#listen. i know the implication is that it's jennifer but i do not care | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

15-dogs · 3 years

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everything and anything |s.b.|

hello hello!! this is for @chudleycanons writing challenge!! everyone go check emmy out, she’s an amazing writer!! congrats again on 600 emmy :)

pairing: young!sirius black x reader

summary: sirius offers to take you to the ball but has other intentions in mind

warnings: the reader describes being insecure about their looks

prompts: fake dating, “Did I mean anything to you?”, “Dance with me”

guide: (Y/N) = your name, (Y/L/N) = your last name

word count: 3797

If anyone ever asked if you liked being the mom friend, you would instantly say yes. There was no doubt in your mind that you absolutely loved the position. You had this knack for taking care of everyone out of the pure goodness of your heart but you certainly weren’t afraid to throw a few punches if someone looked at your friend funny. That’s just who you were and you never wanted to change that.

However, as all things do, the title came with its downfalls. One being that you were always last in line to be picked from the group of eligible bachelorettes that were your friends. It usually would have never bothered you if it weren’t for a large, end of the year ball that Flitwick had decided to throw together.

Alice had partnered up with Frank, Marlene was going with Dorcas, and Mary was going with Peter. Remus had the full moon the night before and Sirius had decided not to attend so there goes your two other options. Lily had promised that if you and her didn’t get dates by the time the ball rolled around, you two would go together. However, James had his way of working into her heart with very little effort. So there you were, stuck without a date.

It didn’t just make you embarrassed, it made you ashamed. And you shouldn’t have been! A few weeks prior, you thought that a Ravenclaw fancied you but you were quite mistaken, seeing as how they blew you off for dates. It wasn’t until you spotted him making out with the prefect opposite him during rounds did you realize he didn’t like you at all. You choked back the sobs that bubbled up in your chest and ran to your dorm to tell the girls all about it. When you got there, Lily was jumping up and down with excitement, claiming that James and her kissed. Decidedly, you did not tell the girls about what happened between you and that Ravenclaw, feeling like you were clouding Lily’s joy.

Yet, the thought of you being the “less attractive” option than your friends still kept you up at night. Your friends were beautiful, they always were getting asked out on dates and you were always cheering them on, giving advice, whatnot. It was fun, or at least for a while. Sometimes it became tiring having to hear about how they were dating a new person each week while you sat, wondering what on Earth you did wrong.

You always pushed those thoughts to the back of your mind as you celebrated Marlene’s birthday in the common room. She squealed as she opened your present— a new jean jacket with patches of which you had hand picked and sewn on yourself— and immediately began to thank you. You felt awkward under her praise, opting to get the food ready instead.

You came back a moment later with snacks in your hand and some drinks, leading Dorcas to suggest you all play a drinking game. You teetered with anxieties as you remembered how everyone (and that meant everyone) acted when they were drunk. Maybe you should just stay sober. The group booed you but you merely shook your head, claiming that they’d thank you later when they were stumbling up to their dorms in their drunken stupor.

About an hour in, the drinking game turned into a group of drunk 7th years playing truth or dare. You decided to hop into the game, considering that you didn’t have to drink but instantly regretted your choice the second everyone started talking about the ball.

“Have you picked out a dress?” Mary asked Lily, leaning forward and biting her thumbnail. Lily nodded excitedly.

“Yes! I’m picking it up this weekend at the tailors from Hogsmeade.”

“You’re joking!” Marlene gasped. She looked between her and Dorcas before looking back at Lily. “We’re picking our dresses up this weekend at the same place! We should all go together! Mary? Alice? (Y/N)?”

You felt your heart sink and forced a smile on your face. Sirius, sitting beside you, nudged your knee with his. You looked up at him and he raised his brows.

“What?” you whispered.

“Are you okay?” Shockingly, his breath smelled the least like alcohol which was a rare occurrence for the party-crazed boy.

“I’m fine,” you shot out quickly. “Totally, perfectly fine.”

The truth was, you were not fine. Sirius knew it, too. Hearing that the girls were going to get their dresses felt like a slap in the face— you shouldn’t go to the dance at all. If you were going to mope around the whole time, what good would you be?

But it wasn’t because you were going alone, not really, anyway. It was because you were scared. To say that you didn’t like the way you looked was an understatement. You loved wearing dresses and skirts just as much as you loved wearing jeans and pants, but something about formalwear had your heart lurching in your chest. You wanted to be pretty, that was it, and you were afraid that people would laugh.

Someone of sound mind would have been able to reassure you that no one would have laughed at you, but no one knew of your insecurities and you didn’t plan on telling them. You constantly scolded yourself about those feelings but they kept resurfacing in every way possible.

When your attention shifted back to the group, you had realized they asked you a question. James let out a stifled giggle at your blank face and Lily swatted his arm.

“Huh?” you mumbled.

“We wanted to know how things are going with that Ravenclaw, Elliott,” Lily explained. “Did he ask you to the ball yet?”

Your lips parted and closed again, feeling that familiar sense of shame form deep in your stomach. “Oh,” you muttered lamely, “well, er, we aren’t...he’s not…”

“Oh, Godric. What did he do?”

“Oh, it’s— believe me— it’s nothing. I just, well, I think I misinterpreted a few signals here and there.”

“And how’s that?” Remus asked.

“I, um, walked in on him...snogging Jennifer, the other Ravenclaw prefect.”

A chorus of disgusted and shocked exclamations sounded around you. You looked away from their penetrating gazes, fiddling with your hands in your lap instead. One gaze struck you as particularly attention grabbing: Sirius’s. You looked up at the boy to the right of you on the couch, his gray eyes softened at your somber expression.

“He was leading you on, (Y/N). He’s a right git, easily. This wasn’t your fault.”

“I…” you trailed off, confused by his words. Yet, they comforted the part of you that was aching most. “Thanks, Sirius. I think I needed to hear that.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Your eyes locked with his and you felt a strange shift in the air. It was like an electrified silence. Although, it wasn’t silent. Marlene had been calling your name for the past minute now.

“Babes, hello!” Your eyes snapped up to Marlene’s at her words. “Who are you going with then?”

“About that, well, I don’t think I’m going to-”

You were cut off but groans and sighs from the girls around you. They immediately shot out protests, seemingly begging you to reconsider. You awkwardly shrugged when Sirius nudged you with his foot.

“Just because some bloke was an arse to you means you aren’t going to the ball? Come on, (Y/N), that’s not the you I know.”

“That’s not it,” you shot.

“Listen, I’ll go with you.”

Your eyes met Sirius’ with shock. You blinked a few times, then rubbed your eyes. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, please, love”— he leaned in towards you so that his breath was hot against your ear— “I’m always Sirius.”

You elbowed him with a smirk, feeling a sense of guilt creep up in your throat. You blushed and shook your head. “It’s fine, Sirius, you don’t have to do that-”

“No, I want to.” His words took you by surprise. “It’s not like I was going with anyone so why not you?”

You shifted awkwardly in your seat, trying not to think about the implications of his words. But you couldn’t help thinking about how he wasn’t even going in the first place. Your heart sped up in your chest but you were convinced it was from gratitude and surprise. So, as you were swept off your feet by your friend of 7 years, you said, “Okay, let’s go to the ball together.”

A decision you’d later come to regret.

—

You sat with your friends at the Gryffindor table, eating your breakfast before you left for Hogsmeade to pick up your dresses. You were rifling through your bag to see if you had some extra money to buy some chocolate for Remus when you heard excited gasps surrounding you. Your eyes snapped up just in time to see a single rose fall in front of your face. The owl that held it hooted and flew away, only for another owl to repeat its actions.

All eyes in the Great Hall were on you as the few roses soon turned into a bouquet. You held a careful hand over your mouth as you searched for the culprit. Fortunately, you didn’t need to look that hard. Unfortunately, it was because the sender— Sirius— had jumped onto the Gryffindor table as he called out your name. He walked towards you, students pulling their plates to their chests with each step. Finally, he stood in front of you, arms crossed and grin smug.

“Sirius!” you hissed. You glanced up at the professors’s table, where McGonagall eyed Sirius warily. “Would you get down from there?”

“Only if you go to the ball with me!”

Murmurs quickly filled the room.

“That’s what this is about? You’re mental! I said yes a few days ago!”

“Is it still a yes, then?” Although Sirius was acting with a confidence like no other person you’d seen, he still seemed nervous to hear your response.

“Yes, you git! Now get down!”

You stood up as you reached out your hands, tugging Sirius back to the ground as he cried, “She said yes!”

Glares from people without dates landed on you but you tried your best to ignore it. You chanced a look over your shoulder to meet the confused eyes of Elliott boring holes into your back.

You felt your cheeks heat up furiously but you couldn’t help but laugh at his behavior. Your laughter was suddenly silenced as Sirius stood inches apart from your face. You tried your best not to inhale his cologne that strangely had you weak in the knees but you simply couldn’t help it with your close proximity.

To make matters worse, Sirius reached up to tuck some hair behind your ear and you were positive that you felt something towards him that you hadn’t felt before. He winked at you and chuckled handsomely before pushing away to meet up with his friends.

Your friends quickly surrounded you as they asked repeated questions about what in the world just happened between you and Sirius. You couldn’t process, though. Not then. All you could do was hold your face in your hands with blank eyes as you feared the tiny, miniscule, barely there crush that you might have on Sirius Black.

—

In Transfiguration a few days later, you sat at your desk near the front, awaiting Lily’s arrival. When you heard a familiar, bubbly laughter, your head whipped around to the back to see James with his arm around Lily as she sat in Sirius’s seat. You were a little saddened that she had left you to sit with her boyfriend, but you didn’t let it show— after all, you were happy that they had finally gotten together.

You felt an arm snake around the back of your chair, causing you to jump. When you looked over, Sirius was in Lily’s seat, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, the dumbest grin on his face.

“Good morning, (Y/L/N).” You hated the way his deep, slightly raspy voice made you shiver.

“Morning, yourself, Black.”

You studied him out of the corner of your eye as he relaxed into his chair. Merlin, he looked handsome with his sleeves rolled up and hair mussed. You sucked in a sharp breath with horror at your thoughts, butterflies occupying your stomach as his thumb stroked your shoulder. You thought that you might die when his hand slipped down the chair to rest on your waist, only for him to tug you closer.

“I asked Evans to sit with Prongs today; she didn’t seem to mind,” he whispered roughly against your ear.

You hummed. “Hm, I wonder why?”

He stifled a laugh as he tipped forward, looking at the blank piece of parchment on his desk.

“I meant to ask you, what color is your dress?”

You blinked in shock at the change in topic. “It’s blue.”

He rolled his eyes. “Shades of blue, love.”

“I didn’t know that the different shades mattered to you,” you said, pretending to be impressed by his prompt.

“Shockingly, I’m more than just a pretty face.”

“Really?”

He fought back a chuckle and shook his head. “Shade, love, go on.”

“It’s baby blue.”

His eyes roved over your body for a moment too long. You became self-conscious at his stare, angling away from him. His eyes softened at your actions. You felt his slightly calloused hand take yours, raising it to his lips as he kissed your knuckles. Your eyes darted around the room to see if anyone saw what was happening, if it was as out of the ordinary as you imagined. Your eyes landed on Elliott who watched with distaste as Sirius acted like he was much more than just a friend, a sense of satisfaction filling you.

“You’re going to be gorgeous, love. You are gorgeous.”

When you looked into Sirius’ captivating gray eyes, you knew you were done for. You didn’t know what game he was playing, but you were sure you didn’t want it to end.

—

You were rushing back from the library, just having noticed that you were late to meeting your friends. You had all decided to get ready for the ball together, mostly because you were no good at makeup but quite good at hair, Lily was no good at hair but quite good at accessorizing, Marlene was no good at accessorizing but quite good at makeup, and so on.

You made it to the portrait and were about to state the password when someone stopped you. “Hey, (Y/L/N)!”

You turned around to see Elliott bombing towards you. “Hey, what’s going on?”

He slowed to a stop in front of you, his lips twitching into a smile. “I was wondering if you wanted to go to the ball with me?”

You scoffed, but felt an immediate sense of guilt at your response. “Sorry, Elliott, but I’m going with Sirius-”

“I know.”

You looked around, seeing if Sirius was hiding somewhere to tell you he set this up, that it was all a joke. You clenched your eyes shut before eyeing the Ravenclaw in front of you.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Elliott.”

“Say yes. Go with me, not Black.” He took a step forward, ducking to meet your gaze. “I fancy you.”

You shook your head hurriedly, whispering the password as you darted away from him, your head swarming with severe thoughts. He called after you but didn’t dare follow as you ran up the stairs to your dorm.

You slammed the door shut behind you, panting as you slid your back down it. Lily nudged your foot with hers, causing you to look up at her.

“What happened to you?”

You jumped to your feet, running your hands through your hair as you muttered, “It’s bad, quite bad.”

“Well, we have the time as long as you get ready.”

So as you got yourself ready for the ball, you explained the direness of the situation. A sinking feeling set into your stomach with each word as you realized that you might fancy Sirius a little more than you let on. Mary blinked with shock, studying you carefully.

“Aren’t you and Sirius going together?” she asked.

“To the ball, yes.”

“No, no.” Mary waved her mascara wand in the air as she shook her head. “I mean going together. Like, dating.”

“What?” you cried, causing Marlene to smack your arm in order for you to stay still while she did your eyeshadow. “What made you think that?”

Dorcas snorted. “What didn’t make us think that?”

You went pale. “All of you thought that?”

You heard grumbled agreements and your stomach flipped. Was it because you were too obvious about your little crush? Or was there something else that had caused them to think that? Either way, you desperately needed to talk to Sirius.

The six of you went downstairs to meet your dates, all waiting in the Gryffindor common room. Seeing Sirius standing there with a tiny, blue morning glory which matched your dress had your heart lurching. You didn’t even realize that he was talking to you until he took your hand in his.

“Are you alright, love?”

You sucked in a sharp breath, nodding at your friends that they should leave without you. Once the common room was empty (and Sirius was thoroughly puzzled) you said, “We need to talk.”

Sirius sighed knowingly, scuffing his food against the ground. “Take it Elliott asked you to the ball, then?”

“I-...y-yes, how did you know?” You fiddled with your hands to avoid meeting his eyes. Everything about this situation made you want to run away and hide forever.

“Because that was the plan, (Y/N). Did you say yes-”

“The plan?” Your eyes snapped up to his, a new feeling ruminating behind them. Sirius cowered under your glare. “What plan?”

“That’s what this was all about, wasn’t it?” he tested. You crossed your arms and huffed. “It was about getting Elliott to realize he was stupid, it was about me pretending to be your...something until he realized that he shouldn’t have turned you down.”

Your heart shattered. All of Marlene’s hard work on your makeup went completely to waste as traitorous tears slipped down your cheeks, streaks of mascara coating your face. You felt sick.

“That’s what this was about, then? You were my something.” You tried with all your might to control the shaking in your voice but there was nothing you could do; you were a mess.

Sirius, finally aware of how his words affected you, took a step towards you with the intent of taking your hands in his. You jerked your hands away from him with a strangled sob.

“No, listen, that’s not-”

“Did I mean anything to you?”

The words weren’t supposed to come out of your mouth, they weren’t. Yet, they did. And you meant them. That was the worst part.

Sirius was silent.

No, that was the worst part.

Your breaths became labored and you didn’t want to cry in front of Sirius, so you ran up to your dorm room. As you leapt onto the stairs, a strong voice stopped you.

“You mean everything to me!” Sirius shouted after you. You froze midstep. “You’re always going to mean everything to me!”

You slowly turned around on your heel. “I don’t understand-”

“It was supposed to be innocent, good natured fun. I was supposed to be helping you out with Elliott. But then you had to be yourself! You had to be funny, and beautiful, and gentle and I was not supposed to fall for you, but things never go according to plan. So, yes, you mean everything and anything to me.”

The room was silent save for the music that radiated from the Great Hall into the common room. You took a few sobering breaths as Sirius awaited a response.

“I said no, by the way. I couldn’t do it. Not when I knew how I felt about you.”

His eyes lit up and he took a step towards you. “And, er, how do you feel about me?”

You rolled your eyes as you made your way back down the stairs. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

He chuckled as he outstretched an arm to you, helping you walk down the last few steps. He pulled you close to his chest, searching your eyes for something that wasn’t present. He guided you to the portrait hole but your feet bolted to the ground.

“I can’t go out there looking like this!” you explained.

Sirius fought a snicker as he saw your panicked expression. He guided you back to the middle of the room, an intenseness in his gaze that you’d never seen before. He let go of your hand only to hold it out to you again.

“Dance with me.”

You tried to protest but your words died on your tongue. You reluctantly took him up on the offer, gasping when he pulled you flush against his chest.

Suddenly, things began to feel out of place. You didn’t deserve this. You didn’t deserve Sirius. You had never been “chosen” out of your friends because that wasn’t you, you weren’t the girl that people went after. Your heart panged with guilt as you looked away from his piercing stare.

“You’re doing that thing again.” Sirius tucked your head into his chest, his voice vibrating against your ear.

“What thing?”

“You get that little look on your face where your eyebrows knit together and you can’t look anyone in the eye because you’re scared.”

“Scared?” you asked incredulously.

“Scared of getting things that you deserve.”

You lifted your head from his chest to meet his eyes. “And what exactly do I deserve?”

You expected something smart from him, something that would make you roll your eyes and groan. Instead, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as Sirius said, “Happiness, complete happiness.”

In a moment of impulse, your hands wrapped around the back of his head to plant a kiss firmly against his lips.

In a shocking turn of events, Sirius hesitated. His eyes went wide when you kissed him and it took him a moment to process your actions. However, once he did get hold of himself, he pulled you impossibly closer by the waist, kissing you passionately like there was nowhere else he’d want to be.

And that was true, of course. There was nowhere else he wanted to be besides with you.

And seeing the way that Sirius looked at you made everything worth the wait.

#emmys600 #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black headcanon #sirius black imagine #sirius x y/n #young sirius imagine #young sirius black #young sirius x reader #harry potter #fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction

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gritsandbrits · 3 years

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Sensitivity Training pt. 1

At the Bellwood Gymnasium, Patti Holiday paced in her rented conference room while she waited for her guests to arrive. After that catastrophic game show last month, everyone was fed up with fighting each other over Ben Tennyson. Or rather, the city was tired of being the battleground for the young man's love life.

So being the kind & compassionate person she was, Patti offered to host a weekly group therapy session. Two months, she promised, to see if she could help these girls sort out their problems. She looked at the list of participants on her clipboard.

Princess Attea

Elena Validus

Ester Kraaho

Eunice Tennyson

Jennifer Nocturne

Julie Yamamoto

Kai Green

Princess Looma

Patti already knew who Julie was from a sports magazine, and Ester and Kai from their trip to the museum. Everyone else she had vague knowledge of, just that they needed desperate help to sort their lives. Just then she heard a knock and she went over to open the door. She smiled brightly as she saw her guests waiting in the hallway.

"Afternoon come on right in! So glad you all could make it," she exclaimed as she ushered them inside. While she got polite hellos in returns Princess Attea barely acknowledged her presence. Whether natural pride or anger at the idea of making amends for taking over Earth some months ago Patti couldn't tell. But she hoped this session would at least teach Attea how to empathize with non-Incurseasans. The last person to enter was Looma (who had to crouch just to get through) and they took seats. Patti silently prayed that the next user of the room won't noticed the large cracks on the wall.

When all eight were accounted Patti began with a speech she prepared. "Some of us are here for different reasons but I hope by the end of the month we'll be able to walk the same path."

"Are we going outside?" Jennifer asked, afraid of getting hounded by paparazzi, or angry former fans of hers. Patti smiled reassuringly. "If we do it's going to be a private session."

Looma wriggled in her seat, even she was curious how such a flimsy chair could hold her weight. Just the fact she could even fit the room surprised her!

"So now that we're done with introductions let's try to break the ice by telling me what you all have in common with each other. You first Elena."

"I used to be a scientist" she replied hesitantly. And a deep unreciprocated crush on Ben, she added darkly.

"I play tennis," Julie chipped in. She deliberately avoided mentioning Ben, as she didn't want to be known just for her past relationship with him.

"We dated Ben," Julie and Eunice spoke at the same time then gave each other weird looks. Jennifer squirmed in her seat recalling her awkward moments with Ben.

"Sorry for interrupting," Eunice apologized sheepishly. "I'm not used to being around people."

"That's okay hun," said Patti. "Why don't you talk a little about yourself!"

Eunice took a deep breath. "Okay my story is weird but I'm actually from the Omnitrix."

"I didn't know the Omntrix was named after a planet," replied Patti, growing curious. Eunice shook her head "No no I'm from the Omnitrix. Like literally from the Omnitrix"

Patti jerked her head back in shock. Kinda think about it she did look a bit like Ben - actually scratch that she looked like Gwen - but with blond hair and decidedly less salt. Right down to the same shade of green eyes.

"And we already know that Looma and Attea are alien princesses," Patti said as she wrote down on her board. "And I'm assuming you two had a crush on Ben too."

"To be fair he wouldn't make a good king on my homeworld," she admitted. "But Kevin...oh if you ever wanted a good time he was your man!" If it was possible her face turned even redder.

"But of course he just had to reject me, lied to me, couldn't even look me in the eye!" She slammed her fist into her other palm (did the room just shake, Patti fretted) clearly holding the former delinquent responsible for the bumps in the road in her woeful search for a consort.

"Okay not that much in common though it seems all of you have a connection to aliens."

"In my defense he tricked me!" Attea snapped. It was true he oretneded to be a very cute very hot soldier in her army only to reveal himself to have been spying on her! That was a trick that both sickened and impressed her.

Kai huffed. "Seriously you guys have no good taste in men!"

"But Kai aren't you destined to be with him?" Asked Ester. She remembered their encounter with the time-traveler Spanner, whi kept going on about how Ben and Kai had to be together for reasons she didn't know and admittedly stopped caring about. "Like what's that term, soulmates?"

"Hmph yeah right like I'm dumb enough to fall for the words of a stranger!" Kai scoffed. Come on she was the wielder of Excalibur for crying out loud! Why was her only destiny be hinged on whether she banged the most annoying guy in the universe or not? What about her own accomplishments?

Ooh girl if only you knew, Patti lamented, understanding just who Ester was referring too. She didn't want to bring him up and cause even more drama so she tried to change subjects. She observed the clothes they wore and something clicked.

"It seems there's something else you all have in common," she spoke. "Look at your clothes. What colors you're all wearing."

"Uh pink?" Julie replied not knowing where this was heading.

"Yes! And red too!" She gestured to Kai and Elena's jackets. "Often a person feels comfortable wearing their favorite colors."

Elena thumbed the corner of her collar. "Yeah my dad gave it to me for my birthday shortly before he..." Her voice trailed off, not wanting to bring up that tragic night. At her implication Julie began to feel pity for the girl. While she still held reservations towards her (Elena had kidnapped and impersonated her) she couldn't lay all of the blame at her feet. She couldn't imagine losing her own father, and her conscious mind.

"Oh please we're not about to get into theatrics are we?" Attea groaned. She couldn't believe she had to waste a whole time of her life being forced to listen to a bunch of sob stories!

Elena glared at her. "You got a problem, frog legs?"

"Oh sorry did I struck a nerve?" Attea smiled sweetly. She had known about the former scientist and her fall from grace. In fact she had dirt on a lot of people connected to Ben any friend of his was a threat to her.

"You wanna try me?" Elena threanted as her body tingle hotly. The result of nanochips that remained in her body seeking out any hint of technology. The overhead TV provided enough power to knock the bratty teen's lights out...

"My money's on biker chick," Looma whispered to Eunice. The short girl could only watch with worry asking herself if she should try to step in and break them up.

"Now young ladies I know you're smarter than this," Patti said calmly. In her mind she began to fear this was a bad idea.

"Look I'm sorry but I have plans to make and worlds to conquer!" Attea exclaimed as she stormed to leave the room.

"Which is why you are here right now," Patti countered. "You've made a mess trying to take over our planet. Many people had their lives disrupted and I doubt they be happy to hear the person responsible got away with it."

"Come on why me? I'm just following family tradition!" The royal stopped her foot impatiently.

"Either that or deal with my cousin," Patti added, her tone unwavering. Now that gave Attea some pause. Everyone in the room knew of the gentle and sweet Jora Holiday, but with sweet came sourness. They all witnessed her Element at some point, and when she got genuinely angry, well, just ask anyone unlucky enough to catch her on a bad day.

Realizing that she wasn't able to shoot herself out of that one, the amphibian royal sat back down and crossed her arms like a tot denied candy. She turned her nose at Elena who had been expecting an apology. When she knew she wasn't getting one the biker did the same. If she want to play it like that fine by me! She survived being brainwashed by Hive Chips, a spoiled racist brat was nothing to her!

Patti sighed with victorious relief. Crisis avoided! Now as long Princess Attea kept her mouth shut the rest of their meeting will go smoothly. She looked at her watch. Twenty minutes to go. Hopefully this wouldn't end up in tears and bloodshed.

#ben 10 #ben 10 oc #oc: patti holiday #julie yamamoto #kai green #ester #elena validus #attea #looma #jennifer nocturne #eunice #ben 10 fanfiction #Sensitivity Training #ben 10 omniverse #omniverse

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butsomeofusarelookingatthestars · 3 years

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Forgotten: Part 3

During one of the BAU’s most difficult cases, Luke meets a dedicated journalist who is committed to fighting for the underdog. Reluctant to trust the authorities at first, she finds a friend in the compassionate FBI agent. But as they draw closer, the challenges only grow with fear, hostility and a relentless unsub whose attention turns to her…

Masterlist (x)

AN/ FINALLY here’s Part 3! I hope you enjoy reading it. Apologies for the long wait and for the terrible writing (I’m so out of practice!). But we’re starting to get to the good stuff, so please do let me know what you think. What are you most excited for? Is there anything you’re dreading? x

“Thanks for the welcome.” Prentiss said, her eyes scanning the board pinned against the wall. “It’s good that we can get started as soon as possible.” She flashed the local police chief a reassuring smile as he nodded in acknowledgment.

The BAU were well adapted to setting up quickly and in this particular case it had been stressed, by Linda Barnes herself, that time was of the essence. With the media frenzy outside the station, it was clear why the FBI brass wanted it resolving sooner rather than later too.

But, of course, the BAU would be paying it the same due diligence they did all their cases.

“Reid, if you could get started at the ME’s office?” Emily asked. “Tara and Matt, if you could take a look at the crime scene?” Her colleagues nodded in agreement.

“I’ll get one of my detectives to take you out there.” The police chief told them, gesturing to an officer stationed outside the window. “We’ve had a presence at the scene since the body was discovered in an effort to keep prying eyes away.”

“Thanks Chief. I’m sure that it will be helpful to get the insight from your officers too.” Matt replied, a small smile on his face as he and Tara left the room, closely followed by Reid. All were keen to get started on the investigation.

Emily watched them depart before turning back to the chief. “Myself and Agent Rossi are eager to speak to Lara’s family. Would it be possible to arrange a meeting?” The chief grimaced, her name clearly a reminder of the pressured situation he was facing.

“Sure. It might be better for us to go to them though. They’re not big fans of the media circus outside.” He explained. “Can’t say I blame them…”

Prentiss nodded in agreement. “Thank you for your cooperation chief.”

He cleared his throat and stood up a little straighter. “Of course. If there’s anything else you need, please don’t hesitate to ask me.”

“Do you have any information about the other cases that have been reported recently?” Luke asked, one hand resting on the back of his chair and the other skimming the pages of the report Garcia had sent across.

With gruesome details of five other bodies found along the same stretch of highway, it certainly hadn’t been light reading. And, even with Garcia’s superb sleuthing abilities, she still hadn’t managed to track down much information about the victims themselves. Hopefully the local PD would be able to shed more light on the situation.

However, as soon as Luke glanced up to see the tense posture of the chief, he realised he’d made a mistake.

“Other cases?”

JJ frowned at the defensive tone of the chief. Hostile police forces were something she definitely didn’t miss having to deal with as Communications Liaison. “The other women who were found dead in the same area. Our technical analysist found striking similarities between-”

“Similarities?” The Chief scoffed, his unkind expression promoting Luke’s back to stiffen. “We have the body of the most influential woman in the city on our hands Agent Jareau. If you think that’s a comparison-”

Thankfully Emily decided to intervene, cutting his undoubtedly offensive comment short. “We believe these cases may be relevant Chief.” She turned to JJ and Luke, skilfully avoiding further confrontation. “I want you two to head to the local newspaper office to interview Y/N Y/L/N. See what you can find out from her.”

“Y/N Y/L/N?” The Chief asked incredulously, shaking his head. “The journalist?”

“Chief, you called us in to help. Let us do that.” Prentiss replied firmly “At the BAU we study criminal behaviour and have to investigate all of the evidence we find.”

“Do what you like…but, if you ask me you’re wasting your time, time we don’t have to spare.” He declared, his eyes narrowing slightly before he stood up. “If you’ll excuse me Agent Prentiss, I’ll arrange that meeting with the Hughes family.”

The team exchanged knowing glances as the Chief stormed from the room.

“It looks like we’ll have our work cut out for us here.” Rossi murmured quietly. “Lucky us.” His sarcastic comment prompted a few wry smiles from the group, but all knew the implications were serious. Working with a reluctant local police force was less than ideal, especially when trying to stop a serial killer.

You drummed your fingers against the wooden desk, the repetitive thud offering a little comfort as your heart thudded nervously. In your years reporting, you had experienced many adrenaline-fuelled moments – both ones you’d rather forget and the ones you savoured. It was the excitement and frustration that pushed you on and made you determined to continue the pursuit.

But the possibility that something might finally go right? That things could change for the better? That seemed to be the most nerve-wracking of all. Hope was dangerous.

As you sat waiting for the FBI to appear, all you could think of was each of the families you had come to know over the years. Each one carrying an agonising burden of loss. Their lives had been forever changed by the actions of another. Their futures stolen.

Did the FBI agents know about their stories? What would they be like? Would they even care? Or, did they just have to be here to alleviate concern about the most recent high-profile victim?

You felt terrible thinking of Lara Hughes that way. Of course, you didn’t begrudge her case receiving attention. Every single victim of crime deserved their story to be told and justice to be served. However, the intense media and police attention on her case alone, just seemed to serve as a painful reminder of the disparity ‘different’ victims received.

Behind every case that crossed your desk were loved ones left behind in desperation and sadness. A pain that no one else seemed to recognise or even cared to listen to. Sometimes families would even confess that the isolation and sense of neglect could feel as terrible as the murder itself. Almost as if their loved one had been killed for a second time when police explained there were ‘no credible leads’ and that the cold investigation was a ‘stretch on resources’.

A frown crossed your face as you glanced at the pile of case folders stacked neatly on your desk. You saw every victim as a person and it was difficult to understand why others couldn’t afford them the same courtesy.

Despite all your dealings with the local PD, you still couldn’t decide why they seemed so reluctant to cooperate with the investigations. Was it simply a misunderstanding? Or was there a deliberate refusal from some to help those deemed ‘beneath them’?

Fortunately, you were snapped out of your gloomy thoughts by your boss’s sudden announcement.

“Y/N, there’s a call for you. They arrived.”

“Why’s it this difficult?”

JJ frowned in confusion as she glanced over at Luke. The two of them had arrived at the newspaper offices and were waiting in a quiet room for the local journalist to arrive. However, it seemed like her colleague had a few questions of his own on his mind.

Luke sighed quietly, his gaze dropping on the file clutched in his hands. “Why don’t local police want to investigate these cases? Or at least be open to the possibility there’s something bigger at play here?”

JJ flashed him a reassuring smile. “Trust me Luke, I’ve had my fair share of reluctant PDs. They’ll come around eventually. It’s just fear that holds them back.”

Luke gave her a small nod. “I hope so.” He shrugged his shoulders as he leant back in his seat. “At least we’re here now.”

His thoughts were interrupted as the door opened to reveal a young woman stood outside, files balanced carefully on top of what appeared to be a very well-used laptop in her arms.

“I was told that the FBI wanted to speak to me? I’m Y/N Y/L/N.”

You silently cursed yourself for the nervousness that had crept into your tone, your voice unusually high as you stared at the two agents sat at the table. Despite your dealings with law enforcement in the past, this time with the FBI’s involvement it felt incredibly serious and you couldn’t help but find their presence imposing.

What if the local police had already cast doubts upon your investigation? What if they were just here to box tick? How could you let the families down again?

Your heart thudded uncomfortably and your hand drifted towards the strap of your bag, twisting it in an effort to distract yourself from your nerves. The man’s eyes narrowed slightly as they followed your movement. Of course, they were profilers after all.

“Ms Y/L/N? It’s nice to meet you. I’m Agent Jennifer Jareau, otherwise known as JJ.” The blonde women explained. She gestured to her colleague sat beside her. “This is Agent Luke Alvez.”

You nodded in acknowledgment, finding yourself taken aback by how normal they both seemed. It wasn’t the straight-laced government officials you had been expecting. Agent Jareau appeared younger than you would have imagined. Her eyes kind and expression relaxed.

“Thanks for making the time to see us.” Agent Alvez said, his voice deep and oddly soothing. His dark curls framed his face and his brown eyes seemed to radiate warmth as he flashed you a small smile. “Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?”

Definitely not what you had been expecting…

An hour later and the conversation was still in full flow. You had been hesitant at first in an effort to suss the agents out and determine their motives. But after the initial pleasantries it hadn’t taken long for you to realise that both seemed like dedicated agents that were deeply committed to their jobs…and justice. With that reassurance, you had been happy to review the details of each case, your own investigations and even discuss the cooperation (or rather lack of) from local police.

However, unfortunately JJ had been briefly pulled away by a phone call, calling a temporary halt to the interview. Luke gave you a small smile as he pointed towards the coffee clutched tightly in your hand. “Black? I’m impressed.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Trust me, in this job you need it. Before all of this I used to be a caramel latte girl.”

He chuckled quietly at your joke, folding his arms as he leant back in his chair. His eyes seemed to soften as he glanced at you in curiosity.

“Why do you do it?”

You froze for a moment, the question momentarily catching you off guard. It wasn’t something you had ever been asked before. As a journalist, you were so used to talking about others, it seemed strange to discuss yourself for a change. But judging by what you knew of Agent Alvez so far, you knew he’d understand your answer.

You bit your lip as your eyes lifted to meet his. “To show someone cares.” You gestured at the files littering the table and the photographs staring up at the two of you. “These women and their families deserve that as much as anyone else.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes surprisingly gentle as he stared at you. “I completely agree.”

For the first time in a long time, you found yourself believing that someone else cared too.

TAGLIST:

@ssaic-jareau, @alvezstan, @exceptionallytiredzombie, @illegalcerebral, @captaintightpants58, @abitofeverythinggg, @sociallyakwardb, @notsomellowmushroom, @afuckingshituniverse, @yourwonderbelle, @crimeshowtrash

#criminal minds #luke alvez #luke alvez x reader #criminal minds imagine #emily prentiss #spencer reid #penelope garcia #david rossi #jennifer jareau #tara lewis #matt simmons #miniseries #forgotten

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there-must-be-a-lock · 4 years

Text

Business As Usual

Criminal Minds Rockstar AU!

Word Count: ~3890

Warnings: Implications of offscreen shenanigans, Reid and JJ being devious little shits, but nothing too wild.

A/N: Why does this exist? Fuck if I know! Was it a fucking blast to write? Fuck yes it was! The headcanon popped into my brain fully-formed while I was driving home from work one day, @stunudo and @rockhoochie encouraged me, and here I am. This will, at some point, be tied into the SPN rockstar au that I’ve been dicking around with, but for now it’s just the BAU doing their thing!

Business As Usual

Talking Family and Feminism With Rock’s Hottest New Band

There are already fans lining up outside Terminal 5 when I arrive in the afternoon. It’s the first time Business As Usual will be playing in New York since the release of their sophomore album, Wheels Up, which has become the runaway surprise hit of the summer, largely thanks to the success of the first single, “Revelations.” They’ve gone from critically praised indie darlings to the brink of mainstream stardom, seemingly overnight.

Band manager David Rossi, for one, isn’t surprised at the sudden attention.

Rossi is an industry vet with almost four decades of experience under his belt. He’d been retired for a couple years when a friend dragged him out to see B.A.U. playing in a dive bar. He says that within two songs, he knew “the kids,” as he calls them, would be huge. By the end of the show, he was ready to come out of retirement if they’d let him manage them.

With attention comes scrutiny, and for most bands, the rumors would be flying already. However, B.A.U. definitely isn’t most bands; there are no whispers of groupies, crazy parties, or other rockstar antics here. When you meet them face to face, that reputation makes perfect sense. They’re quiet and quirky, and they seem like five of the unlikeliest rock stars in modern music.

“Very nice to meet you, Paul,” Rossi says, turning on the charm. This one’s gonna be a piece of cake. “Now. Before we get any further, just a couple things.”

He gives the reporter his best fuck with my kids and I will fuck you up look and makes sure the guy looks suitably intimidated before he continues.

“First, don’t believe half of what comes out of Penelope’s mouth, at least not until you confirm with somebody else. She likes to see what ridiculous things journalists will print.” This is, obviously, a lie, but they’ve found it’s the best way to deal with Penelope’s inability to keep anything private. “Trust me. You listen to her, you’ll end up with egg on your face.”

“No problem,” Paul says obediently.

“Second, you do not mention Reid’s stalker. Is that clear?”

Paul nods, but Rossi waits for a moment, until he starts wilting slightly under the stare.

“I understand,” he says, nodding emphatically, and Rossi gives him a clap on the shoulder and a big smile.

“Wonderful. Other than that, we’re an open book. Come in, they’re just getting ready for soundcheck. Let’s get you something to drink.”

Officially, the band is made up of Emily Prentiss (vocals), Derek Morgan (guitar), Jennifer “JJ” Jareau (bass), Spencer Reid (keys), and Aaron Hotchner (drums). At first glance, they don’t look like they have anything in common; most bands tend to dress in a similar style and come from similar musical backgrounds, but these five couldn’t be more different. Reid, for example, was a classical piano prodigy who graduated from Berklee at the age of seventeen, and has a tendency to dress like an absentminded professor, while Prentiss, with her Siouxsie Sioux eyeliner, dropped out of prep school to tour with a riot-girl band.

Producer and sound tech Penelope Garcia is the unofficial sixth member of the band, and they all credit her with melding their various eclectic songwriting styles into one distinctive, experimental sound.

Garcia is an anomaly in a male-dominated field, possibly even more so than Prentiss and Jareau, but instead of trying to blend in or prove that she’s tough enough to fit in with the rest of the crew, she makes a point to stand out. During sound check, she’s wearing a wildly colorful dress and pink heels, which match the pink streaks in her hair and her thick pink-framed glasses. When I ask whether she deals with sexism in the music industry, she just laughs.

“Of course there are jerks,” she says, shrugging. “There are always going to be jerks. But I know I’m good at what I do, and my band knows I’m good at what I do, and that’s what matters.”

“And the other women? Do they get heckled or catcalled a lot?”

“The only person who’s allowed to objectify my band is me,” Garcia says cheerfully, and then makes a face. “Kidding! I would never.”

“Nicely done on that solo, hot stuff, you play that guitar almost as well as you fill out those jeans,” Penelope says into the dead mic. It goes directly to the band’s in-ear monitors, so nobody else can hear. Derek laughs and the rest of the band roll their eyes.

When they set up the extra mics and the band-to-booth-only channel, this was not what they had in mind (as Rossi keeps reminding her) but… it’s so much fun. She hasn’t made Derek crack up mid-show yet, but she’ll get there.

“One of these days you’re gonna use the wrong channel and the entire house is gonna hear you,” JJ says into her own second mic, but she’s grinning too.

“Let ‘em listen, they’d just be jealous,” Penelope says breezily. “Another one?”

“Can we run ‘Eviler Twin’ with the new bridge?” Spencer asks.

Penelope adjusts levels on his synths and shoots him a thumbs up. “You got it, Boy Wonder. Hotch, count ‘em in.”

Lead singer Emily Prentiss has a larger-than-life presence from the moment she steps onstage. She’s commanding and confident, and it’s hard to take your eyes off of her, whether she’s crowdsurfing, jumping around the stage, or delivering one of her trademark fiery speeches between songs.

When Prentiss first expressed an interest in singing, her mother hired a private vocal coach who specialized in opera, and was disappointed when her daughter showed interest in less classical genres.

“She was pissed,” Prentiss says, smiling to herself. “I started sneaking out when I was fourteen or so and going to this one little local dive bar that got all the punk and hardcore bands. I’m still not sure how I convinced them to let me in. But seeing the Dead Kennedys made me decide I was going to be in a band. I just looked at Jello Biafra and thought, I want to do that.”

While their music isn’t explicitly political, the band themselves aren’t shy about expressing their opinions, Prentiss in particular.

“...and that’s why I never wear a bra,” Emily finishes. “Does that answer your question?”

“I think so?” Paul says hesitantly. He’s making a noble effort not to look down at her tits.

Emily’s pretty sure it doesn’t answer the question, not even a little bit, but she’s also pretty sure the question was about relationships, so. Fuck that question.

Emily’s not great at press, but she is excellent at rambling about the patriarchy until people tune her out.

Drummer Aaron Hotchner, best known as “Hotch,” has become the unlikely sex symbol of the band, despite being the only one who’s happily married. The attention only seems to embarrass him.

“It’s real fun to read him thirst tweets and watch him turn colors,” Penelope says, with a devilish grin. “But you didn’t hear it from me.”

When Hotch goes out to greet fans after the show, the female shrieks reach a deafening pitch. He greets everyone with a charming, dimpled smile and talks to each one as if there’s no one else waiting for his attention. The crowd is sizeable and some of the fans are overfamiliar, to put it mildly, but Hotch spends over an hour there, speaking to everyone individually. He remains unfailingly polite, taking pictures and signing things even after the rest of his bandmates have excused themselves for the night.

“He’s just the sweetest,” one girl sighs to her friend as they finally head home.

Hotch, who is notoriously unenthusiastic about talking to the press, did not want to comment.

“Love you too, Jack. Take care of your mom,” Hotch is saying, as he walks through the green room door. He hangs up, and Emily can see the moment he notices Paul; his smile vanishes and his eyebrows flatten in a scowl.

“Was that your son?” Paul asks politely.

“Yes.”

“How is he?”

“Fine.”

Paul’s smile falters for a second. “Do you talk to them every night, when you’re on the road? Touring must be tough.”

Hotch just gives him a curt nod this time and Emily winces. Paul clears his throat.

“So… you used to play in a grunge band, is that right?” he asks tentatively.

Hotch gives him another stony look. “That is correct.”

JJ opens the door, and Emily can’t help but mutter, “Oh thank fuck.”

JJ looks between Hotch, who is holding eye contact without blinking, and a petrified Paul. Then she quirks an eyebrow at Emily, who gives her a panicked nod.

“Hi there, you must be Paul,” JJ says warmly. She jabs Hotch discreetly in the side as she passes him. “Rossi and Morgan are getting food, Hotch, they said you should join them.”

He looks like he’s about to protest, but Emily shoots him a look and he heads for the door.

JJ sits next to Paul with a dazzlingly bright smile, eyelashes fluttering. “It is so nice to meet you. Reid and Garcia are in the batcave, I’m happy to take you out there, but I’m all yours if there’s anything you’d like to ask me about first.”

Emily shoots her a thumbs-up and escapes before Paul notices.

Jennifer Jareau, better known as “JJ,” has the sort of wholesome, all-American beauty that turns heads wherever she goes; she wouldn’t look out of place on a magazine cover. In fact, modeling was what led her indirectly to the band.

JJ started playing music in her high school marching band, but never intended to pursue it seriously. She was the valedictorian of her small town’s high school and had a full scholarship to the University of Pittsburgh. Between her sophomore and junior years, though, she was spotted by a modeling agency and offered a job; it would just be one week, in Los Angeles. She says she was most excited about the opportunity to fly in an airplane for the first time.

While in L.A., JJ met Prentiss, and the rest is history. The two women seem to work seamlessly together and frequently complete each others’ sentences, but while Prentiss is commanding and confident, JJ is soft-spoken and feminine, almost motherly.

“I always wanted a family,” JJ says, with her most heartfelt Colgate-ad smile. “It ended up looking a little different than I expected, but here we are.”

JJ’s 95% sure that’ll be the pull quote for the article. Men like Paul eat that traditional shit up with a spoon; she should probably rein it in before he jizzes himself.

The “batcave,” as they call it, is so full of gear and recording equipment that I stand in the doorway while I talk to Reid and Garcia. Her desk takes up a third of the room, and it holds two laptops in addition to several sound boards and microphones. She’s putting together a rough demo of a song they started working on a couple days earlier.

Reid, meanwhile, is sitting on the floor, surrounded by the disassembled parts of two amps, and he’s tinkering with something tiny and delicate-looking. When I ask what he’s doing, he rattles off a rapid-fire string of technical jargon, and I have to ask him to repeat himself. He looks to Garcia, who holds up her hands as if to say ‘don’t look at me,’ and Reid turns back to me to say, simply, “I’m making it sound better.”

Reid has a tendency to speak at three times the speed of most humans, and frequently goes off on baffling tangents about everything from obscure composers to beekeeping to the origins of Halloween. It’s hard to follow, sometimes, but his bandmates seem used to it.

When asked if anything has changed with the band’s recent success, he says thoughtfully, “I honestly haven’t noticed. None of it makes a difference to me, as long as I get to play music.” He pauses for a moment, then adds with a smile, “My high school reunion last month was very satisfying, though.”

“... William Onyeabor, of course! Lately, also, a lot of Philip Glass and Gil Scott-Heron.”

Spencer realizes he’s been staring up at the ceiling instead of talking to the reporter. He blinks and refocuses. Paul looks slightly shell-shocked.

“So to answer your question, yes, we do spend a lot of time writing when we’re on the road,” Garcia interjects. Spencer winces. “We’ll probably have almost an album’s worth of demos by the time the tour is over. We could stay in here all day, the trick is getting Reid to remember to eat.”

Spencer rolls his eyes.

“So is that how you guys spend most of your spare time? Writing and playing music?” Paul asks.

“Well, it’s not like we’re total shut-ins,” Garcia says. “We go out and have fun too. Admittedly, JJ and Emily’s idea of fun is starting bar fights, but -”

“Really?” Paul asks, looking at Spencer curiously.

He scoffs. “No, she’s kidding.”

Garcia, absorbed in whatever she’s doing on her laptop, continues absent-mindedly: “Well, it’s not that they start fights, but they both do Krav Maga and also attract a lot of idiots, so… idiots start bar fights and then the girls finish them. Let me tell you, you do not want to mess with JJ.”

Paul looks at Spencer again. He shakes his head quickly.

“I mean, can you really picture JJ in a bar fight?” he asks, forcing a laugh.

Garcia’s still rambling. “Honestly though you really gotta watch out for this one right here. Reid’s our resident wild child.”

He gives Paul a disarming, wide-eyed, ‘who, me?’ smile and shakes his head again.

“Oh, man, one time in Boston he -”

“Garcia,” Spencer interrupts. She looks up, glances at the tape recorder in Paul’s hand, and shuts her mouth hastily. Paul is starting to look suspicious.

“Ha! Just kidding,” Garcia says shrilly. “He’s a big ol’ dork, really.”

Spencer nods earnestly, doing his best puppy eyes. “I spend most of my time reading, honestly. She’s just trying to make me seem cooler.”

Paul’s expression clears slightly. “That… makes sense.”

He doesn’t press for details, which is good. The legendary Boston Incident is not something Spencer needs in print.

Derek Morgan learned guitar from his father, a Chicago blues artist, but says that when he began to write his own music, he immediately gravitated to classic rock. He cites Hendrix, the Rolling Stones, and Led Zeppelin as influences, and it’s easy to see that onstage; Morgan has the rakish charm and suggestive swagger to rival the moves of any of his idols. If anyone out of the group were to fit the mold of the traditional rockstar, I’d expect it to be him.

The truth is much more innocuous. Offstage, he’s a perfect gentleman, respectful and chivalrous to a fault. He doesn’t drink, and he somehow finds time to work out almost every day, even when they’re on the road.

“Sorry to disappoint, but I’m dead boring,” he says, with a wide grin. “Truth is, none of us really fit into any of the usual boxes. That’s why we get along so well.”

He says Garcia is his best friend in the group, and I can tell he’s fiercely protective of the band, especially the women. When asked if he’s usually the one looking out for the girls, he laughs.

“Honestly, they’re not the ones I worry about,” he says. “But sure. We all look out for each other, really.”

The bartender shows up, finally, and slides two glasses over to JJ. She knocks back the shot first. If this dumb hipster keeps slurring at her about how much artistry there is in dubstep, she’s going to need another one very soon.

“People just don’t get it,” he says, sidling a little closer. JJ steps back.

“Ben - Ken?” she asks, and the guy pauses, affronted. “I’m sure that’s very interesting, but you should probably know that I’m gay.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Like, gay gay?”

“Gayer by the second,” JJ says coolly.

“How do you know, though?” Ken says, which is a level of douchebag she didn’t actually expect from him. He must be even drunker than he looks.

JJ gives him a polite smile. “I’m going to go find my friends now.”

“Hey, hang on.”

He grabs her arm as she turns away. Behind his back she can see Derek heading in their direction. She gives him a little “stand down” wave.

“Bad idea,” she warns Ken.

“Oh yeah? What -”

“Back off,” Emily snaps, appearing at her side.

Ken looks at them mutinously, and as they turn away, he mutters something that sounds like (but probably isn’t) “Duckin’ bikes.”

“Say it to my face,” JJ tells him sweetly. “Let’s see how that goes for you.”

“What are you gonna do about it?” he asks belligerently.

Emily grabs one of his wrists and twists hard, while JJ gets the other. Ken yelps.

“Everything okay here?” Derek says from behind him. He’s doing what can only be described as looming in a distinctly menacing way. “I think it’s time for you to head home, buddy.”

“Shoo,” Emily adds. “Go on. Skedaddle.”

Ken skedaddles. JJ can’t help but laugh.

“We had it under control,” Emily reassures Derek.

He frowns. “You sure?”

“Just another one who thought he could cure me with his magic dick,” JJ says with a shrug. “More shots?”

“No way, uh-uh,” Derek interrupts sternly. “Emily. Come on. You remember what happened last time you tried to outdrink JJ?”

“It was so much fun until then, though,” JJ chirps. He knows them too well. She exchanges a look with Emily.

“Hey, have you seen Reid lately?” Emily asks innocently, and while Derek is scanning the crowd and scowling, JJ gestures to the bartender.

Only time will tell whether Business As Usual will continue to grow in popularity, but Rossi seems confident that they’re here to stay. To hear him tell it, he’s met everyone from the Stones to the Strokes (“And I have the scars to prove it!”) and he has an eye for which bands are in it for the long haul.

He says, “Long-term success isn’t about who’s the most talented musicians or the best performers, although these guys are both. So many bands crash and burn early.”

“Why is that? What makes you so sure these guys will be different?”

“You hear people blame it on the lifestyle, the drugs, the parties, but truth is, those don’t matter all that much as long as the band is taking care of each other.” He smiles proudly. “These guys, they’ll always have each others’ backs. They’re a team.”

“You about ready to head back to the hotel?” Hotch asks quietly, lining up his shot. “This isn’t going to last much longer.” Sure enough, he sinks the ball neatly and straightens up, giving the table a calculating look.

“Let me round ‘em up,” Derek says. “Meet you outside in five.”

“When has it ever taken five minutes to round up this bunch?” Hotch asks wryly. “You have fifteen and then I’m leaving. Shout if you need help.”

He spots Penelope first. She’s in the middle of the dancefloor, dancing with a guy who might as well have cartoon hearts popping out of his eyes. She’s not drunk to the point where she’s doing her signature Shitfaced Shimmy, so she won’t be too hard to wrangle. He catches her eye and taps his wrist, then points to the door, and she shoots him a thumbs up.

Piece of cake.

He looks around for Reid next, hoping against hope that the kid hasn’t attracted any crazy tonight. He’s not sure why or how, but Reid has proven more prone to disaster than the rest of the crew combined. If you asked Derek who in the band was most likely to get slapped, get kidnapped, get stabbed (accidentally), lose his shoes on the way back from the bathroom, get fully lost on the way to the bathroom, get hit on by a prostitute, puncture his own foot with a dart, snort something sketchy and end up wired til dawn, or befriend a mob boss, the answer would be Spencer Reid, every damn time.

He knows this because Reid’s already done most of those things.

Emily pops up at his side. Her level of sobriety is surprising until Derek notices the smug smile on her face and the phone number Sharpied on her arm. He gives her a fist-bump.

“Meet you outside,” she says cheerfully.

This might be even easier than he thought.

“Hey, Emily,” he calls, and she turns back to look at him. “Have you seen Reid or JJ?”

“JJ found me a while ago to borrow my swiss army knife,” she says thoughtfully, and then her eyes widen in realization. “She never came back and I haven’t seen Reid. Shit.”

“Alright, you check outside, look in the alley, I’ll do a sweep around here. If Garcia’s not already outside, call Hotch.” Emily nods curtly and turns toward the door.

Derek elbows his way around the fringes of the dance floor, scanning the crowd for JJ’s blonde hair, but no luck. He checks a couple of the out-of-the-way nooks and crannies where Reid likes to curl up to pass out, even glances under a couple tables, but there’s no sign of him. He heads for the door that leads to the hallway with the bathrooms.

He almost runs right into JJ and Reid, who are arm-in-arm as they burst through the door.

“Oh good,” he says, mildly surprised to see them both upright. Then Reid looks up with big, innocent eyes, sniffing and twitching his nose like a goddamn rabbit, and JJ flaps her hand urgently toward the front of the bar, stepping around Derek without breaking stride.

“We should go,” she says quickly. “Now.”

“What did you do?” he groans, shepherding them through the crowd. He can see them exchange a glance. JJ wipes her nose with the back of her sleeve, Emily’s multi-tool still clutched in her fist.

“We may have rearranged some things,” Spencer mutters.

“There might be some physics magic brewing,” JJ adds.

Just as Derek half-shoves them through the front door, he hears a shout from the direction of the bathrooms.

Amazingly, everyone is standing on the sidewalk waiting for them.

“Double time,” Derek says hurriedly, and they all fall into step.

“Eight minutes and thirty-seven seconds,” Hotch says, looking at his watch. He holds a hand out to Penelope. “Pay up.”

“Thing One and Thing Two over there were just stirring up some chaos,” Morgan explains.

“Do I want to know?” Penelope asks, fishing a twenty out of her purse. “Is this a plausible deniability situation?”

Emily shakes her head. “I swear, Reid, one of these days I’m going to put a leash on you, and not in a fun sexy way.”

JJ and Reid are already half a block ahead of the rest of them, arms linked, heads together like they’re plotting again. JJ lets out one of her weird little coke-giggles and Derek can hear Reid chattering about… the Wizard of Oz, for some reason? Whatever.

Just another day for this weird-ass bunch he calls family.

#criminal minds fic #criminal minds #spencer reid #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #penelope garcia #cm fic

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jawritter · 4 years

Text

You and Me...

Chapter 6

***SERIES WARNINGS**** Rape, non-con, male!rape, injury, violence, description of injury caused by rape, nightmares, self-harm, panic attacks, implied female non-con, language, ass hole Jensen, hurt!Jensen, dark fic, smut. If there is anything else I will add it as I go.

***Chapter Warnings*** VERY BIG TRIGGER WARNING!! This chapter contains descriptions of injuries and heavy implications of Male Rape! Please know I don’t take this sort of thing lightly, and I was gentle as possible in the descriptions and implications as I could be, but still getting the story across as well!! Hints of mental disturbance, language probably, kidnapping, Angst, overall this one is pretty heavy.

Word Count: 2790

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader, Jared x Reader, OFC Justin X Reader, OFC Steve x Reader

A/N: Anyway, all mistakes are mine, please don’t copy my work, Feedback is golden. If you want to be added to the series tag list, or my tag list just let me know! I hope you enjoy this one. After this chapter things tend to start to pick up a little.

Summary: It’s funny how one choice you made can change your whole life. One mistake can alter your course, and set you on a path that forever will haunt you. Two people find themselves getting through one of the hardest trials of Jensen’s life, on just one small promise. You and Me. We’ll get through it together…

Want more? Check out my Masterlist!!

***MASTERLIST***

***YOU AND ME MASTERLIST***

It had been three days since Jensen had been to the studio.

Steve had tried calling him but got no answer. Steve was starting to get worried, therefore he was making sure everyone in the office was on edge because that was just Steve.

"Maybe he changed his mind," you mumble, looking through the recordings that had already been done, and checking to make sure all the copyrights for the songs he wanted to do were sent off, and ready just in case he did decide to show back up.

"He can't change his mind! He's under contract to finish this album here in this studio," Steve gritted out, going through Jensen's paperwork looking for another contact to try.

"Damn Steve, you put that shit on lock didn't you?" Justin said, spinning his chair in circles like an overgrown kid, not really concerned as to whether or not Jensen showed back up. He didn’t seem to like Jensen all that much anyway.

Steve turned to give him his best bitchface. "This album could put our studio on the map," he said coldly. “We need this guy to finish this album.”

Then something dawns on you, something you had totally forgotten about. You had Misha's number.

You were going to send him a donation to his charity, and while he was here he gave it to you so that he could text you the address to send the money in to.

"I have Misha's number, try him, maybe he knows a way to contact him," you glancing over your shoulder, and Steve looks at you like he wants to kill you for waiting until now to let that little piece of information out.

Pulling out your phone and text him the phone number, and as soon as his phone buzzed with the number he was calling it, walking into the office, and leaving you and Justin to sit in silence on the other side of the door, listening to see if you could hear something. All the two of you seemed to make out was a muffled conversation that honestly sounded like it was very one-sided, with Misha doing the majority of the talking.

After about 15 minutes Steve walked back into the main recording room pale, and a little nauseated, flopping down in the chair next to you.

"What I'm about to tell you guys doesn't leave this room," Steve said, looking between Justin and yourself. Your heart jumped speed. You didn't like the way he said that.

"Three days ago Jensen was forcibly taken from Jared's bar when he was helping a bartender close up. They just found him today. He's at St. David's South Austin Medical Center," Steve looked down at the ground, and then back up at you two like he was unsure whether or not to tell you both the rest of the story.

"Is he okay?" you asked.

You weren’t exactly sure why your heart fell to your feet. Your hand ideally ran across the hand he touched just a few days ago taking his coffee from you.

"Was it some crazy super fan?" Justin asked, looking at Steve like he was bullshitting the two of you.

Steve turned a little greener.

"No, it wasn't a fan apparently,” Steve took a deep breath in order to settle himself.

“Jensen and Jennifer hooked up a little over a week ago. Apparently, things didn’t go exactly the way she’d hoped, so when she got home she told her brother that Jensen had raped her. He and a few of his buddies took Jensen, and for three days kept him locked in a hotel... Returning the favor," Steve stopped talking, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes tight. Taking a deep breath to stave off the urge to throw up, or scream because he felt like doing both.

You fought to keep your breakfast down. The room seemed to be spinning. Your heart broke for him. Why you didn't know. What the hell? Why do you care so much? He was nothing but a complete and total ass to you! He hated you! Still, you couldn’t shake the gut-wrenching feeling deep down inside of you no matter how hard you tried to.

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

Later that night you paced around your apartment with Steve's words ringing in your head. You couldn't imagine what Jensen had gone through over the past three days. It made you sick to your stomach every time you thought about it.

Grabbing your purse you decide, probably against your better judgment, to head to the hospital. You had to see him. You didn't understand why, you had to see that he was okay.

So now you found yourself walking through the halls of the hospital looking for a nurse to ask which room they were keeping Jensen in. Holding your studio ID tight in your hand, hoping it was enough for them to let you into his room. This late at night you would think there would be more nurses roaming the halls, but things were still and quiet, not much movement at all.

You were just about to give up. You had just about walked the whole hospital, and no one seemed to know where he was. Making your way back to the second-floor elevators you pressed the button impatiently, wondering if maybe they moved him to a different hospital, or if he just asked people to not come to visit him right now, so they were keeping his location a secret or something.

It was stupid to come here in the first place. Jensen hated your guts. He wouldn't want to see you, so why the hell were you even here? That’s what your brain was screaming at you, and you had just about resided to the fact that it was right, and you were being an idiot by coming here.

Annoyed that the elevator was taking so long to open you were about to turn to take the stairs when you heard the familiar ding of the doors opening. Looking up you come face to... well... mid-chest... with Jared.

"Y/N!" Jared said, wrapping you in a bone-crushing hug. He looked exhausted. The amount of puffiness and redness around his eyes told you he had been crying. "What are you doing here?" he asked, surprised to see you standing there.

"Misha told us what happened. I came to see Jensen, but I can't find his room. No one seems to know where he is, or at least they don't want to tell me," you tell him, embarrassed that you even came you stared down at your feet.

Jared draped a long arm around your shoulders turning you around and headed toward the end of the hallway with you, stopping in front of room 241 he turned to face you.

"Y/N, I want to tell you what you're going to see in there. It's not pretty."

You took a deep breath. Why the hell were you all in your feels right now?

"What did they do to him, Jared?" you asked, almost afraid of the answer. Jared swallowed hard, looking like he was about to start crying again.

"They jumped him in my bar while he was waiting on the new guy I hired to close up. They tied him up, knocked him out, and dragged him out of the bar. The rest we are guessing. He hasn't said a word since the ambulance driver picked him up on the side of the road where they dumped him when they were done with him. According to the doctors, it looks like he was tied down to something, then was repeatedly violated. That’s all we know, and he’s not telling."

You held the vomit back that threatened in the back of your throat. Both you and Jared shivered involuntarily.

"When I first saw him he was covered in blood, and what looked like vomit. They had to sedate him to clean it all off of him and do the examination. Every time someone touches him he freaks out. They couldn't even get him as clean as they wanted because he was fighting so hard. From what I understand they cut the twist ties off of his wrist in the ambulance. They said he was just dumped completely naked, and still tied. Some dick truck driver saw him, and called the ambulance, but didn’t have the decency to stop and help him. Just kept on driving.”

Jared watched as you tried to compose yourself, the flood of emotions that were hitting you as he told you how he was found was more than you thought it would be for you.

"You sure you wanna go in there?" he asked you when you finally could breathe properly.”I get it if you don’t.”

"Yeah. I need to see him."

Jared never questioned, he just shook his head and opened the door.

At first, you didn't even see him lying in the bed. It just looked like a heap of covers in the middle of the bed. Moving around the bed you finally found the top of his head.

He was laying on his side with his back to the door, the covers pulled all the way up almost over his head.

"Jay... Y/N's here to see you," Jared said, walking around the bed first.

The heap of cover never moved. Jared looked at you apologetically.

You slowly made your way around the bed, afraid of what you were going to see. He looked so fragile lying there in that bed with monitor, wires and different IV's coming out from under the cover. There wasn't a lot of bruise on his face. Especially around his mouth. It was bruised all the way around his lips to almost his left ear. His lips were swollen and cracked. You shuddered at the thought of what might have caused that.

The rest of him was well covered, but for a scratched up hand sticking out from under the cover by his face.

It was his eyes that got to you the most.

He never made eye contact with you or Jared. He just stared at the wall between the two of you blankly. No light there at all. No movement. A very evident “the light's are on, but no one is home” look.

You couldn't stop the cascade tears that were falling down your face. They had broken something deep inside him, and you didn’t have to be a doctor to see it.

"Physically the injuries aren't permanent. It's the mental damage the doctors are worried about," Jared said, sitting on the small sofa next to his friend's bed, watching him closely.

Jensen just continued to look at the wall as if the two of you weren’t even in the room, and no one was talking about him less than three feet away from his bed.

There was a picture of him and his kids by the bed, no doubt brought there by Jared. He was smiling in the photo. He looked so happy. So contradictory to the broken man laying there in front of you. The longer you stood there you felt like your heart shattered into a million pieces.

Everything in you wanted to pick him up and just hold him until he was okay again, even though you knew that him being “okay” again wouldn’t ever be that easy.

"Did he really do what they say he did to Jennifer?" you turned and asked Jared, feeling like you were going to be sick again looking at the dirt and dried blood under his fingernails.

You tried to keep your mind from wondering whether the blood was his, or his attackers. You weren’t very successful.

"I don't know, and I'm not trying to justify anything he may have done, but do you think he would have deserved this? I was there when he asked her to dinner with him. She was definitely more than willing to show up at his house wearing next to nothing."

He was right of course. No one deserved what Jensen had been through.

You sat down in the chair next to his bed. Jensen was still staring at the wall like he didn't even know the two of you were in there. Reflexively you reached for his hand, wanting to comfort him in some way, but he jerked it under the cover before you even got close, never making a sound.

Even though he didn’t make a sound, he slowly looked up at you. Jared moved closer, not sure what he was going to do, but hoping that seeing you would pull him out of whatever mental cage he had enclosed himself in.

He did nothing. He stared at you for maybe a whole minute. A single tear slipping down his face then looked back at the wall. The blank look never once leaving his eyes.

Nurses came in checking the monitors while you and Jared sat next to Jensen talking, trying to avoid the subject of Jensen's injuries in front of him. Neither of you wanted to upset him. Jensen never moved, still just staring at the wall.

Finally, looking up at the clock you saw that it was close to 1 in the morning. Rubbing your face in frustration because even though you knew it was late you didn't want to leave him. He had dozed on and off while the two of you sat there talking, but he seemed to be awake right then. The amount of drugs they were giving him to manage his pain level probably didn't help his current state either. Still, you couldn't imagine the physical pain he was in. You didn't even want to think about what was going on in his head. Still, it was late, and you needed to let Jared get some rest.

"It's getting late, I need to let you rest. I'll come by tomorrow after work if that's okay," you tell Jared, reaching down to grabbing your purse. When you leaned down to grab your purse you had put your hand on the bed to brace yourself. It was something you did without thinking. Just a natural movement.

So lightly you almost didn't notice it you feel a calloused hand lay softly on top of yours. Looking up you see Jensen had reached over and grabbed your hand. Both yourself and Jared held your breath. For the first time, Jensen slowly made full eye contact with you, and not like he was looking through you with the same blank look on his face.

It was eerie and unnatural. Even though he was physically there, and probably knew vaguely where he was, he seemed to mentally be millions of miles away.

You went to take your hand away just to see what he would do, testing the waters kind of. When you did he tightened his grip on your hand, holding it in place.

"Jay," Jared said, trying to get his friend to look at him.

Jensen never spoke, but he did look at him with tears falling from his deep green eyes. It almost looked like he was on the edge of panic, but wasn’t quite mentally there enough to fall over that edge.

"Are you in pain?" Jared asked.

Jensen did nothing.

"Do you not want Y/N to leave?" he asked Jensen again.

Jensen did nothing, just stared back and forth between Jared and yourself.

Closing his eyes he slipped back into his drug-induced sleep with a death grip still on your hand.

For just a moment you considered staying, you did stay for another hour, Jensen never moved again, just slept. Honestly, it's what his body needed. To rest. So you gently slipped your hand out of his, gave Jared a hug, and your number, telling him to call you if he needed anything, and made your way to the door, letting both men get some rest.

When you finally got back to your car you sat there completely broken-hearted for the man lying in that hospital bed.

You hadn't realized it till right now. Seeing him so broken had brought it right in the front of your attention.

You didn't hate him like you thought.

You felt something else entirely.

This changes things.

For you anyway. Jensen had a long road ahead of him. Last you knew he hated you. Starting your car you wiped away the tears that were still falling from your own eyes. Praying to whoever was listening that you didn't get your heartbroken and that he could recover from this.

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#jensen ackles #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen ackles fanfic #jensen ackles series #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles dark fic #dark!fic #jensen x reader #jensen x you #male!rape #jensen faficiton #jensen fic #jensen series #you and me #jawritter #SPN fanfiction #SPN Fanfic #SPN

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thecosmicjackalope · 4 years

Text

It’s probably not gonna happen but you know what would be amazing for next episode?

Kiteman leaves without saying anything to Harley or Ivy, who are then left comforting each other about the situation. Both feel like pieces of shit and both are confused about how to move on. Days pass. Weeks pass. As the city rebuilds itself, Kiteman is nowhere to be found and there’s a wall between Harley and Ivy. Everything between them is awkward now because Harley still wants to pursue Ivy but Ivy is riddled with guilt and is still confused about her feelings for Harley and for Kiteman. The crew suffers through the tension, moving between helping them get through their shit and trying to find Kiteman. Ivy wants to find him and so does Harley, but there is still an undercurrent of jealousy from Harley because Ivy’s focused on finding Kiteman and won’t even talk to her about the future and “what happens now.”

During all this, Gotham’s abuzz with gossip about what they have seen and everyone’s taking sides (like how we all are in the comments sections). There’s a good portion of the population that are hounding Harley and Ivy about their “new relationship”, some people are spitting on Harley and calling her a home wrecker (especially Kiteman’s parents, which would kind of be a nice little way to nod at the fact that despite being assholes they do still stand by him), Ivy has people who are talking about how glad they are that she’s dumped “that loser” which fills her with even more guilt, and everyone is laughing about Kiteman, with some wondering about where he is.

The scene shifts and we find Kiteman out of his costume, grounded, without his kite, blending in with everyone around him and succeeding because no one sans Ivy has seen him without his get up. He wanders from place to place, never really going anywhere, sometimes dropping by old spots where he and Ivy had some moments together. He’s not eating, he’s sleeping too much, living like he’s already dead. He walks by a wedding venue and sees the happy couple kiss and look into each other’s eyes lovingly.

He forces himself to look away.

Eventually he wanders into THE PIT or somewhere nearby, feeling low as dirt, lost, confused. He still hasn’t said a line since the episode started. He’s hanging out in the wreckage and the waste, he sees a kite, or perhaps a little harlequin doll, or something that reminds him of what he’s lost. And he snaps, and starts stomping on it and having a breakdown when he feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns to see that it’s Bane. Expecting Bane to attack him or do worse, Kiteman - or, “just Chuck” at this point - welcomes death. Bane refuses. In fact, he sits down with Kiteman and the camera and the audio pans and fades away respectively as they begin to have a long honest talk.

Back in the city of Gotham, Harley and Ivy have one big argument with a lot of their ugliest feelings bubbling up to the surface and bursting out. Very harsh words are exchanged. They separate, leaving behind the crew, lost, confused and hurt that three people they care about are suffering so much. Ivy goes to be alone in a place she loves, maybe an old greenhouse. Harley goes to a carnival or maybe some batting cages to practice her swing. Each of them respectively are confronted by different people who have something to say - Ivy is approached by Catwoman who “had a feeing she’d be at her usual spot” and Harley is confronted by Batgirl and Batman. They all talk.

Batman talks to Harley about relationships and responsibility and knowing what you want and listening to other people, going off of his own failed romances with Talia and Catwoman respectively, possibly even acknowledging a budding relationship with Wonder Woman or Superman (or both, as, in a hilarious twist, their incident with Ivy’s pheromones lead to them questioning their relationships with each other and trying to be a poly throuple). Batman closes the convo off with saying that Harley has to face the music for the people she’s hurt, but also says that he’ll be happy to see her with someone who treats her right and encourages her to listen to her heart. Harley admits that she feel like she doesn’t deserve love and Batgirl argues that yes she does. She thanks Harley for some of her good deeds, and especially for inspiring her to stand up for the person she loves (her dad) and be his hero, the hero that Gotham needed, while Batman was out. And she closes her end of the conversation by telling Harley that no matter what she chooses, she will stand by her decision. Harley smiles and hugs her, and humorously, Batman gets dragged into the hug and hates the whole experience.

In their own space, Catwoman and Ivy talk. Ivy vents to Catwoman about everything that’s gone down and all of her feelings and guilt and confusion about it, and for once, Catwoman listens, without fuss, without sarcasm, without a word at all. When Ivy admits that she thinks it’s over between them and that maybe it was doomed from the start, Catwoman talks about her romance with Batman, how she always expected it to be doomed, caused it to self destruct and how very deeply she regrets that she let him get away and didn’t try to actually fix the problems in their relationship. She admits that she’s lonely and that she lives her life alone and that she enjoys it, but that it doesn’t come without problems. It comes with regrets. It comes with emptiness. It comes with too heavy a price sometimes. And she encourages Ivy, in her own aloof, standoffish way, that if Ivy really feels like she has something special with Kiteman and Harley, she should pursue it. She should be honest with her feelings about both.

So Ivy and Harley run into each other, and they apologize and tell each other what they want. Harley wants Ivy, and also to take responsibility for how she did Kiteman dirty and wants to mend her friendship with him. Ivy admits she loves Harley and Kiteman both and wants to talk to them both to see if they can all pursue something together, namely, if Ivy is romantically with both, and if Kiteman and Harley are okay with that.

But first they have to apologize and take responsibility for what they’ve done.

At that moment, Kiteman enters the doorway. He’s wearing his uniform, he’s got his things. Ivy and Harley are relieved to see him, but somethings wrong. They can tell something is wrong. He walks past Harley like she’s not even there and he talks to Ivy and tells her that he’s leaving Gotham for another city, somewhere where he can start over, somewhere with lots of wind to soar majestically or something or other. Ivy asks him why and he finally finally lets out all his hurt feelings. Without yelling or raising his voice, he calls her out on all her bullshit, stating that if she had just respected and loved him enough to be honest, they could have worked through it. But she didn’t. And to him, that was unforgivable. He says something along the lines of “ive been a joke to everyone around me since the day I was born. But I thought, for once, I found someone who saw me for who and what I really was. A person. When I met you, I finally thought I found my match, my partner in crime who I could spend the rest of my life with, who would be with me no matter what. But I was wrong. In the end.... I was just a joke to you too.”

Ivy is hurt by this and tries to apologize but Kiteman says he’s made up his mind and he just came by for closure and to give her a proper goodbye. Harley tries to apologize, Kiteman ignores her but does tell the others he’s out of the crew and flies off.

He takes one last look behind him, but he doesn’t look at Ivy. He looks at Harley, not with hate, or anger, but bitter disappointment and betrayal. And it’s at this point that Harley truly realizes what she’s done.

Since You’ve Been Gone by Kelly Clarkson, aka Harley and Ivy’s trademark wedding song request, starts playing in the background as a sequence starts to play. Ivy and Harley drift apart. The rest of the crew - Frank, KS, Clayface and Sy - all struggle with the loss of Kiteman. If Harley was the brains of the group, Kiteman was the heart, and without him everything feels colder. Life in Gotham goes on. Villains fight heroes. People rebuild. College kids graduate, and Joker and his new girlfriend witness the kids perform at a school play, with all of his goons in the audience cheering them on. Bane continues helping others. Nora, Jennifer and Catwoman pay their respects to Dr Frieze and leave flowers on his grave before going out to dinner together as friends (and yes, they all have Cobb Squad tattoos on their arms). Riddler still does his riddles but has started teaching a class for cardio at a local gym and is deeply enjoying it. The only job Dr Psycho can get is running and operating a Ferris wheel ride at the local carnival, which, ironically, he’s good at and he actually kind of enjoys, if only because it’s easy money. He watches as a short little girl JUST misses the height test...and uses his powers to alter the sign so she can ride, just so she doesn’t know the crushing disappointment he felt when he was a kid. (Humorously, When she inevitably falls off the Ferris wheel later, he casually catches her with his powers and sets her back down on the ground without even looking up from the porn mag he’s browsing.) Batgirl and Gordon play videogames together until something comes onto the police radio, after which they race to the roof to meet Damien and Batman waiting for them in a jet. Damien shows a flicker of jealousy towards Barbara, but there’s clear implication that the two will form a strong sibling like bond. Batman smiles at Gordon and Gordon smiles at Batman.

Gotham rebuilds. Life goes on.

But in the very last scene, as the song comes to a close, the crew disbands, and Harley and Ivy separate, with heavy hearts and too much baggage between them for anything, even their friendship. King Shark goes back to the ocean, ready to throw himself into his loveless marriage. Clayface leaves for Hollywood, ever hopeful that maybe someday he can become a true thespian. Ivy takes Frank and Harley takes Sy. As Ivy and Frank look on with teary eyes, Harley gets into her car and drives off into the sunset, and leaves Gotham city limits while crying her heart out.

And that’s how the season ends.

#the harley quinn show #harley quinn #poison ivy #kiteman #spoilers #headcanons #harley quinn show

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clairenvk · 5 years

Text

r + e fic rec

a collection of 40+ completed reddie fics i’ve read on ao3 and loved; ranging from soft to cute to funny to ridiculous to angsty. you may have read some of this, you may not have, but these are all worth your time. if you read any of these and enjoy them then remember to leave a kudos and a comment for the author to let them know that you liked it!

✨ - Fav 😎 - fun/funny 💕 - Soft 💜 - cute (cute cute!) 🌹 - emotional / atmospheric ⚠️ - angsty ⚔️ - nsfw

💕 up off the floor - kaspbrak_kid

“In a world where we can kill a fucking clown from space, Eddie Kaspbrak doesn’t get to die from a stab wound."

15.3k words. 6 chapters.

Note - the Most soft. tender. taking care of each other and getting together. this author also has a wip that’s a lot more sad but with as much Yearning as this one so i’d recommend you check their stuff out.

💕 And All The Time He’s Mumbling - monarchyofroses

“It suits you.” Richie frowned. “Huh?” “Being in love,” Ben clarified. “It suits you.” Richie smiled, then, so hard that it made Ben wonder how his face had not splitted in two. “I’m in fucking limerence, man.”

2.7k words. 1 chapter

Note - ben and richie have a Conversation about the loves of their lives basically. Truly Soft.

💕 What He’s Mumbling? - monarchyofroses

"But. But that's what you do for..." "...A friend," Maggie finished for him, or well, not exactly for him, considering he was about to come out. Richie to God, if you exist and this is your revenge for my atheism, it's not funny. Also, you suck.

3.5k words. 1 chapter.

Note - coming out! i love the toziers. part 2 of the same series the previous fic is from.

💕 💜 No Mistakes - usnavi

When Richie Tozier tells Eddie Kaspbrak he loves him, they're watching Jurassic Park and Eddie's wearing his clothes like it's all meant to be this way.

1.4k words. 1 chapter.

✨ 💜 Richie Tozier: Come Out and Play - piginawig

Richie Tozier: Come Out & Play, a new Netflix special! Comedian Richie Tozier is back after a very public mental breakdown. And he's ready to (over)share.

5.7k words. 1 chapter.

Note - My personal favorite version of this trope.

😎 Richie Tozier, an Apple Music Listener - plinys

Apple Music ✓ @AppleMusic Thanks for the support @trashmouth! We love to see loyal #AppleMusic fans! Apple Music ✓ @AppleMusic Also, in unrelated news, the #AppleMusic recommended song of the day is “thank u, next” by Ariana Grande.

1.2k words. 1 chapter.

Note - Post Chapter 2. I’m a sucker for fics involving social media. Also, this is funny and lighthearted and i love it.

😎 Retweet. - plinys

richie tozier ✓ @trashmouth what did i miss lol

3k words. 1 chapter.

Note - Post Chapter 2.

😎 💜 ⚔️ Let’s Hear It For The Boy - sloppybitch

Eddie’s just trying to see if he’s not alone when he downloads Grindr on his phone. It’s by pure, terrifying coincidence that one of the first messages he receives on there is from none other than Richie freaking Tozier. Long story short: trashmouth;) (11:03PM): oh me, oh my. fancy seeing u here Eddie (11:33PM): holy FUCKING SHIT.

9.8k words. 1 chapter.

Note - Part 1 of an ongoing series.

😎 💜 ⚔️ Let’s Give The Boy a Hand - sloppybitch

After finding each other on Grindr and sharing a couple of saucy texts and a phone call that would make a nun faint, Richie and Eddie find each other in the clubhouse, and they... talk. Sure, they talk. Let’s call it talking. Beverly, meanwhile, discovers that none of the Losers have ever gotten drunk, and what’s being a teenager without breaking a few drinking laws? Ben has a free house, and Eddie has never been more afraid of a game of Truth or Dare in his entire fucking life.

24k words. 1 chapter.

Note - Part 2 of the series the previous fic is part of.

✨ 💜 Five Times The Losers Gave Richie Permission - toomuchrootbeer

The Losers keep trying to tell Richie something, but he's never been great at taking a hint.

10.7k words. 1 chapter.

Note - anything that has all of the losers really present in their fics is the loml. some mentions of period typical racism and homophobia but no slurs, mainly mentioned for context of the time.

✨ 💜 Husband and Husband - thatsuperawkwardgirl

Richie gets the idea at the end of kindergarten, when the teacher has everyone do projects on their families. The class talks about how some families have moms and dads who are married, and some don’t. Richie being…well, Richie, he goes straight home and asks his parents why they got married if they didn’t have to. Richie learns about marriage and love, and comes up with an excellent plan.

7.8k words. 1 chapter.

Note - the sweetest, most adorable fic ever. couldn’t stop smiling. Part 1 of an ongoing series.

💜 A Good Husband - thatsuperawkwardgirl

Eddie sits in a chair in front of the principal’s desk, bouncing his leg anxiously--a habit he picked up from Richie, that annoying little twerp. Mrs. Smith is calling his mother for the third time in the last hour, and Eddie knows she won’t be picking up; Wednesday mornings are when she runs her errands and doesn’t return until late afternoon. This is the perfect time to get suspended, Eddie really has to pat himself on the back for that one. Eddie gets in trouble at school for fighting, and Maggie Tozier comes to pick him up.

2.5k words. 1 chapter.

Note - Part 2 of Married Life, the same series the previous fic is a part of. Truly so ridiculously cute it makes me want to scream.

😎 💜 light as a feather (got you and i together) - anniebibananie

RICHIE: why the fuck does eddie look so cute today RICHIE: his sweater sleeves keep falling down over his palms, like how could I see that and not think “I know exactly how to keep those sleeves up, just hold my hand” BEN: richie this is so sweet! BEN: but I feel like you didn’t mean to send this to me? RICHIE: This message will self-destruct in five seconds. [or Richie accidentally texts Ben about his feelings for Eddie and everyone gets involved]

1.6k words. 1 chapter.

Note - could not stop smiling the whole way through.

✨💜 the years go by like days - georgiestauffenberg

It’s Eddie he wants to get a hold of, though, and he does, tucking him under his arm, and ruffling his hair, making him laugh. He’s startled when Eddie looks at him with such happy, shining eyes. And, for a split-second, he’s tempted to kiss him right then, right there in front of everyone. He wants to. Badly. He doesn’t. He leans in, instead, and he smacks a loud, wet kiss to Eddie’s cheek, punctuating it with a “mwah!” He does it again and again. “I’m so proud of my little Eds Spagheds!” “Get off me!” Eddie says, laughing and shoving him away, swatting at his hands. AU. in the 27 years in-between, Richie and Eddie forget a lot, but they don't forget each other.

121.9k words. 4 chapters.

Note - make sure you have the time before starting this because i couldn’t stop once i started. god. really good.

💕 come on, come on - Chokingonholywater

“Yo, Eddie, play some music, will ya?” When Richie asks Eddie to put on some music in the car that day after school, Eddie doesn't think anything of it. It's a familiar request; he knows the passcode to Richie's phone, knows where Spotify is, knows what Richie likes to listen to while he drives. But what Eddie doesn't know is why, exactly, there's suddenly a playlist his name on it - literally.

8.6k words. 1 chapter.

Note - They’re in Love. and they have a playlist to prove it.

💕 sleepover - sleqnir

“You jealous?” Richie tilts his head. “Jennifer is kinda hot.” He’s referring to Ben’s girlfriend. Eddie’s face falls. “Oh. Um… no. I’m happy for him. I just…” “Want it too?” Richie’s jaw clenches. His chest aches in a way all too familiar. “A girlfriend? For yourself?” Eddie’s looking at him nervously. “I want… a relationship. I guess.” Richie looks back up at the ceiling, giving another millionth sigh. “Yeah, well… don’t sweat it so much. You’re not the only one.”“You want a girlfriend?” “I want a... relationship.” He mimics Eddie’s words.

2.5k words. 1 chapter.

🌹 ⚔️ the anatomy of a joke - crescenteluce

He trails off and Bev raises an eyebrow. ‘So, you being in bed together fits in there how exactly?’ ‘No, Jesus, Bev.’ Eddie says and Richie, horrifyingly, feels his cheeks heat under Bev’s suspicious look. Something needs to be done, so he plucks Eddie’s phone from his hands. ‘I am appalled by your implications, Beverly.’ He says sternly, trying to ignore the blood still not quite done rushing to his face. ‘I would have you know that I’d never defile Eddie like that, the poor man’s 40 year old and still a virgin and if I’d have the honor of-’ He’s cut off by Eddie trying to wrestle the phone away from him as Bev cackles delightedly.

11.7k words. 1 chapter.

💜 say what you mean (out loud) - Redburn

Richie can’t help it when something heavy refuses to leave his stomach, something relentless and daunting. He looks at Eddie and can’t help but want, can’t help but need, watching this boy watch the stars and thinking he would be happy to spend the rest of his life just like this, right here standing next to him. Or, Richie realizes he likes Eddie and promptly goes through the five stages of grief.

7.4k words. 1 chapter.

Note - Good ol’ fluff with slight internalized homophobia and a whole lot of yearning.

💜 across the gap - sondersoflight

“You fucking stupid asshole,” Eddie says but he is smiling when he leans forward, grabbing Richie by the lapels of the ridiculous bright yellow shirt with dancing avocados he is wearing. “I’m the fucking love of your life.”

6.4k words. 1 chapter.

💕 💜 Five Times Richie Kisses Eddie and One Time He Doesn’t Have To - multifandomtakeover

Eddie Kaspbrak is a little inexperienced in the kissing department and Richie Tozier is more than willing to help him out.

5.7k words. 1 chapter.

✨ 🌹 💕 ⚠️ No Saints, No Sinners, No Devil As Well - saooharine

Andy Muschietti looked at Eddie Kaspbrak so now I feel obligated to repair the damage and make it gayer.

Following Richie from the sewer showdown and to the hospital with Eddie and the Losers Club by his side.

6.2k words. 1 chapter.

⚔️ In This Cold Heart - pineapplecrushface

The future Richie sees while he's caught in the deadlights gives him a chance to save Eddie. In the year afterward, they both try to follow Stan's advice.

16.9k words. 1 chapter.

💕 💜 ⚠️ 🌹 Wouldn’t it be nice? - podcastalien

Richie wonders what exactly is supposed to be so great about being a kid as he tries to carve initials into the kissing bridge.

2.5k words. 1 chapter.

⚔️ Men of Fall - kaboomslang

Do you remember? He watches his own hand slide closer along the armrest. Do memories transfer by touch, in this fucked up magic town? Remember, Richie, please, and tell me I wasn’t imagining things.

7k words. 1 chapter.

💜 Any Man’s Game - tossertozier

It's two months before graduation, and Richie and Eddie can turn virtually anything into a competition. Even kissing.

10.5k words. 3 chapters.

💜 ⚠️ ⚔️ This safe place - tinyarmedtrex

Eddie asks Richie to pretend to be his boyfriend at his family reunion. What’s the worst that can happen?

31k words. 14 chapters.

⚠️ ⚔️ Stay for the Storm - inoubliable

Richie and Eddie had become friends almost on sight. Since they met, most of Eddie's time in Los Angeles has involved Richie in some way. It's a little different, now that they're both famous. It's a little different, now that they're sleeping together. Well, to be fair, they've been sleeping together for a long time, but. No one knows, not even their friends. Eddie has been very careful about that. It's just not the sort of publicity he needs. So when Beverly calls him that sunny Thursday morning, the last thing he expects her to say is, "You're fucking Richie?"

20.8k words. 1 chapter.

💜 and this is who we are - sunsetozier

He realizes, suddenly, that being in a position like this meant nothing to him two weeks ago. At the time, it was completely normal, holding no real meaning other than comfort and tradition – after all, him and Eddie have been disgustingly cuddly with one another since they were kids, even though they’d usually bicker while holding each other close, much to the annoyance (and entertainment) of their friends. Now, however, Richie can feel his heart skip a beat in his chest, an undeniable thundering that echoes loudly in his ears. He can picture his younger self, as much of an oblivious idiot as he may have been, soaking in the warmth and the affection of Eddie’s touch when they hugged, shoved, or even just nudged one another. It’s funny, really, how much changes once you’re aware of how you feel. [In which Eddie and Beverly lie to their friends for five years before finally coming out, much to the surprise of one supposedly straight Richie Tozier.]

40.7k words. 8 chapters.

💜 hawaii hottie - sunsetozier

Letting his eyes flutter shut in order to avoid everyone’s gazes, Richie meekly explains, “I got another letter from Eds, okay? And I know he’s on vacation, doing all these cool things, and I know Hawaii is, like, super sunny and everything, but- guys. Guys.” He stops, unable to force out the words he wants to. From somewhere off to his left, he hears Bill say, “Spit it out, man. What’s the big deal?”“ There was a polaroid in this letter,” Richie tells them. He would be embarrassed, but by this point they all know how smitten he is, so there’s no reason to be bashful as he practically whines out, “And he’s getting hotter.” [In which Eddie goes on vacation and Richie can't deal with it.]

4.6k words. 1 chapter.

💜 He Came In Through the Window - mischiefmanager

"It’s finally happened. I cannot fit through this goddamn window. I’m out of ideas." or Eddie enlists the help of two other Losers to help fix his bedroom window, and finally spills the beans about what's going on between him and Richie.

11.3k words. 1 chapter

💜 Home - mischiefmanager

“Tooooozier-Kaspbrak residence,” Richie says cheerfully, holding the phone up to his ear. “May I ask who—oh hello, Mrs. K! How the fuck are you?” Richie and Eddie living together in LA, being in love and dealing with Mrs. K long-distance.

6.9k words. 1 chapter.

✨ ⚠️ hit me baby one more time - theappleppielifestyle

Richie reaches up a shaking hand and puts it on Eddie’s stomach. “Uhhh,” Eddie says. “Is this a bit? Is this a really inopportune bit? ‘Cause I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Richie, but this is kind of an important moment-” “What the fuck,” Richie says, not for the first or last time, and lurches forwards to hug him. (Or, Richie gets stuck in a time loop.)

11.1k words. 1 chapter.

💕 are we living for the feeling? - michelllejones

“You’re such an idiot,” Eddie tells Richie with a frown. He snorts at that. “Says you. Your knees are all bloody. You fall off your bike or something?” He asks, and for a split second Eddie thinks he can hear genuine concern in his voice. He’s probably just imagining it, though, since Richie’s only ever concerned about two things: his dick, and the size of it.“ So what if I did?” Eddie bites back, feeling almost defensive. Richie should be the last person teasing him about falling off of a bike. Especially since Eddie watched him trip over his own foot less than a week ago! or, Eddie takes a tumble and goes to Richie for help.

4.5k words. 1 chapter.

💕 what would they say? - michelllejones

And despite telling Eddie he would, he doesn’t go home—at least not at first. He isn't sure what wills him to do it, but his bike takes him in the other direction, past the Barrens and to the street, right to the Kissing Bridge in all its vandalized glory. Slurs and poorly carved hearts and names he doesn’t recognize stare back at him as he digs into his jeans and pulls out his dad’s old pocketknife.

4.1k words. 1 chapter.

💕 back in the summer - michelllejones

“What?” Eddie snaps, feels immediately defensive. “Why are you looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?” Self consciously, he buries his nose into his comic book. Glares at Richie over the brim, frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. He waits for Richie to take the bait, provide some half clever quip that will catapult them into some sort of argument, as is customary. But the taunt never comes. Instead, he reaches forward—with a look in his eyes that if Eddie didn’t know any better would let himself think is almost fond—takes a curl in between gentle fingers and says, “your hair’s longer,” in a tone so tender it is almost unrecognizable.

1.6k words. 1 chapter.

💕 ⚠️ savage - inoubliable

Eddie Kaspbrak is twelve years old. He's kissed for the first time. And then kissed again. -- "You're bisexual." Eddie has never said the word out loud before, and it feels a little taboo, but it also feels like a weight off his chest. "You like boys and girls. It isn't weird, and it isn't gross, and you aren't selfish because of it. You aren't dirty or disgusting. You're Richie Tozier, and you're my best friend. I'm Eddie Kaspbrak, and I'm an idiot. I get it."

3.7k words. 1 chapter

💕 💜 Morphine - inoubliable

Eddie Kaspbrak is fourteen years old. He's a lot more honest with himself when he's drugged. -- They all crowd around Eddie's bed, their faces shimmering a little. Eddie has to squint to make out their features, and he laughs once he does. They all look so worried. Eddie feels great. "Oh my God," Stan says, at the same time that Richie says, "He's high."

2k words. 1 chapter.

💕 We Were Here - inoubliable

Eddie Kaspbrak is fifteen years old. It's the first time he kisses Richie Tozier. -- Eddie has a couple of options, here. He can pretend he didn't just realize what Richie has been trying to tell him the whole time. He can pretend like Richie is just being a jerk when he flirts and teases and taunts. He can pretend like they're just friends, and then they can stay just friends, and nothing will change. Or he can kiss Richie. He kisses Richie.

2.3k words. 1 chapter.

💕 ⚔️ The Ever After - websters_lieb

Eddie lives, and life goes on. Or The story of how Richie and Eddie sort out their shit and realize that they've been in love the whole damn time while they work towards their happily ever afters.

20.8k words. 5 chapters.

⚠️ In the Glow of the Vending Machine - sentimentalscribe

“I can’t believe that I’m going to live an eternity in hellfire over a hypochondriac who would probably make sweet love to his inhaler given the chance.” Alternatively: Beverly Knows way before these chucklefucks do. Alternatively: It's the '80s in a small town and having a panicked confession to your best friend is not nearly as fun as it sounds.

3.5k words. 1 chapter.

💜 😎 eddie gets grindr - BookRockShooter

I shouldn’t be doing this, Eddie thinks as he opens his phone. Is this technically illegal? he thinks as he clicks the app store icon. Well, it’s definitely fucking wrong either way, he thinks as he types grindr into the search bar. - Eddie downloads grindr and rediscovers an old friend - and crush - on it.

2.1k words. 1 chapter.

⚠️ confessions in the dark - BookRockShooter

Richie nods to himself. “Okay. Talk. I can do that. Hey, you know a trope in movies I always hated? When, like, the main character’s love interest is fatally wounded and dy–” He trails off, staring at Eddie with a haunted look in his eyes. “Well. You know. And, uh, the main character chooses that exact moment to confess their undying love? Like, shit, they’ve always got the worst timing.” He laughs, short and shaky, and Eddie thinks, Oh my god. “So, what, they wait until the last moment to say something? Isn’t that fucked up? Because, now, they’ll never have time to… to be happy together.” His eyes are shiny and, suddenly, all Eddie wants to do is wipe away his tears. Wants to help him feel better, because Richie Tozier doesn’t deserve to be in so much pain, not on Eddie’s behalf. “Richie,” Eddie murmurs, and he hates himself for what he’s about to say. “Richie, I… I love you.” - *fix it fic for chapter 2 bc fuck canon reddie is real*

2.2k words. 1 chapter.

💜 😎 head lights pointed at the dawn - starkmccall

"You do realise this means people around the world are gonna hear about how much I love your dick, right?" Richie says, tucked behind Eddie in bed late one night.

He can almost see Eddie squint at him. "That's not actually a part of the show, is it?"

Post-Chapter Two. Eddie lives. Richie goes back to comedy.

3.2k words. 1 chapter.

#reddie #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #it #it chapter 2 #it chapter 1 #fic rec #reddie fic #my fic rec #i ramble #nhrfgsk i spent So long on this pls enjoy #im posting this as soon as i finish it #i can reblog it at a reasonable time later

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vuelie-frost · 5 years

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Frozen 2, the spoiler debacle, and the dehumanization of Elsa

Hello there! Let’s talk. (Warning: this post will contain some of the leaked spoilers. Read at your own risk!) You may notice this is my first and only post on this blog. I started this side-blog just to iterate my opinions on Frozen in an anonymous setting, and my main account isn’t suited for that. As for me, I’m a 26-yo Frozen fan. Elsa is my favorite fictional character of all time; she means a lot to me. By day I work as a graphic designer in the southern US, by night I struggle to sleep. Really exciting life.

Anyway, because I’m human trash, I read the spoilers. I sought them out. I kind of regret it. Initially I was shocked, hurt, betrayed, and uneasy about the apparent direction this movie is going in. And the more I read about people’s backlash & opinions, the more my understandings were bolstered. People have a lot to say about this. People get very up-in-arms about the direction their fictional characters take.

Let me start by saying that if you are staunchly opposed to the PERCEIVED ending of the movie, I’m probably not going to change your mind. I’m writing this for those people like me who are just confused, uncertain, worried, and anxious. After all, we have a whole month until this movie is released. Are we going to have to live in this limbo for another month?

After reading a lot of accounts & interpretations of Frozen 2, I want to say: no.

If the implied ending is in fact how the movie ends- separation of the sisters, Anna as sole monarch, Elsa as the fifth spirit- I’ve made my peace. And you can too (Excuse me while I sound like an infomercial.)

First, let me play devil’s advocate and pull some of the speculation apart from the facts:

- Regarding the pages from the art book, we don’t know if Elsa relinquishes her title to Anna. There’s nothing saying they’re not co-rulers. It notes that Anna inherits the throne from the “queens before her,” including Elsa, but this could be interpreted as “Elsa was queen first,” NOT “Elsa is no longer queen.”

- We don’t know if Elsa becomes a goddess, immortal, or some ethereal being. There is mention of her becoming the fifth element, but this could be a descriptive characteristic, NOT prescriptive (ie, she doesn’t need to “transform” to become it, she is it by simply being herself.) If that even is true. It’s just as likely that the bond of Elsa-Anna is the bridge/fifth element, not Elsa herself. AND if the fifth element is the harmony between humanity & spirit, Elsa can’t become un-human to fulfill that role, or she becomes wholly spirit... which is what Pabbie warned against in “losing herself” to magic. Also note that “transformation” was used to describe Elsa in her Ice Palace in the first movie. It didn’t mean she became inhuman, it meant she became more herself.

- We don’t know the nature of their “separation,” if there even is one (the leaked book pages talk about different roles only, and the Foreword of the art book only alludes to them living different lives.) The picture of Elsa riding away on the Nokk & waving? That doesn’t mean she’s leaving forever. Hell, she could be off to save Olaf from a wolf.

- We don’t know that there are two separate Epilogues chronicling their separate journeys. The Color Script page has two boxes labeled “Epilogue.” It also has two pages labeled “Dark Sea.” Are those two separate scenes? Or just two color schemes? Given the context of the sheet’s title... I’m going with the latter.

We know very little about the context of the movie to make these judgements anything more than speculations. Take a deep breath. The movie isn’t ruined.

However, if these things turn out to be true, we can still be at peace with the decisions made at Disney Animation by preparing an open mindset. Here's how I’ve been processing it, and how I’ve come to defend the creative team regardless of their decisions for Elsa & Anna. The Perception of Wrongdoing There are a few specific implications in the spoilers that rubbed me the wrong way. I’d been optimistic for the movie until this morning when I pored over everyone’s interpretations. I don’t like the idea of the girls being separated. I don’t like the idea of Elsa no longer being queen (at least, in royal title via her family line. Snow Queen is a different honor.) I don’t like the idea of Elsa becoming something more than human, a spirit or goddess or force of nature. Elsa is beloved because of her humanity. In fact, I think the first Frozen was beloved because of its humanity. We saw the weaknesses and vulnerabilities of its two heroines and we fell in hard, deep love with the story. We’ve had so many years to marinate on that story over and over again that it’s become cozy and familiar, a hygge of itself.

And when we’re faced with the prospect that our favorite story’s world is about to be flipped on its axis, we panic because it feels vulnerable. We’ve put so much love and time into this franchise and we feel helpless to watch other people- the people who are, in fact, in charge- make decisions about it. Dehumanization

Because of my love for Elsa, I’ll speak about her as an example, though this applies to any aspect of the story we feel is “wrong” in the sequel.

There are two ways to dehumanize someone. One is to think of them as worthless; the other is to idolize them.

It’s not a secret that Elsa is one of the most idolized fictional characters of our time. Some of her creators even fell a little bit in love with her, as admitted by Jennifer Lee. She was written as someone who is inherently beautiful, but fragile and unsure of herself. She is kind, gentle, wise, and compassionate. Even her flaws- her penchant for being too reserved, her anxious and worried nature- are romanticized into beauty. Moreover, her flaws as characteristics rather than actions make it difficult for us to perceive her as anything other than our perfect, honorable Snow Queen.

Codependency, by definition, involves the idolatry of another human. Obviously Elsa being fictional doesn’t make her codependent to anyone, as it’s not a mutual relationship. But the idolatry is there. We feel we “need” her to be and act a certain way to fulfill our desires.

So when we hear word that she’s acting in a way we don’t like? We get scared. Perhaps we didn’t understand her the way we thought we did. Perhaps we’re not as “close” to her as we thought. Perhaps it feels like a betrayal.

Jennifer Lee & Christopher Buck know Elsa better than we do. We project our own experiences onto the character of Elsa because she’s so unique and still relatable. But her creators are the ones who know her wholly, truly, as she is. Jennifer Lee wrote journals to “listen” to Elsa & Anna, and their respective stories. They employed mental health professionals to analyze the characters and help determine arcs that would make sense. They care a lot about what these sisters do and feel, and no one- not even you or me- is more committed to playing these characters truthfully. This is something that idolatry blinds us to. The image of Elsa in our heads doesn’t match the expression in the sequel, and we get scared of the cognitive dissonance. Who is Elsa if she’s not the Queen? Who is Anna if she’s not living with her sister? We panic because what we THOUGHT we knew is suddenly revealed to be a lie. We imagined the ending of Frozen 2 to be an idyllic family setting, when in fact it might stretch our definition of “family.” All that to say: it’s okay to be scared of what this movie might reveal about characters we thought we knew. The familiarity of the first movie is being challenged. But growth can’t happen without some sort of variable change. It’s okay to disagree with how the creators specifically do that, but be aware of why they chose to make those decisions in the first place. The trailers have been alluding to a separation of some kind, with Elsa’s “What would I do without you?” to Anna’s “you’ll always have me” as foreboding clues to the movie’s interpersonal conflict. For reasons we don’t know, this is the route the creative team has taken. It might feel unfair, but we don’t have the whole story. And whatever that story is.... it will all be okay. Jennifer and Chris will make the right decisions for their characters. The sisters will be happy in the end because this is a Disney movie (do you really think they’d be happy separated against either of their wills?) They’ll be a family regardless of the circumstances. It might not be how you or I would have written it, but that doesn’t make it a bad story nor an invalid one. And we can be content with that for another month. (I have a working hypothesis that we’re all going to be happily surprised by the ending’s larger meaning, once it’s revealed.) Wait, isn’t this just a kid’s movie? Shouldn’t we just suck it up and move on? Elsa may be fictional, but that doesn’t mean she’s not real. She means a lot to a LOT of people because of her very real relationships with herself, her capabilities, her power, and her family. It’s not silly to worry about her arc, nor Frozen 2′s arc as a whole. Stay Mindful

If you’ve been scouring Tumblr & Instagram all day today in a panic trying to decide how to feel about the Frozen 2 leaks, please get off the echo chamber that is the internet. Eat a chocolate chip cookie, meditate, sit outside with a cup of tea- enter back into the “real world.” It pains me to say this because I’m talking to myself as much as I'm talking to anyone else, but: Frozen is not the determinant of your existence, nor your happiness. It’s one story among SO many, all of which have the potential to form and influence us in various ways.

In closing:

- keep in mind that most of what’s circulating on Tumblr is part of a rumor mill, and not to trust anything that doesn’t come from Disney themselves

- context is key to everything, and until we see the movie, we don’t have the knowledge to make major decisions about how we feel about Frozen 2

- It’s okay to feel worried or scared that the story won’t be what we were expecting- but that doesn’t make it bad, and it doesn’t mean we’re destined to be disappointed

- be mindful of whether you’re putting the characters/movie/franchise on a pedestal of unsustainable adoration. It can be unhealthy and painful to come down from that high.

#frozen 2 #frozen 2 spoilers #elsa #anna #frozen #frozen 2 leaks

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dustedmagazine · 4 years

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Dust Volume 6, Number 8

Angel Olsen

Now half a year in the pandemic, we’re starting to see the emergence of quarantine records, whether in the trove of reissues hastily assembled to stand in for new product or home recorded projects made with extremely close friends and family or albums that are conceived and written around the concept of isolation. Music isn’t real life, exactly, but it lives nearby. And in any case, it’s still music and can be good or bad whether it’s been unearthed from a forgotten box of tapes, recorded at home without collaboration or side people or technologically gerry-rigged so that distanced partners can work together. So, as long as you all are making music, we will continue to listen and find records that move us, as the world burns all around. This edition’s contributors included Patrick Masterson, Andrew Forell, Tim Clarke, Jennifer Kelly, Bill Meyer, Jonathan Shaw, Justin Cober-Lake and Ray Garraty. Enjoy.

+ — #playboy (Deluxe Edition) (self-released)

#playboy (deluxe edition) by +

One of the most genuinely confounding records I’ve heard this year comes courtesy SEO-unfriendly artist + aka Plus Sign fka Emanuel James Vinson, a Chicago rapper, city planner and all-around community activist who spends his time helping with the city’s Let’s Build Garden City initiative when he’s not making music (which is frequent, by the way — take a look at the breadth of that Bandcamp discography). The concept with #playboy, originally released in April but deluxed in late May, is simple: Two kids find a music machine called #playboy in their basement and start tinkering with it. Its childlike whimsy is conveyed in the song titles (“Getting the Hang of It,” “Wake Up Jam (Waking Up)”) every bit as much as it is in the music, with occasionally grating indulgences, the odd earworm and a brief appearance by borderless internet hip-hop hero Lil B that makes perfect sense in context; the kindred spirit of that community-building cult auteur is strong here. You may wind up loving this record or you may wind up hating it, but I can promise you this: You’ll be thinking about it and the artist behind it long after it’s over.

Patrick Masterson

Actress — Mad Voyage Mixtape (self-released)

I once suggested Darren Cunningham mucks about with his music because he can’t help himself. That was about six years ago on the occasion of his purported “final” album Untitled; with the benefit of hindsight, we can see he was (like so many others, to greater or lesser consequence) just pulling our leg with that PR. Hell, he’s released two albums worth of music in July alone: The first was the mid-month surprise LP 88, which follows in the vein of his acclaimed high period as an often brilliant, occasionally frustrating patchwork of submersible beats best played at high volume with a low end. The second came at the end of the month in an m4a file shared the old fashioned way on a forum via Mediafire link, nearly an hour and a half long, and per the man himself, “All SP-303, sketchbook beats, recorded this past week [the first week of July] straight to recorder or cassette.” It feels very much like a homespun Actress mixtape and is probably best thought of as livelier accompaniment to 88 but, even still, there’s no noticeable drop in quality — once Actress, always Actress. If headier lo-fi beat tapes are your beat, this will slot comfortably in line.

Patrick Masterson

bdrmm - Bedroom (Sonic Cathedral)

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Hull five-piece bdrmm play a satisfyingly crepuscular version of shoegaze on their debut album Bedroom. Ryan Smith, his brother Jordan on bass, guitarist Joe Vickers, Danny Hull on synths and drummer Luke Irvin combine the widescreen sound of Ride with a cloak of gothic post-punk. Like the late, lamented Girls Names, bdrmm find a sweet spot where atmosphere and dynamics either build to euphoric crescendos or bask in bleak funereal splendor. Bedroom seems deliberately sequenced from celebration to lament. “A Reason To Celebrate” evokes Ride at their most anthemic, the tripping staccato driven “Happy” summons the spirit of The Cure of Seventeen Seconds before the pace drops for the second half, the songs become quieter and darker as the band finds a more personal voice. “(The Silence)” is an ambient whispered wraith of a thing, “Forget The Credits” impressively mopey slowcore. bdrmm don’t always transcend their influences, but this debut is an atmospheric treat if your taste runs to the darker end of the musical buffet.

Andrew Forell

Circulatory System — Circulatory System (Elephant 6 Recording Co.)

Circulatory System by Circulatory System

Nearly 20 years after its initial release, the excellent eponymous debut album by Will Cullen Hart’s psychedelic chamber-pop band Circulatory System gets a long overdue vinyl reissue. While his previous project, the undeniably great Olivia Tremor Control, tended to lean more towards classic psych-pop’s traditional tropes — hard-panned drums, loads of disorientating tape effects, wonky harmonized vocals — Circulatory System taps into something utterly uncanny. Both Signal Morning (2009) and Mosaics Within Mosaics (2014) have their moments, but this is front-to-back brilliant, conjuring a sublime atmosphere of reflective estrangement. The music is a thick, grainy soup of shimmering instrumentation, from the eerie (“Joy,” “Now,” “Should a Cloud Replace a Compass?”) to the joyful (“Yesterday’s World,” “The Lovely Universe,” “Waves of Bark and Light”), but part of the album’s magic is the way everything flows into a seamless whole. As is vinyl’s tendency, the rhythm section really comes alive here, the fuzz bass and tom-heavy drum parts booming out, with plenty of vivid details in the mix swimming into view. A worthy reissue of an essential album.

Tim Clarke

Cloud Factory — #1 (Howlin’ Banana)

Cloud Factory #1 by Cloud Factory

Cloud Factory, from Toulouse, France, overlays the serrated edges of garage pop with a serene dream-pop drift. It’s an appealing mix of hard and soft, like being pummeled to death by pillows or threatened gunpoint by a teddy bear. “Amnesia,” for instance, erupts in a vicious, sawed off, trouble-making bass line, then soars from there in untroubled female vocals. Later, “No Data,” punches hard with raw percussion, then lays on a liquid, lucid guitar line that encourages middle-distance staring. None of these songs really up the ante with memorable melodies, sharp words or that intangible R’NR energy that distinguishes great punk rock from the so so. Not loud, not soft, not great, not bad. Cloud Factory resides in the indeterminant middle.

Jennifer Kelly

Entry — Detriment (Southern Lord)

Detriment by Entry

Nuthin fancy here, folks. Just eight songs — plus a flexing, fuzzing intro — of American hardcore punk. Entry has been grinding away for a few years now, and Detriment doesn’t advance much past the musical terrain the band marked off on the No Relief 7-inch (2016). That’s OK. The essential formula is time tested: d-beat rhythms, overdriven amps and Sara G.’s ferocious vocals delivering the necessary affect. That would be: pissed off, just this side of hopeless. Detriment sounds like what might happen if Poison Idea (c. 1988) stumbled into a seminar on Riot Grrrl; after everyone got tired of beating the living shit out of one another, they’d make some songs. “Selective Empathy” is pretty representative. Big riffs, a breakdown, and more than enough throaty yelling to let you know that you’re in some trouble. You might recognize the sound of Clayton Stevens’ guitar from his work with Touché Amoré — but maybe it’s better if you don’t. This isn’t music for mopery. Watch out for the spit, snot and blood, and flip the record.

Jonathan Shaw

Equiknoxx — VF Live: Equiknoxx (The Vinyl Factory)

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There’s nothing like a little roots music to get you through the sweltering summer heat, and this early July mix by Gavin “Gavsborg” Blair (half of forward-thinking Kingston dancehall unit Equiknoxx) was a personal favorite of the past month for hitting that spot. The group tends to throw curveballs at the genres it tinkers with, and Blair’s mix highlights why they’re so good at it: The crates run deep. Spanning everything from legendary producer and DJ Prince Jazzbo to in-house music fresh out the box (e.g., “Did Not Make This For Jah_9” was released in late May), Blair sets the mood and educates you along the way. Like everything else these cats do (and that includes the NTS show — support your independent radio station!), it’s hard not to give the highest recommendation.

Patrick Masterson

Ezra Feinberg — Recumbent Speech (Related States)

Recumbent Speech by Ezra Feinberg

Knowing that Ezra Feinberg is a practicing psychoanalyst, it’s tempting to read meaning into the name of his second solo album. But be careful to think twice about the meaning you perceive and ask yourself, is it the product of Feinberg on the couch or your own projection? His choice to name one of the record’s six instrumentals (there are voices, but no words) “Letter To My Mind” certainly suggests that there’s an internal dialogue at work, but the music feels most like a layered deployment of good ideas than an exchange of intrapsychic forces. The synthesizers shimmer and cycle like something from a mid-1970s Cluster record, resting upon a pillow of vibraphone and electric piano tones, which in turn billow under the influence of undulating layers of drums. Feinberg’s guitar leads are bright and pithy, like something Pat Metheny might come up with if he knew he was going to have to pay a steep price for every note he played. Ah, but there I go, projecting an implication of adversary process where there may be none. Might it be that Feinberg, having spent a full work week immersed in the psychic conflicts of others, wants to lay back on the couch and exhale? If so, this album is an apt companion.

Bill Meyer

Honey Radar — Sing the Snow Away: The Chunklet Years (Chunklet)

Sing the Snow Away: The Chunklet Years by Honey Radar

Jason Henn of Honey Radar has a solid claim at being his generation’s Bob Pollard, a prolific, absurdist songwriter, who tosses off hooky melodies as if channeling them from the spirit world. His least polished material glints with melody hidden beneath banks of fuzz, whispery and fragile on records, but surprisingly muscular in his rocking live shows. This 28-song compilation assembles the singles, splits, EPs and bonus tracks Henn recorded for Chunklet between 2015 and the present; it would be a daunting amount of material except that it goes down like cotton candy, sweet, airy, colorful and gone before you know it. Like the Kinks, Henn has a way of making strident rock and roll hooks sound wistful and dreamy. In “Lilac Pharmacy,” guitar lines rip and buck and roar, but from a distance, hardly disrupting Henn’s placid murmur. “Medium Mary Todd” ratchets up the tension a bit, with a tangled snarl of lick and swagger, but the vocals edge towards quiet whimsy a la Sic Alps; a second version runs a bit hotter, rougher and more electric, while a third, recorded at WFMU, gives an inkling of the Honey Radar concert experience. A couple of fine covers — of the Fall’s early rant “Middle Class Revolt” and of the Monkees rarity “Wind-Up Man”— suggest the fine, loamy soil that Henn’s art grows out of, while alternate versions of half a dozen tracks hint at the various forms his ideas can take. It’s a wonderful overview of Honey Radar so far, though let’s hope it’s not a career retrospective. Henn has a bunch of records left to make yet if he wants to edge out Pollard.

Jennifer Kelly

Iron Wigs — Your Birthday’s Cancelled (Mello Music Group)

Your Birthday's Cancelled by IRON WIGS

As an adjective, “goofy” had gotten a bad rep in hip hop. Anything that is unusual, inventive and not in line with “keeping it real” is immediately stigmatized as goofy, weird, nerdy and bad. Iron Wigs is goofy but hold the pejorative connotations. Chicago representatives Vic Spencer and Verbal Kent team up here with Sonnyjim from the UK to do some wild rhyming. They collaborated before, but Your Birthday’s Cancelled is a complete, fully fleshed project, masterfully executed from start to finish. Instead of the usual gun busting you get a fist in the ribs. Instead of drug slinging, a blunt to activate your rhymes. Each member of the group has a distinctive delivery which makes you to listen carefully for every verse, no skipping. It’s a relief to listen to rap artists who don’t pretend they’re out in the streets while they’re at home enjoying a favorite TV series. The standout track here is “Bally Animals & Rugbys” with Roc Marciano dropping by for a verse.

Ray Garraty

Levinson / Mahlmeister — Shores (Trouble In Mind)

Shores by levinson / mahlmeister

Jamie Levinson and Donny Mahlmeister’s Bandcamp page indicates that they’re based in Oak Park, a suburb of Chicago. This goes further towards explaining their association with Trouble in Mind Records, which is located in the same county, than their music, which brings to mind something much further north. The duo’s music is mostly electronic, with modular synthesizers setting the pulse and sweeping the pitch spectrum while lap steel guitar adds flourishes and a shruti box thickens the textures. The album is split into two, with each track — one is named “Ascend,” the other “Release” — taking up one side of a 50-minute cassette. The first side trundles steadily onwards, and the second seems to bask in a glow to that never totally fades. Since there’s no “Descend,” it’s easy to imagine this music sound tracking a drive into the Canadian north, the journey unspooling under a sky that never darkens, its progress towards Hudson Bay unhindered by other traffic or turns in the road. Perhaps that’s just one listener’s fantasy of easy social distancing and escape from the present’s grim digital glare into a retro-futurist, analog dream. But in dreams we’re free to fly without being seated next to some knucklehead with his mask over his eyes instead of his mouth, so dream on, dreamers. This tape is volume one of the Explorers Series, Trouble in Mind’s projected program of limited edition cassette releases.

Bill Meyer

Klara Lewis — Ingrid (Editions Mego)

Klara Lewis’s latest recording shows a narrowing of focus. Previously she seemed to be trying ideas and methods on for size, investigating ambient electronics or hinting at pop melody without completely committing. Given the approach to music modeled by her father, Graham Lewis of Wire and Dome, she probably does not feel the need to do just one thing, and that’s a healthy angle if one wants to stay interested and flexible. But there’s also something to be said for really digging into an idea, and that’s what she has done here. Ingrid is a one-track, one-sided 12.” Burrowing further into one-ness, it is made from one looped cello phrase, which gets filtered and distorted on each pass. The effect suggests decay, but not so much the gradual transformation of a William Basinski piece as the pitiless abrasion of a woodworker going over a plank with sander. The combination of repetition and coarsening hits a spot closer to one that Tony Conrad might reach, and that’s an itch worth scratching.

Bill Meyer

Luis Lopes Humanization 4tet — Believe, Believe (Clean Feed)

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The cruel economics of contemporary creative music-making favor an ensemble like Humanization 4tet. At a minimum, the filial Texan rhythm section of Stefan and Aaron Gonzalez (drums and bass respectively) and Lisbon-based duo of Rodrigo Amado (tenor saxophone) and Luís Lopes can each count on having the other half of a band on the other side of the Atlantic. But any project that’s on its fourth record in a dozen years has more going for it than the chance to save on plane tickets. For the Portuguese musicians, it’s an opportunity to feel an unabashedly high-energy force at their backs, as well as a chance to drink from a deep well of harmolodic blues. And for the Gonzalez brothers, it’s the reward of being the absolute right guys for the job; it has to be a gas to know that the heft they put into their swing is so deeply appreciated. While Lopes’ name remains up front, everyone contributes compositions, and everyone gives their all on every tune.

Bill Meyer

Joanna Mattrey — Veiled (Relative Pitch)

Veiled by Joanna Mattrey

This solo CD, which closely follows a collaborative cassette on Astral Spirits, is only the second recording with Joanna Mattrey’s name on the spine. But Mattrey is no newcomer. The New England Conservatory-trained violist has been playing straight and pop gigs for a while. If you caught Chance the Rapper on Saturday Night Live, Cuddle Magic with strings or a host of classical gigs around New York City, you’ve seen her. But if black dress and heels gigs pay her bills, improvised music nourishes her heart. And if sounds raw enough to scrape the roof of the world nourish yours, this album is new food. The premise of Veiled is finding veins of concealed beauty concealed, and that search impels Mattrey to tune her viola to sound like a horse-haired Tuvan fiddle, clamp objects to the strings and blast her signal through some satisfyingly filthy amplification. And whether it’s a slender tune or a complex texture, the reward is always there.

Bill Meyer

Angel Olsen — “Whole New Mess” single (Jagjaguwar)

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Everyone processes a breakup differently (though, to be fair, that’s probably less true now than ever). For Angel Olsen in 2018, it meant retreating to The Unknown, a century-old church in Anacortes, Washington, that Mount Eerie’s Phil Elverum and producer Nicholas Wilbur made into a recording studio. What ultimately came from those sessions was All Mirrors, but Whole New Mess is a chance to revisit that album (fully nine of these 11 songs are ones you’ve heard before; only the title-track and “Waving, Smiling” are new) in a more intimate framework — just Angel, a guitar, a mic and her reverberant heartache. The most cynical view to be taken here is that it’s a stopgap capitalizing on people’s vulnerability amid a pandemic quarantine, but it could also be a corrective for the bloat of All Mirrors, a record I listened to once and haven’t thought about since. Late Björkian excess doesn’t suit her nearly as well as the light touch delivered herein, and your interest will similarly hinge on how much Whole New Mess sounds like the old one.

Patrick Masterson

Ono — Red Summer (American Dreams)

Red Summer by ONO

Ono, the long-running noise-punk-poetry-protest project headed by P Michael Grego and travis, tackles the Red Summer of 1919, evoking the brutal race riots that erupted as soldiers returned from World War I. During that summer, conflicts raged from Chicago to the deep south, as white supremacists rioted against newly empowered returning Black veterans and an increased number of Black factory workers employed in America’s northern factories. Ono captures the violence—and its links to contemporary race-based conflicts—in an abstract and visionary style, with travis declaiming against an agitated froth of avant garde sound. “A Dream of Sodomy” lurches and rolls in funk-punk bravado, as travis declaims all the nightmarish scenarios that haunt his nocturnal hours, while “Coon” natters rhythmically across a fever-lit foundation of hand-drums, mosquito buzz and flute. “26 June 1919” wanders through a blasted, rioting landscape, sounds buzzing and pinging and roaring around travis’ fractured poetry. “White men, red men, Manchester town, send ‘em home, Oklahoma, send ‘em home, in a Black man house, send ‘em home, send ‘em home,” he chants, ominously, vertiginously. The center isn’t holding, for sure. The disc closes with the uneasy truce of “Sycamore Trees,” where steam blasts of synthesizer sound rush up and around travis’ vibrating, basso verses about meeting under the sycamore trees, a metaphor like the blues and gospel and nearly all Black music is full of metaphor about reuniting in a better place. Powerful.

Jennifer Kelly

Julian Taylor — The Ridge (Howling Turtle, Inc.)

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Singer-songwriter Julian Taylor does the little things well. That's not to say that he doesn't do the obvious things well, too, on his latest release The Ridge. His easy voice fits his songs, letting autobiography come with comfortable phrasing. As a writer, he tends toward the straightforward, avoiding extended metaphors or oblique references. The title track considers a particular form of life, and Taylor sticks to the tangible, singing about the stable, “Shovel manure, clean their beds, and prepare the feed for the day.” Taylor's songs make sense of the immediate world and relationships around him, but they avoid woolgathering. The album feels a bit removed from the current climate, but that's no complaint when Taylor's developed a welcoming place to visit. It isn't always easy here, but it's always companionable.

But back to those little things. Each song has carefully detailed orchestration and production. The record goes down easy whether tending toward James Taylor, Cat Stevens or something closer to country, and much of that easiness comes from the precise placement of every note. Burke Carroll's pedal steel, for instance, never exists for its own sake, but to serve the lyric that Taylor sings. The album contains enough space to feel like a rural Canadian ridge, with details drawn into to support Taylor's direct stories. The Ridge could easily go unnoticed (unobtrusiveness not being a highly rewarded trait), but its subtlety and care make it worth taking your boots off and sitting down for a minute.

Justin Cober-Lake

Various Artists — For a Better Tomorrow (Garden Portal)

For A Better Tomorrow by Various Artists

Compilation albums loom large in the American Primitive Guitar realm. Takoma, Tompkins Square and Locust all had larger ambitions than merely offering a sampling of wares, and to them, Garden Portal says, “hold my beer. I’ve got some collecting and playing to do.” For A Better Tomorrow started out as a Bernie Sanders fundraising endeavor. But when Bernie bailed and COVID-19 came on the scene, Garden Portal pivoted to support Athens Mutual Aid Network, an umbrella organization that coordinates aid to the underserved in this trying time. But in addition to good works, there’s some good work going on here. Not all of it is guitar-centric, but even the tracks that aren’t are close enough to the strings and heart template of the aforementioned parties to merit consideration under the same rubric. Joseph Allred’s been ultra-productive recently, so it’s actually helpful to be reminded of the spirit that infuses his playing by listening to it one track at a time. Rob Noyes’ “Diminished” takes the listener on a deep dive into the construction of sentiment and sound. And Will Csorba’s Pelt-like blast of fiddle drone, “Requiem for Ociel Guadalupe Martinez,” will put your hair up high enough to make that self-inflicted quarantine do a bit easier to execute.

Bill Meyer

Various Artists — The Storehouse Presents (The Storehouse)

The Storehouse Presents by The Storehouse

The coronavirus pandemic put the brakes on many things. You doubtless have your own list of loss, but for the proprietors of The Storehouse, the catalog of things kissed goodbye directly corresponds to their endeavor’s inventory of reasons to be. Over the past few years, the Storehouse has invited audiences out to a West Michigan farmhouse to enjoy a potluck meal and a concert played by some musicians of note. If there had been no lockdown, listeners could have enjoyed the Sun Ra Arkestra last April. Instead, no one’s playing, and no one’s getting paid, so the Storehouse has compiled this set of live and exclusive studio tracks to sell on Bandcamp in order to benefit the musicians and the Music Maker Relief Foundation. The cause, is good, but so are the tunes. Want to hear Steve Gunn and William Tyler in sympathetic orbit? Or Joan Shelley pledging her love? Or the first hints of Mind Over Mirrors’ new direction? Step right this way, preferably on one of 2020’s first Fridays.

Bill Meyer

Z-Ro — Rohammad Ali (1 Deep Entertainment / Empire)

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On one of his previous tracks, Z-Ro admitted that he’s basically just writing the same song over and over again (that’s how meta he is now, writing songs on writing songs). While he exaggerated a bit, he was not that far from the truth. In the last half dozen years he’s been writing the same three or four songs in various combinations, reconfigurations and forms. Rohammad Ali follows the same template: haters hate him, but he’s OK and is counting his money. Multiply this by 17, and here is the album. Despite this self-cannibalizing (lots of poets did that), Z-Ro with every new album sounds fresh and far from tired. The self-repeats just fuel him. Rohammad Ali has only one rap guest, and it’s Shaquille O’Neal whose rap career didn’t jump off in the 1990s. A lack of guests only proves that Z-Ro can self-sustain without support from the outside. The only thing from the outside he needs is hate.

Ray Garraty

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ambitionsource · 4 years

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AMBITION Season 2 ♫ “World Uncertain” [ 2.09 ]

CREATED BY Esther (rapunzles) & Maggie (quincywillows) || S2 Tag || Official Page

SPRING CLEANING – The juniors are forced to confront the ramifications of their actions while navigating shaky ground. Valerie comes to New York to spend the break with Isadora, although she may be carrying deeper intentions. Winter melting into spring allows for the chance to begin again.

64 Minutes (17K words) || CONTENT WARNING: mentions of suicide. Take care of yourselves and read with discretion.

[ ← Got A Lotta Livin’ To Do ] [ S2 Synopsis ] [ Rarely Pure and Never Simple → ]

( Follow along with the music on Spotify here! )

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY

The bustle and commute of a brand new work day in Manhattan echoes lightly from all around as a MALE OFFICER emerges from his cruiser. He strides a few feet onto the sidewalk, joining another FEMALE OFFICER standing on the curb.

She’s looking towards the side of the building on the corner, the male officer matching her stance. They don’t look stressed but rather confused -- and in a glimmer here and there, perhaps a bit impressed. Either way, it’s evident they aren’t sure what to make of their latest call.

Upon the brick wall of the establishment across from them, Maya’s emotionally spurred graffiti finally sees the light of day. It’s beautiful and jarring, bright and colorful and eye-catching, yet obviously attempting to convey something heavy. Something larger than life, overwhelming, difficult to capture in words as it is on the canvas of a building.

The word ENOUGH. Embellished and bold and impossible to miss.

The officers stand in front of it, small against its looming presence. As the school bell rings...

INT. AAA - CORY’S CLASSROOM - DAY

Students are transitioning for their next period, CORY MATTHEWS shouting last minute reminders at them as they shuffle out. He specifically mentions the impending spring holiday and urges students not to forget about their reading assignments.

Once the chaos has died down before the next wave of students files in, ISADORA DE LA CRUZ approaches Cory’s desk. He questions what he can do for her.

Isadora: You said that you were hoping someone could… Farkle.

Cory: … yes?

Isadora: [ clearing her throat ] His homework. You said you were wondering if someone could drop his assignments by his place during break. Since he’s coming back next week. Don’t want him falling behind and all that. So I figured I might as well.

Cory: You? You want to --

It’s obvious Isadora is the last person Cory was expecting to volunteer for such a job. But Isadora merely raises an eyebrow at him, so he quickly covers his surprise.

Cory: I just didn’t think you would be the one to -- but, sure. That would be wonderful, thank you, Isadora.

He shifts into gathering the proper materials, offhandedly relaying how much of their new book she should instruct him to read by the time they return. Isadora isn’t listening much, caught up in her own head. Perhaps Cory was a bit right to question her… why is she so intent on volunteering to help Farkle…

INT. MINKUS HOME - DAY

Who, speaking of, is making his grand return home. After about a month away at a rehabilitation facility, the doormen and wait staff warmly welcome him back as JENNIFER MINKUS leads the way back up to their penthouse accommodations. Handfuls of “welcome back, young Mister Minkus” are thrown in their direction, accompanied by relieved expressions or uncertain smiles as they get a good look at him.

And the reason is clear enough why. As they step back into the familiar entryway and Jennifer immediately starts fussing about getting him settled back in, FARKLE MINKUS takes his time. He drops his bag on the floor, taking a deep breath. And as we pan up from the floor to his face, one change is more prominent than any other.

His hair has been buzzed off. No more obsessive coiff. No more fastidious appearance. No more flyaway mess from pulling on it and running his hands through it too often to repair.

All that’s left is what’s underneath. Clean slate. Fresh start.

Tis the season of rebirth, after all.

Cue title sequence.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

LUCAS JAMES FRIAR opens his locker, explaining the consequences of his little joy ride last episode after he and Dylan went to court to be sentenced. Whereas Dylan got off on a warning and a minor blemish on his record since he is a minor and merely “an accessory,” Lucas was assigned 70 glorious hours of court-ordered community service to complete.

Still, he’s well aware it could’ve been far worse, especially since he’s already 18 and not as protected by juvenile limitations. It helped that the owner of the car didn’t press charges as nothing was damaged, but he also has the sense that Jack did a lot of negotiating on his behalf.

When she responds, it’s revealed that he is sharing these developments with RILEY MATTHEWS. She’s leaning against the row of lockers next to his, listening intently. She claims that he could easily knock out those service hours during spring break.

Riley: Seventy hours, ten days of break. That’s seven hours a day, which you can easily manage. [ a beat ] In fact, I’ll tag along with you.

Lucas: You do not need to waste your spring break on me.

Riley: It’s not waste, believe me. I could use the excuse to get out of the house, especially with my mom in and out helping move my brother’s things. It’s…

She doesn’t finish the sentence, shaking her head instead. Lucas doesn’t push her, getting the gist anyway. She directs her focus back to him.

Riley: And you know, it’s the least I could do. That night with the --

Lucas, pointedly: Don’t let that be your reason. You don’t owe me anything.

It’s evident Riley disagrees. They hold each other’s gaze. Riley decides not to argue it, but is still determined to join him regardless. She says as such, Lucas shrugging and focusing back on gathering his things.

Lucas: Well, I can’t stop you from blowing your break if that’s what you’re intent on doing.

Riley: Sure can’t. [ with a grin ] Besides, it’ll be fun. I like charity work.

Lucas, deadpan: Oh, I know.

Har har. It takes Riley a moment to get his implications, scowling when she realizes. He can’t help but smile, melting away Riley’s frown in spite of herself. Their smiles linger as Lucas shuts his locker, coinciding with…

INT. AAA - LIBRARY - DAY

CHARLIE GARDNER hitting the spacebar on one of the school computers, deeply concentrated as he scours through the webpages he has open. From an offhand glance, it seems to be a bunch of program websites, an application form or two sprinkled in. Although he’s working fast, he seems pretty intent.

And, well, a bit frantic. A glimmer of that frazzled nature is back in his eyes, making the web search seem far more important than a simple research project.

He jumps when someone calls his name, glancing up only for a moment before swiftly closing all the tabs. CLARISSA CRUZ and HALEY FISHER approach, Haley playfully nudging him and looking over his shoulder to see what he’s working on. He says he was just finishing up, not offering any further explanation.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

As they’re exiting the library, Clarissa asks Charlie if he wants to come to Chubbie’s. They’re doing a sort of kick off for spring break.

Haley: Drowning ourselves in high caloric content, that’s what we’re doing.

Clarissa: As is our right after the hell this semester has been so far.

Darn right, ladies! Charlie starts to respond, but his interest shifts to hesitation as he questions who else is going. They mention Yindra and Nigel, definitely Yogi, maybe Darbs? Although there are some unsure parties, Zay is not mentioned either way.

This seems to be what Charlie was looking for. With no mention of his boyfriend he happily agrees, telling them he’ll meet them there. Once they flutter off, however, his smile falters somewhat. He’s clearly not sure how he feels about anything at this point.

He starts down the hall alone, heading towards a week of freedom from it all.

INT. AAA - BLACK BOX THEATER - DAY

ZAY BABINEAUX, meanwhile, is meeting one-on-one with HARPER BURGESS. She’s got a stack of pamphlets and flyers to pass onto him, all opportunities for enrichment programs or auditions he can go out for. She also places a folded paper on top, explaining that its a list of contacts she has in the industry that he could consider reaching out to for guidance.

Harper: You know how it is -- it’s all about who you know.

Zay: Yeah. These are really great, thank you. [ a beat ] Are you sure it’s okay for you to do this? This does seem a little bit like what some might call favoritism.

Harper: Don’t see how it could be favoritism when you’re the only person who has even bothered to ask.

Fair point. Harper reminds Zay that he is more than capable of stepping into the spotlight and making real strides. Going out for these opportunities, as he’s expressed as his intent, is just the first step. He just needs to maintain his laser focus.

Zay: Trust me, I expect I will have far less distraction than usual this break.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

Which is exactly what he reiterates to Riley, stuffing the pamphlets into his backpack as they make their way out for the break. He states that if he and Charlie aren’t going to be spending as much time together, then he might as well fill all that time with things that are actually important. Riley questions whether he and Charlie have even like… really discussed what happened -- because she is vague on the details and isn’t quite sure what is up between them -- but Zay waves her off.

Riley: So everything is okay.

Zay: Well… not exactly.

Riley: So you’re breaking up.

Zay: No. Not exactly.

Riley: And when was the last time you talked about this? [ nervously ] When was the last time you talked at all?

Zay, cutting her off: Riley, relax. You’ve already got one complicated relationship dominating your life, don’t let Charlie and me become the same.

Valid, but also a convenient excuse to avoid the topic. Riley relents, instead switching gears and suggesting that if Zay will have so much more time open on his social calendar this week, perhaps he would be able to squeeze in a visit to their absent classmate?

He doesn’t seem to enthused by the prospect, but it’s clear that this is a warpath Riley has been marching on for quite some time now. He reluctantly says he’ll consider it.

INT. AAA - ERIC’S OFFICE - DAY

Isadora pokes her head in to chat with ERIC MATTHEWS, wishing him a restful break. He returns the sentiment, assuring her that he is heading out of the office shortly after them and will give himself a well-earned respite as well. She also questions how he’s doing this week emotionally, which seems to amuse him.

Eric: You realize this is the fourth time you’ve asked me that this week?

Isadora: [ unfazed, patiently waiting for a response ]

Eric, with a smile: … yes, I’m doing better. Thank you.

Placated for now, Isadora switches gears and asks if there’s anything Eric needs to give to Farkle this break. She’ll be dropping by to take him homework, so she can play messenger for him too if necessary. Eric remembers some flyers he meant to give for him in his preparation for returning to school. As he hands them over, he encourages Isadora to also take this holiday to take a breather. He thinks they all could use it.

Oh, and at the top of that list of people who really need to relax…

INT. AAA - PROP LOFT - DAY

ASHER GARCIA is meticulously arranging items on the shelves, doing his last touch-up organization of the loft before they leave for a week. He’s talking anxiously as he works, rambling about the state of things and how he’s supposed to get everything back in perfect shape. He’s speaking about the order of the prop loft, but that’s not really what he’s speaking about.

And that’s more than clear to DYLAN ORLANDO. He’s seated on the floor in front of the shelves, humoring Asher’s poorly veiled way of discussing how much of a mess everything is in socially removed terms and nodding along. He’s scribbling on a piece of notebook paper, delicately folding it and sliding it into the same cubby hole where Riley found his note in 206. Asher doesn’t notice a thing.

Dylan is smiling as he climbs back to his feet, tackling the discussion head on and explaining the situation from his perspective. He explains to Asher that Lucas was dead serious about their sentencing and took full responsibility for it. He even made a major point about taking all the blame off of Dylan, claiming that it was all him and his friend was only trying to make sure he didn’t get into anymore trouble.

That’s noble, yes, but Asher can’t believe Dylan is so calm about this. How can he not be at all upset? He got arrested.

Dylan: The cause of my impenetrable sense of peace is threefold. [ holding up three fingers ] One, I am a human being capable of making my own decisions. You said so yourself. I knew what I was doing when I agreed to go with Lucas, so it’s not like he’s some incorrigible demon corrupting me and my adorable veneer of innocence and naiveté.

Asher: You’ve been looking at the word of the day calendar, I see.

Dylan: Two. [ dropping a finger ] It really just doesn’t feel like that big a deal. I mean, yes, it’s a big deal that we got arrested and I would not like to repeat that ever again -- not to mention it would be a far bigger deal if I were any other race or gender, because of all the systemic imbalances in the justice system that make it way harder for small crimes to remain small and not totally derail your life when you’re not white and male, which now that I’m thinking about it is really kind of a huge problem that we’re not talking about enough and now I’m starting to get lightheaded -- is this what it feels like to be you all the time?

Asher: Dyl, lighthouse. And yes.

Dylan: Right. Larger sociocultural issues aside, I don’t think it’s worth getting hung up on. It happened, we dealt with it, and now we move on. Things are going to be different, yeah, but things change every day. I think it’s way more important to decide what happens next rather than get stuck on what already did. And, three --

Dylan is down to one finger, which he uses to tap at Asher’s cheek affectionately.

Dylan: All I know is that when all was said and done, Lucas stood up for me. I know he’s going through a lot right now and hasn’t been acting much like himself, but you and I both know that he always looks out for his friends. He never lets anyone else take the fall. That’s still true, and I still think that the person we’ve had as our best friend for three years, faults and all, is who he really is. I believe that, so I’m not going to drop him.

Asher absorbs this, obviously torn. He crosses his arms. Dylan continues, gently taking Asher’s shoulders and getting him to meet his eyes.

Dylan: However… if you decide that you don’t want to deal with it anymore, then that’s okay too. He messed up, and you have every right to decide that you’ve had enough and not forgive him. Or even if you do forgive him, you don’t have to let him back into your life. It’s all up to you, and it’s something that you have to come to on your own I think. Even though --

Asher, under his breath: I hate decisions.

Dylan, without missing a beat: You hate decisions. I know. But you’ll have plenty of time to think about it while you’re with your fam in Florida, and we know you’re an expert at thinking things to death. [ off Asher’s eye roll ] I’m just saying, whatever you choose to do will be the best one for you. I believe that, too. And I’ll support it no matter what… although, I’m pretty sure the best choice will be the right one. I’m not worried.

Asher: You never are. [ off Dylan’s beam ] So… what is the right choice?

As if he’ll give it up that easily. Dylan makes a face, shifting his gaze to the wall behind them as he pretends to be lost in thought. Then he locks eyes with him again, lightly tapping the side of his nose in a knowing gesture.

Dylan lightly taps Asher on the nose as well, grinning and spinning to depart without another word. Asher blinks, obviously still not thrilled with the things he has to contemplate but unable to hold back a smile in his boyfriend’s presence. He makes one last adjustment to the props before following him towards the stepladder.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

Lucas arrives in the doorway, no longer sauntering around like he owns the place. Instead he lightly knocks, an awkward gesture considering how unnatural it is.

JACK HUNTER raises his gaze from his work, emotion flitting across his features at the sight of Lucas for a second before he resets to a pleasant, neutral state. Pleasant, but removed, so not really pleasant at all. Not at all like it’s supposed to be.

Jack: Something I can help you with, Mister Friar?

Lucas: [ thrown by the way he addressed him ] … um, yeah. I’m supposed to get the service paperwork from you.

Jack hums, nodding. He rises to his feet and digs through the papers on the cabinet behind his desk. Lucas remains uncertainly in the doorway, twisting his fingers subconsciously.

Jack finds the correct form, crossing the room to hand it to him. Lucas thanks him, Jack offering a polite nod as he heads back to his desk without further ado.

Lucas glances down at the paper, then at Jack settling into his desk again. It’s obvious he wants to say something, anything, but he doesn’t know what. It’s like he’s lost the right to say anything ever again. He retreats sheepishly, disappearing back into the main office.

Jack glances up from his desk, expression betraying his own disappointment. He shakes it off, focusing back on his work.

INT. MINKUS HOME - DAY

Farkle is settling back into the apartment, a bit stiff in it after nearly a month away. He’s set up a home base of sorts in the living room, blankets folded on the opposite end of the couch and a formidable stack of books on the coffee table. He’s dressed more comfortably than he previously allowed, light wash jeans and a hand-me-down Princeton sweatshirt a far cry from blazer glory.

Jennifer is bustling around in the kitchen behind him, relaying all of the details for their upcoming break and his adjustment back home. She mentions the specifics of when Farkle should be taking his medications for stabilizing his body in the aftermath of the attempt, and who will be home when to keep him company (and watch over him).

Jennifer: Lila is on her way back from school now, and Uri will be here after school when I go to work. I’ll be staying mornings. Of course, Darla and Curtis will be checking in periodically throughout the day to see if you need anything --

Farkle: Hence my transition to the public display case of the living room, yes.

Jennifer: You know they appreciate that rather than having to intrude your privacy to enter your room.

Farkle makes a face. It’s a lot of attention, yes, but he also knows exactly why it’s necessary. Regardless of the state he’s in now, he certainly did his part to earn the surveillance.

Jennifer: And Ezekiel is coming back next weekend. He’s going to try and fly home when he can.

Farkle, sheepish: He doesn’t have to do that.

Jennifer: He wants to. He wouldn’t have it any other way, and we’re lucky that we can afford it.

Farkle: He doesn’t -- I mean, no one needs to go to all this trouble. It’s good, I mean, I’m good. I’ll be fine.

Jennifer gives him a smile, gently perching on the arm rest next to him. She takes his chin in her hand, only slightly belittling.

Jennifer: It’s cute that you think I’m going to take your word for it.

Farkle scowls, shrugging out of her grasp. Mostly because he knows she’s right. Jennifer laughs, leaning over to give him a kiss on the top of the head. When she pulls back, the expression on her face grows more serious.

Jennifer: I love you. [ a beat ] I’m very glad you’re home.

A loaded declaration. Farkle’s indignation fades, returning the sincerity despite how out of practice he is.

Farkle, quietly: Me too.

Jennifer smiles lovingly, stroking his cheek once more before jumping to her feet again. She shakes off the heaviness, brightly suggesting the ways that Farkle can enjoy the break home before he returns to school even while being under more careful watch. He’s got that hefty stack of books there, and perhaps there are more people he wants to see? He’s more than welcome to invite some friends over, provided he lets her know.

Farkle doesn’t seem convinced by this prospect.

Farkle, under his breath: Would need some friends first.

Oof. After a month away, Farkle is feeling the sting of his isolation more than ever.

INT. BLUE’S APARTMENT - DAY

Isadora is also set up on the couch, Blue’s living room acting as her makeshift bedroom while she’s in transition between foster homes. She’s far more settled into her space than Farkle, comfortably flipping through homework when there’s a bold knock on the door.

She doesn’t seem surprised -- and maybe even a bit excited -- as she rises to answer the door. On the other side is VALERIE DE LA CRUZ, looking glamorous as always as she cheerfully greets her daughter.

As she steps inside, BLUE NGUYEN emerges from the hall to the bedroom. She graciously greets him with her high-wattage Hollywood smile, thanking him profusely for allowing her into his house and taking such good care of Isadora. It’s obvious he has no idea how to react to her boisterous presence, accepting the praise with as much poise as he can muster.

Then Valerie is back on Isadora again, already questioning what they should do or how they should spend the week. A delicious dinner to start, perhaps? There’s this upscale place she’s been dying to try on the upper west side -- oh and Blue can come too, of course. Or perhaps a movie, if there’s one Isadora has been dying to see?

Valerie: Of course, you’ll need to clear your calendar for Friday. Very important evening plans.

[ She retrieves three tickets from her purse, handing them over with a mischievous grin and flourish. Isadora takes them, jaw dropping when she reads them. ]

Isadora: Hamilton? You got Hamilton tickets?

Valerie: It was hardly a tizzy. Just called in a favor with Lin -- you know how he was practically begging me to be in In the Heights. Well, he was more than happy to work these out for us. [ brightly ] There’s a third one in there too. I figured you might want to invite one of your friends -- Maya, I would guess? I’m sure she would love to go, even if just for the chance to boast a little bit with your classmates next week. All in good fun, of course.

Isadora, still dazed by the tickets in her hands, claims Maya won’t be able to come. Valerie asks why not, concerned, but Isadora simply states that she’s out of town for the break. Visiting Katy. This only confuses Valerie further, considering how much has happened since her last visit.

Valerie: Well, where on Earth is Katy?

INT. HART FAMILY HOME - NIGHT

KATY HART, dressed plainly and in the midst of helping cook dinner, jogs to answer the urgent knocking at the door. She pushes her hair out of her face, yanking open the door.

Katy: Just a second! Goodness, who the hell --

There on the other side of the door is MAYA HART, weary from a long day of traveling and clutching a suitcase in her hands. She brightens when she sees her mom, effortless smile blooming across her face.

Maya: Sorry. Just couldn’t wait much longer.

From the expression on her face, it’s clear that Katy was not expecting her. But it’s impossible to keep the happy grin off her face, even if mixed with incredulousness. Before she can get a word in edgewise, Maya barrels her with a hug.

Katy’s mother and father emerge from the kitchen, asking who it is and what all the fuss is about. VIVIAN “VIV” HART (60s) is demurely beautiful even with her age, although clearly the authoritative one of the pair of them. HENRY HART (60s), on the other hand, radiates that same bold and upbeat energy that his daughter and granddaughter are so proud of.

Both of them are gleeful to see Maya, rushing over to join in on the welcomes and hugs. She’s whisked into the house without another thought, not sparing a second towards how she got there or what she’s doing there in the first place…

INT. MINKUS HOME - NIGHT

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Alone” as performed by Young Frankenstein Original Broadway Cast || Performed by Farkle Minkus (feat. AAA Juniors)

The dramatic orchestral burst sets the mood in an instant, a spotlight illuminating Farkle standing atop one of the grandiose staircases in the Minkus abode. From the moment he speaks, it’s clear we’re in for a truly theatrical return to form.

Farkle: Oh, Maya, darling Maya, I miss you so much. Life has been absolute -- [ offhand, to DAVE WILLIAMS standing just out of frame ] dry martini, Davis, and I mean dry -- HELL without you. I’m so, so, so --

And thus Farkle launches into the ridiculous soliloquy, sashaying around in a luxurious dress shirt ensemble and dancing with his AAA classmates (sans the other super seven), who have all taken the roles of his wait staff and are dressed in identical uniforms. Some of them really make this look work, like YINDRA AMINO, while others like NIGEL CHEY and NATE MARTINEZ seem unimpressed as to what they’re doing there or why they’re being cast as his butlers.

When he dances with each of them, Asher and Dylan maintain their characterization by looking pretty disturbed in having to interact with him. Still, they all play their parts well, creating an enjoyable and suave support for Farkle’s melodramatic lament. Dave tries his best to give him the perfect martini, but never quite hits the mark.

All that aside, the most important aspect of the number is how good it feels to see Farkle perform again. Not just perform, but be absolutely, wholly over-the-top and ridiculous with an endearing amount of fanfare. This is the Farkle we haven’t seen in quite some time, and it’s nice to see him again as he tilts his head back to the high ceilings and belts out the final notes.

INT. MINKUS HOME - DAY

Even if only in a dream. Farkle is startled awake by peppy knocking at the door, having dozed off amidst his nest of blankets. On the TV, the film version of Young Frankenstein is playing. He struggles to his feet, attempting to shake off the fatigue and put himself back in presentable order. He reaches up to fix his hair on instinct before remembering he barely has any now, huffing and sliding towards the door.

Riley and Lucas are waiting on the other side, Riley offering a warm smile and cheerful greeting. Lucas does neither, keeping his arms crossed and settling for a glare instead. But hey, better than a derisive comment. That's an improvement!

Farkle steps back to allow them in, eyeing Lucas cautiously as they make their way inside. He questions what they’re doing there, which Riley scoffs at as if it’s a silly question. She explains that they wanted to come by and see how he was doing, moving further into the space and immediately going to adjust the blinds and let in more natural light.

Farkle tosses a look to Lucas. That so? Lucas doesn’t comment either way, turning away from him and getting a better look around.

Riley continues to quickly discuss all that’s happened in Farkle’s absence as he wanders over to join her. She mentions that someone will probably bring homework by at some point, and of course everyone is talking here and there about prom. They’ve started decorating for the senior send-off -- crazy how they’ll be seniors in just a couple months, isn’t it?

Riley: I’m glad that all of us will be able to jump into the final year together. [ a beat ] We all miss you.

Farkle, with a snort: Forgive me for not believing you. I’m suicidal, not delusional.

Well… remains to be seen. Riley brushes past the moment, asking how he’s doing and how his time at the hospital was. In a softer voice, she admits that there was a period where her mother considered sending her to some place similar for her depression when she was being bullied in ninth grade, so she’s always wondered. Behind her, Lucas continues to poke around the entryway and dining area with mild interest.

Farkle gives her the basic run down, expressing that while the treatment was fine and the workers were all quite nice, it’s hard to sell it as a desirable place to be when everyone present wants to die.

Farkle: You know, it’s hard to give it its due credit when most of the residents would rather be dead than be there. Literally, in case that point wasn’t clear. Not to mention the feeling of near constant surveillance, which I get, I put it upon myself, but it gets to the point where I was starting to wonder if I would ever be able to even think without the feeling that one of those well-intended nurses would hear my thoughts. It’s been nice to have the freedom of loneliness again, which isn’t something you’d ever think to say.

Riley: Well, that’s good. I guess?

Farkle: As good as it can be. But seriously, you think they’d save the overbearing surveillance for those who truly need it -- speaking of, hey Jackass --

Farkle has shifted his gaze to over Riley’s shoulder, glaring at Lucas. He jumps, spinning from where he’s examining the mantle by the dining table.

Farkle: Don’t you think it’s a bit morally decrepit to steal from the mentally ill?

Lucas scoffs, feigning innocence. He shrugs, crossing his arms in defense.

Lucas: Ha, I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Farkle stares, raising one unimpressed eyebrow. Riley glances over her shoulder to look at him as well, giving him a knowing but more sympathetic grimace / smile.

After a moment of their dual scrutiny, Lucas relents. He scoffs again, pulling a handful of genuine silverware as well as a couple of other trinkets from his pockets and dropping them onto the dining table.

Farkle rolls his eyes, shaking his head as he settles back onto the couch. Riley keeps her eyes on Lucas as he sheepishly comes over to join them, but her disapproval would be more convincing if it wasn’t colored with unintentional fondness. She apologizes on his behalf, expressing that he’s had some trouble with those sort of compulsions lately.

Farkle: Oh, yeah, so I’ve heard. [ to Lucas ] Heard you stole a car.

Lucas, flatly: Maybe.

Riley: Not stole. Borrowed for temporary reckless purposes.

Farkle and Lucas continue to have a back and forth, sharing the same blunt and offhand tone.

Farkle: No keys? Break-in and hotwire?

Lucas: What do you think?

Farkle: BMW? Lexus?

Lucas: Maserati.

Farkle: No kidding. But doesn’t that have that security feature they were hyping to all hell -- ?

Lucas: Doesn’t matter if you disable it first.

Farkle: You can do that?

Lucas: If you know how.

Farkle: … touché. [ looking him over, cracking a smirk ] Well done.

Not the expected response, and a little refreshing. Lucas kind of smiles, but Riley is not thrilled with the exchange.

Riley: Okay, no, do not encourage him. We are not doing this --

Riley takes Lucas by the arms, spinning him and nudging him back towards the door. She tells Farkle that she’ll be sure to call him later, and she tried to talk to their other classmates about swinging by so she’s sure he’ll have company this week. Farkle doesn’t look convinced, but the sentiment is nice enough.

As she disappears into the hall, Farkle calls after her.

Farkle: Riley?

She pokes her head back around the door frame, giving him a look and raising her eyebrows. After a moment, Farkle smiles lightly.

Farkle, softly: Thank you.

This melts whatever chill he put between them from his brazenness with Lucas right quick. She returns the smile, blowing him a light kiss and pulling the door closed behind her.

Farkle releases a sigh, settling back into the couch and the solitude.

INT. BLUE’S APARTMENT - DAY

Isadora and Valerie are hanging out in the living room, Valerie pacing with restless energy. They’re debating what to do that afternoon, Isadora already showing a sign or two of feeling overwhelmed. She’s happy to have her mother there, but constant interaction can be a lot.

Their conversation is interrupted by a playful knock on the door, Isadora frowning. Valerie asks if she’s expecting anyone else, and Isadora calls back the same question to Blue as she goes to open the door.

On the other side is a delightful surprise, Dylan distracted by taking in the scenery around the apartment until Isadora opens the door fully. He grins wide when they lock eyes, holding a stack of tupperware in his arms.

Isadora: Dylan. What are -- what are you doing here?

Dylan: I wanted to swing by. I hope that’s okay.

Isadora: Sure. Um… what’s with the stuff?

Dylan: Oh, yeah, well --

Dylan adjusts them in his arms, letting out a laugh. Blue joins them in the living area, curious.

Dylan: I know you’re in transition right now and stuff, and with everything going on I figured y’all probably weren’t cooking for yourselves. Ramen is sustenance, but it’ll only last you so long. And I had plenty of time cause of break, so I just threw together a meal or two.

Or ten. It’s a complicated transferral from Dylan’s arms to Isadora’s to make sure nothing gets dropped, Blue jogging over to help.

Dylan: I had Asher write the stickies with the reheat instructions -- his handwriting is way better than mine, so.

Valerie flutters up to the doorway to get a better look, having waited long enough in the shadows. She brightens when she recognizes him, knowing him as one of Isadora’s classmates and eager to engage with another one of her friends. Dylan may not be her biggest fan, but he’s far more adept at feigning friendliness and navigating social situations than say, Lucas.

Valerie: Yes, yes, you were amongst the techies. Am I right? A darling crop of little talents there, I remember.

Dylan: Sure was. It’s great to see you again.

Valerie: I remember, you had on that bright yellow crewneck. Impossible not to make an impression wearing that! And you were always with -- where’s your other friend? The well-dressed, dainty one --

Isadora, apprehensive: Mom --

Dylan, lighting up once he understands: Oh, Asher! My boyfriend. [ off Valerie’s delighted expression ] Yes, I do quite love his little bird bones. He’s on vacation with his family for the break.

Isadora attempts to end the conversation before it can take any negative turns, thanking Dylan for the food and thinking of her.

Valerie: Oh, you have to go so soon?

Isadora: I’m sure he has better things to do.

Dylan, softer: Actually, um, I was kind of hoping we could catch up. [ meeting Isadora’s eyes ] We haven’t had much of a chance to talk, lately.

There’s a pause between them. Isadora seems like that’s something she might like to do too, but with Valerie hanging around them they won’t get to really say much of importance.

Blue steps in, asking Valerie if she might be able to help him get all this food organized and in the fridge. A swoop in rescue if there ever was one.

Blue, pointedly: Might take some time. My fridge could use some reorganizing.

Valerie: Oh, it would be my privilege, Blue. Don’t you worry, I have just the solution. My good friend Marie Kondo is really into this sort of thing, and she gave me an exclusive method I could use --

Valerie trails off as they disappear towards the kitchen, giving Dylan and Isadora space. Isadora watches her go, then turns back to Dylan who offers her a smile. She manages to return it.

INT. MINKUS HOME - DAY

Farkle is in the midst of reading, interrupted by another knock at the door. He shouts for Uri, assuming it’s for him. When no one goes to answer and they knock again, Farkle lets out an annoyed growl and climbs to his feet, dropping his book on the couch.

Farkle: If you’re gonna have people over, the least you could do is not have your ailing brother open the damn --

He cuts himself off when he sees a familiar face on the other side. Clearly not there for Uri.

Farkle: … Zay? What are you doing here?

Zay Babineaux, indeed. He seems a bit uncomfortable as he stands in the fancy hallway, but he made it there regardless.

Zay: Riley is damn hard to disappoint. [ a beat ] You going to let me in?

Farkle steps back, allowing his rival diva into the apartment. Zay is struck by the opulence, jaw dropping open slightly as he takes a look around. He knew Farkle was loaded, but it’s a lot different to see it up close and personal.

Zay bothers to ask how Farkle is doing -- he claims as to be expected, but somewhat better. Dare he admit it, he honestly misses the high energy and constant action of AAA. There’s plenty he doesn’t miss, but the life that seems to pulsate through it every day is a big one.

Farkle: But I’m sure you know that better than I do. I’m sure you’ll probably want to be going soon. People to see, actually healthy relationships to foster.

Zay: To be honest, I don’t think I’m doing much better in that department either.

Farkle blinks, surprised. Zay isn’t looking at him, keeping his gaze trained out the huge wall of windows towards the city. There’s a solemnity to his expression that Farkle hasn’t ever really seen before. Whatever it is that’s weighing him down, it must be important.

The solution, it seems, is to go back to what the two of them do best. Farkle says so. Despite whatever is in flux otherwise, there is one thing that the two of them can control without fail -- their ability to put on a good performance.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “no tears left to cry” as performed by Ariana Grande || Performed by Farkle Minkus & Zay Babineaux

Farkle kicks off the diva number, but it’s not long before Zay joins in. It’s difficult for him to turn down Ariana, after all. It’s the first true Farkle & Zay duet, and their voices clash just enough to create an intriguing, compelling dynamic rather than irritating. Not to mention they both bring the energy, dancing around the spacious penthouse.

Given the space, it’s also the perfect opportunity to pay tribute to the original cinematography. Zay is allowed to temporarily slip into the melodramatic mindspace of Farkle Minkus, the two of them walking on the walls and balancing amongst a penthouse folding in on itself.

The sentiment of the tribute rings strong for both of them. The time for wallowing is over, and they’re both ready to jump back into the ring with stronger motivation than ever before, albeit for quite different reasons.

As the number concludes, Zay collapses into the armchair adjacent to the couch. He catches his breath and commends Farkle for a job well done, as it seems even near death can’t knock him out of performing shape. Farkle admits he has to work extra hard to keep up with him.

The conversation drifts to Zay’s plans for the rest of break, after Farkle flatly states that his spring break basically belongs to the confines of his living room. He explains all of the auditions he’s lined up for future opportunities, vaguely alluding to his change of priority. Farkle doesn’t question it, instead lighting up as he remembers something.

He jumps to his feet, returning from the kitchen a moment later with another pamphlet. He hands it to Zay, stating that he should add that program to his roster for the week. It’s some audition that only folks on a paying list can really get updates about, but he should go for it since Farkle certainly won’t be going up for anything any time soon.

Zay seems hesitant to accept charity from him, but also grateful. He takes it and looks through it, asking if Farkle thinks he should actually do it. Any of it. If it’s even going to be worth it.

Farkle: I don’t know, man. Who knows what’s worth it and what isn’t in this business. It’s all a shot in the dark.

Zay: Yeah, but you’ve always had more luck. You’ve been the golden child since we walked through the doors of Adams freshman year.

Farkle: Yep, totally. I was the million dollar baby -- and yet, I still wanted to kill myself. [ off Zay’s grimace ] I’m just saying, we all have to do everything we can, because talent sure as hell isn’t everything. If you think you need to stretch your network, then by all means, do it. Knowing you, it won’t take long for you to see results.

Zay contemplates this, such a supportive and well-meant notion coming from his formerly feral classmate. He nods a thanks.

Riley, pre-lap: So happy to help. You’re very welcome.

INT. SOUP KITCHEN - DAY

Riley smiles as a customer walks away with their food, working behind the counter at a soup kitchen. She’s got the apron and plastic gloves and all, hair pulled back out of her face in a tight bun. She reaches up to ding the small bell on the countertop in front of them, signaling they’re ready for a new patron.

Lucas is there next to her, also aproned and gloved. He looks less enthused, though he completes the work diligently. He states that if he has to do so much labor with no gain or end goal for himself, then he supposes the fact that it’s helping the less fortunate is something.

Lucas: I don’t even like working for myself. You can imagine my disdain.

Riley: [ rolling her eyes ] You know that whole act doesn’t work on me. The lazy, devil-may-care thing. I know it’s not true, I see right through it.

Lucas: I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not see through.

Riley: You’re a window. An open window.

Lucas: Okay, sure.

Riley: Not even a screen in there. Just wide open, letting in the breeze and the sunshine.

Lucas: See, that’s a very sanguine perception of me. I don’t think you could get popular consensus on that.

Riley gives him a look, the two of them holding one another’s glares again before inevitably breaking into smiles. They get distracted from the moment anyway, duty calling and hungry people waiting to be served. Riley picks the conversation back up again, pointing out that Lucas does in fact gain something from all this work -- the privilege of not going to prison. He claims that would be a gross overreaction anyway.

Riley: Well, you did steal a car.

Lucas: Borrowed. For temporary reckless purposes. [ defensively ] And I was going to give it back.

Riley makes an incredulous face, but once again amusement is hindering its impact. And that makes a difference? Lucas brings it all back to the point, reiterating that while it feels nice to contribute something meaningful, it’s going to be hell getting through an entire week of something so monotonous.

Well, all you need to fix that is a little bit of initiative. Riley says as much, glancing around the shop where people are chowing down and calling to one of the elderly men seated over by the corner table. She requests that he bump the dated jukebox installed to get it going, breathe some life into this place.

Lucas, deadpan: Oh, yes. Music is the solution. How could I have forgotten?

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Lady Madonna” as performed by The Beatles || Performed by Riley Matthews (feat. Lucas James Friar)

The popular Beatles tune floats in through the jukebox, the patrons immediately appreciating its upbeat bounce. Riley shakes her shoulders to the beat, grooving in place until the vocals start so she can sing along.

Lucas: And now you’re singing. Okay. Sure.

Despite his commentary, it’s impossible for Lucas not to be endeared by her when she’s being so darn charming. She continues to sing and dance around him regardless of his sarcasm, taking it out into the shop and pulling customers into the fun. They clearly appreciate it, singing along with Riles when she hops up to sit on one of the tables.

She makes her way back over to Lucas at the conclusion of the first verse, taking his hand and pulling him out from behind the counter. As they make their way out of frame…

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY

We jump into a quick cut montage of Riley and Lucas making their way through the week doing all sorts of different community service projects. They shelve books at the library, they pick up trash alongside the road. They help fix up housing accommodations that are in disrepair, flicking paint at each other; they’re surrounded by puppies at the animal shelter, where Lucas seems to actually be enjoying what they’re doing.

At the end of the middle transition, the first “see how they run,” Lucas and Riley sing it together while taking a moment of reprieve from running all around town doing good. Lucas seems exhausted, yet Riley’s grin brightens the mood as she spins him around and nudges him back off-screen into the next thing.

INT. SOUP KITCHEN - DAY

Back in the soup kitchen, Riley has pulled Lucas out onto the floor amidst the tables. She pulls him into a simple dance move, a shot focusing on both of their shoes doing the moves across the linoleum floor. Scuffed up black boots and cute doodled-on Keds, moving somewhat in sync and in the same direction.

INT. PUBLIC LIBRARY - DAY

Riley rides on the book cart as Lucas continues to push it through the aisles, picking up the verse again and handing books to Lucas to shelve as they go. The song takes us back through each of their projects one more time, in time with the beat…

INT. SOUP KITCHEN - DAY

Until we end up back behind the counter at the soup kitchen, back to the same old but in admittedly much better spirits than before.

Riley spins around Lucas and ends up back in her spot, exchanging a flirtatious beam with him before reaching up and hitting the bell to signal the end of the number. Ding!

EXT. BLUE’S APARTMENT - DAY

Isadora and Dylan are out on the tiny balcony that can hardly be called a balcony, cramped against the sliding door and sharing the tupperware bin of cookies. Isadora hasn’t indulged in her treat yet, too preoccupied with Dylan’s story as he catches her up on everything that happened, building up to the joy ride. When he finishes, she can only formulate one statement.

Isadora: Holy fucking shit.

Yeah, that about sums it up. Dylan nods in agreement, breaking a piece of his cookie and popping it into his mouth. She attempts to process it all, expressing the same thought that she can’t believe Dylan is being so cool about all of it. He shrugs, Isadora shaking her head and lamenting how shitty Lucas has been, that of course it would culminate in something like this.

Dylan gives the same shorthand defense that he gave to Asher, before pointing out that Isadora is probably speaking way more from her own anger towards Lucas that she’s chosen not to confront nor address for months. It’s a take that floors her to speechlessness, Dylan noticing her shock before shrugging again.

Dylan: Sorry. I’ve been to the clink, I’m a different man now.

At that, Isadora rolls her eyes. But she has to admit that he’s right -- she and Lucas haven’t spoken in months. And even when they were talking, they weren’t really talking. The last time she feels like they really understood another, were really listening, was almost a year ago. And she wouldn’t even know how to communicate with him now.

Dylan states she doesn’t have to if she doesn’t want to, but to him it seems like she does. It’s impossible for either of them to move past the way they are right now because there’s no closure. If she gives it one more chance and actually talks about things, then at least she’ll get that.

Dylan: Even if it’s not good, even if it’s the last conversation you ever have, at least it’s something. You’ll be able to clear the air. A certain goodbye is better than endless uncertainty.

Although she seems reluctant, Isadora claims she’ll think about it. She asks how Asher is handling things and if Dylan has made his choices about the whole situation, to which Dylan affirms both. He knows that Asher will make the right choices, and as for himself, he’s never wavered on where he stands. He’s always been an advocate for forgiveness, so long as the action isn’t totally reprehensible. Especially when you love the person who is seeking it.

Isadora absorbs the sentiment, taking a good look at him. Although she doesn’t say it, the softness that shimmers in her features conveys how much she missed Dylan.

Isadora: Since when did you become all wise?

Dylan, earnest: The hour and 13 minutes that I was behind bars really changed me.

She can’t help but laugh, Dylan cracking his delivery to grin. Isadora takes a bite of the cookie, humming in appreciation and nodding.

Isadora, mouth full: This is fucking delicious.

Dylan: Why thank you. And you’re welcome.

EXT. HART FAMILY HOME - HILLSIDE - DAY

A fresh new day. The sun is rising over the hillside, a pleasant breeze blowing the long grass.

Maya stands amidst the fresh air, taking it all in. She’s almost unrecognizable, no longer in her diva best. Fresh-faced with no make-up, money-making hair pulled haphazardly out of her face in a ponytail. Dressed plainly like the rest of the Hart family.

She closes her eyes, inhaling a deep breath. Absorbing the sunshine, the oxygen, the chance to really breathe. You can take the girl out of the theatrical, but you can’t take the theatrical out of the girl.

Then she turns and heads back up the hill towards the house.

INT. HART FAMILY HOME - DAY

Maya steps back inside the house and immediately joins her grandparents at the kitchen table for brunch. Katy and Vivian are just finishing set up the food, all of them settling in to eat. The way Maya interacts with her family is quite different from the way she is at school, but there’s something refreshing about it. In some ways, it might be nice to see her bring some of this energy back to AAA with her.

Still, her grandparents are invested in her dreams and ambitions. They ask Maya how the fancy arts school is going, and she enthusiastically responds with all of the things she’s gotten to accomplish in the last couple years.

Katy attempts to dig for truth again, subtly shifting the conversation to give Maya an opening to speak truthfully. She loves AAA, of course, but Katy is well aware of how complicated everything is within its walls.

It’s obvious she wants to ask about Farkle, but Maya manages to evade the discussion effortlessly. She digs into her breakfast, changing the subject by asking what Vivian and Henry might want to do that afternoon. Katy accepts the shift, but it’s clear she’s not pleased with it.

INT. MINKUS HOME - DAY

It’s Charlie’s turn to make an appearance at the Minkus home. Farkle pulls open the door that morning to find him standing there, a tupperware haul in his arms that could rival Dylan’s. Farkle is stunned to see him, obviously not expecting it.

Charlie greets him, and once Farkle awkwardly invites him in he launches into a swift explanation of each of the dishes his family put together for them. He wraps up by explaining the two large tupperwares on the bottom, where a couple of casseroles have been stored. He mentions one of them containing pork.

Farkle, flatly: We’re kosher.

Charlie, breathless: … oh. Oh. Well, um --

Farkle: It’s fine. Uri is a heathen, he’ll eat anything.

Farkle takes the tupperware from him, inviting Charlie further in as he goes to drop the stuff in the kitchen. He seems less energized today than earlier in the week, operating with a brusque, restless nature instead.

His offhand bluntness doesn’t help Charlie’s nerves. It’s clear he’s glad to be there out of good will, but he moves about the spacious apartment with obvious uncertainty. So Farkle’s sarcasm only adds another unsettling factor.

Farkle: By all means, make yourself comfortable. We can only hope we don’t get smote by a vengeful God --

Charlie: Huh?

Farkle pauses. There’s a subtext to his statement that his knowledge allows him -- Charlie being gay, Farkle having attempted suicide -- but he opts for the more blatant explanation.

Farkle: You know, the subtle differences in our chosen beliefs. Let’s hope your Catholic deity doesn’t kill you for hanging out with a Jew.

Charlie is so scatter-brained he doesn’t even have the energy to care about that take on his religion. He awkwardly brushes it off, settling onto the couch and asking Farkle how he’s doing. They were all worried about him. Farkle obviously doesn’t believe him either, pacing along the carpet as he gives Charlie a similar spiel.

When he turns the tables back on Charlie and asks how things are, he carries the same uncertainty that Zay did a couple of days ago. Farkle picks up on this, smart enough to piece together that something must be going on between the two of them. Sure makes both of their free time to come see him more logical.

It feels like Charlie could use an escape, and honestly in that moment Farkle is feeling the same. He says as much, jumping back into his former frenzied energy and claiming that Charlie should just forget it for now. He claims they should direct their focus into something better, a little practice maybe -- Charlie seems skeptical, wondering if Farkle should maybe like… be resting, but he’s already off and running.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “I’m Still Standing” as performed by Glee Cast || Performed by Farkle Minkus & Charlie Gardner

The rendition is bouncy, fun, and definitely checks off the boxes Farkle was trying to achieve. He and Charlie both pour all of their nervous energy into it, making for a good performance. It’s especially interesting to see the two of them perform together, as it’s essentially a first in AMBITION history.

For as neat as the number is, it comes to a rather abrupt conclusion. Ironically, Farkle grows weary fast and nearly collapses. Charlie immediately drops down next to him and helps pull him back to his feet, moving them back towards the couch while Farkle catches his breath.

Despite how fine he’s attempting to appear, everything Farkle has endured isn’t just going to go away. His choices have consequences, and Charlie is witnessing the exhaustion that comes with it. He braces his shoulder and questions whether he’s okay, or if there’s something he can get him. Rather than answering, Farkle throws a curveball.

Farkle: I’m sorry, Charlie.

Charlie, confused: What? For what?

Farkle, out of breath: You’re a good guy. A little bland, yeah, but you’re good. You really care about people -- even people like me, despite all the shits I gave about that -- and I used to think that was dumb. I figured it made me better than you, but it doesn’t. I’m not. And you’re just as good as the rest of us -- you always have been.

Charlie: … I mean, I didn’t --

Farkle: I just want you to… you’re talented, Charlie. Okay? You’re just as good as anyone else, definitely as much as me. [ locking eyes with him ] I’m really sorry if I ever made you feel like you weren’t.

It seems out of left field, yes. But the origin of it is clear, all of these things that Farkle has been ruminating on but didn’t have the chance to say -- might have never had, if his attempt had succeeded. Now he’s making up for it. Now he’s saying it.

Charlie absorbs the sentiment. Somehow, it’s just what he needed, and means more to him than he could’ve anticipated. He manages a smile, nodding and patting Farkle’s shoulder.

INT. HART FAMILY HOME - LIVING ROOM - DAY

Katy finally gets a moment alone with Maya, settling down on the couch with her as she flips through an actual hard copy newspaper. She makes a joke about how those things have real actual stories in them -- who knew? Katy humors it before using it to transition to what she wants to talk about: why Maya came all the way out here to avoid spring break in New York.

Maya, timidly: Isn’t wanting to see you enough?

Katy: Of course, and you know I’m happy you’re here. But I wasn’t born yesterday.

Maya hesitates, perhaps about to really open up… when Henry and Vivian enter to join them. Maya sees their entrance as an opportunity for avoidance, picking the most effective conversation starter she knows -- Katy’s unappreciated talent.

After bringing up how Katy hasn’t performed in a hot minute, it doesn’t take long for the grandparents to jump on the bandwagon despite Katy waving them off. Henry, the artistic of the two, settles in at the piano and claims they can throw something together. Provided it’s something they all know.

Maya: Culturally timeless… you know a thing or two about Hamilton, pops?

Henry: Sweet pea, everyone knows a thing or two about Hamilton.

Maybe so. Maya grins, wiggling her eyebrows at Katy as her mother takes a spot by the piano with Henry. She gives Maya a look, but softens as the soft piano kicks up.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Dear Theodosia” as performed by Hamilton Original Broadway Cast || Performed by Katy Hart & Maya Hart (feat. Henry Hart)

Henry’s delicate piano lends a definitive charm to this understated duet, Katy taking the Burr verse. She sings uncertainly at first, but as she looks at Maya and emotes the chorus (“We’ll bleed and fight for you, we’ll make it right for you...”), her lovely voice gains more confidence.

Maya jumps in on the Hamilton verse, her performance a bit more cheeky considering she roped her mother into it. But when they get to the bridge (“My father wasn’t around, I promise I’ll be around for you…”), that devotion and love they have for one another is crystal clear all over again. Maya takes Katy’s hand resting on the piano, linking their fingers.

Henry smiles as he plays along, pride twinkling in his eyes. Vivian watches from the couch, not a creative herself but happy to see her family all together again.

Even in the midst of chaos, there can be moments of beauty.

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - NIGHT

Valerie and Isadora are out on the town, having just seen a movie together. Despite it being one of Isadora’s interests, Valerie is keeping up a bulk of the discussion. It’s almost incessant, the way she’s all over the place to keep up conversation. She doesn’t notice, but Isadora is definitely starting to feel a bit of drain.

However, some of this exhaustion melts away when they bump into Eric emerging from a store. He greets them both cheerfully, Isadora engaging in conversation with him seemingly much more seamlessly than with Valerie. Eric assures Isadora that he’s quite enjoying his break, and he promises to continue not doing any work while he’s on vacation.

Valerie definitely clocks their playful back and forth, watching them with fascination and a bit of something like envy or disappointment.

INT. MINKUS HOME - KITCHEN - NIGHT

LILA MINKUS is present, helping Farkle with his recovery medications and ensuring he takes them properly. Their back and forth is dry and sarcastic as usual, but Lila is operating with slightly more tact than usual. The banter is more sibling-like rather than colored with genuine disdain.

Once he’s finished and subject switches to dinner plans, Lila pauses. Following the same pattern as Farkle earlier, she finds herself blurting out an emotional truth before she can think it through the way she’s used to.

Lila: You know I -- you know I care about you, right?

Farkle: … sure. Yeah.

Lila: I don’t just mean like -- I know we haven’t always been… I care about you. I can’t even imagine… [ voice cracking ] You can’t ever pull shit like this again. Okay, germ? You aren’t leaving us like that.

Farkle seems surprised by the genuine vulnerability. It’s uncommon in their household, but despite the stammering and tripping over words, he understands what she means. He nods.

Farkle: Got it.

Lila nods, managing a tight smile before escaping from the vulnerability. Farkle watches her go, the ghost of a smile appearing on his face as he puts his water glass in the sink.

EXT. HART FAMILY HOME - FRONT PORCH - NIGHT

Maya has retreated to the fresh air again, sitting on the hammock chair on the porch. Katy steps out to join her, quietly settling down next to her. She questions whether or not Maya has had enough dancing around the issues and is ready to talk about them. They exchange a look, Katy quirking an eyebrow knowingly.

It’s hard to hide from Katy. Maya sighs dramatically, Katy breaking into a smile and wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

Maya, melodramatically: It sure is nice out here in the middle of nowhere. Fresh air, quiet, a strange sort of whimsy that comes from having absolutely nothing to offer. [ sighing ] Perhaps it would be better to retire out here to live out the rest of my days, shelving the glitz and glamour of show business for the humble accommodations of the Vermont hillside.

Katy: You’re a good actress, but you aren’t that good, baby girl.

Point taken. It’s not a convincing option, coming from Maya. Katy redirects the conversation to what Maya might be running from instead, because she knows it has nothing to do with the dream.

Finally, Maya does her best to talk it out. She admits that Farkle will be returning to school next week, and she just needed the chance to get away from it all and really think. She’s not really upset with him anymore -- in some ways she is, but mostly she’s just tired. She wants the theatrics between them to stop, but she doesn’t think she wants to remove him from her life for that to happen. She liked having him as a friend; she misses him, and she doesn’t think she can continue to front that she doesn’t anymore. It’s too exhausting, living as a projection rather than authentically herself.

That being said, she doesn’t want things to follow the same pattern and self-destruct all over again. Something has to give, something has to change if they’re going to be friends again. She isn’t sure what, but she figures it won’t even matter if Farkle himself isn’t open to discussing it or willing to change.

As Katy wisely says, it seems like the next logical thing to do is to bring Farkle back into the conversation. Maybe he isn’t willing to change... or maybe he’s been thinking the exact same things. There’s only one way to find out, even if it’s daunting.

Maya sighs, accepting this as truth. She cuddles closer to her mom, reveling in how nice it feels to have her there with her again.

Maya: I love you, mom.

Katy: I love you, too. Every hour of every day.

She places a kiss on the top of her head, settling into the quiet of the Vermont evening.

EXT. BLUE’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

As they arrive to drop Isadora off, Valerie is already overcompensating for the earlier strain in trying to decide what they’ll do tomorrow. And has Isadora figured out who will be accompanying them on Friday? She doesn’t want to rush her, or anything, but it is coming around the bend.

Socially, Isadora has reached her limit. She sort of snaps at Valerie, stating no, she hasn’t figured it out yet. Things go quiet between them, Isadora sighing and facing towards the door. She opts not to just run from the negativity and tries to be honest with Valerie, expressing that she just needs some space. She’s glad she’s there, she is, but it’s… too much all at once. Maybe some time to herself would help.

Valerie does her best to be okay with it, but it’s evident she’s hurt. She relents, bidding Isadora goodnight and requesting that she reach out when she’s feeling more… interested in being with her again. But no rush.

As Valerie walks off, Isadora watches after her. She’s torn, not satisfied with how that conversation went but also too exhausted to deal with it further. She disappears into the apartment.

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Run And Tell That” as performed by Hairspray Original Movie Cast || Performed by Zay Babineaux

The groovy intro floats over the city as a new day starts, zeroing on Zay emerging from the subway as he launches into the first verse. As he runs and dances his way around Manhattan, bystanders seem to join in on the performance and supplement the epic feeling of his progression through the city.

He darts in and out of buildings, sliding onto the stages and giving a flurry of different auditions. His outfit and style shift as he goes, representing the passage of time throughout the week as well as how he presents himself to each opportunity. Regardless, one trait remains the same -- his unmistakable talent.

INT. AUDITORIUM - DAY

When it gets to the Little Inez bridge, it’s not a different performer but rather stands in as Zay’s “audition” piece. And suffice to say, it’s impressive, showing off his energy and overlooked vocal power. About time we saw this spirit again!

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY

Audition portion completed, Zay bursts back out onto the streets of Manhattan. More and more of the crowd has gotten into the groove, creating a truly vibrant and energetic portrait of the city.

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DANCE LOT - DAY

We make a return to a friendly setting to conclude the number, Zay rounding out the performance with his crew of talented and eclectic youth at the dance lot. No Charlie accompanying him this time around, but that doesn’t seem to make a difference. He’s alight with the passion he’s been putting on display all week.

Maybe this is what everything is all about. It’s like he’s gotten so distracted with everything else, he forgot why performing makes him so happy in the first place.

No ignoring it now, that’s for sure. The fellow dancers crowd around and give him welcoming pats on the back and high-fives as he slays the final run. Woo!

EXT. CENTRAL PARK - DAY

Meanwhile, Riley and Lucas are taking a well-needed reprieve from all their court-ordered do-gooding. They’re basically having a lowkey picnic, snacking on a late lunch after another long day of volunteering. Conversation seems to be easy between them, Lucas sprawled on his back and staring at the sky while Riley sits cross-legged an arm’s reach away.

After their chuckles die down from whatever they were talking about previously, Riley states that Lucas was really good at the animal shelter. He definitely has a knack for working with animals, at least far more so than anything else they’ve spent the last week doing.

Lucas: I don’t think it’s hard to show more enthusiasm towards animals than say, trash on the side of the interstate.

Riley: [ nudging him ] I’m serious. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve seen you be that interested in something… like, ever.

Lucas: It’s not my fault most things aren’t interesting. If they want my attention, then they should be better.

Riley shakes her head, biting back a laugh. She tilts her head at him.

Riley: I’m just saying. Maybe this could become something more permanent. You know, when it’s not a punishment for criminal activity. [ a beat, then playful ] Maybe you could get into the habit of actually doing good.

Lucas, thoughtfully: … maybe with you I could.

Oh. That’s not very playful or offhand at all. Lucas realizes his slip up a second too late, glancing nervously at Riley before directing his gaze anywhere but at her. Given that he’s facing the sky, it’s not hard to find other places to look.

But Riley doesn’t miss the moment. She absorbs it, smiling lightly to herself and pressing her lips together to hide it.

After a moment of quiet, Riley starts to broach the topic of how things have been the last few months. She figures it’ll be a touchy subject, but surprisingly, Lucas claims he has something he wants to say about that. She watches him curiously as he pushes himself upright, propping his elbows on his knees and taking a deep breath.

Then he meets her eyes, trying his best to be sincere.

Lucas: I’m sorry. About the way I’ve been acting.

Riley: I get it. There’s been a lot going on.

Lucas: Yeah. But that’s not an excuse. [ a beat ] I think… it just got too easy to deflect. Do you know what I mean? Like things were never good, but then with each thing that got stacked on top of each other in the last month it just felt like another good reason to fall apart. To let another screw go loose, and push away another person who was trying to fix it, until I was standing in the precinct parking lot with a whole bunch of… spare parts, junk, and no clue how they fit together anymore. And I’d done a good job of telling everybody to fuck off, so there’s no one left to help me put things back together. Now I’ve just got to… do it. It just sucks that it took hitting every rock on the way to the bottom for me to realize it.

Riley frowns, sympathetic. But she doesn’t interrupt, letting him work through the feelings on his own.

Lucas: I got there, and now I’ve got to try and fix it, but no amount of reason is a good enough excuse for the way I’ve been treating people. Especially you. [ looking at her ] So I’m genuinely sorry.

An apology was more than Riley was ever expecting, least of all one that feels so honest. There’s a moment of quiet, then she accepts it. They exchange tentative smiles.

Riley questions if he’s planning the same approach for his other friends, to which Lucas sort of laughs and weakly states he doesn’t know who would even count as a friend anymore. She says Asher and Dylan without hesitation, and it’s clear from the way he grows even more timid that they’re at the forefront of his mind.

With a little more nudging, Lucas admits that he doesn’t see what the point is. He was rude to Riley, but he was reprehensible with them. They were there for him and he took advantage of it at every turn, even if he didn’t consciously mean to. After the way they left things, with the things he said to Asher and everything with Dylan and the joy ride…

Lucas, defeated: He’s done. And he should be. [ shaking his head ] He’s never going to forgive me.

Riley understands the hesitation, but she delicately offers a counterpoint.

Riley: Not to sound like the dreamy optimist, but I really wouldn’t be so sure about that.

Lucas: You weren’t there, okay? You don’t know how -- I really fucked up.

Riley: No offense, but I don’t have to have been there to believe that. But I don’t think you’re giving Asher enough credit. I know I don’t know him the way you do, but he doesn’t seem like a particularly vengeful guy. Especially not with someone he loves so much. [ a beat ] You’d be surprised how hard it is to give up on someone you love.

Lucas seems bashful just at the insinuation, still far from comfortable with such open discussions of affection. But perhaps Riley has a point -- she speaks confidently enough, like she knows. He’s certainly listening.

Riley: I’m not giving any guarantees or anything. I just think that, yeah, if you never apologize because you think it’s not even worth it, then Asher definitely will never forgive you. If you never give things the chance to work out, then they won’t.

Something to think about. Lucas contemplates it, seriously considering her point.

INT. HART FAMILY HOME - DAY

Maya finds Vivian in the kitchen, prepping early for dinner. She asks if she wants any help, and Vivian cracks a joke about Maya volunteering to do any sort of housework. Is she sure she’s the same granddaughter she’s always known? Maya rolls her eyes, nudging her playfully before requesting instructions on where she can help.

While they work, Maya takes the opportunity to ask Vivian how she feels about Katy and her current straits. Considering Maya is, perhaps foolishly, trying to do the same thing, does Vivian regret letting Katy try to pursue her dreams rather than doing something more practical?

Vivian prefaces by telling Maya she knows she would never beat around the bush with her. Harts are hearty people, and damn honest at that.

Maya: Believe me, I know. Got a bit of a reputation for it myself.

That aside, Vivian admits that the whole notion of following the artistic dream does feel a bit reckless to her. She’s not a creative person either, so that doesn’t help the mystery of it in her eyes. But that being said… what’s life if not a little bit reckless?

Vivian: I may not get all of the hubbub around the dream, or the passion behind it. But what is the point of life other than to live it? Taking the guaranteed safe route when you believe you could do something more feels a little bit like cheating yourself… especially for someone as hearty as a Hart.

This placates Maya. It’s nice to remember that there are people in her corner all the time, even when they’re not in plain sight right there in front of her. She gives her grandmother a quick kiss on the cheek, then jumps back into dinner prep with the same intensity as a new performance.

INT. MINKUS HOME - DAY

As the week has waned on, Farkle’s energy has come and gone in waves, and presently it’s at a low point. He’s crashed on the couch, eyes glazed over as he watches television. He’s startled by a knock on the door, but he doesn’t make a point of rushing up to get it. When they knock again, Lila emerges from the hall rather than waiting for Farkle to get up and do something about it.

She returns a couple moments later, poking her head in from the entryway.

Lila: Hey. Someone’s here for you.

Farkle, monotonous: Couldn’t be. I don’t have friends.

Lila: You’ve had like five people come by this week. Who were they?

Farkle: Okay. Those were my only friends.

Lila: Would you stop wallowing and just get up? I’m going to let her in either way.

Farkle: You’re the worst sister ever.

Lila: Socialization is good for you.

Isadora, from off-screen: This is ridiculous --

Farkle frowns as he places the familiar voice, turning to look over his shoulder just as Isadora marches into the room. Farkle’s eyes widen and he scrambles to his feet, obviously not expecting to see her at all.

Farkle: Isadora -- Smackle -- what [ adjusting his askew sweatshirt ] what are you doing here?

Isadora, unimpressed: What’s the matter? Did they take away your ability to walk and answer the door for yourself in treatment?

Farkle is speechless, embarrassed. This certainly isn’t the state you want one of your key intellectual rivals to see you in… well, ever. Lila looks back and forth between them, somewhat amused.

Lila: I’ll leave you to it, then. Nice to meet you, Isadora.

Isadora nods to her as Lila disappears back into the hall, snickering to herself.

Farkle and Isadora stand at an impasse for a moment, not sure what to say to one another. Farkle clears his throat, scratching at his neck.

Farkle: You didn’t have to come by. Just because you feel bad.

Isadora: That’s not -- [ scoffing ] that’s not why I came.

Farkle: No?

Isadora: No. I’m here to save your education.

Isadora marches over to him, shoving the homework from Cory into his arms. He manages to catch it, Isadora huffing and pushing past him further into the room. He sorts through the items, realizing that her intentions for visiting were at least partially utilitarian and genuine. He can appreciate that.

Farkle: Oh. Well. Thanks.

Isadora: Uh huh.

He puts down the homework amidst his spread of books on the coffee table, Isadora eyeing them and inching closer to get a better look. She curiously questions how his recovery is going, demonstrating her own knowledge of mental health exposure when she asks if they’re planning to put him on any permanent medication treatment plans.

Farkle flops back onto the couch, shrugging.

Farkle: They’re throwing all of it around. Lexapro. Zoloft. Prozac or Celexa. [ snorting ] You know what I realized? “Farkle” sounds like a drug. I’m a fucking antidepressant.

The problem, he concludes, is that they really don’t know what’s up him, so they’re hesitant to formulate a treatment plan. And makes sense, because he sure as hell doesn’t know what’s up with him either. Guess he’s destined to find out, sooner or later.

Isadora awkwardly wishes him luck with that, Farkle making an unimpressed face. Quiet settles between them -- she’s done her duty, and there’s nothing more to say -- but for some reason she doesn’t rush to leave.

Farkle hardly notices, sort of zoning out. Isadora recognizes the vibe, commenting that it’s okay. Farkle blinks, snapping out of it.

Farkle: Huh?

Isadora: That they’re still there. The… those kind of thoughts. They’re not just going to disappear because you went to one rehab treatment.

Farkle: Auspicious. Thank you.

Isadora: I’m only saying, you don’t have to be back in tip-top tyrant shape right away. You can… take a moment. Remember how to breathe again before you take off running.

Oddly apt to what he’s feeling, even if he’d never vocalize it. He doesn’t seem convinced, but Isadora isn’t going to just say her piece and go. If she’s going to make her point, then she wants to make sure Farkle really hears it.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Here Comes A Thought” as performed by Estelle & AJ Michalka|| Performed by Isadora De La Cruz & Farkle Minkus

With the opening synth, Isadora hesitantly takes a seat closer to Farkle. Her vocals, although strong as usual, also have a softer edge than we’re used to when she performs -- it’s an intimate conversation, still, even in song form.

The whole performance is very lowkey, the two of them simply sitting next to each other, watching each other carefully. Farkle joins in about halfway through, allowing himself to be more open about his mental state for the first time in the episode.

As the song comes to an end, there’s an unusually vulnerable moment shared between the two of them. They hold eye contact, recreating some of that feeling they felt in Eric’s office during group week although no closer to really understanding what it is.

Isadora clears her throat, searching for a change in subject. She nods towards the English homework.

Isadora: Sorry about the book, by the way. It’s a little banged up, but it’s the best I could do.

Farkle reaches for it, taking it in his hands. Pride & Prejudice. A well-worn copy of it, notes and annotations in the margins visible as he flips through it.

Farkle: Cory didn’t give you a school copy?

Isadora: He did… but I’m pretty sure my mom lost it. [ off Farkle’s snort ] She was all excited to enjoy some “truly classic literature” while endeavoring in her “cultured” stay with me, and I haven’t seen it since. So you get my personal copy instead.

Farkle: Oh, big honor.

Isadora: It is. There’s some genius analysis going on in those margins. Not many are so lucky as to get to experience it for themselves.

Farkle chuckles, taking a better look at some of the annotations. Then he manages a smile, holding up the book indicatively.

Farkle: I’m sure your additions will make for an interesting read, if nothing else.

Isadora tentatively returns the smile, edging her way towards the door to go. She hesitates, spinning back around and asking Farkle if he’s busy Friday evening.

Farkle: … I’m a freshly released mental patient who is basically on mother-ordered house arrest. So naturally, I’m booked solid.

Isadora: You’re not aware that I suck at sensing sarcasm, but I’m going to assume that was it. And if you’re not busy… what are your feelings on Hamilton?

INT. SVORSKI’S CAFE - DAY

Friday afternoon, end of break impending. Lucas is sitting alone at a table in the back corner, tapping his fingers nervously on the surface. There’s an iced drink in front of him, but he hasn’t touched it. Every time the cafe door bell jingles he jumps, looking towards the entrance and expecting to see someone important.

It’s always someone else. Lucas deflates after about the third repetition of this, slouching in his seat and dropping his gaze down to the drink in front of him.

The bell jingles again.

This time, it’s Asher pushing his way through the door. Lucas straightens up, swallowing and waiting for Asher to finish scanning the room and find him. He waves at him when they lock eyes, but it sort of looks like an anxious twitch.

Still, he gets the message. After a moment of hesitation, Asher cautiously makes his way through the cafe towards him. He keeps his hands in his coat pockets, on the defensive as he comes to stand at the table.

Lucas greets him, awkwardly standing as well. There’s an uncomfortable moment where they both look at one another, not sure what to do next, before Asher settles in the chair opposite him. Lucas takes that as his cue, dropping back down into his seat as well.

Lucas: I got you a drink. [ sliding the drink across the table ] Peach lemonade. ‘Cause I know you like it. I didn’t add like, sugars or anything, because I wasn’t… well, I figured you would know how you’d want that. If any.

Asher glances down at the drink. He lightly touches the lid, running his fingers along it. Not saying anything.

Lucas stares at him, obviously wishing he would. At a loss for how to proceed tactfully, everything he wants to say tumbles out of him unceremoniously.

Lucas: You were right to get upset. Okay? Believe me, I know that. And I promise, I’m going to pay you back for the bail money. And the hospital bill from my wrist, and… and like, all of it. I’m going to make the money and then I’m going to pay it back.

[ Asher lifts his eyes, watching him uncertainly. Lucas trips over what to say next. ]

Lucas: And I’m done with the stupid stunts. No more pulling Dylan into anything either. And I don’t know if I did any damage to your car -- I don’t think I did -- but like, tell me if I did and I’ll fix it. I’m going to -- I’ll fix it. Tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it. I’ll do anything.

Still nothing. Asher is clearly listening, contemplative, but to Lucas it just feels like a wall. He grows more desperate, voice cracking and speech terse as he chokes on the emotion.

Lucas: You’re my best friend. [ a beat ] You’re my best friend, and I’m sorry that I fucked that up. And I know that… I know I can survive without you. Duh. I could do it, if I had to. But… I don’t want to. [ shaking his head ] I don’t want to think about my life without you in it.

The air is heavy with the truth of his words. Asher quietly absorbs them, dipping his head down to look at the drink. A second of silence. Then another. Then another.

Lucas: Okay, I know I just finished saying that you don’t owe me anything and I’m the one groveling but… could you please say something? Maybe?

A few more moments of silence that feel like an eternity. Then, Asher lifts his gaze to meet his. When his speaks, his voice is soft.

Asher, deadpan: You could start by getting me a straw.

Not the most forthright of acceptances, but not a cold dismissal by any means. And humorous, in Asher’s own special way. Lucas laughs, more out of relief that he’s speaking at all.

Asher: … I wasn’t kidding.

Lucas: Oh. Oh! Hold on --

Lucas gets up, grabbing a straw and sliding back into his seat. He waits as Asher unwraps the straw and sticks it into the lid, taking his time.

Before he takes a sip, he meets his eyes again. This time, some of the warm familiarity they share has reappeared.

Asher, quietly: Thanks, meatball.

The nickname is more of a signal than any verbal acceptance of his apology. Lucas cracks another relieved smile, Asher mirroring it lightly as he takes a long sip of the lemonade.

Perhaps all is not broken beyond repair.

EXT. MINKUS BUILDING - NIGHT

Valerie and Isadora are walking Farkle back to his building post-Hamilton, raving about the show and keeping up a relatively consistent chatter. Isadora is doing more observing of her mother and former rival interacting than contributing, but it isn’t an issue this time. And she seems to be enjoying herself nevertheless.

As they stop outside his building, Farkle states that they didn’t have to walk him all this way. Isadora claims actually, they did, as it was part of the requirements for his mother to let him come along with them.

Farkle: Yeah… thanks for inviting me. It was nice to get out of the apartment -- think I was going a little stir crazy.

Valerie: It was our pleasure, truly.

Isadora: Surprisingly.

[ Farkle narrows his eyes at Isadora. She matches the expression, causing him to crack and offer the ghost of a smirk. ]

Valerie: And you’ll be going back to Triple A after this weekend, no? Suppose this could be considered a trial run of some sort. A dress rehearsal!

Farkle: Yes, well, that will be a spectacle all its own, I’m sure. [ to Valerie ] Thank you, again. [ to Isadora, with a nod ] Isadora.

Isadora returns the nod, Farkle heading into the building through the revolving door. Valerie makes an expression at Isadora, raising her eyebrows.

Isadora, genuinely lost: What?

Valerie raises her hands in surrender, although the amusement doesn’t leave her features. Isadora obviously wants to question her, but the more they walk towards the subway the more emboldened Valerie becomes. Before they descend down into the station, she pulls Isadora aside and states there’s something she needs to tell her.

The reason that she came to stay with Isadora for the break wasn’t just because of everything going on here -- though that is part of it, and she’s happy to have been there for Isadora even if she can be a bit much.

Isadora: Well, I wouldn’t say --

Valerie: Oh, don’t try to sugarcoat it. I’m a big celebrity, I can take my share of critique. And I know we aren’t perfectly matched. I can be a lot, certainly more than you’re used to. But we’re improving, aren’t we? Every day.

Isadora can agree with that much. Valerie goes on to explain that she’s been doing a lot of thinking, much contemplation, and part of the reason she came to stay the week was to test the waters of their dynamic in long terms. Because... she hopes to try and get back custody of Isadora so that she never has to deal with this foster care business again. That, and of course, they can be a proper mother and daughter.

Isadora is shocked. At her stunned expression, Valerie quickly begins to articulate all the thought she has put into it. Naturally, she would only pursue it if it’s something Isadora would want… and does she think, maybe, it’s something she would want?

The moments that Isadora hesitates feel unbearable. Then, surprising even herself, she speaks.

Isadora: Yeah. [ a beat ] Yeah. It is. I would.

Valerie takes a moment to absorb it, realizing Isadora has said yes.

Valerie: Yes. Yes!

Valerie takes her hands excitedly, then remembers her discomfort with touch and pulls back. But Isadora mirrors her excitement, choosing to link their hands lightly again. Valerie brightens, launching into all of the wonderful things this could hold for them. Sure, it will require changes, and further understanding of one another as they go, but they have time for that. They have all the time in the world to figure it out.

Regardless, they will have one another. Decisively, like never before.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Stone” as performed by Alessia Cara || Performed by Isadora De La Cruz & Valerie De La Cruz

Valerie launches into the song first, Isadora easing her way into the harmony. Their voices combine in a delicately powerful duet, accented beautifully with the scenery of Manhattan glittering in the night.

They make their way through the streets, somewhat dancing around one another but actually in step for once. Both of them are smiling as well, the true cause of how bright the evening feels.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Zay is grooving in his room to his own music, laying out and taking stock of all the auditions he went out for over break. He seems proud of himself, as he should be.

DONNA BABINEAUX knocks on the door, Zay stretching to turn down the music. She skims through the papers on his desk, asking what he’s been up to all holiday running in and out. He eagerly tells her all about the stuff he went out for, Donna brightening the more he discusses it. Once he concludes she exchanges a double high-five with him before pulling him into a hug, planting a kiss on top of his head until he manages to shrug away.

Still, Donna is far from oblivious. She innocently questions what brought on this sudden surge of ambition. Zay falters, just for a moment, then maintains his positive demeanor as he shrugs. He claims senior year is right around the corner. May as well start doing all he can to leave an impression.

For now, Donna leaves it be. She reiterates how proud she is of him one more time before telling him goodnight. Alone again, Zay glances at his desk spread again and another smile drifts onto his face. Settling on his bed, he reclines comfortably and shifts to looking at his phone, on instinct going to send a message to Charlie.

Once the message thread is open, however, he freezes. The searing reminder of the state their relationship is in hits him all at once, temporarily forgotten in the hustle of utilizing his spring break. So in some ways, his initial reason for setting out to break ground succeeded -- only it hurts far more to return to reality than he anticipated.

His fingers hesitate over the keyboard, totally at a loss.

INT. GARDNER HOME - CHARLIE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

As it turns out, Charlie is feeling the exact same way. He’s at his laptop, message thread open with Zay and trying to figure out what to say. Obviously desperate to say something, but not having any idea how he could.

The indecision will remain for a bit longer. He avoids it again, exiting out of the messages and returning back to his browser. A few of the tabs he had open at school are on screen again, giving us a better look at what he’s actually investigating.

Other arts schools. Transfer applications. The one on screen is for Haverford Prep, but it’s just one of many. It would require a whole other round of auditions all over again, but it’s clear for some reason, he’s putting the option on the table.

Charlie may not fix his problems at all.

He might run instead.

INT. MINKUS HOME - DAY

Farkle opens the door for one final visitor, expression going blank when he locks eyes with Maya. She returns his stare, more prideful in her stature, but clearly there by choice.

Farkle, stunned: Maya.

Maya: … that’s my name, yes. So flattered you remember. [ a beat ] Are you going to invite me in?

Farkle: Oh, uh… yeah. Yes.

Farkle steps back, but Maya hardly waits for him to move. She breezes past him, Farkle somewhat dazed and low energy and nowhere able to battle with her this afternoon.

She enters the living room with more familiarity than any of the other classmates, eyeing the cocoon that Farkle has built for himself on the couch. The reality of his situation dismantles her bold facade, and she only minimally manages to repair it.

Farkle asks Maya how her break was, and she claims refreshing. She fires back the same question to him, and he shrugs indicatively towards the dent on the couch.

Farkle: I’m sure you can imagine.

She can. Silence settles between them, uncertain. Farkle breaks it first, launching into an apology with the same uneasy tempo as when he spoke to Charlie.

Farkle: You have every right to be upset with me. For everything I did. You should hate me, and I would understand it. I should never have let my jealousy dominate my actions, and furthermore, expose a secret you meant to keep under wraps. That you shared with me in confidence --

Maya, resigned: I don’t care about any of that, Farkle.

Farkle: … you… you don’t. You don’t care. No?

Maya hesitates, inhaling a breath. She searches for what she wants to say, crossing her arms.

Maya: The attempt to keep my... financial circumstances a secret was kind of a fool’s bet anyway. It had to come out eventually. And the video was far more embarrassing for you than me -- I think we can agree you more than paid for that.

Farkle doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he doesn’t interrupt. He’s more consumed by how great it is to talk to her again, how it feels to be back on the same page in some shape or form. No longer outcasted from her life, at least for a moment.

Maya: It was just… [ tentative ] I don’t have time to waste. I don’t have time to waste on people who aren’t worth the effort. And I thought -- I’ve had my experience with people who don’t keep their promises. I’ve had enough of it, forever, and so when you couldn’t be there for me and then twisted everything around, even when you said… even when we agreed to drop the antics…

Farkle, softly: I know.

Maya: So I thought the solution was the same. The last time someone hurt me this way, they left, and that solved the problem. I never had to deal with them again because they were out of my life. [ a beat ] Only I’m realizing that didn’t really solve anything. They’re gone, but the hurt is still there. Nothing about that situation is ever going to change, and it’s always going to hurt. Even with time.

Farkle: … but…

Maya: But… maybe, here, things could still change. If we make the right choices, better choices, then no one has to go. [ unusually fragile ] I don’t want you to go.

The additional meaning behind the sentiment goes without saying. Farkle swallows, realizing that the ball in his court now. Maya’s opening the door for him again, conditions attached, and he has to demonstrate that he’s capable of the privilege. That he’s capable of change.

So he tries to communicate it, in the best form of communication they know.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Thinking Of Him / I Miss the Music Reprise” as performed by Curtains Original Broadway Cast || Performed by Farkle Minkus & Maya Hart

A direct parallel to Farkle’s former performance in 204, he kicks off the soft duet with sincerity.

Farkle: What was I thinking when I let you slip away? [ a beat ] Oh, yeah…

He admits all the ways in which he was selfish or misguided in the past year, culminating in that emotional and vulnerable declaration (“But why pretend? I missed the music, I missed my friend”). As Maya joins in, she eases her way back towards him. Both of them end up on the couch, singing in harmony for the first time in what feels like ages.

Maya wraps her arms around his, gently resting her head against his shoulder. A smile slowly blooms across his face, and he allows himself to tilt his head back against hers.

I choose the music I make with you, I love the music I make with you.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

Upon return to school from break, Jack is back in his office and going through all of the new correspondence and paperwork that has piled up.

Lucas appears in his doorway, lightly knocking. Jack lifts his gaze, waiting for an explanation without a word. Lucas holds up the community service form, all filled out.

Lucas: Just needs your signature.

Jack nods, gesturing him in as he searches for a pen. Lucas waits patiently as he signs on the bottom to verify the hours, handing it back to him promptly. No praise, no congratulations. Just the expected transaction.

Lucas wasn’t expecting anything else. He folds the paper and starts to back out of the office, about to let that be that. But he hesitates, thinking about the past week and all of the other bold choices he’s had to make.

Lucas: I know I messed up.

Jack stiffens, not expecting there to be more either. He pauses to listen, leveling his gaze to watch Lucas. He keeps his expression politely neutral.

Lucas: Kind of seems like that’s all I do. And maybe it is. [ a beat ] But I’m going to try. I’m gonna make it right. I’m gonna make it up to you. I swear.

Lucas holds his gaze, not flinching away from the honesty. Meaning every word of it, and wanting it to be crystal clear.

Then he exits, not wasting another second. Jack stares at where he left, honestly not anticipating this earnest curveball. He has to blink to shake it off, the process of being emotionally removed no longer so plain and simple as it should be in theory.

He settles into his desk, aiming to distract himself via work instead. As he opens his desktop and goes to their email server, a message in his inbox seems to catch his attention. It’s from Evelyn Rand, school board member, and the subject line is a true attention-getter.

“Did you see this?”

Jack opens the email, skimming the message. From what he can tell, Evelyn has forwarded him a complaint that was filed with them over the course of spring break. It’s leveled against AAA, and the last line of her email stands out in particular.

“They intend to go public with this, from what I understand. What are you planning to do?”

Jack’s neutral demeanor is long gone. He frowns as he opens the attachment she’s sent, waiting impatiently as the compiled report on the complaint loads up. It’s a boisterous, flashy campaign against AAA for their “unfair enrollment procedures,” highlighting how personal favors and “special cases” gain coveted spots rather than hard-working, well-deserved, young talent willing to put in the effort and pay the price of admission.

It’s a smear tactic if there ever was one -- filed by a very indignant family -- but the tactic itself is hardly what causes the concern on Jack’s face. It’s the subject they’ve chosen to be their pièce de résistance, the perfect example of how “corrupt” and “unmerited” the current enrollment is.

Lucas James Friar. His school portrait staring back at Jack from the center of the complaint, promising to be the unwitting key talking point for what might very turn out to be an unpleasant and loudly public Bradford temper tantrum.

Break time is definitely over.

END OF EPISODE.

#S2 #209 #episodes #y'all..... Y'ALL HERE WE GO

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gracie-p8-officialblog · 4 years

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Spilling Tea On Phantom of the Opera 2004

DISCLAIMER: I just want to say from the start that it is not my intention to offendanyone, you're entitled to your opinions and I'm allowed to have mine...

Ok, so, I just watched this movie a few days ago on my laptop and it was pretty much my first time sitting through the movie. I watched a few clips of the movie on YouTube but... Then, I decided to watch the whole movie. And this was my reaction.

Don't get me wrong! There WERE parts I liked but... That was just half of the movie... But overall... Um... It was meh. Ahem. Down to business!

My opinion on Gerard Butler as the Phantom? Um, wow. And not in a good way. I feel like this was a case of a talented performer being grossly miscast as the Phantom. I think this Tumblr post best describes on what I thought of his singing.

"He's supposed to have the voice of an angel, but it sounds like he's been gargling vinegar" ~Quoted by @faded-florals

Don't get me wrong. His voice is quite good for an untrained singer but... The Phantom is one of the biggest musical theatre roles of all time! It's right up there with Jean Valjean. It's really not a role that could go a competent singer, someone who's never sang professionally before but could be good once they've been trained up a bit. The role demands a truly great singer... And he wasn't right for the part.

His voice felt too strainy, growly and rock-ish for the Phantom. I didn't like how Joel Schumacher bought into the whole "sexy Phantom" thing and cast a hunky heart-throb, who was nowhere near disfigured enough. It's meant to be a gothic thriller novel with a small romantic subplot, not a B-grade vampire romance movie!

As for Emmy Rossum as Miss Christine Daae... it's true, her voice is good. She should know though, should she wish to excel, she has MUCH still to learn (Heeeeehee. Sorry. Couldn't resist.)

Emmy's Christine had little-to-no character growth and personality but I don't think it reflects her as an actress, but reflects more on the director and casting director because of how young she was (but more on that later)

Not only that, her Christine was SIGNIFICANTLY dumbed down and oversexualized. I mean, the entire point of the story is that Christine grows strong enough to overcome the trauma of an abusive relationship and make sure that her abuser never hurts anyone ever again but still shows the Phantom compassion and sympathy. I mean, her story arc is her becoming strong-willed enough to overcome the Phantom's pull/spell/enchantment/hypnosis or whatever you percieve it as on her! And don't get me started on her costumes because of the SEVERE lack of modesty.

The chemistry was a little flat because she was underage and her two male love interests were both in their 30s (which totally isn't HER fault, of course, but the directors could easily have cast someone else older)

Her voice, too, strikes me as being much too young and undeveloped. She has a very pretty, sweet-sounding quality to her singing but she doesn't sound rich and operatic enough to be a convincing Christine. Rebecca Caine and Amy Manford do the best job of singing the way I think Christine ought to sound- a maturing opera voice! Though POTO is NOT an opera (you wouldn't believe how many people actually think it is...), it does revolve around opera, and Christine is an opera singer, not a pop star.

And now onto... Everyone's favourite vicomte!!!!!!

C'mon people, put your bottles down. It is a truth universally acknowledged (or at least in the wee Raoul Defense Squad Circle) that Raoul is one of the greatest and most underrated boyfriends to ever exist in musical theatre and it's almost impossible to hate him because of how relatable he is.

Ladies, puh-leeze. He's much more relatable than you admit and face it, we all have a little bit of Raoul in us. Failure to see things staring us in the face, saying or doing the wrong thing at the wrong time, having a 'see it to believe it' attitude when we have little-to-no evidence on something... yeah, don't pretend you don't see a trend. Raoul is relatable whether we want him to be or not.

My thoughts on Patrick Wilson as Raoul, he was one of the few redeeming qualities of this not so great movie. Yeah, the swordfight and Tarzan leaps were a little too much but can you blame him?! And though I feel like that foppish wig made him look more like a magic elf prince than a vicomte, he couldn't control that!

His Raoul was so gentle and caring! Yeah, his acting was a bit stiff but at least his voice wasn't a chore to listen to, it has this warm, tender, comforting quality to it which suits Raoul. I really loved the way he sang "Don't throw away your life for my sake" and "I fought so hard to free you" in the Final Lair (😭😭😭) It feels like Raoul is genuinely apologising to Christine.

I know, I know... The Hadley Fraser fans are approaching with menacing expressions as we speak but let me clarify. I still think Hadley is amazing but... His Raoul kinda felt a little too shouty for me and his Raoul was closer to the LND-canon than POTO-canon (not his fault though).

Miranda Richardson (aka. Rita Skeeter) as Madame Giry is kind of weird. I mean, I know Madame Giry's supposed to be a little Strange and Mysterious. But this Mme. wasn't really Strange or Mysterious at all, or even slightly Spooky at all. She was just kind of an oddball. Popping up in random places to give warnings about the Phantom and looking at people as if she were questioning their life choices or something. As for her daughter... well, Jennifer Ellison's Meg was so-so. She's got a sweet-sounding voice and that added scene where she looked for Christine in the lair was a nice touch... But... Her Meg was kinda forgettable and uninteresting. Meg is supposed to prance around shrieking that the Phantom of the Opera is here, not whisper it in a blase manner that you half expect to be followed up with, "by the way, what's for lunch?" Not to mention, she rivaled Christine as far as low-necked costumes went.

Minnie Driver as Carlotta was spot on! Yes, I know she didn't sing the score but her acting was alright. She was very over-the-top and self-centered, which is great for Carlotta, but I felt her portrayal was a little too childish to be accurate. Carlotta is a successful middle-aged diva who's willing to scream and storm when she doesn't get her way, but she isn't a two-year-old pouting and throwing tantrums. (Yes, there's a difference.)

Ciaran Hinds and Simon Callow played Firmin and Andre, respectively. Their managers kinda felt like twits and nothing more. Also, Firmin's masquerade costume was ridiculous. The stupid kind, not the funny kind. ...Well, okay, it was a little funny.

I'm not going to touch on every song here, but I will say that "Hannibal" was beyond awful (if you thought the costumes in the stage version were a bit risque, you should see the movie ones- no, actually you shouldn't) and that "Think of Me," while very nice, was not particularly memorable. Christine's dress, however (despite its less-than-ideal neckline) was GORGEOUS, even though it looks completely out of place in a musical that supposedly takes place in ancient Alexandria.

"Little Lotte" kinda lost its charm by being spoken instead of sung. And Gerard Butler's voice in "The Mirror" was too rough and raspy for my ears and made me cringe in sympathetic shame. The title song was like a cheesy, campy B-grade horror movie tbh, trying way too hard to be spooky and chilling ("ooh, look, Phantom's Lair! It's DARK and SCARY down here!") and succeeding only in being cringeworthy. Not that I've actually ever seen a bad horror movie- or any horror movie at all, for that matter. Unless you count this one.

Christine's costume, too, annoyed me no end. She was basically wearing a corset and drawers under the dressing gown. *facepalm* The dressing gown is supposed to go OVER your COSTUME to keep it CLEAN, peeps. It's not a BATHROBE. And the amount of eye makeup she had on would terrify a raccoon. Yikes.

Though I liked the random horse because of its nod to the Leroux novel.

"Music of the Night" was so blah-slash-touchy-feely that it made me summarily uncomfortable.

I'd like to be able to say something nice about "I remember/Stranger than you dreamt it" but I have none. One thing that bugged me to no end was how Christine is no longer wearing stockings, like dude, that gives some GROSS implications. Anyways, let's skip to Il Muto!

Oh, but first I should say that "Notes" was rather a flop and that "Prima Donna" is unmemorable and indeed should probably be fast-forwarded as there's a rather unsavory bit involving a crew member showing the audience what he thinks of Carlotta's behaviour.

"Il Muto," I must say, was pretty doggone funny. Carlotta's "Your part is silent. Leetle toad," cracked me up into a bunch of giggling little pieces, and the little vignette of the Phantom tinkering with Carlotta's throat spray made her croaking later on a lot more believable.

Now for "All I Ask Of You", SQUEEEEEE!!!!!!!!! I honestly can't understand how anyone could listen to this song and still maintain that Christine and Raoul don't belong together. He represents everything she needs- stability, protection, a guiding hand and affirmed affection. She represents everything he needs, in turn- someone to show affection to and his childhood friend.

One thing I definitely think could have been left out was the scene in which Erik kills Buquet- we totally did not need to see him being chased, terrified, through the rafters and finally strangled. Gross.

And the Phantom and his rose crouching behind that statue... I think this was supposed to be sad, but there was too much snot mixed with tears for it to be sad. It was, again, gross. So was Gerard Butler's pathetic attempt at the "all that the Phantom asked of you" line. And the lack of a chandelier crash in that scene made the song anticlimactic.

And "Masquerade" was so-so but... The Phantom's entrance is anticlimactic somehow, and his Red Death costume (if indeed it's supposed to even BE the Red Death) is unimpressive. I don't like how Raoul just runs off to desert Christine as soon as things start looking ugly (yes, I realize he was going to get his sword, but still... something could have happened to her while he was gone. Duh, did this guy learn anything from "Little Lotte/The Mirror"? Just sayin)

As for Madame Giry's flashback immediately following, I like how it gives us some of the Phantom's backstory, but it seems really abrupt. You don't even realize until she's done that she was talking to Raoul the whole time- it sounds like she's just randomly reminiscing about Stuff, and if you didn't know the story you might be sitting there thinking, "who is this strange woman again?"

Also, Christine leaving wherever-it-is at, like, five in the morning to go to who-knows-where, completely oblivious to the fact that the Phantom is driving her. Whaaaaaaaaa? How'd he know she was planning to go for a graveyard stroll? Was he watching her through the mirror again? THAT'S JUST CREEPY.

"Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again" was rather mediocre and dulled down the fact that it is a Christine Empowerment™ song. Why, exactly, does Christine's father have the biggest monument in the cemetery? If he were a rich and famous violinist as his crypt seems to suggest, why on earth was his daughter struggling along as a chorus girl taking free music lessons?

The swordfight... Well... I had mixed feelings about it. Sword fights are all well and good, but... The swordfight takes away the element of mysterious danger to the Phantom. Okay, fine, Christine getting Raoul to spare the Phantom's life is a nice touch, I guess, but did it strike no one else that his "now let it be war upon you BOTH" makes absolutely NO sense after that? If she just saved his life, why would he suddenly be all, "thanks, but no thanks, I'M GOING TO MURDER YOUUUUUUUUUU"?

And "Twisted Every Way" was after "Wishing" which made ZERO sense. Plus, I didn't like how they cut most of it because in the musical, it gave Christine a spine!

"Point of No Return"? Hooooooo boy....... There are so many things wrong with this number. Let's just a list a few.

*HOW did no one recognise the Phantom through his "disguise"?! At least in the stage play, it made more sense because of how he was wearing a cloak that obscured most of his body.

*Christine's sleeves falling down over and over again were REALLY annoying.

*It was just too touchy-feely for my taste.

*The fact that Emmy Rossum was a teenager during filming made this scene gross because of the way they oversexualized Christine in this scene.

*Gerard Butler's voice in that scene made me cringe and shake my head in sympathetic shame.

*In the stage play, Christine ran from him, showing her own agenda and resistance to his pull! While in the movie, she didn't resist him!

*Now for the one that took the cake... The disfigurement! Or it would be a disfigurement if it actually made him look, y'know, deformed. Instead, as several people have put it, he looks like he got a bad sunburn or something. It's really rather pathetic. It makes him look more like a drama queen than he already is! Yeah.... I really don't like this movie.

On to... Final Lair!!!!!!!! It was a flop. From Raoul's whining and flailing around and his stringy hair flopping about (shallow complaint, I know, but it's so ugly) to Christine's sappy melodramatic "don't make me choooooooose" faces to the Phantom's prancing around with his ropes and maniacal laughter that somehow wasn't really scary at all... yeah, it was a flop. A major, major flop. And though The Kiss wasn't all that bad, all I could think of was, "She's SIXTEEN! SIX! TEEN! THIS IS CREEPY, DISTURBING AND GROSS!"

Which is why it's so difficult for me to admit that, um, I... cried at the end.

I COULDN'T HELP IT GUYS HE WAS ALL ALONE THERE IN HIS LAKE WITH HIS MONKEY AND HIS SMASHED MIRRORS AND HE WAS CRYING AND IT WAS SAD.

And then that rose on the gravestone? That single red rose? And the look on Old Raoul's face (still Patrick Wilson, by the way, under all that makeup) when he saw it and realized he wasn't the only one visiting Christine's grave? Yup, I lost it again there, too. And I really didn't want to. Because I tend to cry over movies I love, y'know? And I didn't love this movie. At all

Yet I still cried at the end. I'm not really sure why. I think perhaps it had something to do with the way the story still "got" me, deep down inside, despite the lousy casting and less-than-perfect singing and ridiculously unnecessary elements that totally didn't need to be there. It's still a tragically beautiful romance, and even a bad film can't kill that.

In conclusion, I think Mary Poppins can best express what I thought of POTO 2004.

In conclusion, I rate it a 2.7/5

#Grace spills tea #grace speaks #poto 2004 #phantom of the opera musical #phantom of the opera #the phantom of the opera #Phantom of the opera 2004 #movie review #my reviews

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meetmeatthecoda · 5 years

Text

Surprise!

@scifi-gk, I’m your Secret Santa! :D I know you’ve been going through some tough times recently but I hope you can still have a wonderful holiday and maybe this present will help with that a little! :) Much love to you and yours! <3

Just a quick word (lol as if) about your fic before I post it below: I took your prompt to heart, specifically the bit about the “shift that needs to take place within their dynamic”, and things got a little out of hand... I ended up writing just over 10k 0.0 To make that shift happen, I ended up writing a lot of mythology which is something super new to me but I know you have an affinity for! That being said, I did absolutely zero research and just kind of drew my own conclusions for shit so if I made any blatant canonical errors, I’m very sorry, just consider it an AU :’D So yeah, in addition to the mythology, there’s just a metric shit-ton of angst and drama and feelings which I felt were pretty necessary to get that shift down and then the last segment was the hardest part but also the scene I had specifically in mind when you said you wanted a believable first kiss ;) So yes, if you can wade through all the freaking drama, there is kissing at the end! :D Anyway, this fic was something new for me and I’m pretty unsure about it but, regardless of my feelings, I REALLY REALLY hope you like it and it’s an enjoyable present for you! :D Happy Holidays, my friend! :) Much, much love! <3

Everything has gone to hell.

It started with a phone call from Jennifer and her hushed words over the bad connection, “It’s time, Liz,” sending shivers down Liz’s spine. But she set a meeting with Red at his safehouse before she really knew what she was doing and texted Jennifer the address, sending the message with something like dread reverberating within her. She drove through the cold winter air, running a red light or two in her frazzled state, watching a few small snowflakes fall halfheartedly, melting as soon as they touched the pavement.

Not sticking.

And now, they’re here, waiting for Jennifer to arrive, and Liz’s gun is pointed at Red and he’s on his knees in front of her.

And the worst part is that it’s not the first time.

He’s looked very calm since she burst into the room with her gun drawn, maybe a little surprised and definitely curious, but calm. She tries to access that too-familiar well of anger she has stored up for him, that well that should be overflowing at the sight of his nonchalance, but it keeps eluding her. All she really feels is cold.

Numb.

When he saw her gun drawn, his eyes tightened a little, but he nodded solemnly and set down the book he was reading before she burst in, rising from his armchair.

“What have you found out, Lizzie?” he asked calmly, a mere query, as if he were asking her about the weather.

Liz didn’t bother questioning his assumption. He was right, of course. Why would she be on the rampage with a firearm if she hadn’t discovered something incriminating?

“You’re an imposter,” she blurts now, letting go of the ugly truth she’s been holding like a dark secret inside her for weeks, no pomp and circumstance, just lets it out. “You’re not the real Raymond Reddington. You’re not my father, or Jennifer’s. You’re a…pretender,” she hisses the last word, finally finding a little anger and betrayal from somewhere to throw at him.

(He’s hurt her so badly. It’s like Tom all over again.)

“Yes,” he says simply, as if he’s not rocking her entire world by admitting it. She had accepted it as the truth from the minute she looked at the DNA results, but she can feel now that there was a little nugget of desperation inside her that hoped he would deny it and explain everything.

(That would be a first.)

“Would you be amenable to hearing me out? I can explain things to you, once and for all, since you’ve discovered it on your own. And perhaps you could lower your gun?”

She blinks, taken aback by his reasonable suggestions, and she finds herself wanting to comply, wanting to trust, as she’s done many times before. Her gun wavers and lowers an inch or two.

Trust…

(The memory of Tom punching her in the face flashes before her eyes.)

Liz jerks her gun back up, trying to ignore the trembling in her hands. “No,” she spits. “No, I can’t do that.”

“All right,” Red says easily. And Liz watches as he slowly and carefully lowers himself to the floor, bending his knees until they touch the wood, holding Liz’s gaze the entire time.

Something aches inside her.

She should love this. She should revel in the victory of having the imposter prone before her. She should feel joy.

(But she really just hates this.)

“Are you sure you won’t listen? Just five minutes, Lizzie, that’s all it will take,” he tells her quietly.

That’s it, she wonders, that’s all it will take to explain her whole existence? Is she really that trivial?

(Yes.)

“No,” she repeats forcefully, telling herself as much as she’s telling him. “We have to wait for Jennifer to get here.”

“Jennifer?” his voice is sharp now, a cold tone of surprise, and she sees the skin below his eye twitch before he smothers it.

Ah.

Liz knows that he’s worried now, wary. He doesn’t know Jennifer, not like he knows Liz, he can’t predict what she’ll do, doesn’t know how to sway her.

Liz feels a frisson of fear go through her at the realization. Jennifer is angry. Jennifer is vengeful. Jennifer is unpredictable.

Oh.

But Liz doesn’t have time to ponder the implications of this before the door is bursting open once again and she whirls around to see her half-sister, eyes wild, holding a gun of her own, now trained on Red.

Oh.

(What has she done?)

“Jenn—” Liz starts to speak but Jennifer takes no notice, her eyes glinting with a dirty kind of pleasure at seeing Red there on the floor.

“On his knees already. Well done, Liz,” she smirks, a nasty thing that contorts her pretty face, darkens her eyes.

(Liz is reminded forcefully of Tom, no familiar glasses, all unobstructed cold eyes.)

“I –” Liz starts again but she doesn’t make any more progress.

“Well,” demands Jennifer loudly, speaking to Reddington now. “Liz and I have discovered you. And we want to know the truth, all of it. And then we’re gonna kill you,” she spits the last part and the vulgar words having Liz choking, afraid.

They never talked about this part. Sure, it was implied – mostly by Jennifer – that harm would come to Reddington once they gathered as much evidence as they could and confronted him. But Liz hadn’t thought about it. Perhaps she hadn’t allowed herself. Her primal need for the truth had driven her to this point but it prevented her from looking beyond.

Does she really want to kill Red?

She breaks her frozen gaze from Jennifer and turns back to him, now looking much tenser, his face and eyes tight, gaze cold, and back rigid.

(He looks scared.)

No. No, she doesn’t.

“Talk!”

Jennifer barks it, loud and unexpected, scaring them all. Liz jumps, her hands shaking around her gun, and she sees Red’s hand instinctively twitch towards the small of his back, reaching for the holster Liz knows usually rests there, the one she now sees on the table across the room.

He is unarmed.

And of course he is, he was expecting her after all, Lizzie, not an ambush from both of his angry pseudo daughters.

(No. No, no, no.)

Liz remembers that he made no such defensive move when she burst into the room, angry and scared. He didn’t try to defend himself. He saw no need because he trusts her. Seeing him glaring at Jennifer now, the difference is stark. He feels no affection for her, this girl, this comparative child. Liz feels her heart pound.

(Red trusts her, loves her. The look in his eyes is proof enough. And she’s betrayed him. Again.)

She has to do something.

Liz tries to think, desperately trying to come up with a way to distract Jennifer, just long enough to talk some sense into her, maybe she can –

“Fine.”

Red’s voice immediately distracts her. He’s going to talk. Explain. Tell them everything.

Finally.

And without further ado, he begins.

“Your father, Raymond Reddington, was involved in covert ops for the United States government. He had a wife, Carla, and a daughter, you, Jennifer, before he was asked to go undercover to Russia to gather intel from a double-crossing Russian agent, his CI. Your mother, Lizzie, Katarina.”

Liz feels a shock, warm and sudden, as Red meets her eyes.

“Little did he know,” Red continues, “she was already entangled with the Cabal. But as Raymond Reddington became more involved with the situation in Russia, things became more dangerous for his family in the U.S. and Carla entered the witness protection program with you, Jennifer. As things progressed, R—”

“Wait,” interrupts Jennifer. “Did mom talk with you, I mean, the real Reddington, my dad, before she went into witness protection? I was so young, I don’t…” she trails off, her brow furrowed.

“No,” answers Red calmly. “Carla suspected an affair between Reddington and someone he was working with in Russia and was resentful of all the pain he had put their family through, as well as leaving her alone to care for you, as young as you were at the time. Carla up and left and, as far as Reddington was concerned, you two had all but disappeared.”

“That’s why you didn’t know where they were,” whispers Liz, the pieces fitting together slowly. “Reddington didn’t know, so you didn’t know.”

Red nods once.

“But why did you want to find them if they weren’t your actual –”

“I was curious,” states Red dispassionately. Liz can feel Jennifer stiffen beside her. “And the real Raymond Reddington would have stopped at nothing to find them both. I had to stay in character.”

“But,” splutters Jennifer, and Liz glances over to see tears are leaking from her eyes. “I – So – Dad didn’t abandon us? Mom always made him out to be the bad guy!”

Red looks at her evenly. “That depends on what you consider abandonment. Carla certainly felt abandoned. Reddington dedicated more time to his mission than his family. Not to mention he had an affair with Katarina, hence Elizabeth.” Liz watches Jennifer’s lip tremble as she listens. “But who’s to say that he didn’t come to his senses when they disappeared. He may have regretted his thoughtlessness. I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?” shouts Jennifer suddenly, tears falling outright now. Liz feels a surge of adrenaline as Jennifer whips an arm back to wipe carelessly at her eyes, barely missing the trigger of her gun. Too close. “I have to know – how did – didn’t he care?”

She’s shouting now, furious and frustrated, and Liz feels a pang of sympathy. Jennifer has had much longer to stew in the mysteries of her past than Liz has. And, as Liz knows from experience, the not knowing is the worst part. Now she has the opportunity, Liz doesn’t blame Jennifer for pushing to know more.

(They must get their tenaciousness from their father.)

“Jennifer,” Liz says softly, trying to placate, but Jennifer jumps anyway, whirling towards her, gun and all, and Liz sees Red lurch forward on his knees, the first time he’s moved since Jennifer entered the room, with his hand outstretched as if to stop her. The unexpected motion has Jennifer turning back to train her gun on Red, conflicted and scared, and now it’s Liz’s turn to panic.

“Jennifer,” she says sharply. “You know that’s all he can tell you. You have to let it go now.”

“What,” she spits. “Are you on his side now?”

Liz’s heart stumbles.

“No,” she says, her voice trembling, the untruth burning her face. “But you’ve heard what you wanted to hear and I’m still waiting. You said we’d do this together. It’s my turn now.”

She sees Jennifer grit her teeth, annoyed but hearing the truth in her words.

“Fine.”

Liz wastes no time, turning back to Red immediately and finding him already staring at her with a curious expression. “Keep going,” she says urgently, desperately, and he nods after a brief moment.

“With Carla and Jennifer effectively removed from the situation, Reddington threw himself into his mission with Katarina and, as I said, things developed between them. They began an affair and she became pregnant with you, Lizzie. However, her husband, Constantin, was a loyal Russian agent, a dangerous one, and was unaware that Katarina was seeking asylum in the United States. Her desire to immigrate became even more urgent when you were born, Lizzie, and Katarina had to pretend you were Constantin’s daughter.”

“That’s why he came looking for me as a genetic match, he thought I was his,” Liz inserts the information she already had into the intricate tale Red is weaving, her eyes drifting as her mind moves a mile a minute. “But you persuaded him that I wasn’t…” Then she gasps, and her eyes fly back to Red. “You told him the truth, didn’t you? That I am Raymond Reddington’s daughter as he once suspected but his revenge was lost on you, since you aren’t…” she trails off, still having trouble disassociating Raymond Reddington from…well, Raymond Reddington.

“Yes,” Red affirms. “And I made sure he was eliminated afterwards. No one that I don’t implicitly trust can be told the truth and survive. It’s necessary to maintain the illusion.”

“What else?” Liz breathes, drunk on all the knowledge he’s giving her, more than he ever has before, afraid that he’ll stop and close off, return to the unreadable enigma he’s always been.

“The Cabal would only grant Katarina asylum if she brought them compromising information on Russia, which she finally managed to do when you were about four, Lizzie. She obtained the Fulcrum and fled Russia with you in one night, leaving Constantin, who had since begun to suspect Katarina and become dangerous to you both. Raymond Reddington escorted her to the house where everything changed…for all of us.”

“The house that caught fire,” Liz whispers, fully ensconced in his story, her story.

Their story.

“Wait,” Jennifer interrupts again, and Liz can tell she’s still interested, despite herself. “You keep saying ‘Raymond Reddington’ as if he’s another person and that’s because you’re referring to our actual father. But you haven’t mentioned yourself yet, so where do you come in? And how do you know all these things if you weren’t there yourself?”

“I was briefed on all of these events after the fact by reliable sources, after I assumed Raymond Reddington’s identity.”

Liz feels another shock go through her. This is the first time he’s said it outright like that. Blatant. Honest.

“You can trust my telling, it’s all true. And, to answer your other question, I’m about to enter the story. I was an up and coming naval intelligence officer while Raymond Reddington was in Russia. I was a hard worker and loved my job and, as a result, I rose to the top of my branch fairly quickly. Because of this, I was approached by the Cabal, masquerading at the time as a special branch of the military that needed my services. I considered it an honor to be asked to serve. I thought I was doing something worthy to serve my country. Little did I know the rampant politics and collusion that I was walking headfirst into.”

Liz can hear the bitterness in his tone, the regret and anger at the government he was once loyal to. She can easily imagine a younger Red – except he wasn’t Red then, no, he was someone else entirely, and god, her head hurts – as intelligent and driven as he is now, just more starry-eyed and hopeful, eager to please, only to have his whole life turned upside down by an evil organization intent only on serving their own interests. Liz absurdly feels her throat tighten at the thought.

“I was recruited and thrown into the situation in which Reddington and Katarina now found themselves. The Cabal –”

“Wait,” this time it’s Liz that is interrupting him, her tone slightly guilty but desperate. “Didn’t you have your own family? In your file, it says you abandoned your wife and daughter on Christmas Eve but…” Liz trails off, confused, and watches his eyes darken and pain take over his countenance. She suddenly regrets asking.

“Yes, I did,” he murmurs. “The Christmas Eve story in Reddington’s file is true. That was what happened to my own family, my wife and daughter, when I discovered what the Cabal truly was and attempted to reveal them. I disregarded their threats and…they killed my family. After I assumed Raymond’s Reddington’s identity, I changed the identities of my deceased wife and daughter to those of Carla and Jennifer to help protect them. That’s how I met Mr. Kaplan, actually.”

“Why?” demands Jennifer, chiming in now as the story returns to her personal history.

Red turns to look at her. “Witness protection is not infallible, Jennifer. Reddington had, and as a result I have, very powerful enemies. If they all believed you’d been killed, that was another layer of protection for you.”

“But why?” Liz asks in a much different tone, her eyes feeling wet. “Why would you make it look like your family never existed? Didn’t you –”

“They were both very loving and generous people, Lizzie,” he interrupts quietly, his eyes looking suspiciously wet now too. “I think they would both be happy to know that their deaths weren’t completely pointless. That they helped someone else somehow.”

A single tear escapes his long eyelashes and falls to the floor.

(And Liz feels the insane urge to lay down and cry at his feet, this man who sacrificed everything he held dear for people he didn’t even know.)

Red clears his throat roughly. “But by the time Katarina and Reddington made it safely to the United States, the Cabal assumed Reddington was more loyal to her and her daughter than the Cabal and sent me in to kill them both and obtain the fulcrum. I far as I was concerned, my family was gone, and I had nothing left to live for. I was weak and followed their orders blindly. However, the Cabal was wary of any changing loyalties and sent a team with me. When we arrived, I ordered them to hold position outside while I snuck in the house undetected, hoping to catch Reddington and Katarina unawares. I arrived just in time to hear them fighting over what to do about the Fulcrum.”

Red looks directly at her now, intensely. “They were very much in love, Lizzie, from what I understand. They were just having a disagreement over how best to handle the situation and, ultimately, protect you. You were there though and only about four years old and you didn’t know Reddington was your father. You only knew Constantin at the Summer Palace, that’s why you had such strong memories of the place. You didn’t know Reddington was your father, Lizzie, and he was fighting with your mother. You just wanted to help.”

His expression is earnest now and she can tell how much he doesn’t want to hurt her by telling her the truth. She feels tears rolling down her cheeks now as she nods at him. “How did it happen?”

Red swallows, closing his eyes for a moment before continuing in a hushed tone. “There was a gun, I’m not sure whose it was, probably Reddington’s, one he had carelessly abandoned. You had lived among spies and traitors long enough in your short life to know what a gun did. I watched from the shadows as you took the gun and pointed it, too quickly for me to stop you, there wasn’t any time, I couldn’t get to you in time –”

He seems desperate for her to understand this, and she can see the guilt weighing on him, her Atlas, trying to hold up the world for her, because he feels he owes her for what happened.

(She’s seeing him more clearly than ever.)

“It’s okay,” she’s whispering, shaking her head. “Keeping going, it’s okay.” And she can feel Jennifer looking at her oddly, but she ignores her because their story isn’t over.

It’s just beginning.

“You shot him,” Red gasps, a little exhale that has her hurting inside, even though she already knew what happened that night. She’s feels like she’s reliving it with him. “He died instantly, you must have hit a vital organ, and Katarina screamed. The gunshot tipped off the team waiting outside and they…they set fire to the house. They must have had other orders from the Cabal. Thinking their job done, they left. You ran off, frightened, and hid somewhere. I went outside and tried to put the fire out from there, but it caught too quickly. Knowing you and your mother were still inside, I went back in. Even though it was my directive to kill her, I couldn’t leave her to burn. Somehow that was…worse. I could hear her still there crying over your father’s body, but by the time I had returned, the flames had blocked off the room and I couldn’t get to her. I made the choice to leave her and search for you. I assumed she died in the fire until I later found out she survived the fire and, thinking you dead, walked into the ocean at Cape May. I don’t think she ever knew you survived. I tried to save her Lizzie, but I couldn’t find a way to get to her. She couldn’t hear me over the flames.”

A curious look glazes over Red’s eyes. “Fire is as loud as it is hot. I had no idea…I didn’t think that it…” he trails off, lost somewhere in the past until Jennifer shifts impatiently on her feet and he seems to snap out of it.

“The fire was bad by this point, everywhere, bringing the house down in places,” he continues haltingly, and Liz can tell immediately that he’s editing something out. Her throat is too clogged with tears to stop him. “I couldn’t save Katarina, but I knew you were still somewhere in the house and…I couldn’t leave you. You were just a child. I searched and yelled for you and soon I heard you screaming from inside a closet. Miraculously, the fire hadn’t reached you yet, but we didn’t have much time. I pulled you from the closet, you and your stuffed bunny, and we…escaped.”

So, he saved her. Liz must have always known on some level because she feels no true surprise at the revelation, just a calm acceptance. Some unidentifiable feeling is trying to push through the tears clogging her up, but she shoves it back, unable to handle anything else right now.

“I took you to Sam,” he says on an exhale, and Liz can tell the worst of it has passed. “He was my good friend from our military days and I didn’t know what else to do with a child. The Cabal was after me at this point for directly disobeying orders and I couldn’t take you with me, it was too dangerous. Besides, Sam always wanted a daughter.” He looks up to give her a watery smile and she lets out a small huff through her tears.

“I know,” she murmurs. Sam had often told her as much.

(God, she misses her dad.)

“I hid out for a few days,” Red’s saying now. “And thought everything through. I felt responsible about what happened to you and your parents. I soon decided that, with no family of my own left, the only thing I could do was try to fight the Cabal to create a safe future for you, in case they ever figured out who you were. My only goal was that yours was the last family the Cabal destroyed.” A dark fire enters Red’s eyes at his last words and Liz knows that this desire still burns within him.

(That’s the Red she knows, a dark harbinger of vengeful justice.)

“But I had nothing and no one to help me and it didn’t take me long to realize that Raymond Reddington many more contacts and resources than I did. So,” – the nonchalant shrug he gives here is almost hilarious – “I became him. We already had the same basic facial structure, body type, hair color – all things I considered signs that I was doing the right thing, though obviously they were just coincidences – and I had a few changes made to become a passable likeness. I didn’t have to do much, considering Reddington had been a top-secret agent, uncover mostly, and no one truly knew what he looked like. He was a ghost, a shadow, a rumor. So, I learned as much as I could about him and adopted some mannerisms but, mostly, I remade him. Created a new Reddington and built a criminal empire, making connections and calling in favors, running from the Cabal and trying to dismantle it from a distance.”

Red looks up at this, gazing somewhere over Liz’s shoulder in slight wonder. “The strangest part is, no one questioned it. It’s amazing what people will accept if you believe it yourself. Besides, I’d always been a good actor.” He meets Liz’s eyes then, curiously tentative and unsure. Afraid.

It hits her then how much he has just revealed, everything he has told them, things he has only trusted with a select few, and she wonders if she knows who he is anymore. She enormity of it all makes her head spin and she just blinks back at him, unfocused.

“Is that all?” asks Jennifer abruptly.

Red turns to her, his gaze hardening. “Yes.”

Jennifer glares at him long enough that Liz wonders what she’s thinking.

(What will she do?)

“You had no right!” she explodes suddenly, her eyes wild again in an instant and Liz feels cold dread settle in the pit of her stomach. “You sullied our father’s name, changed who he was, made a criminal out of him! You as good as killed him!”

The gun in her hands is shaking now and Liz is afraid. She understands though. Jennifer’s had comparatively little to do with this whole mess but everything she has learned tonight is shocking. Her father, whom at one point she thought was still alive and standing in front of her, betrayed her mother, may or may not have regretted it, had a child with another woman, and died an accidental death at the hands of her bastard half-sister, entangled in the politics of his job and the complications he created. Before now, maybe Jennifer had been holding onto the insane hope that her father was still alive somewhere. And even if not, Liz is sure she was holding onto some vain hope that he had good reasons for doing what he did to his family.

(Jennifer wants so desperately to forgive him.)

But, finding him irredeemable and nothing but more anger in the truth she’s wanted for years, she’s near homicidal. The only one here to blame is Red. And she’s got a gun.

“Jennifer –” starts Liz for what feels like the hundredth time tonight, but Jennifer is shaking with rage.

“No!” she yells, glaring at Red. “It’s all his fault! If he hadn’t – he shouldn’t of – he can’t –” But she’s too upset to form words, baseless accusations, desperate blame-placing, and the only thing she can do is cock the hammer of her gun with a damning click that sounds like a bomb to Liz’s ears, and point it at Red.

Red.

“NO!” the yell is ripped from her before she even knows what she’s doing, and she’s moved to stand in front of Red, who’s still defenseless on his knees, and suddenly she’s staring down the barrel of Jennifer’s gun.

(How, oh how, did she get here?)

Liz meets Jennifer’s eyes over the gun, which has lowered slightly in surprise, and watches as confusion colors her face, some of the anger seeping out.

“What are you doing, Liz? Get out of the way!” she yells. “This is what we’ve been waiting for!”

“No, Jennifer,” Liz says firmly. “This is what you’ve been waiting for! I never agreed to this!”

“What are you talking about?” she demands, incredulous. “He’s the reason our father’s dead!”

“No, he’s not!” Liz says, her voice rising. “He’s not and you would understand that if you calmed down enough to think!”

Jennifer grits her teeth and scowls at her. “Well, he as good as killed him! And it doesn’t even matter, he deserves to die after everything he’s done!��

“You’re not the one that gets to decide that, Jennifer!” yells Liz. “And he’s saved my life too many times for me to just let you kill him like this!”

“What do you like him now?” sneers Jennifer. “Has he become the daddy you always wanted?”

Liz feels anger spark hot embers inside her and she glares at Jennifer.

(She feels Red shift slightly behind her at Jennifer’s words.)

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Jennifer,” she says lowly, seething. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

“Oh, you’re gonna hurt me, Liz? Your own sister?” she taunts, heedless of her warnings.

“Half-sister,” Liz corrects nastily. “And I will if I have to. You need to walk away.”

“Why the hell would I walk away?” screams Jennifer, truly losing it now. “I’ve been waiting for years to get my revenge and I’m not gonna let you stand in my way! What incentive do I have to leave right now? And even if I did, I’d just find another way to get to him!”

“No, you won’t,” snaps Liz, an idea occurring to her that gives her hope. “Do you have any idea how many people you’ve killed, both indirectly and by your own hand, in pursuit of evidence against him?” she jerks her head backwards towards Red.

Jennifer blinks. “So?” she demands.

“I work for the FBI, dumb-ass!” snaps Liz. “I can implicate you in so many murders that they’ll put you away for life. Is that what you want?”

Jennifer’s guns wavers. Liz has her.

“I’ll make you a deal. As long as you stay far away from Red and I, just walk away and leave us, you’ll stay in the free and clear. But only as long as you do that. If you come near us again, if you ever try to hurt him, I will personally pick out your prison cell. Understand?”

Jennifer grinds her teeth, furious, looking for a way out and, not finding any, puts her gun down with a frustrated scream.

“Fine, Liz, stay with the imposter, the traitor, if that’s what you want, I don’t care! Just know that you’re no sister of mine! And you –” she leans around Liz to point fiercely at Red, making Liz lift her gun warningly “– know that I will never forgive you.”

They stare each other down for a long, tense moment before Jennifer whips around and storms out of the room, gone.

There is a long moment of nothing while Liz stares after her, feeling empty, numb, until she hears Red stir behind her, standing slowly.

He waits a moment while Liz reels inside before he speaks.

“Lizzie?”

She can’t say anything.

“Lizzie, I –”

And she feels his warm hand tentatively touch her cold one from behind, startling her to her core and she whips around, feeling her breathing start to speed up, her eyes wide. Red remains frozen, watching her warily with concern, and she just stares blankly at him for a moment.

There’s only one thought echoing over and over in her over-saturated brain as she looks at him.

“I don’t know who you are anymore.”

It’s a whisper, broken and tearful. Scared.

Red looks at her sadly.

“Yes, you do.”

He matches her, tone for tone, and it’s too much, something breaks inside and she’s spinning for the door, with a wordless groan.

“No, I have to leave –”

“Lizzie –”

“Leave me alone!”

She slams the door behind her, running from him, terrified and alone.

And she doesn’t know if she’ll ever stop.

Liz doesn’t remember getting back to her house – she suspects more traffic violations were involved, dark roads and loud car horns in the swirling snow – but when she becomes aware again, she’s sitting on her bathroom floor with her arms wrapped around her knees, rocking.

Everything she knew, everything she learned, everything that’s real to her now is crashing over her in waves, trying to sink her, and she’s just barely treading water, kicking her feet wildly, trying to keep her chin above the water line of everything that is too much.

Her father and her family and her history and her past and –

She’s pulling at her clothes now, yanking her shirt over her head and kicking out of her jeans, desperate to be free of the restraints, and stumbling towards the shower. Yes, a shower will help, hot water fixes everything doesn’t it?

(But she already feels like she’s drowning, so why is she heading into deeper water?)

Liz sets the water to the hottest it will go and turns her face up, her eyes closed and her thoughts racing.

She was the product of an affair, as she suspected, and supposedly there was love between her parents but who really knows? She’ll never be able to ask them because she killed her father and her mother – well, Liz is responsible for her death as well, isn’t she? Oh god, she killed both her parents –

And Red.

Red.

He saved her from the fire. He saved her life because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time and his family –

It’s getting harder to breathe now, standing in the shower thinking about all this, and some voice in the back of her brain is telling her she’s quickly entering the throes of a panic attack, but she can’t stop it. She only manages to shut the water off and stumble out of the shower, tears starting to mix with the water dripping from her hair as she yanks a towel off the rack to wrap around herself as she sinks to the floor, gasping for air amid her sobs.

Red, the one she swore to destroy, the one she thought destroyed her life, is a victim of destruction himself. He did the best he could with the awful circumstances he was thrown into and he didn’t mean to, Red didn’t –

But he’s not Red. She shudders from the cold settling into her wet skin and she feels so violated. He’s a strange man she doesn’t actually know, and he pretended to be someone else to get close to her –

Wait. No. No, that was Tom. Tom did that. Red? Red cares about her. That much couldn’t have been a ruse, not with the way he looked at her tonight. The only person Red has been pretending to be is Raymond Reddington. Her father. But he’s still Red to her and Red loves her. But –

Liz can’t take it anymore, she’s gasping and crying, and she can’t calm down and the only thing she can think to do is reach for her discarded pants and pull out her phone, hitting number seven on her speed dial with a shaking finger.

He picks up on the first ring.

“Lizzie?”

“Red – please – h-help me –”

“I’ll be right there.”

And he is, like he always is, throwing open the door an unknown amount of time later to find her still sitting there crying, still huddled in her towel, still needing him.

“Lizzie –” he gasps and he's down on the floor within seconds, tearing his coat off and wrapping it around her, quickly followed by his arms.

And she's desperate for the warmth and comfort he has always provided her and she's turning her face into his chest, wetting it with her tears, mumbling indistinct phrases and words while he rubs her back and tries to calm her.

“I killed them both – how can I – oh god – and you – you saved me – you –”

“Lizzie, it's okay, sweetheart, you just need to breathe and get warm, it's okay, I've got you –”

She manages to get her breathing under control and stifle the tears long enough to look up at him, his hand pausing in its ceaseless stroking of her hair, and he looks down at her, concern and anguish plain on his face.

He cares.

Doesn’t he?

“Red?” she whispers, sniffling pathetically.

“Yes, Lizzie?” he asks desperately, worried.

“Do you care about me? Even though you’re not my father? Cause if you don’t, I don’t have anyone left, anyone at all, that cares – so please tell me you still – if you don’t – I can’t –”

“Oh, Lizzie,” he murmurs, rocking her gently. “Of course, I do, don’t be ridiculous –”

“But,” she hiccups, plowing forward, working herself up again. “We’re not related, I’m just some kid you saved from a fire. My parents are the reason your family died, if I was never born, you’d still have your wife and your daughter –”

And she’s starting to spiral again, the enormity of it hitting her all over again, just too much to comprehend, and Red knows it and he’s trying to help her, speaking quickly now.

“Lizzie, Lizzie, you can’t do that, don’t think that way, Lizzie, it won’t help anything –”

“How can you stand me?” she’s sobbing uncontrollably now. “I’m the worst thing that’s ever happened to you –”

And suddenly hands are gripping her face and he’s turning her around to face him, looking her so fiercely in the eye that she finally stops speaking.

“Lizzie, listen to me. None of what happened to me is your fault. If anything, you helped me stay alive for the past thirty years. You’re the only thing that’s kept me going through this never-ending battle. You have no idea how you’ve saved me, the things you’ve made me feel again, Lizzie, please – don’t doubt for a second – you must believe me – Lizzie, I adore you –”

He breaks off, biting the side of his mouth to stop himself, but his eyes are still speaking, burning at her in a way she’s seen a few times, but it’s never glared at her like this before.

(It’s near blinding but she can’t stop looking because it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.)

And she’s been hanging on his every word, here on the bathroom floor, aching to believe him, needing something real to hold onto as badly as she needs air, and the words he’s forced into her ears have her gripping him back, watching his lips as he bites them, fighting at the strength of his emotion and some insane, uncontrollable urge has her surging forward, almost climbing up his prone body on the floor, completely heedless of her towel and his jacket, her hands going to his shoulders to steady herself as she moves to kiss him and it will be perfect, everything she needs right now, everything will fall into place, and –

But no, his hands are suddenly strong on her shoulders, pushing her away, not pulling her closer, and the thought has tears welling in her eyes yet again, because he doesn’t want her after all –

But he’s speaking again, just as urgently as before. “Lizzie, no, sweetheart, you’re not thinking clearly, we can’t do this, you’ll regret this later, Lizzie, please, don’t cry –”

And she’s sobbing again, her heart breaking in so many pieces she can’t even count and she’s choking out words. “You – don’t – want – me –”

But he’s holding her firm again and speaking in that same way, undeniable. “Lizzie, this has nothing to do with what I want, you have no idea, if only you knew how much I want you – but Lizzie, you just need to calm down first, that’s all –”

And she’s throwing her arms back around his neck in relief and he’s holding her but what’s that she feels, right under the edge of his dress shirt? She slides a shaking hand down a little further, any sense of discretion lost long ago when this suffocating waterfall crashed down on top of her, and she feels a curiously familiar texture the further down she goes and he’s tensing beneath her and oh no –

“Lizzie –”

It’s all very clear suddenly. This is the only thing he edited out tonight, that one small nugget of information he visibly held back, the thing that changes it all, because these are scars he suffered for her on that night –

(He gave her everything.)

And very abruptly it’s all too much. Lizzie feels herself starting to pass out with something like relief, her brain just shutting down, falling into blackness, and she’s so grateful that she can finally escape it all. The last thing she hears is Red calling her name and the last thing she feels is the odd sensation of being lifted when the rest of her is sinking downwards and she knows he’s taking her somewhere and she truly doesn’t care where.

(He can do what he likes with her.)

Liz wakes late the next morning, her eyes gritty and her sinuses congested, and for one moment she is blissfully unaware of everything that happened the night before. It takes a full minute for it all to come flooding back, hitting her with a physical force that makes her let out a lungful of air, and she turns her head into her pillow, trying to sink back into the darkness.

(She knows she can’t hide forever but can’t stop herself from trying.)

When that doesn’t work, she slowly pushes herself up into a sitting position, finding herself still wrapped in her now-dry towel and Red’s coat as well as tangled in her sheets. She kicks it all off and stands naked in her bedroom, about to head for the bathroom, figuring she should finish the shower that she never really started last night, when she hears a noise downstairs. There’s someone else in her house and she has no doubt that it’s Red.

(She’s not sure what it means that she knew the second she woke up that he was near.)

Not particularly bothered by the fact that he never left last night, Liz proceeds with her shower, taking the opportunity to think as she couldn’t last night, with a slightly more clear and objective head and some sleep.

She feels a bit more human by the time she’s scrubbed her face clean and washed her hair and when she gets out of the shower to dry off, she stops to examine her face in the mirror.

She looks awful.

Liz’s face is very pale and drawn, with dark circles under eyes despite the fact that she slept the whole night and most of the morning undisturbed. Her eyelids are heavy and swollen there’s very little life in her face.

(She supposes that’s what receiving life altering information does.)

Feeling no motivation to make her presentable, Liz simply draws her half-dry hair up into a messy bun and finds some clean, warm sweatpants and a hoodie, feeling slightly more protected this way.

(Protected from what, she doesn’t exactly know.)

Without further ado, she picks up Red’s coat and leaves her room, heading downstairs. She’s heard no more movement from Red, but she gravitates towards the living room, walking quietly in her bare feet and peeking around the corner to see him there.

He’s asleep, which surprises her, though she supposes it shouldn’t. He went through just as much trauma and emotional pain as she did last night, not to mention everything he had to deal with coming from her. He’s curled up on her couch, still completely dressed, including his shoes, looking small and cold. He has no pillow or blanket and she immediately feels ashamed.

(She couldn’t even manage to provide a blanket for the man who saved her life. She’s awful.)

Liz hurries over and gently drapes his coat over him. He doesn’t stir, and she takes the rare opportunity to kneel on the floor in front of him and stare at his face.

He looks younger when he’s asleep, his tan face relaxed and his jaw slack. Liz misses the expressive depth of his eyes, but she examines his eyelashes instead. How did she never notice how long and blonde they are? He’s a beautiful man.

And she immediately shoves that inappropriate thought out of her head. She can’t think that way, not about Red.

(As much as she may want to.)

She’s loathe to wake him but she knows they have to talk. And as painful as the subject matter is, she has a feeling she won’t truly feel better until they discuss things. So, Liz reaches out and very gently rests a hand on his cheek.

His eyes flutter open immediately, with no utterance from either of them, and she can tell that he’s instantly alert, looking directly into her eyes and nowhere else. There is silence between them for a long moment before he breaks it with her name.

(What else?)

“Lizzie.”

His voice is husky as well as deep in the morning and she shivers pleasantly at the sound of it before she manages to suppress it. She must stop that.

“How are you this morning?”

After everything that happened last night, and his first thought is still of her.

(Oh, Red.)

“A little better, thank you,” she murmurs. “I…I am so sorry about last night, Red.”

He frowns and is taking her hand from his face before she can move, turning it to cradle in both of his as he sits upright, his coat slumping off him onto the couch.

“Lizzie, you have nothing to apologize for,” he says, quiet but intense. “Yesterday was…too much. I would have been surprised if you weren’t overwhelmed. My only concern is that you’re doing better now.”

Liz’s eyes fill with tears at his kindness. No. No more tears. Enough of those were shed last night. “I am. Sleep and a shower does wonders for a person,” she manages a thin smile that he instantly returns. “Come on, I could use some coffee.”

She gently removes her hand from his and stands, heading for the kitchen. She hears him rise and stretch, following her a moment later and perching at the bar while she starts up the coffee maker and puts out mugs mechanically. Neither of them speaks while the coffee maker spurts and brews, some unspoken agreement keeping them silent while they wait for the coffee to brew, putting off the broaching of any sensitive topics.

Once the coffee is poured and their hands are wrapped around their warm mugs, Liz speaks.

(She might as well dive right back into the bottomless ocean Red dragged her out of last night. At least, he’s here as her lifeguard this time.)

“I…I don’t really know where to begin,” she mumbles. “But I guess the two most important things for me to say to you right now are ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘thank you’.”

She looks up tentatively from her mug to see Red frowning in disagreement and opening his mouth to speak. She waves to cut him off.

“Don’t. Just…let me talk, please. There’s some things I need to…say out loud.”

He purses his lips but nods, gesturing for her to continue.

“I’m sorry that I went behind your back, again, and conspired with Jennifer to hurt you. I was just…so angry at the things I found out and I couldn’t fathom just asking you about them. I should really know better by now.” She gives a little sad smile and shakes her head lightly. “I’m sorry for putting you in danger last night. I didn’t think far ahead enough to predict what Jennifer would do in that situation and…it was too close. We’re just lucky she left, and no one got hurt.”

Liz chances a look up at Red again and he’s just staring at her, with a solemn expression on his face and kind eyes.

(She almost can’t take it.)

“And as far as ‘thank you’ goes…,” Liz trails off and shrugs helplessly at him. “I mean, there’s literally nothing that’s happened in my life that I shouldn’t be thanking you for. I’m alive because of you. I had Sam because of you. And…I survived last night because of you.”

He has tears in his eyes now and honestly, so does she, but she refuses to let them fall. She has to be strong now.

“I’ll never be able to thank you enough,” she whispers ardently, looking him in the eyes as she speaks, and he shakes his head vigorously, finally breaking his promise to let her talk uninterrupted.

“Lizzie,” he breathes. “You have nothing to thank me for. If I had simply held true to my beliefs and stood up to the Cabal, your parents would still be alive. It’s my fault they’re dead, Lizzie, you should be furious –”

“Furious?” blurts Lizzie with a watery and slightly hysterical laugh. “Red, I’m the one that pulled that trigger. You can’t –”

“You were just a child, Lizzie!” He abandons his coffee mug to grab her hands and pull her close. “In no universe can you be blamed for what happened that night. I was the only other adult there, I was the one that should have stopped it all. I could have.” He lowers his eyes and his voice drops to a whisper. “Lizzie, you have no idea how many nights I’ve laid awake wishing I could change what happened. And I’ve been trying to make it up to you ever since.”

Liz’s throat tightens. “I know. And you have made it up to me. Hundreds of times over. Red, I don’t blame you for that night. Please believe that,” she grips his hands. “It was a horrible tragedy. And it could have been worse. I could have died. If you hadn’t been there, I would have. And that’s what I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to repay.”

To her surprise, Red smiles and lets out a wry chuckle, and the words he says next are ones that she’ll never forget.

“Don’t you see, Lizzie? Saving you was the only good thing I did that night. If you hadn’t survived, I would have had nothing to live for. Saving you was my salvation. And, while I’ll never be able to repay that debt, I will never stop trying.”

Liz can do nothing now but throw her arms around his neck, completely in awe. Red wraps his arms around her waist in return, pressing his face into her shoulder and inhaling. The warm feeling that goes through her feels so good it must be wrong, and she pulls back to look him in the eye.

“Looks like we’re never going to see eye to eye on this, are we?” she asks unsteadily, and he stares at her with a tender gaze, shaking his head slowly. Liz sighs in defeat.

And then Red surprises her by suddenly bringing a hand up to her cheek, much like what she did to wake him. The look in his eyes intensifies and becomes so captivating that she can’t possibly look away, his eyes burning through her helplessly.

(She’s afraid.)

Liz somehow manages to rip herself away from his gaze and his grip, moving away and returning to the safety of her coffee mug at the counter, feeling light-headed and uncomfortable.

“Well, what do we do now?” she asks breathlessly, not turning around.

It’s a tense moment before he replies. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” she thinks for a moment. “Do we continue with the blacklist? We haven’t dismantled the Cabal yet and, now that I know your true motivation behind the mission, I want to help you.”

“Lizzie,” Red starts and she feels brave enough now to turn and look at him. “I don’t want you to help me because you feel obligated to. I need you to want it too. That’s the only way this can continue.”

“I do want to,” she assures him, and she can feel that inside. There’s a small flame that was ignited last night, somewhere underneath everything else that demanded her attention, a fire that burns to avenge her parent’s deaths. “Even though I was the one to pull the trigger that night, the circumstances around my parent’s deaths were out of my control. It all stems from the Cabal. And they have to pay.”

She can feel the fierce look on her face and he’s smiling at her proudly, a look that inspires her next words. “And, as I think we’ve proven time and time again…we make a great team.” She gives him a crooked smile that he can’t help but return, beaming at her and she feels warm again.

“All right, then,” Red says happily. “The blacklist will continue.”

Liz smiles triumphantly at him.

(She has an odd feeling that her parents would be proud of her.)

Liz turns back to her coffee mug, feeling tired all over again but still strangely energized.

And then Red surprises her by speaking again.

“I think there’s still one other thing we have to discuss, Lizzie.”

Liz freezes with her hands around her mug. She thought remembered something else happening last night, something she did that was potentially mortifying, but she’s been ignoring it until now, hoping it wouldn’t matter in the face of all their other issues.

(Silly her. It’s easily the most important thing. It always has been.)

“Oh?”

“Yes,” he murmurs. “Do you remember trying to kiss me last night?”

God, he just gets right to it, doesn’t he? What is she supposed to say to that?

“Vaguely,” she mutters, feeling herself redden. “I’m sorry about that, Red. I wasn’t in my right mind. I know it wasn’t appropriate and I understand why you pushed me away.”

There is a beat of silence where she holds her breath.

“You don’t remember what I told you, do you?”

Liz looks up at that, surprised. “No. Things are a little…muddled.”

He nods understandingly. “Lizzie, I didn’t push you away because I thought it was inappropriate. I pushed you away because you were in no state to go there and, frankly, neither was I.”

Liz stares at him blankly. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I have no objections to pursuing that now,” he finishes plainly, stating his words very clearly, as if it were completely expected.

(She stomps fiercely on the small flutter in her chest.)

Liz’s mind starts to whirl. She abandons her mug on the counter and hurries past him, starting to pace back and forth across her living room.

“Red, what –” she stutters. “What are you – are you crazy?”

(Back.)

He just blinks at her. “I’m sorry?”

Liz looks at him like he has four heads. “We can’t be together, Red!”

(Forth.)

He merely looks confused now. “Why not?”

Liz gapes at him. “You’ve been pretending to be my father for thirty years!”

(Back.)

“No.”

And his tone, suddenly sharper and very direct, all traces of kindness gone, make her turn abruptly to face him, ceasing her pacing.

“I’ve been pretending to be Raymond Reddington for thirty years,” he states, now moving towards her across the room. “There’s not a day in my life that I’ve pretended to be your father, Lizzie.”

(Her heart stumbles in her chest. Is he saying what she thinks he’s saying?)

“But – but –” she stutters, completely taken aback. “Other people – they’ll think –”

“What will they think, Lizzie?” he presses, moving slowly closer to her frozen form. “I’ve gone to great lengths over the past three decades to make sure that no one knows the true identity of your birth father. Any bystander would assume it was Constantin or even Sam. Or perhaps you never actually found out. People will believe what you tell them, trust me.” He chuckles dryly. “The only people on earth that know your father is Raymond Reddington are Jennifer and Dembe. Jennifer has been rather effectively silenced, thanks to you, and I think it’s safe to say that we both trust Dembe with our lives. Anyone who puts the pieces together – which is highly unlikely, if you ask me – could conduct a simple DNA test to find out that we are not related.”

The words are spoken with such emphasis as he advances towards her, passion evident in his eyes, and Liz can do nothing but stare incredulously at him, unconsciously backing up as he moves forward, starting to hear the logic in his words.

(It’s incredibly, beautifully, impossibly, dangerously tempting.)

“There is absolutely no genetic or societal reason why we can’t be together, Lizzie,” he continues fervently. “We know the truth. The only thing standing in our way is…preconceived notions.”

“Preconceived notions…” she breaths.

Her back hits the wall.

“I have feelings for you, Lizzie, and I have for a long time. Do you have feelings for me?”

He stops in front of her now, close to her, and her heart hammers at his proximity. Can it really be that simple? Can she allow herself to want what she’s denied herself for so long on baseless principles?

(Maybe. But she’s afraid.)

“Lizzie…”

He moves closer, placing his hands gently on either side of the wall behind her, not constraining her – he would never do that – but persuading her, gently trying to convince her to give in to what he knows is right. He’s murmuring sweet words to her, things she knows he’s always wanted to say and he’s leaning forward to ghost his nose down her neck and into her hair, smelling her shampoo and sighing happily.

Liz’s head thumps back against the wall, her eyes fluttering shut as lazy pleasure unfurl through her body at his ministrations, and she sighs helplessly, whimpering a little when his lips pass over her pulse.

(She wants him. God help her, she wants him.)

“Red…” It’s breathy sigh that she’s been holding in for longer than she knows, and he looks up at her, cupping her cheek gently and gazing into her eyes.

“Why not us, Lizzie? Why not us?”

And in that instant, everything clicks into place. Why not? Why not them? Why deny themselves this connection, this spark they’ve been ignoring for years? They may be unlikely and unusual but that’s what makes them them and they know the truth and the truth is that there is nothing inherently bad about them, nothing that can stop them. They are made for one another and how rare is it to find your perfect match? Because the minute they saved each other from the fire that changed their lives, their fate was as good as sealed. And if there’s one thing that rings true with Liz, it’s that fate can’t be denied.

She loves him.

(And the minute she admits it to herself, she feels more at peace than she has in the last six years.

She’s home.)

And he’s waiting patiently for her to decide and he’s been waiting for much longer than she realizes, and it feels better than anything she’s ever felt to say the word to him.

“Yes.”

The happiness and love in his eyes is everything to her and he wastes no time in pressing forward to touch his lips to her, taking in a breath against her lips as they meet and kiss for the first time, and Liz does the opposite, his perfect match, sighing in relief and wrapping her arms around his shoulders as they melt against each other.

(It feels wonderful to finally stop fighting.)

Red presses closer to her, using the wall to keep them anchored, and Liz leans against him, as she’s always been able to do, cupping her hands around his neck and trembling from want. It’s another long moment of intense feeling and being and living before Red gently pulls away and they stare at one another in shock at what they are together.

Liz can’t help but gaze at him in wonder, marveling at how they got here and how, against all odds, things have worked out for them, and she’s speaking softly before she’s truly digested everything.

(He’s always been the first to hear her thoughts.)

“Life is full of surprises, isn’t it, Red?”

Red lets out a quiet laugh, his warm breath wafting over her face and he just smiles and nods, stroking her hair lovingly.

“It is. I must say, I never expected to fall in love with you…” His thumb passes over her cheek. “But the biggest surprise…is you loving me back.”

Tears fill Liz’s eyes once again and she can do nothing more than kiss him again because why on earth wouldn’t she love this man? This selfless, pure, giving man who has spent the better part of his life rescuing her.

(She only hopes that they can spend the rest of their lives saving each other. Together.)

They continue to kiss, wrapped up in their warmth and newly accepted love, while the snow falls outside her window in the light of the setting sun, peaceful and quiet.

Tonight, it will stick.

#The Blacklist #Lizzington #mine #fanfic #theblacklistsecretsanta #the blacklist secret santa #scifi-gk #this fic was a tough one #had a hard time finishing it #so i'm super nervous and curious as to how it comes across #i really hope you like it scifi-gk!!#:D #happy holidays to you and yours!!#:)#much love!!#<3

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