyebrows. “They have those?”
“They helped me through sophomore year. Also, I think you can buy fully translated versions of all of his stuff online.”
“Awesome.”
Simon smirked, and Bram jokingly bucked his head off his shoulder.
When the announcement sounded through the lunchroom for both soccer teams to report to the gym to warm up (and, according to Nick’s complaints, help set up for the pep rally), Simon begrudgingly lifted his head and moved it to rest in his hand.
Once half of the table’s population had left, Abby nudged Simon’s arm. “Hey, since Leah’s not coming, you don’t have an excuse not to sit in the front with me.”
Leah gasped. “I didn’t think about that. Yeah, Si, you get to sit in the front now.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Why not?” Abby and Leah asked in unison.
“Because I still don’t particularly enjoy going to the games. I just go for Nick, usually.”
“But… you know, you might be the first guy ever to sit there.”
“That just makes it even less appealing.”
“But-“
“Just drop it. I’m going, but I’m sitting in the back like I usually do.” He didn’t mean to snap at them, but something in the back of his head definitely didn’t want him putting himself in front of the school like that.
Luckily, the bell rang, dismissing them from the lunchroom. He glanced over the table, then noticed a jacket still sitting on the bench next to him where Bram had been. He didn’t recognize it, but he picked it up and caught up to Abby to walk with her to her locker. They had a quick conversation about where to meet before the pep rally, and he turned to walk away. She gasped.
“Simon!”
He turned around, glancing at a clock on the far wall of a classroom in eyesight. “What?”
“The hoodie!” He reached behind his head, but she sighed and pulled his arm down by the elbow. “Not that one, you dingus. The one you’re holding! Is it Bram’s?”
He furrowed his brow. “How did you know?”
“This is great!”
“Why is this great? It’s just a hoodie.”
“No! It is not just a hoodie. Look at it!”
He held it up. It was simply Bram’s grey soccer team hoodie. ‘Greenfeld’ was spelled out on the back, and the front showed the school’s logo.
“How are you not getting this yet?”
“Getting what?”
“The soccer jacket? Bram’s soccer jacket? For god’s sake. Have you ever seen a soccer player wearing one of those?”
“Uh… I don’t think so?”
“That’s because those hoodies aren’t for the players. They’re for those people sitting in the front.”
“The girlfriends?”
“The soccer hoodie is the mark of a relationship. Bram didn’t accidentally leave that. He left it for you.”
“Are you sure? He loses stuff all the time.”
“Spier, trust me. I know what’s going on. I have one of my own. Go to class.” She shut her locker and speedwalked down the rapidly clearing hallway.
He muttered a quick “Shit” and followed after her. He wouldn’t have any of the things he needed for class, but he was late to 6th period far too often. He made it in just before the bell, the only thing in his arms being the jacket. She handed him a pen and grinned at him.
“You’re blushing,” she mouthed.
“I am?” He took a moment to feel his cheek with the back of his hand. “Shit, I am.”
She smirked, and they turned their attention to the front of the room. Only a few minutes later, he tapped his foot twice to get her attention.
“When’s the pep rally?”
She held up eight fingers for a second, and he sighed and slumped back in his chair.
“Pull yourself together. Other people have hoodies they want to wear too.”
“Ew, gross. An Eisner hoodie.”
“Fuck off.”
He hated that the last two classes of the day were the only two he shared with Bram. Now the empty desk stuck out like a sore thumb. He kept the jacket balled up in his lap, anxiously fiddling with his pen for the excruciating hour and twenty minutes before they were released to the gym. Thank god he didn’t have to endure the extra twenty minutes a normal school day would have prompted.
As four grades streamed in one direction, the hallway became a clogged artery. The school was definitely experiencing some heartburn at this rate. He pushed his way through, desperately searching for Abby.
“How do I do this?” He held up the crumpled hoodie, and she pulled an almost identical one from her backpack.
“So you’ve decided to sit with me in the front?”
“Absolutely! Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because three hours ago you seemed dead set on looking at your phone for the entire game. Anyway, first, you find a bathroom. Then you take off the seven layers of jackets you’re wearing and put that one on. Then you meet me back here. It’s not difficult.”
“Good. At this point, there are so many ways things are supposed to happen, I wouldn’t be too surprised if you told me I had to sacrifice a virgin.”
“Dark, Simon.”
“That’s for the comment on my jackets.”
“Touché. Go put on your hoodie, for god’s sake.”
The gym was brightly lit, big, and everything you touched squeaked in a different note. The seniors had first dibs on the bleachers, and the rest of the seats are a death match free-for-all. The Varsity and Junior Varsity teams are indistinguishable for the moment. They all separate into different clumps, talking to whoever they know the best. The only senior seats left were near the back, and they had to kick out a couple of sophomores who thought they could disguise themselves. Simon looked around for other soccer hoodie wearers. They were generally pretty spread out, but most of them were near at least one other. Like Abby, their jackets looked giant on them. The sleeves reached past their hands, and the length seemed absurdly long. Simon’s fit him normally.
The pep rally was the least peppy thing he had ever seen. The principal got up and spoke into a very squeaky microphone about teamwork and perseverance. Just as they were about to be released, Abby grabbed his arm. “You ready for the best part?”
“What would that be?” She stood straight up, pulling him with her. His eyes widened, and he turned bright red. “What are you doing?”
“This is what happens. We’re wearing hoodies, so we leave first. See?” The girls he had noticed before followed their lead and started for the gym floor. She began to lead him forward.
His breathing became more rapid. The color drained from his face, and he tried to stop her from walking. “Abby, I can’t do this.”
“Sure you can! Bram’s right there!”
“No, Abby, not in front of the entire school. I don’t care about being the first or being an example, and I definitely don’t care about stupid traditions that weren’t made for guys. I can’t do this.”
“Are you sure?” Her grip on his arm loosened, but she was too afraid he would pass out to let go entirely. He nodded. “Okay. Come on.” She led him back to their seats, and he collapsed down. She shot death glares at anyone who so much as glanced at them and wrapped her arm around his shoulders as he hid his face in his hands.
The gym emptied slowly around them, and he seemed shakier every second. Abby made eye contact with Nick and nodded, telling him to go ahead without her. He didn’t. He flung himself into the crowd descending the stairs.
Bram appeared first, as he left the line of soccer players the second Simon sat down again. Abby caught his eye and mouthed an apology, but he shook his head. He knelt down in front of Simon so that he would be in eyesight if he were to look up from his hands. “Hey.”
Simon didn’t look up. At the very sound of Bram’s voice, he burst into tears.
Abby released Simon from her grip so Bram could take him into his once he got up onto the bench next to him. Simon melted into him, burying his head under his chin. The crying ended after just the one distressed sob, so he tried to steady his breathing.
Nick arrived and took a seat by Abby. “You okay, Simon?”
“I’m an idiot,” Simon mumbled in response.
“No, Si, it was my fault,” Abby began. “I made it into a big deal.”
“I gave him the hoodie,” Bram argued.
“And I talked you into it,” Nick added. “Well, really it was Garrett, but I was there too.”
Simon picked up his head, but he didn’t try to get out of Bram’s arms. “It doesn’t have to be anyone’s fault. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Jeez, How did all of you ask that at exactly the same time? You scare me sometimes. Yes, I’m fine. I just got freaked out by all of the people. You two have a game to get to.”
“We don’t have to sit in the front,” Abby suggested.
“And you don’t have to wear the hoodie. It’s a stupid tradition anyway.”
Simon turned his head to press a kiss to Bram’s cheek. “I think it’s cute.” Bram rolled his eyes, but only to hide the blush creeping to his face. “Now let me go,” Simon ordered. Bram laughed and stood up.
“Come on, Nick.”
“Let’s kick some ass!” Nick practically leaped down from the bleachers, and they sprinted for the door.
Abby looped her arm through Simon’s. “The back?”
“Just for today.”
“If you say so.” They stood again, and this time, they made it to the gym floor.
#spierfeld#prompt#answered#love simon#simon vs the homosapiens agenda#svthsa#simon spier#bram greenfeld#abby suso#nick eisner
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