#Junior's at the point where he's even past the whole “trying to beat them” stage

[scumbag-the-hedgehog]

Makes them actually contend with the fact that they need to accept their losses in order to improve

Helps make them reorient towards proper training and improvement instead of relying on anarchy beryl

Manages to make them to contend with their gender identity without even trying to do this

Intentionally teaching them new skills

Crystal unironically making them better is still so insane to me

[13uswntimagines]

Always Hers (Emily Sonnett x Reader)

Request: A sequel to Always Yours where Kelley introduces Sonnett to reader and they hit it off, and a relationship builds. Basically it’s 7000 words of Emily and reader falling in love, Christen realizing she royally messed up, Tobin freaking out just a touch, and Kelley totally not gloating about it. 

Author’s Note: This was requested by @women-enthusiast​

Emily was terrified. She had been having the time of her life, sat in the front row of an Y/n L/n concert dancing next to Kelley. Hell, during Shut Up and Dance you had even winked in their direction (making all of the girls around them swoon). But about halfway through the show, a very large man had come to stand in front of them.  

He had simply stood and stared, leaving them mostly alone until the very end of the show. He sent them a small smile and an “if you two ladies could come with me please”, before escorting them out of the crowd and deeper into the stadium. Which every turn down the twisting hallway, she felt the knot in her stomach get tighter and tighter. What the fuck was happening? 

“You gotta relax before you have an aneurism. Everything will be fine,” Kelley said quietly as the man led them through a door and into a cozy-looking room. 

A couch sat against one wall, a Stanford sweatshirt thrown carelessly across it and a guitar propped up beside it. The sound of running water gave them a very good guess of what was behind the door on the opposing wall. 

Emily took a deep breath, holding in a gasp. This couldn’t be what she thought it was. 

“If you would please wait here, Ms. L/n will be with you in a few minutes. Feel free to help yourself to the table,” The man smiled, gesturing towards the table filled with water and a fruit tray across from the comfy looking couch. 

Kelley rolled her eyes, immediately making her way over to the food table to peruse the options. She scrunched her nose as she looked over the items. 

“Well this is bullshit,” She mumbled, grabbing a grape and popping it into her mouth. Emily frowned, unsure as to how Kelley could be so casual right now. 

“What?” She asked, stepping towards the table. She blinked at the spread. There was way too much food on the table for one person. 

“There aren’t any chocolate-covered strawberries. They always used to be on her riders,” Kelley mumbled, puffing her cheeks out as she grabbed her another grape. Emily frowned. How the fuck did she know what was supposed to be on the table? She opened her mouth to ask the question, but a voice behind her beat her to it. 

“Apparently they were unavailable this last minute,” Emily whipped around in shock, her eyes bulging at the sight of you in a pair of sweatpants and a white tank top, casually running a towel through your hair. You smiled crookedly at them, your dimples on full display. It wasn’t your stage smile though, Emily noted (barely able to take her eyes off your exposed biceps enough to actually think about it). It was easier, more natural.

“Holy shit, you’re-“ Emily studdered, her brain unable to process that you were standing right in front of her. Your lips quirked in amusement before you looked past the blond to your favorite defender. 

“You couldn’t come and greet us yourself, you had to send oddjob after us?” Kelley asked, tossing another grape in her mouth and crossing her arms. She hadn’t brought Emily here to set you up, but her reaction was definitely amusing. She also hadn’t missed the extra blinks you had given the blond defender. Perhaps her plan was going to work better than expected. 

You rolled your eyes at the woman. Greg had been your security guard for years and she still refused to learn his name. You were just lucky that their presence hadn’t caused a riot in the crowd. 

“You conveniently forgot to tell me that you were coming, and Greg didn’t want a replay of the riot we almost had at the Superdome,” You said, your eyebrow quirking up. She winced at the memory, shaking her head and finally closing the distance between the two of you. 

You huffed her tightly to you, resting your cheek on the top of her head. The two of you swayed lightly as you hugged. It had been way too long since you had seen each other. 

“Missed you sunshine, you never answer your phone anymore” She hummed into your neck. 

“Missed you too,” You said softly, holding her tighter, and ignoring the second statement. The truth was that it was hard, that sometimes when you talked to Kelley all you could think about were your college days. It wasn’t just her that you pushed away, it was everyone. 

You had been friends with the woman even before the two of you went to college. She was your sounding board, your rock, more your sister than your friend at this point, and she hated you were locking yourself away again. 

“You, you’re-“ Emily’s voice brought you out of your thoughts. You squeezed Kelley one last time before returning your attention to the blond standing wide-eyed in the middle of the room. 

You had to admit that she was adorable with her pink cheeks and her hands pinned at her sides, unsure of what to do. 

“You should introduce me before she passes out,” You whispered loudly, nudged Kelley. The older defender smirked at her counterpart. She hadn’t meant for you and Emily to be more than friends, but if it turned out that way, she wouldn’t be upset. You were the sweetest person she knew, even if you had lost some of your sunshine over the years. You would treat the blond defender well and vice versa. You both deserved to be happy. 

“Right. Emily, this is Y/n. Y/n this is frat daddy junior Emily,” She nodded, not missing the eye contact between the two of you. You smiled wide, taking a step towards the frozen defender and grabbing her hand. 

“Well Emily, it’s a pleasure to meet you. A friend of Kelly’s is a friend of mine,” You said, bowing slightly and lifting the back of her hand to your lips. You could be suave when you wanted to be. 

“You said my name,” She said dumbfounded, her mouth hanging open slightly. 

“I think she’s made one too many tackles,” You laughed, glancing at Kelley over your shoulder. The woman facepalmed. The most interest you had shown in another person in nearly a year, and she’s too star-struck to realize it. 

“I swear she’s not usually like this,” Kelley mumbled, and you bit your lip in amusement. 

“Whatever you say Squirrel,” 

*****

Emily smiled down at her phone. The two of you had been texting nonstop since the concert, and she found herself slowly becoming addicted to your sweet and sometimes dirty sense of humor. 

It was interesting, how different you and your stage persona were. 

She learned how quiet and thoughtful you were. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t hide the sadness that seemed to linger behind your million dollar smiles. A cautiousness behind every interaction. She wondered what had turned you from Kelley’s so-called sunshine into a cloudy day. 

She bit her lip watching the three little dots, indicating that you were typing, hoping that you would like the restaurant she had chosen. She giggled at your quippyness about how posh the place sounded. 

“Who ya texting that’s got you smiling like that?” Kelley asked, placing a hand on the woman’s shoulder. Emily jumped, her phone nearly falling out of her hands as she rushed to get out of the message, before seeing it was only Kelley. 

“Oh, just Y/n,” Emily mumbled, her cheeks turning very pink.

Kelley smothered her smirk as she sat down beside the defender. “That’s cool, what’s she up to?”

“She’s in town, we’re going to get lunch or something,” Emily shrugged nonchalantly, and Kelley’s smirk got bigger. She wasn’t sure if you would go for it after the whole fiasco with Christen. 

“Really?” 

“You sound surprised?” Emily’s nervous eyes met hers. Kelley paused unsurely. How did you tell one friend that your teammate hurt the girl that she might be interested in so bad that she was terrified of relationships? 

“Y/n got hurt really bad by someone she loved. She hasn’t been the same since,” Kelley said softly. 

“You mean she hasn’t moved on yet?” Emily’s head tilted to the side, trying to understand. She had heard your stories through music, but she never thought about how that might translate into real life. 

Kelley shook her head, biting her lip. After Christen, you had rebuilt your walls and hidden your heart away in your castle so no one could hurt you. That was until you laid eyes on Emily. “She hasn’t let anyone get close to her again,” 

“Oh,” 

“Yeah, Just don’t hurt her, alright?” Kelley hummed, patting Emily’s knee. If you were going to open up the gates again, she didn’t want an army of white walkers marching in. They would pillage the little bit of you that was left. But the way pink traveled up Emily’s neck all the way to her ears told her that her best friend knew how delicate this situation was.

“We’re just friends Kell,” Emily muttered. 

“Whatever you say junior, and for the record, she didn’t text me about lunch,” Kelley laughed, patting her leg one more time as she stood. You two would figure it out on your own time. 

****

Emily smiled at Greg as she passed through the door to the little cafe you had chosen for lunch. He winked at her and pointed towards a table in the back, away from the windows twiddling your fingers nervously. 

All the security and fans staked out everywhere you went took some serious getting used to, as did your propensity for cheeseburgers over anything remotely fancy. Each time the two of you had done this over the past few months you had chosen somewhere with reasonable food and amazing milkshakes. 

The crooked grin you saved specifically for Emily broke across your face when you saw her, and you stood from your chair to greet her in a warm hug. You kissed her cheek and stepped back to pull her chair out for her, before handing her a beautiful (plastic) Rose. It had become a thing between the two of you. You didn’t like real flowers, they died, but fake ones stayed forever. 

“Hey superstar, I’m glad you could make it,” You grinned, pushing her chair in, and taking the seat across from her. 

“Well, you’re too cute to pass up,” She quipped back, enjoying the pink that dusted your cheeks. 

“I ordered you’re regular. Is that ok?” 

“You remembered my order?” Emily asked, her eyes widening in surprise. You felt the warmth in your cheeks travel up to your ears. The truth was that you had known her order after the 3rd time lunch the two of you had done, (and you ordered extra onion rings in case she didn’t want the French fries). 

“Well, we’ve done this a few times,” You shrugged, picking at the table. Her hand covered your own, and you smiled softly at the action, suddenly feeling shy. 

“You’re adorable,” She mumbled under her breath as the waitress set two milkshakes on the table in front of you. Noticing that yours wasn’t your normal chocolate peanut butter concoction and instead was the strawberry one she had tried last time. 

“Hmm, 20 questions?” You asked, sipping your shake (that you definitely didn’t get in case Emily changed her mind). 

It had become your go-to game with the woman, and both of you have always had a blast with the get to know you game. 

“Are you going to answer mine honestly?” She quirked an eyebrow up at you. The last time you had seen each other, you fibbed just slightly (not so slightly) about your new music. You were reluctant to give spoilers, and you told her your lead-off single was going to be a fun song playing off the saying sex on a beech (cake by the ocean). Instead, you had chosen something much sappier, about the start of a new relationship called Begin Again. 

Your fans had gone crazy, trying to put all the pieces together. It seemed they were divided on if you and Christen had gotten back together, or if you were finally moving on. You kept your lips sealed, and it had taken Emily more than an hour to finally weasel to real answer out of you. 

“Scouts honor,” You saluted, taking another drag of the strawberry milkshake. 

“You go first,” Emily grabbed your shake and took a sip, pushing her own chocolate one back towards you. You blinked, thinking for a second. You had never mastered suttelty in normal conversation, and you had no idea how to ask your question. 

“Are you dating anyone?” 

“Nope,” She smiled, popping the p. You released a breath you didn’t know you were holding. 

“Cool. I believe you’re now entitled to a question?”

Emily tapped her chin in thought, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Are the rumors true? Kelley won’t tell me,” 

“You’re going to have to be a little more specific babe,” You smirked, smiling kindly at the waitress as she set down your double cheeseburgers. Your life was plagued with rumors. That you were dating this celebrity, that Preath had broken your heart. 

“You dated Christen and all your songs are about her?” Emily asked, grabbing an onion ring off your plate and dipping it in your milkshake. 

“I think dating would be a bit of a stretch,” you snorted, shaking your head. You weren’t sensitive about it anymore considering the media shoved it down their throat every chance they got. Emily waved her hand as if to say go on, you sighed. Despite the media pressure, you hadn’t really told anyone (besides Kelley) about it before.“We were best friends, who occasionally slept together. I caught feelings, Christen didn’t. She wanted Tobin and I was her plaything until Toby was ready.” You said the midfield turned forward’s name mockingly, looking wistfully over Emily’s shoulder. 

She watched you for a moment, taking in the faraway look in your eyes. Her heart ached at the deep line in your forehead that hadn’t been there mere moments before. 

“That was only the first part of my question,” she said softly. You blinked back to yourself. 

“I write about what I feel, so some of them are about her. But lately they’re all about an amazing girl who makes me feel things that scare the crap out of me, things I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel again,” Your y/e/c eyes met her blue ones and you smiled softly.

Emily sat up in surprise, anxiety beginning to bubble up in her chest. She liked doing this with you, and she didn’t want it to stop. She opened her mouth to ask her, but your shaken voice cut her off. 

“Would you be my girlfriend?” 

“I thought you’d never ask,” Emily smiled, leaning across the table, cupping your cheek and placing a very sweet kiss on your lips. Your fingers tangled into the baby hairs at the back of her neck as you carefully pulled her closer. You pull away a second later, connecting your forehead and breathing heavy. You would take that as a resounding yes. 

“Does this mean I can hear the rest of the album early?” She asked, her breath fanning across your lips. 

“I’m sure we can work something out,” you said as you leaned in again. Gosh her lips were addictive. 

*****

Distance sucked, but over the past year, you and Emily had made it work. It was difficult with your music commitments and her soccer stuff, but as far as the two of you were concerned, it was worth it. 

Emily laid with her eyes closed, her phone resting on her chest and Kelley sitting beside her as the radio host introduced you to the audience. She was happy to relax and listen to you talk about the thing you were the most passionate about (besides her). 

It was nice to hear your voice, even if it sounded even more tired than it had when you talked the night before. 

She could tell how much the press tour for your new album was taking out of you, and it killed her just a little bit to not be able to comfort you. You hadn’t exchanged the words yet, but she was sure that you loved her as much as she loved you ou. 

“So I’ve got to ask, this album sounds so much different than both Heartbreak Hotel and Divinely Inspired to a Hellish Extent. There’s less pining and a lot more love,” The interviewer asked casually, but Emily could hear the smirk in his voice. The fans were going nuts now that your music had shifted from heartbreak to a blossoming love story. They all wanted to know who (Christen) had you writing sappy love songs. 

“Yeah, I’m in such a different place than when I wrote either of those two albums, and I think that’s reflected in the music,” You volleyed the question, twisting it around so you were answering it and not answering it all at the same time (a skill that Emily both admired and was terrified of). 

“So, it’d be safe to assume that you’re first two albums were about one relationship and this one is about another?” The interviewer pressed. And Emily groaned loudly. God, why couldn’t they just let it go? It had been nearly 3 years since you and Press were a thing. You had moved on and were finally happy, why wasn’t that enough? 

Kelley smirked at the outburst, side-eyeing the defender. She was thrilled that you had finally found someone who would treat you right. Both women were so caught up that they didn’t notice the couple entering the room and sitting on the bed opposite of them. 

“God, why can’t they just let it go?” Christen said loudly after yet another question from the interviewer. All eyes snapped to her, and Kelley raised her eyebrows at the outburst. “Don’t give me that look, I’m tired of them trying to get her to confirm that we dated,” She huffed, crossing her arms and leaning further into Tobin who began to rub her back. 

“I think dating is putting it loosely. If I was her I wouldn’t have just thrown you under the bus, I would have been the fucking driver,” Kelley rolled her eyes. 

“That was uncalled for,” Tobin grumbled. 

“You’re just upset because you didn’t know Forget You was about you,” Kelley snorted. Remembering how Tobin had walked around camp whistling the tune until she had broken the news. (Still, you found it hilarious considering the original lyrics). 

“You know what I meant,” Tobin grumbled. 

“I’m pretty sure she’s tired of it too,” Emily said softly, smiling almost sympathetically at the woman. You had gotten over most of your anger, and insisted that she shouldn’t be mean to Tobin. Love made you all do crazy things. 

“I write what I feel, and I think the only safe thing to assume from that is that I’m happy,” You added, bringing everyone’s attention back to the interview. Emily smiled softly at the phone. You were happy. You had gained your sunshine back, as Kelley put it, and she was glad that she was part of the reason for that. 

“And sickeningly in love?” The interviewer again tried to dig. 

“And in love,” Your smile was visible in your tone. Emily masked her sudden intake of breath. She knew, but it was the first time she was hearing it out loud. 

“I didn’t know she was in a new relationship” Christen’s eyes snapped to the phone in surprise. She knew you would move on eventually, but actually seeing evidence of it was causing all kinds of feelings to bubble in her chest. Feelings she didn’t have the right to have. She made her choice and she was happy too. You deserved that. 

“The new love songs are so sweet. It’s probably her best album yet,” Emily added with a shrug. It wasn’t just the music that was good, it was the knowledge that you were both falling together. That you would be there to catch each other was amazing. (And the memory of you strumming out a few of the love songs in your underwear in a concert just for her was a bonus too).it didn’t matter that the world was sure they were about Christen. Everyone in this room knew they weren’t. 

“I’ll have to listen to it, wonder who it's about,” Christen said thoughtfully. She shouldn’t deny that she missed you. Missed the friend part of your relationship. 

“Someone who knows just how lucky she is,” Kelley said, looking Christen in the eyes. It was no secret that she still harbored ill feelings over what happened between Chris and her best friend. Emily shrunk slightly. The two of you had agreed to keep the relationship on the down-low, and Preath were the last people she wanted to tell. 

Christen’s jaw dropped in surprise. You never talked about your relationships. Not even when you and her were involved. You weren’t good with emotions and it was a more ‘gentle-womanly thing to do’.

A barely audible “She told you?” left her lips. And Emily’s heart rate skyrocketed, thinking that this was about to become even more awkward than it already was. 

“My lips are sealed,” Kelley smirked, running her hand across her mouth in a zip it motion before throwing away the key. She wasn’t about the mess up the most stable relationship you had ever been in, and it was fun to watch Preath squirm. 

Emily took a deep breath. Some relaxing evening this had turned out to be. She went to swipe the radio app away on her phone when your name popped up next to a text. She couldn’t help the edges of her lips turning up. 

You really did have amazing timing. 

*****

Emily loved peaceful nights at camp. Early nights where the team bonding movie ended at a decent hour and they didn’t have early morning practice the next day. Sure her bed's cuddles weren’t as good as yours, but they still comfy. 

She had gotten to talk to you tonight, a long FaceTime. It bothered you how exhausted you looked, how your crooked smile hadn’t met your eyes. The chaos of touring was rough, made even more difficult by time zone differences. But still, you had made time to talk to her, to tell her how much you loved her. 

She idiot wondered what had pulled her out of her sleep, before the soft knock on the door sounded again. 

“Who the fuck is at our door at 3 Am?” Emily groaned loudly, rolling onto her back, and glancing over at her roommate in the other bed. She thought late-night pranks were banned at this camp, and she had been lucky to be roomed with her best friend. 

“I have no clue. Maybe if we ignore it, it’ll go away,” Lindsey mumbled, burying her face further into the pillow, moaning loudly when the knocking got even more insistent. 

“Fuck, I’m coming, cool your jets,” Emily huffed, throwing off the covers and marching towards the door. She flung it open, ready to yell at however the fuck had the nerve to bother them at this hour. But the words died on her lips the second she saw your very tired form leaning heavily against the doorframe, plastic Rose clutched firmly in your hand. 

“you’re here,” she said softly and you flew into her arms. You held her tightly, running your nose along the collum of her neck. She stumbled with the foot-wide, grabbing the doorframe to steady the two of you. 

“Sorry, I just. I missed you. I can’t sleep without you,” You mumbled into her skin, placing a kiss on the spot she loved so much. Emily wasn’t sure if you were apologizing for waking her up, or for nearly tackling her to the ground, but she didn’t care. It was so nice to have you in her arms after nearly 2 months of being apart. 

“Shhh, come in. It’s alright, I missed you too babe,” She hummed, stepping back and pulling you into the room, and closing the door. She grabbed the flower, smiling softly at it before placing it in her nightstand. She could tell how exhausted you were (you had probably flown in right after your show), and the last thing you needed was her teammates coming out to see what the commotion was. 

You mumbled something incoherent into her neck, following her as she sat down on the edge of the bed. 

“Babe? Who is it, Son?” Lindsey Asked sitting up and taking in the sight of you basically sitting on Emily’s lap with your head buried in her neck. You looked up at the woman wide-eyed, and she gasped. “Holy shit, you’re Y/n L/n and Disani just called you babe,” 

“Surprise...” Emily smiled, and you huffed into her neck. She could feel your nose twitching, a telltale sign that you were probably about to fall asleep.

“How long?” Lindsey asked breathlessly, holding in the awe at how cute you two looked together. She never expected the big badass singer to turn into puddy in her best friend’s arms. 

“Like a year and a half?” Emily shrugged, shushing you again and running fingers through your hair, scratching your scalp. Your schedule was brutal and you had a propensity to avoid sleep when you were stressed. But on the bright side, she had learned that you always got cuddly when you were sleepy Like a puppy. 

“Damn, That’s why you’re so obsessed with all her music. It’s about you,” Lindsey laughed. Emily’s cheeks turned bright red as she cleared her throat. You weren’t really awake enough to register that your girlfriend was still your number one fan. 

“Let’s get Y/n into bed. You must be exhausted,” Emily said softly, maneuvering so you were both under the covers. You hummed, leaning up to peck your girlfriend’s lips before settling back into your favorite hiding spot. 

The room was quiet for a few minutes, and Emily breathed a sigh of relief as your breathing evened out. You had never been a great sleeper, and she worried about how much you got while you were on tour. You were adorable, even more so when you were sleeping. Your face relaxed and you looked younger. Emily couldn’t help but wonder how the hell Christen ever let you go when you offer up the opportunity to see you so unguarded (a sight your fans rarely got a glimpse of). 

“You know the media is going to think you snuck into the hotel to see Christen right?” Emily murmured after a few minutes, not expecting you to reply. 

“Fuck the media. They need to chill with that Preath bullshit,” You huffed, burrowing deeper into the woman and placing a kiss on her collarbone, completely forgetting that you weren’t alone. You would call your publicist in the morning and have all the rumors squashed anyway (you didn’t want another disastrous interview like the one where Ellen had found pictures of you and Christen from college). 

“Wait you dated Christen?” Lindsey gasped, nearly falling out of her bed, and you groaned incompressible into your girlfriend. 

“A loose interpretation from what I’ve gathered,” Emily giggled, again comparing you to a puppy on her head. 

“It doesn’t matter, we all know who’s bed I was in tonight,” You huffed. 

“Damn right we do,” Emily tilted your chin up to kiss your lips. Emily wasn't the jealous type, but it was hard when the entire world was convinced you were with someone else. It also helped that you were always so sweet with her and made sure she knew how much you loved her. 

You pulled her closer, your fingers tangling in the baby hairs at the back of her neck as your tongue ran over her bottom lip. God, you had missed her. You moaned lightly when Emily’s tongue met your own. 

You were brought out of your moment by a very loud cough. You sat bolt upright, blinking owlishly around the woman in the opposite bed. 

“No sex while I’m here alright?” Lindsey smirked, amused by this you that few people ever got to see. This adorable side that seemed to be entirely taken with her best friend. No wonder you wrote her so many sappy love songs. 

“You’re no fun Linds,” Emily cackled, pulling you back down beside her. 

It would be a pain in the ass to get you out of the hotel without anyone seeing you, but the risk was totally worth getting to spend time with your girl, even if it was only for a few hours. 

****

You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face if you tried. You had won 6 grammy’s the night before, and now you got to sit in the stands while your girl fought for the Shebelieves cup. You hadn’t been to a soccer game since Paris, and you had to admit it was slightly addictive watching your girl be a badass defender. It was one thing watching it on TV for the 3 years you had been dating, and an entirely different one to actually be here. God, she was gorgeous. 

You pulled your jacket tighter around you and shifted your hat down a little bit further. This was Emily’s moment, and you didn’t want to draw any attention away from her. 

*****

Tobin was freaking out, her normally chill persona nowhere to be found. Her hands were shaking and she didn’t know if it was fear or rage. Who the fuck gave you the right to show up at one of their games (sporting a jersey nonetheless) after you had released a song like To Make You Feel My Love. She thought that you had given up on chasing Christen years ago, but why were you here, seeming hiding in the stands. 

The media had been shoving the Preath narrative down your throat for months, maybe it had finally gotten to you. Yet, weren’t you in your own relationship? Maybe they had all read the signs wrong and you were still head over heels for Christen. 

If you were going to finally make a stand for her girl, why had you chosen this venue? She shook her head, heading into the tunnel for halftime, she needed to figure out how to stop your bid for Christen’s heart. 

“You didn’t tell me she was coming,” Tobin growled, passing Kelley as she made her way to her locker. 

Kelley shrugged, unable to suppress her smirk. “She’s not here for you anyway,” 

“She’s wearing a jersey Kelley,” She spat, glaring at the defender, who simply shrugged again. 

“Yeah, so? She wanted to do something nice, prove how much she loves her and all that,” 

Tobin opened and closed her mouth several times, her fist clenching as Kelley all but confirmed her biggest fear. But she wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

*****

You found it incredibly amusing that your girlfriend couldn’t seem to keep her eyes off you during the second half. Hell, it was so obvious that at one point she had tripped over thin air cause she was looking at you instead of where she was going. 

And by the time the final whistle blew, you had garnered the attention of most of the national team, wondering why their frat daddy junior was so distracted. 

Lindsey got to you first, hopping up onto the railing to talk to you (as you had chosen a front row seat just behind the bench). 

“Hey rockstar, wanna come down and see your girl?” She smiled, leaning over the rail to tug you forward. You glanced behind her, wincing at the glare Tobin was sending you. You tugged your jacket closed again and shook your head. 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea Linessie,” 

“Oh come on, Kelley and I will protect you so you can serenade Sonnett,” She laughed goodnaturedly, remembering the many times you had convinced your respective best friends to help you surprise your girlfriend. 

“Haha, very funny,” you frowned, biting your lip. You really wanted to see Emily, but from the looks Tobin was sending your way, you weren’t sure if that was a good idea. 

Lindsey’s eyes softened at your hesitance. It was rare you let your softer, more shy side out in public. She knew you truly cared for Emily, and that you were worried your presence would ruin the night for her. 

You glanced at the railing, picking at the chipping paint. “She deserves to savor your win, not have me and my drama on the front page,” 

“Everything will be fine. Emily is super excited you’re here, and when they get a picture of your jersey, I think that all the preath shit will be in the past” Lindsey said softly, grabbing your hand and tugging you onto the field. 

You hid behind Lindsey as she navigates you through her teammates, intent on making it to the frat daddies who were across the field(who just happened to be standing next to Christen). That was until a very angry Tobin stepped directly into Lindsey’s path. 

“I can’t let you go over there Y/n. It’s over, just let it go,” Tobin said, crossing her arms like a petulant child. 

Lindsey rolled her eyes at the woman, attempting to take a step around her. “Chill Tobs, it’s not a big deal,” Tobin again stepped in your way. You frowned. This was why you didn’t want to come down in the field. 

“I think it’s a really big deal that she’s trying to steal my wife,” Tobin huffed, sniffing slightly. 

“What?” you asked, your eyebrows furrowing. You weren’t here to see Christen at all. You were so busy staring quizzically at the midfielder that you didn’t notice your girlfriend sprinting in your direction until she launched herself into your arms. 

“I’m so glad you decided to come! I wasn’t sure if you’d come,” She mumbled into your neck, and you pulled her closer to you, tilting your head so you could place a kiss on her lips. This moment made everything worth it. 

“You said it was important so I’m here. I’d do anything for you superstar,” You said softly, kissing her cheeks and her forehead, drawing a giggle out of the girl. 

She shoved you lightly, catching you by your jacket collar to pull you back into a kiss. 

“I thought you were an Arsenal fan, not a Chelsea one?” She laughed against your lips, and you pouted. It had been the only jacket in Kelley’s apartment that fit you. You pulled away completely, shrugging out of the offending piece of clothing, revealing your jersey beneath it. 

“I just wanted to hide this until the right moment,” You smirked, ignoring the gasps of the women behind you. (Tobin had been watching dumbfounded from the moment you started hugging Emily, and the large Sonnett on your back had her even more confused. Why were you in Somnett’s jersey if you were trying to win Christen back?)

“God you look good with my name on your back,” Emily smirked, her hands on your hips, pulling you back in for yet another kiss. You smiled against her lips. This hadn’t been your plan, but everything seemed to be coming together. 

“What if it was our name?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at her and tilting your head to the side. She froze, blinking rapidly to process what you were saying. 

You barely registered the “Wait, what?” From behind you, and the slapping sound that followed. You could only assume it was Kelley as she added a “Shut up, she’s been planning this for months,” 

You had been planning this for months. Planning the perfect moment, and it couldn’t have been more perfect than this. You were both winners in your respective fields, and you wanted to be a winner in this too. You had never felt this way about another person. 

 Emily blinked at you again, asking a silent what, and you took that as your cue to continue. “Like, what if Sonnett was my name too, like minus a hyphen?” You shrugged, poking the 14 on her jersey and the matching one on yours before beginning to dig into your pocket. 

“Are you?” She stuttered as you dropped down on one knee, pulling out the ring you had stashed in your pocket. Yeah, this was much better than doing this in some back hallway of the stadium. 

You took a deep breath and looked up into Emily’s eyes, opening the ring box and asking the simple question “Marry me?” 

“Yes,” Emily is on her knees in an instant, cupping your face and kissing you again. She didn’t need a big long speech about how much you loved her (the two albums made your feelings crystal clear), and she loved you too. She couldn’t wait to be your wife. 

“Told you she wasn’t here for you,” Kelley laughed, nudging Tobin and Christen as they gaped at the two of you. How had they not known? 

Christen gulped down her feelings, leaning further into Tobin’s side. You weren’t hers anymore and she was somehow alright with that. 

[whereisten]

The Wedding Singer - Part 3

The Wedding Singer (feat. Taeyong and Yuta)

Summary: You are an up-and-coming singer and songwriter who is thriving in the wedding singer business. When you find yourself singing for your former best friend Samantha Perez and not-so-former crush Yuta Nakamoto, shit really hits the fan. 

Genre: fluff, drama, romance

Multi-part Series: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Part 3

Word Count: 3.9k

It was nearing Christmas, which meant there was one week left until the wedding of the century. Samantha finalized the song selections with you. Johnny would be on guitar while Jungwoo would be on piano alongside the rest of the wedding band. Johnny was pretty jazzed because he would see Stella again, rise to the occasion, and ask her out. They met the night you performed at Holy Hell. It was all over for Johnny when Stella genuinely laughed at one of his dad jokes.

Everything seemed to be falling into place these days. Your career was on the rise. Record labels from all over the county wanted to sign you. You were a breakout YouTube star after Jungwoo uploaded your performance of Bad Boy. You were booked for even more weddings that you had to start turning people away.

And best of all, you had the most incredible man in your corner. In the span of months, Taeyong was your best friend and your biggest fan. He showered you with affection in every way that he could. And it seemed like he would never stop.

If only you could find a way to return the favor.

Taeyong was adamant that you did not have to give him anything. He told you that your presence was the present and you had to walk out of his office when he said that to you last week. He’d been spending too much time with Johnny.

You were babysitting Taeyong and Samantha’s little half-sister Sonya while they were away. Her mother was on a yoga treat with her friends. Samantha was doing a photo shoot in New York. She was doing a cover story for Elle Magazine for her success as a fitness model and a celebrity chef. Taeyong was in New York with his father. They were in negotiations to acquire a a very popular restaurant chain that they hoped to bring to Miami.

Yuta picked Sonya up to take her to school before you headed to RCA Records.

“y/n, is there anything you want for Christmas?” Sonya asked you as you tied her hair. She was about to leave for her last day of classes before Christmas break.

You thought about it. As cheesy as it sounded, you had everything you could ever need.

You checked your phone to see if you had any messages and smiled at your lock screen of Taeyong scrunching his nose.

“You’re pink,” Sonya giggled. She watched your reflection.

You shook your head. “Is the AC even on?”

The doorbell downstairs bellowed throughout the Lee estate.

“It must be your future brother-in-law,” you said to her.

Sonya ran out of her room and down the grand staircase of the mansion. She ran past the maid that was about to answer the door.

“YUTA!” Sonya squealed when she saw him at the door.

Yuta gave her a big bear hug.

He was in dark wash jeans and a white tee, looking well-rested. He looked better than you’d last seen him. He’d been up and down about the upcoming nuptials. As much as you wanted to tell him to not go through with the wedding, it wasn’t your place.

“Hey, Yuta,” you said, “How’s it going?”

“It’s going. How are you? Have you decided who you’re signing with yet?” He threw his car keys up and caught them quickly.

“Yuta, what time is it?” You asked.

He frowned as he looked at his Apple Watch. “7:35.”

“Right? I don’t talk about anything serious until after 9:30 so I won’t answer that.”

He laughed as he grabbed Sonya’s Elena of Avalor backpack. “Right. But you’re doing okay right?”

You couldn’t help the smile on your face. “Yeah, everything’s great.”

Yuta mustered his most winning smile as he tried to ignore his truth.

Taeyong and Samantha would be back in time for their friend Sooyoung’s wedding tonight. Because mega pop star Luna had scheduling conflicts and at Taeyong’s high recommendation, Sooyoung hired you a month back. Johnny would join you as a band member and as your singing partner.

;;

After you discussed the set list with Johnny for tonight, you walked back to your car and were surprised when a red tulip was propped on your windshield.

As a woman, you felt joy, confusion, and mostly, fear. This anonymous gift was not to be trusted.

You debated grabbing the tulip because it could’ve been laced with poison. Who would try to do such a thing to you?

Well, Samantha could be above murder.

But was she?

You decided to leave the tulip be so you can get home, grab some gloves, put the tulip in a ziploc bag, and take it to the police station.

It would be awkward to send Samantha to jail a week before her wedding.

You grabbed your keys from your handbag and got into your car.

Your phone rang. You relaxed once you saw who called.

“Hey,” you said, exhaling in relief.

“I guess you don’t like tulips?” Taeyong said, a lace of hurt in his voice.

“That was you?! I thought you were some creep trying to kill me.” Leave out the part where you were 98% sure it was stepsister.

“How would a tulip kill-You need to lay off the Lifetime movies, babe.”

You laughed as you got out of the car and took the tulip in your hands. “If it makes you feel better, it’s the most beautiful flower I’ve ever seen. You took in its fresh scent and hummed. “It smells amazing.”

Taeyong was silent over the line.

“Taeyong?” You asked.

Nothing.

And he hung up when you checked.

You turned back to the driver’s seat and saw him before you with a huge bouquet of red tulips. His big brown eyes were warm and welcoming. You imagined he was beaming behind the bouquet.

You couldn’t wait to kiss him so you pressed yourself against him and the flowers. You pecked him on the lips and almost lost your balance. He steadied you. “Hi,” you said, flustered at being such a dork in front of him.

He wrapped his arms around you for a moment and pulled back. “Mind if I set these aside first?” He didn’t want your flowers to get ruined.

You pulled away from him so he could put the flowers on the driver’s seat.

“Hey, songbird,” he said as he opened his arms wide.

You jumped into his arms and squeezed him tightly.

He’d been gone for a week but you were very clingy.

“I missed you,” you said as you nuzzled into his neck. He smelled of lavender and fabric softener. You wanted to lie in bed with him and snuggle him like a pillow. You were sickening.

“I missed you more,” he said as he kissed the top of your head. “Are you free?”

“I’m free until the ceremony,” you said as you played with the buttons of his baby blue button-down.

“Great because I want to take you somewhere,” he said as he lifted your chin and kissed your lips.

;;

Taeyong took you a pottery painting place. It was called Stella’s. It was located a few blocks from Holy Hell Nightclub. He wanted to bring you here for a while now so you two could be alone in a quiet space and maybe get into a paint fight.

“It’s quiet. Must be a slow day,” you noted, in marvel of the shop. It was filled to the brim with all kinds of figurines to choose from. The paint selection almost brought you to tears.

Taeyong cleared his throat. “Actually, the place is ours for the afternoon.”

You put down a ceramic owl that was too cute for words. “What do you mean?”

“Stella’s parents own this spot and I asked her for a favor.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Are you mad?” Taeyong asked, worried.

You shook your head. “No...It’s just...You are...Too good to me sometimes.”

Taeyong’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Taeyong was the poster child for the ideal boyfriend. It was amazing but sometimes you felt a little out of your league.

And the way that he endlessly spoiled you. You loved every bit of it but you wondered if you were too greedy. If you weren’t doing enough for him.

You worried that at some point, he would get bored with you.

And you knew you were wrong to think that.

Taeyong almost cried when you gave him a homemade minion sweater for him to take to New York.

He appreciated you for you. It wasn’t his fault that he was disgustingly wealthy.

You two had fun together. Most of the time, you two dated like a healthy functioning couple.

Movies. Supermarket trips. Playing with your two cats Kai and Jax at your place. Late night trips to the beach.

The best nights you had together were when you went to the movies and indulged on popcorn.

But then Taeyong would catch you by surprise. Like today.

You admitted to him, “Sometimes...I feel like I’m never going to be able to make you happy the way you do me. I don’t want to let you down.”

Taeyong moved closer to you. “You could never let me down, y/n.”

You held his hands. “I want to make you happy.”

He wrapped his arms around you. “You have no idea just how much better my life is with you in it.”

You nuzzled into his chest and felt the steady beat of his heart. You loved him.

Soon, you would tell him.

You two settled down and started painting. Taeyong picked out a horse figuring to paint all shades of pink for Sonya. You picked a slice of cake figurine for Taeyong for his sweet tooth.

“So when I got up on the stage, I almost fell on my face,” you said, remembering your junior year of high school. The first time you sang in public was at your school’s annual talent show.

“You were nervous,” Taeyong noted.

“I wanted the earth to swallow me whole,” you said, “If it weren’t for Johnny being beside me of the stage, I never would’ve given myself the chance.” Johnny was one of the reasons why you became a singer. He believed in you. He was your truest friend.

Taeyong added, “He’s a great friend to you. I’m happy you have such good people around you.”

You rolled your eyes to avoid blushing. “You are so...Sweet that I’m about to get a cavity. I saw a dentist around the corner. I gotta bounce and get that filling.”

Taeyong chuckled. “I’m stating facts, y/n. Most of my friends are in LA so seeing you two makes me miss that...”

What about Yuta, you wondered. But something inside you made you decide not to mention it.

“I’m sorry,” you replied, “Maybe we spend too much time together?”

Taeyong froze. “What?”

“Taeyong, your life is basically work, me, and accumulating the best plush Pokémon collection.”

Taeyong gaped. “I resent that. Your life is basically work, me, and accumulating the best Pokémon card collection.”

“To conclude, we’re both nerds that need to get out more,” you said.

“But I love spending time with you. You’re my best friend,” Taeyong admitted.

You grabbed your paintbrush full of dandelion yellow paint and painted his arm. “Shut up.”

Taeyong grabbed his brush full of rose pink paint and painted your nose. “Cringe brings out cringe, babe.”

You painted each other and tried to restrict the mess to your table so Stella wouldn’t blacklisted either of you.

Taeyong traced magenta onto your side bang. You laughed as you finished painting your cake slice.

He just watched you for a moment. The sparkle of mischief in your eye when you stared at each other. The wondrous song that was your laugh. The matching Spongebob friendship rings you bought.

“y/n,” he said slowly. The sound of your name on his mouth sounded so lovely.

“Yeah?” You asked, focused on painting a corner carefully but peeking at his soft expression.

“I-“ Taeyong began.

And then his phone rang. He glared at his phone. He sighed.

He answered his phone, “Can it wait?”

The person on the other line replied.

Taeyong’s eyes grew. “I see. We’ll discuss it on Monday, Doyoung. Okay, thanks.” He hung up.

“What’s up?” You asked. Taeyong’s demeanor was unreadable.

He debated telling you about his latest job opportunity but he wanted to make sure he had all of the details before he brought it up with you.

“Remember how I told you it’s been a dream of mine to start up my own cinema chain?”

He told you on your first “date”. “Yeah.”

“Well, Doyoung and I are planning to lay the groundwork for our own movie theater. We just spoke to our last investor and we got the green light.”

“Your own movie theater?” You gasped. “Tae, that’s incredible!” You squeezed his hand.

He smiled softly and it quickly faded. “The thing is...”

“It’s not in Miami,” you finished, already having a feeling with the way he reacted over the phone.

He shook his head. “It’s in LA.”

“Oh,” you said.

He watched you carefully. “I’m sorry, y/n. I didn’t anticipate our plans developing so quickly. I wasn’t sure if it would happen. I’m so happy here with you. I would never want you to think-“

“Honey, it’s your dream,” you started, “I want this for you.”

“But...would it be too much for me to ask you to come with me? If not, could you handle long distance?” He worried about stressing you out. He thought he had more time.

You thought about it. You had a lot of doors opened for you that you had to consider. “I’m not sure. It all depends on who I sign with.”

Taeyong nodded.

You continued, “Can you wait for me to join you?”

Taeyong was surprised. “What?”

“I want to go with you. I just need some time to get my affairs in order. End things with the agency. Move out of my apartment. Say goodbye.”

Taeyong broke out into a smile, his soulful brown eyes squinting from cheesing so hard. “Really?”

You giggled. “You looking for a roommate?”

Taeyong reached over and kissed you. It almost felt like he said “I love you”.

Honestly, he didn’t even have to say it. You just knew.

;;

Choi Sooyoung’s wedding was in Miami Beach at the Grand SeasideHotel. The ceremony took place at the beach and the festivities were in the hotel ballroom. You began your set with a father and daughter dance. Then, you continued with love songs for the couple and the standard party ones for the whole group in attendance to get on the dance floor. Your rendition of Cha Cha Slide was one no one would forget.

You looked radiant. You wore a silver dress that went down to your heels. The beads gave a subtle rainbow effect that you glowed onstage. You sang Adele’s “One and Only”. A lot of couples slow danced.

Taeyong danced with Sonya.

“Better than Adele, right Taeyong?!” She asked.

Taeyong laughed. “I believed you when you said it the first time.”

He remembered Sonya mentioned the wedding singer Samantha and Yuta hired. Yuta wasn’t the only one who raved. The minute Samantha found your YouTube channel, she started spamming Taeyong with your videos.

Your cover videos were of just your voice. You hid in the shadows to give some mystery.

Taeyong began falling in love right then and there.

And then when he saw you for the first time, it was really over for him.

Sonya ran off to find her sister and Yuta joined Taeyong to watch you belt it out.

“Hey, she’s unreal, isn’t she?” Yuta asked.

Taeyong replied. “She’s...There are no words.”

“I’m surprised she hasn’t signed with a label yet,” Yuta replied.

“Y/n is thinking of joining Epic,” Taeyong adds, “It’s funny, you know. I didn’t even think to invite someone from epic.”

Yuta blurted, “I’m guilty.”

“What?” Taeyong eyed him carefully.

“I invited the Epic Records exec.”

“Oh.” Taeyong is silent. How did Yuta think to invite your dream label and he didn’t?

It turned out that Yuta snuck a peak into your lyric journal that night at Starbucks when you excused yourself to go to the bathroom. He was curious to see what you’ve written. He did find a song about himself dated back 6 years ago. It was your catharsis for letting him go. But Yuta took a photo of the page and has read it over many times. He also found a page of your goals, which included possibly joining Epic Records one day. But Yuta would never admit that to Taeyong.

He wanted you to chase your dreams and achieve them. A phone call to his friends at Epic wasn’t a big deal to him. He wanted you two to be happy. He would simply hold onto the fact that at one point in time, you liked him.

“I have a friend at the label. You remember Kyla?” Yuta asked smoothly.

And with that, they resumed enjoying the party.

You performed “You’re The One That I Want” with Johnny, who went the extra mile and brought a leather jacket just for that song.

As you performed song after song, the buzz about you grew stronger and stronger, much to Samantha’s annoyance.

When you got a break, Taeyong led you to his table. He went to grab you some water and wedding cake. People passed you at the table, praising you and giving you their contact information because they wanted you at their next event.

When that was over, you took a deep breath and relaxed.

“You must be so happy.”

You froze at the sound of her serpentine voice. Samantha sat beside you.

You knew this wouldn’t go well.

“You have my half-brother wrapped around your little finger. It’s because of him, you’re on the verge of commercial success. You could have everything you want. Because of him.” She was very pointed when she said “because of him”. She wore a dark red party dress and her long nails matched. It was like she was out for blood. Yours, probably.

“Samantha,” you started.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re taking advantage of my brother.” She tapped her nails against her glass of champagne.

“Hold on just a second-“

“I wouldn’t put it past you since you never did quite get over your crush on Yuta.” Her hazel eyes turned into daggers.

You stayed silent. Waiting for her to finish her tirade before you ended her.

“I see the way you make those little first day freshman year eyes at him. It was cute, at first. Since he’s a major NBA player and one of the most influential men in the city. You were starstruck. After all, we went to high school with him. But it’s been months now. You’re dating Taeyong. He’s done nothing but shower you with the best. And what do you do? Look at my fiancé when Taeyong’s isn’t looking.”

“Are you finished?” You asked.

Samantha smirked. “For now.”

“I don’t know what gave you the impression that I was sweet on Yuta. I’ll admit seeing you two after seven years brought out old feelings. But they died when I met Taeyong. Ever since I met him, my life has been wonderful and adventurous and I feel like I’m on top of the world. Record deal or not. I’m happy where I am. Taeyong has done a lot for me and I’ll never let that go unappreciated. Is he helping me make my dreams come true? He always has. Since the first time he asked me to play something for him. Look, I haven’t told anyone this but I’ll let you be the first to hear it. I’m turning all of the labels down. Not to prove anything to you. But to prove to myself that I can make it without anyone’s help. So for you to say that I’m taking advantage of Taeyong? Well...you’re lucky to be Taeyong’s family.” Or else you wouldn’t have been courteous.

You got up from the table because you didn’t want to see Samantha’s stuck up face for at least an hour.

“Hey,” Taeyong said as he touched your arm. “Are you okay?” He noticed you looked flushed.

You nodded as you took the glass of water from Taeyong. You gulped most of it down. “My throat was getting dry but I’m good now!”

Taeyong grinned. “I can’t get enough of you, you know that? That cover of Cha Cha Slide is one for the history books.”

You rolled your eyes. “Put the cake down and dance with me.”

You two danced to Miracles Happen by Myra. Sooyoung was a big Princess Diaries fan. Taeyong spun you around and you tickled him when he least expected it. It was one of his weaknesses.

;;

Samantha didn’t realize Yuta heard what she accused you of.

“What is your problem?” Yuta asked.

“What do you mean?” Samantha snapped. “That little wedding singer has infiltrated our lives and I was just putting her in her place.”

Yuta groaned in frustration. “Leave y/n alone Sam.”

“Why are you so concerned about her? I’m trying to save my brother from getting his heart broken by that-“

Yuta dared her to finish that sentence. “I’m gonna stop you right there.”

“Why are you getting so defensive over her? Don’t tell me you still have a thing for her.” But she already knew that.

Yuta remained silent.

“Oh?” She exclaimed, egging him on.

Yuta gave her a pointed look. “Don’t give me that. It was never a secret and you knew it.”

Samantha seethed. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. She told me she loves Taeyong. And, in case you forgot, you’re marrying me. If you know what’s good for you.”

Reality sunk in even deeper for Yuta. He stormed off and hit up the open bar. He was mad he had to marry someone he didn’t love. And for what? Fame and success? An obligation to the Lees and Samantha’s biological father?

A small part of him hurt that the only girl he ever really liked was in love with someone else. That someone else being his best friend.

;;

You finished your set. You were going to meet Taeyong at the photo booth set up for the reception.

You both sat in the photobooth.

“What do you think? Duck faces?” Taeyong asked.

You knew the only answer was yes.

“Wait! I saw some more props closer to the entrance. I’ll be right back,” he said as he kissed your cheek and squeezed your cheeks. “You are so adorable. I think I can die and go to Heaven now.” He was definitely buzzed.

You laughed and then waited.

A few second later someone opened the curtain. You were shocked to see who it was.

“Yuta?” You asked him.

He was drunk out of his wits. His long hair was disheveled and at the sight of you, he ran his hands through it again.

He looked at you in adoration. “Hey.”

“Yuta, are you okay? I-“

Yuta moved in and the flashes could be heard. He kissed you sloppily. You could feel the vodka from his lips. Alarms were going off in your head. You panicked and pushed him away hard.

“Get off of me.” You said as you pushed past him out of the photobooth.

“Y/n, come back! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Yuta stayed in the photobooth, despondent.

;;

Neither you or Yuta realized that you left something very important behind at the photobooth.

But someone else did.

To Be Continued in Part 4

A/N: You thought I forgot. 😉 I had to revise one little detail in chapter 1. Y/N auditioned for Yuta and Samantha in September instead of April! Thanks for reading and especially thanks for waiting. 😭

[stonerbughead]

Maria watches friday night lights (#34)

And we continue with 5x11, the stage is set for quite a playoff episode, and i am HERE FOR IT.

my reactions / recap / flailing under the cut

Omg there are “welcome home Tim” signs up?? Poor Luke is jealous of Becky and Tim talking.

Damn, Tim definitely seems fucked up from prison from just that convo with Becky about the Landing Strip alone. Tortured boy.

Aw, we love to see excited Eric with a bunch of excited East Dillon Lions in the locker room after a winning playoff game!

Anddddd here come the budget cuts to burst the bubble. “Anyone need a donut? Some of you won’t have a job next semester.” Damn worst he’s seen it in 27 years? “Anyway, uh...pray.” Damn.

“Where’s the union in all of this, you know?” damn, they have a union at this Texas school? That’s good, but it seems like a weak one, which i’m not surprised about because, again...Texas.

OOOOH Tami’s getting recruited to a Philly college and they’ll fly her out to interview her?

LOL the dudes are yelling “state, state, state!” jumping up and down in their front yard? “Get out of my front yard, you’re making me look bad!” this is so wholesome.

Oh jesus poor Vince, his dad is trying to bring alcohol home when his mom is a recovering addict? What a selfish fuck! “I just don’t know.” OK BYE.

Ahhh Smash Williams is on the TV, playing football in a professional game while Tim Riggins works at Buddy’s bar...this show is just *chef’s kiss*

Oh he sounds so sad and “meh” as Buddy tries to make small talk about Smash’s success. Oh my poor Tim.

OH Jess noooo you taped another team in the division? The fear and drive in her eyes as she nervously tells a very stressed Eric she wants to be a coach herself...I love that.

REALLY? One of the coaches had to do the laughing and “you’ll never be a football coach.” “What, because I’m a girl?” “I didn’t say that.” “Yeah, you did.”

OMG I’m dying, the subtitles while Luke and Becky make out on the coach say SMOOCHING. Adorable!

“Don’t stop for me.” Wow, growth for Becky that Tim is the one walking in on her relationship now. “Use protection this time.” MUST YOU TIM?

Oh shit, football is “revenue neutral.” Truly wild that Tami, Eric, and Levi are having a convo about the whole program possibly being cut while the team loudly celebrates making it to the quarter finals all around them! The visuals in this show are superb.

The sound of “all the way to state, all the way to state, all the way to state!” in the background as the camera focuses on Tami and Eric, watching over everything with sighs on their faces. They carry so much for this town and this team.

Oh shit it’s Bryn Mawr she wants to interview at? And omg they want to interview on the Friday of the semi-final. It’s all happening!

Oh yes some high-stress practice in the pouring rain while Eric has budget cuts and Tami’s interview on his mind!

Okay i get you’re stressed Eric, but calling Jess a “pest” for showing you an article of a female football coach is not it! Although it is WILD Jess took a physical newspaper clipping out to show Eric in the pouring rain. I love her.

Yes, Billy, you are def on the chopping block with these budget cuts. But LOL at him making fun of that dude who repeats everything everyone else said

Tim is so much quieter and more stoic. It tracks. Billy, are you really surprised he doesn’t want to relive his former glory days rn? (Although i have a lil feeling Tim will show up at this game at the last minute!)

Oh shit they’re on Billy’s front lawn now? This is so cute, the parallel moments of “wait a minute, I hear something” and coming outside to find this team with so much heart!

Oh wow they are getting BOOED at this away game. You know they’re good now!

“You never saw so many people so quiet.” I love Vince and his mom’s relationship so much, my heart.

Oh god is daddy all drunk kissing up on his wife who is SOBER? Sir, what do you not understand about sobriety?

Oop and he’s got “gifts.” What shit is he back into?

Wow, hands on the mom and he’s clearly dropped the drugs he’s flipping. There it is.

Yes to the BBQ people asking if the MOM is alright and kicking the dad’s sorry ass out. That’s how we do it.

I really love the way they’re transitioning through this period of playoffs—the locker room updates to their progress with the radio in the background, the chants after each win — then making way for Eric dropping Tami off at the airport. Semifinals are here.

“The time when I need you the most?” “You really gonna bring this up now, on the way to the airport?” Tami’s right, she’s been nothing but straightforward all along! Tami supports you, Eric, let her have her fucking moment.

“Well, you’re kicking my ass.” “Yes, that’s right. Your ass needs some kicking.” “Who’s going to cook dinner for me?” “Oh, poor baby. Gracie.” LMAOOOO yes Tami! Get him! I’m dying.

Okay, Eric, you are forgiven—he looked up the female football coach to talk to Jess about but got the last name wrong!

“14,000 high school football coaches in the country, and that’s one. One out of 14,000. You like those odds?” “No, I think they kind of stink.” “So do I.” Awwww.

“I’m not asking to play.” YES JESS! I love the growth she’s shown over her two seasons. Now she knows what she wants! And her persistence is paying off—Eric’s gonna let her shadow him?! My heart!

Damn Tim is VERY bothered by Becky working at the family business (The Landing Strip.)

Oh God what i feel like Tim sees in “one of Becky’s regular customers” is someone he has an excuse to let out his aggression on. He’s clearly just so fucked up by his life not being what he wanted it to be—and by even the life of those he loved and left behind on the outside not being what he wants for them.

“She’s 17 years old!!!! A high school junior!” I mean, FAIR. Fair fucking point.

Oh fuck this emotional scene between Tim and Billy in the parking lot...DAMN that was a hard punch in the face Tim just gave Billy.

WOW Tim is gonna hold onto taking the fall for Billy for a long time. Fuck. “For the rest of my life, if that’s how I feel it needs to be.”

Billy looks so fucking sad on his knees in the parking lot.

Regina changed the locks! Yes gurl, do not let that man back into your home!

He’s trying to break down the door...oh honey, no. “You’re blowing it, Pop!” I’m so proud of Regina for standing up for herself and Vince.

The visual of Luke riding up next to Tim’s car, and then driving past Becky and Tim fighting, as they pause to watch him go...ART. Also, why is Tim so resolutely like “I got to go. I got to go.” Intrigued.

“There’s only gonna be one football team in Dillon next year.” “Well, which program are they cutting?” “That’s next week’s fight.” DAMN. So much is happening in one night!

Yep, Eric just summed it up to that reporter: “One of those teams is going to state. And i don’t think you’re gonna eliminate a team that goes to state.” They’re fighting for the very existence of their team AND the state championship in one! This show!

Oh wow Luke does NOT want to hear Becky’s apology. Oh nooo!

Aw Regina and Vince communicating about how she needs to “take a meeting” so she can’t come to the game and him saying that’s more important...again, the growth! My heart!

OH they made up Braemore? Really sounded like Bryn Mawr LOL. Go Tami!!!

(These white dudes do not want to hear a woman saying they should rethink their approach. STOP YELLING AT HER, SHE’S RIGHT.)

Oh Mindy, crying at Tim not to go, about how much Billy cries at night, how much they both love Tim. IM EMOTIONAL

“You’re different, you know that?” “Yeah. I am.” ABOLISH PRISONS.

DAMN this semi final game is a NAILBITER

They did it at the last minute, YES!!! Nothing beats the excitement on the team’s faces as they embrace!

Damn Tim returning to his old trailer? Drinking beers alone and doing very not well as he listens to the radio static. Sigh, poor angsty boy.

Aw the woman who interviewed Tami is so kind. Telling her she did well at dinner.

I literally gasped then went AHHH! when the college dude came to dinner and Tami’s all politely like “thanks for the opportunity!” And the guy’s like, “yeah yeah i have two kids to put to bed, anyway we’re offering you that old asshole’s job.” “Dean of Admissions???” YES QUEEN

Damn Eric and Tami are BOTH killing the game, what a fucking power couple.

Eric has the whiteboard on the bus to accompany this “we’re going to state” chant. Amazing.

“We missed the field house.” “We’re not going to the field house.” OMG all their fans are waiting outside to cheer for them as they return?? How beautiful!

Oh my poor babe Vince, all he wants is to know his mom is safe.

YES he found his mom! My heart dropped when Vince’s face betrayed some fear he couldn’t find her. I’m so glad they can celebrate together, oh my heart.

And then you see Eric looking around for Tami, lost because she’s across the country contemplating a life-changing job offer...WOW. Two episodes left and the deck is truly STACKED. This show is art.

[ambitionsource]

AMBITION Season 1 ♫ “Before the Storm” [ 1.11 ]

CREATED BY Esther (rapunzles) & Maggie (quincywillows)

CH-CH-CH-CHANGES – The sophomore stars throw their hat in the ring for the chance to attend a highly regarded performance summer program, but only three students can progress from Adams to the final audition. Lucas has a daunting decision to make.

60 Minutes (15K words) || No warnings apply.

[ ← Birds of a Feather ] [ S1 Synopsis ] [ The World Will Never Be the Same → ]

( Follow along with the music on Spotify here! )

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

The halls of Adams greet us for the penultimate episode, cutting between shots of the setting we’ve come to know and love. Through windows in the doors, students rehearse in the music and dance studios. The locker hallways are pristine and decorated for the end of term. Graduation memorabilia is all around.

As the scenery shifts, the voice of Principal Hunter lectures on the importance of the school, everything that the institution stands for. Next to bulletin boards where students are welcome to jot down their summer plans to share, a display case in the atrium shows photos and mementos from the past school year. Les Mis is certainly included, as well as the winter showcase.

Jack: Adams exists to give students the chance to pursue a passion. Something important to them, so pivotal to their future endeavors and true happiness that they can’t even fathom doing anything else. It’s a silly notion, to some, but I’ve always admired that piece to it. That chance to give a young mind the power and potential to do whatever it is that they’ve always dreamed about.

Focus eases in on one advertisement on the bulletin board in particular – an informational flyer about the Kossal Summer Program, which has been referenced multiple times since the pilot. In bold lettering, the text “rising juniors only,” seems sharply emphasized.

Jack: More than anything, I try to give our students as much opportunity as possible. Getting here was the first step, and then I want to help them reach higher. Achieve further. Find access to doors and avenues that they may not have even known existed or felt capable of entering. I work hard to create that space. I work hard with all of the faculty and staff here to foster that environment, where any student can come to a safe, inclusive environment and throw their hat in the ring.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

It becomes clear why JACK HUNTER is monologuing. He is in his disciplinary meeting with WYATT LIVINGSTON, following their deduction that he is the one running AAA Confessions.

Jack: Thus, it’s always such a shame when someone deems to take advantage of this space, and twists it into something it shouldn’t be.

Wyatt doesn’t seem all that impressed. Jack questions him on why the hell he would create a page like this, or barring that, be a part of it in the first place. Wyatt claims he didn’t make the Insta, but Jack presses the question again. Not buying it.

Wyatt dispels Jack’s rosy view of the school, claiming it’s no oasis for creativity and collaboration. It’s a cesspool of egomaniacs and cutthroat competition, and he knows it. The whole reason that the AAAC even works at all is because of the collective terrible attitude at the school. It’s a “safe environment” for them to take shots at each other and be as repulsive and reductive as they all actually are.

Jack snaps at this, claiming that’s not entirely true. He references the very targeted attack on a single student just a few days ago with Lucas, which Wyatt clearly orchestrated and was not just the full petty whimsy of the student body. Unable to fully deny this, Wyatt admits his hand in making some of the initial posts, but he didn’t orchestrate anything. If anything, the Lucas White Trash Dump Day is a perfect example of what he’s talking about – he lit a match, and the sophomore class set the whole forest on fire with it.

Wyatt: Besides, it’s not my fault that everyone hates Lucas. He does that to himself.

Jack doesn’t want to hear anymore. He doesn’t think he can face it. He moves onto discussing punishment, positing what he believes are fair consequences – expulsion, effective immediately. This finally seems to knock Wyatt off his high horse. He claims that’s bullshit considering one student can beat up another and not get kicked out, but he makes a couple of mean anonymous posts and he’s on the chopping block?

Jack argues that it’s the principle of the thing, and that every situation is different. The situation between him and Lucas was an isolated incident with bigoted implications, whereas the page has been an ongoing toxic presence at the school –

Wyatt: But I don’t deserve to get punished for it! I didn’t create the page!

Jack: Fine. Fine, if that’s the case, then tell me who did. Tell me who should take the fall for this, and we can renegotiate your involvement.

Wyatt can’t, because he doesn’t know. Nobody does. Jack takes his silence as an admission of guilt, but it’s evident that he is truly distraught about taking the consequences for it. Perhaps the severity of the punishment may be a bit too harsh…

After a beat, Jack claims that he will take some time to determine the proper punishment. Until then, Wyatt would be smart to keep his head down and enjoy his last couple weeks of sophomore year without further trouble.

Wyatt rises in a huff, storming out. Jack waits until he exits before letting his composed facade crumble, obviously overwhelmed by the chaos this whole situation has caused.

Hopefully, it’s about to come to an end. But not without some major decisions…

Cue opening titles.

INT. AAA - BLACK BOX THEATER - DAY

ANGELA MOORE is at her desk in the black box classroom, fretfully flipping through the schedule of the touring spot she’s been offered. She’s cross-referencing it with her personal calendar, obviously not thrilled with how much it’s consuming of her current life.

She’s been waiting so long for an opportunity like this. It’s her dream, yet now that it’s in front of her she doesn’t know what to do with it. Angela lifts her head, gazing blankly at the empty classroom around her. Wondering what it would be like to leave it behind…

SHAWN HUNTER breaks her out of her daze, entering with coffee and a breakfast bagel. He hands it to her and she takes it gratefully. He tentatively asks if she’s made any decisions yet, to which she gives a definitive no. Still very much in the realm of indecision.

Shawn seems relieved that it’s not a guaranteed yes, but being in uncertain territory isn’t much better. But uncertain ground they’ll continue to tread…

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Ain’t It Fun” as performed by Tufts Beezlebubs || Performed by Nigel Chey, Yindra Amino, Chai Fresco, Nick Yogi, Clarissa Cruz, and Haley Fisher

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

NIGEL CHEY leads this acapella rendition, playfully rehearsing with his fellow sophomores. It’s one of the few numbers we’ve seen so far that gives due focus to the other performers in the classroom, and it gives an upbeat (if subtly ominous) musical start to the episode.

He dances around the stage with YINDRA AMINO, CHAI FRESCO, NICK YOGI, CLARISSA CRUZ, and HALEY FISHER. In keeping with the truce, most of the techies are hanging around with them and half-grooving along while working on set pieces. DYLAN ORLANDO sways with ASHER GARCIA in a bouncy waltz, the latter somewhat singing along.

DAVE WILLIAMS shows off his usual terrible dancing. Nigel sings directly to JADE BEAMON at one point, and she just about passes out. Yogi films the jam session with his A/V club camera to commemorate the end of the year.

Absolutely charmed.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

While the acapella underscores, FARKLE MINKUS is making his way through the hallway after finishing up at his locker, headphones blocking out the rest of the world. He seems a little out of it, traversing the school with less of the impatient, high-maintenance energy than he was bursting with earlier in the year. Subtle, but definitely a shift.

DARBY WINTERS and SARAH CARLSON catch up to him, startling him into conversation. As he removes his headphones, he struggles to catch up to their fast-paced questioning.

Darby: … your audition number? We want to start taking bets on whether you’re going to be able to best Maya or not in this final epic diva showdown.

Farkle: My audi – okay, slow down pixies, and start over. I can’t understand you at warp speed.

They eagerly ask him if he has decided what song he’s using for his audition. Suddenly feeling as though he’s forgotten something, he asks them what the hell they’re talking about.

Sarah: The Kossal auditions? They’re this weekend. Preliminaries are going to be all this week. [ Like he’s stupid. ] You know, the most coveted opportunity of the year?

Farkle: Oh. Oh… yeah. Yeah, I guess I forgot.

Sarah raises her eyebrows, clearly shocked. Darby breezes right past it, telling him he should really start thinking about it, although he’s likely to do amazing regardless. As they flutter away, Farkle shakes off his daze.

He honestly can’t believe he forgot about the program he’s been waiting all year to audition for. But suppose when you actually get friends and stop being all-consumed by your one passion, that’ll do it to you.

INT. AAA - ERIC’S OFFICE - DAY

ERIC MATTHEWS is sitting down with RILEY MATTHEWS, obviously excited about whatever information he’s about to share with her. She still has her focus set on a different matter, though, and figures that’s what the meeting is going to be about.

Riley, hopefully: You’ve figured out who is running AAAC?

Eric: … still working on that. But making progress, undoubtedly.

Riley sighs, slouching back in her seat. Eric promises her that what he has to tell her is just as exciting, another great opportunity here at the end of term. He goes on to explain that at the conclusion to each school year, Michael Jacobs and the school board fund an art gala in which all the major art magnet schools from the area come together to celebrate their achievements of the past year and share in their love of the craft.

He slides a small invitation across the table for her to look at. On the front is a fancy-looking ballroom where the event is usually held, with details and logistics on the backside.

Eric: Now, obviously Jack and I will be attending, as principal and MVP of Adams.

[ Riley glances at him, giggling at his given title for himself. ]

Eric: But we’re allowed to bring one student as a representative for our school, and we were thinking you.

Riley: [ blinking, taking a moment to realize she heard him correctly ] Me – me? You want me?

Eric: The nomination was unanimous.

Riley is evidently stunned by this. Eric goes on to explain all that she helped achieve at AAA that year, particularly how instrumental she was in bridging the divide and improving the overall quality of culture in the sophomore class. There is no one else they can think of more deserving of the opportunity. She should be proud of everything she’s accomplished this year.

The caveat, however, is that the gala conflicts with the district-wide audition evening for Kossal. So should she get chosen from the school-level auditions to progress onward, she would have to decide which one to attend. Riley claims she’s not planning on auditioning anyway.

Eric: What? Why on Earth not?

Riley: Are you – are you serious? You literally just said to me –

Eric: You know, you’re right. You’re right, shh. We’ll unpack that later.

Eric opts instead to highlight all the fun aspects to the gala that Riley should start gearing up for. She gets to dress up! There’s performances, and dancing, and great food! Oh, and she gets to bring a plus one, so she should start thinking about who she might like to bring along.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Class has assembled for the day, bustling into their seats and alive with restless end-of-term energy as Angela brings their attention to the front. She goes on to talk further about the Kossal program, how it is an intensive six-week summer camp in upstate New York where participants are deeply immersed in the art of performance. It is one of the most highly anticipated opportunities of the year for the sophomore class. The program boasts many notable alumni, and they’ve rarely had a student attend it from AAA who didn’t see success in their future.

As she describes it, it’s evident that MAYA HART and Farkle are both totally invested. ZAY BABINEAUX seems inspired too, but less openly determined than the other two divas. Everyone else is somewhere in between, indecisive about whether it’s worth it to try for it at all.

Angela continues on, explaining the catch – given it’s highly selective criteria, the audition process is staggered and competitive. It starts at the school level, where they will select three of their best students to move on to the district-wide auditions. From there, one lucky student from Adams will get to experience the program.

The techies are like… great. This week is going to be hell, isn’t it. ISADORA DE LA CRUZ exchanges a look with DYLAN ORLANDO and ASHER GARCIA, who look less than enthused. Angela dismisses them to work on their auditions or final projects, whichever they deem fit.

In the wings, Farkle pulls Maya aside. In an attempt to preserve their new and blossoming friendship, he proposes that they should help one another with their auditions. Essentially, be there to support one another rather than fall into their usual habits. Given the circumstances, it’s very unlikely that they both won’t progress to the next round, and he doesn’t want their naturally competitive instincts to come between them.

Maya is surprised and a bit hesitant towards this initiative, but she’s not going to be the one to cause trouble. Besides, as far as she can tell, Farkle does seem entirely genuine in his motivations. She agrees with a “hell yeah,” taking a pass on the drama if they can hack it.

They shake on it, agreeing they’ll be on each other’s teams.

INT. AAA - CAFETERIA - DAY

Zay is at his usual table, YINDRA AMINO and NIGEL CHEY occupying the other primary seats around him. They’re engaging in their typical comfortable conversation, Zay allowing them to take the brunt of it.

His focus shifts when CHARLIE GARDNER approaches with lunch in hand, coming to stand awkwardly by their table. He and Zay hold eye contact for a long moment, before Charlie asks if there’s room for him to join them. Although there’s clear tension, Yindra and Nigel don’t seem to pick up on it.

Zay claims there’s room, because he actually has to get going. He rises to leave without much more to say to Charlie. It’s clear this stings a bit, and Charlie watches him go before sliding into the seat he just vacated.

Yindra snaps him out of it when she asks whether or not he’s planning on auditioning for the Kossal program. Charlie says no, as he has a family obligation – there’s this big communal springfest dinner at his church that same night that is super important to his parents. His mother is part of the planning committee, and all that.

Nigel explains that he and Yindra were both considering it, but with only three spots and three known divas, it sort of seems like improbable odds. Charlie nods along, but he’s not really paying that much attention to their complaints. His gaze keeps lingering on the doors where Zay left.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - DAY

LUCAS FRIAR hastily makes his way from the hall to his bedroom towards the door, obviously on a mission. He has his phone pressed between his shoulder and his ear, slipping on his boots.

Lucas: I’ll be there in like five minutes, you can pick me up at the usual corner. [ a beat ] No, tell Dylan he’s not coming over. [ beat ] Yes, I have the fireworks, now could you –

From the kitchen, his mother calls out for him. This is pretty unusual, so Lucas tells Asher he’ll be there in a minute before hanging up and sauntering back towards the kitchen.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - KITCHEN - DAY

Lucas pokes his head in, finding GRACE FRIAR seated at their small dining table. She’s petite, disarmingly beautiful, and looks deceptively too young to have a teenage son. She asks if he has a minute to chat about something. He starts to state that he has plans, but rather than explaining to his mother that he’s off to go set off illegal fireworks with his dumbass friends, he figures he can spare the few seconds to talk.

Lucas settles into the chair across from her, and the closer we are to her the more the cracks in her dainty exterior seem to show. There are healing bruises on her face from the events of 1.09, and once you notice them underneath the makeup, it’s hard to unsee.

She goes on to explain that through one of her friends at work, she was able to get in touch with the dean of admissions at McCullough, a private all-boys boarding school in upstate New York. Given Lucas’s excellent academic record at AAA – behavioral record aside – Grace believes that if he applied, he could totally get a spot in their elite student body for the last two years of high school. She wants to put his application in for the fall, if that’s something he might want.

Lucas, stunned: You mean… you mean like leave triple A?

Grace hurriedly explains that she knows AAA was never Lucas’s top choice as far as schooling. He never had any artistic interests, there were just no… better alternatives. But this school has excellent reviews, top rated academics. It’s in the countryside rather than the city, so maybe the fresh air could do him good. A little space. And all of its alumni go on to have successful careers as doctors, lawyers, entrepreneurs – whatever Lucas decides he wants to do.

Lucas doesn’t know what to think. Never before has there been another option besides AAA, and the mere prospect of it seems impossible to fathom. Not to mention, so much has changed in the past year at the school he always claimed he hated. He doesn’t know how to answer.

Grace claims that he should take the next couple of weeks to consider it, as the application isn’t due until then anyway. It just might be a viable different route, an… escape from everything going on here. A loaded conversation to drop so suddenly…

Angela, pre-lap: How is anybody supposed to make a decision like this?

INT. AAA - ERIC’S OFFICE - DAY

Angela is hanging out with Eric in his office, both of them relaxing after the students have cleared out for the day. They’re sharing sodas in fancy glasses (i.e., what they’re allowed to consume on school property), and Eric is leaning back with his feet up on his desk as they muse.

Angela laments her current situation, definitely feeling torn between two worlds.

Angela: It’s like, all my life, I had one dream. This gig, this draining, paradoxical, invigorating art of performing, that was it for me. All of this from acing an audition to getting a spot on a tour or production, I mean, that was the whole plan, you know? That would fall into place, and the universe would do the rest.

Eric: I hear you, sister. Amen.

Angela: But here I am, finally steps away from the dream. It’s right in front of me. I can taste it. And… I’m holding back. I’m hesitating. How can I be hesitating now?

As Eric points out, there’s a chance her dreams have changed. She certainly has, as has he, and everyone else they know. Hell, look at how much they’ve all grown in just this school year alone.

Eric: Beginning of this year, Jack and I fought about everything.

Angela: Believe me, I remember.

Eric: You and Shawn couldn’t even look at each other, and the school was at war. Quite literally, given everything that conspired after.

Now, all things considered, they’ve found harmony. They’ve found peace, and they’re on their way to almost quelling the last remaining symbol of bad blood. They opened themselves to change, and it turned out to be exactly what they needed.

Eric: Change happens, and it’s scary. But it can be good. You shouldn’t run from it. In fact, it may behoove you to listen to what it’s trying to tell you.

Angela ruminates on this, taking a long sip of her cola. Much to think about.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - NIGHT

Zay is eating dinner with OMAR BABINEAUX and DONNA BABINEAUX, attempting to find the right time to tell them about the summer program. As Omar wraps up discussing a new development at work, Zay takes a deep breath and gears up to speak. Donna beats him to it, however, suddenly remembering an important news bulletin they meant to share with him.

His older sister Jada was selected for an exclusive study abroad program this summer. She’ll be studying fashion in Milan and Paris, so they’re planning a family vacation there as well to take advantage of the opportunity. It’s an exciting update, but definitely throws a potential wrench into Zay’s quest for Kossal.

Donna: Isn’t that exciting?

Zay: Oh, yeah. Yeah, that’s… I mean, dope.

Omar: What were you going to say, Zay? Looked like you had something on your mind.

Zay: Just that, uh… my grades have really turned around since fall semester. So the tutoring did actually help. That’s all.

He doesn’t push the issue further, allowing his parents to congratulate him and take back control of the conversation. Might as well be a sign… right?

INT. JACK’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Jack and Shawn are having their traditional dinner. Shawn raises his glass in a toast, cheering on Jack for catching the dumbass who was running the AAAC. Jack takes the praise, but hesitantly. After they both drink, Jack expresses his qualms about how to progress with punishment towards Wyatt.

Shawn shares no such reluctance to be brutal.

Shawn: What do you do when you catch a cold, Jackie?

Jack: Down a pint of Gatorade and hope for the best.

Shawn: [ with an eye roll ] Okay, how about a malignant mole? A tumor? Any sort of cancerous presence?

Jack: Well I’ve been lucky enough not to –

Shawn: You remove it. You cut the thing out so it’s disease can’t spread. It’s that simple.

Jack points out that some might say similar rhetoric about, say… Lucas, to which Shawn scoffs. He claims that they’re completely different situations.

Shawn: Listen, Friar is a mess all his own. I would know. But he isn’t going around using slurs towards other students, or posting increasingly vitriolic hate just to rile people up. There’s a difference.

Jack references the fact that Wyatt claims he’s not the moderator, that there’s another student running it. Shawn blows this off, stating that has to be a lie.

Shawn: [ with his mouth full ] I would know. I used to lie to get out of trouble all the time.

Jack: Once again, you continue to reassure me of your right state of mind to be teaching the youth of tomorrow…

Shawn states that Jack knows what the right decision is, he’s just wallowing in it. And if he won’t do the right thing, then he’ll just take matters into his own hands. Jack knows he’s just shooting the breeze, but he is also like don’t do anything stupid please, I have enough to deal with.

INT. MATTHEWS APARTMENT - NIGHT

That night, it’s just CORY MATTHEWS and Riley there for dinner at the apartment. In the midst of the meal, Cory congratulates her on being selected as representative, and there’s a soft moment between them reflecting on just how far she’s come in a year. He’s so, so proud of her.

She agrees that there is a lot to think about, like what she’s going to wear and who she should bring along. Cory additionally mentions the decision over which song to perform for her audition for the summer program, until Riley expresses that she isn’t planning on auditioning.

Much like Eric, Cory is totally opposed to this notion. He states that she should at least throw her hat in the ring, and it’s even more low stakes for her considering if she doesn’t make it to the district level, she has another plan already in place.

Cory: Other potential conflicts aside, you shouldn’t keep yourself from getting the chance to run the bases by never letting yourself take one swing at bat.

INT. RILEY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

This sentiment is still lingering with Riley as she gets ready for bed. She hesitates, glancing up at her moodboard to search for inspiration.

It’s drastically different than when it was first made, more intricate and decorated than ever. Lots of little details have been added, including photos of her classmates, playbills from Les Mis, and lots of other little mementos throughout the school year.

She zeroes in on one item in particular – a scrap of notebook paper. It’s the note she and Lucas were passing back in forth in 1.10, during Maya and Farkle’s rendition of “Bop to the Top.” While the majority of it is just a back and forth about how Lucas doesn’t know what the movie is and he thinks Maya and Farkle aren’t that good, the most important statement is the last.

As Riley is defending their performing abilities, he’s followed up with a very bold counterargument: “You’re better.”

It’s evident that is the reason the conversation is hanging up at all. She hangs on this, lightly smiling… wheels are beginning to turn in her head again…

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Charlie shows up to the auditorium early, finding Zay on the stage exactly as he hoped he would. He’s running through what would have been his audition routine, the vaguely familiar orchestral arrangement from A Chorus Line playing on his iPhone speaker. Charlie hangs back and watches for a moment, in awe of Zay’s obvious skill as always.

Charlie: Looks pretty good.

Zay is surprised by his presence, both because he didn’t realize he was there and because he’s suddenly deeming him worth talking to again. He rushes to turn off his speaker, taking a second to catch his breath. Then he forfeits the stage, saying that he’ll get out of his way if he needs to use it. Charlie rushes to stop him, asking if he’ll give him just half a second to talk.

Zay looks wary, but he doesn’t leave. He crosses his arms, waiting for Charlie to say his piece.

Charlie: I’m sorry I’ve been acting so distant. Ghosting you, and stuff. I don’t have an excuse. I’ve just been… it’s been weird.

Zay: Bit of an understatement.

Charlie: I haven’t exactly felt like myself much, lately. [ a beat, then he laughs ] Honestly, it’s more like I don’t even know what “myself” actually is. Kind of wondering if maybe I ever did.

[ It’s really hard not to empathize with him. Zay is clearly softening. ]

Charlie: Anyway, it’s not a good reason to treat you the way I did. I can’t explain why I did what I did, but I’m genuinely sorry. I never meant to hurt your feelings. And regardless of what’s going on with me, I don’t want to lose you. I mean, someone has to be able to keep up with me around here.

Zay can’t help but chuckle, earning a hopeful smile from Charlie. But the deal isn’t closed yet.

Charlie, sincerely: I understand if you can’t forgive me. I just wanted you to know.

There’s a moment of silence. Charlie may as well be holding his breath. Then, Zay sighs.

Zay: I don’t know what your so-called God has you used to, but I wouldn’t call what you did unforgivable. Or maybe I’m just a gracious deity.

Jokes aside, he’s accepting the apology. Charlie is clearly relieved, laughing in spite of himself and nodding. Zay mirrors his smile, before prodding further on what he mentioned earlier.

Zay: What did you mean by that? Not feeling like yourself?

Charlie: I don’t know. It’s like… do you remember during acoustic week, we talked about your lack of friends?

Zay: Well, I wouldn’t phrase it like that, but yes.

Charlie: It’s… I guess it’s kind of like that. What I talked about, that feeling where you feel like you’re outside yourself. Only… way worse. Like now I’m out there, and I don’t even recognize the person I’m looking at. It doesn’t feel like me anymore. Or maybe it never really was.

Zay can tell that Charlie is seriously struggling with this. Charlie goes on to explain that he was scared that things were changing, but now he doesn’t even know if that’s the case anymore. He isn’t sure if things are changing, or if he’s just becoming aware of how things already are. He can’t figure out which is worse.

Vague cryptic statements aside, Zay states that he’s there to help if he thinks he needs it. Charlie thinks on it, before agreeing that just doing something fun to get his mind off everything might be exactly what he needs.

Charlie: And, well, you’ve always been the expert on that front.

Zay: This we know. I’ll see what I can do.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

Riley catches Isadora in the hall, asking if she’s seen Lucas. After she suggests checking the usual places, Riley follows up by asking whether or not Isadora is planning on auditioning for the summer program. Her derisive laugh is enough of a response.

Isadora: Are you kidding me? I’m not trying to insert myself into that bloodbath. Farkle, Maya, and Zay can take it, I’m not aiming to scrap in the last two weeks of school.

A valid analysis of the situation. Even still, Riley makes her focus on her as she states that she truly believes Isadora is good enough to earn herself a spot on her own merit. Then she flutters off, Isadora unable to hold back the ghost of a smile at the touching sentiment.

INT. AAA - PRACTICE ROOM - DAY

Maya and Farkle are in the same practice room where they met for tutoring in 1.03, running through some scales together with the latter on piano. They’re interrupted when KATY HART shows up, nervously poking her head in and clearly not sure if she’s in the right place. Maya eagerly leaps forward to greet her, hugging her and guiding her into the space.

Farkle is surprised, Maya quickly catching them both up to speed. She explains that her mother had never seen the inside of the school before, so she was able to work something out with Jack so that she could come by for lunch and stick around to see her audition. Katy expresses awe over how state-of-the-art the facilities are, Maya walking her through everything in their current room. Farkle watches them, obviously touched by their tight-knit relationship.

As Maya goes into further detail about what their practicing for and the summer program, Katy grows anxious again. She’s uncertain about the financial aspect of it. Farkle jumps in, helpfully stating that the summer program is all-expenses paid. That’s partially why their audition process is so thorough – they want to make sure only the most deserving and talented students are mixing and mingling at this shindig.

Good news, for the Harts at least. Katy brightens again, eagerly requesting to hear a little bit of what they’ve been working on. Maya claims that she’ll get to see the full audition in just a bit, but she pleads for a sneak preview. Farkle raises his eyebrows, wiggling his fingers over the keys to show he’s ready.

Maya relents, gesturing her mother towards the chairs to settle in and listen. Then she exchanges a look with Farkle, nodding to count each other in. She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath. Then, as Farkle hits the first chord…

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Listen” as performed by Glee Cast  || Performed by Maya Hart

Maya kicks off this brassy display of her vocal talent, true evidence to how hard she’s worked all year. “The Wizard and I” was impressive, but this is a whole new level of ambition. It’s raw with emotion, even more so given the fact that her mother is there to witness. She smiles at her as she sings, obviously one of her greatest sources of inspiration.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

As the performance continues, it shifts to Maya center stage performing for Angela, Shawn, Jack, and Eric. A large crop of her classmates are there to cheer her on as well – Farkle, Zay, Charlie, Riley, Isadora, Darby, Sarah, etc. How nice it is, seeing the divas show up to support one another rather than tear each other down…

As she finishes, her classmates burst into resounding applause. Angela, grinning, thanks her. Katy wipes a couple of tears. Maya can’t stop smiling, nodding gratefully with the spotlight shining all around her.

EXT. AAA - LUNCH COURTYARD - DAY

Lucas and Isadora are at lunch, the latter rattling off what she thinks her summer plans are going to be with this short film idea that came to her during first period. She’s already got storyboards going in a notebook.

Lucas isn’t listening. He’s distracted, watching the other goobs in his techie crew throw food at each other and crack up and live their generally silly existences. Isadora realizes he’s a million miles away and snaps him out of it, asking him if he heard a word she said.

Lucas: Please. Of course I did.

Isadora: Right. So what was I thinking was going to be the climactic plot twist that makes the entire short and dare I say rivals Alfred Hitchcock?

Lucas: You know I don’t understand that reference.

Isadora, bluntly: You really should. Well?

Lucas: … okay. Okay! I wasn’t listening. You caught me, congratulations. You’re Sherlock of the month.

Isadora makes an offhand comment about how she doesn’t see why she bothers to open her mouth, but Lucas is already zoning out again. It’s clear that the decision of McCullough is all he can think about, so he ventures the topic – albeit vaguely – with his most trusted source.

Lucas: Can I ask you a question?

Isadora: Was that not just a question?

Lucas, deadpan: You’re fucking hilarious, seriously.

Isadora: [ with a smirk ] I know. Anyway, go on.

Lucas finds a way of twisting the decision to leave into a thinly veiled alternative scenario, almost like… a scientific hypothetical. Something she would inherently understand.

Isadora: You realize that most often supposed “hypotheticals” are in fact very real situations that one is simply posing as a hypothetical –

He waves her off, going with the ruse anyway. He lays it all down before asking for her advice as to how she would proceed to make the most effective choice. She plainly states that she would make a list of pros and cons to each outcome. From there, it’s far simpler to deduce the best method moving forward.

Lucas absorbs this, nodding along and thanking her. Then she continues on with her film sketch, but he’s already checked out again. Already mentally crafting his list…

INT. AAA - GIRLS DRESSING ROOM - DAY

Sarah and Darby are in the dressing room with Chai, hanging out before class resumes. As Darby touches up her makeup, the three of them discuss whether or not they’re auditioning. Sarah complains it’s not really worth trying either way, and Chai concurs. But she blithely states she wasn’t planning on auditioning anyway. In fact, she won’t be returning next year, either.

Darby: [ whipping around and smearing mascara on her cheek ] Oh my God, WHY?

Chai: Relax, Darbs. It’s not goodbye forever. I was able to work out a study abroad sort of situation with Principal Hunter given that I’ll be spending the year in London.

Sarah: London? Where the hell did that come from?

Chai: Well, papa’s still attempting to win over me and mom after getting caught with his pants down with the secretary in our parlor –

Darby, sadly: It’s always the parlor… I’m so glad we don’t have one.

Chai: So he’s paying for me to spend the year across the pond. And it’s like what, am I gonna say no? I can hate his guts and spend his money, thank you very much. I’ll be studying the dramatic arts in the birthplace of Shakespeare, Andrew Lloyd Webber, wandering the West End…

Certainly a not-too-shabby alternative to AAA for a year, that’s for sure. Their conversation is interrupted as Riley enters to drop her things, Darby cheerfully posing the same question to her. Despite her former hesitation, Riley admits that she’s been considering it more and more. Sarah scoffs, asking her if she thinks she stands a chance against the divas. Riley shrugs and states that even if she doesn’t, that’s not a good enough reason to sit it out entirely.  

Chai applauds her confidence, but manages to underhandedly point out that it will give her yet another opportunity to publicly fumble like she did all the time at the start of the year. Sarah laughs along and Darby can’t help but giggle, although her expression is more apologetic.

Riley takes the hit, wishing all of them well with their own endeavors and keeping her chin up before heading out to the auditorium. Chai watches her go, but the expression on her face isn’t resentment. In some ways, it seems closer to envy.

Darby: Hm. Maybe I’ll audition, too.

Sarah: Yeah, uh-huh. I’ll believe it when I see it.

INT. AAA - TEACHER’S LOUNGE - DAY

Jack manages to catch Angela in the teacher’s lounge, brewing a thermos of coffee before she’s due back in the auditorium. He requests a moment to chat with her if she can spare it, which she happily does. The two of them settle in at a round table.

Jack poses the Wyatt problem, giving as much context as possible before asking Angela what she would do in his shoes. He notes the perspective he’s already gotten from Shawn. Angela grants that she isn’t surprised at all that he had that response, but is reluctant to provide her own.

Angela: I don’t know if you want to ask me. I can hardly make my own choices.

Jack: I just want to know your thoughts. Honestly.

Angela hesitates. She explains that she knows what Wyatt did was irrevocably wrong, from the despicable words to Isadora all the way through to the involvement with the confessions page and his targeted derision towards Lucas. It’s bullying in all its varied forms, and it shouldn’t be tolerated. Even still… she expresses hesitation at ousting him so harshly and hastily.

When Jack prods further, Angela points out that Wyatt is still one of her students. He’s making dozens of poor choices, she can concede that, and he deserves to be punished. But she’s also seen him in his brighter moments, instances of participation and camaraderie and learning. That exists in him just as much as the nastiness. As Jack has said himself, it’s never simply black and white, especially with adolescents who have so much growing to do.

For Angela, it just seems a little cruel to kick him out with so little time left in the school year. But she’s a softie, she claims, so what does she know? Maybe that’s not the best advice. Especially if he intends to leave an impression to deter others from exhibiting the same behavior. Jack thanks her regardless, insisting that her feedback was helpful.

Jack, softly: If you do decide to leave us this year as well, you will be sorely missed. I can promise you that.

Ouchie. Angela nods, suddenly a little more somber than before as Jack leaves her to it.

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY

Charlie is out with Zay, the two of them walking side by side as they make their way through the streets while keeping up a conversation. Zay refuses to tell him where they’re headed. Charlie is nervous, but also clearly excited. Invigorated with that infectious energy he gets from being around Zay Babineaux.

Zay declares they’ve made it, turning the corner. Curious, Charlie jogs to keep up.

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DANCE LOT - DAY

Zay has dragged them to a back alley park, the empty lot transforming into a break dance spot in the after school hours. A group of a couple dozen or so students is assembled, both older and younger than them. It’s sort of an impromptu crew, coming here after school to jam and challenge each other and just groove together. Most of them are also quite similar to Zay in displaying confidence in their unique sense of style – and come off pretty distinctly queer.

Charlie is more than intimated. He states he can’t do this before whipping around and trying to leave, but Zay grabs his shoulders and pulls him back. He braces him, going on to explain that as long as they’ve been friends – hell, even just classmates – Charlie has always seemed most centered when he’s dancing. These people, they’re the exact same, in fact they’re the experts at using it for self-expression. Zay is positive Charlie has never experienced dancing with freedom quite like this.

There’s a moment where it seems like maybe he’s being convinced… but no. He’s still scared. He tries to run again but is thwarted when one of the older, more respected members of the crew greets Zay and calls them over. Nowhere to hide, Charlie sheepishly follows Zay as he bounces over to greet his acquaintance.

Zay eagerly introduces Charlie, nudging him into standing straighter and not shying away from the moment. The assembled dancers sort of swarm and welcome him warmly, asking him what kind of dancing he’s into and if he thinks he can keep up. After a little bit of banter, let the dancing jam session begin!

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Step Up” as performed by Samantha Jade  || Instrumental

Yes, it’s the title track from Step Up. Yes, this entire sequence sort of feels like it’s ripped straight out of a Step Up movie. But that’s all part of the fun, and watching the teenagers all groove together and encourage each other is engaging to watch. The dancing is fresh, enthusiastic, clearly important to every single one of the kids assembled there.

Charlie is no exception. It takes a little while him to loosen up, the other dancers showing him new moves or helping him get comfortable. But true to Zay’s word, once he relaxes it’s like he transforms – he’s a completely different person. In his element, grounded, alive.

When the bridge hits (“And when the symphony plays, I feel my feet / Lifting from underneath”), focus zeroes in on just Zay and Charlie. In an instant they’re pulled together, and suddenly they’re dancing more with one another than we’ve seen thus far. Sure, they’ve done duets before, but never have they experimented with a dance that really includes the other.

But it’s good. Really good. And it seems pretty natural for the both of them to work out. As the bridge descends back into the chorus, they blend back with the rest of the crew and end out the jam session. Afterwards, the crew applauds, pulling Charlie into the group and giving him pats on the back. A new source of family, maybe…

His smile is impressively bright. Zay mirrors it. It’s impossible not to.

INT. AAA - SHAWN’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Angela and Shawn are at his apartment, having just finished up watching a movie. Well, sort of watching a movie, sort of on the road to Netflix and chilling.

After breaking a kiss, Angela tentatively broaches the topic of what will happen for the two of them if she decides to go on tour. Shawn bristles a bit, claiming that she’s decided then. She disputes this, stating that she’s far from having decided anything in an attempt to keep the situation from imploding. But Shawn has already pulled away, getting to his feet and busying himself by turning off the TV and hitting the lights.

Angela: Shawn, would you listen to me? I haven’t made a choice. I’m just… I’m trying to figure out my plan.

Shawn: You can’t make plans until after you’ve made the decision! [ off her expression ] You’re avoiding it because you don’t want to choose. You want there to be an easy out, but there’s not. You have to decide.

After a little more back and forth, Shawn points out that this is starting to feel eerily like the conversations they had right before the last time things ended badly between them. Angela frowns, stating that it’s different this time. They’re different.

But Shawn has already been emotionally spooked. He asks if he can be alone for a bit, retreating to the bedroom and leaving her alone to stew in it. Angela groans, flopping back on the couch and covering her face.

Weird, how not making a decision can almost make things worse…

INT. CHUBBIE’S DINER - NIGHT

Charlie and Zay are getting a late dinner at Chubbie’s, a credit in part to Charlie’s growth considering plenty of people can see them there who know them. But they’re friends, after all, so what does he have to hide? Just dancing pals.

He thanks Zay for taking him to the lot, stating that while he’s not entirely upright again, he does feel better. Zay is happy to have helped. When the two of them reach for the plate of fries at the same time, there’s a moment where their hands brush together and that tension returns between them again. Zay glances at Charlie, who is staring at their hands.

Then, Charlie proceeds for the fry as normal. Not commenting on the moment, but not immediately shying away from it either.

As he pops the fry into his mouth, he asks Zay what his plan for the summer program is. The number he was working on in the auditorium seemed pretty legit. Zay shrugs it off, claiming he’s not doing the audition. Charlie nearly chokes on his fries.

Zay: Jesus, man. [ sliding his water across the table in case he needs it ] If you survived the scary dancing pit, don’t let a stray potato take you out.

Charlie: What do you mean you’re not auditioning?

Zay: It’s no biggie. My family has this whole summer plan already, and I don’t want to mess with it. Not to mention the Farkle and Maya of it all, who knows what they might do if someone presents even a shred of competition –

Charlie, incredulously: I can’t believe I’m hearing this right now. You need to audition. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and you’re too good to pass it up.

Zay: Um, could say the same to you.

Charlie: Yeah, thanks, but I’ve got enough going on internally without adding a stressful audition into the mix. Think you can admit to that.

Zay: Yes, you certainly are a bit of a basketcase at the moment…

Case in point, Zay needs to do this. Charlie won’t hear anything else, and he’s sure his family will understand. He at least needs to try. Zay contemplates this – the notion of actually giving it a shot as well as Charlie getting fired up on his behalf – before eating another fry.

INT. AAA - BOYS DRESSING ROOM - DAY

Farkle is gearing up for his audition, doing vocal warm-ups and mouth stretches in the mirror. Yogi and Dave are also present, shooting the breeze and poking fun at Farkle’s pre-show rituals. Dave shares that he heard Riley might be auditioning too, which freaks out Farkle. He wasn’t expecting more than the three of them to audition, and suddenly the calm of this whole situation feels precarious.

Maya pokes her head in, checking for Farkle and telling him they’re ready. Yogi and Dave tell him to break a leg, but he ignores them as he marches out of the dressing room.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Farkle and Maya make their way into the wings, the spotlight gleaming on stage and waiting for him. He stands apprehensively in the shadow of the curtains, suddenly prickling with stage fright he’s never really experienced before.

Maya gives him a bracing pat on the shoulder, pulling him out of his own head. She jostles him a bit, giving him a smirk and assuring him that he’s got this.

Wow, how nice it is to have friends instead of adversaries. Farkle nods, exhaling through his lips and regaining his performance mojo.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Not the Boy Next Door” as performed by Glee Cast  || Performed by Farkle Minkus

The instrumental precedes him, setting us up for a jaunty, energetic solo as Farkle marches his way onto the stage. It’s an enthusiastic and skillful performance, delivering all of the star power and talent that he’s been serving since “Man About Town” but leaner, looser, more an expression of heart rather than a strangled declaration of perfectionism.

More than anything, it’s clear he’s having fun, which can’t be said for every performance he’s given over the course of the year. He totally loses himself in the number, spurred on by the encouraging cheers from his classmates who came out to see him – notably Maya and Riley, amongst scattered other performers.

He’s out of breath when he belts out the final note, but boy, did he make an impression. Angela thanks him proudly, the rest of the judges smiling as well.

INT. AAA - TECHNICIAN’S BOOTH - DAY

Lucas is alone in the booth, in his usual chair. He’s got his pros and cons list in a small notebook, tapping his pen against it as he contemplates it. Presently, there’s a couple more cons than pros.

He raises his gaze to look at the booth around him. Much like the moment that gripped Angela in the black box, Lucas becomes acutely aware of the fact that he may never be back in this space after the school year is done. It’s oddly surreal. His pen starts tapping faster out of instinct.

He’s broken out of his fugue when Riley pops in, knocking lightly before stepping inside.

Riley: I hope I’m not intruding.

Lucas: No, uh, no. It’s fine. You’re fine. What’s up?

Riley can tell he’s not quite himself, but she chooses to brush past it for now. She’s a bit nervous herself, given what she’s there to talk to him about. After a bit of beating around the bush – a pointed eyebrow raises from Lucas to make it evident he knows she’s beating around the bush – Riley works up the courage to ask him to be her date to the Jacobs gala.

Before he can respond, she launches into a frantic ramble explaining exactly what it is and what he’d be expected to do. Lucas does his best to absorb her words at warp speed, obviously stunned she considered to ask him at all.

Riley: [ following her breathless explanation ] Essentially, it’s just a fanciful folly for the arts, but apparently I’m good enough to represent. And I’m supposed to bring a plus one, and I’ve been giving it a lot of thought, and I just keep… I figured it might be nice to have a technician there as well. I couldn’t think of another person better suited for the job.

Lucas: … wow.

Lucas, still slow from the shock, admits that he’s flattered. And he concurs that her reasoning makes sense, bringing a technician along and all that. Riley nods along, chewing her lip and twisting her fingers together.

Lucas: But uh… no.

Riley: No. [ blinking ] No?

Ouch. Lucas presses his lips together, managing a shake of his head. Suddenly, the booth feels a million times more claustrophobic. As Riley tries to digest this turn of events, Lucas scrambles to provide an explanation of his own.

Lucas: Again, I really appreciate you considering me. But it seems like a pretty important thing for the school, or whatever, and a whole glamorous to-do. I just think that there’s a lot riding on you, here, and you should present yourself accordingly. Pick someone more… fitting to the role.

Riley: [ timidly ] What if I think you fit the role?

Well, hard to argue with that. Yet somehow, Lucas finds a way, still declining the invitation although with less certainty the second time around.

Riley is stung, stumbling out a few assurances of “cool” and “sure.” Lucas is apologetic, seemingly genuinely so, but at present Riley just needs to escape. She makes an excuse and darts out of there, Lucas watching her go. There’s a moment where it looks like he might go after her, but it passes without action.

Instead, Lucas sighs and pulls his notebook back onto his lap. He stares at his lists, grabbing his pen and adding Riley to the bottom of it. It’s in the middle of the page, not clear at all which column she falls under.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - NIGHT

As Donna prepares for dinner and Omar chats with her from the table with his work, Zay barrels into the room and declares that he has something to tell them. He doesn’t give them the chance to react as he claims he wants to audition for the Kossal summer program, rattling off what it is and why he wants to do it. He states that he wants to go on the summer trip and this may not even work out, but the chance feels too important to ignore and really important to him.

When he finishes, he’s out of breath. He stares at his parents, wide-eyed, waiting for their reaction. Unsurprisingly they are more than supportive, telling him to go for it and show everyone at that school why he is the best they’ve got. The rest, they’ll figure out later. Zay exhales in relief and hugs his mom, earning a laugh from her.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Zay retreats to his bedroom, obviously in far better spirits than earlier in the week. He crafts a message to Charlie, before deciding that’s not enough. He pulls up his contact, dialing his number instead.

INT. GARDNER HOME - CHARLIE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Charlie sees Zay light up his phone, grabbing it and escaping out to his balcony. He answers on the fourth ring, not keeping him hanging.

Zay tells him what his parents said, and that he’s going to audition. Charlie congratulates him, claiming that he knew it would all work out.

Zay: How is it when I always think I’ve got the one-up on you, you repay the favor before I even realize it?

Charlie, charmed: Well, I have to be the expert at something in this relationship.

Zay hangs on his acknowledgement of their friendship as a “relationship,” before pushing past it. He repeats the sentiment that his parents said about proving that he is the best AAA has, and Charlie seconds it without hesitation.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “The Music and the Mirror” as performed by A Chorus Line Original Cast || Performed by Zay Babineaux

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Starting from the opening piano tinkles, focus is solely with Zay on the stage. As much an honorary diva as he is, he’s more so a team player than anything else, so this ownership of center stage feels long overdue.

And boy, is it worth the wait. Zay absolutely destroys the classic triple-threat number, singing the hell out of it and then proceeding to dance the hell out of it. It’s four minutes dedicated to giving the star our undisputed attention, and it feels more earned than words can describe.

As the dance unfolds in the second half, focus cuts to some of the friends who have come to see him audition. Nearly the entire class is there considering how popular he is, all in awe of his dancing ability as they should be. Charlie looks prouder than ever. Riley is basically jumping out of her seat from excitement. That’s her first friend!

The judges are deeply impressed, and seemingly grateful at their current three auditionees there’s not actually a decision to make. Farkle seems less relieved, starting to get a little bit antsy as they applaud Zay and he gives a confident bow.

INT. LAW OFFICE - DAY

Riley visits her mother at work, distinctly out of place in the high intensity and strait-laced setting of the law office with her thrift store tee and flare jeans and propensity for knocking things over. It’s a relief when TOPANGA LAWRENCE emerges from her office and happily gestures her in, freeing her from the scrutinizing gaze of her colleagues at the front.

INT. TOPANGA’S OFFICE - DAY

Topanga and Riley catch up as they settle in, Riley primly sitting in the large leather chair opposite her mother’s desk. When prompted on how school is going, Riley offhandedly explains all of the stuff going on at school with things winding down to summer. When Topanga gets wind of the summer program, she comments what a wonderful opportunity that sounds like and questions whether Riley is going to audition.

Riley admits that she was thinking about it, but has sort of decided she’s not going to. Topanga totally turns the usual argument on its head, wondering why Riley would ever hesitate when she’s so gifted but more so curious as to why she’d neglect such a great opportunity when they’re certainly forking over a chunk of change for her to attend the school in the first place. A fair point, but not the most empathetic approach.

It’s encouragement in its most aggravating form. Rather than motivating Riley it almost completely turns her off to the whole thing. Although she states she’ll continue to consider it, her expression makes that statement difficult to buy. Tough day for Miss Matthews…

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Class is assembled before first bell, discussing all the auditionees so far and how nothing has been much of a surprise. Wyatt is cleverly keeping his mouth shut giving he’s on probation, but somehow his classmates manage to pull some commentary out of him.

When he says something harsh towards Zay’s performance Charlie starts to refute but Lucas beats him to it, firing back with a dig at Wyatt that makes most of the assorted group chuckle but also wince. Pissed at being ridiculed by him once again, Wyatt serves up a harsh reality check of his own.

Wyatt: At least we know if there was a competition for which one of them to get rid of, there’d be a unanimous decision across the board.

The message is clear enough. Isadora jumps in and tells Wyatt to fuck off, but Lucas is less reactive. In fact, he’s totally blithe when he says something offhand in response, alluding to the fact that Wyatt might very well get his wish.

He gets up, retreating to the booth and leaving an uncomfortable and uncertain quiet in his place. The situation feels serious, but none of them have any clue why…

INT. AAA - BLACK BOX THEATER - DAY

Angela is still grappling with her own indecision, alone in her classroom. Only this time, Shawn isn’t there with coffee and a warm gesture to rescue her.

She checks her phone, revealing a couple of messages sent to him that have gone unanswered. Frustrated, running out of time, and as uncertain as ever, Angela shuts off her phone and jumps to her feet. Unable to sit still any longer.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Should I Stay Or Should I Go?” as performed by Jools Holland & Kylie Minogue || Performed by Angela Moore

Launching into this anthem for indecision, Angela dances around her classroom as she lets out her aggravation. It’s refreshing to get another track with our favorite performance coach showing off why she’s been offered a touring position in the first place. The vocals are top notch, but the emotion behind them is what really sells the rendition.

As she continues to sing, she makes her way out into the halls…

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

In the following montage, Angela’s singing underscores both she and Lucas going through their day as they continue to balance their decisions. Whereas Angela is more about chewing up the scenery and expressing reluctance to leave, Lucas is observing the things about the school he enjoys (his fellow technicians, the booth, the occasional moments where the performers are entertaining) along with all the things he hates (the drama, the stupidity, the incessant singing). With every beat, he makes a little note in his list when no one is paying attention.

Angela finishes off the montage at center stage, dipping her head back and absorbing the spotlight. Exasperated, but evidently no more at home than when she’s performing. It does truly feel like an impossible decision.

Then, she closes up for the night, clicking off all the lights and shrouding the place in darkness.

EXT. OUTDOOR HIDEOUT - DAY

The montage concludes for Lucas somewhere just out of the city, more wilderness than we’ve seen yet. He’s seated on the hood of Dylan’s jeep which is parked in the clearing just beyond the trees, sort of a natural hideaway that the three of frequent somewhat often. Asher and Dylan focus on setting up something further into the space, leaving Lucas alone.

He’s got his list again, distracted by it rather than the task at hand. Asher jogs over with Dylan on his heels, the two of them questioning why he’s been out of it this week and why he’s waiting up. Dylan holds up a bottle rocket impatiently.

Dylan: Come on. We know you like to have first light.

Idiotic antics aside, Asher observes Lucas for a moment before wondering if he knows that if something major were going on, he could talk to them about it.

Asher: Whatever’s going on, you know you could talk to us about it, right? [ off Dylan’s nod of agreement ] I mean, no guarantee that we’d have good advice –

Dylan: [ with a snort ] Definitely not.

Asher: But we’d listen. We got your back. You know?

Lucas examines the two of them – his truest lieutenants – and just takes them in for a long moment. It’s difficult to imagine what his day-to-day would be like without them in it.

He assures them he’s aware, then tells them not to worry about it. He directs them to go finish setting up the rocket, to which Dylan cheers and sprints back over. After they’ve gone far enough away, Lucas takes a moment to add their names on the pros side of the list as a totally separate entity from the rest of the techies.

With that, he officially comes out to an even tally – no clear decision. All that remains in flux is Riley, now having been underlined and with a couple of question marks. This indecision’s killing me…

INT. AAA - ERIC’S OFFICE - DAY

Jack stops by Eric’s office, surprising him given they rarely have cordial friendly chats with one another. He attempts to play it casual at first, commenting on how lovely the auditions have been so far. Since only three have auditioned, guess their job is pretty simple, huh?

Eric: Yeah, for sure. And why are you here again?

Jack: What? I can’t come by to have a chat with my best counselor?

Eric: I’m your only counselor.

Jack: And?

Eric gives him a look, breaking his facade. Jack relents, easing further into the room to settle into the chair opposite his desk. He gets into his qualm with Wyatt once again, especially now that Shawn and Angela have given him opposing advice.

He still feels stuck. He wants to make the best choice as an administrator, but he also knows that teenagers are stupid. They’re ignorant. They make mistakes. He’s seen that shift firsthand all year long, in just about every single one of their students. But he doesn’t want this behavior to continue either…

Eric empathizes, giving Jack what he’s been wanting to hear this entire time which is simply that there isn’t a right or easy decision. He just has to go with his gut. Considering he’s an excellent educator, Eric has little doubt that he will make the best one.

Jack appreciates the sentiment, but still isn’t convinced. He asks Eric what he would do in his position, seeking counsel from him seeing as that’s presumably his job title and all that.

After a beat of contemplation, Eric states that he thinks he would ask Wyatt to leave. Not because he’s irredeemable, but because they have to think about what is best for the collective. Regardless of how they feel about individual students, what always matters most is how all of them can best proceed. Isn’t that true?

Jack takes this to heart, genuinely grateful for the help. Eric accepts his gratitude, offering him an encouraging smile.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Lucas is seated on the edge of the stage, one leg dangling off the side as he painstakingly wraps microphone cables. Riley makes her way in from the audience entrance, hoping to find Isadora and stumbling into him instead. Their staging mirrors their face off at the end of 1.03, now with Riley standing in the aisles and looking up at him on the stage.

They’re a bit awkward with one another as she asks whether he’s seen Isadora, given how recent his rejection of her was. He claims he doesn’t know, curiously wondering why she’s trying to find her. Riley expresses that she wanted to ask her about the audition, letting it slip that she has almost effectively decided she’s not going to do it.

Lucas is shocked, coming off more miffed than he intends to. He questions if she’s serious, not believing there’s a world in which she’s not auditioning. Riley stammers into an explanation, Lucas remaining unimpressed as she lists all the factors that have stacked against her in the past week. He claims none of that matters.

Lucas: This is just you stepping back into the shadows because suddenly overwhelming factors have come into play. You’re really just going to go back to how things were? As if you’ve learned nothing?

Riley: [ scoffing ] Are you really about to give me this lecture right now?

[ Lucas rolls his eyes, diverting his attention back to his cables. But Riley isn’t finished, storming closer to the stage. ]

Riley: So what, you just want me to rock the boat for the sake of rocking the boat? You want me to just do whatever my mother says I should?

Lucas: This isn’t about your mom. And this isn’t about rebellion either. This is about you, and the fact that you are too damn talented to be stepping out of the spotlight just because other people want it. Just because someone else wants what you have doesn’t mean you have to give it up.

Choice words, and not a bad point. Riley absorbs this, crossing her arms and looking at her feet. Lucas gazes at her for a long moment, twisting the microphone cable in his fingers.

Lucas, calmer: Earlier this year, someone told me that if something is important to you then you go out and do it. No matter what anyone else tells you to do or how to be. You stand up for yourself.

Lucas gets to his feet, placing the microphone in the box with the rest and snapping the lid shut. He hops off the lip of the stage, passing her to head back towards the technician’s booth. But he hesitates once he’s passed her.

Lucas: Are you really going to go back to hiding in the chorus line?

He doesn’t give her the chance to respond, marching towards the back of the auditorium. Riley looks over her shoulder and watches him go, obviously torn up all over again. For what it’s worth, what she wants suddenly seems less muddled than before…

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

Thus, march onward Riley does. She approaches the audition list, hesitating before officially adding a fourth name to the roster. All the sudden, there’s actual stakes to this game. As she writes her name, a voiceover of her introducing herself before her audition pre-laps…

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Riley is alone center stage, spotlight shining on her. She’s squinting to attempt and see Eric, Angela, any of them – but it’s like they’re not there at all. Basically the entire class has showed up in the seats, wanting to see how a non-diva contender plans to throw down with such a bold move against the status quo.

Angela grants Riley permission to begin whenever she’s ready. Her fingers are shaking as she holds the microphone stand. She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath and grounding herself.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “She Used to Be Mine” as performed by Sara Bareilles || Performed by Riley Matthews

If there’s a pivotal example of how much a performer can blossom in the span of a year, then this performance would be it. Although she starts out timid, Riley delivers an impassioned and powerful rendition of the Broadway belter, obviously channeling all of her emotion and passion into it like never before. It’s stunning, breathtaking, the kind of game-changer that throws this entire competition into a toss-up.

It’s a testament to how far she’s come that nearly the entire class seems impressed. They’re supportive too, smiling and nodding as she decimates the number. Isadora is smug on her behalf, glancing to the other techies proudly. Even Farkle is playing nice, although he’s starting to get a little twitchy…

INT. AAA - TECHNICIAN’S BOOTH - DAY

As she rounds out the number, focus draws to Lucas in the booth. He’s totally captivated, although not that surprised – he’s the one who told her she had it in her, after all.

Still, there’s a contemplative edge to his expression. Trying to figure her out, wondering if he could actually walk away from her…

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

Inspired by Riley’s bold move, suddenly the audition list is swimming in the names of other hopeful auditionees. Farkle is staring at it, trying extremely hard to keep his cool and not freak out over the increasing loss of control.

Maya joins him, poking her chin over his shoulder and eyeing it as well before stating that he can’t keep watching it like this. Yet the two of them stare transfixed for a second longer, Maya physically having to turn them both away from it to break the trance.

She gives a pep talk, stating that they both gave kickass performances and all there is left to do is let the deliberation speak for itself. When Farkle doesn’t seem convinced, she tells him she’s getting him away from it. They’re getting out of there – they’re playing hooky. Now there’s a way to get the attention of a goody-two-shoes academic.

Farkle: Um? I’ve never missed a day of class in my sixteen years.

Maya: Aw, so honored to be your first time! Let’s go.

She grabs his hand, yanking him down the hall.

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY

Launching into their day of freedom, Maya and Farkle are meandering their way about town. They’re window shopping in the fashion district, sipping fancy coffee drinks and trying to find their zen – Farkle’s is pointedly marked decaf.

As they chat, they somehow gets on the subject of the local theater scene and the hangouts for up and coming performers. Farkle claims that his parents have membership at this elite club lounge where a lot of Broadway performers congregate and rehearse.

Maya: What’s it called?

Farkle: Emerald City, I think.

Maya: [ stopping cold ] WHAT?

Farkle: I know, feels a little on the nose, but –

Maya grabs him by the shirt collar, yanking him towards her and causing him to drop his drink. She’s got a frenzied gleam in her eyes.

Farkle: I was drinking that!

Maya: You have access to the Emerald City lounge? Where the future stars of Broadway mix and mingle? Where it’s rumored Carly Rae Jepsen snuck her way in and was able to get her stint as Cinderella? How have you never told me this?

Farkle: Ow, unclaw me, please! [ as she does so ] I don’t know, it never came up. I’ve always wanted to go, but I didn’t want to go alone. And to be fair, we weren’t exactly chummy for me to be sharing these things.

Maya: I know, I’m surprised you weren’t just bragging incessantly about it. And listen, had you mentioned this sooner? We would’ve been friends ages ago.

Farkle gives her a look, Maya nudging him playfully before insisting they have to go. If the only reason he’s never gone is because he didn’t want to go stag, well, that problem is now solved.

She starts to drag him down the street but he gets her to slow down, first thanking her for getting him out of that school and out of his own head. He truly needed it, and he’s grateful for it – and her. Maya grins, shrugging it off like it’s nothing.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “One Short Day” as performed by Wicked Original Broadway Cast || Performed by Maya Hart & Farkle Minkus

As the jaunty and uplifting descent into glamourous kicks off, Maya and Farkle dance their way through the streets together as only two divas in paradise can. It’s endearing and comfortable, such a far cry from “What Is This Feeling?” in 1.03. It also doesn’t paint NYC in such a bad light either. In fact, it’s pretty damn beautiful.

On the beat where Glinda tells Elphaba they’re going to be late for “Wiz-a-mania,” Farkle gets caught up checking his phone. People are posting on their own accounts about how auditions are going, and the competition seems to be getting thicker and thicker. But Maya pulls him out of it, yanking him down the stairwell to the hidden depths of Emerald City.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

As Farkle and Maya enter the depths of the working performers, a montage ensues of the rest of the sophomore class performing their auditions.

INT. EMERALD CITY LOUNGE - DAY

An eclectic, shimmering testament to Broadway and those struggling to work in it, Emerald City is somewhere between a bar lounge and a dressing room. Maya and Farkle watch in awe as working actors and dancers buzz around them, before inevitably pulling them into the dance. Because it’s television, and musical television, and we can do what we want.

After the very necessary and super cute kick line, Maya and Farkle come back together to share their moment on the lyrics “and then just like now we can say…” Farkle states that they’re “two good friends,” before Maya takes his hand and holds their joined fingers up between them. “Two best friends.”

Then the professionals pull them back into the number, rounding out the number with a flourish. What a way to spend a school day!

INT. AAA - TECHNICIAN’S BOOTH - NIGHT

Lucas is back in the booth, although not in his usual chair. A little further into the booth, a panel has popped out of the wall and leaned against the electrical cabinet. And it’s the basic crawl space of an alcove that is revealed behind it where Lucas has built his hideaway, the place he sleeps when he’s avoiding going home. It’s not much, but it’s the coziest space he’s ever known.

This is where he is now, cooped up and regarding his full list. Cons include the horrible competitive environment, all the performers, the constant singing, etc. The pros, however, are strong and difficult to ignore – Isadora at the top and underlined, the techies, Mister Shawn, Principal Hunter (someone has to keep his life interesting), Dylan and Asher…

And yet, the tally comes to an even draw. All save for Riley at the bottom, somehow having become the deciding factor.

The booth door opening scares Lucas out of his melancholy. He scrambles to get up and start frantically attempt to hide everything away, when Isadora appears around the other side of the electrical cabinet. She tells him to relax, he doesn’t have to pack away his whole set-up. Also, she brought dinner. Lucas tries to act indifferent about her discovering his shelter, but she truly isn’t all that impressed.

Isadora: You really thought I didn’t know about all that? It’s not hard to deduce. You hate being at home. You’re always in here, and you’re always here first thing in the morning, which I know isn’t plausible otherwise because you’re not a morning person.

Lucas: Well, when you put it that way. [ a beat, softer ] Forget you’re a genius, sometimes.

Isadora: [ with a shrug ] You’re my best friend. It’s not that hard to figure you out.

He sits back down in his alcove, Isadora settling down across from him. She asks how his “hypothetical” is going. He defensively wonders if she’s figured that all out too, which she admits she has not. But she claims that if it were truly important, she knows he would tell her.

In this case, far from the truth. There’s a reason he’s avoided telling her what’s going on outright – he can’t imagine how she would take the news that he may be leaving for good. He explains that he’s hit a dead end and doesn’t know how to move forward. He’s done the pros and cons like she said, but he’s torn on this last factor that might tip the scales in either direction.

Isadora: First things first, is it an important factor? If it’s extraneous, then you shouldn’t even bother with it.

Lucas: … yes. Yeah, it is. How do I determine where it falls?

Isadora: Well, if this were an actual scientific theory, your next step would be to draft an experiment. Decide what you want your hypothesis to be – which outcome you want it to be, unless we’re talking null hypothesis – and then find a way to test whether or not it’s true. That’s what any good scientist would do. Basic scientific method.

Lucas takes this in, already puzzling over how to accomplish such a thing. Isadora distracts him by tossing food at him, commanding him to eat. He relents, digging in with her.

INT. ANGELA’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Angela is typing out an email to the touring company, effectively making her decision. From the looks of it, it seems as though she’s going to decline the offer. She’s interrupted when there’s a knock at her door.

Shawn is on the other side, holding a bouquet of flowers and ansty with earnest. Angela starts to question what he’s doing but he cuts her off, stepping in past her and launching into a poem from the book she gave him. The thematics are essentially well-matched to their current situation, and Angela can’t help but giggle in a what are you doing sort of fashion.

When Shawn finishes the recitation, he puts the flowers on the table and takes her arms. He’s breathless with nerves, but clearly wants her to hear him.

Shawn: I’ve changed a lot since the last time we had these conversations. I have, but I sure wasn’t acting like it. I’m sorry about the way I reacted, and I don’t care if you want to pursue this thing. In fact, I’m proud of you, and I want you to, if that’s what you want. And if it means another few years apart, then so be it. We came back to each other once.

Angela doesn’t even know what to say. She doesn’t know how to convey that she was going to decline the offer, or if she even still should with this turn of events. Thankfully, she’s saved by the bell, in this case her cell phone ringing. He steps back and allows her to pick it up.

As she engages with the call, we can tell that the news is shocking. Shawn tries to get something out of her as she listens, desperately trying to get a read on the situation. When she hangs up, she just stares at him for a couple of seconds.

Shawn: Ange, you’re killing me.

Angela manages to stammer out that she’s been offered a role in an off-Broadway show. Then, she’s finally able to grin. She repeats the statement, trying to make herself believe it. It’s not her big break, no, but it’s a start – and it’s here. She doesn’t have to go anywhere. The two of them, her time here, aren’t finished quite yet.

Shawn pulls her into a hug, lifting her and spinning her. When she lands back on her feet, the two of them share a big damn kiss –

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

The sophomore class is assembled outside the door to the black box, anxiously waiting for Angela to put up the finalists for Kossal. The performers are trying their best not to throw jabs at each other, while the techies hang back against the wall and watch the near stampede in mild amusement.

Lucas: If any of you decide you’re going to the pit because of this, can I watch?

Riley tells them to ignore him, reminding the core group that whatever happens, they’re going to be happy for one another. They all agree, although it’s hard to tell if that sentiment is going to hold true…

Angela emerges, silence immediately settling over the crowd. You could hear a pin drop. She begs for a moment to escape once she puts it up before they all stampede, then moves to pin the list onto the bulletin board. She dives back into the classroom and slams the door just as the wolves descend, trying to see who got the three coveted spots.

Farkle elbows his way through, making it to the front first and getting a look for himself. From his expression, we can almost imagine the list before we see it.

Zay Babineaux. Maya Hart. Riley Matthews.

No Farkle Minkus. No summer program. No successful path to the top.

Sound grows muted around Farkle as the others get close enough to look for themselves. He can’t bring himself to react. He can’t even breathe.

He’s jostled out of it when Charlie bumps him in the back on accident, en route to giving Zay an enthusiastic hug. Maya and Riley eagerly congratulate one another, turning expectantly towards Farkle. Obviously not certain what to say to him, but hoping he’ll opt to take the gracious approach instead and make it easy on them to enjoy their laurels.

What do they want from him? A congratulations? Farkle doesn’t have it in him to give. He sort of sputters an incoherent statement and backs away, trying to wrap his head around it. How this could have possibly happened.

Zay: Seriously? Are you about to diva meltdown? What happened to being happy for each other?

Farkle, panicked: Yeah, well, that’s easy to say when –

Charlie: It’s okay, dude. There will be other opportunities –

Farkle is beyond that. He’s sliding back into manic, figuring he must have let himself slip up somewhere along the way. Or that this is all some elaborate ruse on their part – like they all knew if they got him off his game, he’d be easier to thwart.

Zay: You think I’d choose to be friends with you just to get some made up advantage over you? Believe me, man, I don’t hate myself that much.

Riley: Farkle, that’s not true –

Maya: Farkle. [ breaking through the haze, over everyone else ] Can’t you just be happy for me?

She holds his gaze, obviously hurt. Hoping he’ll say the right thing. But all he can manage is a non-answer.

Farkle: I – need a second. I need – just leave me alone.

Farkle storms away towards the auditorium, desperate to escape. The others watch him go, a myriad of emotions swirling around them but disappointment being the most unifying one.

Zay: Guess people don’t really change.

Maya looks more wounded than anyone else. She breaks away from the group, marching in the other direction.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

Jack is having his final conduct meeting with Wyatt, having made his decision on what his punishment will be. Eric is also present.

The final verdict is somewhere down the middle: Wyatt is being expelled from AAA effective at the start of the new term, but he will be allowed to finish out the remainder of this school year. Wyatt doesn’t have any complaints at this point, resigned. He claims that AAA is a hellscape and totally corrupt. The administration clearly has their favorites, and they have no idea how rotten the place is from the inside out.

Eric, calmly: You seem quite critical of this so-called rotten environment, in spite of how you had an active hand in keeping it alive…

Wyatt chooses not to comment, Jack dismissing him. As he heads out, he warns Jack that getting rid of him isn’t going to get rid of the problems at Adams. For one, he’s not the creator of the AAAC, but more pointedly the page is not the perpetrator of all the mean stuff people say about each other. They do all that themselves. Like he’s been saying, it’s just the messenger. And they’ve just shot it.

Wyatt: So if you really believe you’re making a difference, maybe you try tackling the toxic waste that serves as the very core of this school. But that would require actually being a competent administrator, so…

Eric rises and shoos him out, Jack taking the intended hit anyway. He closes his eyes and rubs his temples as Eric shuts the door behind Wyatt, releasing a sigh and claiming he thinks they made the right choice expelling that kind of bad energy.

When Jack doesn’t seem placated, Eric settles down across from him and comes to his defense. Wyatt is just postulating, and he made a good decision.

Jack nods along, but it’s evident there’s a lingering inkling of doubt…

INT. AAA - ATRIUM - DAY

As Wyatt exits the front office, he pulls out his phone. He crafts a message to AAA Confessions, warning them that Jack is on the warpath. The page is probably going to be officially shut down before the end of the school year. What are they planning to do?

The confessions page starts a message back… then doesn’t respond. Wyatt never gets an answer.

INT/EXT. LUCAS’S BEDROOM / LUCAS’S FIRE ESCAPE - DAY

Lucas is flipping through the McCullough pamphlet, but he can’t stomach looking at it for too long. Still feels like too daunting a decision to make.

He climbs out onto his fire escape, settling down and releasing a sigh. He stares out towards the city for a moment, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. He starts a message to Riley, but nothing he wants to say comes out right. He finds himself calling her instead.

Lucas: Hey. I know I said… [ a beat ] things have been kind of… [ willing himself to be outright ] Do you still need a plus one?

Let the experiment begin…

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

School has emptied out for the day, only a few stragglers left behind. Farkle is back in front of the bulletin board, staring at the three names and unable to believe that he’s not there.

Something about him isn’t quite right. He’s frantic, frenzied in a way that’s beyond just disappointment from a jilted diva. The longer he glares at the list, clenching his jaw and fidgeting in place, the worse the hysteria seems to become.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “It’s All Over” as performed by Glee Cast || Performed by Farkle Minkus (feat. Zay Babineaux, Maya Hart, Riley Matthews, Isadora De La Cruz, Charlie Gardner, and Lucas Friar)

[ Lyrics specific to characters – follow along here! ]

Farkle spits the words “Miss Moore was supposed to love me, I turn my back and find myself out on the line” towards the list, before whipping around –

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

And suddenly center on a brightly lit stage. It’s almost glaringly bright, to the point where it would hurt to look at. If you’re not in his immediate line of sight, then you’re shrouded in shadow – which is how the figures standing on the stage look to him until they make themselves known and step into the light to argue with him.

Although the rest of the core group is included in the number, it’s more than clear that they’re not actually there. This isn’t actually Maya, Zay, even Lucas singing in opposition to him – they’re all in his imagination, but it doesn’t make it feel any less real. In regards to who is saying what, well, if you read any set of specific lyrics in this show, let it be this number.

As Farkle grows more and more frantic, the opposition towards him grows more and more pronounced. Although this whole thing started with a dashed dream, the way he’s so emotional over them all “dropping” him through the course of the song or turning him away seems like a greater trigger for him than the missed opportunity. So it’s not actually clear what is causing the meltdown, or if he really knows himself.

All he knows is that the entire core group is telling him it’s all over, and he’s fighting against it with whatever he’s got – back to the teeth-gnashing, scrappy, obsessive starlet who clawed his way to first on stage at the start of the school year.

No, Farkle Minkus is far from going quietly. He’s not going anywhere, and he swears that this isn’t how this is going to end.

Oh, boy…

END OF EPISODE.

[marionetteblues]

the future

JILY CHALLENGE | @marionetteblues vs @chierafied TV Show AU -  "i am painfully in love with a woman who has been engaged to another man for 3 years, who she is marrying now because she is in denial about the fact she has feelings for me so honestly no i'm not okAY... my wife is marrying someone else" jim and pam the office au

what is this? who knows, not me soooo this is an eensy bit late because i’m an idiot but it’s just about on time! also i have no idea how security works in any shape or form so please don’t yell at me over it and let’s all call it creative license ok 

Sometimes, James thinks he can tell the future. He gets these weird feelings - flashes, maybe - when he meets a person. He knew the moment he met Sirius that this person would become like a brother to him. He could see it spread out before his feet, scrolling through every second of his life.

He had the same feeling when he met Remus. He knew when he met Lisa how their relationship would end. It played out in a way that was eerily accurate to his own prediction.

He’s been wrong once - Peter, unfortunately - and it never changes. It usually happens in that first split second of looking into someone’s eyes and just knowing.

That’s why he never sees Lily coming. She kind of sneaks up on him.

The briefing has been steadily melting his brain all morning. He didn’t finish up last night until at least a quarter to midnight, because the band did three encores and then invited a bunch of people back to the green room.

Alastor Moody stands at the top of the room, and at least he looks as bored as James does. He’s crawling through a list of assignments in a drone, but his eyes never rest. They dart around uneasily. Nothing unusual.

He’s been at Moody’s specialised security firm for about a year now. Most of the guys are a lot like Moody - slightly older, grizzly looking guys who look like they could punch through cement. Having a missing limb isn’t a requirement, but Moody knows what he likes, and that’s apparently amputees who could kill you.

James is kind of an anomaly, if you think about it. But he’s good - he does a lot of tech stuff, a lot of crawling into tight spaces that no one else can fit in, a lot of pretending to be a hipster arts student to “blend in”. James doesn’t mind; he’s still a junior member of the team - a lot of the time, he just gets puts on a team because he’s on the payroll and Moody is going to be damn sure he’s going to use anyone he’s paying.  

That feeling he gets? It makes him pretty good at his job.

“Potter,” Moody barks. “I’m putting you on Dawlish’s team to guard the ambassador’s family. We’re expecting it to be an easy job. Which is why you’re taking the new recruit with you.”

It’s some kind of magic, but that’s the exact second there’s a knock on the door. The girl who lets herself in is compact, a little on the short side. Her dark red hair is pulled into a sharp, sleek ponytail. She’s dressed in black, sensible clothes. Her expression makes her look like she could eat them alive.

A couple of the guys shift uncomfortably. There have been women before, obviously, but a lot of the team have been there for decades, and Moody doesn’t see any sense in replacing them while they’re still good and not dead. Which means that there’s not a lot of staff turnover.

“Alastor?” she says, easy and light, like she isn’t looking at one of the scariest guys anyone’s ever come across.

“Ah, Evans, just in time,” Moody mutters, clapping his hands together. “I don’t like late.”

She shrugs her shoulders. “I got a little held up at your HR department.”

Moody blinks at her for a second - the rest of the room holds its breath - and then coughs out a laugh.

“Take a seat. Everyone, this is Lily Evans. She’s our new recruit, and she’s one of the best in the business. I wouldn’t cross her,” he adds with a wry smile, even a tiny, harsh chuckle.

“As I was saying, Potter, you’ll be staying with Evans until she gets acquainted with how we work around here. He’ll fill you in, Evans. Right. Back to work!”

And that’s how he meets her, giving her the details of a glorified babysitting mission, which involves a lot of walking while looking menacing, driving cars in tight packs so they get hit with the bombs or bullets or anything else that could be heading for the target.

“Is this your first time in security?” he asks her as they leave, geared up and split into pairs.

Lily walks alongside him with breezy confidence, turning her head to look at him sharply. “Well. I’ve been with MI6 and the CIA for three years, and I’ve got three advanced degrees in criminology and security management. Can you defuse a bomb?”

James can’t help but laugh, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Alright, I’m waving a white flag here. I didn’t mean to imply you had something to prove. Just making small talk.”

Lily grumbles something under her breath that he doesn’t quite catch, and she says nothing until they get to their car.

He takes one look at her and then nods to the driver’s seat. “I’m guessing you want to drive, then?”

James can see her, biting back her smirk. But she doesn’t quite manage it as she climbs into the driver’s side and starts the engine. James grins and follows her.

The thing is, James doesn’t see it. Not right away.

Here’s what he sees: this is the first co-worker in Moody’s entire outfit that is anywhere close to his age, so it makes sense for them to band together. They’d probably be partners a lot, and Lily would do that thing where she deflects his prodding and personal questions and keep it kind of professional, while at the same time they’re eating a mountain of chinese food out of cardboard containers while sitting in their car, maybe tossing cheetos at each other or something.

It doesn’t really start like that.

Lily is … quiet. She wears her sunglasses and stares at the windshield when they’re doing the more covert stuff. She stands much taller than she actually is and stares straight ahead when she’s on duty.

At briefings, she sits and takes notes and plays with a ring that’s kept on a silver chain around her neck, tugging it back and forth.

But slowly, Lily opens up, and they end up more or less exactly the way James saw. And that’s fine, because that’s how it works. James sees, and then the world sees.

They’re doing heightened security for some singer who’s convinced that someone is planning to kill him after his show. They’ve got people on every entrance, two on either side of the stage, plants in the audience. Moody says they’re making a fortune from this guy’s anxiety.

They’re kind of spares, here. They’re alert, they’re ready, but there’s not really much for them to do except sit against the wall under harsh fluorescent lights outside of the dressing room - locked, of course - and feel the bass vibrating through the floor, rattling their bones.

Lily’s got her head buried in her phone, toying with her ring. She wears it around her neck on a silver chain when she’s in the field - if you could even call this in the field - and James has seen her tug on it a lot, back and forth.

“Is there really something more interesting than me on that thing?” James says, poking her arm. His earpiece crackles like someone’s trying to get through, but no one says anything.

“Is this about your ego or about you being a Luddite?” she says with a wry grin, but she doesn’t look up.

James pouts. “Can’t it be about both?”

“Isn’t it always about both?”

“Sometimes it’s about your ego,” he points out, making her laugh.

She lifts her head, rests it against the wall and blinks at him. “It’s my mum.”

James snorts into his bottle of water. “Is she antiquing or crafting?”

Lily wrinkles up her nose like she does so often. It’s her signature move. “She’s not doing either. You’ll be appropriately horrified to find out that my mother has found an even worse hobby.”

“Something worse than antiquing?”

Lily nods gravely, letting out a deep, dramatic sigh.

James narrows his eyes. “Something worse than crafting?”

“Considering that antiquing is worse than crafting, obviously…”

James holds up a hand, resting his elbow on his knee before she can go any further. “Lily, I am not getting into this argument with you again, there is no way -”

“You said you weren’t getting into this argument again, you’re just -”

“I just can’t believe you think antiquing is more of a problem here -”

“You know, I think you’re more of a problem here -”

They both pause to take in a large breath at the same moment, and then burst out laughing. They’re sitting in the hallway that runs from the dressing room to the steps up to the stage. One of their guys pokes his head around from where he stands on the wings to peer at the commotion, and they just laugh when they try to silence the other.

They both go quiet, and in the silence Lily starts fiddling with her ring again, glancing at her phone.

“So, what is worse than crafting and antiquing?” James says, glancing at the phone. It hasn’t buzzed or lit up.

Lily groans. “Wedding planning.”

There’s a few beats of silence; whatever James was expecting, it was in the abstract. If he had to guess, maybe beekeeping or making her own shoes something else a little wacky. He hasn’t met Lily’s mum, but he’s seen a lot of pictures and heard a lot of stories.

He shifts his weight uncomfortably before he realizes he hasn’t said anything, and Lily’s looking at him with this sort of expectant expression.

There’s not a whole lot James can say back to that.

“Have you set a date? Did you deliberately not invite me?”

Lily doesn’t scowl the way normal people scowl. She scowls with her whole face, her whole body, her whole self - past, present and future. It’s terrifying.

She scowls now and James braces himself to scoot away from her.

“No, we haven’t set a date yet,” she tells him, her arms folded tightly across her chest. “Three years I’ve been waiting for Aaron to set a date. Now, I think he’s just taking bets on how long I last before my head blows up.”

James clears his throat. Lily talks about Aaron too. They met so many years ago, it’s like a whole other Lily. Before she ever got a qualification, before any of her training, she worked as a receptionist for a newspaper, and that’s where she met him.

Privately, James thinks that Aaron is trying to set the record for world’s longest engagement.

And then it hits him, jabbing him right in his stomach. He blinks over at Lily and he can see something else, something he never saw before. He swallows, his whole body going cold as Lily keeps talking about her fiancé. He can’t look away, but he can barely look at her. His heart is hammering and his insides are shaking, his entire body reeling from the gravity of … this.

Once he’s home, James lies in bed, wide awake for hours. He watches the sun crawl up from behind the horizon from his spot on the bed, he watches his room slowly lighten from pitch black to shadows and shapes.

This is what he sees now: the same arguments, crafting or antiquing or even something worse, only now they’re in his apartment instead of their work space. Instead of sharing his lunch because she never remembers to bring food, he makes them both lunch. Backing away when she scowls with her own body, but hearing her laugh when he does. Distracting her from her phone in other ways than poking her in the arm, much more exciting ways …

He alternates between lying on his sides, stomach, and back. He pinches his nose and stares at the ceiling. Every second he spends not sleeping, he grows more uncomfortable, and the less he can think about anything else.

He’s heard Lily talk about her fiancé dozens of times. He asked her about her ring once, and she said she didn’t want to lose it, and he felt nothing. He remembers feeling nothing.

Or maybe he just doesn’t remember feeling anything, so he thinks he didn’t.

Or maybe he remembers feeling something, but he never realized that this was what he was remembering.  

It makes no sense, to see the trajectory of a relationship, to think you know exactly what’s going to happen and have no idea, all in one moment. And in the very next, you know, and you realize you knew nothing.

And that’s when James knows.

He’s been wrong twice.

He tries telling her. His first attempt is some ridiculous teapot scheme while they’re all passing out Christmas presents.

It doesn’t go according to plan.

But she likes the teapot.

“Maybe I don’t need to tell her,” he says to Sirius one day, over  their breakfast. For James, that’s fried eggs and bacon. For Sirius, it is coffee as black as his name.

Sirius does not look impressed.

“All you’ve talked about for months is that you need to tell her,” he points out, his eyebrow drawn up delicately. “And especially before she gets married. Not that you couldn’t tell her after, but it might be a little more tricky. All things considered.”

“Yeah, but she wants to get married, right? I shouldn’t get in the way of that.”

Sirius takes a massive gulp of his coffee like he’s chugging a beer. “Look, I think if she really wants to be married, she’d be married.”

“She’s waiting for -”

“Oh my god, James, I physically cannot care about this anymore.”

“I know, I’m just saying that -”

“Don’t. Care.” James glares at him in complete silence until Sirius shrugs his shoulders again. “People make things happen when they want them to happen.”

“So you think I should make it happen?”

“I never said that,” replies Sirius, going back for more coffee, because he never learns.

“But you think I should?”

“If it makes you stop whining about the girl, tell her in skywriting, Potter, just do something.”

Do something. That’s never been something that James has had a problem with. He’s pretty good at getting things done. He’s pretty good at wanting to do things, even. He gets what he wants, most of the time.

But this? This feels different, and weird, and new, and he continues to do this dance with her, feeling his heart thud when she smiles at him across the table during their briefings, experiencing a consuming ache of disappointment when they aren’t on the same assignment.

He even convinces himself that he’s happy to do it. After all, he’s not the opposite of happy.

James picks the worst moment to realize that he can’t wait a second longer. He comes into the break room, and it’s a quiet day. He and Lily are charged with manning the phones, hopping with frantic calls from people with warbling voices who need more security than the local mall can provide.

Lily’s already in the break room, and she nods her head towards the tea that is sitting on the counter, steaming.

“For me?”

She nods distractedly. “It’s so you don’t mind that I’ve commandeered the entire table.”

He sits down opposite her - she’s right. There isn’t a single place to put a small cup of tea. He adds enough sugar to make Lily pull a face, since she’s a purist who doesn’t even put milk in her tea, and then sips on it happily.

“What is all this?” he asks her. It’s a lot of papers, bright colours and fancy fonts.

He peers, and has a sinking feeling in his chest.

“Wedding stuff,” she grumbles. She could have very well said ‘battle plan’ in the same tone. “I figure if I do some of the ground work, maybe Aaron will just ... “

“Just what?” he prompts her, frowning deeply.

Her own face starts to crumple. “What does it mean when someone asks you to marry you and then doesn’t for four years?”

It’s another one of those moments in his life where James thinks he can see the future. He feels the pressure of it laying in front of him, his feet fast approaching him.

“It means you shouldn’t marry him,” he says, his tone lighthearted.

But Lily’s eyes dart up to meet his, her face stricken. “What?”

James’ breath is unsteady; he needs to force his lungs to take in more air before he can speak. “I don’t think you should marry him, Lily.”

She says nothing. Nothing. James watches as she swallows hard, eyes boring into his.

“And why is that, James?”

She leans across the table, and he really sees it - he sees the outcome before it happens, he knows how this is going to work. She wants to hear him say it out loud.

So he does. He tells her exactly why, and he waits for her to smile and say that she loves him too, that they’re much better matched than she ever was with Aaron.

This is when James realizes, for the third time, that he’s wrong.

It’s four a.m. in the morning, and James has given up trying to tell the future. Three strikes and you’re out, and he doesn’t want to find out what happens when you’re wrong for the fourth time.

But just like always, Lily has other ideas. She never fails to sneak up on him. Maybe she thrives on subverting his expectations. Maybe it’s just the universe.

But she shows up - and she doesn’t knock, she bangs, hammers, pounds, brings down the thunder on his door until he opens it - and she stands there, dressed in mismatched socks and her hair in these ridiculous braids that she obviously wears to bed.

And she glares and glares, her hands still balled into fists. “I broke off my wedding for you,” she says, her voice loud and clear. “I broke off my wedding, and you just didn’t say anything. After all the stupid things you said!”

“Stupid?” he repeats, frowning as he rubs sleep from his eyes. He works in security, so he’s got a swiss knife tucked between his fingers. He drops it on the nearest surface. “Technically, you didn’t have a wedding to break off.”

“I had a ring to give back,” she replies, stomping into his apartment. He shuts the door behind her, and finds there are no words inside of him.

“And you don’t even react,” she mumbles, her voice breaking a little bit.

“I wasn’t sure you wanted me to,” James admits, rubbing the back of his neck.

All the fight seems to leave her. She flaps her hands to either side as if she’s saying take a look around, idiot - she’s got a point. It’s four a.m. in the morning, and she’s here in his apartment, looking ridiculous, and yelling at him about wedding rings.

“James…” she whispers, shaking her head. Her eyes are so wide. James can tell she’s doing everything she can not to insult him right now.

And just like that, he can’t see anything. Well, he can see her, he can see the smile growing as the anger wears off to be replaced by something warm and hopeful and good. He can’t see the future. But he can feel it, somewhere deep down, he can feel his future standing in the room with them. This is it.

[arcticdementor]

So the NYT newsletter lineup has been unveiled. I suppose the expectation is that I would make fun of this but I’m not moved to do so. Whatever else its problems, and I’m about to lay them out here, the Times does not suffer from a talent deficit. I don’t know what this is all going to look like in practice, or what the financial inducements are for the writers. But I’ll read several of these with interest and I’m excited to see what comes from the experiment. Let writers write. I imagine the Times has some extremely complicated and arbitrary rules about original reporting appearing in these newsletters; I’m told there are a lot of turf issues over there on 8th Avenue. But that’s not my concern. I’m in favor of giving people freer rein to explore their interests in writing, and from my vantage it seems like this setup could result in a lot of cool stuff. I for sure will read Jane Coaston and Jay Kang. I for sure will not read Frank Bruni. For the rest, we shall see.

Of course, what none of these people will do is what no one at the Times can do: publish things that upset the subscriber base. And it’s precisely the willingness to do so that has powered the financial success of newsletters like this one.

If you’re new around here, the basic scenario is that we’ve had a years-long moral panic in which elite white tastemakers adopted the political posture of radical Black academics out of purely competitive social impulses, trying on a ready-made political eschatology that blames the worlds ills on whiteness and men and yet somehow leaves space for an army of good white people and good men to cluck their tongue about it all. Concurrently, the most influential paper in the world emerged from decades of fiscal instability by going hard on digital subscriptions, paywalling more and more of its content and rattling its tin cup more loudly than ever before. The result has been boom times, attenuated only by the end of the immensely lucrative Trump years. (I believe Chris Hayes is covering Trump’s latest spray tan tonight.) The trouble is that this model leaves them even more dependent on a particular social and political caste, namely the educated white professional class that graduates from top 25 universities, moves to Echo Park or Andersonville or Austin, then sends Zane and Daschel to pre-K that costs more than their Audi. Oh and they, like, care about justice and stuff. Conservatives hate read the NYT and thus have traditionally brought in advertising revenue, but they don’t hate subscribe, and the end result is that a paper that was about a 6.5 on a ten-point Liberal Elite Scale when I was a kid has moved to a 9.5. And there’s nothing internal to the publication that can stop this leftward march.

This will invite reprisals for speaking out of turn, but all of the following comes from public knowledge, other people’s reporting, what former and current employees have said, and a little bit of gossip. The social and professional culture within The New York Times is notoriously toxic, the confluence of people with immense career ambitions and total shamelessness about using social justice rhetoric to attack their enemies; watercooler shit-talking and mean-girling has moved to Slack, where it’s somehow even worse than it was before; all of the younger staffers see their jobs as straightforwardly activist positions, and the role of the paper to advance a pro-Democrat social justice ideology rather than to report objectively or to present a range of viewpoints; executive editor Dean Baquet is afraid of his own employees; the Sulzbergers don’t want to have uncomfortable conversations with their fellow white liberal elites at the food co-op or whatever; and in general absolutely every internal incentive within the paper points towards uncritically advancing a Robin Diangelo-approved race and gender ideology, a class-never, deferential-to-woke-norms soggy social justice politics that says nothing remotely challenging to said staffer cliques or the Hermosa Beach soccer moms who now fund the paper. When Bari Weiss resigned the media Borg represented it as all about Weiss, but her story was really about the kind of perspective that can’t exist anymore at The New York Times. I’m sure the blob would deny this stuff, but again none of these are well-kept secrets. If Ben Smith was not paid by the New York Times he would have reported this out long ago.

…

You can talk about Bari Weiss, you can talk about the Cotton brouhaha, you can discuss the inherent and ugly incentives of the subscription model for the paper. But the Donald McNeil firing is truly the bellwether. A reporter with 45 years of NYT experience on an absolutely essential beat said something clueless but utterly anodyne to some spoiled adolescents on a trip that 99% of people their age can’t access. Despite the fact that what he said would have been totally unremarkable even in liberal circles five years ago, the situation caught the staff’s attention and its ire and they vented that ire with the typical absurdist claim that McNeil had put them “in danger” in some incredibly vague way. (On Twitter, of course). So McNeil was duly dispatched, and the basic power dynamic of the modern day New York Times was laid bare: a handful of the paper’s untouchable celebrities can kick up the junior staff into a frenzy, and once that catches fire on Twitter, there is no one in the paper’s leadership who has the honesty and integrity to tell them no. No one. (The NYT’s self-exonerating reaction to McNeil’s defense is quietly hilarious.) The simple fact of the matter is that Baquet has not demonstrated anything like the public courage it would take to face down a Twitter storm prompted by Nikole Hannah-Jones et al., and there’s no reason to think that that’s going to change anytime soon. The media types would reject all of this, if anyone at a big-shot publication had the integrity to write a story about these open secrets. But I’m not lying.

What annoys me about resistance to this narrative, from within the NYT or the media writ large, is that sometimes they admit that the point now is to advance social justice, which is to say to support a specific ideological project associated with one party. Wesley Lowery’s “moral clarity” piece remains a remarkably frank confession on the part of the Times that they have accepted what’s been obvious for a long time, that even they don’t believe in their own vestigial gestures towards evenhandedness anymore, that it’s all a naked pretense to please the last lingering greyhairs involved with the organization and that in due time they’ll be no less explicitly Democrat-aligned than DailyKos. (I think of David Brooks and Tom Friedman at the Times like children whose parents have handed them Xbox controllers that aren’t plugged in.) Watching the establishment media accept the fundamental claim of Lowery’s piece, that elite journalists possess such enormous moral wisdom that they have transcended the notions of subjectivity and embedded perspective, has been pretty wild, for the inconsistency if nothing else. They step from “of course the MSM hasn’t adopted full-throated social liberalism en masse, that’s absurd” to “yes we’re telling the truth now and that’s good and righteous” as rhetorically convenient.

…

In the broader perspective, what incentives are left for careers in media? The fast-then-slow-then-fast internet-enabled collapse of the industry’s financial foundations appears to be experiencing another fast phase. Everybody in the industry is aware that there’s some 22-year-old in the wings who will do what they’re doing for half price. (Those 22-year-olds are rich enough or stupid enough not to care that they will in short order be the one getting undercut themselves.) Covid killed whatever lingering cool NYC media social scene remained. Perceptions of prestige are subjective, but by my lights the indignities of the click-chasing era and pathetic Trump-humping of the past five years have erased whatever lingering prestige was left in writing for, say, The Washington Post. Along with The New Yorker, writing for the Times is one of the last privileges in the business that really walks the dog in the impress-your-normie-uncle sense - and, more importantly, provides clear benefits in the ancillary fields where affluent writers actually make their money. To get to that stage, you have to be liked by the right people. Every industry is influenced by petty popularity, but it’s particularly acute in the news business, and now bullshit me-first social justice complaints have been weaponized to enforce that popularity hierarchy.

This all leaves us in a place that’s utterly inhospitable to the noblest urge in any profession, which is to tell the profession and its gurus to go fuck themselves.

…

The only thing I can do, at this point, is appeal to the integrity of the individuals within that world. They aren’t bad people, most of them, they’re just afraid, financially precarious and terrified of being called racist in an industry which has busily drained professional success of any prerequisite other than popularity with one’s peers. You can understand a lot about media culture by understanding that most of the people within it feel like they’re barely hanging on. Well, let me put it to you all privately, here in this space away from Twitter and away from Slack, where it’s just you and me: was this really what you wanted to do, when you set out to make this your profession? To tell Bradley Whitford’s character from Get Out that he’s right about everything? To nod along with a conventional wisdom that you’re too scared to step outside of? I doubt that’s what you once dreamed of doing. The most valuable thing you can do with a prominent place in media, right now, is to point out how sick the whole business is. It’s only integrity when it hurts, guys. Something you write is only brave when it pisses off all your friends and colleagues. Why on earth did you get into journalism, instead of becoming an actuary, if not because you wanted to say the things your profession and your peers and your culture absolutely do not want you to say?

[justtextmeoppa]

I’ve an eternity with you - part 2

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 (final - coming soon) 

Words count: 5,1k+

Genre: Angst/Fluff 

Pairing: Yesung x Reader 

For our @vintage-misery16, Hope you like it cutie! M. 

Gif isn’t mine, credit to the owner! 

"Did you spend the night partying?"  

Heechul's voice rang in your ears while a grunt of annoyance resonated in the air when Jongwoon entered the room, without imagining to find you there.  

Perhaps that sound between the disgusted and the resigned was due to your presence, so ignoring his gaze that was piercing your skull you continued to observe the various sheets in the folder trying to send to memory the schedules of the boys.  

The door closed forcefully behind your back after a few moments and Heechul watched the metal dividing you from the next exhibition. Or rather would divide them from the next performance.  

"Something wrong with the baby vampire??"  

"We fought," you cut short, you didn't want to talk about that argument in that moment of pure delirium, "go to the Unnie stylist and change your shirt, I don't know how you do to snatch it every time."  

"Why did you fight?"  

"Heechul, move your ass and go and change."  

Your tone exuded coldness and he shuddered by your side, knowing that it was better not to play with you when your gaze was lethal. And at that moment the gaze that characterized your features was far beyond "lethal". Your eyes were scarlet and this indicated that you didn't nourish yourself for days, because of the constant pressure of the management to have Super juniors busy 25 on 24 for eight days out of seven. They were their flagship group of the last few years and the fact that they were all vampires increased in unexplained ways their popularity.  

SooMan would never have wasted that possibility, he would have also obtained even the last won from the lifeless body of millions of fans if it had been necessary to enrich his pockets.  

It was, above all, that the reason for your argument with your boyfriend. After almost five months of dating, after three years of pure hatred, you two had decided to go to live in the house that had been your forced house for two months. In that house everything started, so you were able to get from SooMan the permission to buy it and with the money of both hadn't been difficult. It was almost a year that you were together, albeit privately and not yet ready to make your love public. It was something that you didn't feel like trying to do, the fear of ruining his career and your life kept tormenting you every night now. And he understood Jongwoon understood.  

In the first months spent together, you had discovered so many things about him that you were speechless. You always believed that he was a boy without any value, without even the intelligence necessary to survive in the ravenous world of music. The reality had always been so hidden that discovering it step by step had made you slowly fall in love with him.  

The memory of the first time that those words, that "I love you" whispered in front a cup of hot tea that oddly didn't disgust both, were out of your lips was still sweet in your mind, you traced it every time your work and your being different became so heavy that you couldn't even breathe (obviously not literally speaking).  

Kim Jongwoon was a guy who first cared about others and with others, it meant the other Super junior members. He knew them for so much, had shared much of his life with them that they had become his family. You had witnessed how many times he had saved their asses in thorny situations or just as a hug was able to cheer up their spirits, along with the bad jokes of Leeteuk and the fake supremacy that Heechul exaggerated to make them laugh. And you became the person he cared the most among them.  

He had taught you to appreciate the music he listened to, by that as long as it gives you emotions all the music is beautiful. He taught you that it didn't matter how hard you tried to make us accept, humans wouldn't do that and you could only count on our forces. He taught you that your soul wasn't as damned as you thought for years. He had shown you more love in that short lapse of time than you had tried and received in your long and immortal life.  

And two days before was your first real fight. There had been small discussions, but all resolved within a few hours. You were surprised at your temperament, you were surprised to have yelled against him words you didn't think, you were surprised to be out of your house with just a dressing gown to find a safe have at Kangin's house.  

All because he refused to drink. Refused to drink your blood.  

And after a year and five months, you felt hurt, because the fact that he didn't want to tie himself in that way crept in you the most heinous doubts. Drinking the blood of another vampire was a kind of bond that went beyond any link that existed in the human world but also in the supernatural ones.  

Was wow to donate your soul to the other person, ensure that they should take care of it. A sort of "I'm giving you my life, take care of it."  

And Jongwoon had, with his voice veiled of repressed anger, outward with exasperation that he would never have drunk from you. And from that moment it had been an escalation of screams and things said with the intent to hurt each other.  

"Y/N, the boys are on stage. Ten minutes and it's all over, " you assistant muttered with kindness and you nodded, coming out of the dressing room without even noticing that they had disappeared minutes before.  

The corridors of the huge stadium were all the same, it was threatened to get lost if you didn't use a bit of common sense, but you arrived immediately at the destination when from the side view you watched the group sing their last song before giving their final greetings.  

Jongwoon was fasting like you, but on him the effects seemed non-existent. And even for that reason, your pride kept on stopping you from going to him to apologize, that and even the fact that he never gave you a valid reason for not wanting to drink your blood.  

"Tell them they have the rest of the day and night free," you pulled out the headset that used to keep you in communication with them, passing it to one of the technicians involved in the sound. You walked away without one more word, just wanting a hot bath though it was two days you slept on Kangin's couch and couldn't use your magnificent and perfect bathtub.  

When you snuck away from the crowd in front of the stadium, those fans who unfortunately hadn't been able to buy the concert tickets held in the afternoon, without letting you notice a satisfied grin appeared on your lips. Being free to walk on the street without being pointed or chased, knowing who you were the manager, was something comforting. You rested your sunglasses on your nose so that the scarlet of your eyes was hidden from the human eye, savoring the tranquility that solitude had.  

The shop windows were shining with signs of the sales, the Christmas decorations had already been arranged in some of them despite it was missing three weeks to the holidays and the air was cold albeit sharp. The smells of the walking stand full of food pinched your nostrils, but you ignored the grumble of nausea that that mixture of odors was causing your stomach.  

Thirst pinched your throat, gripping in some way your senses, but they remained vigilant. You had years of practice on your shoulders, resisting human blood was much easier now than in the past.  

The phone in your purse's pocket rang repeatedly and looking through the texts you received all within a minute, you noticed the only one that really mattered to you at that time.  

-Where are you? -  

At least he was concerned that you had disappeared from the place where theoretically you had to be, but you had left them in the hands of your assistant who was qualified as much as you. Your index remained for a moment suspended in the air, the indecision that flowed in your mind and avoided making you make a decision.  

There were two desires you felt inside your chest. One to yell at him and the other to hide in his arms, to feel his scent of Hawthorn that caresses your senses and his voice that sang for you whenever you asked for it.  

-Just around-  

You were able to resist the impulse to tell him exactly the point where you were, but somehow you knew he would make sure to find you. He always could.  

And it was for that reason that, after more than forty-five minutes, it didn't surprise you to see him went out from the van with his face covered by the face mask and hat and head directly towards you. Two days had been too many for him too, you knew it.  

"Come with me, you stubborn and impossible woman," his voice choked by the soft fabric of the mask, your wrist clenched into the grasp of his hand and his strength that dragged you as if you were a doll. You didn't protest, you hated admitting it, but the fact that he came looking for you warmed your heart even if it didn't beat.  

No one paid much attention to you two, so walking the streets was easier than normal and your fear of being seen with him remained confined in the deep. The fact that none of you burned in the light of the sun as it was told in every story about vampires, made it even more free to walk during the day.  

Yet in front of your destination, you ground your teeth, freezing on spot and even stop him that swore something subheading.  

"What?!"  

"Why are we in front of a five-star hotel??"  

"Please Y/N; Shut up for a good time. "  

He added no more, your wrist jerked for a second time and you followed him inside the luxurious and compelling hotel that seemed to immediately recognize the man with you.  

Not because it was Kim Jongwoon, but because - how you did find out a few minutes later – he went to that hotel often.  

"Jong--"  

"Not here," he whispered and your head moved lightly up and down, remaining quietly beside him.  

Neither of you said anything for the whole time of the "ride" of the lift from the lobby to the penthouse on the top floor. Penthouse, of course, you thought biting the inside of your cheek feeling the expectation to grow on every floor that the lift reached. You had a perfect, warm and ready house to welcome you, why take you to a hotel to solve your problems??  

The elevator stopped on the top floor and pushing you with more delicacy he forced you to follow him, perhaps afraid that you could escape if he kept tightening your wrist that way.  

The penthouse, once entered, seemed even more beautiful than how you imagined but the time to admire the huge living room and its rooms were torn away when a pair of lips clashed with strength on yours.  

The air was taken from your lungs but you didn't have to worry about suffocating, although the way he was trying to force you to answer his kiss had something rough and animal that made your legs tremble under the weight of your body. His lips kept moving angrily against yours, his tongue brushed with little kitten licks your lower lip to ask for access and you in all response sank your teeth into the tip and he moved away screaming with pain.  

"You can't force me to kiss you when I don't want it," his eyes shot open to your sentence and a flash of fear crossed them, making you feel guilty. Jongwoon had shown you sides of him full of vitality and beauty, but also what his worst fears were. And being abandoned or cut off was the major among those. "You know I'm not implying anything more serious, just that.. You can't attack me like that when we still have to, theoretically, sorta make things out.. " you added trying to soothe the sense of suffocation you saw in his expression and fortunately, his lines relaxed.  

He said nothing but simply vanished in one of the rooms after the corridor dividing the room area with the living room. You'll never have to take a look around and enjoy the beauty that a five-star hotel could grant.  

It was fun for about twenty minutes but after all, there was to see had been seen, so with courage and spirit of initiative, you went to seek Jongwoon. And you found him in what was to be the master bedroom, lying on the bed with his face pressed against the mattress. In other contexts, you would find it funny, but at that moment the tension in his body and the clenched fists pressed against the pillow made you realize how much your argument was negatively affecting him.  

"Woon, hey;" Your voice came delicate, you tried to soften it as much as possible despite the anger you felt against him, while you sat on the side of the bed and began to caress his back by sliding your hand up and down until reached his neck. "Woon, we must talk.. We cannot continue with silence for long. It's ruining both you and me. "  

He snorted but the sound was muffled from the mattress and you raised your eyes to the sky, trying not to sigh or seem annoyed. The problem was that your emotions were amplified and every little thing, every little sensation, was multiplied by ten, one hundred, one thousand.  

"Talk to me."  

"Talk to you, about what? The fact that you never asked yourself the right questions?"  

Your eyebrows were arched in confusion, your hand resting against his back could felt his tense nerves and despite the anger hear him and see him in those conditions didn't please you.  

"What questions, Woon?"  

Jongwoon turned back into bed and got up, straying dangerously from you. The lack of contact weighed in your stomach like a boulder, but you strayed that thought focusing on your boyfriend. Whatever was troubling him so much wasn't to be recent.  

You took the shoes and the sweater off and stayed in pants and shirt starting to slip on the mattress sitting comfortably at the center of it. Your back met the fluffy pillows shortly after you stacked them and leaned against them, without removing your eyes from the person near the window. The color of the sky was rapidly passing from blue to the dim of the yellowish and orange, then diverting into the blue of the night. In front of those last and faint rays of the sunshine that brightened his face, he seemed like a work of art. As the light illuminated the profile of his nose, slipping then onto his small mouth but with the lips proportioned and how the shadows hid his chiseled jaw and the elongated face. It was your work of art, the one you loved most.  

"You never wondered Why did I say no?"  

"Of course I do.. I have quite a few paranoia because of you now. "  

Sincerity had never been a problem between you and your reply forced him to turn, this time was the daze that had captured his lines scrunched in an indecipherable expression.  

"Paranoia?"  

You nodded, but you didn't delve into the talk, you didn't know how to do it. You were ashamed of yourself because you knew how deep his feelings were for you, and yet you had for a moment doubted them. And told him what you had thought would have, at least from your point of view, worsened the situation.  

"Y/N; What kind of fucked paranoia has elaborated your hyperactive brain when I told you I didn’t' want to drink your blood? "  

The mattress looked like a safe haven, so you bent your legs upwards and hugged your knees sinking into it, even if you knew this would not save you. When Jongwoon wanted to discover something, nothing could stop him. Not even the threats of breaking his arm, which you could really do due to the difference of experience and strength between you two.  

"Y/N!"  

"THAT YOU DON'T LOVED ME ENOUGH TO WANT TO MAKE THE BIND WITH ME, YOU IDIOT!"  

Your shouting paralyzed him instantly and he became extremely pale, even more than he already was. Your eyes wandered over him, in search of the clue on the moment when he would throw everything out but you didn't perceive anything. He kept staring at you as if you were a strange animal or maybe just crazy, while you sank even more into the mattress and hid your face against your knees trying to seek comfort in other than yourself.  

"You can't really have thought such a thing.."  

The air in the room had become tense and you felt her both on your skin and with the smell, you could never explain how but the air assumed different smells depending on the emotions that exuded from the people, but you wouldn't dare to raise your head. Your eyes shut forcefully while the mattress next to you just sunk in and he had his hand through your hair. His fingers began to run through the strands of your loose hair and a little sigh of relief crashed on your knees when you finally let it escape from your mouth.  

"You can't really think that I didn't love you enough to tie me to you. Y/N.. I thought you were smarter... "  

"Jongwoon, S-stop.. You have no idea what I've felt seeing your expression and hearing your voice burst with anger that "no".. It's like you stabbed me. "  

He sighed and placed his forehead against your nape, remaining silent for a handful of seconds before gathering his courage and telling his true reason.  

"Y/N.." He called gently and lifted his head, slipping his hand in that little space between your chest and your thighs that the position created. He placed two fingers under your chin and effortlessly lifted your face, cupping your jaw so that you would turn in his direction. "I want to look in your eyes while I tell you my reason."  

And his brown eyes, now a red more intense than yours, were upon you and were looking at you with love. With that love that you had doubted for a few moments too blinded by anger and fears. You trembled under that gaze, under the fact that he loved you and that there were no limits to that sentiment, that when he had whispered into your ear "I really want the eternity with you" he had really believed it. He really believed it.  

"I don't want to drink from you because I know I wouldn't stop. I'd grow addicted to you and would to hurt you," he gasped with fear, fear towards himself and that thought, trying to calm the flicker of his voice despite the difficulty, "and the idea of being the cause of your pain, physical or emotional, is so painful that I can even think straight. You're my companion and what I feel here, " he stroked his chest to the height of that heart that didn't beat but was full of love for you, "will never change or vanish. But try to understand, Y/N.. I have been transformed by so little, compared to you, that.. I know I couldn't control myself once I tasted your blood. And you're the most precious thing in my life, how do you think I could live with the constant fear of hurting you?? "  

Your eyes were observed long after his voice dispersed into the air, they said things that in words neither could explain. The sun, now settled down, had left room for a clear night, the stars invisible because of the pollution but you had something nicer to look at before you. And seeing in those eyes, those that every morning you were fortunate enough to be able to admire in the warmth of your bed, his fears broke something inside you.  

The sense of guilt for having reacted in that way, for forcing him to say something so intense when perhaps he wasn't ready yet, every emotion swept you and you couldn't say anything.  

He let slip his hand that cupped your cheek and part of your jaw, letting it rest behind your nape so as to draw your face against his chest. His scent and the slow movement of his chest had always been a therapeutic power for you, so you let yourself be lulled without even realizing that sleep was having the best on you. And you fell asleep like that, in his arms without the worry of losing him once reopened your eyes.  

--  

"I always wonder how a vampire can sleep so much."  

"I must remind you that the myths and legends about us are all whoppers..? I like to sleep, " you puffed keeping your eyes closed, feeling Jongwoon's smile on your skin. Just on one of your sweet spots, the one near the clavicle, ripping you a sigh of appreciation and annoyance. The memory of the night before, his heartbreaking confession and the fear that you had seen in his eyes returned to haunt you but you hid them in a corner of your mind, ready to deal with them as late as possible.  

The tip of his tongue began to shape a flap of skin that he had until that moment bit, in a bland and playful way, letting in your body propagate a more intense and warm shiver, "Jongwoon.."  

"Don't worry, not because we slept in a hotel room we'll end up having makeup sex."  

Your chest buzzed shaken by your laughter, while your hand found his nape and left on it a little slap that caused him to laugh. The atmosphere between you was quiet, perhaps a little awkward as it still lingered the question that both feared. You wanted to bind yourself to him, he was afraid to hurt you and somehow in your mind, you stepped back. You were no longer sure that what you wanted was right, especially if it would hurt the person you loved.  

At last your eyelids opened up against your will, you would have spent a few more hours sleeping if it had been possible, admiring the perfection of your boy tucked away between the sheets, his bare shoulders with outlined and defined muscles and his face pressed against the crock of your neck where he kept, undisturbed, to leave little purplish marks of his passage. Your fingers found their fun when you started to slide them along the line of his shoulder, stopping on his arm and restarting their climbing while his smile against your skin grew because of your attention.  

"Y/N, you do really care about that?"  

"To what?" Your question came out spontaneously, you were totally absorbed in contemplating his beauty by not having connected his question to the discontinued speech.  

"To make me drink your blood, to.. bind us. Don't misunderstand me, I'm not afraid of the bond that would create between us, you know as well as I love you. "  

His hesitation sickened you, hitting in full your guilt and letting it burst even bigger than before because for the umpteenth time you understood that the reason why he was so hesitant and frightened was you. The person who, theoretically, had to give him the strength and security he deserved. His eyes didn't seek your own, not that time, and the desire to bury you under feet of ground increased with guilt.  

"Jongwoon, look at me."  

"I don't know if I can."  

With some effort, you could loosen the grip of his arms around your waist and your hand will struggle to push him upwards so you can sit. And when he was so you had a few seconds of regret for that choice, because the definition of his abdomen struck you in full as a bus. You swallowed the sudden knot in your throat and you sat down, letting the sheets spread around you, covering your legs without the pants you wore last night.  

"Look at me," you were serious, so serious that your tone also frightened yourself but you had to maintain the firmness that you were imposing for a few minutes, "Jongwoon, don't make me repeat.. Look at me. "  

His eyes were wandering all over the room except for you, so when they finally surrendered and rested on your face you released the breath that you hadn't even noticed to hold back.  

You could perceive the crack that was insinuating in your relationship because of the different visions of the same subject, you could feel as though the sweetness that was reserving you since you woke up was fearful, as much as he was. And that's what you wanted to avoid, growing together as a couple but growing distant at the same moment. It would have destroyed you lose him and you would have renounced anything for not to lose him.  

His chocolate eyes melted in yours and for a moment you thought he understood, that he had read your guilt without you saying it aloud with words of apology. But fear was too rooted in both and was blinding your hearts in a lethal and fast way.  

"When my parents kicked me out, I thought my end came. I was only 16 and nothing with me, if not the abandonment of the people who were my family to drag me to an abyss that frightened me, " you whispered without distracting your gaze, rather pinning him with it and watched him while he'd fidget uncomfortably on the bed because the tension in your lines, "I could see my end. I was immortal but there were so many ways to die, however. Thirst pushed me to attack a person but as well you know SooMan saved me. He gave me a house, some clothes, an education, and from that moment I own him one But he never managed to give me what I craved most.. Love. He was a kind man, in the beginning, but I never felt really loved. And from that moment I began to feel damned for what I was, that I didn't deserve something as pure as love when I was a human being without a soul. "  

"Y/N; You know how I think about the question of your damn sou.."  

"Let me finish, you moron."  

He rolled his eyes, trying not to show how bored he was by hearing that part of the story. You knew what he thought of your soul, the fact that it was the most beautiful and pure that existed and slowly you started to believe it too, again. You rubbed your hand against your face, trying to clear the fatigue that saying those things aloud was provoking, returning to watch him ready to start again.  

"I spent most of my life working for him and then you got there. And you don't know how much I hated you. "  

"Oh, I know.. Okay, sorry, " he mumbled displeased for the interruption, protruding his lips in that pout that you would have wanted to erase with kisses but from which you refrained from doing, sighing and shaking your head pretending annoyance. Only he could turn such a serious moment into lighter tones, but the problem was still there and you were willing to face it for once without running away.  

"You know why I hated you? Except of course for your brat behaviors. Because you were loved. I saw it in the gaze, in the actions, in the words of others.. You had that love that I have always sought, desired, dreamed but never gotten, " the atmosphere returned tense as the night before, but the only thing you perceived was Jongwoon's gaze that pierced your soul in hearing your confession,  "then suddenly everything is changed and I found myself to love you. To love you with every single atom of my body, with every single ounce of my being. And I love you, I love you as I couldn't love anyone because I never loved anyone before, but you make me want the forever. And yes, I would have loved to tie myself to you because.. I'm afraid of losing you. I love you so much, so intensely, almost viscerally.. That the thought of seeing you get out of my life fucks my brains out. Making you drinking my blood was the only way to let you stay with me that my mind screwed by fear could elaborate. And only now I just realize how disgustingly selfish it sounds. "  

Crying was forbidden to you, the only time you had done it in front of Jongwoon had been the evening of your confession, but your eyes burned you and your throat also burned and not for the thirst that you could barely hold for days.  

"So I don't care anymore Jongwoon because I understand one thing," your voice cracked and you found yourself trying to catch your breath when you didn't really need it. Your hands trembled to the point where you clenched them, hidden them between the sheets and felt your body weak, almost as you didn't feed you for centuries and not days. "I understand that you're here now. That I must stop thinking about the future, the possibilities that something will happen, that anything that might change. You're here and you love me. That's enough for me. "  

"Is it really enough for you?"  

You expected him to say something more, but let the relief of having finally expressed your thought flowed within you provoking a sense of unexpected peace. You nodded, your sincere smile to prove you weren't lying and your eyes enlightened by the love you felt for him.  

"To me no, it's not enough."  

"W-Why?"  

"Because you must become my wife to make it enough for me."

[takadasaiko]

Fallen: Christmas Carols and Eggnog

FFN II AO3

Summary: Bobo hears an old Christmas carol that brings up old memories.

Christmas Carols and Eggnog

He'd been trying to get ahold of them all day long. Any of them. Wynonna's little band of followers weren't usually this difficult to find, and even though the talisman worked into one of his rings allowed Bobo passage onto the Homestead these days he didn't often choose to go. Today, though, he was running shy on options. They weren't at Shorty's, weren't at the sheriff's station, so there he was trudging up the pathway through the shin-deep snow drifts and pulling his fur coat just a little closer around him to block the cold wind that was driving the flakes still falling into his face.

There was light inside the house and he could see movement through the thin curtains. Bobo did one last sweep of the area to quadruple check that he hadn't been followed and wasn't being watched before knocking his heavy boots on the first step and making his way to the front door. His hands were so cold that his knuckles actually hurt as he popped them again the wooden door and waited.

Someone shouted from inside and he loosed a long breath, watching it appear in a cloud in front of him as he waited, silently cursing whoever was taking their time to let him freeze on the front porch.

The door opened and Nicole Haught blinked owlishly at him. "Took you long enough. We were going to start without you," she said after a long moment and Bobo's brows drew together.

"'Scuse me?"

"You did get the voicemails Waverly left, right?"

The confusion didn't elevate as he stared at her. Then it clicked. The cellphone that Wynonna had forced on him. He hated the damned things, but she'd been determined that if they were going to work together to take down Clootie that they should be able to get ahold of each other and that it was time for him to join the rest of them in the twenty-first century.

"Thing died," he huffed at least. "Ain't worked in a couple days."

"You have to plug it in."

"I know."

"Did you?"

Bobo wasn't quite sure if he was amused or irritated at the ginger cop. It should probably be a good sign that Waverly had finally chosen to love someone with more than half a functioning brain cell, but he really didn't feel like being interrogated over a cell phone. Or admitting that he had no idea where the charger had gotten to.

Nicole finally rolled her eyes and stepped aside as if she was inviting him in. "It means a lot to Waverly that you're here. Just… pretend you got the message and came for her, okay?"

"What message? What the hell are you…." Bobo only had to take one step into the Earp sisters' home to see the reason he'd had so much trouble getting ahold of anyone. The entire house was lit with strings of green, red, and white lights. They lined door frames and the inside of the windows. As he stepped further in he could hear what sounded like people laughing in the kitchen and music from the old piano.

"It's Christmas Eve," Nicole said pointedly. "I swear, if you're here to tell us that Bulshar's attacking or something…"

"No, not that urgent," he said quickly. "I should-"

"Oh no you don't," Nicole snapped, actually reaching out like she was going to take hold of him if he tried to turn tail and run. "Waverly's been trying to get ahold of you all day to invite you. She's been really upset that she couldn't. The least you can do is make an appearance. It's not like you're going to burst into flames over a little Christmas celebration."

Bobo snorted at the redhead's attempted joke and Nicole's lips twitched upward in a very small smile. She really did love his angel. "Fine. For Waverly."

"Good. Come on."

He followed in, finding more Christmas decorations littered throughout the old home. Garland lined the stairs, the normal pillows and blankets were replaced with Christmas-themed ones, and surprisingly delicious-smelling food. He paused for half a beat at the entrance to the kitchen where Wynonna, Holliday, Dolls, and Junior - at this point the nickname had stuck so firmly that the others consistently questioned if Bobo even remembered Jeremy's name - were dancing around each other, John Henry putting out the beginnings of a kitchen fire that Wynonna was denying having started. She turned and locked gazes with him, and if Bobo didn't know better she was happy to see him, if only to distract from the fact that she nearly set the stove on fire. "Bobo Del Rey, nice of you to finally make an appearance."

One off-coloured eyebrow lifted up, but even the distraction from her near disaster wasn't enough to have her keep him there. Wynonna waved him off. "Waverly's in the living room."

"He doesn't charge his phone," Nicole stage whispered, breaking off to the kitchen and Bobo rolled his eyes and continued to the living room to find Waverly sitting with her back to the entrance at an old, beaten up piano.

He had only been inside the Earp family home a small handful of times now, but he couldn't recall a piano being there before. There it sat, though, with Waverly on the bench, her fingers dancing a little clumsily over the keys and she was humming a song that threatened to drag him back to memories of many, many years before with a large fireplace and a family seated around it for light and warmth as his father had read from the scriptures and his mother had led them in carols from the old piano they had brought with them West. As Bobo stood there listening to Waverly pick her way through O Holy Night - a feat within itself, from what he remembered - he closed his eyes and he could almost see them, almost hear his mother's voice and his brother and sister joining in, the words of the song that had filled their home on the brink of the greatest war that they had thought possible at the time.

Then the music stopped and he was dragged immediately back to the present to find his Angel had turned and was staring at him, her expression a mix of carefully contained excitement and intentional irritation. "Took you long enough."

That pulled a small smile from him. "Nicole said the same," he murmured. "I was… detained. Forgive me?"

The irritation washed away and she shrugged, turning back to her song. "It is Christmas. I guess I should," she answered. "I forget that you know all of these."

He inched just a little closer to the piano. It was the one that had been at Shorty's. Now he recognized it. "Hmm?"

"The hymns. You told me once when I was little that you knew them and I thought it was weird then. Weirder now to hear you sing one. Even when you tried to teach me when I was a kid, I never heard you sing."

Bobo stared at her a long moment, violently shoving at the rising embarrassment. He had been so caught up in the memory that he hadn't realized that he was actually singing the words to the song she'd been playing. He cleared his throat, finding her staring at him curiously. There was so much he'd hidden from her over the years, but now that things were out, now that they were all on the same side…. She was owed a few truths, he supposed, even if they didn't directly pertain to her. "O Holy Night was my mother's favourite."

That brought a smile to his angel's face and she scooted over on the bench. "You remember how to play it? I'm not very good."

"You're better 'n you think," he said gruffly, his gaze flickering to the tablet she had set up on the stand and the notes there to try to work through. As much as she wanted him to, he didn't think he could just sit down with her and resume the song. Even the few moments he'd spent letting the memories trickle in and brought the bad with the good and tainted even the latter.

He mumbled an excuse of a cigarette and left before she could argue, moving past the kitchen with an unnatural quiet that he could manage when he put his mind to it and slipped back out the front door. The wind hit him immediately and he squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the heaviness that had settled in his chest as he dug in his pocket for cigarettes and lighter. He moved up to the corner of the house, using it to block the chill and get the thing lit, inhaling deeply. Christmas wasn't exactly celebrated amongst Revenants so it had been years since he had bothered to let the memories trickle back in. Now that they had it felt like a crack in a formly well-constructed dam that threatened to flood. If he'd realized this was what everyone was doing, he would have waited or come up with an excuse as to why he couldn't show. There were few things he wouldn't give his angel when she asked, but as he stood on the porch of the Earp Homestead, cigarette held between trembling fingers, he thought this should have been one thing he withheld.

The door opened and he heard the familiar sound of Waverly's footsteps as she stepped out, wrapped up in her own coat and mittens, a mug of something held in either hand. She moved towards him, extending one mug. "You okay?"

"'Course," he answered gruffly.

"Uh-huh."

He snorted and took the mug, peering in at the milky, steaming liquid inside of it. One good sniff smelled like eggnog. All he could think was that it better be spiked.

Waverly leaned into him, bumping her shoulder against his arm. "I've been pissed at you all day, you know."

"Sorry," he huffed, taking a sip of the eggnog and raising an eyebrow. It was more bourbon than it was eggnog. That was just about right. Leave it to the Earps to make a drink right.

"It's okay," Waverly said softly, leaning back against the house. "I never thought that it might not be your thing. That it might…" She stopped and he wished she'd drop the conversation, but he knew a futile hope when he had it. "You always act like such an ass that sometimes I forget you have this whole past that I don't know much about that hurts you. There are plenty of people that holidays do that to. Wynonna doesn't really like Christmas. It makes her miss Daddy… and Willa. And now Alice, but she puts up with it for me."

"I'm here, aren't I?" Bobo grumbled and his angel laughed.

"That's not what I mean. I'm just saying… you're not alone. Not anymore. Sometimes that helps."

He blinked hard and took another long swig of the burning eggnog. Waverly did the same, leaned in against his shoulder. "And someday, when you're ready, I'd love to hear about your life before the curse. About your mom and little Robert Svane's life. I think there's a lot of him left under all the layers of asshole you try to show everyone."

"Ain't none of him left."

She hummed softly, neither agreeing or disagreeing, but she didn't move. "We can pick a different one when we go back in. Maybe something you don't know. Something newer."

He sighed, the smoke from his cigarette curling out from him, and he swallowed hard. "It was her favourite," he repeated what he'd said inside. "We sang it every Christmas up through the war. My father was killed in it, and it stopped at our house." He flicked the cigarette butt out into the snow. "She cried every time she heard it after that, but it was till her favourite."

"Funny how that works out sometimes," Waverly murmured.

"Yeah."

"Like how Earps keep causing you trouble and you keep coming back to us?"

He looked down at her to see a sly smile and he rolled his eyes. "Can't get rid of you assholes," he grumbled and finished off his drink. "C'mon. It's freezing and if your sister lights something else on fire I plan on giving her hell."

"Else?" Waverly squeaked and Bobo gave her a wolfish grin that made her laugh. She didn't argue going inside, though, and the warmth hit them both as soon as they were through the door. It was more than that, if he were really honest with himself though. It was a sense of…. Belonging. Something he hadn't had in too long now. He'd spent the last century amongst his enemies, waiting for the right time to move for freedom, but here, in the home of Wyatt's descendants and for the first time in longer than he cared to think about, he was starting to feel those carefully constructed walls break down just a little. He might not like them half the time, but against everything his past had taught him, he was starting to trust them bit by bit.

He felt a nudge to his ribs and Waverly was smiling at him. "Merry Christmas, Bobo. I'm glad you came."

"Yeah," he managed, his voice a little rougher than he expected. "Merry Christmas, Angel."

Notes: Merry Christmas, everyone! Hope you and yours have a safe and happy holiday through New Years!

[mitchbeck]

CANTLON: PACK DROP 4-2 PRESEASON GAME TO THUNDERBIRDS

Wolf Pack Drop Preseason Opener Against Springfield BY: Gerry Cantlon, Howlings DANBURY, CT - A strong second period by the Springfield Thunderbirds allowed them to spoil the Hartford Wolf Pack's preseason opener by a 4-2 margin at the Danbury Ice Arena on Wednesday night as both teams kicked off their AHL preseason play. “I liked a lot of the guys,” Wolf Pack head coach Kris Knoblauch said. “A lot of the guys that we’ve been watching, and who have been trying to make this team, played well. They separated themselves from other guys. Sure you want to win, but we had to look at the whole lineup knowing we'll have some different pieces soon.” Knoblauch said. With the score 3-2 and 36 seconds remaining, the Pack had a glorious chance to tie it. With goalie Francois Brassard pulled for an extra attacker, Lewis Zerter-Gossagae corralled a loose puck twenty feet out and sent a well-placed blind backhanded pass to a wide-open, Tim Gettinger on the right-wing. Gettinger's point-blank shot was stifled by Thunderbirds' goalie Ryan Bednard to preserve the win. Blaine Byron sealed the victory with eight seconds left in regulation after outmuscling Ryan Gropp for a loose puck at the left point. Byron got inside position heading toward the open cage and slipped in a backhander for the fourth Springfield goal. The Wolf Pack had a great chance to tie things at 3:20 of the third when Jake Elmer was on a clean breakaway on Bednard. Elmer went for a shake-and-bake backhander but was denied. The Wolf Pack was able to take advantage of a Thunderbirds miscue and were able to score their second goal. Defenseman Jeff Taylor corralled a dump-in attempt but fell down allowing Taylor to start the rush. On a three-on-two, Taylor, like Gropp, didn’t look to pass at all and beat Bernard high to the short-side at 9:06. Springfield answered right back a minute-and-a-half later as Rodrigo Abols came off the left-wing wall, dipsy-doodled on Darren Raddysh, who ate a lot of glass and then wired a hard wrist-shot that eluded Pack goalie, Tomas McCollum through the wickets at 11:12. The Wolf Pack faced a serious push back as Thunderbirds were able to maintain puck possession and stopped former QU Bobcat, Liam Porcaro, and Matt Marcinew to keep the game tied. Then, as was the case last season, the Thunderbirds scored a late goal with 1:06 left in the second period. Jonathan Ang fired a shot to the top shelf over the left shoulder of Brassard for a 3-2 lead they would not relinquish. The Wolf Pack scored the game's first goal on a two-on-one break. Gropp took a lead pass from Elmer, and with linemate, Greg Chase bore down on the lone Springfield defender. At the right-wing circle, Gropp snapped a hard, low wrist shot to the far side under Bednard’s stick at 1:56. “It was a good play and shot by Gropp, but what we liked on that play, was what he did in the defensive zone before the rush. That caught the entire staff’s attention,” remarked Knoblauch. The Wolf Pack showed solid forechecking, puck possession and offensive zone time which last season against Springfield was in short supply. Raddysh, Terrence Wallin, and Taylor all had good open shots on Bernard. The Pack went with a more veteran-filled lineup and McCollum, one of the five offseason free-agent signings, didn’t have much work early on. The Wolf Pack had the games' first powerplay and like the parent Rangers, there was plenty of quick one-time passing and shots, but were unable to add a second Wolf pack tally. The Thunderbirds capitalized on the lone Wolf Pack breakdown. Marcinew was on the right-wing and spotted Jake Massie streaking in off the left side and got him the puck. Massie snapped a one-timer past McCollum at 13:50 to even things at one goal per team. The Wolf Pack kept the pressure going in the later stages of the period and Matt Beleskey had a superb redirect of Bryan Lerg’s shot while on the left-wing, it rang off the post. NOTES: The Wolf Pack received two players from New York. They received AHL free agent signing Phil DiGiuseppe, and goaltender Adam Huska, a former UCONN Husky. Not yet announced, Danny O’Regan, a major AHL offseason signing, has been assigned but has to clear waivers first on Thursday before being officially assigned. Finnish defenseman Tarmo Reunanen is also going to be assigned to complete his North American training camp. By assigning him here is also a contractual matter, so that he can play here at the end of the year as he is being loaned to his Finnish team Lukko Rauma (Finland-FEL) where he will play the 2019-20 regular season. The Rangers signed him to a standard entry-level deal early in the spring. Defenseman Matt Robertson was sent back to his junior team, the Edmonton Oil Kings (WHL). In turn, the Wolf Pack released four players from their camp who are heading to their ECHL teams. Taylor Cammarata Maine (ECHL), a pair of defensemen, Cody Donaghey to Orlando (ECHL), and Jordan Klimek to South Carolina (ECHL) while goalie, Jake Kumsky, continues the pursuit of his career with the Ft. Wayne Komets (ECHL). After the game, Knoblauch hinted the lineup will be altered by tomorrow. “I’m pretty sure three players will be reassigned and we're not sure which players from New York will be here, but there is gonna be some changes and some very tough decisions will be made before we play Friday.” The Wolf Pack will play Bridgeport on Friday at 1 pm at the Koeppel Community Center on the campus of Trinity College. PACK LINES: Bryan Lerg-Tim Gettinger-Lewis Zerter-Gossage Gabriel Fontaine-Matt Beleskey-Ty Ronning Ryan Gropp-Greg Chase-Jake Elmer Terrence Wallin-Alex Kile-Patrick Newell Defense: Brandon Crawley-Darren Raddysh Joey Keane-Mason Geertsen Jeff Taylor- Zach Tolkinen Tomas McCollum Wolf Pack Scratches: Forwards - Connor Brickley, Ryan Dmowski, Ville Meskanen, Shawn McBride, Dawson Leedahl, DiGiuseppe, and Nick Jones. Defenseman: Jeff LoVerde, Sean Day (injury), and Johnny Coughlin. Springfield has former Yale Bulldog Adam Larkin in camp, and former Thunderbird, Cam Brown, a University of Maine grad. Florida assigned three players to Springfield who all must clear waivers including major Pack-killer from last season, Anthony Greco, as well as Ian McCoshen and Ethan Prow. Matt Mangene signed a contract extension yesterday. The Sound Tigers had seven players assigned including, Kieffer Bellows, Scott Eastnor, and Otto Koivula. Former Thunderbird, Harry Zolniercyzk, who signed a deal with Hartford over the summer elected to retire and that’s why Bryan Lerg is in camp looking to fill one of the veteran slots. A Wolf Pack player pre-game soccer and training took place adjacent to the parking garage at the arena. It was tight quarters. Hartford GM Chris Drury, Director of Pro Scouting, Kevin Maxwell, new development scout, Tanner Glass, and former Pack goalie and Yale grad Jeff Malcolm, now a scout for the team, were all in attendance. Wolf Pack fan jerseys of the night: Dan Cloutier 39, Dan Catenacci 43, and a Filip Chytil 72. The bromance continues between former Hartford Whaler, Ron Francis, who's the new GM of the Seattle expansion team, and his first two pro scouts that he hired. To no surprise, he hired his old Whalers teammate, plus a former Rangers and Wolf Pack assistant coach, Ulf Samuelsson. Samuelsson was relieved of his duties, along with the other three Whaler amigos, Joel Quenneville, and Kevin Dineen, from the Chicago Blackhawks last November. Quenneville is the new head man of the Florida Panthers, the parent team of Springfield. Dineen, who interviewed for the Wolf Pack job, is the head coach in San Diego. The other scout was long-time NHL’er, Stu Barnes, who played 1,136 games for Winnipeg (original Jets), Pittsburgh, Florida, Buffalo, and Dallas. Read the full article

[maxwellmcl]

The Origin of Catheism

“Oh mama, it’s weed that I love!” shouted Davey while exhaling a mouth full of smoke. “Used to worry, but I don’t worry anymore!”

Jeremy and Nathan cheesed at Davey’s eruption. Neither of them could match Davey’s enthusiasm for anything, let alone his unabashed love for marijuana. The blunt was almost past the roach stage, but Davey passed it over to Nathan anyhow.

Like a catatonic automaton, Nate mumbled something unintelligible as he raised the fiery roll to his mouth and the last puff of smoke seeped past his lips. He shook the remaining bit of blunt off the tip of his finger into the ashtray on the coffee table. 

All three of them sunk into the cushions of the old couch they had salvaged from the curb outside a 7-11 a few years ago. It had been the final piece for their mock living room in Nate’s parent’s garage. Together, they drank their first beer on that couch sophomore year of high school after Nate’s parents had fallen asleep. They smoked their first joint on it junior year. A month ago, Jeremy lost his virginity on that couch, though neither Davey or Nate ever knew. 

They sunk into it deeper each day as its springs lost their strength.

Amply stoned, Jeremy nodded his head to the Jimmy Page guitar riffs ringing from Nate’s old boom box—he was still playing CDs. Nate found a comfortable position and closed his eyes, and Davey looked at cat pictures on his phone. 

The pictures were endless. It’s like the internet was made for cats to have their pictures taken and posted there, he thought. How else could there be so many?

"What if the internet was made for cats?” Davey interjected into the calm garage air. “What if the internet was made by cats?”

Even with his eyes closed, Nate let out a tiny snort. Jeremy only turned his eye and went back to the music. Davey was at it again. 

“I mean, honestly, how many cats do you know that have cameras?

"How many cats do you know that own computers?

"But, look! There are cats everywhere on the internet.”

A long pause was only interrupted by Davey’s confused huffs and gasps at this cat-pictures-on-the-internet phenomenon.

“That’s what makes you think cats made the internet, that there are pictures of them on there?” Jeremy wasn’t yet persuaded. 

“C’mon, they’re everywhere, man. I mean, if just a few made it to the internet then it wouldn’t be such a big deal. But there are millions, probably billions really, who have managed to get their picture taken and posted on the internet for any computer, tablet, or phone-owning human to see. What if they made humans do it and we didn’t even know?”

“And how did they do that?” Jeremy was at least into the entertainment. 

“Um, I mean,” Davey was trying his best to uphold the leaping conclusion, “maybe they’re kinda like gods! Like, you know how the Egyptians worshipped cats like gods? They’ve been around forever, and like, yeah, what if they were gods and they controlled us and to prove their powers they made us make the internet so we would take their pictures and post them on it to exert their utter dominance over us, but we’re too stupid to know that they did that and they just lie around despising us because we’re so stupid?”

Davey was almost out of breath, but he continued.

“Like you know how Jesus is God incarnate? Cats are maybe like Cat-God incarnate. All hail Cat-God! What else could explain this paradox of no cats owning cameras and computers, yet their images have made it all over the internet, a space that is kind of, like, everywhere, like God?”

“If cats were gods, we would do more for them than put their pictures on the internet, bro.” Nate was awake. “There would be hella scratching posts all over the place and shit. We wouldn’t be smoking weed, dude. We’d be smoking catnip.”

“Nate has a point,” Jeremy said out of pure nuisancery.

“Well maybe, but you ever heard of those rich people who buy apartments just for their cats? Like, they just buy a whole floor in a Fifth Avenue high rise and their cats live there and they have maids and everything. I don’t know, you guys, but I think God is a cat.”

Nate grunted and got up for a snack. Glued to his seat, Jeremy stayed put in anticipation of more absurdity, but out of nowhere a booming, echoing MEEEOOOOWWWWW shook Earth from the sky. Buildings quaked, streetlights and billboards whipped, and mice and birds hid in holes. 

Jeremy clutched the armrest and his chest heaved like he had lost his virginity on that couch again. Nate streaked back to the garage, his mouth still full of cheesy-roos. 

Simultaneously, Nate and Jeremy yelled, “Did you hear that?”

Unfazed, Davey took pictures of Lucy, Nathan’s orange and white cat. He posted the best one to his Instagram, and captioned it #meow. 

“Davey, did you hear that?” Jeremy wheezed. 

“Lucy, you’re so pretty.”

Nate and Jeremy turned to each other with a befuddled glance.

"What if when a cat purrs it’s actually like when God speaks to priests?” Jeremy didn’t believe this, but he wanted to see if Davey could even hear them. 

“Exactly, dude.” Davey could hear them, but was entranced all of a sudden by Lucy, by taking her photograph and sharing the image for all the internet’s universality to witness.

Davey could not be trusted, thought Jeremy and Nathan. Yes, the sky did boom with the sound of a quaking MEOW, but the extent to which each of them ought to unwaveringly worship Lucy hadn’t been thereby revealed to them, like it seemed to have been revealed to Davey. Jeremy and Nathan backed themselves slowly into the house and left Davey there in the garage with Lucy.

Years later, as the founder of the Catheist Church, Davey (no longer called Davey, but now referred to as Big Lion by the believers in Catheism) led prayers, which, rather than requiring one to put one’s hands together and close one’s eyes, involved performing a kneading motion into a pillow and purring. Only the most devout Catheists could purr convincingly. And of course, Big Lion encouraged photography during all Catheist services. 

Neither Jeremy or Nathan ever became Davey’s apostles or anything like that. After the feline revelation the three of them witnessed, no one in the world reported having heard the thunderous meow, and Jeremy and Nate just attributed hearing the noise to their being high as, well, cats on a two-story roof. Davey continued, however, calling the incident his burning bush moment. “Of course no one else heard it, for we are the chosen ones,” he would say. 

Davey still joined his friends on the couch in Nate’s parent’s garage for a smoke from time to time. After all, it is the place where everything began for Catheism. That couch in that garage was his Horeb or Hira. During his visits, he made sure Lucy, in all her godliness, got all the pictures she apparently demanded to be taken, and then posted them all across the internet. The whole thing never really changed Davey at his core—his path in life had forever been altered by the feline revelation, but the wild conjectures his unique mind was capable of creating while under the influence of marijuana hadn’t been dampened the slightest amount. 

One day, Davey proposed one such conjecture: “What if, you know, all the songs ever written and recorded still existed, but only one singer ever existed, and that singer was Randy Newman?” Nate and Jeremy rolled their eyes, but helplessly hooted their approval of Big Lion. Then Davey sang Michael Jackson’s “Beat It” in the clumsy, gulpy, hiccupy style of Randy Newman’s singing voice, and they were all as happy as a monkey in a monkey tree.

[astrotranslations]

[AJU★Interview] Group ASTRO, "AROHAs Are Our Hearts, Let’s Run Together Forever"

Boy group ASTRO (JinJin, Cha Eunwoo, Moonbin, MJ, Rocky, Yoon Sanha), who are turning 2 this year after debuting February last year, successfully wrapped up their first solo concert last month. ASTRO are not rushing but instead taking their time to find their own colour and place, the results they have achieved are fairly worthy of the attention.

ASTRO met up with us at Aju News located in Jongno-gu, Seoul, last 2nd in the early morning for our interview. Members Cha Eunwoo and Moonbin, who had ahead of them their ceremonial pitch for the game between LG Twins and Lotte Giants later that day, made pitching gestures and attracted gazes for being their cheeky selves. ASTRO have stolen the hearts of their fans with their diverse charms but off the stage, they are no different from their peers of the same ages.

How would ASTRO, who are now into their 2nd year since debut, evaluate their promotions thus far?

JinJin: The scores differ with each person but based on my standards, I want to give us around 60 points. I think 60 out out of the full 100 is average (laughs). I’m satisfied and thankful. Before debuting, we had pre-debut activities through several projects but seeing how people are recognising us a little and how slowly more people are coming to see us, I think we’re receiving a greater reaction than I had expected.

Cha Eunwoo: Um.. 70 points for me! 60 points is too stingy. We still have a long way to go but within 2 years of our debut, we held a solo concert which was my personal goal and I think the 6 of us have done well together. We also have our Zepp Tour in Japan ahead of us.. I think we still fall short for the (remaining) 30 points (laughs).

ASTRO held their first solo concert for two days on the past 15th and 16th. It was a concert that was achieved in fairly quick timing.

Moonbin: As we were preparing for the concert, I was half worried and half excited. We didn’t have a lot of ments and it was packed with so many stages. We prepared a total of 22 songs. We’d perform 4 songs then say our ments.. We were putting on stages one after another so it was hard physically. A concert is where you communicate through performances so I was worried if we could actually do well. But those worries went away when we started. I was proud seeing the robongs (name of ASTRO’s official lightstick) when we did our ments here and there (smiles). I think the bond we share with our fans has gotten stronger after holding the concert (smiles).

ASTRO are not powerful or flashy. Instead, they are being evaluated as 'slowly growing'. You can tell just by how they have a Japan Zepp tour ahead of them this month. Also, they realised for themselves how they have grown as they held their concert. In particular, they were also nominated no.1 for 'BABY'.

Rocky: I really felt so many things during our concert. I’ve always hoped for it. I thought the solo concert we dreamt of was something far away but having been able to actually hold one, it made me realise, "So we’re finally greeting the day where we hold our own concert." We’ve only talked about being nominated for no.1 and never got close to it until now so it made me think that if we work harder, than better results await us.

Moonbin: Woah.. it’ll be really nice if we won no.1 (laughs). JinJin hyung will probably cry buckets. Hahaha. He talks the most since he’s the leader so what’s gonna happens if he cries (laughs)?

I could tell how humble they were about being evaluated as a boy group who has achieved the most attention grabbing results amongst the groups which debuted last year.

Yoon Sanha: We’re not popular but.. (laughs). I think good results followed after because we worked hard on releasing and promoting albums last year. That means a lot of people are showing us their love so I’m thankful (laughs).

A confirmed Japan Zepp tour on top of a solo concert, even being nominated no.1. It seems as though all their dreams have been fulfilled but as expected of ASTRO, they say that seeing capable junior groups debuting after them becomes their own stimulus.

Moonbin: Idol groups keep debuting after us so whenever I watch stages, I notice how there are juniors who are doing well. Rather than feeling uneasy, I’m always motivated. It makes me think that I have to work harder. And I learn a lot watching our seniors. Whenever our promotion cycles would overlap, there are a lot of times where I feel how amazing they are when it comes to certain aspects.

ASTRO, who are walking along the right path as a team, revealed their eagerness towards individual schedules. In member Cha Eunwoo’s case, he is actively appearing on various variety programs and even dramas with his perfect visuals that are labeled 'face genius'.

In particular, he participated in the recently concluded KB2 variety drama, 'The Best Hit', and is firmly boosting his public recognition.

Cha Eunwoo: It’s a production where I’ve learnt a lot. I thought that I only had passion but actually trying it, there were parts I was worried about and also parts I looked forward to. But I earnestly prepared myself in my own way and enjoyed myself, I think I worked hard because I was praised for being diligent and doing well. It was indeed tiring since filming overlapped with my promotions but I think I did well because it was fun (laughs). I really learnt a lot from my seniors and I’ve become greedier than I was before. If the opportunity arrises then I want to participate in a different production that will leave me another hit (laughs).

I listened to the desires Cha Eunwoo and the other members had towards their individual schedules.

Rocky: I want to act and go on variety shows. I watched Eunwoo hyung acting and it seemed like a lot of fun. I wouldn’t mind even a small role as long as I’m acting (laughs).

JinJin: I want to compose songs. I’ve written several melodies through self-studying. I dabbled with tropical house which is the same genre as 'Baby' and pestered the company after our concert ended. So Rocky and I are currently receiving lessons for song composition. Until the day we can participate in album, we’ll quickly practice (laughs).

Yoon Sanha: I want to DJ for a radio. Haha. Reading stories from listeners live, listening to their concerns, etc.. I really want to be one. If I become one then won’t I be the youngest radio DJ (laughs)?

Moonbin: I want to try acting as well if I get the chance. A youth drama like the 'School' series. Also I want to set up a cafe later on. Hahahaha.

MJ: As for me, musicals! I think it’s really charming how you can freely express dance, acting and singing on stage. I want to show that freeness and also express myself.

ASTRO who had bright smiles on their faces just talking about their own dreams. The fans who let them exist, what do they mean to ASTRO?

Rocky: I think of them as my dream. There’s the connotation of dreaming together. Pre-debut, having fans just seemed like a dream to me but now that I have AROHA (fanclub name), I’m really happy. Holding various meanings, I think of our fans as my 'dream'.

MJ: I think of them as my heart. You can’t do without your heart. Because it has to beat for your whole life. Our fans are to me an existence that’s like a heart which has to beat (T/N: run) next to us forever.

Alongside their fans who are like their hearts they cannot live without, ASTRO’s beginning starts now. When they return after successfully holding their Japan tour, they will be spending busy days for yet another comeback. They will be running even harder in order to meet their domestic fans again through a new album by the year end.

Cha Eunwoo: (Our goal is) Becoming like our role models Big Bang, DBSK and HI5HLI5HT. Also I hope that one day we become a group that someone wants to take after. I like all three seniors and I hope we can mirror their strengths and become a team that has our own aura and our own colour. Big Bang’s carefreeness, DBSK’s individuality and HI5HLI5HT’s live skills or their energy on stage, we’ll become cool singers who posses all those three attributes.

Source: http://www.ajunews.com/view/20170807081433256

Translations by @99pmh​ Take out with full credits

[5hfanfiction]

Falling Over - Chapter 36

“So you know where this place is?” Zayn asks as he perches on Lauren’s bed, whispering so he won’t disturb Camila, but it’s not like the younger girl is actually sleeping, just resting her eyes for a while since she’s barely able to get a whole minute in lately, let alone a nap.

“I think so,” Lauren replies, furrowing her eyebrows as she emerges from the closet, not whispering because she knows Camila is more soothed by knowing Lauren’s there than she is by silence. It’s not like she’s actually going to fall asleep since it’s basically impossible for her to at this point, but something about knowing that Lauren is there in case anything happens makes it easier for Camila to even partially let her guard down and she made sure Lauren knew that during the past week. “I was there once in junior year to help that lady Mrs. Walker or something like that… it’s creepy as fuck, you sure we should try it?”

“Well, if this is as bad as we think it could get then I think it’s our best bet,” Zayn answers honestly with a shrug after a minute of thinking it over.

“I guess so…” she trails off in reply, eyeing the girl who’s obviously hearing every word as she takes another moment to think over their plan.

“Okay, and Vero will meet us there tonight, something about stuck in detroit for a few with her parents, but she’s got a flight at four so we should be good,” Zayn adds with a smile at the thought of seeing their other friend after so long of no contact. Lauren can’t help but grin back.

Despite their short sexual relations her and Vero were really the best of friends for all of highschool. These past few years without her were tough at first, but even with her being used to Vero’s absence Lauren found herself missing the girl in random moments if she thought about her. It was purely platonic of course from both sides, but that doesn’t make them any less close.

Lauren hadn’t talked to the other girl in a few weeks when she noticed on instagram that Vero was visiting her brother and back in the states this coming month. Later that night she realized she had a missed message from Vero on facebook about meeting up so Lauren immediately texted her to first, ask why on earth the girl used facebook when they text regularly, and second ask if she had any interest in helping them out with Camila.

Camila was equally as excited to meet Lauren’s best friend as Vero was to meet Lauren’s girlfriend.

“Yeah Camz can meet her then she can help,” Lauren smiles as she eyes the sleepy girl lying on her bed. “I heard her case over in Europe went great so that will add to experience? Make her better than before, even if that seems impossible since it’s Vero and she’s amazing without any practice,” Lauren adds jokingly, but can’t find it in her to fully laugh when she notices the circles under Camila’s eyes while studying the younger girl’s face as she always does.

It’s been two days.

Not two days since they finally had sex, that was a week ago, and somehow the ghost is yet to make any fatal attacks. The whole two days thing was about sleep. Camila hasn’t gotten a lick of it and Lauren’s gotten a few hours but she can barely ever sleep knowing Camila is a awake and terrified. She knows that Camila wants her to sleep but she feels like she’s failing at her job of protector and more importantly job of girlfriend if she isn’t staying up with Camila.

But for the past week nightmares have gotten worse than they already were, meaning those few hours that Camila managed to get have shrunken down to a few minutes up until the point where she’s almost too afraid to close her eyes for more than ten seconds.

At first Camila wanted Lauren to distract her with anything from sex to movies to the gym (which is saying something because Camila doesn’t do gyms), but after a few days they realized that was obviously just wearing them both out more than anything else, so they’ve been sticking to movies and homework. She might be haunted but her grades are going to rock, that’s for sure.

It’s been the same with bruises, just subtle ones covering her back (as subtle as bruises covering your back can be) and some on her thighs. The main concern is that her wrists and neck have taken a beating with the grip Dorothy gets on her wrists when the younger girl risks sleeping. Lauren luckily found ointments and pills that help for them to be less painful and more numb, as well as makeup that specializes in hiding battlescars people receive from this type of thing.

She also found sleeping pills, but that isn’t the best of ideas until they have a plan for where to contain Camila in case anything goes really wrong once the ghost gets into her mind.

Lauren’s worried. Some people that don’t know any better would think the delay is good, that maybe the ghost just can’t find a way into Camila’s head. Lauren knows better and is aware that this ghost just happens to be a smart one (just their luck) and knows that saving off for a few will store more energy to do more damage.

Zayn is the one who thought of the location. She’s been updating him on everything for a while now but it wasn’t until now that either of them thought of moving Camila for when they finally need to go through with ridding her of the ghost.

He suggested it after getting a look into the younger girl’s mind. Lauren had him do it after she realized how little sleep Camila had, and despite her usual aggravation for his ability, it was useful to check up on her. The two ghost hunters didn’t really know what to expect at Camila’s stage, but the darkness was certainly shocking.

Lauren remembers learning about it in one of her classes sophomore year, the way that darkness can creep in before the ghost itself does. It’s not subtle really, it’s kind of like dark clouds clogging up your mind, not doing anything directly but taking up enough space to basically hold for whatever is coming. There’s multiple types of takeovers, but this partially explains why it’s not happening right away, whatever is getting in is taking it’s time to clear space for itself.

That explains also why Camila’s nightmares have been increasing lately, because her mind is more open to fill with this negativity that will eventually be big enough for whatever has been tormenting her for these years to fill. In simple terms her mind is losing its wall of defenses and becoming more sensitive to the evil surrounding her.

But when Zayn noticed the change he immediately did more research to find out that as it gets more filled, her mind becomes easier to fill more, meaning any day now there’s going to be enough space for things to go even more downhill than they already have.

The Randa’s Center was the most popular one in the northeast at least, a living space that provided closed off sections to help with the safety guidelines of the procedures it took to save someone who is in a similar situation to Camila. It’s made up of basically hotel rooms, except with softer walls and only a bed in the middle to prevent throwing of furniture. The rooms have another room attached, in similar set up to interrogation rooms that detective use, so that people can observe the victim and seek protection in case of disaster but also be there quickly if something goes wrong.

Lauren hadn’t thought of it because the fact still stood that they had a separate dorm and for a while she thought that would be fine. But based on the fact that Camila’s ghost seems to be more skilled than originally thought, Lauren immediately agrees with Zayn in the idea to book a room, which luckily they manage to do before they run out of space. (But even if they had, the centers tend to make room for teenage victims since they’re more likely to survive procedures and the open space will help with that).

So that’s how they’ve come to this point, Zayn sitting in to discuss vague details of the plan while Camila zones out and Lauren packs some loose sweats and sweatshirts for Camila to lounge in during the days they’ll spend in the facility.

Lauren hasn’t explicitly told Camila yet that they’re going, but she’s sure the younger girl has picked up on the general idea since her and Lauren are yet to part for over ten minutes this past week, so she was bound to catch onto some conversation at least.

“Camz? Baby I need to check something with you,” Lauren says softly as she sits herself on the edge of Camila’s bed, rubbing at the girl’s shoulder soothingly to rouse her from her “nap”, which is really just Camila blocking out their actual conversation and getting lost in her thoughts.

“I caught some of it, where are we moving to exactly?” Camila asks as she stretches her arms out and rolls onto her back so she can lean her head against Lauren’s hip while the older girl plays with her hair.

“It’s kind of like a hotel, but one for people who need to get ghosts out of them? Not exactly though, just a place that isolates you more than a far off dorm room does so that if anything goes wrong then we won’t risk anyone’s safety other than our own,” Lauren explains as she carefully watches the other girl’s reaction to make sure she doesn’t seem hesitant, but Camila continues to look confused and curious so Lauren keeps talking, “we would go later today and stay until it’s over.”

“That could take any amount of time though, shouldn’t we wait until something happens? Like for her to take more control or get more violent or something?” Camila asks as she sits up higher on the bed, taking Lauren’s hand in her own to play with but paying more attention to Lauren herself as she talks, just needing the physical contact for reassurance.

“Well Zayn and I have discussed it and I’m going to explain this bluntly because I know you don’t like suspense,” Lauren starts and waits for Camila’s nod of approval before sucking in a breath and continuing, “if we wait too long the ghost will be stronger than we expected, so if we go now then we can give you sleeping pills which will trigger action. We all know your dreams have gotten pretty severe, so if you fall asleep she’s bound to get into your head, which is scary for both of us, trust me, but at this point I’m confident we can handle it,” Lauren explains carefully, watching Camila’s face go from confusion, to concern, to fear in a few seconds only.

Lauren’s afraid she’s broken Camila because the younger girl just looks at her for a moment longer than Lauren expected. She’s about to pull Zayn over to snap her out of it when she speaks finally in a small voice, “So you’ll make it stop?”

“I’ll do everything I can too,” Lauren answers honestly, squeezing the hand that’s still in hers as she hears Camila suck in a breath and sees the brown eyes that have become duller flutter shut.

“It has to get worse to get better, right?” Camila asks quietly again, eyes still shut and hand still tensed.

“Right,” Lauren says right away, hoping for some sort of sign that this is okay and hoping Camila won’t cry cause then she’ll be a goner.

“We’ll have to tell my parents,” Camila sighs once she opens her eyes and Lauren lets out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

“Already on it, I texted them for dinner before we go, they’ll want one last hug before sending you into battle,” Lauren smiles gently and Camila perks a little bit at the idea of seeing them tonight. “Then another once you win,” she adds with a nudge to Camila’s shoulder that makes Camila finally crack a real smile.

“Okay,” Camila agrees with a small nod as she finally reciprocates and squeezes Lauren’s hand in her own. “But I get to wear your clothes?” she asks eyeing the pile Lauren’s started to fold on the side of the bed.

“Yeah, you can wear my sweatshirt,” Lauren smirks to herself at the reference and Camila bursts into laughter while Zayn groans and shoves her from his spot on her bedside.

-

Dinner goes by quickly. It’s full of tears and hugs and promises and hopes and it’s far too emotional for any of them not to cry (other than Zayn who’s avoided talking the entirety of the event other than the facts of Camila’s ghost).

Camila’s parents are both emotional but her dad manages to hold himself together to hold Sinu together who’s attracting attention with her crying at one point.

They make it out alive though, and only have one stop before they make their way to the Randa Center.

“Mila? Hey girl what’s gucci?” Lucy greets with a grin as she opens her dorm room and opens the door to let Lauren and Camila enter, Zayn opting to stay in the car and play with her tools for this one.

“Oh, good you’re all here,” Camila smiles fakely as she faces Dinah, Normani, Harry, and Lucy all lounged around the girl’s dorm room.

“Yeah we only have like an hour before they kick the boys out though, sorry about the lack of invite,” Harry grins as Camila shakes her head fondly at her curly headed best friend.

“That’s fine actually we umm… we can’t stay long but we had to talk to you about something,” Camila starts quietly, reaching behind her to seek Lauren’s hand for some source of comfort. When all her friends look at her in concern after she says that with a frown, she wants to reassure them. That’s when she really realizes there isn’t anything to reassure them with. There’s nothing to reassure her either, other than the fact that she trusts Lauren with her life, literally.

“I’m going to a living center tonight,” she starts shakily, looking straight down at her feet because she can’t risk meeting anyone’s eyes as she tells them she could never see them again. “We’re going to set up there for my… Removal thing… I don’t know how long it’ll take or if it’ll work but I just umm…” Camila trails off and is almost drowned in the silence. She thinks that’s a funny term though, because silence is technically the lack of sound whereas drowning is too much water, so technically she probably couldn’t drown in anything like silence, maybe suffocate? Suffocate is probably a better word. See she thinks of things like this when she’s trying not to cry, and right now she’s really trying not to cry because the reality of what’s happening is hitting harder than it has before.

Suddenly she feels guilty too. Just dropping in on your best friends’ night to remind them all that you’re entering a suicide mission in a few hours and might not be back for a while or ever? That seems like a bitchy thing to do right?

“Mila,” Dinah is the first to sigh out and Camila only gets out of her thoughts then because the sound of Dinah’s shaky voice is enough to pull her tears to the surface too. She risks a glance up then and meets the teary eyes of the Polynesian. “Can I hug you?” Dinah asks after a moment of eye contact and Camila barely gets a nod out before she’s tugged from Lauren’s hand and into a bear hug by her friend.

It’s not long before Normani joins the hug and buries her face into Camila’s shoulder, gently because she knows that Camila has bruises littering her body from the ghost.

Camila doesn’t know if she should let herself sob because she doesn’t think she’ll stop, but it seems Normani and Dinah don’t have that concern as they lean half on each other and half on Camila, who’s seconds from falling over with the stronger girls leaning on her.

She doesn’t know how long they stand like that, hugging and crying but eventually they let go because they realize there are other people in the room who probably want a shot at goodbye.

Camila wipes her eyes with her sweatshirt (Lauren’s sweatshirt) sleeve before lifting her eyes up to meet whoever’s next.

It’s Lucy.

Her eyes aren’t watery like the other two girls. It looks more like she’s seen a ghost (pun intended).

It reminds Camila of the Lucy she knew when she first told the other girl about her secret. The overly protective Lucy who angry whenever Camila so much as had a scratch from that thing. The same Lucy who tried to fight the ghost one day because it gave Camila a concussion. The same Lucy who never let herself show emotion over what was happening other than this anger.

She doesn’t say anything though. Usually when Camila would have to tell her something about Dorothy’s games, she would make some sarcastic comment and try to help Camila any way she could, but this Lucy is still standing where she has been since Camila opened her mouth.

She moves into Camila’s arms after a second of eye contact and Camila feels hit even harder with whatever is going to happen. She vaguely hears Lauren say something about giving them privacy and hears her friends all clear out, but she focuses on her best friend’s arms around her waist and her face pressed into her neck.

She hears the door shut too, and that’s when Lucy starts crying.

“Luce…” Camila sighs as she gently brushes at the girl’s hair with a hand and rubs her shoulder soothingly with the other. “Shh Luce it’s going to be okay, you’re going to be fine…” she trails off, not knowing how to reassure her best friend when they both know damn well this could be it.

“But you’re not!” Lucy’s voice cracks as she lifts her head to look up at Camila with pleading eyes and a red face from crying. Camila’s never seen her cry. “You’re not going to be okay Camila,” she continues and pulls back before Camila can hold onto her and starts pacing the room and rubbing at her eyes to try to get herself to stop crying but she just can’t. “I’ve been trying for so long to just… to tell myself that you are but you’re not.”

“We don’t know that yet,” Camila argues weakly as she reaches for Lucy’s arm to settle her but the girl shrugs it off. “Lauren knows how to-”

“I’m not saying you’re good as dead Mila but this is going to hurt,” Lucy cuts in and finally stops pacing to face Camila. “I don’t want you to hurt.”

“Luce…” Camila sighs holding the eye contact for a moment before reaching her arm out to pull the girl into a hug which she doesn’t refuse this time. She really starts to cry this time. Camila’s sweatshirt (Lauren’s) is soaking through but she doesn’t care or notice as she rubs at Lucy’s head and lets her cling onto her waist like her life depends on it.

“Look Lucy I know this is scary, trust me it’s scary for me too obviously but we can’t think about the bad,” Camila says quietly as she rocks Lucy gently to try to settle down her crying. “I know it’s going to hurt but think about how much better I’ll be. No more bruises, no more near death accidents because I can’t even look in a mirror, no more nightmares, no more worry. I’ll be normal, Luce, I’ll be free and it’ll be worth it, okay?” Camila explains and can’t help but let a few tears slip out a sher voice cracks with emotion. “Look at me babe,” she continues and pulls back slightly so Lucy has to face her, puffy eyes and all. “Tell me it’s going to be okay.”

Lucy hesitates. Obviously she does because she has to take a few steadying breaths as Camila cups her face to wipe away the smudged make up and tears.

“Luce c’mon, tell me,” she says again with a small smile on her face to try to cheer up her best friend.

“You’re going to be okay,” the older girl finally caves and says quietly with a small pout but a small smile too at Camila’s.

“Now tell yourself that,” Camila continues, now teasing gently as she pulls Lucy’s face up to make eye contact.

“We’re going to be okay,” Lucy mumbles and Camila giggles, leaning forward to press a kiss to her forehead.

“You know why we’re going to be okay?” Camila smiles and nudges Lucy’s forehead with her own as the older girl burst into laughter, knowing what answer Camila is going for.

“Because you’re the Barnacle Boy to my Mermaid Man,” she chuckles and sniffles before continuing, “and obviously if one of us dies it has to be in the invisible boat mobile.”

“Damn right it has to be in the boat mobile,” Camila agrees, smiling fondly at what Lucy used to tease her about in high school. Sure Spongebob is a “kid’s shows” (not really) but when Camila had made a comment once about feeling like a social sidekick to Lucy, the girl had relentlessly teased her about being the salty Barnacle Boy to her Mermaid Man. Camila usually got aggravated, but if it was going to make Lucy stop crying she’d be willing to take some teasing.

“So we’re going to be okay then?” Camila asks again and Lucy smiles sadly before nodding in agreement. “And I’ll see you in a little bit?” she asks and Lucy nods again before tugging Camila into a tight hug again.

“I’ll miss you until that little bit is over,” the older girl offers as she pulls away and Camila meets sad eyes one more time before smiling sadly back and nodding.

“I’ll miss you a little bit back,” she says and there’s a moment left silent as they take in what could be the end for them. It won’t be, Camila is sure of it. Lucy is too.

“I’ll go get Harry,” Lucy finally breaks it with and Camila feels her stomach drop at the idea of Harry coming in, but Lucy disappears before she can panic and the door immediately opens and closes again behind Camila.

She doesn’t know what to expect.

Actually that’s a lie. Harry cries a lot over television so maybe more crying and more heartbreak over leaving another one of her friends? She doesn’t mind really, it just hurts a lot, especially knowing that if she does die, she’ll be gone, they’ll be the ones who have to find a way to move on.

She doesn’t get what she expected.

“Camila?” Harry asks from behind her and she sucks in a breath to keep from breaking down before spinning slowly in place to face the boy who saved her from her loneliness.

He’s smiling. Not his goofy usual grin that he wears around that can cheer up anyone in a heartbeat. It’s a sad smile sure, his eyes show that part, but it’s also reassuring. It’s a Harry smile that she’ll remember when she’s lying in bed later with a ghost pounding at her skull. Hell, it could be enough to ward the ghost off it she can picture it right.

“Harry?” she asks curiously at his expression.

“I’ll umm…” he trails off and runs a hand behind his neck before reaching for her hand and pulling her tightly against him into one of the fiercest if not the fiercest hold she’s ever been in. But it’s not too strong, it’s comforting, strong in a good way and it makes her feel like she isn’t falling apart.

He holds her for a minute and now she knows what he’s doing. He’s being Harry. The Harry who’s goal is to be a pediatric nurse because he’s as caring as they come.

The Harry who would never let it show how much this is hurting him because he knows that it’s hurting her too.

That means that he hugs her for as long as she lets him, and when she pulls away she’s met with another wide smile and sad set of eyes.

“I’ll see you later, yeah?” he asks as he holds her at an arm’s length away. “We can finally check out that corndog place down by Faneuil Hall, yeah?”

“I’d like that,” she smiles, and her eyes are worse than his at holding it together because she can feel the tears streaming down her cheeks lightly. She half expects him to wipe them for her, but she fully knows that he can’t do that without finally breaking down too.

“Then it’s a date? No hetero though I don’t think our green eyed gals would like that,” he jokes and Camila lets herself laugh for a minute because that’s something Harry would say any normal day.

“Yeah, it’s a date.”

“Okay well um,” he stutters out and glances back at the door before meeting her glassy eyes one more time. “I’ll see you when I see you.” And with that he spins to open the door, of course sending her another smile as he holds it open for her.

Then she leaves her friends behind. At least for the time being that is.

Things perk up at the Randa which sounds weird to say. The ride is long but Lauren holds her hand the whole car ride as she tries not to cry and Zayn obnoxiously sings along in a goofy voice to the radio which actually does cheer her up surprisingly.

Vero is waiting for them and Camila obviously perks at seeing Lauren so happy to reunite with her friend as well as Zayn who up until this past few hours had always seemed so reserved. Vero is as nice and perfect as Camila had expected from the few pictures she’d seen, but she’s in no way fake and makes Camila feel more casual than she should on what could be a death march.

It’s when they settle in their room that it starts to sink in.

Maybe it’s the fact that Lauren’s stuff has to go in the other room with Zayn and Vero’s instead of with hers.

Maybe it’s that she’s just downed a sleeping pill when sleep is what will ultimately lead to the beginning of the end.

Zayn is the one to suggest letting them have some alone time, Vero is the one to make a suggestive comment. Zayn is the second to do that, while Lauren ushers them out with a grin.

Camila knows they’re trying to keep the environment less gloomy for her by joking around.

“So this is it huh?” Camila asks with a small smile as she sits against the headboard and watches Lauren walk up to the side of the bed and lean on the side.

“No,” Lauren answers simply with a shrug. “I’m not letting anything happen to you. This is where we begin but it certainly isn’t ‘it’, whatever you mean by that. It’s just a night, that you’re going to try to get some sleep,” Lauren elaborates with a smile as she walks around to the other side of Camila’s bed to untuck all the corners of the sheets for her. “So this is a normal night, just you and me and a bed… wait no not that- that sounded to suggestive, what I meant was you just need to sleep, and soon enough it’ll get better,” Lauren continues, and Camila can’t hold in a little laugh at her girlfriend’s red face when she thinks she said something inappropriate.

Camila lies back and grins as Lauren tucks her in, but then she realizes that Lauren isn’t in bed with her and it hits her again that Lauren’s stuff is in the other room and that she’s here to be recovered from the ghost that haunts her.

“Wait Lo what’re you- where are you going?” she asks, desperately sitting up and pushing the covers down even though she’s so tired and about to fall asleep and she knows very well where Lauren is going.

“Camz…” Lauren sighs and runs a hand through her hair as she tries not to crack at the younger girl’s face.

“Can you just… Please just lie with me? Only if it’s just until I fall asleep, I just, I need you to lie with me,” Camila says in a soft voice, trying not to burst into tears at the thought of spending a second without Lauren at her side. Sh knows that it puts Lauren and her in more danger than they’re already in, but at this point, knowing that she might not get to sleep with Lauren again, or at least not for a while, she needs nothing more than to feel the older girl next to her. Lying with the older girl makes her feel safe no matter how close she is to falling over the edge of this dark place that her head is becoming.

Lauren knows she should say no. She knows that Zayn is on the other side of that glass wondering why she’s hesitating, why she’s over there at all when nothing is happening. She knows that it could hurt both of them and that even if the ghost isn’t doing the hurting, having to let go of Camila once she’s asleep will.

She also knows she can’t let Camila fall asleep without being by her side, so she doesn’t hesitate much to send a look over to the glass that she knows Zayn can see before carefully getting in the bed next to her girl, not surprised when Camila immediately curls against her. So much for not cracking.

It’s quiet for a moment. Both girls taking in each other’s warmth and the fact that whatever comes next could ruin all of this. Camila’s lost in thoughts about how long it could be before she gets to lie with Lauren again, whereas Lauren is stuck in the idea that next time she faces Camila’s body, it could be her new enemy.

“Go to sleep baby,” Lauren mumbles into the soft hair her face is muffled against. She wants to say that she’ll be okay, but she doesn’t want to lie. She wants to tell Camila so many things about the next day and the finals she knows the younger girl has got in the bag and the food they can get for lunch because she knows Camila is going to want chipotle or something, but Lauren doesn’t want to lie. She goes with a truth instead, hoing that Camila will find at least a shred of reassurance in the phrase she’s repeated so often lately, “I’ve got you.”

And she wants to say something else too. Maybe that she never thought she could feel this safe with someone who has a ghost attached to them. Maybe that she doesn’t want to get up once Camila’s asleep and she doesn’t want to get up once she wakes up either, she just wants to hold her forever. Maybe that she’s here and she will be for as long as she’ll have her. Maybe that everything is going to be okay. Maybe that it isn’t. Maybe that she’ll love her regardless during and after all hell lets loose.

It takes four minutes. Lauren knows that when she feels Camila’s breathing get heavy she has to go back to the other side of the mirror.

So she does.

[itsworn]

Homemade, 50-Year-Old Fuel Motor Roars Back To Life

The Big Banger Theory

Fueler.

Improbable survival stories are standard equipment around here. HOT ROD Deluxe is known for telling resurrection tales that defy all odds and logic. Some of those story ideas surely would’ve been rejected outright by skeptical editors as borderline unbelievable, had photographic evidence not undeniably documented a journey from distant past to survivor. Forget “borderline”; this is one backyard project that’s been unreal from the very start, when a retired machinist began building his racing engine, literally—a gigantic four-banger that once again cackles with nitromethane—a half-century later.

If that already sounds unbelievable, prepare to suspend disbelief long enough to hear the rest of the story. The happy ending depicted by these current photos followed decades of neglect, disassembly, and even theft that could’ve, would’ve, and certainly should’ve written a far sadder story. The magical intervention of a young Springfield, Oregon, engine builder was the last link in a long chain of unlikely coincidences—or was it something else?

“I feel like Grandpa led me to him,” says Carol Stange, a since-retired meter reader for the Springfield Utility Board in Oregon whose monthly route included a joint named Tim’s Muscle Cars. She’d never met or even seen anyone on the grounds until the day she spied an old Lyndwood dragster chassis out front. As a lifelong gearhead from Long Beach, California, whose grandfather had exposed the whole family to nearby Lions Drag Strip, Carol couldn’t resist knocking on the office door. When nobody answered, she walked inside and to the back of the building, following male voices.

“A buddy and I were painting his GTO in my spray booth,” Tim Riel recalls. “We both had respirators on. I thought, ‘Wow, this lady has a lot of nerve, walking up to a couple of strangers wearing masks!’” Tim and Carol agree that their introductory conversation began something like this:

“Hi, I saw your dragster out front. My grandfather had one of those.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, in the mid-1960s. He built his own engine. Car Craft wrote about it.”

“Is your grandpa Byron Barnes?”

Imagine Carol’s shock, hearing a total stranger utter the name of her late grandfather. “I followed him up to the front office, where Tim had a big stack of magazines. He went right to the issue and pulled it out. I said, ‘Yeah, that’s the article.’ I couldn’t believe this was happening! Tim seemed intrigued that the chassis survived, was still in the family, and was here in Oregon.”

A magazine published seven years before Tim Riel was born just happened to be among several milk crates of “moldy, smelly, old paper” that he’d recently purchased from a swap-meet vendor. Tim and his machinist father, Rod Riel, had been going through the pile that very week. “We kept coming back to that Car Craft and that one article. We couldn’t get over how much work went into the engine. It still amazes me. This guy not only made his own engine parts; first, he had to design and build the tooling to make them. Everything had to be perfectly aligned for those pistons to go up and down. Even with today’s technology, not many people would—or even could—do what her grandpa did 50 years ago.”

So, as an engineering exercise, this project was pretty hard to beat; as a race car, not so much. In fact, it never got past the testing stage. When the late, great writer A.B. Shuman submitted his tech story around March 1967, Byron had run the rail twice. First time out, injected on nitro, netted “a quite respectable 120 mph in eleven seconds, shutting off at the halfway mark and coasting through the traps,” CC reported. Switching to dual Weber carbs and, presumably, gasoline for a second try, there was another half-pass of 129 mph but no e.t reported by Shuman. Gifford Barnes counts three trips to Lions Drag Strip with his dad, all plagued by bogging off the line: “He couldn’t get the fuel system right,” he explains. “After the car stumbled, it really charged, but Mickey [Okahara, the driver] couldn’t get away clean.” The wide variety of used parts visible in photos and recovered by Tim Riel point to additional experimentation, as does the only time slip left behind. On the back is scrawled, “50% nitro.” If, in fact, the indicated 8.74 and 164 were recorded by this car, it would’ve been one of the swiftest four-bangers of the era—but not competitive for the type of racing Byron initially envisioned.

Considering how many years one old guy, working alone, needed to bring this engine, particularly, plus a homebuilt chassis all the way from conception to completion—the crankshaft alone required 30 days, according to CC—it’s hardly surprising that classification rules would evolve. The article cites so-called “junior fuelers” for Byron’s inspiration. After Lions bowed out of the fuel ban in 1962, that unofficial term came to be loosely applied to single-engined, normally aspirated dragsters burning nitromethane and/or methanol, regardless of engine type or size. Those not quick enough to qualify for Top Fuel Eliminator might’ve run Top Gas or amongst themselves. Byron’s decision to make his sheetmetal cylinder block tall enough to displace either 353 or 392 ci hardly seems coincidental at a time when 354 and 392 Chryslers were fashionable. Some injected Chevys were poked ’n’ stroked to 358 and even 389 cubes.

By the time Byron was ready to go, Lions had banished fuel burners from Top Gas and created an official Junior Fuel category for unblown engines no larger than 310 cubes. Bigger motors moved into either C/Fuel Dragster (up to 350 ci) or B/FD (to 400 ci), both of which were dominated by small-inch, blown Hemis and Chevys. No wonder Byron lost interest in 1968 or ’69 and parked this car. Indeed, but for one old magazine article and however few firsthand witnesses remain, nearly nobody would know it ever existed.

Getting back to Tim’s Muscle Cars, the Springfield meter reader regularly returned to share leisurely lunch breaks and talk shop. “All I knew was that the bare chassis was hanging in her uncle’s barn,” Tim says. “Carol never got over there to take pictures. I told her that I’d be interested in buying whatever was left.”

“Oh, yeah, he bugged me for over a year,” Carol confirms, laughing. “He’d say, ‘Can I just go see it, please?’ I didn’t want to bug my uncle Giff just so someone could look up in his rafters. But my family always hoped to get Grandpa’s dragster running. My cousin Frank, Giff’s son, started on that about 20 years ago. He took the car apart, spread the parts out on the bench, but it never went back together. When I finally called to tell my uncle I’d met a young guy with his own engine shop who might want to buy the car, Giff said, ‘Nope, he can’t buy it. If you really think he’ll do something with it, tell him to come get it.'”

What Carol didn’t know at the time was that thieves had recently removed critical components from Giff’s unlocked boat barn and sold them for scrap. Luckily, her uncle and cousin noticed parts missing in time to track down the metals dealer before he got around to melting or reselling most, though the rare quick-change rearend was already gone. They went to court to recover what remained and prevailed, eventually.

“All I expected to get was a chassis, or part of one,” Tim says. “I planned to look for dragster parts at swap meets, maybe put in an early Hemi or small-block. Carol’s mom, uncle, aunt, cousin, brother, and sister were all there to say goodbye to Grandpa’s dragster. I walked into this big metal shed with a huge fishing boat on one side. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Byron’s short-block was sitting on a crate. Piles of parts were on the floor. Both M&H slicks were still mounted on Halibrands. The original parachute was hanging from the rafters. We found the complete clutch assembly and can, all the mag body panels, even a firesuit. After everything was laid out at home the next day, I was amazed by how complete the car was. I saw it as a giant erector set, minus the rearend and some small pieces that my dad and I could probably make. We were lucky to have the Car Craft for reference.

“I was worried that Byron’s two children wouldn’t be around long enough to see it get done,” he adds. “I’d made them a promise to try, but Giff’s health was not good. He and his sister, Carol’s mom, were in their eighties. This was important. I wanted that engine to run again, on nitro. I really got into it.”

He sure did, gradually assembling the erector set most nights and weekends for eight months, in between engine work for patient patrons of Tim’s Muscle Cars. When he proudly unveiled the sum of those parts, Byron’s descendants were there to witness the resurrection of a father and grandfather, along with an old dragster. “We were all in tears,” Tim admits.

“To me, it’s just amazing how things worked out,” says Carol Stange, the fearless meter reader whose knock on one door opened so many more. “It was fun, and I just felt like it was meant to be.”

The all-homemade engine was designed to displace either 353 or 392 ci, depending on crankshaft selection. To minimize weight, designer-builder Byron Barnes settled on four cylinders (versus eight), a sheetmetal crankcase (versus cast iron), and valves in the block (versus overhead). Note the 3-inch offset, to counteract torque.

Both the dragster and the former Romania Chevrolet store were operational in the 1960s. Despite its lengthy wheelbase of 152 inches and maze of suspension tubing, the car weighed just 710 pounds, wet.

Everything orange was powdercoated by McKenzie Chrome Plating (Springfield, Oregon). All four wheels and tires are original. After the original mag body was ruined by a careless sandblaster—and Tim Riel was quoted a price of $3,500 per magnesium sheet—buddy Les Schoonover (Springfield) replicated the cowl and side panels in aluminum.

Restorer-caretaker Tim Riel estimates that no fewer than 100 pieces of sheet steel were welded together to create the 116-pound bare block.

Byron Barnes obviously had his own ideas about weight transfer, probably influenced by his oval-track history. He formed the fuel tank by cutting and merging two military-surplus water kettles engraved with the words “U.S. Army.”

The aluminum cover contains the coolant sitting on top of four individual cylinder heads. Water enters through the open hole (which still lacks a pressure cap to replace the tiny original). Boiling water exits through the overflow tube. Mike Maher did the pinstriping and lettering. The rear-main seal is a small-block Chevy item.

The parachute, M&H 8.20-15 Racemasters, and magnesium Halibrand wheels are original. The Portland Swap Meet produced a virtual duplicate of the stolen rearend assembly, including Halibrand champ-car quick-change, that fit perfectly.

Rod Riel, Tim’s machinist dad, reproduced one of the Anglia-style spindles and some missing suspension pieces on his CNC machines. The shocks are Volkswagen. The aluminum fuel line is original.

The custom tri-drive system is a work of art. A spur gear on the crank runs the cam, which drives the Bendix Mini-Mag, Hilborn fuel pump, and a Ford six-cylinder oil pump at the bottom that fills a custom dry-sump pan. A piece of leather that seals the timing cover to the crankcase is the closet thing to a gasket in the entire engine. Byron even built his own injectors. The original velocity stacks and Hilborn barrel valve survived, but not the exhaust flange and headers, which Rod Riel replicated. Since our photo session, Tim has completed the complicated linkage and added a mini-starter to the front of the crank. Previously, he hand-operated the throttle with a long rod connecting the individual injectors and fired the engine on a stand, since none of the Riels can squeeze into the cockpit for push starting.

Since stumbling onto this photography location in Eugene, Oregon, we’ve learned that the former home of Lew Williams and, later, Joe Romania Chevrolet is infamous for 2000 and 2001 arson attacks by local “ecoterrorists” targeting gas guzzlers. In the first incident, three light trucks collectively valued at $28,000 were torched by activists who happened to be under surveillance by a terrorism task force that night. Nine months later, a different gang set fire to 35 new Suburbans and Tahoes worth $959,000. The Chevy store was sold shortly thereafter and ultimately closed in 2005 when the University of Oregon purchased the prime, four-and-a-half-acre property adjoining the campus for storage. The wooden panels were installed after rock-throwing vandals found the original glass irresistible.

Machinists’ Union

It took a father-son team of master machinists in Long Beach, California, to create this engine, and it took another to restore it to running condition, a half-century later and 900 miles north. The shared experience has tightly bonded the Barnes-Garwood and Riel families to this day.

Gifford Barnes, 86, machined the individual cylinder heads for his late dad’s engine. He inherited Byron’s last race car in 1981 and stored it for 34 years. The Barnes-Garwood family photo album produced a rare 1930s snapshot of father and son together.

Kay Barnes Garwood, 84, is Byron’s daughter. Nearly eight decades after posing with the family dog and midget at home in Long Beach, she lives with daughter Linda Garwood (left) in Port Orford, Oregon.

Tim and Jan Riel rescued and revived their rail with invaluable assistance from Rod Riel (left), a semiretired CNC machinist. Its new home is Tim’s Muscle Cars, a restoration and engine shop in Springfield, Oregon.

Social Media, Old School

For 400 years before digital devices connected us senders and receivers, magazines did that job. This one still does, albeit with a time delay measured in months or years, not nanoseconds. You know the drill: HOT ROD Deluxe publishes an article or column or photo caption that thrills/irritates you into sending love letters/hate mail. Correspondence deemed worthy of print shows up in stores and mailboxes two or three issues later to thrill/irritate fellow readers. See, just like Facebook posts, minus fake news.

Despite modern production technology, “slick” magazines still take forfriggin’ever to print, bind, and transport, as you’ve undoubtedly noticed. Our bimonthly infrequency automatically puts HRD another month behind the monthlies. If you’re reading this on the West Coast, add another week for trains and trucks to move the bundles all the way from the Midwest, where most of America’s ink gets spilled. Finally, your copy shows up in, say, Springfield, Oregon. Reading from front to back (as editors and the good Lord intended), you eventually get to a couple of 50-year-old, unpublished outtakes from a 1968 Car Craft story. The caption asks if any reader knows what happened to an obscure race car that vanished 15 years before you were born, a car that happens to be parked in your shop.

Reader Tim Riel responded almost as soon as his heart settled back into his chest. Editor Hardin couldn’t wait to print the letter and photos Tim sent of the restored rail. Meanwhile, though, another issue’s bimonthly production cycle came and went, delaying publication by one more edition. When the car reappeared in color in January 2016’s Scrapbook section, Mr. Ed. promised in print to send contributor Dave Wallace—who claimed a personal connection to its builder—to shoot a proper feature. In consideration of the Northwest’s notorious rainy season, we postponed that photo session until the late spring. Finally, the Byron Barnes rail returns to these pages, completing a print conversation started nearly two years ago—if not 50 years ago this December, when Petersen Publishing Company staffers Bob Swaim and A.B. Shuman visited the car both at home and at Lions Drag Strip.

Original Car Craft article, June 1968

From HRD’s “The Golden Age Of Drag Racing,” September 2015

From HRD’s letters section, January 2016

Shortly after Tim Riel’s letter and photos appeared in HRD, another stranger showed up at Tim’s Muscle Cars. He told Tim that, as a kid, he lived in Byron’s neighborhood and helped clean out the home shop after Mr. and Mrs. Barnes died weeks apart in 1981. He was given the blueprint as a souvenir. He thought it belonged with the race car. Sure enough, these cockpit measurements match. Byron evidently purchased a partial kit from little-known H&L Metals. Tim was so stunned by the gift that he never got a name. He’s hopeful that the generous mystery man will see this and identify himself to HRD—extending the series of old-school, ink-on-paper “posts” described above.

Lost And Found

On the snowy morning in January 2014 that Tim and Rod Riel dragged a trailer to the Oregon coast, a bare chassis was all they expected to find. Imagine their surprise!

For the first time, Tim Riel laid his hands—and eyes—on the remnants of a chassis he’d seen only in a Car Craft issue printed four years before he was born.

Carol Garwood Stange (right) is the retired Oregon meter reader who put Tim Riel (left) together with Grandpa’s slingshot. Her big sister, Linda Garwood, held up the nose while their uncle Giff supervised.

The rotating assembly stayed inside of Byron’s sheetmetal block since he last ran the car, circa 1968-69. Three types of steel were pressed together, then arc-welded with titanium-nickel rod, to form a hollow crankshaft with a 4.5-inch stroke.

Gifford Barnes machined the individual cylinder heads so precisely that they seal to the sheet-steel crankcase without gaskets. His dad used 40 capscrews made of aircraft-grade titanium, likely left over from one of Byron’s aerospace projects. All but a few of the original fasteners were located, cleaned up, and reinstalled by Tim Riel. Threaded tubes around the spark plugs prevent coolant from grounding out the plugs.

The camshaft is hollow. Byron fused individual lobes onto the tube, then had Iskenderian grind them to deliver 230 degrees of duration with 0.400-inch lift. “The cam wasn’t even in the engine, so I had no idea about where to degree it or set the lash,” Tim says. “The drive gear is slotted about 70 degrees where the bolt goes, for advance and retard. So I called and talked to Isky’s son, who remembered Ed playing cards with Byron. He said his dad would call after he got back from lunch. I thought, ‘Oh, sure, like Ed Iskenderian is gonna personally call some little engine builder in the middle of nowhere.’ That same afternoon, I answer the phone, and Mr. Isky says, ‘Old man Barnes still owes me 40 bucks from our weekly card game!’ He said he’d look around and let me know if he found anything. About two weeks later, I get a box with the original cam card with all of the specs, a new set of valvesprings, and a handwritten note: ‘Best wishes, Ed Iskenderian.'”

Jahns Pistons cast five of these aluminum, 5-inch-diameter monsters in the wooden mold. Byron finish-machined four to arrive at 10:1 compression. He also made five 4130 chrome-moly connecting rods, welding the ends to the tubular beams. This spare was never run.

The worn main bearings proved to be the most difficult replacement parts to find, plus the most expensive. Because all crank journals are identical, Tim had to spend $1,200 on five complete sets of obsolete aircraft bearings to get the five pieces. An old-timer at Federal-Mogul successfully cross-referenced the original part numbers by searching old paper catalogs. The valvetrain combines original, slipper-style lifters with Chrysler Hemi springs, retainers, and locks.

Everything here was formed from steel. First, though, Byron had to make wooden or cardboard templates for each piece, then construct a flame-cutting rig with a tracing stylus at one end and an oxy-acetylene cutting torch at the other. The intake and exhaust ports are two pieces of steel stampings, welded together. Also note the six water jackets per cylinder.

The original, giant 2-5/8-inch intake and exhaust valves are stainless heads on chrome-moly stems.

Half a century after this big banger first went together, it’s as good as new, plus much prettier. Of many missing parts reproduced by the Riels, the most difficult to design were the spur gears and shaft driving the magneto and fuel and oil pumps. In some old photos of the engine wearing Weber carbs, the two-hole bracket contained a different mag and a coil.

Who Was Byron Barnes?

This writer should know, having met him a few times in the mid-1970s. We even lived on the same Huntington Beach street for a while, yet I never really knew the man. Among my regrets is not spending more time in the large shop behind his house on Old Pirates Lane that held both the Hudson he’d customized and his fully assembled slingshot, covered in dusty plastic. I was introduced by my then-girlfriend as the editor of Drag News, but to him I was the longhair sleeping with his beloved granddaughter, Carol Garwood—now Carol Stange, the retired Oregon meter reader responsible for connecting his last race car to the young guy destined to rescue and restore it.

Byron’s family revealed that he was born in 1907 in Nebraska. In 1911, his parents moved to Long Beach. At age 16, Byron’s first homebuilt hot rod got him arrested and jailed. Since his dad was then running for city council, the folks shipped him offshore to herd goats on San Clemente Island until the election was over. He and a buddy later assembled an airplane that Byron flew before building and driving his first midget. When World War II halted auto racing, he worked for Douglas Aircraft Company as a mechanics’ instructor and design engineer developing tooling for the B-17 bomber. In the mid-1950s, Byron designed, built, and patented oil field equipment that enabled an early retirement. For the next 25 years, he indulged automotive passions ranging from the dragster and Hudson custom to off-road racing with local pals Bill Stroppe and Parnelli Jones.

Though Byron could likely afford any new car, I saw him driving Ford Pintos exclusively. Rather than bother changing fluids, he’d torture an engine until it rattled or smoked, swap motors in an afternoon, then perform an autopsy on the dead player. (The same boat shed that stored the dragster’s engine held another big surprise for Tim Riel: “There must’ve been 70 Pinto 2000- and 2300cc motors stacked up in there!”) Byron’s last daily driver was reportedly returning nearly 50 mpg when emphysema ended an incredible journey in April 1981, just shy of his 74th birthday.

Byron (right) was also a pilot. During the Depression, he earned money repairing and reselling crashed planes. Neither his son nor daughter recognized the other dapper dude.

The crowd at San Diego’s Balboa Stadium illustrates the huge popularity of midget racing before WWII and immediately after, until free competition from television kept people home on weekends. The fourth car back appears to be Byron’s.

This flathead is thought to be the first that Byron built from scratch, during the 1930s. It disappeared with a fast-talking salesman who promised to take it from track to track, nationwide, and write orders for production copies. Byron also constructed a DOHC prototype that might be the motor pictured in his wrecked racer. Historian Greg Sharp tells us that more than 100 different engine types powered midgets, all limited to 105 ci.

A page from Byron’s logbook documents eight events in five weeks at L.A.’s Gilmore and Atlantic Boulevard Stadium tracks during the summer of 1939.

Unlike most midgets of the era, Byron’s looked as good as they ran.

Gifford Barnes doesn’t know whether this could be his dad’s overhead cammer, but it’s the only DOHC engine shot in the family scrapbook.

Evidence that Byron’s hot rods attracted hot drivers includes this steamy shot of a guy recognized by historian Greg as Mel Hansen, “a big-name midget driver who qualified six times for the Indy 500, with a best finish of eighth.”

The forward-leaning positions of both drivers suggest this to be the moment of impact after Byron’s unknown shoe spun. We’re guessing that the background cars belonged to the two workers behind the wall.

The dragster’s finished block and crank are shown in the Long Beach shop where Byron handbuilt his last racing engine. The Barnes-Garwood family still owns the building on Signal Hill. Appropriately, it’s currently leased to a company making parts for Smart cars.

In the early 1970s, granddaughter Carol paid $100 for this Northern California barn find. It was original and complete except for a front seat. Once Carol got the engine running, her mom drove the 400-plus miles home to Long Beach sitting on a crate. Never content to follow a crowd, Grandpa Barnes hopped up the straight eight and built himself the only Hudson custom we’ve ever seen.

The post Homemade, 50-Year-Old Fuel Motor Roars Back To Life appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

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Clemson doctoral student produces rap album for dissertation; it goes viral

Clemson University doctoral student A.D. Carson is many things — poet, activist, and rap artist to name a few — but “typical Ph.D. candidate” is not one of them. So when it came to writing a dissertation, he couldn’t simply write a traditional one. Instead, he produced a 34-song rap album that already has the internet buzzing.

The album, “Owning My Masters: The Rhetorics of Rhymes and Revolutions” uses hip-hop to explore such ideas as identity, justice, economics, citizenship and language. The songs have garnered tens of thousands of views on YouTube, more than 50,000 streams and downloads on SoundCloud and hundreds of thousands of hits on Facebook, all before Carson defends them as a whole to his doctoral committee Friday in the Watt Family Innovation Center auditorium.

Using a music album for a dissertation, as opposed to the usual written document, has never been done at Clemson before, but Carson says it was the only way he could do it.

“I had people ask, ‘Are you doing this just to be provocative? Is this a gimmick?’ My response is ‘absolutely not.’ This is my way of being in the world,” said Carson, who speaks with effortless eloquence and cuts a cool and dignified figure in a ball cap, T-shirt and dark grey sweater with a “Reading is Sexy” badge pinned to it. “Both my senior and master’s theses were on music that I’d been making, so at this point I figure, you don’t get to the one-yard line — to use a metaphor that Clemson will understand — and then put the ball down.”

Carson recorded the album in a small studio he put together in his apartment near campus, using Adobe recording software made available to all Clemson students. He enlisted two childhood friends from Illinois, Blake E. Wallace and Marcus Fitzgerald, to help produce it.

The resulting music has a production value good enough to rival anything on the charts today.

At Clemson, Carson discovered that one of his professors, Chenjerai Kumanyika, just happened to be a former hip-hop musician with a Ph.D. in mass communication. Before he became an assistant professor at Clemson, Kumanyika was in the hip-hop group “The Spooks,” which had several gold and platinum records in the late 1990s and early 2000s.

Kumanyika became a mentor to Carson and provided literature and insight on theory and methodology that informed his dissertation.

“A.D. Carson’s virtuosic musical performance and composition, his scholarly rigor and his deep literacy with African-American cultural production are all on display in his mostly completed dissertation,” said Kumanyika. “The project, which has already been referenced publicly by such leading scholars in popular music culture as Mark Anthony Neal, explores complicated questions related to the art, criticism and knowledge production in the context of the ongoing problem of global racial and class hierarchies within and beyond the academy. Throughout the process, Carson has been clear and committed to his vision.”

The album begins with the scratchy notes of a fiddle and banjo playing the classic Southern anthem “Dixie,” but then it slips into beat-driven hip-hop with rapid-fire lyrics and cadence that wouldn’t seem out of place on contemporary albums by Jay Z or Common. Carson uses a diverse selection of samples throughout the album — from Aretha Franklin to the soundtrack of the movie “Django Unchained” — which he equates to the quoting of sources in a standard dissertation.

“The central thesis of my dissertation is: Are certain voices treated differently?” said Carson. “I’m trying to examine how an authentically identifiable black voice might be used or accepted as authentic, or ignored, or could answer academic questions and be considered rightly academic. So I have to present a voice rather than writing about a voice.”

Carson has never been one to take the path of least resistance. Throughout his childhood in Decatur, Illinois, where his father was a factory worker and his mother a caretaker for her disabled brother, Carson was more a seeker of knowledge than a dreamer of fame and fortune.

“My parents divorced when I was fairly young and I have seven siblings,” he explained. “I mostly grew up with my mother and one — sometimes two — of my brothers. We moved from one apartment to another just about every nine months. I attended a different school every year until my junior and senior years of high school. I think that might’ve inspired a lot of writing for me during those times.”

His thirst for comprehension drove him to become the first in his family to graduate from college. He received undergraduate degrees in English (secondary education) and writing from Millikin University in Decatur and his master’s degree in English from the University of Illinois-Springfield.

Clemson’s rhetorics, communication and information design (RCID) Ph.D. program drew him to the Upstate. The program is cross-cultural and transdisciplinary and offers an academic-professional degree designed to prepare students to conduct research and to disseminate their findings through teaching and publishing in professional journals.

“The [RCID] program here is really innovative,” said Carson. “When I spoke to the director of the program, he knew that I was working for the Urban League and was a writer-in-residence for a university’s literary journal and doing a lot of other things. I operated in a lot of different worlds and he said, ‘Yes, that’s what we do — that’s what we want!’”

Clemson associate professor of English Jillian Weise, herself an award-winning poet on the national stage, said being a member of Carson’s dissertation committee has broadened her notion of what a thesis — and literature itself — can be.

“It expanded my comfort zone. I listened to rap, but I hadn’t been analyzing it until coming on board as a dissertation committee member,” she said. “One thing I think is really amazing is we’re in the year when the Nobel Prize in Literature goes to Bob Dylan. To me, I just see in the next 50-100 years, the Nobel will go to a rapper. There’s that potential. I really believe in the power of the lyric.”

Carson’s music already has demonstrated the kind of power Weise referenced. One of the tracks, “See The Stripes” — a spoken-word poem full of biting metaphoric imagery imploring students to “see” the black stripes in the Clemson Tiger, not just the bright orange normally associated with the football team — generated nearly 15,000 views on YouTube alone and sparked a public dialogue online and on campus in 2015 that eventually involved Clemson’s administration and led to a series of lectures, discussions, performances, exhibitions and peaceful protests.

Carson credits the university for encouraging such open discussion.

“I would not have been able to do the work or learn what I’ve been able to learn had it not been for coming here,” he said. “The challenges and the triumphs are all a product of this particular space, and my critical perspective has been sharpened here.”

Carson admits that some people will find parts of “Owning My Masters” offensive, but that is part of the design.

“There are challenging lyrics and even challenging language. Those are deliberate choices I’m making. That’s part of the kind of engagement that we need,” he said. “Sometimes it’s difficult to find the opportunity to approach a conversation about language. Hip-hop makes it an organic engagement.”

Carson carefully controlled every detail in the 34 songs and he laid out the amount of thought that went into them by using one as an example:

“There’s a song called Familiar that uses a classic trap beat — trap being a distinct form of rap with a very deliberate tempo and drum pattern that originated in the South, specifically Atlanta. So it’s not just a style of music, it speaks to the circumstance the people who make it might be in,” he explained. “The form of the song is imitating Langston Hughes’ ‘Dream Variations,’ a poem that has two stanzas that are very close to one another, and the content is informed by James Baldwin’s idea that Americans are trapped in history and history is trapped in us. So think about using this rap form called trap that originates in the South in a song where you don’t know if the verses are the present or the past. It’s subtle but it works on a lot of different levels.”

The resulting record is breaking boundaries and challenging assumptions even long-time faculty members have about academics.

“I’m really excited to be working with A.D. and the possibilities it opens up for Clemson,” said Weise. “I’m also excited to teach at a university where a student comes to us and says: ‘This is my dream. This is what I want to do,’ and we say, ‘Yes you can do that here at Clemson!’ That makes me proud to be on the faculty here. I’m so grateful that we are sharing with the world the possibilities here at Clemson that are manifest in his work.”

Carson himself might best sum up the impact his dissertation will make in the opening lyrics to the second song on his album, “Dissertation [Part 1: The Introduction]”:

They say History is written by the victors, so when you see my picture in the book it’ll be consistent with my memory, my victories, my tendencies that tempered me and wintered me. Cold, like those Chi City winds, ‘cause they’re blistering.

It’s in my DNA. It’s in my bloodline. What I do is much deeper than a punchline.

Photographs:

Clemson University doctoral candidate A.D. Carson stands in his home studio near campus. Carson used the studio to produce “Owning My Masters: The Rhetorics of Rhymes and Revolutions,” a 34-track rap album that also serves as his dissertation.

Clemson University doctoral candidate A.D. Carson talks about the history of rap music in his home studio.

A.D. Carson, a doctoral candidate at Clemson University, stands on the porch of the Trustee House.